"Curse the luck!" he said, in English.

"Curse the want of it, I should say!" was the merry rejoinder,
also in English.

Maurice threw back his head and laughed, and the cuirassier
caught the infection.

"However, there is some compensation for the hat," said the
cuirassier, straightening his helmet. "You are the first
stranger who has spoken to her Highness this many a day. Did the
dog take to your calves? Well, never mind; he has no teeth. It
was only day before yesterday that the Marshal swore he'd have
the dog shot. Poor dog! He is growing blind, too, or he'd never
have risked his gums on the Marshal, who is all shins. If you
will wait I will fetch you one of the archbishop's skull caps."

"Don't trouble yourself," laughed Maurice. "What I need is not a
hat, but a towel, and I'll get that at the hotel. George! I feel
so like an ass. What is your name, Lieutenant?"

"Von Mitter, Carl von Mitter, at your service. And you are
Monsieur Carewe."

"Of the American legation in Vienna. Thanks for your trouble."

"None at all. You had better hurry along; your nails are growing
black."