Pompadour was ill served; she had not found her Gondremark; but what
a mighty politician! Catherine de' Medici, too, what justice of
sight, what readiness of means, what elasticity against defeat! But
alas! madam, her Featherheads were her own children; and she had
that one touch of vulgarity, that one trait of the good-wife, that
she suffered family ties and affections to confine her liberty.'

These singular views of history, strictly AD USUM SERAPHINAE, did
not weave their usual soothing spell over the Princess. It was
plain that she had taken a momentary distaste to her own
resolutions; for she continued to oppose her counsellor, looking
upon him out of half-closed eyes and with the shadow of a sneer upon
her lips. 'What boys men are!' she said; 'what lovers of big words!
Courage, indeed! If you had to scour pans, Herr Von Gondremark, you
would call it, I suppose, Domestic Courage?'

'I would, madam,' said the Baron stoutly, 'if I scoured them well.
I would put a good name upon a virtue; you will not overdo it: they
are not so enchanting in themselves.'

'Well, but let me see,' she said. 'I wish to understand your
courage. Why we asked leave, like children! Our grannie in Berlin,
our uncle in Vienna, the whole family, have patted us on the head
and sent us forward. Courage? I wonder when I hear you!'

'My Princess is unlike herself,' returned the Baron. 'She has
forgotten where the peril lies. True, we have received
encouragement on every hand; but my Princess knows too well on what
untenable conditions; and she knows besides how, in the publicity of
the diet, these whispered conferences are forgotten and disowned.