This person was seated in one of the chairs, deeply absorbed in the
perusal of the papers that lay before him upon the table. He was a man
of slight and elegant proportions, whose youthful face contrasted
singularly with the dark, manly, and weather-beaten countenances of the
other members of the council. Not a fault marred the beauty of this fair
face; not the shadow of a wrinkle ruffled the polish of the brow; even
the lovely mouth itself was free from those lines by which thought and
care are wont to mark the passage of man through life. One thing,
however, was wanting to this beautiful mask. It was devoid of
expression. Those delicate features were immobile and stony, No trace of
emotion stirred the compressed lips; no shadow of thought flickered over
the high, marble brow; and the glance of those clear, light-blue eyes
was as calm, cold, and unfeeling as that of a statue. This young man,
with Medusa-like beauty, was Anthony Wenzel von Kaunitz, whom Maria
Theresa had lately recalled from Paris to take his seat in her cabinet
council.

The looks of Harrach and Colloredo were directed toward him, but he
appeared not to observe them, and went on quietly with his examination
of the state papers.

"You think, then, count," whispered Colloredo, thoughtfully, "that young
Kaunitz cherishes the absurd hope of an alliance with France?"

"I am sure of it. I know that a few days ago the French ambassador
delivered to him a most affectionate missive from his friend the
Marquise de Pompadour; and I know too that yesterday he replied to it in
a similar strain: It is his fixed idea, and that of La Pompadour also,
to drive Austria into a new line of policy, by making her the ally of
France."