“That I should reply kindly and gratefully to my cousin; that I should not appear indifferent or ungrateful for a proposal by which I might become a millionnaire.  You advised me to decline going to Austria, but only to decline so long as there was war between Prussia and Austria.”

“Well, I think the advice was good, and that you may still follow it.”

“You advised me also to write to my cousin to send me some of those beautiful Hungarian horses, and promised to forward my letter through Baron von Bossart, the Saxon ambassador; but on the condition that when I received the Hungarian horses, I should present one of them to you.”

“That was only a jest—­a jest which binds you to nothing, and of which you have no proofs.”

“I!” asked Trenck, astonished; “what proof do I need that I promised you a Hungarian horse?  What do I want with proofs?”

Count Jaschinsky looked embarrassed before the open, trusting expression of the young officer.  His singular remark would have betrayed him to a more suspicious, a more worldly-wise man, who would have perceived from it the possibility of some danger, from which Jaschinsky was seeking to extricate himself.

“I did not mean,” said the count, laughing, “that you needed a proof; I only wished to say that I had no proof that you had promised me a Hungarian horse, and that you need not feel obliged to give me one.”

“Yes, colonel, your request and my promise occurred before witnesses.  Lieutenant von Stadnitz and Ensign von Wagnitz were present; and if that had not been the case, I should consider my word binding.  But at present I have no Hungarian horses, only an answer from my singular cousin, the contents of which I wish to impart to you.”

“Ah, the colonel of the pandours has answered you?” asked Jaschinsky, with well-dissembled astonishment.

“Yes, he has answered me, and has written me the most singular letter that one can imagine.  Only listen to it.”

And Frederick von Trenck hastily pulled out the letter which he had put in his bosom.  Entirely occupied with this subject, and thinking of nothing else, he opened the letter and read: 

“From yours, dated Berlin, February 12th, I ascertain that you desire some Hungarian horses on which to meet my hussars and pandours.  I learned with much pleasure, in the last campaign, that the Prussian Trenck was a brave soldier; as a proof of my consideration, I returned to you at that time the horses which my men had captured from you.  If you desire to ride Hungarian horses, you must take mine from me on the field, or come to your cousin, who will receive you with open arms as his son and friend, and accord you every wish of your heart.”

Had Trenck looked less attentively at his letter, while reading, he would have perceived that Jaschinsky was paying but slight attention (he was looking attentively on the floor); he quietly approached Trenck, and placed his foot upon something which he evidently wished to conceal.  He then stood still, and as Trenck finished reading he broke into a loud laugh, in which the young officer joined him.