My father diverted me by levelling the whole battery of his comic mind upon Peterborough, who had a heap of manuscript, directed against heretical German theologians, to pack up for publication in his more congenial country:  how different, he ejaculated, from this nest—­this forest of heresy, where pamphlets and critical essays were issued without let or hindrance, and, as far as he could see, no general reprobation of the Press, such as would most undoubtedly, with one voice, hail any strange opinions in our happy land at home!  Whether he really understood the function my father prepared him for, I cannot say.  The invitation to dine and pass a night at the lake-palace flattered him immensely.

We went up to the chateau to fetch him.

A look of woe was on Peterborough’s countenance when we descended at the palace portals:  he had forgotten his pipe.

‘You shall smoke one of the prince’s,’ my father said.  Peterborough remarked to me,—­’We shall have many things to talk over in England.’

’No tobacco allowed on the premises at Riversley, I ‘m afraid,’ said I.

He sighed, and bade me jocosely to know that he regarded tobacco as just one of the consolations of exiles and bachelors.

‘Peterborough, my good friend, you are a hero!’ cried my father.  ’He divorces tobacco to marry!’

‘Permit me,’ Peterborough interposed, with an ingenuous pretension to subtle waggery, in itself very comical,—­’permit me; no legitimate union has taken place between myself and tobacco!’

’He puts an end to the illegitimate union between himself and tobacco that he may marry according to form!’ cried my father.

We entered the palace merrily, and presently Peterborough, who had worn a studious forehead in the midst of his consenting laughter, observed, ‘Well, you know, there is more in that than appears on the surface.’

His sweet simpleton air of profundity convulsed me.  I handed my father the letter addressed to the princess to entrust it to the charge of one of the domestics, thinking carelessly at the time that Ottilia now stood free to make appointments and receive communications, and moreover that I was too proud to condescend to subterfuge, except this minor one, in consideration for her, of making it appear that my father, and not I, was in communication with her.  My fit of laughter clung.  I dressed chuckling.  The margravine was not slow to notice and comment on my hilarious readiness.

‘Roy,’ she said, ’you have given your son spirit.  One sees he has your blood when you have been with him an hour.’

‘The season has returned, if your Highness will let it be Spring,’ said my father.

‘Far fetched!—­from the Lower Danube!’ she ejaculated in mock scorn to excite his sprightliness, and they fell upon a duologue as good as wit for the occasion.