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Updated: May 18, 2025
"You're very wise," the Princess laughed. Lady Helen shook her head. "You see, I've known Major Dalberg a long time," she said. "Oh! then you had met before the night of the Ball?" I looked at Dehra wonderingly. Had she forgotten that I myself had told her, on the terrace, how long I had known the Radnors. "We were old dinner and cotillon partners in Washington," Lady Helen explained.
"I am not the only one, then, who likes the early morning?" she said. "It's the cream of the day," said Lady Helen. "Rather the champagne of the day," the Princess answered. Then she laughed. "I forgot, Major Dalberg, it isn't well to take champagne before breakfast." "I prefer coffee, I admit," said I. "Are you two going anywhere in particular?" she asked.
And whether Dalberg's scorn or Harleston's defection was the more humiliating, she did not know. Together they made a mocking and a desolation of her love and her life. And as she came to hate with a fierce hatred the Princess whom Dalberg loved, so with an even more bitter hatred she hated Mrs. Clephane who had won Harleston from her.
"How delightful to be a Colonel," said Lady Helen. "I would wear the uniform all the time if it were becoming." "How could it be otherwise?" I exclaimed. "No sarcasm, sir," she said sharply. "No, Major Dalberg, no sarcasm," Dehra cautioned, "or you will be asking, presently, if I won my commission on the field of battle." "I would rather not imagine you on the field of battle," I answered.
This elder Dalberg, who some years later became dubiously prominent in connection with Napoleon's Confederation of the Rhine, was now residing at Erfurt as Coadjutor to the Elector of Mainz and expecting to become Elector himself on the death of his superior. He was an energetic, good-natured man, not free from ostentatious fussiness, and he enjoyed the role of Maecenas.
He spoke English perfectly though I thought he was a Frenchman. The name on his card was Herbert Wilkes; but, I knew that was assumed, and I have learned, lately, who he is. Since you, too, know, it is quite unnecessary to repeat it. I accepted instantly, mainly for the money; but, also, to satisfy a personal grudge I had against Major Dalberg.
I was a friend of the Dalberg family of the Eastern Shore, and of Armand Dalberg himself." He paused, and looked again at the picture. "H-u-m! She is a very beautiful woman, Harleston, a very beautiful woman! I think I have never seen her equal; certainly never her superior. These dark-haired, classic featured ones for me, Harleston; the pale blonde type does not appeal.
It was that year Lafayette joined Washington's Army." That will give him a surprise, I thought. It did. "Do you know the name of the Dalberg of 1777?" he asked quickly. I saw no profit in evasion. "He was Hugo, second son of Henry the Third of Valeria," I replied. "I knew it," he exclaimed, jumping up and coming over to me. "And you are?" "His great-grandson and eldest male heir."
Thus we know that the most important of them all, the shifting of the action back into the age of expiring feudalism, was made reluctantly. Schiller felt, and had reason to feel, that the modernity of his drama was its very life-blood; for the squeamish Dalberg, however, the robbers in the age of Frederick the Great were a painful anachronism.
Dalberg had remained in her apartments until evening, had then dined in the public dining room with the Bacons, and the three had then gone to the Opera; that no callers had been received by any of them, so far as known by the hotel's officials; that, after the Opera, they had been driven directly to the hotel and had gone into the Hanging Garden and had taken a table; that, presently, the one known as Mrs.
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