THE SALUTE OF A COUSIN

I would have been rather a wooden sort of individual had I felt no stir in my heart as, for the first time, I entered the Castle of my ancestors and stood in the ante-chamber waiting to be presented to the Head of my House.  I believe I am as phlegmatic as most men, but I would give very little for one who, under like conditions, would not feel a press of emotion.  I know it came to me with sharp intensity,—­and I see no shame in the admission; nor will any one else whose heart is the heart of an honest man.  I have no patience with those creatures who deride sentiment.  They are either liars or idiots.  Religion, itself, is sentimental; and so is every refined instinct of our lives.  Destroy the sentimental in man and the brute alone remains.

We waited but a moment and then were ushered into the royal presence.  The greeting was entirely informal.  Courtney was no stranger to Valeria, and had met the King frequently during the last ten years.  Frederick came forward and shook his hand most cordially and welcomed him to Court.  It was like the meeting of two friends.  During it I had time to observe the King.

He wore the green uniform of a General, with the Jewel of the Order of the Lion around his neck.  His sixty odd years sat very lightly and left no mark save in the facial wrinkles and grey hair.  He was a true Dalberg in height and general appearance, and with the strong, straight nose that was as distinctive to our family as was the beak to the Bourbons.

I had remained in the background during Courtney’s greeting, but, when he turned and presented me, I advanced and bowed.  As I straightened, the King extended his hand saying: 

“We are glad to——­”

Then he caught a full view of my face and stopped, staring.  I dropped his hand and stepped back; and, for a space, no one moved.  Only, I shot a side glance at Courtney and caught a half smile on his lips.  Then Frederick recovered himself.

“Your pardon, sir, but I did not catch the name,” he said.

Courtney’s finesse saved me the embarrassment of a self-introduction.

“Major Dalberg, of the United States Army, Your Majesty,” he said quickly.  “The representative of our War Department with your army.”

“Dalberg—­Dalberg,” he muttered; then added, perfunctorily:  “Our army is at your service, sir, though I fear we shall be unable to give you the war.”

“The army is quite enough, Sire,” I began; but it was plain he did not hear me.  He was studying my face again and thinking.  Courtney, I could see, was having the finest sort of sport.  I could have throttled him.

“You have our name, Major,” said the King.  “May I ask if it is a common one in America?”

“I know of no family but my own that bears it, there,” I answered.

He sat down and motioned for us to do likewise.

“I am interested,” said he.  “Has your family been long in America?”