My friend, it is the vanity of old age which forgives not." And the Marshal, the bitterest tongue in all Bleiberg, reached over and picked up the cigar which lay by the inkwells.

He lit it at one of the tapers, and sank again into the chair.

"Count, how many games are you playing ?" "My dear Marshal, it was not I who spoke of games.

I am playing no game, save for the legitimate sovereign of this kingdom.

I ask for no reward." "Disinterested man! The inference is, however, that, since you have not asked for anything, you have been promised something.