The Prince's face was as black as night.
"Believe me," Mr.Sabin said, turning to the Prince, "I sympathise entirely with your feelings at the present moment.

I myself have suffered in precisely the same manner.

The fact is, intrigue in this country is almost an impossibility.

At Paris, Vienna, Pesth, how different! You raise your little finger, and the deed is done.
Superfluous people--like myself--are removed like the hairs from your chin.

But here intrigue seems indeed to exist only within the pages of a shilling novel, or in a comic opera.