If you wish me to weep, be grieved yourself first of all.

Soltikof angrily wipes his countenance at this point, and insists on a few tears from Daun.

Without metaphor, Soltikof has shot away all his present ammunition, his staff of bread is quite precarious in these parts; and Soltikof thinks always, 'Is it my business, then, or is it yours ?' "Soltikof has intrenched himself on the Wine-Hills at Lossow, comfortably out of Friedrich's way, and contiguous to Oder and the provision-routes; sits there, angrily deaf to the voice of the charmer; nothing to be charmed out of him, but gusts of indignation, instead of consent.

A proud, high-going, indignant kind of man, with a will of his own.

And sees well enough what is what, in all this symphony of the Lacys, the Montalemberts and surrounding adorers.