"Splendid type of youth," he murmured. "An interesting head, and
artistic, too. He would create a great sensation in a fancy-dress ball.
What a Persian prince he would make! . . . A white aigrette on his head,
fastened with a great jewel, the breast bared, a black tunic with golden
birds. . . ."
And he continued seeing in his mind's eye the heir of the Desnoyers
arrayed in all the gorgeous raiment of an Oriental monarch. The proud
father, because of the interest which his son was inspiring, began to
feel a glimmer of sympathy with the man. A pity that he should select so
unerringly and appropriate the choicest things in the castle!
Near the head of the bed, Don Marcelo saw lying upon a book of devotions
forgotten by his wife, a medallion containing another photograph. It did
not belong to his family, and the Count, following the direction of his
eyes, wished to show it to him. The hands of this son of Mars trembled.
. . . His disdainful haughtiness had suddenly disappeared. An official
of the Hussars of Death was smiling from the case; his sharp profile
with a beak curved like a bird of prey, was surmounted by a cap adorned
with skull and cross-bones.
"My best friend," said the Count in tremulous tones. "The being that I
love most in all the world. . . . And to think that at this moment he
may be fighting, and they may kill him! .
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