"No. No relation at all."
"Intimate friend?"
"Intimate . . . yes. There is between us an intimate connection of a
nature which makes it a point of honour with me to try . . ."
The minister rang a bell without waiting for the end of the phrase.
When the servant had gone out, after bringing in a pair of heavy silver
candelabra for the writing-desk, the Duke of Otranto rose, his breast
glistening all over with gold in the strong light, and taking a piece of
paper out of a drawer, held it in his hand ostentatiously while he said
with persuasive gentleness: "You must not speak of breaking your sword
across your knee, General. Perhaps you would never get another. The
Emperor will not return this time. . . . Diable d'homme! There was just
a moment, here in Paris, soon after Waterloo, when he frightened me.
It looked as though he were ready to begin all over again. Luckily one
never does begin all over again, really. You must not think of breaking
your sword, General."
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