one, what just thing he wants out of it,
and what an enormous wigged mendacity it is he has got to deal with. For
the rest, he is at the gaming-table with these sharpers; their dice all
cogged;--and he knows it, and ought to profit by his knowledge of it.
And in short, to win his stake out of that foul weltering mellay, and go
home safe with it if he can."

Very well, my friend! Let us keep to windward of the Diplomatic
wizard's-caldron; let Hyndford, Valori and Company preside over it,
throwing in their eye of newt and limb of toad, as occasion may be.
Enough, if the reader can be brought to conceive it; and how the young
King,--who perhaps alone had real business in this foul element, and
did not volunteer into it like the others, though it now unexpectedly
envelops him like a world-whirlwind (frightful enough, if one spoke of
that to anybody), is struggling with his whole soul to get well out of
it. As supremely adroit, all readers already know him; his appearance
what we called starlike,--always something definite, fixed and lucid in
it.

He is dexterously holding aloof from Hyndford at present, clinging to
French Valori as his chosen companion: we may fancy what a time he has
of it, like a polygamist amid jealous wives. It will quicken Hyndford,
he perceives, in these ulterior stages, to leave him well alone.
Hyndford accordingly, as we have noticed, could not see the King at all;
had to try every plan, to watch, waylay the King for a bit of interview,
when indispensable. However, Hyndford, with his Neipperg in sight of
the peril, manages better than Robinson with his Aulic Council at a
distance: besides he is a long-headed dogged kind of man, with a surly
edacious strength, not inexpert in negotiation, nor easily turned aside
from any purpose he may have.

Between the two Camps, nearly midway, lies a Hamlet called
Klein-Schnellendorf, LITTLE Schnellendorf, to distinguish it
from another Schnellendorf called GREAT, which is a mile or two
northwestward, out of the straight line. Not far from the first of
these poor Hamlets lies a Schloss or noble Mansion, likewise called
Klein-Schnellendorf, belonging to a certain Count von Sternberg, who is
not there at present, but whose servants are, and a party of Croats over
them for some days back: a pleasant airy Mansion among pleasant gardens,
well shut out from the intrusion of the world. Upon this Castle of
Klein-Schnellendorf judicious Hyndford has cast his eye:--and N