fully. He wished not to credit the opinion,
but knew not how to refute it, and was silent.

"That is the 'Franz Carl,' Dalton," said Walstein, pointing to a column
of infantry, who, in their dark gray overcoats, seemed a sad-looking,
gloomy mass. "They've got the best band and the most savage colonel in
the service."

Frank gazed at the regiment with a strange sensation of awe and fear.

"There lies my destiny!" thought he. "Who knows what friendships or
enmities await me yonder? What hearts in that dark mass will beat
responsively with my own; what sources of sorrow or affliction may I
meet with amongst them!"

"I wish thou hadst a better regiment, Dalton," said Walstein.

"How a better? Is it not a brave and distinguished corps?"

"Brave enough," said the other, laughing; "and as for distinction, an
Archduke owns and commands it. But that is not what I mean. The regiment
is a poor one; the officers are from Upper Austria, with little or
no fortune, fellows who dine for a zwanziger, play dominos for two
kreutzers, waltz at the wine-gardens, and fight duels with sabres."

Frank laughed at the description; but his laugh had more of gloom
than mirth about it, for he felt at every moment the false position
be occupied, and how inextricably complicated his circumstances were
becoming. Every allusion to others showed him in what light he was
himself regarded. "Was his deception honorable? was it possible to
continue it?" were the questions that would obtrude upon him, and for
which no ingenuity could find answer.

"There 's the corps for you, Dalton," said Walstein, drawing his
attention to the "Hungarian Guard," all glittering with gold embroidery,
and mounted upon the most beautiful white chargers, at once the most
perfect riders and the best mounted cavalry in Europe. "In that regiment
you are certain of being quartered either here or in Prague. Those laced
jackets are too costly wear to send down to the Banat, or among the
wilds of Wallachia. Besides, the Empress likes to see these gaudy
fellows on their 'schimmels' beneath the Palace windows. Your uncle
will, of course, grumble a little about the cost. Perhaps your father,
too, will look a little grave when he hears of six thousand florins for
a 'dolman,' and four for a 'schabrach;' while ten or twelve horses the
very least you could keep would scarcely sound like a moderate stable.
Still, depend upon it, the corps is as good for service as it is costly,
and Cr