Karl took a son with him into exile. Suppose one or the other of them
should reappear, stir up strife and incite rebellion--?"

"Such speculations are quite idle," commented Chauvenet. "There is no
doubt whatever that Karl is dead, or we should hear of him."

"Of course," said the German. "If he were not, the death of the old
Emperor would have brought him to life again."

"The same applies to the boy he carried away with him--undoubtedly
dead--or we should hear of him. Karl disappeared soon after his son
Francis was born. It was said--"

"A pretty tale it is!" commented the German--"that the child wasn't
exactly Karl's own. He took it quite hard--went away to hide his shame in
exile, taking his son Frederick Augustus with him."

"He was surely mad," remarked Chauvenet, sipping a cordial. "He is much
better dead and out of the way for the good of Austria. Francis, as I
say, is a good fellow. We have hunted together, and I know him well."

They fell to talking about the lost sons of royal houses--and a goodly
number there have been, even in these later centuries--and then of the
latest marriages between American women and titled foreigners. Chauvenet
was now leading the conversation; it might even have seemed to a critical
listener that he was guiding it with a certain intention.

He laughed as though at the remembrance of something amusing, and held
the little company while he bent over a candle to light a cigar.