because she had sketched him for herself, and rather wished, the more she
heard of his genius, to keep him repulsive. It appeared that his bravery
was as well proved as his genius, and a brilliant instance of it had been
given in the city not long since. He had her ideas, and he won
multitudes with them: he was a talker, a writer, and an orator; and he
was learned, while she could not pretend either to learning or to a flow
of rhetoric. She could prattle deliciously, at times pointedly, relying
on her intuition to tell her more than we get from books, and on her
sweet impudence for a richer original strain. She began to appreciate
now a reputation for profound acquirements. Learned professors of
jurisprudence and history were as enthusiastic for Alvan in their way as
Count Kollin. She heard things related of Alvan by the underbreath.
That circle below her own, the literary and artistic, idolized him; his
talk, his classic breakfasts and suppers, his undisguised ambition, his
indomitable energy, his dauntlessness and sway over her sex, were
subjects of eulogy all round her; and she heard of an enamoured baroness.
No one blamed Alvan. He had shown his chivalrous valour in defending
her. The baroness was not a young woman, and she was a hardbound Blue.
She had been the first to discover the prodigy, and had pruned,
corrected, and published him; he was one of her political works,
promising to be the most successful. An old affair apparently; but the
association of a woman's name with Alvan's, albeit the name of a veteran,
roused the girl's curiosity, leading her to think his mental and magnetic
powers must be of the very highest, considering his physical
repulsiveness, for a woman of rank to yield him such extreme devotion.
She commissioned her princely serving-man, who had followed and was never
far away from her, to obtain precise intelligence of this notorious
Alvan.

Prince Marko did what he could to please her; he knew something of the