The duke, however, never tried needlessly to embarrass him. He
admired Carmichael's mental agility. Never he thrust so keenly that the
American was found lacking in an effective though simple parry.
"Your highness must recollect that I am not familiar with that tongue."
"Pardon me, Herr Captain!"
But there was always a twinkle in the ducal eye and an answering smile
in the consul's.
The somber black of Carmichael's evening dress stood out conspicuously
among the blue and green and red uniforms. Etiquette compelled him to
wear silk stockings, but that was the single concession on his part. He
wore no orders. An order of the third or fourth class held no
allurement. Nothing less than the Golden Fleece would have interested
him, and the grand duke himself could not boast of this rare and
distinguished order. In truth, Carmichael coveted nothing but a medal
for valor, and his own country had not yet come to recognize the
usefulness of such a distinction.
All round him sat ministers or ambassadors; he alone represented a
consulate. So his place at the table was honorary rather than
diplomatic. It was his lively humorous personality the grand duke
admired, not his representations.
The duke sat at the head of the table and her serene highness at the
foot; and it was by the force of his brilliant wit that the princess did
not hold in perpetuity the court at her end of the table.
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