"You count _mesalliances_ among such?" Guy asked, at length. "Yes, you
are right; but I know a case where 'a man's being balked in his
intention to degrade himself' ruined him for life. Ralph Mohun told me
of it. It was a nine-days' wonder in Vienna soon after he joined the
Imperial Cuirassiers. A Bohemian count flourished there then--a great
favorite with every one, for he was frank and generous, like most boys
well-born and of great possessions, who have only seen things in general
on the sunny side. While down at his castle for the shooting, he fell in
love with the daughter of one of his foresters. The man was a dull,
brutal cur, and, when drunk, especially savage. His daughter was rarely
beautiful; at all events, the count, a good judge, thought her peerless.
"He meant fairly by the girl from the first, and promised her marriage,
actually intending to keep his word. Still there were arrangements to be
made before he could introduce such a novel element into blood that for
centuries had been pure as the _sangue azzura_. He went up to Vienna for
that purpose, leaving his design a profound secret to all his
dependents. If these thought about it at all, they probably believed
their master's intentions to be--like Dick Harcourt's toward the Irish
lady--'strictly dishonorable.
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