And so the General gave a dinner, and his only guests were the old Count and his protégé.
"Now that I've got my foot under the table," thought George, "the foundation stone is laid."
And indeed it was; it was laid with great solemnity by the General and his wife.
The young man had come and gone and, as the General well knew, had spoken like a member of good society and been most interesting; the General had even found himself repeating his "Charmant!" many times. The General's wife spoke of her dinner, spoke of it to one of the highest and most important of the court ladies, and the latter asked for an invitation for herself the next time the Professor should come. So, of course, he had to be invited again. And invited he was, and came, and again he was "Charmant." He could even play chess!
"He doesn't come from the cellar," said the General. "Most certainly he is some scion of nobility; there are many such, and it isn't any fault of his!"
The Professor could enter the King's house, so he could very well enter the General's; but as for taking root there - there was no talk of that - except by the whole town!
He did take root, and he grew. The dew of grace had fallen from above.
So no one was surprised that, when the Professor became State Councilor, Emilie became Madame State Councilor.
"Life is either tragedy or comedy," said the General. "In a tragedy people die; in a comedy they win each other."
And here they won each other. And they had three sturdy sons, though not all at once.
Whenever the sweet children came to see Grandfather or Grandmother, they galloped on sticks through rooms and halls. And the General rode on a stick behind them - "As a groom for the little State Councilors!" The General's wife sat on a sofa and smiled, even if she did have one of her bad headaches.
That's how far George got on in the world, and he got much farther, too; or else it wouldn't have been worth my while to tell you the story of "The Porter's Son."