Alone at the large desk in his private study, the love-struck Irwin-Amadeus II daydreams about a possible future with the Lady Leonora Christina von Grandin, his head filled with visions of Christmases yet to come. Outside, the snow flies and arctic cold descends over the city of Krankenstadt.
When the Grand Duke manages to rein in his imagination and come back to earth for a moment, he makes copious notes on the "ideal" cavalry regiment. Swedish. Dragoons. Old school figures. Various Humbrol browns as undercoats. Thin oil glazes applied over top. Dark green coats, breeches, and saddlecloths. Humbrol again. British Rifle Green this time. Red facings and turnbacks. Gold lace for officers and yellow for the troopers. "This is terrific fun," Irwin-Amadeus II thinks to himself, "I should have been a military milliner!"
But his martial thoughts are interrupted once again by visions of the Lady Leonora Christina. Her blue eyes. Her pale, clear countenance. Her flaxen hair. Her pleasing figure and decolletage. And her laugh. . . Her laugh? That laugh. That great. . . loud. . . hyuk-hyuk-hyuking laugh. . . not unlike the call of a bull seal. "Oh. . . blast!" thinks the deflated Grand Duke, "I wonder if there is a way to retrieve the letter that went out in yesterday's post?"