They were talking of me and of Lady S⁠⸺, and the Frenchman was comparing us as rival beauties. Though he said nothing insulting, his words made my pulse quicken. He explained in detail the good points of us both. I was already a mother, while Lady S⁠⸺ was only nineteen; though I had the advantage in hair, my rival had a better figure. “Besides,” he added, “Lady S⁠⸺ is a real grande dame, and the other is nothing in particular, only one of those obscure Russian princesses who turn up here nowadays in such numbers.” He ended by saying that I was wise in not attempting to compete with Lady S⁠⸺, and that I was completely buried as far as Baden was concerned.

“I am sorry for her⁠—unless indeed she takes a fancy to console herself with you,” he added with a hard ringing laugh.

“If she goes away, I follow her”⁠—the words were blurted out in an Italian accent.

“Happy man! he is still capable of a passion!” laughed the Frenchman.