“It will not take long, I fear. I met him in ’48 at Vienna, in the Prater, where I was walking with my husband, who had come to Vienna for his health. I chanced to let fall my reticule when Sir Anthony was passing us, and he picked it up, speaking the most execrable German.” She smiled a little at the remembrance. “ Mr. Fanshawe, who had the greatest dislike for all foreigners, was overjoyed to hear the English accent. He induced Sir Anthony to continue his walk with us, and afterwards he called at our lodgings. I think he, too, was glad to meet a fellow-countryman, for he came often, and once when I had been talking with him for some time he let fall⁠—what shall I say?⁠—his reserve⁠—his guard⁠—and told me that he had scarcely spoken his own language for four years. Afterwards he seemed to regret having said even that much, and turned the subject.” She paused and looked up to see if her auditor was interested.

“Yes, yes?” urged Richard. “And then?”