“The sovereigns? I do not speak of Russia,” said the vicomte, polite but hopeless: “The sovereigns, madame⁠ ⁠… What have they done for Louis XVII , for the Queen, or for Madame Elizabeth? Nothing!” and he became more animated. “And believe me, they are reaping the reward of their betrayal of the Bourbon cause. The sovereigns! Why, they are sending ambassadors to compliment the usurper.”

And sighing disdainfully, he again changed his position.

Prince Ippolit, who had been gazing at the vicomte for some time through his lorgnette, suddenly turned completely round toward the little princess, and having asked for a needle began tracing the Condé coat of arms on the table. He explained this to her with as much gravity as if she had asked him to do it.

“ Bâton de gueules, engrêlé de gueules d’azur⁠—maison Condé ,” said he.