o
old...."

And, as though brooding over this puzzle, the duchess stares at the lean
shoulders of Lady Danbury.

Xardi's eyes glitter; he expects a skirmish.

"They say that the marquis _used_ to be one of your intimates, don't
they?" the Englishwoman insinuates.

But that hateful "used to be" grates on Xardi's nerves.

"I am very fond of the Dazzaras," says the duchess; "but"--and she
laughs mysteriously and meaningly--"he was always an unlucky bird...."

"His excellency the Duke of Mena-Doni," the butler announces.

"The rising sun!" Xardi whispers to Lady Danbury.

Mena-Doni bows before the duchess, who smiles upon him. Lady Danbury,
standing by Xardi's side, continues:

"And the lucky bird?"

"Oh no!" says Xardi, with decision. "At least, not altogether...."

They look at each other and laugh:

"Imperial eagles are the finest birds, after all, don't you think?" says
Lady Danbury, jestingly.

"What do you know about it?"

"Alas, I am too unimportant to know anything! Before I get so far in my
zoological studies...."

"But what have you heard?"

"What everybody hears when Dutri can't hold his tongue."

"What about?"

"About a certain tender parting at Castel Vaza...."

The Marquis of Xardi bursts out laughing. Lady Danbury suddenly clutches
his arm:

"I say, Xardi, I know less slender people than the Marchioness of
Dazzara who would fall into a decline if they lost the imperial favour.
_Et toi?_"

The marquis laughs loudly and:

"Even the crown-princely favour," he whispers, behind Lady Danbury's
Watteau fan.

And they chuckle with laughter together.

"His imperial highness the Duke of Xara; their excellencies Count
Ducardi, Prince Dutri and the Marquis of Leoni!" are announced, slowly
and impressively.

There is a slight movement in the groups. The room divides into two
rows; a couple of ladies get entangled in their trains and laugh. Then
they all wait.

Othomar appears at the open door; Ducardi, Dutri and Leoni are behind
him. The old duke hastens towards the prince; the Marquis of Xardi
hurriedly thrusts Lady Danbury's fan into her hand and joins his father.

The old duke is a well-knit, elegant man, full of racial refinement,
with a clean-shaven face; he is dressed simply in evening-clothes, with
the broad green riband of a commander of the Imperial Orb slanting
across his breast and the grand cross of St. Ladislas round his neck.

Othomar wears his full-dress uniform as col