“Why should I be?” said the lady, in a manner which would have made Vivian imagine that his presence was as disagreeable to her as that of Count von Sohnspeer, had not the lady herself invited his company.
“I suppose the scene is very brilliant,” continued the Baroness, after a few moments’ silence. “At least all here seem to think so, except two persons.”
“And who are they?” asked Vivian.
“Myself and—the Crown Prince. I am almost sorry that I did not dance with him. There seems a wonderful similarity in our dispositions.”
“You are pleased to be severe to-night.”
“And who shall complain when the first person that I satirize is myself?”
“It is most considerate in you,” said Vivian, “to undertake such an office; for it is one which you yourself are alone capable of fulfilling. The only person that can ever satirize your Excellency is yourself; and I think even then that, in spite of your candour, your self-examination must please us with a self-panegyric.”
“Nay, a truce to compliments: at least let me hear better things from you. I cannot any longer endure the glare of these lamps and dresses! your arm! Let us walk for a few minutes in the more retired and cooler parts of the gardens.”
The Baroness and Vivian left the amphitheatre by a different path to that by which the Grand Duke and Madame Carolina had quitted it. They found the walks quite solitary; for the royal party, which was small, contained the only persons who had yet left the stage.
Vivian and his companions strolled about for some time, conversing on subjects of casual interest. The Baroness, though no longer absent, either in her manner or her conversation, seemed depressed; and Vivian, while he flattered himself that he was more entertaining than usual, felt, to his mortification, that the lady was not entertained.