There was to be a diplomatic dinner given at the British Legation, at which the Prussian, Austrian and Russian ministers, with the higher officers of their suites, were to be present.
Valerie, living her recluse life in the city, did not know the names of one of these ministers, nor, in the apathy of her grief, did she care to inquire.
On the evening appointed for the entertainment, she went to the hotel of the British Legation, escorted by her husband.
Dressed in her rich and elegant mourning of jet on crape, glimmering light on blackest darkness, and looking herself paler and fairer by its contrast, she entered the grand drawing-room, leaning on the arm of her husband. She heard their names announced:
"The Duke and Duchess of Hereward."
Then she found herself in a room sparsely occupied by a very brilliant company, and stood—not, as she had expected to stand, among strangers—but in the midst of her own familiar friends, whom she had known in her girlhood at the court of St. Petersburg, or met, in her womanhood, in the drawing-rooms of London.
It was while she was still leaning on her husband's arm and receiving the courteous salutations of her old friends, that their host, Lord C—n, approached with a gentleman.
Valerie looked up and saw standing before her the young husband of her girlish love!