Both gentlemen bowed; but one, the count, quivered from head to foot in the presence of his unconscious but successful rival.
"By the way, Count," said the duke, pleasantly, "the duchess, when Mademoiselle de la Motte, passed a year at the court of St. Petersburg with her parents. It is a wonder that you have not met before. Although, indeed, you may have done so," he added, as with an after-thought.
"We have met before," replied the Count de Volaski, in a low and measured tone.
"Of course! Of course! You are quite old friends," said the duke, gayly.
Fortunately, then a diversion was made. The heavy, purple satin curtains vailing the arch between the drawing-rooms and dining saloon were drawn aside by invisible hands, and a very dignified and officer-looking personage, in a powdered wig, clerical black suit, and gold chain, appeared, and with a low bow and with low tones, said:
"My lord and lady are served."
"Count, will you take the duchess in to dinner?—Duke, Lady C. will thank you for your arm," said the host, as, with a nod and a smile, he moved off in search of that particular ambassadress whom custom, or etiquette, or policy, required him to escort to the dining-room.
The Duke of Hereward with a polite wave of the hand, left his duchess in the charge of her appointed attendant, and went to meet Lady C., who was advancing toward him.
Count Volaski bowed, and silently offered his arm to the young duchess.
She did not take it; she could not; she stood as one paralyzed.