"Sweeter also than the honey and the honeycomb," he murmured. "A letter from dreamland, Rudolf! Tell me, Rudolf, do waiters dream?"
The man laughed.
"Not often, Excellency. They are too busy by day. Once I dreamed that I was appointed headwaiter at the Concordia."
"Ah! you are ambitious, Rudolf. My dreams are less exalted. I only dreamed that a certain gnadiges fräulein did more than 'almost' love me; that she even cared for me 'more than the others.' It was not a bad dream, Rudolf," he added, casting his eyes over the missive, "and the letter is not a bad awakening."
"You have read it, Excellency?"
"Yes, it is short and sweet. 'Meet me at the confectioner's at the corner of the Königstrasse and the Etizabethstrasse at eleven.' That is all, but the imagination riots at the choice of rendezvous. A sensuous woman would have chosen a restaurant, an extravagant one a milliner's. Only a sweet one could have thought of a pastrycook's."
"I wish your Excellency joy."
"Thank you, Rudolf; my small change is reposing on the edge of the mantelpiece; kindly select a five-krone piece and drink to my good fortune."
At eleven o'clock Trafford was waiting outside a big corner shop, whose ample windows revealed an alluring wealth of edible magnificence. Hardly had the church clock finished striking when a young woman drew near. The combination of blue veil and Russian sables was one Trafford had seen before, and being in uniform he saluted.
"Come inside," said Gloria.