He looked arch. "Come, come, isn't Colonel Audley with the Great Man?"
"My brother-in-law! Yes, certainly he is in Vienna, but I assure you he doesn't tell me any secrets. We don't even know when we may expect to see him here."
He was disappointed, for news, titbits of scandal, interesting confidences whispered behind sheltering hands, were the breath of life to him. However, since there was nothing to be learned from his hostess, he had to content himself with settling down to what he called a comfortable prose with her. He had already told her, upon his first coming into her salon, of a singular occurrence, but he could not resist adverting to it again: it was so very remarkable. Sir Peregrine had not been present when he had first related the circumstance, so he nodded to him and said: "You will have heard of the new arrivals, I daresay. I was telling your good sister about them."
"The King?" said Peregrine. "The French King, I mean? Is he really coming to Brussels? I did hear a rumour, but someone said it was no such thing."
"Oh, the King!" Mr Creevey waved his Sacred Majesty aside with one plump hand. "I was not referring to him - though I have reason to believe he will remain in Ghent for the present. Paltry fellow, ain't he? No, no something a little more singular - or so it seemed to me. Three of Boney's old Marshals, no less! I had the good fortune to see them all arrive, not ten days ago. There was Marmont, who went to the Hotel d'Angleterre; Berthier, to the Duc d'Aremberg's; and Victor - now where do you suppose? Why, to the Hotel Wellington, of all places in the world!"
"How ironic!" remarked Worth, who had come back into the room from seeing his other guests off. "Is it true, or just one of your stories, Creevey?"
"No, no, I promise you it's quite true! I knew you would enjoy the joke."
Lady Worth, who had accorded the tale at this second hearing no more than a polite smile, said in a reflective tone: "It is certainly very odd to think of Marmont in particular being in the English camp."
"The Allied camp, my love," corrected the Earl, with a sardonic smile.
"Well, yes," she admitted, "but you know I can't bring myself to believe that the Dutch-Belgian troops count for much, while as for the Prussians, the only one I have laid eyes on is General Roder, and - well -!" She made an expressive gesture. "He is always so stiff, and takes such stupid offence at trifles, that it puts me out of all patience with him."