"Nullum vinum," cried Herr von Reischach, stretching out his hand, and shaking his head, "nisi Hungaricum!" he added in a lower tone, bowing to the Princess Obrenowitsch, who thanked him by a slight smile for the compliment paid her in her native tongue.
Other guests arrived, the circle of ladies increased, and Count Clam Gallas and Baron Reischach withdrew, still conversing, into the outer salon.
Here groups of ladies and gentlemen were talking with much animation; the younger people busy about their own affairs, the elder ladies watching the proceedings of their daughters, and the gentlemen casting searching glances at the different members of the corps diplomatique, who now exchanged a hasty word, now lingered in earnest conversation.
In the middle of the room, beneath the brilliant chandelier, stood the French ambassador, the Duke de Gramont, a tall man, with a faultless figure and military bearing, with the white star of the Legion of Honour upon his black coat, and the broad red ribbon across his breast. Short black whiskers framed his long, well-chiselled face, of the type of the old French aristocracy, combining amiable friendliness with dignified reserve. His small, beautifully-shaped mouth was slightly shaded by a moustache, the points of which were turned upwards; his brow was high and broad, but gently rounded rather than boldly arched; in his dark eyes shone the careless indifference which is always the heritage of the old French noblesse, and which in so many phases of their history has caused them to treat the gravest and most important subjects with a lightness and frivolity difficult to understand. The arrangement of his abundant dark hair gave him a still greater resemblance to one of those old grand seigneurs who, in the palmy days of the monarchy, surrounded by pomp and stiff park alleys, led their careless, graceful lives so easily.
The duke was standing for a moment alone, examining those around, when he was joined by a gentleman of middle age, who, far from possessing the French ambassador's careless and distinguished repose, was chiefly remarkable for the rapid changes of expression seen on his thin, strongly-marked face. He wore whiskers, and his light hair was cut and arranged in the way peculiar to the North German soldier. He was shorter than the duke, his movements were animated, his dress of faultless simplicity, and across his breast he wore the white and orange ribbon of the Prussian order of the Red Eagle.
Herr von Werther, the Prussian ambassador, greeted the duke with much courtesy, but not with the cordiality which expresses personal friendship.
"At last, duke," said Herr von Werther, in French, "I am able to wish you good evening. How is the duchess? I do not see her."
"She has a bad cold," replied the ambassador. "And Madame von Werther, she, too, has to remain in the house from this influenza?"
"She is very unwell, and I should not have come out myself," said Herr von Werther, with a smile, "if it were not our duty to collect news."
"And have you succeeded?" asked the duke.