“Happy is the country,” said the Marshal, “which is so far away that Europe can find no excuse to meddle with it.”
“And even then Europe would not dare,” Maurice replied, with impertinence aforethought.
“That is not a diplomatic speech.”
“It is true.”
“I like your frankness.”
“Let that go toward making amends for saving the dog.”
“Are all American diplomats so frank?” inquired the Marshal, with an air of feigned wonder.
“Indeed, no,” answered Maurice. “Just at present I am not in a diplomatic capacity; I need not look askance at truth. And there is no reason why we should not always be truthful.”
“You are wrong. It's truth's infrequency which makes her so charming and refreshing. However, I thank you for your services to her Highness; your services to her dog I shall try to forget.” And with this the Marshal moved away, shaking his head as if he had inadvertently stumbled on an intricate problem.
Not long after, Maurice was left to his own devices. He viewed the scene, silent and curious. Conversation was carried on in low tones, and laughter was infrequent and subdued. The women dressed without ostentation. There were no fair arms and necks. Indeed, these belong wholly to youth, and youth was not a factor at the archbishop's receptions. Most of the men were old and bald, and only the wives of the French and British ministers were pretty or young. How different from Vienna, where youth and beauty abound! There were no music, no long tables of refreshments, no sparkling wines, no smoking-room, good stories and better fellowship. There was an absence of the flash of jewels and color which make court life attractive.