The Duchess of Yemena was waiting, her train also thrown over her arm, with the two marchionesses her stepdaughters, whom she was about to present to the empress, when she saw Dutri, bowing, apologizing, twisting through the expectant ladies, to make way for himself through the crowded room:
"Dutri," she beckoned, as he did not seem to perceive her.
He reached her after some difficulty, bowed, paid his compliments to the little marchionesses. They stood with stiff little faces, frightened, round eyes and tight-closed mouths; and the lines of their girlish figures displayed the shyness of novices. With an awkward grace, they kept arranging their heavy court-trains over their arms. They just smiled at Dutri's words; then they looked stiff again, compared the other ladies' dresses with their own.
"Dutri," whispered the duchess, "how is the prince?"
"Just the same," the equerry whispered in reply. "Terribly melancholy...."
"Dutri," she murmured, sinking her voice still lower, "would there be no chance for me to see him?"
Dutri started in dismay:
"How do you mean, Alexa? When?"
"Presently, after the drawing-room...."
"But that is impossible, Alexa! The prince sees no one but their majesties and the princess; he talks to nobody, not even to his chamberlains, not even to us...."