"On my left; look at the hands."
Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger. Its owner's face was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which adorned the face of the unknown. Amy shook her head decidedly.
"I hate light men, and don't think that is the baron, for the gloves are a size too small for those hands. Lean back and look some four or five seats lower down on the right. See what sort of person the dark man with the fine eyes is."
Helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate again, smiling in spite of herself.
"That is an Englishman; he stares rudely, says 'By Jove!' and wears no jewelry or beard."
"Now, I'm disappointed. Well, keep on the watch, and tell me if you make any discoveries, for I will find the baron."
Being hungry, Amy devoted herself to her dinner, till dessert was on the table. She was languidly eating grapes, while Helen talked with the major, when the word "baron" caught her ear. The speakers sat at a table behind her, so that she could not see them without turning quite round, which was impossible; but she listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat:—
"Is the baron going on to-morrow?" asked a gay voice in French.
"Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigismund," answered a rough voice.
"Won't his father pardon the last escapade?" asked a third, with a laugh.