“Three times this last week, madame.”
“Little fool!” said Annunciata. But she frowned, and sat tapping her teacup with her spoon. She was just a trifle afraid of Hedwig, and she was more anxious than she would have cared to acknowledge. “It is being talked about, of course?”
The Countess shrugged her shoulders.
“Don’t do that!” commanded the Archduchess sharply. “How far do you think the thing has gone?”
“He is quite mad about her.”
“And Hedwig—but she is silly enough for anything. Do they meet anywhere else?”
“At the riding-school, I believe. At least, I—”
Here a maid entered and stood waiting at the end of the screen. The Archduchess Annunciata would have none of the palace flunkies about her when she could help it. She had had enough of men, she maintained, in the person of her late husband, whom she had detested. So except at dinner she was attended by tidy little maids, in gray Quaker costumes, who could carry tea-trays into her crowded boudoir without breaking things.
“His Excellency, General Mettlich,” said the maid.
The Archduchess nodded her august head, and the maid retired. “Go away, Olga,” said the Archduchess. “And you might,” she suggested grimly, “gargle your throat.”