“They say he dances beautifully.”
“Will he dance with the Principessa di Nerola?”
“Naturally. You know she is German, and a mediatised princess. That is why she is giving the ball and the Emperor is coming.”
“Are you engaged for the first waltz?”
“Yes, with De Goertz, of the Austrian Embassy.”
“Have you begun, then, with the foreigners?”
“Certainly; and you?”
“Oh, I am dancing with my cousin Roffredo.”
* * * * * * * *
Two old ladies are seated on a sofa of antique brocade in another of the rooms. Their age prohibits them from dancing. Their hair is white, their faces are furrowed with wrinkles, and their bodies bent with senility, so they seldom leave their patriarchal homes except on occasions of great state. They are the Princess of Anticoli and the Duchess of Sutri. Both are dressed in sumptuous dresses, trimmed with valuable lace; the most precious family jewels adorn their white hairs, giving them a certain majesty. Their necks, thin with age, wear scintillating diamond necklaces, and emeralds of old-fashioned style.