"Why she?"
"What? you do not know!" cries the Colonel in astonishment. "Her last admirer, the Polish prince with the unpronounceable name, has turned out to be a circus rider."
"The handsome blond with the mysterious political past."
"It seems to have been merely a politic silence," jokes the Colonel.
"Tiens, tiens!--how delightful--how delightful! But do you know it positively?" she asks with anxious excitement.
"Positively! Nicki Arenhain, two years ago in Madrid, saw him dressed in a green satin jacket and white tights springing through hoops--she identified him at once. Famous story, quite famous." The Colonel rubs his hands with satisfaction--the old Baroness knocks enthusiastically on the ground with her umbrella, like an animated amateur who applauds her favorite virtuoso.
"Excellent!" croaks she. "It serves her right, that Pancini, who permits herself to be as arrogant as a born lady. It serves her right, the soap-boiler's daughter."
"Pardon! her father was a pawn-broker--or was in some banking business--I really do not remember----"
"It is all the same--she will have to step down now. Bravo! Bravo!"
"I know something else, Baroness," says the Colonel proudly, and smiling slyly. "A decided bit of news, pour la bonne bouche!"