He turned round and recognized, under a vast shady hat, the broad, dark face of the Baroness Wolnitzka. Though the day was splendidly fine she had on that most undressed of garments, originally meant as a protection against rain but subsequently adopted to conceal every conceivable defect of costume, and long since known to the mocking youth of Paris as a "cache-misère,' or--to render it freely--a slut-cover; and, though the pavement was perfectly dry, under this waterproof she held up the gown it hid, so high that her wide feet, in their untidy boots with elastic sides, were plainly displayed.
"Ah, baroness!" he said lifting his hat, "I really did not ..."
"No, you did not recognize me," she said calmly, "that was why I spoke to you. What luck! But you are in the embassy too?"
"Certainly."
"That is the very thing--I have a request to make then. My daughter is most anxious to have an audience of His Holiness. Slawa, you must know, is a fervent Catholic, though, between you and me, it is a mere matter of fashion. Now I, for my part, take a philosophical view of religious matters. At the same time I should be very much interested in seeing the Pope...."
"But the Pope is unfortunately more inaccessible than ever," said Siegburg, "besides, as I do not belong to the Papal Embassy I cannot, I regret to say, give you the smallest assistance."
"That is what my nephew says--it is disastrous, positively disastrous," At this moment Slawa joined them, emerging from Piale's library, in an eccentric directoire costume, with a peaked hat and feather, and a pair of gloves, no longer clean, drawn far up over her elbows.
"Ah, good morning," said she, offering the count her finger tips while Matuschowsky, who was in attendance, sulkily bowed.
By this time Siegburg, hemmed in on all sides, began to think the situation unpleasant.
"It is so delightful to meet with a fellow-countryman in a foreign land...." Slawa began.