‘An excellent man, I can assure you,’ returned Otto.
‘O, never! O, is it possible!’ fluted the lady. ‘Your Highness plays like an angel.’
‘You must be right, madam; who could speak falsely and yet look so charming?’ said the Prince. ‘But this gentleman, it seems, would have preferred me playing like an actor.’
A sort of hum, a falsetto, feminine cooing, greeted the tiny sally; and Otto expanded like a peacock. This warm atmosphere of women and flattery and idle chatter pleased him to the marrow.
‘Madame von Eisenthal, your coiffure is delicious,’ he remarked.
‘Every one was saying so,’ said one.
‘If I have pleased Prince Charming?’ And Madame von Eisenthal swept him a deep curtsy with a killing glance of adoration.
‘It is new?’ he asked. ‘Vienna fashion.’
‘Mint new,’ replied the lady, ‘for your Highness’s return. I felt young this morning; it was a premonition. But why, Prince, do you ever leave us?’
‘For the pleasure of the return,’ said Otto. ‘I am like a dog; I must bury my bone, and then come back to great upon it.’