"It seems there's some sort of a dance here, to-night."
"Only a state ball," said the trooper sarcastically, "for the royalties of Europe, the Embassies, and all the dignitaries of the Empire—most of them took the trouble to change their clothes."
They stood within the great Ionic portico, lighted with flaring torches, occupied by the Yeoman of the Guard in their ancient scarlet livery, bearing halbards. By the door stood clusters of gorgeous officers, and within one could see walls of translucent alabaster, clusters of malachite columns, a vast perspective melting into haze of golden light.
"Princes and dignitaries," said the master, thoughtfully. "I wonder how many of them will be alive next month."
"Is it so bad?" asked Sydney.
"Unless you can get me the Russian papers."
"This afternoon," answered Sydney, "Her Majesty gave me the order."
"Use it to-night."
"I can't leave the palace."
"These fripperies are more important!" Brand turned away from him in angry impatience. "I can wait no longer. Take me," he said, "to the Queen."