“Go now,” he urged. “This is just the season; plenty of snow, and skating and sledging and suchlike sports that delight us in the North.”
We both laughed in chorus, while the representative of the White Tzar, dismissing us into the ballroom with a low bow, turned to greet the tall, full-bearded representative of his Imperial master’s ally, the French Republic. In the corridor there was bustle everywhere. Gaily-uniformed servants hurried here and there, young attachés, their breasts decorated with crosses and ribbons of every combination of colour, lounged along with pretty women on their arms, while older diplomats of every shade of complexion from white to black, exchanged greetings as they met.
From the gay cosmopolitan throng in the ballroom rose the mingled odour of a thousand perfumes with the chatter of laughing women, and ere we had entered, Paul Verblioudovitch, erect, spruce and smart in his pale-blue uniform, and wearing many decorations, elbowed his way through the crush towards us.
We had not met since the wedding reception at Pont Street, and as we strolled through the brightly-lit salons, Ella, radiant and enthusiastic, began telling him of our idle days and explorations in the old-world French towns.
“Permit me, madame, to congratulate you,” he exclaimed presently.
“Upon what?” asked Ella, in surprise.
“Upon being the prettiest woman it has ever been our honour to entertain here upon this small square of territory belonging to our Imperial Master,” he said, bowing and smiling with that inborn finesse which was one of his chief characteristics.
“Ah, you diplomatists always flatter,” she laughed lightly behind her fan. “Is it really wise of you to make a woman vain?” she asked, inclining her head slightly.
I felt compelled to admit that Paul had spoken the truth, for as we passed along I had not failed to notice that Ella’s beauty was everywhere remarked. Her gown of cream satin, a trifle décolleté, with the corsage thickly embroidered with pearls and edged with flowers, suited her admirably, and the instant consciousness of success in that brilliant circle of society unfamiliar to her heightened the colour of her cheeks and added lustre to her eyes.
“The majority of the women who honour us with their presence on these occasions are vain enough,” my friend admitted, adding in a low voice, “even though some of them are absolute hags.”