“Ah, yes,” replied the Countess, “but it is gloomy and dull—ugh!” and, shrugging her shoulders, she pulled a little grimace. “I prefer Berlin—or even London.”
“You say even London, Countess,” exclaimed Paul. “I quite agree. London is triste after Vienna or St Petersburg. Is his Excellency with you this evening?”
“No. My husband is—oh, so busy. We only returned from Lord Maybury’s this morning, and dispatches accumulate so fast in his absence.”
“He has received another decoration from the Emperor, I hear,” Verblioudovitch observed.
“Yes, the Iron Cross,” replied the Countess, looking at him sharply. Then she added quickly,—
“But who told you? He only received His Majesty’s intimation three days ago, and I thought for the present it was a profound secret.”
Upon Paul’s face there spread that imperturbable smile that he could assume at will, as he answered,—
“It is the object of a diplomatist to ascertain the nature of all secrets.”
The Countess gave vent to a forced laugh as she exclaimed, “My husband, I think, fully deserved the honour.”
“Certainly, madame,” replied the Tzar’s official, courteously, his hands clasped behind his back. “The completion of the secret convention with England was, I admit, a master-stroke, and even though directed against us, the rapidity and cleverness with which it was effected were worthy of reward.” And he smiled at her mysteriously.