They had reached the edge of the ballroom.  He hesitated.

“Do you care to dance or shall we go outside and talk?”

She smiled at him.  “Both, may we not?  You dear, discreet person, when I think of the strange places where I have danced with you—­Perhaps it is better not to remember!”

They moved away to the music and later on found their way into the garden.  The Comtesse was a little thoughtful.

“You are a great friend of Anna’s, are you not?” she enquired.

“We are engaged to be married,” he answered simply.

She made a little grimace.

“Ah!” she sighed, “you nice men, it comes to you all.  You amuse yourselves with us for a time, and then the real feeling comes, and where are we?  But it is queer, too,” she went on thoughtfully, “that Anna should marry an Englishman, especially just now.”

“Why ’especially just now’?”

The Comtesse evaded the question.

“Anna seemed always,” she said, “to prefer the men of her own country.  Oh, what music!  Shall we have one turn more, Mr. Francis Norgate?  It is the waltz they played—­but who could expect a man to remember!”

They plunged again into the crowd of dancers.  The Comtesse was breathless yet exhilarated when at last they emerged.

“But you dance, as ever, wonderfully!” she cried.  “You make me think of those days in Paris.  You make me even sad.”

“They remain,” he assured her, “one of the most pleasant memories of my life.”

She patted his hand affectionately.  Then her tone changed.

“Almost,” she declared, “you have driven all other things out of my mind.  What is it that Anna is so anxious to know from me?  You are in her confidence, she tells me.”

“Entirely.”

“That again is strange,” the Comtesse continued, “when one considers your nationality, yet Anna herself has assured me of it.  Do you know that she is a person whom I very much envy?  Her life is so full of variety.  She is the special protegee of the Emperor.  No woman at Vienna is more trusted.”

“I am not sure,” Norgate observed, “that she was altogether satisfied with the results of her visit to Rome.”

The Comtesse’s fan fluttered slowly back and forth.  She looked for a moment or two idly upon the brilliant scene.  The smooth garden paths, the sheltered seats, the lawns themselves, were crowded with little throngs of women in exquisite toilettes, men in uniform and Court dress.  There were well-known faces everywhere.  It was the crowning triumph of a wonderful London season.

“Anna’s was a very difficult mission,” the Comtesse pointed out confidentially.  “There is really no secret about these matters.  The whole world knows of Italy’s position.  A few months ago, at the time of what you call the Balkan Crisis, Germany pressed us very hard for a definite assurance of our support, under any conditions, of the Triple Alliance.  I remember that Andrea was three hours with the King that day, and our reply was unacceptable in Berlin.  It may have helped to keep the peace.  One cannot tell.  The Kaiser’s present letter is simply a repetition of his feverish attempt to probe our intentions.”