“My God!” said the Princess, with an expression of horror, “how know you that, count?”

“My most gracious Princess, I have a magician in my service, who acquaints me with everything that happens here at court and, above all things, in the palace of the Queen of Bohemia, and first of all in the apartments of the Princess Ludovicka Hollandine.”

“And the name of this magician is?”

“Ducato, sweetest Princess, Ducato.  Ah! if you knew what dear, precious secrets this magician has imparted to me, how loquaciously he blabs out to me everything that the fairest Princess in the world thinks and does by day and by night!  I know, for example, how the lovely Princess stays with her mother with ever so much seriousness, goes with her to church, visits respectfully the Stadtholder of Holland, and fondles and pets the little Princess Louise; how she carries on her studies, plays the lute, paints and sings.  But, God be thanked! life consists not entirely of days, but happily has its nights likewise.”

“What do you mean by that, Sir Count d’Entragues?”

“I mean,” replied the Count, while he smilingly bent over closer to the Princess—­“I mean that here at The Hague there is a wonderful, charming combination of young gentlemen and noble young ladies, who have laid themselves out expressly to embellish these nights, and to indemnify themselves for their somber, gloomy days by joyous, merry nights.  It is a secret order, into which it is a distinguished honor to be received, and which is shrouded in deepest secrecy.  Never would a lady own that she belongs to it, and yet they say that the fairest, most exalted, most virtuous ladies press to be received into this order.  It is not known of any of the ladies of the court that they belong to it, but it is suspected of each.  No one can say that he has seen this or that one among the noble and virtuous ladies there, for at all the reunions of the members of the order the ladies wear small half-masks, and it is the first and most sacred law of the order that no man dares to lay so much as a finger upon this mask—­this precious secret of the ladies.  Moreover, they appear only in Grecian robes, so that it is difficult to recognize the beautiful forms of the ladies again in their elaborate court dresses and with their stiff Fontanges.  The name of this secret society is Media Nocte, and it is especially an honor to belong to it, for nobody is admitted who has not stood his probation—­that is to say, shown that he has acquired considerable proficiency in some art, and excels in it.  He, therefore, who can not sing or play on the lute, paint or improvise, speak eloquently, or by some gift contribute to the enjoyment of the company, can never arrive at the distinction of becoming a member of this order.  When, therefore, it is whispered of a gentleman that he belongs to the order, he is supposed to be not merely an accomplished gentleman, but an entertaining companion, a favorite