“Your Ladyship is severe,” I said.

“I meant to be—­though there are exceptions; the present Ambassador is one.  He ranks with the best of his fellows.”

“Now, that,” said I, “I have heard.”

She laughed.  “Come, monsieur, lay aside this affected ignorance and gossip a bit.  Is the American to marry the Princess Royal?”

“I thought you were insisting, a moment since, that he had a wife,” I observed.

“Oh, that’s of no consequence.  It will be very easy to divorce her.”

Here, doubtless, was the popular view of this matter; and it gave me the shudders.

Then the swing of a waltz came from the house.

“Shall we dance?” I said.

She smiled.  “Monsieur is bored—­let us wait for my friends.”

I protested; but she was firm.  And, so, when the others came up, Moore and I made our adieux.

When we were out of hearing, Moore handed me a bit of paper.

“This just reached me,’” he said.

It was from the Secret Police and read: 

“S. is at Vierle Masque.  She wears a gypsy dress of black and red.  L. is also at Masque—­he and Count Bigler are dressed alike in white satin.  L. came last and his presence is unknown to the Vierles for he avoided unmasking by personating Bigler.”

“So, they were the White Twins,” I remarked.

“You knew them?”

“I knew only Lotzen.”

“Hence your advice to our quick-tempered companion—­who was he?”

“I couldn’t make him out,” said Moore; “but he knew the women and was their escort from the house.”

“He seemed to be a bit sour about something.”

“My companion said it was because the Blue Masque chose you.”

“She was very charming,” said I.  “Who was she?”

“I knew neither his nor mine,” said he evasively.

“But mine?” I insisted.  “She of the sweet voice—­which, Colonel, I observed, you noted.”

He hesitated an instant; then answered: 

“Mademoiselle d’Essolde.”

“Indeed!” I exclaimed.  If rumor spoke truly, Mademoiselle d’Essolde carried Moore’s heart in her keeping.  Then I laughed.  “Never mind, Colonel, we shall see her at supper, presently—­she will be beside you, I think.”

“Your Highness is very thoughtful,” he said.

“Don’t give me the credit—­it was Lady Vierle’s idea,” I answered—­and changed the subject.  “What is Lotzen up to now,” I asked.

“Some deviltry—­either women or you.”

“I think it’s both,” said I.  “The Marquise consulted him as to sending Mrs. Spencer an invitation, and you remember how careful he was to call in person to regret he could not come to-night.  He saw, at once, his opportunity for a talk with Mrs. Spencer.  Depend on it, that is the explanation of the White Twins, and of Lotzen’s evading identification.  I dare say he already has an alibi perfected.