They halted at their places, and there, at the centre of the long table, on the right of the young Prince stood the Princess, with flushed face and shining eyes, looking very beautiful and radiantly defiant.

“Mechante,” Paul whispered, as they sat down.  “This is a trap.”

“Je le sais.  Tu est bien prise, petite souris.”

It pleased her to be gay.  She confessed unblushingly.  Her little mouse was well caught.  The little mouse grew rather stern, and when the great company had settled down, and the hum of talk arisen, he deliberately scanned the table.  He met some friendly glances—­a Cabinet Minister nodded pleasantly.  He also met some that were hostile.  His Sophie had tried a dangerous experiment.  In Lady Danesborough, the Maisie Shepherd of his urchindom, whose name he had never known, she had assured him a sympathetic and influential partner.  Also, although he had tactfully not taken up that lady’s remark, he felt proud of his Princess’s glorious certainty that he would have no false and contemptible shame in the encounter.  She had known that it would be a joy to him; and it was.  The truest of the man was stirred.  They talked and laughed about the far-off day.  Incidents flaming in his mind had faded from hers.  He recalled forgotten things.  Now and then she said:  “Yes, I know that.  The Princess has told me.”  Evidently his Sophie was a conspirator of deepest dye.

“And now you’re the great Paul Savelli,” she said.

“Great?” He laughed.  “In what way?”

“Before this election you were a personage.  I’ve never run across you because we’ve been abroad so much, you know—­my husband has a depraved taste for governing places—­but a year or two ago we were asked to the Chudleys, and you were held out as an inducement.”

“Good Lord!” said Paul, astonished.

“And now, of course, you’re the most-discussed young man in London.  Is he damned or isn’t he?  You know what I refer to.”

“Well, am I?’ he asked pleasantly.

“I’m glad to see you take it like that.  It’s not the way of the little people.  Personally, I’ve stuck up for you, not knowing in the least who you were.  I thought you did the big, spacious thing.  It gave me a thrill when I read about it.  Your speech in the House has helped you a lot.  Altogether—­and now considering our early acquaintance—­I think I’m justified in calling you ’the great Paul Savelli.’”

Then came the shifting of talk.  The Prince turned to his left-hand neighbour; Lady Danesborough to her right.  Paul and the Princess had their conventional opportunity for conversation.  She spoke in French, daringly using the intimate “tu”; but of all sorts of things—­books, theatres, picture shows.  Then tactfully she drew the Prince and his neighbour and Lady Danesborough into their circle, and, pulling the strings, she at last brought Paul and the Prince into a discussion over the pictures of the Doges in the Ducal Palace in Venice.  The young Prince was gracious.  Paul, encouraged to talk and stimulated by precious memories, grew interesting.  The Princess managed to secure a set of listeners at the opposite side of the table.  Suddenly, as if carrying on the theme, she said in a deliberately loud voice, compelling attention:  “Your Royal Highness, I am in a dilemma.”