CHAPTER THREE

"You are mistaken," said the tall prince pointing to a special bar on the score. "Weingartner always ignores this repeat, and goes straight on to the next movement. Nor is it certain whether Beethoven himself meant that for repeat marks. I have had the original manuscript in my hand, and just at that point is a blot of ink!"

"Still," put in Andreas, "if one compares this with similar effects in other compositions, don't you think we might conclude that...?"

"Of course," interposed the countess. "In the next world I shall always have this part repeated."

The three speakers were standing in the embrasure of the window. Gathered round the fireplace at the other end of the small rococo room, were the count, Baron Linnartz, and the baroness. The shrill laughter of the lady could be heard from time to time. It rang false now, as it always did when she was put out and had no suitable answer ready. Her eyes were full of enmity as she glanced across at the countess.

"You have made up your mind, then, to be a man at your next reincarnation?"

The prince spoke pointedly and looked down at her with an expression which emphasized the physical difficulty of such a transformation. The big woman instinctively pulled up the neck of her gown so that the soft green silk came into contact with the gems that shone on her full round bosom.

"Then maybe I shall at last fall in love with you, Prince, for you will undoubtedly be a woman!"

Andreas, who had never heard a lady speak with so much boldness, looked at the countess dubiously, and pressed his lips tightly together. The prince, standing slightly in Andreas's rear, was fully aware that both were trembling.

"Possibly you are right," said he in a tone that was a mixture of boredom and reflectiveness. Though he was fond of teasing her, he felt a platonic sympathy for the eccentric being. "I shall hope to be a woman fiddler in the orchestra of which you are to be the conductor."

"I shall only have men in my orchestra," answered the countess resolutely. "You shall be my first 'cellist," she added turning to Andreas, without in any way relaxing the intense seriousness of her expression.

"And what will the count play?" asked the prince maliciously.

"Piccolo!"

The two men laughed; and now the countess joined in their mirth for she wished to conceal the fact that this, also, was spoken in earnest.

"Good morning, Count Eckersberg," she exclaimed as the military attaché stood bowing at the door.

"May I share the joke?" he inquired, advancing towards the group in the window.

"Which one? Ours?" cried the count from his corner by the fireplace. He hoped Eckersberg might join his group, for the Linnartz conversation was anything but entertaining.

"Embarras de richesse," said Eckersberg in conventional tones, trying to bring the two groups together.

"Shall we go in to lunch, Gregor?"

"I'm expecting another lady."

"Who is she?" came from the two angles at once.

"Surprise à la fourchette!"

"May I know?" asked the baron stepping up to the countess's side.

"A stranger. I cannot even remember her name. She came with a letter of introduction to the ambassador. He asked her to luncheon."

"Introduced by Scherer, comes from Berlin," said the ambassador, as if to allay any doubts that might have arisen, for he was alive to the fact that strange things were laid to his charge. "You will find her quite charming."

"Can it be the young person with the love-locks?" inquired the military attaché.

"Ecco!" was the brief answer.

Andreas had not missed a syllable of this lively exchange. At the words "love-locks" his pulses began to throb. The thought of Diana rushed through his brain. He drew nearer the countess, for she alone of all those present in the room inspired him with confidence.

"Who is the lady?" he whispered.

He was conscious of his heart-beats as the countess, turning to her husband, asked:

"Gregor, what is our guest's name?"

The door was thrown open as she spoke, and her interest was transferred from the count to the new arrival. Andreas had followed her first glance, and hung upon the count's lips whence he expected the answer to the riddle. Now, however, his interest too was centred on the door which seemed to him to fly open as if by magic, for from where he stood he could not see the servant who ushered the guest into the room. The tension he experienced at this moment was so extreme that he felt anything might happen.

Diana appeared in the doorway.

A sudden quiet fell upon the company. She had so recently been the subject of their conversation that they felt caught in the act, self-conscious. Diana, as usual, paused a moment on the threshold before shaking hands with the ambassador, who had stepped forward to welcome her. The baron and his wife, ever suspicious of anything the chief was responsible for, looked at Diana sceptically; the officer's inspection savoured of curiosity; the prince's, of delicate mockery. The countess, whose lonely heart was wearied with the hundreds of masks she had been forced to gaze on in this very room, and yet whose hopes revived with every fresh apparition, saw the young woman in profile shaking hands with the host. Taken aback by the boyish silhouette, and at once recognizing all this little figure contained of pride and courage, the countess turned towards Andreas as if to seek confirmation of her first impression. But the stranger was being led towards her by the count, and the hostess, remembering her rôle, took a step forward in greeting. At that moment Diana came to a dead stop. The countess, not knowing what had happened, followed suit. Thus the women faced one another like two foes who had met unexpectedly. Diana had recognized Andreas; at the same moment she also saw the golden-haired woman, with the dark-haired youth standing immediately behind her; one picture, a draught to quaff in one gulp.

Before the other guests became aware that anything was amiss, the women had pulled themselves together and were already shaking hands. The prince, alone, inscribed upon the tablets of his memory the three looks that had been exchanged. The count was introducing her.

"Herr Seeland--Fräulein de Wassilko."

Diana slowly bowed her head; Andreas bent forward from the waist.

"You take the countess in," whispered the prince to Andreas, for it was customary among them to make a newly appointed attaché play the son of the family.