Maurice had the malice to cast
the brunt of it on the Colonel's shoulders. The princess, like a
rose coming in contact with a chill air, drew within herself.
She was cold, brief, and serenely indifferent. It was evident to
Maurice that she had resumed her royal mantle, and that she had
shown him unusual consideration.
Presently she raised her hand to her head, as sometimes one will
do unconsciously, and the rose slipped from her hair and dropped
to the floor. Both men stooped. Maurice was quickest. With a bow
he offered to return it.
"You may keep it, Monsieur;" and she laughed.
They joined her. Maurice knew why the Colonel laughed, and the
Colonel knew why Maurice laughed; but neither could account for
the laughter of the princess. That was her secret.
All things come to an end, even diplomatic receptions. Soon the
guests began to leave.
Said the princess to Maurice: "Your invitation is a standing one,
Monsieur. To our friends there are no formalities. Good night;
ah, yes, the English fashion," extending her hand, which Maurice
barely touched. "Good night, Monsieur," to Beauvais, with one of
those nods which wither as effectually as frost.
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