occasion dispelled the
coldness of the guests.

At dessert there is the same deadness, stiffness, and restraint that
marked the first course; hardly has a tinge of colour touched
the ladies' cheeks or noses. It is a dinner of wax dolls,
official,-magnificent, with the magnificence which comes chiefly of
ample room, lofty ceilings, and seats placed so far apart as to preclude
all friendly touching of chairs. A gloomy chilly underground feeling
separates the guests, in spite of the soft breath of the June night
floating in from the gardens through the half-open shutters and gently
swelling the silk blinds. The conversation is distant and constrained,
the lips scarcely move and have an unmeaning smile. Not a remark is
real, not one makes its way to the mind of the hearer; they are as
perfectly artificial as the sweetmeats among which they are dropped. The
speeches, like the faces, are masked, and it is lucky they are, for
if at this moment the mask were to be taken off, and the true thoughts
disclosed, how dismayed the noble company would be!

The Grand-Duke, who has a broad pale face framed by extra-black trim
round whiskers, just such a royal personage as you see in an illustrated
paper, is questioning Baron Huchenard with much interest about his
recent book, and thinking to himself: 'Oh dear, how this learned
gentleman does bore me with his primitive dwellings! How much better
off I should be at _Roxelane_, where sweet little Dea is dancing in
the ballet! The author of _Roxelane_ is here, I understand, but he is a
middle-aged man, very ugly and very dull. And to think of the ankles of
little Dea!'

The Nuncio, who has an intellectual face of the Roman type, large nose,
thin lips, black eyes and sallow complexion, has leant on one side to
listen to the history of the habitations of Man. He is looking at his
nails, which shine like shells, and is thinking: 'At the Embassy this
morning I ate a delicious _misto fritto_ and I haven't got rid of it.
Gioachimo has pulled my sash too tight; I wish I could get away from the
table.'

The Turkish Ambassador, thick-lipped, yellow, and coarse, with his fez
over his eyes and a poke in his neck, is filling the glass of Baroness
Huchenard and saying, 'How disgusting in these Westerns to bring their
women into society, when they are as dilapidated as this! I had rather
be impaled right off than exhibit that fat creature as my wife.' The
Baroness is thanking His Excellency with a m