"Isn't she lovely, my little Kitty!" said Madame d'Estrees, in the ears
of a Bavarian baron, who was also much occupied in staring at the small
beauty in black. "I may say it, though I am her mother. And my
son-in-law, too. Have you seen him? Such a handsome fellow!--and
sucha dear!--so kind to me. They
say, you know, that he will be Prime
Minister."
The baron bowed, ironically, and inquired who the gentleman might be. He
had not caught Kitty's name, and Madame d'Estrees had been for some time
labelled in his mind as something very near to an adventuress.
Madame d'Estrees eagerly explained, and he bowed again, with a
difference. He was a man of great intelligence, acquainted with English
politics. So that was
really the wife of the man to whose personality
and future the London correspondent of the
Allgemeine Zeitung had
within the preceding week devoted a particularly interesting article,
which he had read with attention. His estimate of Madame d'Estrees'
place in the world altered at once. Yet it was strange that she--or,
rather, Donna Laura--should admit such a person as Mademoiselle Ricci to
their
salon.
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