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The princess, picking up her dress, was taking her seat in the

dark carriage, her husband was adjusting his saber; Prince

Hippolyte, under pretense of helping, was in everyone's way.

"Allow me, sir," said Prince Andrew in Russian in a cold,

disagreeable tone to Prince Hippolyte who was blocking his path.

"I am expecting you, Pierre," said the same voice, but gently and

affectionately.

The postilion started, the carriage wheels rattled. Prince

Hippolyte laughed spasmodically as he stood in the porch waiting

for the vicomte whom he had promised to take home.

"Well, mon cher," said the vicomte, having seated himself beside

Hippolyte in the carriage, "your little princess is very nice,

very nice indeed, quite French," and he kissed the tips of his

fingers. Hippolyte burst out laughing.

"Do you know, you are a terrible chap for all your innocent

airs," continued the vicomte. "I pity the poor husband, that

little officer who gives himself the airs of a monarch."