the lady. ‘We began equal; O, there I will be bold: we have both beautiful complexions. But while I study mine, your Highness tans himself.’
‘A perfect negro, madam; and what so fitly—being beauty’s slave?’ said Otto. ‘Madame Grafinski, when is our next play? I have just heard that I am a bad actor.’
‘O ciel!’ cried Madame Grafinski. ‘Who could venture? What a bear!’
‘An excellent man, I can assure you,’ returned Otto.
‘O, never! O, is it possible!’ fluted the lady. ‘Your Highness plays like an angel.’
‘You must be right, madam; who could speak falsely and yet look so charming?’ said the Prince. ‘But this gentleman, it seems, would have preferred me playing like an actor.’
A sort of hum, a falsetto, feminine cooing, greeted the tiny sally; and Otto expanded like a peacock. This warm atmosphere of women and flattery and idle chatter pleased him to the marrow.
‘Madame von Eisenthal, your coiffure is delicious,’ he remarked.
‘Every one was saying so,’ said one.
‘If I have pleased Prince Charming?’ And Madame von Eisenthal swept him a deep curtsy with a killing glance of adoration.
