"What a fine thing to have done!" said Madame Mila, pausing by her in the middle of a waltz, with her brocade train ablaze with gold.
"And now he can come back and marry the Spiffler girl. What do you say, Duc?"
"He will never marry la petite Spiffler," said the Duc, "nor any one else," he added, with a glance of meaning at Lady Hilda.
All eyes turned upon her. She played idly with her fan—one painted long ago by Watteau.
"M. della Rocca has succeeded, so it is heroism," she said, calmly. "Had he failed, I suppose it would have been foolhardiness."
"Of course," said the Duc. "Surely, Madame, Failure cannot expect to use the same dictionary as Success?"
"He must have the Santissima Annunziata, and marry the big Spiffler dot," said Madame Mila.
"Nay, Comtesse, that were bathos indeed, to make la petite Spiffler cousine du roi! Anyhow, let us rejoice that he is living, and that the old Latin race is still productive of heroes. I suppose we shall have details the day after to-morrow."
