‘Love turns other heads besides these,’ chimed in the first speaker. ‘A great personage happened to see a Viennese work-girl somewhere on the ramparts, and has fallen a victim to her rosy face and elegant figure. There’s no doubt about it; he is thoroughly in love; he lavishes presents on his very easy conquest, and altogether forgetting his rôle of sovereign, he has thrown all reserve to the winds, and given her his portrait set with diamonds. In days gone by the Court ladies would have objected to such a _mésalliance_.’ Some one threw in a word about the balls given by Lady Castlereagh, and this led to remarks on his lordship’s pronounced love for dancing. ‘The taste is easily explained, it belongs to all times and all ages,’ was the comment. ‘Aspasia taught Socrates to dance; and when he was fifty-six years old Cato the Censor danced even more often than his lordship. It is doubtful whether either of these made himself as ridiculous as that lank body of his lordship dancing a jig, and lifting his long spindle-shanks, keeping time to the music. It is indeed a diverting spectacle. What a windfall this would be to those clever English caricaturists, if one could only get them to come to Vienna! At any rate, the dancing master of his lordship, in case of his becoming prime minister, will have no occasion to repeat what the dancing master of the [Earl?] of Oxford said on learning that Elizabeth had made his pupil her great-chancellor: “Truly, I fail to see what merit the queen could find in this Barclay? I had him in hand for two years, and was unable to make anything of him.”’ ‘In spite of the express declaration of the sovereigns, who have settled among themselves the questions of rank and precedence in accordance with their age, disagreements on the subject crop up every day,’ said somebody who had hitherto been silent. ‘The bickering between the minister of Würtemberg and the Hanoverian minister is without importance; nothing has come of it save the retirement of the Würtemberger and the appointment of the Comte de Wintzingerode in his stead. But the quarrel between the Princesse de Lichtenstein and the Princesse Esterhazy is not so trivial. The one claims precedence over the other in virtue of her husband being the most ancient prince of the empire.’ ‘It would be easy enough to settle that matter,’ was the reply from the other side of the table. ‘Let them apply to those ladies the rule adopted by the sovereigns; in other words, let age rule precedence, and you may be sure that neither of them will want to go first.’ ‘Here is a strange pendant to the adventure of the too conscientious Vatel, whose disappointment and death have been immortalised by Mme. de Sévigné. The _chef_ at Chantilly killed himself because the fish for the dinner failed him; the Baron de ---- killed himself through having eaten too much fish.’ ‘What’s the good of joking about such a sad event?’