Two or three others sat at tables through the room, all so wonderfully alike in dress, feature, and general appearance, that they almost seemed reproductions of the same figure by a series of mirrors; but they were priests of the same “caste,” whose forms of thought and expression were precisely the same; and thus as they dropped their scant remarks on the topics of the day, there was not an observation or a phrase of one that might not have fallen from any of the others. “So,” cried one, “they 're going to send the Grand Cross to the Duke of Hochmaringen. That will be a special mission. I wonder who 'll get it?” “Cloudesley, I'd say,” observed another; “he's always on the watch for anything that comes into the 'extraordinaries.'” “It will not be Cloudesley,” said a third. “He stayed away a year and eight months when they sent him to Tripoli, and there was a rare jaw about it for the estimates.” “Hochmaringen is near Baden, and not a bad place for the summer,” said Culduff. “The duchess, I think, was daughter of the margravine.” “Niece, not daughter,” said a stern-looking man, who never turned his eyes from his newspaper. “Niece or daughter, it matters little which,” said Culduff, irritated at correction on such a point. “I protest I 'd rather take a turn in South Africa,” cried another, “than accept one of those missions to Central Germany.” “You 're right, Upton,” said a voice from the end of the room; “the cookery is insufferable.” “And the hours. You retire to bed at ten.” “And the ceremonial. Blounte never threw off the lumbago he got from bowing at the court of Bratensdorf.” “They 're ignoble sort of things, at the best, and should never be imposed on diplomatic men. These investitures should always be entrusted to court functionaries,” said Culduff, haughtily. “If I were at the head of F. O., I'd refuse to charge one of the 'line' with such a mission.” And now something that almost verged on an animated discussion ensued as to what was and what was not the real province of diplomacy; a majority inclining to the opinion that it was derogatory to the high dignity of the calling to meddle with what, at best, was the function of the mere courtier. “Is that Culduff driving away in that cab?” cried one, as he stood at the window. “He has carried away my hat, I see, by mistake,” said another. “What is he up to at this hour of the morning?” “I think I can guess,” said the grim individual who had corrected him in the matter of genealogy; “he's off to F. O. to ask for the special mission he has just declared that none of us should stoop to accept.” “You 've hit it, Grindesley,” cried another. “I 'll wager a pony you 're right.” “It's so like him.” “After all, it's the sort of thing he's best up to. La Ferronaye told me he was the best master of the ceremonies in Europe.” “Why come amongst us at all, then? Why not get himself made a gold-stick, and follow the instincts of his genius?”