"Of course. She put herself into a martial attitude, and sang something about 'Le drapeau' of 'Jacques Bonhomme,' as though we wished to know anything about it. The man who suggested the song was sorry." I laughed heartily. Sometimes the Crown-Prince could be humorous, and it certainly must have been distinctly quaint when, as a result of the joke played upon the old Countess, she so completely turned the tables upon the party by singing a song full of French sentiment. That circumstance told me that she must be a very clever old lady, even though she wore that tow-coloured wig which sometimes on nights of merriment got a trifle askew. Judge my great surprise, however, when, about six weeks later, Frau von Alvensleben, the pretty _Grande Maîtresse_ of the Court of the Crown-Princess, stopped me in one of the corridors of the Marmor Palace and, drawing me aside, whispered: "I have news for you, my dear Count. We have a new arrival at Court--Frau Yellow-Wig." I looked at her, for the moment puzzled. She saw that I did not follow her. "Countess von Kienitz--a friend of yours, I believe." "Friend of mine!" I echoed. "I've only been to her house three or four times, just in a crowd, and out of curiosity." "_Oh, là là!_ Well, she has told the Crown-Princess that you are her friend, and, in brief, has entirely fascinated Her Imperial Highness." I gasped. At what a pass we had arrived when the Crown-Princess was receiving that old woman whose reputation was of the gayest and most scandalous! What the _Grande Maîtresse_ had told me was perfectly correct, for three days later a dance was held, and as I entered the room I saw amid that gay assemblage the yellow-haired old widow of the long-forgotten military hero wagging her lace fan and talking quite familiarly with Her Imperial Highness. To my utter amazement also, His Majesty the Emperor, in the gay uniform of the 3rd Regiment of Uhlans of Saxony--of whom he was chief, among a hundred-and-one other high military distinctions--advanced and smiled graciously upon her as she bowed as low as rheumatism and old age allowed. The fascination which the ugly, shrill-voiced old woman exercised over "Cilli" was quickly remarked, and, of course, gossip became more rife than ever, especially when, a week later, it was announced that she had actually been appointed a lady-in-waiting. The Crown-Prince, too, soon became on friendly terms with her, and many times I saw them chatting together as though exchanging confidences. Why? His Highness, usually so utterly piggish towards ladies, given to snubbing even the highest-born in the Empire, was always smiling and gracious towards her.