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 A ghost of a smile came to Madame Volkonsky's face. Her husband's total inability to understand Anglo-Saxon character, manners, sarcasm and humor could not but amuse her.

"Colonel Berkeley is not a fool at least," she replied.

Volkonsky went out and drove rapidly to the station. All the people attached to the Russian Legation were there, and in five minutes the train rolled in. The Grand Duke and his suite alighted, and the royal young man, taking Volkonsky's arm, entered his carriage and was driven to his hotel.

During all this time, Volkonsky was battling with his nervousness. He was afraid that the Grand Duke would invite him to dine—and in that case, he would miss Pembroke, and perhaps exasperate him. However the Grand Duke did not, much to the Minister's relief and the attachés' disgust. But the concert at the British Legation was mentioned, and the Grand Duke signified his august pleasure to attend. The Minister was to call for him at half-past eight—just the hour the concert began, but royalty does not mind little things like that. As the Grand Duke had not paid his respects to the President, the attendance at the concert was a little unofficial affair, that was to be made as informal as possible—under the rose as it were. At a quarter before six Volkonsky got off—and drove to the club.

Pembroke had not yet arrived, but the servants had orders to show M. Volkonsky to a private