But her little triumph was short lived.

A famous professional soprano appeared in a
white-ribboned enclosure at the end of the salon, and
the guests were rapidly arranged according to their rank
to listen. Clara and Jean stood until every man and
woman were comfortably seated, when they were placed in
the back row.

When the music was over supper was announced, and the
same ceremony was observed. The Highnessess, the
hochwohlgeboren privy councillors, the hochgeboren
secretaries, even the untitled Herren who held some petty
office, were ushered with profound deference to their
seats at the long table, while Clara stood waiting.
Jean's eyes still drooped meekly, but even her lips were
pale.

"How can you look so placid?" she whispered. "It is a
deliberate insult to your gray hairs."

"No. It is the custom of the country. It does not hurt
me."

They were led at the moment to the lowest seats. Jean
shot one vindictive glance around the table.

"You have more wit and breeding than any of them!" she
said. "And as for me, this lace I wear would buy any of
their rickety old palaces."