Wherein the music switches, partners are exchanged, and we learn that even artists blessed by a Muse may need a good Solicitor.
Belpaire can't help it. He just has to wander back to the most bow ward part of the railing and regard the sunset. "There is nothing on earth like a sunset, watched from above a cloud", Nadar the dragon lord used to say on every occasion, and typically for him, he even built a giant balloon, just to take all his friends up in the sky, and show them. That was before the Compact and the sorcerous engines. Even long before him, Belpaire. At the time Jules Verne still was an aspiring young playwright...
Some year later, a doctor Samuel Ferguson from London, developed the design of Nadar's 'Giant' into his 'Victoria' expedition balloon; yet later, that young playwright Verne got access to his flight log and turned this into his first real novel. 'Cinq semaines en balon'; no title for a best-seller. But still, Hetzel discovered the potential of both book and writer, and since then there was Verne, the writer, Hetzel, the publisher and a whole cart load of talented illustrators swirling around them. One of them is he, Belpaire, standing on the deck of a sorcerous magnetic airship, several miles up in the sky, watching the sun go down beneath him; 'The dragon was right', he thinks. "There is nothing on earth like a sunset, watched from above a cloud"
While occupied in his thoughts like that, the sun slowly disappears.
Only then, Belpaire notices that it hasbecome really cold, and makes his way below deck, to the comfortable shelter of the sky craft's hull.
His initial fear, that he will be too late for the ball, proves to be false, as while walking towards the ballroom, he finds himself in company of various couples and groups heading in the same direction. As he finally arrives at the entrance doors, he can see the first dance, a march, has already started. So watches the different couples pass by. Lord Swiftwing with the sorcerous officer Fraü Ehrenburg, Jean Michel du Pont-de-la-Vierge and a lady he knows by sight already, von Locke, the vizier, Lord Árdghal, the Nippon dragon lady that was with Jean Michel during dinner... Ach, there comes his own dinner companion Antioch dancing with...
Astonishment strikes the draughtsman, for though he has never seen the ladies in person, he immediately recognises their faces from the various portraits sketches and advertisements he has seen in Hetzel's magazines. They are Fraü Shumann, the pianist, and her daughter.
Before he can recover from his amazement, an over-eager young clerk
has already greeted him.
The Sorcerous Security Officer smiles and fans herself. "Your Grace, the pleasure was all mine. I will look with expectation to that second dance. My Lord..." She gracefully curtseys to the Dragon.
The Dragonlord turns, and with a dozen or so poised and assured strides approaches Fraülein Schumann, lately the dance partner of Antioch. I should be an interesting counterpoint to her previous dance partner at the very least, he thinks to himself.
"Good evening Fraülein Schumann. I am Dominitus Swiftwing, Fraü Ehrenburg introduced us just before the Grand March. If you have not yet promised this dance to another, might I prevail upon you to allow me to escort you about the floor during the Polonaise?"
The girls blushes lightly, and glances towards her mother but Clara Schumann is still talking with the vizier and not looking in her daughter's direction. Fraülein Schumann give a curtsey to Lord Swftwing, remembering his rank. "Your Grace, how very nice to see you again..." she murmurs shyly. She then turns to Antioch and says fervently: "Thank you very much for the dance, Herr Antioch, it was lovely. I do so hope you will have a pleasant evening."
Lord Swiftwing inclines his head politely. "Herr Antioch," he say pleasantly.
Fraülein Schumann turns back to the Dragon. "Your Grace," she says in a voice that wavers at first but bravely picks up firmness, "I shall be delighted to dance the Polonaise with you." She has to crane her neck to look him in the eyes - and what eyes they are! She offers a slightly trembling hand to the Dragon. The blush makes her prettier than many a practiced lady's more artful colours.
Upon the conclusion of a pleasant dance with Lady Constance, Falcone makes every effort to locate Antioch and convey the Lady across the floor to his company.
"With great pleasure I surrender to you the Lady Constance, a being of kindly nature, who otherwise might not be parted from my friend Antioch's endearing companionship this evening,"
Mateo, after pleasantries, retires from the active dance floor to once again observe the crowd.
Constance smiles warmly at Falcone, but it is clear that her attention is beginning to waver for the dashing man the closer she gets to Antioch. "Thank you for the dance, Monsieur Falcone. I trust the rest of your evening shall be pleasant. Antioch, I believe I am owed a dance?"
The Dragonlord has not been properly introduced to Mr. Falcone, so he simply nods pleasantly to him. Likewise, although he has been introduced to the Lady Constance it is pretty clear that she has eyes only for Antioch at the moment, so he nods to her (a bit more deeply) and murmurs "Good evening, Lady Constance."
Constance turns and smiles brightly at the impressive Dragonlord. "Good evening, My Lord Swiftwing. I trust the evening has been pleasant for you?"
The Dragonlord glances at the door, where three newcomers are looking about, then back at Constance, giving her a smile to match her own. Despite his great age, there is something of childish delight in his eyes.
"Indeed it has," he replies.
Constance smiles, seeming perfectly comfortable around the impressive dragon lord, where she might be less so around humans. Her eyes twinkle merrily, and it seems a laugh is but a moment away, but what the joke might be, well, perhaps only the Dragonlord himself could ever tell. "I see that you are most popular among the human ladies, My Lord Swiftwing. Perhaps, if you are not too committed, you might sign my card as well?"
"Well," replies the Dragonlord, matching the fairy smile for smile (with impressive, though perhaps somewhat less radiant results), "I should be most delighted to do so. Have you a particular dance that you favor, Lady Constance?"
Inwardly the Dragonlord is pleased that the Lady Constance does not seem to take it ill that he did not initiate the request himself. Perhaps she arrived in time to hear that he had already spoken to Fraulein Schumann on the matter, or simply read the social situation aright (after all, only a true cad would ask a lady to dance when preparing to escort another, but what a lady requests of a gentleman, he must do his best to comply to).
Constance looks down at the dance card, frowning slightly. Most of these human dances are strange to her, and only her natural Faerry reflexes and gift for motion enable her to follow them. Finally, she shakes her head. "I do not know these dances well. Pick one you prefer and are free for, if you would be so kind," she says, handing the card over, blissfully unaware, or perhaps simply unconcerned with the mild faux-pas she is committing.
"If I may, Lady Constance, allow me to suggest two selections early in the festivities. The Waltz that follows the Polanaise, and the Quadrille which follows soon thereafter. Meaning no self aggrandizement, I know both quite well and - with your Ladyship's permission of course - would be most honored to aquaint your Ladyship with the styles early in the evening so that you might enjoy the remainder of the ball free from any apprehension due to unfamiliarity."
The Dragonlord holds the pencil above the paper, awaiting permission implement his offer.
Constance smiles and nods. "That would be delightful. Choose whichever you would enjoy more, and I will be your most attentive student."
On Lord Swiftwing's arm, young Elisabeth Schumann is looking at Constance with delighted curiousity. "My Lady, if you please..." she starts timidly. "Is it true that beings such as yourself can grant Inspiration to mortal artists, enhance the creative powers?"
Constance turns to consider the young human woman. She seems pleasant enough, if a bit innocent and young. Constance smiles. She herself is little more than a babe in swaddling clothes among her people. "It is true enough. We have been blessed with a certain 'talent' for inspiration. At one time, some of us were known as the Muse, as I recall. That was a long time ago, though."
The dragonlord pauses for a moment, deep in thought. Why is it that no one, save only Fraü Ehrenburg, will accept more than a single dance from him this evening? Is there a spot upon his lapels? No. Hair out of place? No. Cravat incorrectly tied? No. An unpleasant odor from his mouth? No. Still, the fairy lady clearly said "Choose whichever you would enjoy more", clearly implying a choice between the two mentioned dances, when he had, in fact, suggested both! Still a gentleman must be attentive to the needs of a lady. If she wishes only a single dance, then it must be the quadrille rather than the waltz. He dutifully signs himself up for the Quadrille "Bijouterie", by Musard, and returns pencil and dance card to the fairy Lady, wondering if this might not simply be an anti-dragon crowd tonight, and beginning to wish he had not made plans for after the buffet so he might slink away halfway through the dance to lick his social wounds.
Constance looks down at the card, then frowns slightly. Something is clearly amiss with the Dragonlord. Then it comes to her. She looks up and smiles winningly. "My Lord Dragon. I must protest. You did mention teaching me two dances this evening. You must at least select the both of them. However, if there are any other dances on the list that you think I might profit from learning, by all means select of them as well. I ask only that you leave me a few to share with Antioch."
The Dragonlord takes the pencil without comment and dutifully signs up for the waltz. The fae are strange, he things to himself, then turns his attention to the current conversation.
"It is my understanding that since the signing of the Great Compact, one may enter into agreements, at least with the Seelie fae, with considerably less trepidation than in previous times. You are, of course, familiar with folklore on the subject - firstborn children being carried off into the night in exchange for the ability to spin gold, mortals disappearing into the land of the fae only to appear again one hundred years and a day later, etc. etc. I do not mean to imply any malice on the part of the Seelie fae you understand..." with a nod towards Lady Constance, "it is simply that their laws and contractual requirements differ greatly from that of those not of their kind. As a well known example I cite the fact that in the land of the fae, the acceptance of a gift, of whatever sort, freely given and accepted, binds the recipient to the giver for a period of... one hundred years and a day I believe it is. In the courts of New Europa any attempt to enforce such an agreement would be thrown out of court - except perhaps in lands under the control Bismarck or," and here the dragonlord lowers his voice briefly, "the Ottoman Empire where slavery is still acceptable, so I hear," the dragonlord's voice returns to normal conversational levels, "but such an agreement is considered perfectly legal and binding among the fae, and it is my recollection that just recently Lord Auberon was able to successfully press his case against one of the so called 'Steam Lords' of Britain, a Lord K*** I believe it was, compelling the poor man to leave his estates, never to see his wife and children again! All because the gentleman in question had foolishly entered into agreements with certain of the fae without sufficiently weighing the merits and requirements of the compact first."
"My point is simply this - just as one should not board an airship with the intent of flying it oneself, but rather should leave such matters to those trained and skilled in its operation, when entering into a contractual agreement - whether with a member of the fae or indeed anyone else - one should not trust to one's own devices but rather should seek the council and assistance of one trained and skilled in such matters. Fortunately, since the signing of the Great Compact there have been some few barristers who have made it their business to learn the ways of the Seelie, in particular the nature and requirements of their contracts. I happen to know of a law office in Bayern which specializes in such matters, and would be more than happy to refer you to them once we return there. I have, in the past, found them to be both discreet and skillful in such matters, and I have profited much by their services."
"Finally, on the matter of the Unseelie, I would caution you in the strongest possible terms - do not traffic with them in any way whatsoever! They offer much, but deliver little of what they promise, and considerably more than one has bargained for in the way of treachery, suffering, and unhappiness. Unlike our friends in the Seelie Court their word is not their bond, and they cannot be trusted." As he speaks the Dragonlord's eyes glitter, and a hint of anger can be heard in his otherwise calm and polite tones.
Constance smiles. "It is true that it is poor wisdfom to lightly enter into bargains with the Seelie Fae. However, this is because we have another view of favors and payment than mortal society. When my people do a favor, we expect fair compensation. But you must never offer more than is asked for, for to do so implies that you wish more from the Fae than she is willing to give. And never refuse what they ask,or they shall surely take it and more beside for your temerity. We are a fair and moral folk, the Seelie. The problem is in understanding what we consider fair, and what we view as moral," she says with a grin.
Young Elisabeth Schumann flinches at the angry glitter in the Dragon's eyes, but she steels herself and her hand remains on his arm. She inclines her head graciously. "I am most indebted for the advice, Your Grace," she answers. "Indeed, I would want to consider the implications carefully before appealing to such extraordinary measures as help from the Fae, but I must admit to a certain fascination."
She smiles, a bit timidly. "You see, my parents and many of their friends worked very, very hard to achieve a certain quality of art, a measure of beauty and truth. Their inspiration was obtained through constant work and much heartache. The idea that such inspiration can just be given like a touch or a word is mind-twisting, and I can't help but want to see the result, to see for myself whether this is truely the same inspiration."
She turns back to Constance and adds earnestly: "I do not mean to disparage your precious gifts, My Lady. I am merely trying to come to grips with the nature of this elusive blessing, inspiration. Do you know for certain of any works ever produced through the inspiration granted by the Fae? I should like to study them to see if I can sense the difference in origins."
Constance smiles at the guileless innocence of the young mortal girl. "My people are ancient beyond all accounting. I would imagine a great many works have been inspired by the Dames Vertes, for ours is the gift to excite the imagination and the passions. Others of my Kin have different gifts. For example, the handsome Daoine Lord who cuts such a figure over yon, well, he might bind the heart of a fair lass with but a word and a glance," she says, grinning impishly. "Now I'm sure he is a gentleman, and would never do such a thing. Fear not. My people are not so free with our gifts as mortals might wish. I suspect most great works of mortal art have occurred without any prompting whatsoever from the Seelie. But I can tell you that in a certain chapel, there hangs a painting of an ethereally beautiful woman. This was my mother, and her muse inspired an artist to such heights of passion that he went utterly mad of it. A tragedy, really. "Faerie gifts are not without their dangers," she says with a smile.
"Precisely why a skilled professional should be retained to offer counsel in such cases," the dragonlord interjects.
"I am not an expert of such things by any means, save only within my limited field of interest," he adds, "but I have long held a suspicion that there is something having to do with the nature of the compact between the fae and the mortal, or perhaps in the nature of the gift bestowed, that prevents those so gifted from achieving true notoriety. To use your painting as a totally hypothetical example - as I know nothing of its true story - an undoubtedly great gift was granted the painter, one which might have allowed him to produce works comparable to many of the greatest painters in New Europa. The nature of that gift, however, also held within it the seed of the artist's destruction, thus precluding any such rise to greatness."
"But the orchestra has begun the Polonaise! Forgive me, Lady Constance, but I must escort the young lady about the dance floor, and I believe that Herr Antioch awaits your pleasure. Fraülein Schumann?" The dragonlord indicates the dance floor with a sweep of his free hand, ready to escort her onto the floor.
Fraülein Schumann curtsies politely to Lady Constance. "My Lady, thank you for your insight," she says. "I shall be most thankful to continue this conversation at some later point."
She follows the Dragon's lead, her small hand on his elbow. "Your
Grace is too kind," she murmurs.
At first, Olivia gives only a passing glance to the newcomers, mostly interested in their finery. Then she does a double-take: she knows two of them. But where did Iris and Timoteo get such elegant ball clothes?
Meanwhile, Jean-Michel recognises Olivia's half-sister, but barely. He has never seen Iris look so... so positively radiant, and the change does her good. She suddenly looks ten years younger, her eyes are shining, her cheeks are slightly flushed with excitement, and there is a certain shyness about her, replacing what might have hitherto been taken for sullenness.
Olivia is amused. It seems Iris has found a way to satisfy her desire to attend the ball, with Timoteo, naturally. If there is a more serious purpose in their presence, she will no doubt find out soon enough--which raises the question of the identity of the unknown man. At present she judges the answer to that problem less important than to satisfy Jean-Michel's curiosity.
She observes that the young captain has recognized the latest arrivals. "If you don't mind stepping out of the dance for a few moments," Olivia says softly to Jean-Michel, "we can join Iris and Timoteo. You will be able to ask about their well-being in person. And, perhaps, we can explain to you the reason for our charade."
If Olivia had returned to her cabin after dinner... if Jean-Michel had not been aboard... if many events had happened otherwise... Olivia had already decided that if they used the Parsifal again, Iris and Timoteo could go as a married couple and she would play the lady's maid.
Olivia acknowledges her vanity. She'd much prefer not to be embarrassed in front of her new acquaintances, or have misunderstandings gossiped about. However, the real dangers the three have overcome since her parents died simply reaffirmed their loyalty and affection for each other. Without knowing the reasons for Iris's actions, Olivia will not form an opinion of them. If Iris and Timoteo are there just to enjoy the ball, Olivia thinks that perhaps unwise but very understandable. In any case, she will do her best to support them, even if their purpose is just an evening of fun. Other than (possibly) Jean-Michel, she doesn't expect to ever again be in the company of the people on board. And as to the seeming attraction of the Baron and Lord Árdghal to her... "When they're not near the one they love, they love the one they're near," Olivia judges cynically, then rejoices, "None of them matter. Freedom is the greatest benefit of being declassée."
Jean-Michel is understandably curious about what Doña Olivia and the others are up to; he nods in agreement and, still dancing, guides their steps towards the trio. Once at the edge of the dance floor it is then a simple matter to step away from the dance proper without disturbing the flow of the dance or inconveniencing the other dancers.
For her part, Fiona strolls leisurely toward the newcomers. "Good evening, my lady, and gentlemen," she says. "Hans, please introduce me to your friends, if you would be so kind."
One of the men bows courteously to Fiona. Straightening up, he gestures towards his companions. "Fraülein Rohling, allow me to introduce Señor Timoteo Torres López and his lovely wife Señora Iris Veronica Díaz García de Torres López, recently arrived from Barcelona. Don Timoteo, Doña Iris, may I introduce Fraülein Fiona Adelia Rohling, of Munchen." Hand then repeats his introduction quickly in more than passable Spanish, for the guest's benefit.
The second man hesitates almost imperceptibly, then steps forward to bow to the dragon then take Fiona's hand and lean over it. Then the woman, Doña Iris, curtseys without sharing her husband's hesitation. She turns eyes bright with excitement towards Fiona, still tugging on the string of the minitiature airship-cum-dance card she has just received at the door.
"Oh, señorita -- fraülein," she says, clearly struggling with the harsh German syllables. "The ball... Lovely!" A look of frustration with her linguistic impediments passes over her face, and she turns to Hans to utter a rapid string of words in Spanish.
Hans translates for Fiona's benefit. "Doña Iris says the ball is most impressive and she is looking forward to this evening's dance. She also finds your dress absolutely delightful." He smiles at Fiona, and she suddenly notices what a handsome figure he cuts in that evening suit. "May I be so bold as to request a dance some time tonight, Fraülein?" he asks with a saucy wink.
Fiona smiles warmly at Hans' impish grin and turns to the couple. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Señor Timoteo and Doña Iris. I am pleased to have been able to assist your attendance, in some small way. But please, for the moment, let us keep this our little secret." Turning back to Hans, she offers him her dance card with a mischevious wink. "I have no partner yet for the Polonaise, sir, but any dance that is open is acceptable."
Hans' smile widens, and he signs Fiona's card with a flourish. He returns the small booklet and pencil to the young woman, then, turning back to his companions for a moment, he bows slightly to them and explains in Spanish: "Don Timoteo, Doña Iris, I know you will want to dance the Polonaise together. Fraülein Rohling has graciously accepted to share this next dance with me."
As an aside, he translates for Fiona's benefit, so that neither her nor the newcomers will feel left out. He offers her his arm, and adds: "I must agree with Doña Iris, your choice of dresses is impeccable." His grey eyes twinkle as he looks at her with exagerated seriousness. Fiona reflects that she has been repeatedly conversing with charming rogues tonight...
If anyone in Fiona’s group is watching the dancers, they see Jean-Michel and Olivia dance their way towards the edge of the ballroom floor and closer to their position until they step away from the other dancers and join Fiona’s cluster of companions. Since Olivia is more aware of the situation than he is (or so he thinks), Jean-Michel merely offers a polite greeting to the group and leaves the rest to her.
Don Timoteo and Doña Iris exchange a cryptic look and a few murmured words as Jean-Michel and Olivia approach.
Olivia holds out both hands to Iris and offers her cheek for a kiss.1 "Hermana,2 how glad I am you have been able to come to the ball." She then addresses the group generally, "Is not my younger sister as beautiful as she is elegant?" Without waiting for an answer, she says to Timoteo, "Cuñado,2 surely you and Iris remember Capitaine Jean-Michel du Pont-de-la-Vierge?"
Olivia again addresses the others. "The brave Captain and his valiant crew saved our lives. There was a horrendous storm near the Canary Isles--but that is not a subject for tonight!" Olivia shudders delicately, hoping Fraulein Rohring's expression is one of admiration. The storm can be safely discussed, unlike the events of the weeks before...
Olivia again turns to Timoteo. "Brother-in-law, I shall claim the privilege of a dance with you. After all, we are not so much brother and sister as to make that gauche even at this formal ball!"
Iris and Timoteo return Olivia's pleasant greeting. "Hermana," murmurs Iris in turn. "I am so glad to be here..." She turns to Jean-Michel and inclines her head. "Capitaine, what a surprise to see you again so soon. Please allow me to introduce Herr Hans Pflanze, from Bavaria -- Bayern." Both Olivia and Jean-Michel feel that Hans looks vaguely familiar.
Timoteo takes Olivia's dance card with a sort of timid clumsiness. "Which dance would please you?" he asks.
Olivia smiles reassuringly at him. "If Iris has a partner for the second waltz, 'Ball Geschichten', that would be delightful." She offers him her dance card and pencil.
Fiona watches the interplay between Olivia and her 'sister'? 'servant'? with interest. Maintaining a gay smile, she says, "Doña Olivia, I had no idea you had such a beautiful sister, or dashing brother-in-law, no?" And this other surprise... "Jean-Michel, never in your tales this day did you mention you were such a hero. But then, one would not expect a gentleman to extol his own heroics. Doña Olivia, I would love the hear the whole story of your adventure and rescue, perhaps at the buffet?" She stops for a moment to smile reassuring at Doña Olivia.
Jean-Michel shrugs and replies, “Fortunately my crew and I were in the area and able to provide assistance as needed.” His tone is matter of fact, with no sense of either braggadocio or false modesty.
Next he turns his attention to the puzzle of Mr. Pflanze. He does not recall meeting him before; perhaps they passed each other in the corridors earlier that day? Maybe they had met briefly in Paris? Hmm, highly doubtful, although perhaps it is a family resemblance to someone...? Jean-Michel thinks back, trying to recall what may have planted that sense of familiarity in his brain.
Hans gives a polite nod for the assembled company of Iris, Timoteo, Olivia and Jean-Michel, then turns to Fiona.
"Fraülein, I am most distressed that the dance you so graciously granted me is already well under way. Shall we make the most of what remains?" He gestures towards the dancers gracefully twirling around. "Perhaps," he adds, "if my skill is enough to make you forget my manners, you will even consider granting me a second dance. I shall reserve my request until you have had a chance to judge for yourself."
"Of course," Fiona says formally, giving her hand to Hans as they walk away.
The man's silhouette as he bows politely to Fiona nudges a memory... Jean-Michel has seen this eminently Germanic, sharp, impeccable bow before... The Dragonlord's man! The one who brought the invitation to Lady Osada!
Timoteo bows to Olivia and Jean-Michel, as Hans did before him. "Doña Olivia, Don Juan Miguel," he says politely, "I must beg you pardon. My lovely wife would be broken hearted if she missed one more minute of our first dance."
He turns to Iris and looks at her with loving eyes, somehow seeing a
woman no one else sees, more beautiful than any fairy or dragon lady.
She blushes and smiles back with the same spark, following him into the
dance.
For the umpteenth time that day Jean-Michel wishes he were more familiar with New Europan society. There are undercurrents here which could cause him any number of problems and his ignorance of them is something of a hindrance. At least there is nothing truly dangerous here and he has every reason to believe that the Parsifal’s crew can manage anything less than a catastrophic rupture of the gasbag so he, too, bows to Hans and Fiona.
“A splendid idea,
that. Doña Olivia, let us return to the dance while
they are still playing the Polonaise. Mademoiselle Rohling,
Monsieur Pflanze, until next time, then.” Once Olivia has
made her adieux as well they return to the dance floor and Jean-Michel
hopes she might finally tell him more about her sister & brother-in-law
servants.
Hans gives a lop-sided smile to the young woman. "Well, the good Captain did have a good look at me before, so I assume he is trying to put things together. I confess that it is part of the enjoyment that comes with this job, although a far second, of course, to the company one can find."
He gives a slight bow to his partner, and for a moment she feels quite
certain that if this was a waltz, he might have kissed her hand again.
As it is a polonaise, their fingers barely touch. His face, however,
is impassible, but his tone reveals his amusement.
Constance favors Antioch with a radiant smile, and takes his hand in
her own. She tries heroically to hide the flustered twittering she
feels inside, so different from the calm she feels around even the most
handsome of human males. Never do they make her feel shy and awkward,
never does she feel like a blush is always hiding just below the surface.
"Monsieur, I believe you are correct. Shall we take the floor?"
The young Dragonlady shakes her head. "I'm afraid I have no partner yet for that dance," she answers.
Looking about the room for someone who Lady Osada may find entertaining, von Locke's eyes fall upon Belpaire, just entering the ballroom. "Lady Osada, if you will indulge me, I would like the opportunity to introduce you to a gentleman you may find quite interesting. His name is Monsieur Belpaire. He's an artist by profession, if I remember correctly. May I introduce you to him?"
The Dragon lady nods graciously. "You may," she answers. "I shall be most curious to meet him." She opens her painted silk fan and begins fanning herself delicately, allowing herself to be led by the lieutenant.
The Leutnant escorts Lady Osada over to the recently arrived Belpaire. "Monsieur Belpaire, I am happy to see you here at the ball. Please let me introduce you to Lady Kuromizu Osada. Lady Osada, Monsieur Louis Belpaire."
The draughtsman nods at Von Locke. "A pleasure to see you too, Herr
Leutnant." Then he bows to lady Osada. "Enchanté,
madame. It is a great pleasure to meat a ravishing voyager from
the far Nihon. I must admit that you are a picture worth noticing."
To Be Continued...