The baroness had such a beautiful evening that she quite sighed when it was over.
"Don't you ever have this in America?" she asked Bee.
"No, indeed," said Bee. "And if we did, we wouldn't go to it. We reserve such frolics for Europe."
"Exactly as it is with us," declared the baroness; "Carl and I always go in Paris and Nice, but here--well, we had to have you for an excuse. I must thank you for giving us such an amusing evening!" she added, gaily. "After all, it is so much more diverting to catch one's friends in mischief than strangers whom no one cares about!"
I suppose, in showing Vienna to us, we showed more of Vienna to the baroness and her friends than they ever had seen before. We went into all the booths and shows; we were in St. Stephen's Church at sunset to see the light filter through those marvels of stained-glass windows. Instead of stately drives in the Prater, we took little excursions into the country and dined at blissful open-air restaurants, with views of the Danube and distant Vienna, which they never had seen before. They became quite enthusiastic over seeking out new diversions for us, and, through their court influence, I feel sure that few Americans could have got a more intimate knowledge of Vienna than we.
An amusing coincidence happened while we were there, concerning the gown Mrs. Jimmie was to be painted in. The baroness's brother, Count Georg Brunow, was an authority on dress, and, as he designed all the gowns for his cousin, who was also in the Emperor's suite, he begged permission to design Mrs. Jimmie's. His English was a little queer, so this is what he said after an anxious scrutiny of Mrs. Jimmie's beauty:
"You must have a gown of white--soft white chiffon or mull over a white satin slip. It must be very full and fluffy around the foot, and be looped up on the skirt and around the decollete corsage with festoons of small pink considerations."
"Yes, thank you. My English is so rusty. I mean pink carnations."
Mrs. Jimmie thanked him, and we all discussed it approvingly. Still, she told me privately that she would not decide until she got back to Paris to her own man, who knew her taste and style.
"You know, for a portrait," said Count Georg, "you do not want anything pronounced. It must be quite simple, so that in fifty years it will still be beautiful."