Two maids pounced upon the ladies with the self-assurance of their kind and country, and led the way upstairs, while the men removed fur coats in the hall.

It was all very princely and gorgeous and Parisian.
Vassili and his sister the marquise--a stout lady in ruby velvet and amethysts, who invariably caused Maggie Delafield's mouth to twitch whenever she opened her own during the evening--received the guests in the drawing-room.

They were standing on the white fur hearth-rug side by side, when the doors were dramatically thrown open, and the servant rolled the names unctuously over his tongue.
Steinmetz, who was behind, saw everything.

He saw Vassili's masklike face contract with stupefaction when he set eyes on Etta.

He saw the self-contained Russian give a little gasp, and mutter an exclamation before he collected himself sufficiently to bow and conceal his face.
But he could not see Etta's face for a moment or two--until the formal greetings were over.