"I expect you'll have to wait until the next time Her Majesty is in Vienna, she'll want to put it directly into your hand," she murmurs, still looking at Merovic while pretending to look at the musicians. "It's a shame, he seems old school enough to be suspicious because I'm a woman, regardless of how good my French is. All those diction lessons and he won't listen to a thing I have to say regardless."

She's mainly thinking (quietly) out loud; she isn't expecting any especially useful suggestions from Ralston, under the circumstances. She lightly drums her fingers against her knee, invisible outside the box.