smile faded from the Ambassador’s face.
“I suppose that can easily be arranged,” he admitted. “It will not be a very gay affair, though. In diplomatic circles, it is rather our close season.”
Elida—she was certainly a very privileged niece—leaned forward and drew out one of the drawers of her uncle’s handsome writing table. She helped herself to a box of cigarettes and lit one.
“Yet they tell me,” she confided, “I heard it even in Monte Carlo, that just now England or Washington—no one is certain which; perhaps both—are busy forging thunderbolts.”
“No news of it has come my way,” the Ambassador declared, with a benevolent smile. “If one were ever inclined to give credence to absurd rumours, one would look rather nearer home for trouble.”
She leaned over and patted his cheek.
“Dear doyen of all the diplomats, it is not you who would tell your secrets to a little chatterbox of a niece! It seems a pity, for I love being interested.”
“Carissima,” he murmured, “to-night at Dorrington House you will find ten or a dozen terribly impressionable young Americans, two or three of them quite fresh from Washington. You will find English statesmen even, who have the reputation of being sensitive to feminine charms such as yours and who have not the accursed handicap of being your uncle. You will find my own youthful staff of budding diplomats, who all imagine that they have secrets locked away in their bosoms far more wonderful than any which have been confided to me. You will be in your glory, dear Elida, and if you find out anything really worth knowing about these thunderbolts, do not forget your poor relations!”
She made a little grimace at him.
“You have always been inclined to make fun of me, have you not, since I became a serious woman?”
The Marchese assumed an austere air and tone.
“I do not make fun of you,” he assured her. “If I am not too happy to see you wrapped up in things which should be left to your elders, it is because there is no excitement without danger, and it was not intended that a young woman so highly placed, so beautiful as you, should court danger.”
“Me—court danger?” she exclaimed with wide-open eyes.
The Ambassador’s gesture dismissed her protest with a shade of impatience.
“You have the misfortune, my dear niece,” he continued, “to be by birth and education an amazing example of modern cosmopolitanism. Your sister is married to a German princeling, whose father is aiming at being Chancellor of Germany and who is himself a prominent figure in this latest upheaval. Your aunt is almost the only remaining French aristocrat who is permitted to interest herself—behind the scenes naturally—in French politics. Both your brothers, my nephews, have made their mark in our own country and are reported to be ambitious.”
“Is all this the prelude to an eulogy or a lecture?” Elida asked.
“Neither,” her uncle answered. “It is just that I am going to take the privilege of a near relative and an elderly man, who has at any rate won his spurs in diplomacy, to give you a word of advice. There is no place to-day, no seemly and dignified place, for women in the underground galleries of diplomacy. Spies there must always be and always have been. Cocottes have generally been the most successful, but I need not remind you of their inevitable fate. The profession is not elastic enough to include members of the great families of Europe.”
There was a brief silence. A puff of wind stole into the room through the open windows, bent the lilac blossoms in their vases and wafted their perfume into the further recesses of the stately apartment. A Louis XVI clock of blue and gold inlay chimed the hour merrily. Elida moved uneasily in her chair. No one in the world had ever spoken to her like this.
“What have you been hearing about me?” she asked.
The Marchese shrugged his shoulders.
“One hears,” he murmured. “One does not necessarily listen. Now, if you take my advice, you will present yourself to your aunt. She is resting for a time in her rooms and taking a new face treatment from some New York wizard. She will like to know that you are here. By the by, we dine at home—only one or two very dull people—and we leave for Dorrington House at ten-thirty.”
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and kissed his forehead.
“I have sent my maid to see which are my rooms,” she said. “As soon as I have had a bath, I will present myself. Perhaps Aunt Thérèse will hand over the new treatment to me. A dignified and unadorned middle age is all the mode nowadays.”
“You go and tell her so,” her uncle remarked, with a smile.
* * * * *
The Marchese suffered from a fit of unusual restlessness after the departure of his favourite niece. He left his chair and paced the room, his hands behind his back, an anxious frown upon his forehead. He was an exceedingly handsome man of the best Italian type, but he seemed during the last few months to have grown older. The lines in his face were deeper, his forehead was furrowed, he had even acquired a slight stoop. He was a conscientious politician and withal an astute one. There were certain features of the present situation which filled him with uneasiness. He took up the house telephone and spoke in rapid Italian. In a few minutes a quietly dressed young man presented himself. He carried a locked volume under his arm. The Ambassador summoned the servant who brought him in.
“Close all the windows,” he ordered. “See that I am not disturbed until I ring the bell.”
The man obeyed with the swiftness of the well-trained Italian. The Ambassador reseated himself at his desk. He took a key from his chain and unlocked the volume.
“The Princess Elida has arrived, Ottavio,” he confided.
The young man assented.
“So I understood, Your Excellency.”
The Ambassador turned over the pages of the volume which he had opened and paused at a closely written sheet.
“A fortnight ago,” he continued quietly, “my niece was in Berlin. I see your reports are all unanimous. She appears to have deserted Von Salzenburg and to have left the Prince behind her in Monaco.”
“That is true, Your Excellency.”
“She spent much of her time with Behrling and with an American, who is reported to be in the service of Berati.”
“I can vouch for the truth of that, Your Excellency.”
“The American arrived unexpectedly in London a few days ago,” the Ambassador went on. “You brought me word of his coming, although he has not presented himself here. Perhaps that is policy. Do you know what he has been doing in the capital?”
“It is possible to ascertain, Your Excellency. His movements did not come within the scope of my observations.”
The Ambassador nodded. He read through another page, then he carefully locked up the volume and returned it.
“It would appear,” he remarked, “that my niece’s sympathies, at any rate, have been transferred to Behrling. One
