The others were obliged to take their leave, the Chevalier remarking with some bitterness to his brother on their way home that even royalty in these days is tainted with the Philistinism of the triumphant middle class.
Another bottle of champagne was opened, and as soon as Stuart had emptied his glass, Des Louvres approached the real object of the conference.
“The Prince wants to buy arms for his partisans, as I told you, and he is over here in order to raise the money. I have taken the liberty of saying that I think you may be willing to assist him.”
“I!” exclaimed the astonished Alistair.
The Frenchman bent forward, and murmured softly:
“I ventured to tell His Royal Highness that you were on intimate terms with the head of the South American Bank.”
“Mendes!”
“Exactly. The suggestion is that you should sound Mendes on the Prince’s behalf.”
Alistair sat as one dumbfounded, and for some moments the other two watched him without speaking a word.
A repugnance, which he could hardly explain to himself, battled within him against yielding to the Pretender’s request. Mendes was his intimate acquaintance; Mendes sat at his table, and entertained him in return. He was a banker; it was his business to grant loans, and this was a loan for an object which Alistair heartily sympathized with. And yet he felt he would have gone to anyone rather than Mendes.