"The Paris Embassy? Would that satisfy you?"
Her face became suddenly radiant, merry, and triumphant; she clapped her hands, and then held them clasped toward me.
"You suggested it yourself!" she cried.
"In joke!"
"Joke? I won't be joked with. I choose that you should be serious. You said the Paris Embassy! Are you afraid it'll make Hammerfeldt too angry? Fancy the Princess and your sister! How I shall love to see them!" She dropped her voice as she added, "Do it for me, Cæsar."
"Who should have it?"
"I don't care. Anybody, so long as he's one of us. Choose somebody good, and then you can defy them all."
She saw the seriousness that had now fallen on me; what I had idly suggested, and she caught up with so fervent a welcome, was no small thing. If I did it, it would be at the cost of Hammerfeldt's confidence, perhaps of his services; he might refuse to endure such an open rebuff. And I knew in my heart that the specious justifications were unsound; I should not act because of them, they were the merest pretext. I should give what she asked to her. Should I not be giving her my honour also, that public honour which I had learned to hold so high?
"I can't promise to-day; you must let me think," I pleaded.
I was prepared for another outburst of petulance, for accusations of timidity, of indifference, again of willingness to take and unwillingness to give. But she sat still, looking at me intently, and presently laid her hand in mine.