His Excellency was most sympathetic. Would M. Blakeney have a cigar and a glass of fine? No? Then what could His Excellency do for M. Blakeney?
"Pray command me, my dear Monsieur Blakeney. We are all so grateful to you for the kind interest you are taking in our young athletes. It will be such a happy recollection for them in after years that so distinguished an English champion as yourself has helped them with their games."
Peter let him talk on. He thought it a pity to stem this flood of eloquence, and he was looking forward to the moment when Naniescu's complacent effusions would turn to equally comic puzzlement first, and subsequently to amazement and delight.
"Shall I tell your Excellency now," he said as soon as he could get a word in edgeways, "why I have come?"
"Mais comment donc?" the general replied suavely. "I am hanging on your lips, mon cher Monsieur Blakeney."
"Well," Peter said, quite slowly and speaking in French since M. de Kervoisin did not know English, "well, it's just this. Lady Tarkington has written certain newspaper articles, which you, general, very much desire to see published. That's so, isn't it?"
But though this opening almost betrayed Naniescu into an exclamation of surprise, he had enough control over his nerves not to give himself away. Fortunately he was a great adept at expressive gestures, and his cigar also helped to keep him in countenance.
He leaned back in his chair, was silent for a moment or two blowing rings of smoke through his full, red lips.
"Articles?" he queried at last with an assumption of perfect indifference. "I don't know. What articles do you mean, cher ami?"
"Those," Peter replied with equal indifference, "for which you were prepared to pay a deuced lot of money to your spy in chief."