Naniescu put his finger-tips to his breast, then spread out his hands with a broad gesture of protest.
"I was wrong," he said suavely, "utterly wrong. I admit it. Forgive me, and permit me to take my leave——"
"Monsieur le Général———-"
"At your service, dear lady."
"Young Imrey," she pleaded, "and Anna Heves!" He shrugged his shoulders.
"I am truly sorry for them," he said unctuously; "but surely you do not think seriously that I would lend myself to any traffic where the safety of my country is concerned. Ah çà, dear lady," he went on, not only mocking the very words she had used, but even the inflexion of her voice, "where did you get your conception of a Roumanian officer or of a Roumanian gentleman?"
"It is you who proposed an infamous traffic," she retorted, "not I."
"Pardon me," he protested. "All that I suggested was that the mischief done should be remedied in the simplest way before those who had wrought it could hope for pardon. The mischief was done through the public Press; it can only be made good through the public Press, and only through the medium of one as influential as yourself. My suggestion has not met with your approval. Let us say no more about it."
Before she could prevent it he had taken her hand and raised it to his lips. She snatched it away as if her finger-tips had come in contact with something noxious; the indignation which she had tried so hard to keep under control flamed for an instant out of her eyes; and Naniescu, seeing it, gave a soft, guttural laugh.
"I had a suspicion," he said cynically, "that the situation was not entirely ludicrous. And now," he went on, "have I your permission to take my leave?"