“Very well,” agreed the king; “you will make the arrangements.”
“I have also to report,” said the baron, “an attitude of benevolent neutrality on the part of the French and British governments. They have no disposition to interfere, so long as there is no bloodshed. Italy, of course, we can count on. Our success, therefore, seems assured, unless the prince....”
“Do not worry about Danilo,” said the king. “He will do as I tell him—he knows his duty. You have provided for his wife?”
“I have caused an offer to be made her.”
“By whom?”
“By the Countess Rémond.”
“Ah, yes,” said the king reflectively. “You think you can trust her?”
“Absolutely, Sire. She has reasons to be grateful to me—and to hate Jeneski.”
“You are right not to count too much upon gratitude,” said the king; “but hate—yes, that is better. She is a clever woman. We must not forget her,” and he turned to the papers on his desk.
The baron retired to his cabinet to look through his mail, and there he found the report from the countess of her interview with Madame Ghita, and of her acceptance. But it contained no reference to the receipt of the telegram from Goritza heralding Jeneski’s arrival.