"He did not entirely accept the message of the stars," returned Lilly. "He does not seem to object to war. He says there is no time when it is as easy to raise money from the people as in times of war. I suggested that money in the nation's treasury was not in the privy purse, where the king most wants it. But he said it was only a short journey from the treasury to the privy purse, and—well, I agreed with him. If you want to convert a vain, stubborn fool to your way of thinking, don't let him know what your way is."
"So the stars have failed?" asked the Abbé.
"No," returned Lilly, "they have put the king to thinking, but more, they have sowed the seeds of fear, a plant which grows rapidly in a coward's heart by night."
"But not rapidly enough to suit our purposes, I fear," returned the Abbé.
"Yes," insisted Lilly. "If the king's inclination can be changed, fear will sweep aside all other considerations in a moment, and he will accept the one hundred thousand pounds which you will offer to-morrow morning. But in case the king does conclude to accept the French king's offer, the iron will at once take on a white heat, and—well, iron remains at white heat only a short time. You must be ready to act quickly when the proper moment comes, or London will spring between you and the king."
"I shall be ready," returned the Abbé. "The king shall be inclined to our proposition before another day is past."
"Shall I tell you what the stars predict concerning the signing of the treaty?" asked Lilly.
"Yes, yes," I answered eagerly.
"I have found Venus in conjunction with—" began Lilly.
"Oh, damn the stars!" cried the Abbé, most uncanonically. "Tell me what you think about it!"