The Spaniard leaned back, balancing his chair on two legs, his hands spread on the table. "Si, Señor, it is regrettable. Yet nothing on earth appears so easy to supply as Kings—except Queens. And after all, what is it to us—an American millionaire—a Cadiz toreador?"
For a moment Benton was silent. When he spoke it was in quick, clear-clipped interrogation.
"You know Puntal and Galavia?"
"As I know Spain."
"Manuel, suppose the quaking of a throne does interest me, you will go there with me—even though I may lead you where its fall may crush us both?"
The Spaniard grinned with a dazzling show of white teeth. His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "As well a tumbling castle wall as a charging bull."
"Good. The first thing is to learn all we can of Louis and his party."
"There is," observed Blanco calmly, "a table on this side also shielded by plants. From its angle we can observe,—and be ourselves protected from their view. However, we will first go for a stroll in the calle and return. The change of position will then be less noticeable. Also, the Señor's forehead is beaded with moisture. The air of the street will be grateful."
As Benton rose he noticed that the Grand Duke was leaning confidentially toward the member of the French Cabinet Noir.
Fifteen minutes later the two men were ensconced in their more sheltered coign, with wine glasses before them, and all the seeming of idle hours to kill.