“Very little,” he replied. “They were only of sentimental value, Count!”
“Count!” The other smiled. “Ah! Ha! You know. My good friend Rutile has told you? Yes! I am count. But I seldom use the title. I fly higher. Perhaps you have heard.”
Topham nodded, and the Brazilian rattled on. “Boni!” he exclaimed. “I have good news. Come and rejoice with me. As you Americans say, come and smile with me.” He caught Walter by the arm and drew him down the walk to the tables beneath the trees.
Topham went willingly enough. Despite the warning of the Gazette correspondent, he rather liked Ouro Preto. Besides, he was the brother of the Countess Elsa.
Ouro Preto picked out a table and beckoned to a waiter. “What will you have, my friend,” he demanded, as he dropped into his chair. “The gin-rickey or the horse’s-neck or the mint-julep of America; the wine of France; or the beer of Germany?”
“Anything, so long as it’s beer,” returned Topham, lightly. “But, Count, what’s your good news?”
“The best ever. You know what it is I want in Berlin? Yes? Well, the Emperor will see me tomorrow at ten.”
Walter caught up the stein which the swift-footed waiter had placed before him. “Congratulations!” he cried, and gulped the beer.
Ouro Preto nodded. His eyes were bright with excitement, and his dark cheeks burned with color. “That argues much, eh? friend Topham?” he questioned. “Wilhelm does not see a man in private audience unless he has something to say to him. If he meant to refuse, he could do so by proxy. That he consents to see me means—means—well, I scarcely dare guess what it may mean.”
Walter played with his stein. “I’m not familiar with the Emperor’s ways,” he observed, “But to be received in private audience seems a mighty good augury.”