“Yes, indeed,” said Grafton. “And when is the best time to see him? I’m going to call on him.”
Zeppstein looked at the American as if he thought him insane. “But, my dear sir,” he said, deprecatingly, “you don’t understand. You will have to wait until His Royal Highness’s vacation is over. Then you must go to your minister and he will lay your wish before the Grand Chamberlain. And if possible your name will be placed on the list for one of the levees—there are five each winter.”
“Oh, I don’t want to see the Grand Duke in his official capacity; it’s a little private matter—about a picture.”
“But the Grand Duke has no other capacity. He is head of the state; he is the state every hour of every day, except when he’s abroad. Then he often graciously condescends to be a mere gentleman.”
“But I can’t wait. You ought to be able to arrange it. You’ve got influence.”
“Yes.” Baron Zeppstein was flattered. “But, unfortunately, none is permitted to speak to His Royal Highness unless he has commanded it—that is, no one but his son, the Inheriting Grand Duke, and his niece, the Duchess Erica, and the Grand Chamberlain. And—I am, just at present, at outs with them. Her Serene Highness is most intractable—one of the new school of wild young princesses who are cutting loose from everything in these degenerate days.”
“She certainly doesn’t look tame.”
“I had the honor of escorting her to Paris when I went for His Royal Highness’s picture,” Zeppstein continued. “It was a painful experience. And instead of sustaining me, His Royal Highness—but it was most humiliating.”
“Excellent,” said Grafton. “I can be of service to you. I own a Rembrandt which I wish to let the Grand Duke have at a bargain. I’m certain he’ll be most anxious to get it once he hears of it. Now, if you should be of assistance to him in getting it, he would be grateful, wouldn’t he?”
Zeppstein became thoughtful. “Not grateful,” he said. “It isn’t in His Royal Highness to be grateful. But it might make him think me useful. What do you propose?”