“An American,” replied Erica. “A—a—I think he said his name was Graf something—yes, Grafton.” She concealed her delight at the success of her plan.
“Grafton!” The Grand Duke leaped to his feet and paced the floor excitedly. He rang a bell and told the servant to send Baron Zeppstein to him, then continued his impatient walk and his muttering until Zeppstein stood before him, bent double in a bow. “Baron,” he said, “go at once to the Hôtel de l’Europe and present our compliments to a Mr. Grafton who is there, and tell him that we have commanded his presence at once. We wish to thank him for having saved the life of Her Serene Highness.”
Erica was radiant. She took her uncle’s shrivelled hand, courtesied, and kissed it. “You are so good,” she said, gratefully.
“Good? Nonsense! He’s one of those Americans who pay enormous prices for pictures and take them away from us to that barbarous republic and they’re never seen by civilized eyes again. He’s got two pictures that I want. Your adventure gives me the chance to get hold of him.”
Erica went to the door. “Stay here, child,” said he. “I wish to talk at somebody. I must give the fellow something—the Order of the Green Hawk will do.”
“But you give that to hotel-keepers when you stay at their hotels and to tradesmen who make you presents of goods you like.”
“It’s enough; he won’t know the difference, and he’ll be beside himself with delight; it takes little to tickle a democrat. But how shall I bring up the subject of the pictures?—that’s what I’m considering.”
“I don’t think it would be tactful to speak of them at the first meeting,” said Erica. “You might invite him to dinner, or—to luncheon to-morrow.”
“That is an idea. He’s a well-appearing person and interesting.”
“Have you seen him?” Erica looked the amazement she felt.