The man withdrew with the note, and Felix crossed the hall and entered a small room nearly opposite. It was luxuriously furnished with easy chairs and divans; there were cigars, and cigarettes, and decanters upon a round table. Felix took note of none of these things, nor did he sit down. He stood with his hands behind him, looking steadily into the fire. His cheeks were almost livid, save for a single spot of burning colour high up on his cheek-bone. His fingers twitched nervously, his eyes were dry and restlessly bright. He was evidently in a state of great excitement. In less than two minutes the door opened, and a tall, distinguished-looking man, grey headed, but with a moustache still almost black, came softly into the room. His breast glittered with orders, and he was in full Court dress. He nodded kindly to the young man, who greeted him with respect.
“Is it anything important, Felix?” he asked; “you are looking tired.”
“Yes, your Excellency, it is important,” Felix answered; “it concerns the man Sabin.”
The Ambassador nodded.
“Well,” he said, “what of him? You have not been seeking to settle accounts with him, I trust, after our conversation, and your promise?”
Felix shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I gave my word and I shall keep it! Perhaps you may some day regret that you interfered between us.”
“I think not,” the Prince replied. “Your services are valuable to me, my dear Felix; and in this country, more than any other, deeds of violence are treated with scant ceremony, and affairs of honour are not understood. No, I saved you from yourself for myself. It was an excellent thing for both of us.”
“I trust,” Felix repeated, “that your Excellency may always think so. But to be brief. The report from Cartienne is to hand.”