“If it rests only with me,” he began, seriously, “oh, Madame!”
He seemed overcome. Madame was gracious, but was he really stupid or only very much in earnest?
“To be one of the world’s money kings,” she whispered, “it is wonderful—that. It is power—supreme, absolute power. There is nothing beyond, there is nothing greater.”
Then the Baron, who was watching her closely, caught another gleam in her eyes, and he began to understand. He had seen it before among a certain type of her countrywomen—the greed of money. He looked at her jewels and he remembered that, for an ambassador, her husband was reputed to be a poor man. The cloud of misgiving passed away from him; he settled down to the game.
“If money could only buy the desire of one’s heart,” he murmured. “Alas!”
His eyes seemed to seek out Monsieur de Lamborne among the moving throngs. She laughed softly, and her hand brushed his.
“Money and one other thing, Monsieur le Baron,” she whispered in his ear, “can buy the jewels from a crown—can buy, even, the heart of a woman—”
A movement of approaching guests caught them up, and parted them for a time. The Baroness de Grost was at home from ten till one, and her rooms were crowded. The Baron found himself drawn on one side, a few minutes later, by Monsieur de Lamborne himself.
“I have been looking for you, De Grost,” the latter declared. “Where can we talk for a moment?”
His host took the ambassador by the arm and led him into a retired corner. Monsieur de Lamborne was a tall, slight man, somewhat cadaverous looking, with large features, hollow eyes, thin but carefully arranged gray hair, and a pointed gray beard. He wore a frilled shirt, and an eye-glass suspended by a broad black ribbon hung down upon his chest. His face, as a rule, was imperturbable enough, but he had the air, just now, of a man greatly disturbed.