“Do I not know it?” he muttered. “In this instance, though, it seems impossible for him to succeed. The time is so short and the conditions so difficult. I may count upon your assistance, Baron?”
The Baron drew from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper.
“I received a telegram from headquarters this after noon,” he said, “with instructions to place myself entirely at your disposal.”
“You will return with me, then, to the Embassy?” Monsieur de Lamborne asked, eagerly.
The Baron de Grost did not at once reply. He was standing in one of his characteristic attitudes, his hands clasped behind him, his head a little thrust forward, watching with every appearance of courteous interest the roomful of guests, stationary just now, listening to the performance of a famous violinist. It was, perhaps, by accident that his eyes met those of Madame de Lamborne, but she smiled at him subtly, more, perhaps, with her wonderful eyes than her lips themselves. She was the centre of a very brilliant group, a most beautiful woman holding court, as was only right and proper, among her admirers. The Baron sighed.
“No,” he said, “I shall not return with you, De Lamborne. I want you to follow my suggestions, if you will.”
“But, assuredly!”
“Leave here early and go to your club. Remain there until one, then come to the Embassy. I shall be there awaiting your arrival.”
“You mean that you will go there alone? I do not understand,” the ambassador protested. “Why should I go to my club? I do not at all understand.”
“Nevertheless, do as I say,” De Grost insisted. “For the present, excuse me. I must look after my guests.”