“The Duke of Reist,” he said, quietly, “is a friend of yours. Perhaps it is better that I should go. I regret very much to have been the passive cause of such an outbreak. Miss Van Decht, you will accept my apologies.”
Erlito was very grave. He did not seem to see the hand which Hassen held out to him.
“Hassen,” he said, “we have been friends, but I do not understand these things which the Duke of Reist has said of you. You have spoken of yourself as a Frenchman—of Theos or of Turkey I have heard nothing. Have you any explanation to offer?”
Hassen shrugged his shoulders lightly.
“My dear Erlito,” he said, “the Duke of Reist is an honest man, but—he will forgive me—he is an anachronism. He should have lived two centuries ago—or, better still, he would have made an excellent crusader. The necessities of modern diplomacy are unknown to him. He has passed all his days in a semi-civilized country. He is not a fitting judge of the things which happen to-day.”
A sudden lightning flashed in Erlito’s blue eyes. He drew himself to his full height, and pointed towards the door.
“That semi-civilized country, sir, is mine also, and if you are one of those who have sought to corrupt it, I beg that you will leave this room while you may with a whole skin. At once, sir!”
The imperturbability of the man was clearly disturbed. He looked at Erlito in amazement. The face of Nicholas of Reist shone with joy.
“Your country?” Hassen repeated, incredulously. “What have you to do with Theos?”
Erlito hesitated—not so Reist. He stepped forward, and the leaping firelight threw a strange glow upon his pale, mobile features.