“It is not the time, this, for any weak scruples, my dear Reist,” Domiloff was saying. “Theos in a week’s time will be either a Russian State forever, or once more a free country with a ruler who is one of her own sons, and in whom my master can repose every confidence. You see I am very frank with you. I admit that this attack upon your country is the will and the decree of Russia. It was broached in London, confirmed in St. Petersburg, and planned in Constantinople. Yet, believe me, it was conceived in no spirit of enmity to Theos. It is simply this. We will not have a Tyrnaus upon the throne of Theos.”
“Your country,” Reist answered, hoarsely, “has no great reputation for generosity. What are we to pay for our freedom? You would not have me believe that there is no price.”
“There is none,” was the quiet answer, “which you, as a patriot and a Thetian, need hesitate to pay. We should require the abolition of the present edict prohibiting Russians from holding public offices, and a few more such unimportant concessions. They are nothing. They will serve only to knit our countries more closely together in friendship.”
Reist laughed hardly.
“Yet I think,” he said, “that the freedom of Theos would become somewhat of a jest were I to accept your terms.”
“The alternative,” Domiloff remarked, “may seem more pleasing to you. Yet I have heard people say unpleasant things of the Turkish yoke.”
“Theos is not yet conquered,” Reist answered. “Ughtred, to do him justice, is a soldier, and my people have the love of fighting born in their hearts.”
“The odds are too great—and you know it,” was the quiet reply. “Besides, the Turkish army is led by Russians and supplied with Russian artillery. The result is certain.”
“There may be intervention!”
“From whom?” Domiloff asked, smiling. “France is the monkey who dances to my master’s music—Austria is bound to us, Germany is geographically powerless.”