Gorman did not care whether Goldsturmer’s heart was eaten by dogs or not. He did want to understand how it came that the astute Jew expected to have the pearls offered to him. It was plain that Madame Ypsilante did not want to sell them and that she had not suggested the sale.
“It was Goldsturmer,” said Gorman, “who told me. He seemed to think that Miss Donovan might buy them.”
Madame at once knocked down two wine-glasses and a vase of flowers.
“That cursed offspring of the litter of filthy Jews who make Hamburg stink! Tell him that I will pull out his hair, his teeth, his eyes, but that never, never will that American miss touch one of my pearls. I will not sell, will not, will not.”
The King looked round. He satisfied himself that the waiters had left the room.
“Alas,” he said, “alas, my poor Corinne! But consider. There is an English proverb: the horse needs must trot along, trot smart, when it is the devil who drives.”
“He is the devil, that Emperor,” said Madame. “But not for any Emperor will I part with one single pearl.”
“Look here,” said Gorman. “There’s evidently been some mistake about Goldsturmer and the pearls. I don’t profess to understand what’s happening, but if I’m to help you in any way——”
“You are to help damnably,” said the King. “Are you not our friend?”
“In that case,” said Gorman, “before I go a step further into the matter I must know what on earth the Emperor has got to do with Madame’s pearls.”