“The Emperor,” said Madame Ypsilante, “is a devil.”
“Take another glass of port,” said the King. “No? Then light a cigar. If you will light a cigar and fill for yourself a glass of brandy—also for Corinne—I will tell you about the Emperor.”
Gorman filled Madame’s glass and his own. He was particular about Madame’s. Brandy had a soothing influence on her. He did not like her habit of throwing things about in moments of excitement. He also lit a cigar.
“I will make my breast clean of the whole affair,” said the King. “Then you will understand and help us. The Emperor has spilt cold water all over Salissa—that is over the sale of the island to the American.”
“The Emperor must have very little to do,” said Gorman, “if he has time to waste in fussing about a wretched little island like Salissa. How did he hear about the sale?”
“I think,” said the King, “that Steinwitz must have permitted the cat to jump out of the bag. Steinwitz smelt rats, of that I am sure.”
“I daresay you’re right,” said Gorman. “I rather thought Steinwitz was nosing around. But why does the Emperor mind? That’s what I’m trying to get at.”
The King shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows?” he said. “Real Politik, perhaps. What you call——How do you call Real Politik?”
“Haven’t got a word for it,” said Gorman. “For the matter of that we haven’t got the thing. We manage along all right with sham politics, Ireland and Insurance Acts and the rest of it. If real politics lead to trouble over places like Salissa I prefer our home-made imitation. But Real Politik or not, the thing’s done; so what’s the good of the Emperor talking?”