“He only needs the money.”
“Ah! He promised his grandfather on the old Kaiser’s death-bed that he would maintain friendly relations with Russia. It is a matter of sentiment with him.”
“Sentiment evaporates, and promises are nullified, when it comes to a question of self-protection.”
“Or ambition! Will he ever be able to get this money? The Reichstag will not vote it, and the Socialists become stronger daily. How can he get it?”
“Well—he might raise the embargo on certain American industries, and as a return favor they might advance him fifty million dollars or so.”
“You know that is one of the few things he would not dare do. He cannot afford to antagonise another party—he is as much of a politician as your Roosevelt.”
“Well, you see, success in a great war would bind all parties in a common approval.”
Ranata was a thorough European in the sinuousness of her methods; but she recalled the picturesque advice of Alexandra to push a fellow-diplomat into a corner and tell him “to speak out or get out.” She fixed her disconcerting eyes on Fessenden and asked deliberately, “Do you intend to give him this money?”
Fessenden was not to be nonplussed by methods direct or indirect. His sharp eyes met the strength of her gaze unmoved. “Can you keep a secret? Yes? If the time ever comes when our interests seem one, I shall let him have all the money he wants.”
“That is the vagueness of diplomacy.”