"And who, in the name of Weimer, are you?" bawled the Count. He scrutinized me intently; then a light of recognition broke over his face. "The other one! A nest of them!"
"Count," interposed the Prince, seating himself at the table, "let me have a short talk with them before you act. There may be extenuating circumstances. Anything of this sort amuses and interests me. Let us use a little diplomacy in the matter."
"Yes," said Hillars; "let us lie a little."
"And who can do it better than a journalist?" the Prince laughed.
"Diplomatists," Hillars sent back.
"What is her Serene Highness to you?" resumed the Prince.
"Nothing—positively nothing."
"Then you are afraid to acknowledge your regard for her?"
"I?" Hillars dropped his arm from my shoulders. "I am not afraid of anything—not even the Count here." Then he laughed. "If her Serene Highness was anything to me, your Highness, I should not be afraid to say so before the King himself."
"You impudent—" But a wave of the Prince's hand silenced the Count.