"Quite so—quite so," said the Russian, conscious of an error. "This year—the next will do. Our treasury has many drains upon it. We are not anxious to add to the number."
The Vizier smoked imperturbably. "The skies are grey here," he said at length, "but this London holds some wonderful men. One I met yesterday—an American. He is young. His hair is still flaxen. Yet he spoke of money as though it grew on rose trees. Half a million roubles are as nothing to him. He gave that sum for an Italian picture—an old, shabby-looking thing such as my master would not place in his anterooms. He owns oil mines, railways, banks. Allah! what does that flaxen-haired youth not own? My heart ached at the number of his possessions."
"These Americans talk," replied the Count. "Half they say is false, half exaggeration."
"Sometimes, no doubt," said the Vizier, "but not always. I know this man is rich. He is one of the new kings of the earth. We have already had a transaction together," and he sighed contentedly.
"There are kings and kings," replied the Russian. "There are also emperors. Your Excellency is now in negotiation with one who controls the destinies of countless millions—men and roubles. When last I saw his Majesty he said, 'Tell his Excellency the Grand Vizier that I would his wisdom could be added to that of my counsellors. When the wishes of my heart respecting the new treaty are consummated he will honour me by accepting half a million roubles.'"
The Persian gazed reflectively into space. "Your master is great," he said, "and he is generous. His rewards make glad the hearts of poets. He is the joy of the poor. Would that I were a poet or poor. So should my voice praise him also."
The Russian's eye gleamed, but he continued suavely:
"So said my royal master, 'Half a million roubles shall be his when the treaty is signed; five hundred thousand more when the Russian flag floats in the Persian Gulf.'"
The Persian leaned back resignedly.