“Until you opened my eyes,” he said, “I did not know, or did not care to know, that love, far from being a drag on ambition, may be a help.”
Mathilde made a little movement towards him which she instantly repressed. The heart is quicker, but the head nearly always has the last word.
“Mademoiselle,” he said—and no doubt he saw the movement and the restraint—“will you help me now at the beginning of the war, and listen to me again at the end of it—if I succeed?”
After all, he was modest in his demands.
“Will you help me? Together, Mademoiselle—to what height may we not rise in these days?”
There was a ring of sincerity in his voice, and her eyes answered it.
“How can I help you?” she asked in a doubting voice.
“Oh, it is a small matter,” was the reply. “But it is one in which the Emperor is personally interested. Such things have a special attraction for him. The human interest never fails to hold his attention. If I do well, he will know it and remember me. It is a question, Mademoiselle, of secret societies. You know that Prussia is riddled with them.”
Mathilde did not answer. He studied her face, which was clean cut and hard like a marble bust—a good face to hide a secret.
“It is my duty to watch here in Dantzig and to report to the Emperor. In serving myself I could also perhaps serve a friend, one who might otherwise run into danger—who may be in danger while you and I stand here. For the Emperor strikes hard and quickly. I speak of your father, Mademoiselle—and of the Tugendbund.”