Bertha was in the War Lord's chair, for she felt very Olympian since she had returned from the Berlin Court, while Franz sat on the tabouret affected by the Krupp heiress during the interviews with her guardian.
"What did Zara really mean?" repeated Bertha.
"Are you prepared to hear the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" queried Franz.
Bertha Krupp moved uneasily in her high seat. Her mental stature had advanced rapidly under the War Lord's teachings, disguised as coaxings, and while the sound principles implanted in her bosom by a good mother were at bottom unimpaired, she was beginning to learn the subtle art of putting her conscience to sleep when occasion demanded—a touch of Machiavellism!
Just now she would have loved to shut up Franz, as she was wont to silence her mother by a word or look, though less rudely, perhaps, but her fondness for the man—though she was not at all in love with Franz—forced her to be frank with him.
"Speak as a friend to a friend," she said warmly.
"Well then——" began Franz.
Bertha covered his mouth with her hand. "A moment, please. May I tell Uncle Majesty?"
"What I have to say is no secret of mine and certainly it is not news to the War Lord. By all means tell him if you dare."
"If I dare?" echoed Bertha.