After walking the length and breadth of the room, he planted himself firmly before Bülow, whom, by the way, he had not asked to be seated.
"I command," he said with an air of finality; "Bohlen is the man. Your own suggestion, you can't escape from it," he quickly added, when Bülow protested. "You said the fellow, though capable, is not self-opinionated—no swelled head—always obeys orders—in short: adaptable. That kind of man we need at the head of the Krupp establishment to do the Fatherland's work according to my directions—hence Bertha will marry him and no one else."
Then, to forestall further arguments: "Let's join the ladies now."
He rang for an orderly. "The Grand Master," he commanded.
Count Augustus zu Eulenburg had evidently anticipated that he would be wanted, as he stood waiting in the Shell Grotto, facing the park. The walls and ceiling of this gorgeous entrance hall are clad with semi-precious stones in their natural growth: mountain-crystal and malachite, coral trees and amethyst rocks, agate and garnets, gold and silver ore; presents from royal friends for the most part.
"I'll leave for Essen to-night. Wire Frau Krupp to expect me for breakfast. The small entourage, and warn messieurs my humble servants not to take too many lackeys. I am tired of carting their households around."
"At Your Majesty's orders." The Marshal bowed low. Then in a whisper: "Is Phili to be of the party?"
"Certainly not," replied the War Lord so Bülow might hear him. "Report to me later," he added in an undertone.
"Later" the following tripotage was overheard:
War Lord: "Phili hasn't left?"