The Prince smiled.
"I don't know really. You have the 'new diplomacy' which is shouting what other people whisper—or keep to themselves—and le gros gourdin—the laughable big stick; it amuses us more than it impresses, I assure you." He regarded the girl closely and she smiled questioningly.
"You do not flush! You are not irritated?" he asked.
"Why should I be? What do you mean?"
"I was speaking lightly of your country."
"Oh, were you? I did not notice. I fear I am used to that, having spent much time in Europe."
The Prince looked at her curiously. She colored.
"No," she said, "I do not go in strongly for the furore Americanus, if that is what you mean."
"So. Your country must look to its bourgeoise for its Joans of Arc. But then your men are ungallantly self-sufficient. In Russia," the Prince shrugged his shoulders, "we send women to Siberia—or decorate them with the Order of St. Katherine."
"You actually shame me, Prince Koltsoff. We are different here; even our suffragettes would by no means allow devotion to their cause to carry them to jail; and as for influencing statesmen, or setting their plans at naught—" she shook her head—"why, I do not even know who they are. They are not in our set," laughing. "Really, we are pretty much butterflies from your—from any—viewpoint, are n't we? But after all, why?"