“Well, a few days will make no difference, surely?”
“Sir, a few hours will make a difference.”
“But why?”
“For a reason which you do not know and which nobody knows . . . except myself and a few people some fifteen hundred miles away.”
“What reason?”
“The Russians have no munitions left.”
M. Masseron shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What had all this to do with the matter?
“The Russians have no munitions left,” repeated Don Luis. “Now there is a tremendous battle being fought over there, a battle which will be decided not many hours hence. The Russian front will be broken and the Russian troops will retreat and retreat . . . Heaven knows when they’ll stop retreating! Of course, this assured, this inevitable contingency will have no influence on the wishes of the great power of which we are talking. Nevertheless, that nation has in its midst a very considerable party on the side of neutrality, a party which is held in check, but none the less violent for that. Think what a weapon you will place in its hands by postponing the agreement! Think of the difficulties which you are making for rulers preparing to go to war! It would be an unpardonable mistake, from which I wish to save my country. That is why I have laid down this condition.”
M. Masseron seemed quite discomforted. Waving his hands and shaking his head, he mumbled:
“It’s impossible. Such a condition as that will never be accepted. It will take time, it will need discussion. . . .”