I
There were two yachts on the Adriatic Sea waiting for an emperor.
One lay in the harbour of Fiume; the other at Trieste. The emperor himself was still at Potsdam, and none of the newspapers seemed to know when he would sail.
Sir Jules Achon was a man of infinite patience and superb tenacity. Few but his intimate friends knew much about him. He had amassed a great fortune as a shipbroker, and now with advancing years, he devoted the bulk of that fortune to this tremendous project of European Federation. Yet it was all done without any claptrap whatever. The newspapers had hardly heard of it. There was no writer of eminence to take it up. Sir Jules worked in great places, but he worked silently. Already his scheme had the approval of kings and emperors. He had gone to St. Petersburg with a recommendation to the English Ambassador which opened all doors. But for a dramatic accident of destiny, the Tsar would have been his first patron. Three ministers knew his scheme, and two of them were warm supporters of such a transcendent project. The third saw in it a danger to the diplomatists, which self interest could not tolerate. "This will make an end of us," he had said. Sir Jules agreed that it was so. That very night Ivolsky obtained an audience of the Emperor, and besought him to withdraw his patronage. The others were too late by a few hours, and who shall say how far that accident of time and space has affected the immediate destinies of Europe?
For the common peace projects, beating of pacific drums and waving of fraternal flags, Sir Jules cared not at all. He believed that international peace could come only upon a basis of common European interests. His scheme would have established free trade between the kingdoms. Wars arise chiefly from commercial disputes; commercial disputes are the first fruits of tariffs. Let the commercial incentive be wanting and disarmament may begin. A gradual process needed many years for full attainment—but it could begin to-morrow if the conditions were fulfilled.
He talked very little of all this to those with him on the yacht. It was, in effect, a young people's party and a merry one at that. Dr. Joe Burrall had come from Putney, a braw man of thirty, who had rowed for Cambridge. Douglas Renshaw, a gunner whose occupation had gone, came because he was asked, and was asked because he was sure to come. He had taken to the Stock Exchange recently as a wire-haired terrier to the gorse, and Sir Jules had put a small fortune into his pocket. He knew a little geology, and declared his intention of studying Slav. So far the only word he had picked up was "hijar," and he was not very sure to what tongue it belonged, though he used it frequently as an expression of joy.
These two with Gabrielle Silvester were the guests of Sir Jules and his daughter upon the Wanderer, the fine steam yacht which had so often invaded the superb mysteries of the Western Mediterranean. They understood their host's ambitions, but rarely spoke of them. When it was learned that there was a doubt about the Emperor going to Corfu after all, they looked upon it as a personal rebuff, but did not discuss it except apart. All kinds of excursions kept them busy. They visited the unsurpassable islands of the Adriatic, became learned about Zara and Sebenico and matchless Ragusa, the incomparable Republic, defying East and West alike during the centuries. Local interests attracted them; they saw much of these savage peoples; were ashore for many a frolic; lived in a blaze of sunshine and an atmosphere wholly medieval.
Gabrielle's voyage to America had been her first world experience beyond the walls of meticulous suburbia. This new adventure fascinated her beyond measure. She felt that she had really begun to live. It were as though the passion of the East stirred in her normally cold blood and left her panting. Destiny had snatched her up from the ruck to put her in high places. Far from surrendering to the enervating suggestions of this sunny sea, they forced her mind to considerable ambitions—and with them all the name of John Faber would associate itself despite the memories. This was contrary to all she had determined in Paris, and put her to some shame. She felt that she had no right to see such a man again, that he was a social pariah, without pity or any title to the meanest respect. And yet he would creep into the scheme of her ambitions, and she understood in some way that without him they were meaningless.
II
It was a great surprise to Gabrielle when the launch returned to the yacht one afternoon in the second week in December with her father and Harry Lassett on board. This was one of Sir Jules' great surprises—one in which Eva had a part. Silvester was very tired after his long journey across Europe, but Harry was very full of it. They were greeted by Douglas Renshaw with a "hijar"; by Sir Jules with that quiet smile which betokened pleasure in the company of his friends.