“Karl did his work well. You are quite mad. You will do well to go back to America before the police discover you.”
Armitage rose and his manner changed abruptly.
“I do not mean to trouble or annoy you. Please pardon me! Let us be friends, if we can be nothing more.”
“It is too late. The chasm is too deep.”
The old minister sighed deeply. His fingers touched the despatch box as though by habit. It represented power, majesty and the iron game of government. The young man watched him eagerly.
The heavy, tremulous hands of Count von Stroebel passed back and forth over the box caressingly. Suddenly he bent forward and spoke with a new and gentler tone and manner.
“I have given my life, my whole life, as you have said, to one service—to uphold one idea. You have spoken of that work with contempt. History, I believe, will reckon it justly.”
“Your place is secure—no one can gainsay that,” broke in Armitage.
“If you would do something for me—for me—do something for Austria, do something for my country and yours! You have wits; I dare say you have courage. I don’t care what that service may be; I don’t care where or how you perform it. I am not so near gone as you may think. I know well enough that they are waiting for me to die; but I am in no hurry to afford my enemies that pleasure. But stop this babble of yours about democracy. Do something for Austria—for the Empire that I have held here under my hand these difficult years—then take your name again—and you will find that kings can be as just and wise as mobs.”
