I wagged my head dolefully.
“I could not have rested had I not warned Mr. Buckhurst of this,” I said, sentimentally.
Which was fairly well done, considering that I was figuratively lamenting over the innocence of the most accomplished scoundrel that ever sat in the supreme council of the Internationale.
Buckhurst looked thoughtfully at the floor.
“If I thought,” he murmured—“if I believed for one instant—”
“Believe me, my dear sir,” I said, “that you are playing into the hands of the wickedest villains on earth!”
“Your earnestness almost converts me,” he said, lifting his stealthy eyes.
The Countess appeared weary and perplexed.
“At all events,” she said, “we must do nothing to embarrass France now; we must do nothing until this frightful war is ended.”
After a silence Buckhurst said, “But you will go to Paradise, madame?”