"Am I a child, sir," cried Ulster, testily, "to be frightened with bogies?"
Nicholas opened the papers and bent forward that the Chancellor might see them.
"Is that enough," he asked, "or do you want to see more? Look," he turned the papers slowly page by page, "at this, and this, and this!"
"Forgeries," answered the other boldly, "forgeries all. How could your Majesty be so deceived?"
Nicholas with a smile turned to the last page, "and this?"
The Chancellor's eyes seemed starting from his head, his jaw dropped, a moan broke from his throat; then with a sharp effort he drew himself together, and pointed at the papers.
"That—that—" he gasped, "that accuses me, much more it accuses you. That you, an Emperor, set such a trap is a disgrace crying aloud to Europe, that—that your Majesty is unfitted for a throne. I dare you, I challenge you. Publish those papers, and not an ambassador would remain at the Russian capital!"
"That I set the trap?" Hot fury darkened the Russian's face, "This scullion work is not in the hands of kings. Would you make me your partner?"
"Sir," Ulster instantly shot out his arm, extended upwards over the papers. "Look! The yacht has signalled!"
The Emperor folded the papers, and jammed them back into the breast of his cloak.