Count Ronsard was a dilettante in music and art, and a professional lover of beauty, especially in the form presented by his friend and countryman, Bouguereau. His favorite writer was Daudet; his favorite luxury, eating. Withal, he was a trained statesman and a subtle diplomat.
Pierre, upon his arrival in Tokio, had been urged to make the Legation his temporary home. His first question was, of course, for the appointment. Count Ronsard gave evasive reply. As this continued to be the case, Pierre felt, in decency, that he must cease to press the matter. As days passed, and the count, so indulgent, fatherly, and candid in other things, continued to avoid the discussion of Pierre's hopes, the young man could not fail to draw the conclusion that the elder had his personal reasons for not wishing to come to a decision. Pierre did not greatly care. The anxiety about Yuki kept his thoughts busy. More than once he had been on the point of confiding in Count Ronsard and of asking advice, but each time something prevented. Mrs. Todd, in this stress, was his unfailing sympathizer. Gwendolen was kind, but he knew well that there was now, and always had been, a certain reserve in her approbation of his love-affair. The laxity of hours at the French Legation, and the absence of all restrictions, suited well the boy's present restless temper.
The morning after Prince Haganè's banquet he woke to a feeling of heaviness and depression that sakè could not altogether account for. Small bits of recollection began to sting him like brier-points left under the skin. He saw now, in Yuki's white face, a protest which, twelve hours before, he had wilfully ignored. Gwendolen's eyes flashed again indignant warning. The extreme attentiveness of the host, a lurid after-image of the pictured god, the innumerable small cups that, at the time, had seemed innocuous, came over him in humiliating memories. "Gwendolen was right. It was all a test, and I, as usual, played the impulsive fool!" thought he, bitterly.
On reaching the breakfast-room he was pleasantly surprised to find his host still at table. A heap of letters, opened and unopened, showed the cause of delay. Several with foreign postmarks were at Pierre's plate. As the young man entered, Ronsard touched an electric button, giving four short, peculiar rings. A few seconds later a servant appeared with a tray of steaming coffee and food.
"What news from war-centres, your Excellency?" was Pierre's perfunctory question.
"Mon Dieu, war is surely coming! We are upon the very verge, though our friends the Russians pretend not to believe. Kurino is to abandon St. Petersburg. I still have a gleam of hope that the Japanese will have common intelligence, and withdraw."
"If Kurino leaves, then the Russian minister here must withdraw. I was told yesterday that he too made preparations."
"Each move may be a feint. Diplomacy is largely made up of feints." Here he gave a fleshy shrug. "But, my young friend, our speculations will not change events. As the Japanese say, 'Shi-ka-ta ga nai,' which, being interpreted, means, 'Way out, there is none.' Tell me of yourself. You are pale. Do the joys of Tokio prove too arduous?"
The speaker, lolling back in his leathern chair, lighted another cigarette, his eighth since breakfast, and turned an inquiring leer upon his companion. Pierre was staring into the smoky coal fire. He had scarcely heard Ronsard's last words. Yet all at once he felt that here was an opportunity to ask the advice he had been craving.
"Last night I was at a Japanese banquet, an affair splendid, but small, given to the family of the newly presented American minister, Mr. Todd, by Prince Haganè," he began.