“Don't let your vanity be flattered. We've got something he wants, and he'd like to make it a social matter, not one of business. Watch him and see how an old Levantine trader works.”
“Doesn't he have an office?” inquired the boy.
“His office is where he happens to be. People find it worth while to come to him.”
Lanny dressed for this special occasion, and late in the afternoon of a day which promised spring they drove to 53, Avenue Hoche, just off the Parc Monceau. It was one of a row of stately houses, with nothing to make it conspicuous; a home for a gentleman who didn't want to attract attention to himself, but wanted to stay hidden and work out plans to appeal to other men's fears and greeds. A discreet and velvet-footed man in black opened the door, and escorted them into the reception room, which had furniture and paintings in excellent taste — no doubt the duquesa's. Presently they were invited to a drawing room on the second floor, where the first thing they saw was an elaborate silver tea service ready for action. The windows were open, and a soft breeze stirred the curtains, and birds sang in trees just outside. Presently the munitions king entered, looking grayer and more worn — one does not make a quarter of a billion dollars without some cares.
He had hardly finished greeting them when a lady entered behind him. Had she heard the story of the boy who had had such an odd idea about helping his father's business? Or was it the special importance of the contracts which Robert Budd was bringing? Anyhow, here she came, and Zaharoff said: “The Duquesa de Villafranca,” with a tone of quiet pride. The duquesa bowed but did not give her hand; she said, very kindly: “How do you do, Messieurs?” and seated herself at the tea table.
She had been only seventeen when she had met this munitions salesman, and they had been waiting twenty-seven years for her lunatic husband to die. She was a rather small and inconspicuous person, gracious, but even more reserved than her companion. His blue eyes were watching the visitors, and her dark eyes for the most part watched him. She had the olive complexion of a Spaniard, and wore a teagown of purple, with a double rope of pearls nearly to her waist. “You have had a dangerous journey, M. Budd,” she remarked.
“Many men are facing danger these days, Madame,” replied Robbie.
“Do you think that your country will help us to end this dreadful war?”
“I think so; and if we come in, we shall do our best.”
“It will have to be done quickly,” put in the munitions king; to which Robbie answered that large bodies took time to get in motion, but when they moved, it was with force.