“I had a gold one,” put in the host. “But I have given it to the government, to help save the franc.”
Was there just the trace of a frown on the gentle visage of the Spanish king's cousin? She had been laboring for a quarter of a century to make a gentleman out of a Levantine trader; and perhaps it cannot be done in one lifetime; perhaps in the midst of wars and revolutions one must excuse lapses from a much-burdened mind.
After they had had their tea, the old man remarked: “And now about that matter of business, Mr. Budd.”
The hostess rose. “I am sure you gentlemen don't want an audience for your conference,” she said; and added sweetly to Lanny: “Wouldn't you like to come and see my beautiful tulips?”
Of course Lanny went, and so lost his chance to observe the old trader in action. He was taken into a fine garden, and introduced to a pair of snow-white poodles, beautifully groomed and shaved to resemble lions. He learned about the tulips, which were just unfolding their beauties: the bizarres, which are yellow marked with purple and red; the bybldemen, which are white marked with violet or purple; also a new kind from Turkestan. The Dutch people had cultivated them for centuries, and once they had been the basis of a great financial boom.
“Do you really love flowers?” asked the duquesa; and Lanny told about Bienvenu, and the court full of daffodils and bougainvillaea where he did his reading. He was used to ladies with titles, and not awed by them. He suspected that one who had the munitions king for a companion didn't feel entirely safe or happy, so he was moved to be kind. He mentioned Mrs. Emily, and found that the duquesa knew her, and had aided her war work; so Lanny told what she was doing at Sept Chênes, and added the story of M. Pinjon, the gigolo, which the duquesa found sympathique. She remarked that she would like to send a present to that poor man; since he played the flute, perhaps he might like to have a good one.
Time passed, and the two men of business did not appear. Lanny didn't want to be a nuisance to his hostess, who must have other things to do than to entertain a casually met youth. He told her he was used to getting along by himself, and she offered to take him to the library. He had seen many large rooms in fine homes, having walls lined with volumes de luxe which were rarely touched save to be dusted. The munitions king's were all behind glass, but on the table were magazines, and he said he would be happy with those. So the gentle lady excused herself. Lanny understood that she was far too rich to ask him to call again; and besides, maybe this was all just a matter of business, as Robbie had said!
VIII
At last the two emerged from their conference; both suave as ever — but you couldn't tell anything from that. The father and son strolled down the street, and Lanny said: “Well, what happened?”
Robbie answered, with one of his grins: “I thought he was going to cry, but he didn't quite.”