“No, I can’t wait,” said Eirene nervously. “I have snatched these few minutes while my sister-in-law is at Ephestilo, and Admiral Essiter’s surgeon is sitting with my husband. I was obliged to come when you sent word that you, and you alone, could show me how to save his life.”
“Exactly. You are wise. You realise that if Scythia, Pannonia, and Hercynia continue to support Roum in demanding the surrender of the insurgent leaders, the British Government will yield? I have a great admiration for your British Government; it always knows when to submit. And that ‘when,’ in this case, will be about the beginning of next week.”
“So I feared,” murmured Eirene, with dry lips.
“Therefore, if anything is to be done, it must be done at once.”
“Yes, yes; I know.”
“You understand that I am not here as a philanthropist? You are prepared to pay a price for your husband’s life?”
“I would give mine if you asked it.”
“Ah, that, I fear, has little marketable value. But would you give your ambition, madame?”
Eirene paused before answering. The words seemed to be wrung from her at last. “Yes. I have no child now, to suffer.”
“‘The children born of thee are fire and sword’”—the words, applied to herself many years before, came to the Princess’s lips, but she repressed them. “I am glad to see you are able to take a common-sense view of the matter. Then, on that assurance, I will put affairs in train.”