“After all, England has very little interest in the matter,” she said.
“Little enough, madame, especially after declaring, in one of her periodical self-denying ordinances, that in no case would she permit an Englishman to become governor of Palestine.”
“You do not always see eye to eye with your countrymen, Count?”
“I fear, madame, that I can scarcely consider myself an Englishman at this late day, although my enemies are fond of saluting me with the name.”
There was meaning in Cyril’s tone, although the eyes which met those of the Princess were devoid of expression, and a novel and by no means unpleasant idea struck her. She was revolving it hastily in her mind when she spoke next, somewhat absently.
“Has anything happened?—does the deadlock still exist between your Syndicate and Scythia?”
“There is no alteration, madame. Before Scythia will allow us to have Palestine, she demands a promise that your son shall be the first governor.”
“It is a great pity—I mean that such a good work should be stopped. Will you accept me as an auxiliary, Count? or am I too transparent a plotter? I will write to Pavelsburg, and represent that you are powerless in the matter. Then perhaps the stipulation may be withdrawn.”
“Madame, I am overjoyed by your condescension.” Cyril did not consider it necessary to say that in any case the joint pressure of famine and poverty must cause the withdrawal of Scythian opposition in a day or two.
“Oh, I assure you it will be a great delight if I can give you any help. You will let me know how your difficulty with England ends? We shall miss your charming niece terribly. I hope Princess Soudaroff will spare her to us for a day now and then while she remains at Ludwigsbad.”