Chapter Twenty Five.
England’s Enemies.
Late that night, after the Princess and most of her guests had retired, I entered the billiard-room to get my cigarette-case, which I had left there while playing pool earlier in the evening, and on opening the door found the two Ambassadors Wolkenstein and Hindenburg seated together in the long lounge-chairs in earnest conversation. They were speaking in German, and as I entered I overheard the words “in such a manner as to crush the English power on the sea.” They were uttered by the German representative, and were certainly ominous. It was apparent that both men were aware of the gigantic conspiracy of which the Princess had told me—the plot which aimed at the downfall of our nation. I could see, too, that my sudden entry had disconcerted them, for they both moved uneasily and glanced quickly at each other as though fearing I had overheard some part of what had passed between them. Then Wolkenstein with skilful tact cried in French:
“Ah, my dear Ingram! we thought we alone were the late birds to-night. Come here and chat;” and at the same time he pulled forward one of the long cane chairs, into which, thus bidden, I sank.
What, I wondered, had been the exchange of view’s between these two noted diplomatists? The faces of both were sphinx-like. Our talk at first dealt with nothing more important than the journey across the forest to Barbison which our hostess had arranged for the morrow. I knew, however, that the conversation held before my entrance had been about the European situation. Those men were England’s enemies. My impulse was to rise abruptly and leave them; but it is always the diplomatist’s duty to remain cool, and watch, even though he may be compelled to hobnob with the bitterest opponents of his native land. Therefore I remained, and, concealing my antipathy, lit a cigar and lay back in my chair, carelessly gossiping about the usual trivialities which form the subject of house-party chatter.
“The Princess looked rather pale to-night, I thought,” exclaimed Count de Hindenburg suddenly. “She seemed quite worried.”
“With a château full of guests the life of a hostess is not always devoid of care,” I remarked, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
I alone knew the reason of her paleness and anxiety, and was eager to ascertain what deductions these two shrewd men had made.