“Ah! my dear signore, you are a little too impatient, I fear,” replied the chief of spies, quite undisturbed. “I was about to prove to you my friendliness.”
“I desire none of your friendship,” declared the Englishman hotly. “And I tell you that I will not have you mention the name of the Princess Luisa in connection with my own.”
“Friendships formed by Her Royal Highness are frequently unfortunate.”
“Are they!” exclaimed Waldron, his eyes aflame. “If you were younger, Signor Commendatore, I would knock you down for your gratuitous insult. As it is, I shall not forget it. Buon giorno!”
And he left the room, slamming the door after him.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Gathering Clouds.
Dust had once more been thrown into the eyes of Europe.