“Renouf would, however, do you a personal favour,” I hazarded.
“I fear not,” was the reply. “We are not the best of friends. That is the reason I hesitate to issue a document that might implicate me. If he discovered the truth, my prospects in the diplomatic service might be ruined.”
With all Paul’s gay spirits and careless manner he possessed an eager enthusiasm, and an insatiable curiosity concerning humanity at large.
“But there is yet another way,” I said.
“How?”
“Obtain the signature of His Excellency, the Ambassador. You can make an excuse that the permit is for a friend.”
Paul remained silent, pacing the room with stolid face and automatic movement. At last he turned to me, saying,—
“I see, Deedes, it’s quite useless to argue longer. I admit that I am exceedingly anxious to render you this service, but knowing as I do that the consequences must be disastrous either to you, or to the woman Korolénko, I have hesitated. Yet if you are determined to assist her I suppose I must obtain for you the necessary paper.”
“Thanks, old fellow, thanks! I knew you would help me,” I exclaimed enthusiastically.
“I cannot let you have it before this evening. If you will send Juckes round at seven you shall have it with the visé and everything complete.”