I wish you good morning, gentlemen!"
* * * * *
For forty-eight hours the war fever raged, and the pendulum swung
backwards and forwards. The cables between Berlin and St. Petersburg
were never idle. There was a rumor, amongst those behind the scenes, of
an enormous bribe offered to France in return for her neutrality alone.
Its instantaneous and scornful refusal practically brought the crisis to
an end. The German hosts melted away, and the Baltic Fleet passed on.
St. Petersburg accepted the British demands, and a commission of
arbitration was appointed. Henri de Bergillac read out the news from the
morning paper, and yawned.
"_C'est fini--l'affaire Poynton!_" he remarked. "You can get ready as
soon as you like, Guy. I am going to take you into Paris to your
sister!"
Guy looked up eagerly.
"My pardon?" he asked.
The Vicomte made a wry face.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed, "I forgot that there were still explanations to
make. Fill your abominable pipe, _mon ami_, and think that to-morrow or
the next day you may be in your beloved England. Think how well we have
guarded you here when a dozen men were loose in Paris who would have
killed you on sight.
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