“That was clever. But”--she spoke very softly--“wait. I cannot do everything at once. I have an Obersthofmeisterin. Remember that you are far more your own master than I am mistress of my acts.” As she finally dismissed the bewildered Obstructionist, she caught Fessenden’s eye. It was twinkling with appreciation of a fellow-man’s enslavement. Ranata saw in the twinkle approval of her manœuvres in a great cause, and responded to the new chord of sympathy with all a woman’s facile manufacture of subtle understandings with unconscious man. “I feel somewhat of a Jesuit,” she said to him as they left the building. “But it is success or failure, and I shall not fail.” “Your tactics are those of the man who wins. And I suppose you reason that men will fall in love with you anyhow--that one more or less doesn’t matter.” “That is an idea!” said Ranata. XVI After luncheon the two girls, by Alexandra’s manœuvring, were alone in Ranata’s sitting-room. It was a very beautiful room now, with its golden walls, its rich Oriental hangings and chairs. The windows were open, and the Hungarian sunshine flooded it. Ranata sat in one of the deep straight-back chairs so beloved of royalty, Alexandra in a rocking-chair which had been upholstered to match the rest of the furniture, yet was impertinent and incongruous. “There is only one thing that will reconcile me to parting with you when you marry,” the Archduchess had remarked when it arrived; “I can have a bonfire made of all those ridiculous chairs.” And Alexandra had replied, “I will convert you even to those before I die.” To-day neither was sensible of pleasantries. Alexandra’s face was flushed, and the Archduchess, although her eyes were fixed absently on Pest, and her profile might have been cut in stone, was bracing herself for the coming conflict. Her subtle brain cleared and balanced its parts. She was determined to lose neither her friend nor her friend’s brother, and an ill-considered word might lose her both. She needed all her resources, for no one understood her so well as Alexandra. “You know I never beat about the bush,” the disconcerting American began. “You would think me a fool if I pretended any longer to be blind to the fact that you are entangling my brother in order the better to turn the tables on the German Emperor. If he were any one else’s brother I should follow your course with pleasure--I was as delighted as amused at your easy subjugation of poor Molnár this morning; for I am, up to a certain point, heart and soul with you in this great matter--but Fessenden is my brother.” “I wish he were not. Can you look at this matter dispassionately and impersonally, Alexandra? Do you believe that I can succeed as well without your brother?”