‘The explanation does not rest on the word of M. Witte, I assure you,’ he answered. ‘Every one who knows anything about Nicholas II. knows that he is a simple-minded, honest young man, quite incapable of playing a part in a comedy. As a matter of fact there is nothing in this rescript which he has not been saying in private conversation with his family and friends any time this last two or three years. The German Emperor heard all about it long ago. Now at last he has put his views formally before the world in a state paper. These proposals may not be practicable, but there can be no doubt that they are perfectly sincere.’ ‘I do not doubt the Tsar’s sincerity,’ I returned. ‘But knowing what I know of Russia, I want to understand why the Council of State have allowed the Tsar to have his own way.’ This time the Ambassador’s smile was less indulgent. ‘Really, M. V----, I think you are pushing your suspicions too far. Your profession has biassed your mind, and caused you to see mystery where it does not exist. You remind me of those politicians whom Bismarck used to say that he could always deceive by being perfectly frank.’ I smiled in my turn, a little grimly, as I responded-- ‘It appears to me, your Excellency, that the counsellors of the Tsar have just taken a leaf out of Bismarck’s book.’ Baffled in this direction, I was casting about me for another client, when my secretary came in to me one morning with a despatch marked urgent, calling me to proceed immediately to Constantinople, where my services were required by Muzaffir Effendi, the eunuch highest in the confidence of Abdul Hamid. I snatched at the opening with the assurance of triumph. Of all states Turkey was the one most deeply concerned in the foreign policy of Russia. Of all possible clients the most desirable was the ruler whose secret hoards had dazzled the imagination of every secret service agent in the world for a quarter of a century. What the business might be on which Muzaffir wanted me I neither knew nor greatly cared. I took my seat in the train that was to bear me towards the Balkan Peninsula, firmly resolved that his business should give way to mine. On my way across Central Europe I found the papers already full of the touching story of the benevolent young despot and his triumph over the worldly wisdom of his counsellors. I could not blame the journalists for being taken in by a story which had imposed on one of the most hard-headed diplomatists in Paris; I could only marvel at the astuteness and daring of the Muscovite statesmen who had contrived to turn the personal idiosyncrasies of their sovereign to use in their Machiavellian politics.