Pembroke had kept his hat on his head purposely all this time. Volkonsky had removed his, but seeing Pembroke remain covered, put it back also. The two men gazed at each other for a moment, and then each went his way. But Pembroke knew in that moment that Volkonsky would come. Once down in the carriage, Volkonsky directed the coachman to drive toward the country. It was a charming morning in early spring. Madame Volkonsky had expected to enjoy the drive, but when she saw Volkonsky’s face she changed her anticipations. “What did he say?” she asked, almost before the footman had mounted. Volkonsky reflected for a moment, and then answered grimly: “He has offered me a chance to get away quietly.” Madame Volkonsky said no more. Volkonsky began gnawing his mustache--a trick that Ahlberg had before. He did not speak until they were out in the country lanes. The fresh spring air brought no bloom to Madame Volkonsky’s pallid face. “But for the frightful insolence of the fellow,” began Volkonsky after a while, “it might not be so bad. He is willing to negotiate. He has not gone yet to the Secretary of State with--with--his accusations. But the Secretary suspects me. I saw it in his face more plainly this morning than ever before. And there are certain things in connection with my negotiations--Great God! What a country! I communicate with the Department of State on certain diplomatic matters. The Department tells me that the Senate has called for information in the matter, and all my communications are handed over to a Senate Committee. Then the Lower House imagines there is a commercial question involved, and invites its Foreign Affairs Committee to take charge of it. There is no diplomacy in this miserable country,” he cried, throwing out his hands. “The State Department is a puppet in the hands of Congress. No diplomatist can understand this when he comes here--or after.” “That is true,” responded Madame Volkonsky, with a spice of sarcasm in her that never wholly left her. “None of you Foreign Office people know anything of the workings of the United States Government.” This angered Volkonsky. He broke out-- “There is more yet to tell. This wretched _canaille_ they call the Lower House, this Foreign Affairs Committee--is subdivided into numerous smaller committees--and the one in charge of our negotiation is virtually Pembroke--Pembroke himself!” Madame Volkonsky fell back in the carriage. She did not wholly understand what this meant, but she knew from Volkonsky’s manner, assisted by her own slight knowledge, that Pembroke was in some way the arbiter of Volkonsky’s fate. “And there are documents--letters--that Pembroke has called for, and the State Department has produced--that in the hands of an enemy--”