Cyril smiled involuntarily. “This is extremely gratifying, Chevalier. You think Texelius has overreached himself, then?” “Undoubtedly. You know he was placed on de board off manachement off de United Nation? Well, de directors met yesterday, and expelled him, solely on account of his atteck on you.” “But that was purely your doing, of course.” “Not at all. Dere were some det took your side from de first, and de rest came ofer to it ess soon ess dey heard off your confersation wid de Emperor about Prince Franz Immanuel. Dey saw at once det you hed been foolink de Scythians all de time dey thought dey were foolink you, and det it was not you, but de mysterious lady, who hed been deceifed in de metter.” “But how did the Franz Immanuel business come out?” “I saw to det, my frient. Dere was an inspired paragreph in all de Findobona papers yesterday which related de fects.” “I am sorry you did that, Chevalier. If the proposal has become public, it means that there is no hope of getting it adopted.” “Dere nefer wass any,” said the Chevalier calmly. “I hed sent an achent to sound de Prince’s parents, and dey would not hear off his goink to Pelestine. Dey mean him to merry de young Queen of Frisia.” “Another check!” cried Cyril. “I thought we were on firm ground at last. Then my journey to Vindobona was all for nothing?” “By no means, Count. De proposal may hef failed, but at least it safed you first. It was so netural and so suitable det no one could beliefe de story off Texelius. Herschel Rubenssohn, whom I met passink through Vindobona, hess written a great article on de subchect in my paper, which I hef wid me, and you shell see it. Transferrink his republican fiews to you, he says det de nobility off your cheracter and aims would prefent you from efer dessirink to make yourself a prince.” “It is dangerous to dogmatise,” said Cyril gravely. “If Palestine was offered me by a unanimous vote of the Powers, I fear all Mr Rubenssohn’s pledges on my behalf would not make me refuse it.” The Chevalier smiled, but wistfully. “Ah, my frient, why were you not born a prince--efen a Cherman princelink?” he said. “Probably because Europe would have been too small to hold me. Now, pray, Chevalier, no hankering after impossibilities.” “You might efen now become a confert to Rome, and buy a dukedom from de Fatican,” suggested the financier, with the uneasy smile of a man experimenting on the edge of a slumbering volcano. “De money iss et your serfice, and wid de Chews supportink you on one side and de Chesuits on de oder, not efen Scythia could hope to keep you out of Pelestine.” “Ah, if I could take you over to Rome with me, there might be something in the idea,” responded Cyril instantly. “The Goldberg millions would be welcome indeed at the Papal Court. But without them---- No, Chevalier, it won’t do. And what has happened to Texelius?”