"Something," continued the Pole, "more than great promises--something more stable than a castle--in Spain. Ha, ha! You have not taken Pampeluna yet, my friend. One does not hear that Bilboa has fallen into the hands of the Carlists. Every time we meet you ask for money. You must arrange to give us something--for our money, my friend." "I will arrange," answered Mon in his quiet, neat enunciation, "to give you a kingdom." And he inclined his head forward to look at the Pole through the upper half of his gold-rimmed glasses. "And not a vague republic in the region of the North Pole," said the stout man with a laugh. "Well, who lives shall see." "You want more money--is that it?" inquired the little wizened man, who seemed to be the leader though he spoke the least--a not unusual characteristic. "Yes," replied the Spaniard. "Your country has cost us much this year," said the little man, blinking his colourless eyes and staring at the ground as if making a mental calculation. "You have forced Germany and France into war. You have made France withdraw her troops from Rome, and you gave Victor Emmanuel the chance he awaited. You have given all Europe--the nerves." "And now is the moment to play on those nerves," said Mon. "With your clumsy Don Carlos?" "It is not the man--it is the Cause. Remember that we are an ignorant nation. It is the ignorant and the half educated who sacrifice all for a cause." "It is a pity you cannot buy a new Don Carlos with our money," put in the Pole. "This one will serve," was the reply. "One must look to the future. Many have been ruined by success, because it took them by surprise. In case we succeed, this one will serve. The Church does not want its kings to be capable--remember that." "But what does Spain want?" inquired the leader. "Spain doesn't know." "And this Prince of ours, whom you have asked to be your king. Is not that a spoke in your wheel?" asked the man of few words. "A loose spoke which will drop out. No one--not even Prim--thinks that he will last ten years. He may not last ten months." "But you have to reckon with the man. This son of Victor Emmanuel is clever and capable. One can never tell what may arise in a brain that works beneath a crown." "We have reckoned with him. He is honest. That tells his tale. No honest king can hope to reign over this country in their new Constitution. It needs a Bourbon or a woman." The quick, colourless eyes rested on Mon's face for a moment, and--who knows?--perhaps they picked up Mon's secret in passing. "Something dishonest, in a word," put in the Pole. But nobody heeded him; for the word was with the leader. "When last we met," he said at length, "and you received a large sum of money, you made a distinct promise; unless my memory deceives me." He paused, and no one suggested that his memory had ever made slip or lapse in all his long career.