“You can assure her, my love, zat I shall never do vat she dislikes.  You vill say zat to her if she inquires?”

“Can I, truthfully?”

“Ach, my own dear!”

From his enfolding arms she whispered tenderly—­

“Of course I will, Rudolph!”

With a final hug the embrace abruptly ended, and the Baron hastily glanced at his watch.

“Ach, nearly had I forgot!  I must go to ze club for half an hour.”

“Must you?”

“To meet a friend.”

“What friend?” asked the Baroness quickly.

“A man whose name you vould know vell—­oh, vary vell known he is!  But in diplomacy, mine Alicia, a quiet meeting in a club is sometimes better not to be advertised too moch.  Great wars have come from one vord of indiscretion.  You know ze axiom of Bismarck—­ ’In diplomacy it is necessary for a diplomatist to be diplomatic.’  Good-by, my love.”

He bowed as profoundly as if she were a reigning sovereign, blew an affectionate kiss as he went through the door, and then descended the stairs with a rapidity that argued either that his appointment was urgent or that diplomacy shrank from a further test within this mansion.

CHAPTER II

For the last year or two the name of Rudolph von Blitzenberg had appeared in the members’ list of that most exclusive of institutions, the Regent’s Club, Pall Mall; and it was thither he drove on this fine afternoon of July.  At no resort in London were more famous personages to be found, diplomatic and otherwise, and nothing would have been more natural than a meeting between the Baron and a European celebrity beneath its roof; so that if you had seen him bounding impetuously up the steps, and noted the eagerness with which he inquired whether a gentleman had called for him, you would have had considerable excuse for supposing his appointment to be with a dignitary of the highest importance.

“Goot!” he cried on learning that a stranger was indeed waiting for him.  His face beamed with anticipatory joy.  Aha! he was not to be disappointed.

“Vill he be jost the same?” he wondered.  “Ah, if he is changed I shall veep!”

He rushed into the smoking-room, and there, instead of any bald notability or spectacled statesman, there advanced to meet him a merely private English gentleman, tolerably young, undeniably good-looking, and graced with the most debonair of smiles.

“My dear Bonker!” cried the Baron, crimsoning with joy.  “Ach, how pleased I am!”

“Baron!” replied his visitor gaily.  “You cannot deceive me—­that waistcoat was made in Germany!  Let me lead you to a respectable tailor!”

Yet, despite his bantering tone, it was easy to see that he took an equal pleasure in the meeting.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the Baron, “vot a fonny zing to say!  Droll as ever, eh?”

“Five years less droll than when we first met,” said the late Bunker and present Essington.  “You meet a dullish dog, Baron—­a sobered reveller.”