such a start as few men get in that
field of retarded rewards, diplomacy. It had been a man at the end of
the journey, and a man at the beginning, measuring skill, playing as
desperate a game as was ever played. If Landrassy won--Europe a red
battle-field, England at bay; if Ian Stafford won--Europe at peace,
England secure. Ambition and patriotism intermingled, and only He who
made human nature knew how much was pure patriotism and how much pure
ambition. It was a great stake. On this day of days to Stafford destiny
hung shivering, each hour that passed was throbbing with unparalleled
anxiety, each minute of it was to be the drum-beat of a funeral march
or the note of a Te Deum.

Not more uncertain was the roulette-wheel spinning in De Lancy Scovel's
house than the wheel of diplomacy which Ian Stafford had set spinning.
Rouge et noire--it was no more, no less. But Ian had won; England had
won. Black had been beaten.

Landrassy bowed suavely to Ian as they met outside Mennaval's door in
the early evening of this day when the business was accomplished, the
former coming out, the latter going in.

"Well, Stafford," Landrassy said in smooth tones and with a jerk of the
head backward, "the tables are deserted, the croupier is going home.
But perhaps you have not come to play?"

Ian smiled lightly. "I've come to get my winnings--as you say," he
retorted.

Landrassy seemed to meditate pensively. "Ah yes, ah yes, but I'm not
sure that Mennaval hasn't bolted with the bank and your winnings, too!"

His meaning was clear--and hateful. Before Ian had a chance to reply,
Landrassy added in a low, confidential voice, saturated with sardonic
suggestion, "To tell you the truth, I had ceased to reckon with women
in diplomacy. I thought it was dropped with the Second Empire; but you
have started a new dispensation--evidemment, evidemment. Still Mennaval
goes home with your winnings. Eh bien, we have to pay for our game!
Allons gai!"

Before Ian could reply--and what was there to say to insult couched in
such highly diplomatic language?--Landrassy had stepped sedately away,
swinging his gold-headed cane and humming to himself.

"Duelling had its merits," Ian said to himself, as soon as he had
recovered from the first effect of the soft, savage insolence. "There
is no way to deal with our Landrassys except to beat them, as I have
done, in the business of life."

He tossed his head with a little pardonable pride, as it were, to