ddressed and marked
"Personal" in the premier's own handwriting. A conference for ten that
evening was requested in a manner that left no doubt of its urgency.
"Let me see, do I dine at the Countess Zalinski's to-night?" asked
Westerling. Both Francois and his personal aide kept a list of his
appointments.
"Not to-night, sir. To-night you--" said Francois.
"Good!" thought Westerling. "No excuses will be necessary to Marie in
order to be at the premier's by ten."
Curiosity made him a little ahead of time, but he found the premier
awaiting him in his study, free from interruption or eavesdropping.
In the shadow of the table lamp the old premier looked his years. His
definite features were easy material for the caricaturist, who does not
deal in halftones. A near view of them was not attractive. They had the
largeness which impresses the gallery from the floor of a parliamentary
chamber, where delicate lines of sensibility and character lack the
quality which the actor supplies with his make-up. As is often the case
with elderly statesmen, his face seemed like that of the crowd done
boldly as a single face, while his shrewd eyes in a bed of crow's-feet,
when they lighted to their purpose in confidence, expressed his
understanding of the crowd and its thoughts and how it may be led.
From youth he had been in politics, ever a bold figure and a daring
player, but now beginning to feel the pressure of younger men's elbows.
Fonder even of power, which had become a habit, than in his twenties, he
saw it slipping from his grasp at an age when the 'downfall of his
government meant that he should never hold the reins again. He had been
called an ambitious demagogue and a makeshift opportunist by his
enemies, but the crowd liked him for his ready strategy, his genius for
appealing phrases, and for the gambler's virtue which hitherto had made
him a good loser.
"You saw our _communique_ to-night that went with the publication of the
Browns' despatch?" he remarked.
"Yes, and I was glad that I had been careful to send a spirited
commander to that region," Westerling replied.
"So you guess my intention, I see." The premier smiled. He picked up a
long, thin ivory paper-knife and softly patted the palm of his hand with
it. "We have had many discussions, you and I, Westerling," he said. "But
to-night I'm going to ask categorical questions. They may take us over
old ground, but they are the questions of the nation to the a
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