“Yes, I have. But why? The hiding-place, even after you have told me where it is, will be what it was before, undiscovered by those who do not know it.”
“Certainly; but, as the number of those who do know it increases, the secret may slip out. In any case that is one of my two conditions.”
“As you see, it is accepted. What is the other?”
“A more serious condition, sir, so serious indeed that, whatever powers may have been conferred upon you, I doubt whether they will be sufficient.”
“Let me hear; then we shall see.”
“Very well.”
And Don Luis, speaking in a phlegmatic tone, as though he were telling the most unimportant story, calmly set forth his incredible proposal:
“Two months ago, sir, thanks to my connection with the Near East and to my influence in certain Ottoman circles, I persuaded the clique which rules Turkey today to accept the idea of a separate peace. It was simply a question of a few hundred millions for distribution. I had the offer transmitted to the Allies, who rejected it, certainly not for financial reasons, but for reasons of policy, which it is not for me to judge. But I am not content to suffer this little diplomatic check. I failed in my first negotiation; I do not mean to fail in the second. That is why I am taking my precautions.”
He paused and then resumed, while his voice took on a rather more serious tone:
“At this moment, in April, 1915, as you are well aware, conferences are in progress between the Allies and the last of the great European powers that has remained neutral. These conferences are going to succeed; and they will succeed because the future of that power demands it and because the whole nation is uplifted with enthusiasm. Among the questions raised is one which forms the object of a certain divergency of opinion. I mean the question of money. This foreign power is asking us for a loan of three hundred million francs in gold, while making it quite clear that a refusal on our part would in no way affect a decision which is already irrevocably taken. Well, I have three hundred millions in gold; I have them at my command; and I desire to place them at the disposal of our new allies. This is my second and, in reality, my only condition.”
M. Masseron seemed utterly taken aback:
“But, my dear sir,” he said, “these are matters quite outside our province; they must be examined and decided by others, not by us.”
“Everyone has the right to dispose of his money as he pleases.”
M. Masseron made a gesture of distress:
“Come, sir, think a moment. You yourself said that this power was only putting forward the question as a secondary one.”
“Yes, but the mere fact that it is being discussed will delay the conclusion of the agreement for a few days.”
“Well, a few days will make no difference, surely?”
“Sir, a few hours will make a difference.”
“But why?”
“For a reason which you do not know and which nobody knows … except myself and a few people some fifteen hundred miles away.”
“What reason?”
“The Russians have no munitions left.”
M. Masseron shrugged his shoulders impatiently. What had all this to do with the matter?
“The Russians have no munitions left,” repeated Don Luis. “Now there is a tremendous battle being fought over there, a battle which will be decided not many hours hence. The Russian front will be broken and the Russian troops will retreat and retreat … Heaven knows when they’ll stop retreating! Of course, this assured, this inevitable contingency will have no influence on the wishes of the great power of which we are talking. Nevertheless, that nation has in its midst a very considerable party on the side of neutrality, a party which is held in check, but none the less violent for that. Think what a weapon you will place in its hands by postponing the agreement! Think of the difficulties which you are making for rulers preparing to go to war! It would be an unpardonable mistake, from which I wish to save my country. That is why I have laid down this condition.”
M. Masseron seemed quite discomforted. Waving his hands and shaking his head, he mumbled:
“It’s impossible. Such a condition as that will never be accepted. It will take time, it will need discussion. …”
A hand was laid on his arm by someone who had come up a moment before and who had listened to Don Luis’ little speech. Its owner had alighted from a car which was waiting some way off; and, to Patrice’s great astonishment, his presence had aroused no opposition on the part of either M. Masseron or Don Luis Perenna. He was a man well-advanced in years, with a powerful, lined face.
“My dear Masseron,” he said, “it seems to me that you are not looking at the question from the right point of view.”
“That’s what I think, monsieur le président,” said Don Luis.
“Ah, do you know me, sir?”
“M. Valenglay, I believe? I had the honor of calling on you some years ago, sir, when you were president of the council.”
“Yes, I thought I remembered … though I can’t say exactly …”
“Please don’t tax your memory, sir. The past does not concern us. What matters is that you should be of my opinion.”
“I don’t know that I am of your opinion. But I consider that this makes no difference. And that is what I was telling you, my dear Masseron. It’s not a question of knowing whether you ought to discuss this gentleman’s conditions. It’s a question of accepting them or refusing them without discussion. There’s no bargain to be driven in the circumstances. A bargain presupposes that each party has something to offer. Now we have no offer to make, whereas this gentleman comes with his offer in his hand and says, ‘Would you like three hundred million francs in
