He turned and requested Miguel to read the reply to the English note on the African Dispute. The Secretary stood up and read the paper in question, his soft, purring voice, proving well suited to emphasising the insults it contained.
“And that, Gentlemen,” said the President, when it was finished, “is addressed to one of the greatest military and naval powers in the world.”
Godoy and Renos were silent. Their patriotism was roused; their pride was gratified; but Savrola smiled provokingly. “It will take more than despatches,” he said, “to keep the English out of the African sphere, or to reconcile the people of Laurania to your rule.”
“And if stronger measures should be necessary,” said the President, “rest assured they will be taken.”
“After the events of yesterday we need no such assurance.”
The President ignored the taunt. “I know the English Government,” he continued; “they will not appeal to arms.”
“And I,” said Savrola, “know the Lauranian people. I am not so confident.”
There was a long pause. Both men faced each other, and their eyes met. It was the look of two swordsmen who engage, and it was the look of two bitter enemies; they appeared to measure distances and calculate chances. Then Savrola turned away, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips; but he had read the President’s heart and he felt as if he had looked into hell.
“It is a matter of opinion, Sir,” said Molara at last.
“It will soon be a matter of history.”
“Other tales will have to be told before,” said the President, and then with great formality, “I am obliged to you, Mr. Mayor and Gentlemen, for representing the dangerous elements of disorder which exist among certain classes of the people. You may rely on every precaution being taken to prevent an outbreak. I beg you will keep me further informed. Good morning.”
The only course open appeared to be the door, and the deputation withdrew, after Savrola had thanked the President for his audience and had assured him that he would lose no opportunity of bringing home to him the hostile attitude of the citizens. On the way downstairs they were met by Lucile, who had returned unexpectedly early from her drive. She saw by the expression of their faces that a heated discussion had taken place. Godoy and Renos she passed unnoticed, but she smiled merrily at Savrola, as if to convey to him that she was uninterested by politics and could not understand how people ever managed to get excited about them. The smile did not deceive him; he knew too much of her tastes and talents, but he admired her all the more for her acting.
He walked home. The interview had not been altogether unsatisfactory. He had never hoped to convince the President; that indeed was hardly likely; but they had expressed the views of the people, and Godoy and Renos had already sent copies of their remarks to the newspapers, so that the party could not complain of their leaders’ inaction at such a crisis. He thought he had frightened Molara, if indeed it were possible to frighten such a man; at any rate he had made him angry. When he thought of this he was glad. Why? He had always hitherto repressed such unphilosophic and futile emotions so far as possible, but somehow today he felt his dislike of the President was invested with a darker tinge. And then his mind reverted to Lucile. What a beautiful woman she was! How full of that instinctive knowledge of human feelings which is the source of all true wit! Molara was a lucky man to have such a wife. Decidedly he hated him personally, but that, of course, was on account of his unconstitutional conduct.
When he reached his rooms, Moret was awaiting him, much excited and evidently angry. He had written several long letters to his leader, acquainting him with his unalterable decision to sever all connection with him and his party; but he had torn them all up, and was now resolved to tell him in plain words.
Savrola saw his look. “Ah, Louis,” he cried, “I am glad you are here. How good of you to come! I have just left the President; he is recalcitrant; he will not budge an inch. I need your advice. What course shall we adopt?”
“What has happened?” asked the young man, sulkily but curiously.
Savrola related the interview with graphic terseness. Moret listened attentively and then said, still with great ill humour, “Physical force is the only argument he understands. I am for raising the people.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Savrola reflectively, “I am half inclined to agree with you.”
Moret argued his proposition with vigour and earnestness, and never had his leader seemed so agreeable to the violent measures he proposed. For half an hour they discussed the point. Savrola still appeared unconvinced; he looked at his watch. “It is past two o’clock,” he said. “Let us lunch here and thrash the matter out.”
They did so. The luncheon was excellent, and the host’s arguments became more and more convincing. At last, with the coffee, Moret admitted that perhaps it was better to wait, and they parted with great cordiality.
V
A Private Conversation
“That,” said the President to his confidential secretary, so soon as the door had closed on the retiring deputation, “is over, but we shall have plenty more in the future. Savrola will most certainly be elected for the Central Division, and we shall then have the pleasure of listening to him in the Senate.”
“Unless,” added Miguel, “anything should happen.”
The President, who knew his man well, understood the implication. “No, it is no good; we cannot do that. Fifty years ago it might have been possible. People won’t stand that
