"O, your Majesty!" he cried, bobbing up and running out his
chair. "Good afternoon, your Excellency," to the Englishman,
adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, through which his eyes shone
pale and cold.

The diplomat bowed. The little man reminded him of M. Thiers,
that effervescence of soda tinctured with the bitterness of iron.
He understood the distrust which Count von Wallenstein
entertained for him, but he was not distrustful of the count.
Distrust implies uncertainty, and the Englishman was not the
least uncertain as to his conception of this gentleman of
finance.

There were few men whom the count could not interpret; one stood
before him. He could not comprehend why England had sent so
astute a diplomat and politician to a third-rate kingdom. Of
that which we can not understand we are suspicious, and the
guilty are distrustful. Neither the minister of police nor his
subordinates could fathom the purpose of this calm, dignified
old man with the difficult English name.

"Count," began the king, pleasantly, "his Excellency here has
made a peculiar request."

"And what might that be, Sire?"

"He offers to purchase the entire number of certificates issued
to-day for our loan."