diplomatic." The count drew his gloves thoughtfully through his
fingers. "I shall of course pay my respects to my ambassador. Do I
recollect your saying that you belonged to the United States Army?"

"I recently resigned. My post was in a wild country, with little or
nothing to do; monotony and routine."

"You limp slightly?"

"A trifling mishap,"--modestly.

"Eh, you do wrong. You may soon be at war with England, and having
resigned your commission, you would lose all you had waited these
years for."

Warburton smiled. "We shall not go to war with England."

"This Army of yours is small."

"Well, yes; but made of pretty good material--fighting machines with
brains."

"Ha!" The count laughed softly. "Bah! how I detest all these cars and
ships! Will you believe me, I had rather my little chateau, my
vineyard, and my wheat fields, than all the orders.... Eh, well,
_my country_: there must be some magic in that phrase. Of all
loves, that of country is the most lasting. Is that Balzac? I do not
recall. Only once in a century do we find a man who is willing to
betray his country, and even then he may have for his purpose neither
hate, revenge, nor love of power." A peculiar gravity sat on his