"Not out of my pocket, of course," Naniescu was willing to admit, "but out of that of my Government. We are going to sell Kis-Imre for the benefit of the State."
"And won't your Excellency be purchasing these newspaper articles for the benefit of the State?"
"These articles are not worth it," Naniescu retorted gruffly.
"Very well, let's say no more about it. I'm sorry I troubled your Excellency."
Peter rose as if to go and put out his hand toward the sheets of manuscript.
"Don't be a fool," Naniescu broke in. "I'll give you a good price for the thing, but a property worth fifty thousand sterling--hang it all--it's a bit stiff."
Peter smiled. "How tersely you put the matter, general," he said. "I dare say it is a bit stiff, but I am not prepared to bargain--only to sell. And if you are not satisfied----"
"Easy, easy, my impetuous young friend. Did I say that I was not satisfied--or that I refuse to consider the matter? But there are considerations."
"To begin with, how do I know that the English newspaper would accept these articles as the genuine work of Lady Tarkington?"
"I told you that I had Lady Tarkington's own covering letter to the editor of the _Times_, asking him to publish the articles as soon as possible."
Peter took the letter out of his pocket, but before handing it over to Naniescu he said dryly: "May I in the meanwhile refresh my memory of the articles?"
The eyes of the two men met across the table. Naniescu's flashed with resentment, but Peter's face wore a disarming smile. He looked for all the world like a schoolboy bartering marbles for stamps. But the situation appeared to tickle Kervoisin's fancy. He gave a dry chuckle and said:
"You are quite right, _mon ami._ They are astonishing, these English."
The exchange was effected without Naniescu losing his sense of resentment or Peter his pleasant smile, and Peter held on to Rosemary's manuscript while the general read the letter through.
While he read, the look of resentment vanished from his face and a complacent smile rose to his full, sensuous lips.
"_Il n'y pas à dire_," he murmured; "_c'est très, très bien._"
When he had finished reading he looked up at Peter.
"Now then, Monsieur Blakeney," he said curtly, "your last price?"