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Updated: July 12, 2025


"In a plain political discussion, or an argument with Monsieur Douaille well, I am ready to bear my part. But this sort of thing lifts me off my feet. I can only trot along at your heels." They entered the Hotel de Paris. Hunterleys made a few breathless enquiries. Nothing, alas! was known of Mr. Richard Lane. He came back, frowning, to the steps of the hotel.

He caught up Douaille's last word and repeated it. "England! England, and through her...." He moved to the sideboard and filled his tumbler with wine. When he came back to his place, his expression had lightened. "Ah, well! dear Monsieur Douaille," he exclaimed, patting the other's shoulder in friendly fashion, "to-night we merely chatter.

The reason for these things I, of course, know nothing of, but it seems that Monsieur Douaille is very anxious indeed to keep his association with my august master and Herr Selingman as secret as possible. He has declined most positively to set foot again within the Villa Mimosa. Many plans have been suggested. This is the one adopted.

I am afraid they are beginning to make a noise downstairs already!" The little pinnace shot out a stream of light across the dark, placid sea. Douaille was talking earnestly to Hunterleys. "Pleasantest few minutes I ever spent in my life," Richard murmured, as he took out his cigarette case.

Monsieur Douaille, who was looking very much more at his ease, assented without hesitation. "I must confess," he agreed, "that the isolation we now enjoy is, to a certain extent, reassuring. Here we need no longer whisper. One may listen carefully. One may weigh well what is said. Sooner or later we must come to the crucial point. This, if you like, is a game of make-believe.

Hunterleys leaned suddenly forward across the little round table. "The question of whether or no you shall pay your respects to Monsieur Douaille," he remarked, "is solved. Unless I am very much mistaken, we are going to have an exceedingly interesting luncheon-party on our right." "Monsieur Douaille " Mr. Simpson began, a little eagerly. "And the others," Hunterleys interrupted.

"I am a citizen of France," he said, "an envoy without powers to treat. My own province is to listen." "But your personal sympathies?" Selingman persisted. "I have sometimes thought," Monsieur Douaille confessed, "that the present grouping of European Powers must gradually change. If your country, for instance," he added, turning to Mr.

Little by little we must try and see what we can do towards instilling that idea into the mind of Monsieur Douaille. We may succeed, we may fail, but let us always remember that our conversations are the conversations of four friends, met together upon what is nothing more or less than a holiday. I hate the sight of those sheets of blotting-paper and clean pens.

Selingman and Draconmeyer came out looking fairly well satisfied. Half-an-hour later Douaille went on to Mentone, to the Hotel Splendide, where his wife and daughters are staying. No writing at all was done in the room." "The conference has really begun, then," Hunterleys observed moodily. "Without a doubt," Roche declared.

Grex was anxious to keep apart his daughter and Lady Weybourne, whose relationship to Richard Lane he had only just apprehended; while he himself desired a little quiet conversation with Monsieur Douaille before they paid the visit which had been arranged for to the Club and the Casino. In the end, Mr. Grex was both successful and unsuccessful.

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