and eagerly. I made him sit down, and gave him a cigar. I had meant to approach the matter with a diplomatic deviousness. I had overrated my skill and self-control. Wetter made me feel young and awkward. I was like a schoolboy forced to confess the neglect of his task, and speaking in fear of the cane. Ignoring the reserve that had marked our former conversation, I blurted out:
"I can't send you to Paris."
The man's face went white, but he controlled himself.
"Your Majesty knows that I did not ask for it," he said with considerable dignity.
"I know; but you wanted it."
He looked straight at me; he was very pale.
"Truly, yes," he said. "I wanted it; since your Majesty is plain, I'll be plain too."
"Why did you want it? Why are you pale, Wetter?"
He put his cigar in his mouth and smoked fiercely, but did not answer.
"You must have wanted it," I said, "or you wouldn't have tried to get it in that way."
"My God, I did want it."
"Why?"
"If I can't have it, what matter?" He rose to his feet and bowed. "Good-bye, sire," said he. Then he gave a curious laugh. "Moriturus te saluto" he added, laughing still.
"What's the matter, man?" I cried, springing up and catching him by the arm.
"I haven't a shilling in the world; my creditors are in full chase; I'm posted for a card debt at the club. If I had this I could borrow. Good God, you promised it to her!"
