“That does seem to be rather the trouble,” he admitted.  “Russia, Austria, Germany, Italy, and France are all assisting at a Conference to which no English representative has been bidden.  In a sense, of course, that is equivalent to an act of hostility from all these countries towards England.  The question is whether we have or have not a secret understanding with France, and if so, how far she will be bound by it.  There is a rumour that when Monsieur Deschelles was asked formally whom he represented, that he replied —­’France and Great Britain.’  There may be something in it.  It is hard to see how any English statesman could have left unguarded the Mediterranean, with all that it means, trusting simply to the faith of a country with whom we have no binding agreement.  On the other hand, there is the mobilisation of the fleet.  If France is really faithful, one wonders if there was need for such an extreme step.”

“I am out of touch with political affairs,” Hamel declared.  “I have been away from England for so long.”

“I, on the other hand,” Mr. Fentolin continued, his eyes glittering a little, “have made the study of the political situation in Europe my hobby for years.  I have sent to me the leading newspapers of Berlin, Rome, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Vienna.  For two hours every day I read them, side by side.  It is curious sometimes to note the common understanding which seems to exist between the Powers not bound by any formal alliance.  For years war seemed a very unlikely thing, and now,” he added, leaning forward in his chair, “I pronounce it almost a certainty.”

Hamel looked at his host a little curiously.  Mr. Fentolin’s gentleness of expression seemed to have departed.  His face was hard, his eyes agleam.  He had almost the look of a bird of prey.  For some reason, the thought of war seemed to be a joy to him.  Perhaps he read something of Hamel’s wonder in his expression, for with a shrug of the shoulders he dismissed the subject.

“Well,” he concluded, “all these things lie on the knees of the gods.  I dare say you wonder, Mr. Hamel, why a poor useless creature like myself should take the slightest interest in passing events?  It is just the fascination of the looker-on.  I want your opinion about that champagne.  Florence dear, you must join us.  We will drink to Mr. Hamel’s health.  We will perhaps couple that toast in our minds with the sentiment which I am sure is not very far from your thoughts, Florence.”

Hamel raised his glass and bowed to his host and hostess.  He was not wholly at his ease.  It seemed to him that he was being watched with a queer persistence by both of them.  Mrs. Fentolin continued to talk and laugh with a gaiety which was too obviously forced.  Mr. Fentolin posed for a while as the benevolent listener.  He mildly applauded his sister-in-law’s stories, and encouraged Hamel in the recital of some of his reminiscences.  Suddenly the door was opened.  Miss Price appeared.  She walked smoothly across the room and stood by Mr. Fentolin’s side.  Stooping down, she whispered in his ear.  He pushed his chair back a little from the table.  His face was dark with anger.