“Very much,” replied Yanski, in a tone which struck the minister as rather peculiar.

“Then,” asked Count Ladany with studied slowness, “you would like?—­”

“A note from you to the Russian ambassador, demanding Menko’s release.  Angelo Valla—­you know him—­Manin’s former minister—­”

“Yes, I know,” said Count Josef, with his enigmatical smile.

“Valla told me of Menko’s arrest.  I knew that Menko had left Paris, and I was very anxious to find where he had gone.  Valla learned, at the Italian embassy in Paris, of the affair of this Labanoff and of the real or apparent complicity of Michel Menko; and he told me about it.  When we were talking over the means of obtaining the release of a man held by Muscovite authority, which is not an easy thing, I know, we thought of you, and I have come to your Excellency as I would have gone to the chief of the Legion of Students to demand his aid in a case of danger!”

Yanski Varhely was no diplomat; and his manner of appealing to the memories of the past was excessively disagreeable to the minister, who, however, allowed no signs of his annoyance to appear.

Count Ladany was perfectly well acquainted with the Warsaw affair.  As an Hungarian was mixed up in it, and an Hungarian of the rank and standing of Count Menko, the Austro-Hungarian authorities had immediately been advised of the whole proceeding.  There were probably no proofs of actual complicity against Menko; but, as Josef Ladany had said, it seemed evident that he had come to Poland to join Labanoff.  An address given to Menko by Labanoff had been found, and both were soon to depart for St. Petersburg.  Labanoff had some doubtful acquaintances in the Russian army:  several officers of artillery, who had been arrested and sent to the mines, were said to be his friends.

“The matter is a grave one,” said the Count.  “We can scarcely, for one particular case, make our relations more strained with a—­a friendly nation, relations which so many others—­I leave you to divine who, my dear Varhely—­strive to render difficult.  And yet, I would like to oblige you; I would, I assure you.”

“If Count Menko is not set at liberty, what will happen to him?” asked Yanski.

“Hmm—­he might, although a foreigner, be forced to take a journey to Siberia.”

“Siberia!  That is a long distance off, and few return from that journey,” said Varhely, his voice becoming almost hoarse.  “I would give anything in the world if Menko were free!”

“It would have been so easy for him not to have been seized by the Russian police.”

“Yes; but he is.  And, I repeat, I have come to you to demand his release.  Damn it!  Such a demand is neither a threat nor a cases belli.”

The minister calmed the old hussar with a gesture.

“No,” he replied, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth; “but it is embarrassing, embarrassing!  Confound Menko!  He always was a feather-brain!  The idea of his leaving diplomacy to seek adventures!  He must know, however, that his case is—­what shall I say?—­embarrassing, very embarrassing.  I don’t suppose he had any idea of conspiring.  He is a malcontent, this Menko, a malcontent!  He would have made his mark in our embassies.  The devil take him!  Ah! my dear Count, it is very embarrassing, very embarrassing!”