“Come to my lawyers,” he said, “to-morrow, and I will talk it all over with you.”

We went—­a most respectable firm in Southampton Row; old family solicitors.  They had done business for years for the late Count, who had inherited from his grandmother estates in Ireland; and they were glad to be honoured with the confidence of his successor.  Glad, too, to make the acquaintance of a prince of finance like Sir Charles Vandrift.  Anxious (rubbing their hands) to arrange matters satisfactorily all round for everybody. (Two capital families with which to be mixed up, you see.)

Sir Charles named a price, and referred them to his solicitors.  The Count named a higher, but still a little come-down, and left the matter to be settled between the lawyers.  He was a soldier and a gentleman, he said, with a Tyrolese toss of his high-born head; he would abandon details to men of business.

As I was really anxious to oblige Amelia, I met the Count accidentally next day on the steps of Morley’s. (Accidentally, that is to say, so far as he was concerned, though I had been hanging about in Trafalgar Square for half an hour to see him.) I explained, in guarded terms, that I had a great deal of influence in my way with Sir Charles; and that a word from me—­ I broke off.  He stared at me blankly.

“Commission?” he inquired, at last, with a queer little smile.

“Well, not exactly commission,” I answered, wincing.  “Still, a friendly word, you know.  One good turn deserves another.”

He looked at me from head to foot with a curious scrutiny.  For one moment I feared the Tyrolese nobleman in him was going to raise its foot and take active measures.  But the next, I saw that Sir Charles was right after all, and that pristine innocence has removed from this planet to other quarters.

He named his lowest price.  “M.  Ventvorth,” he said, “I am a Tyrolese seigneur; I do not dabble, myself, in commissions and percentages.  But if your influence with Sir Charles—­we understand each other, do we not?—­as between gentlemen—­a little friendly present—­no money, of course—­but the equivalent of say 5 per cent in jewellery, on whatever sum above his bid to-day you induce him to offer—­eh?—­c’est convenu?”

“Ten per cent is more usual,” I murmured.

He was the Austrian hussar again.  “Five, monsieur—­or nothing!”

I bowed and withdrew.  “Well, five then,” I answered, “just to oblige your Serenity.”

A secretary, after all, can do a great deal.  When it came to the scratch, I had but little difficulty in persuading Sir Charles, with Amelia’s aid, backed up on either side by Isabel and Césarine, to accede to the Count’s more reasonable proposal.  The Southampton Row people had possession of certain facts as to the value of the wines in the Bordeaux market which clinched the matter.  In a week or two all was settled; Charles and I met the Count by appointment in Southampton Row, and saw him sign,