The comte brought himself back to the matter at hand. “I had heard this of the Americans,” he said, as much to himself as to Ducos. “The cardinal warned me specifically. They have a knack—even the pretended nobility among them—to consort and grow familiar with the lower orders.”
Ducos said nothing.
“It may perhaps be,” d’Avaux mused aloud, “that will prove their undoing in this time and place. Especially in this place, where nobility is false already—merchants with delusions of grandeur—and thus its appearance may not be diluted. In Venice, the facade is all. Ah, yes. There is much that might be said, in the right ears. Ducos?”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte?”
“Do I understand that some of your methods include the disbursement of funds among the servant classes?”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”
“Then I should like, if it please you, to have reports as to those with whom this Buckley, and all the other Americans, choose to consort. No matter how low their station.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte. And, Monsieur le Comte?”
“Ducos?”
“Has Monsieur le Comte read the notes I have provided as to the Spanish delegation?”
“Yes, Ducos. I thank you for reminding me. It would appear that Bedmar seeks Spain’s advantage in Venice—no surprise there—and by like methods as he used before. He failed before, Ducos. Disastrously, in fact. See that he fails again. Simply because we are allied now, I see no reason to cede any advantage to the Spaniards here.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”
“I leave the details, as always, to you, Ducos.”
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte.”