xymnovel Chapter 278 Venizelos's Smile
Chapter 278 Venizelos's Smile
Chapter 278 Venizelos's Smile
The Marquess of Salisbury announced a brief recess.
The Greek delegation was led by a waiter to a side hall. The moment the door closed, Count Andreas's tense body collapsed. He ripped off his tie, gasped for breath, and his forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat.
"It's over—" he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse with despair, "Everything is over."
The atmosphere in the side room was even more oppressive than the thick London fog outside. Several young attendants slumped in their chairs, their faces ashen and their eyes lifeless. Mr. Cofinas paced back and forth in the room, each step creaking against the floor, revealing his inner anxiety.
The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, but no one could feel even a trace of warmth from the flickering flames.
Count Andreas whirled around and rushed to Constantine. His eyes were bloodshot, and his voice was trembling with sobs.
"Your Highness! We must accept it! We must accept it!"
He reached out a trembling hand and grabbed Constantine's sleeve.
"We have no other choice! This proposal is an ultimatum! If we refuse, the British fleet will blockade the port of Piraeus tomorrow! Our trade, our economy—everything will be strangled!"
The old count's voice grew louder and louder, eventually turning into a painful plea.
"We can negotiate! Crete—we can relinquish joint administration and fight for nominal sovereignty! Reparations—we can pay in installments, even over thirty years! But we cannot resist, Your Highness! We cannot gamble with the fate of all Greeks!"
His words represented the sentiments of all the old-fashioned diplomats in the room. Faced with overwhelming power, they had long been accustomed to compromise, accustomed to scavenging scraps on an iron plate. Submission was their only way to survive.
However, Constantine did not look at him.
He was sitting in an armchair, with a perfectly brewed cup of black tea on the small table in front of him. The tea was a clear amber color, with wisps of steam rising from it. He picked up a sugar cube from the table, took a sugar cube, and put it into the cup.
"bite."
The sugar cubes fell to the bottom of the cup.
He picked up the teaspoon and stirred it slowly. The silver spoon clattered against the bone china cup, producing a series of clear, pleasant sounds. In this room shrouded in despair, the sound seemed particularly jarring.
Everyone's eyes instinctively turned to him.
Constantine stirred his tea, his movements steady and without a tremor. His gaze passed over his panicked companions and landed on another corner of the room.
Venizelos was standing by the window.
He didn't join the discussion, nor did he show any panic. He took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, removed his gold-rimmed glasses from the bridge of his nose, and carefully wiped the lenses.
He wiped it very carefully, checking it repeatedly against the light to make sure there wasn't a speck of dust on it.
Then, he put his glasses back on.
Through those two smooth lenses, he looked at Constantine in the center of the room. Their gazes met in mid-air.
Venizelos's lips twitched upwards, forming a smile that was difficult for others to understand. It wasn't joy, nor was it mockery; it was more like a craftsman examining a nearly completed work, a piece into which he had poured his heart and soul.
Constantine put down the teaspoon in his hand.
"Ding-dong."
A crisp sound brought this one-sided wail to a halt.
He picked up his teacup and took a small sip.
He looked at Venizelos and spoke.
"Mr. Venizelos, the British opening remarks were excellent."
His voice was calm, and every word was crystal clear in the room where you could hear a pin drop.
"Now, it's our turn to respond."
Venizelos straightened up. Behind his glasses, his eyes gleamed with the sharp light of a hawk before its prey. He adjusted the hem of his suit jacket and bowed slightly towards Constantine.
"Yes, Your Highness."
The bell rang, signaling the end of the recess.
When the two heavy oak doors opened again and the delegates returned to their seats, they scrutinized the Greek delegation with a look of schadenfreude, as if they were watching a spectacle unfold.
In their view, after a brief internal squabble, this group of Balkan people would eventually elect a representative, who, with a humiliated expression, would begin a pointless haggling over the amount of reparations and the area of land to be ceded.
The Marquess of Salisbury leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach, looking serene. He was like a chess player who had already secured victory, waiting for his opponent to make a final, futile struggle.
Just then, Venizelos stood up.
All eyes were on him.
He didn't walk to the podium in the center of the hall as people expected. He stood in front of his seat. He wasn't particularly tall, and even looked somewhat thin next to the huge U-shaped conference table.
He first turned to the main position at the top of the U-shape.
He bowed deeply to the Marquess of Salisbury, his posture impeccable and perfectly poised.
"Your Excellency Marquis, distinguished envoys."
His voice was loud and clear, with a unique, innate rhythm that could penetrate noise and reach the heart.
"First of all, please allow me, on behalf of the Kingdom of Greece, to express my sincerest gratitude to His Excellency the Marquess of Salisbury for his tremendous efforts in maintaining peace in Europe and for this highly constructive proposal you have put forward."
This sentence, like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, stirred up ripples.
No, it's not a pebble.
It's a bomb.
With a "boom," it exploded in everyone's mind.
The entire conference hall erupted in an uproar.
Count Andreas abruptly raised his head, his mouth agape, and stared at Venizelos with the look of someone who had just seen a madman.
Mr. Kofinas's fingers dug deep into his thigh. They were finished. This Cretan madman was going to throw the last shred of Greek dignity into the Thames!
The German and Austro-Hungarian ambassadors exchanged a surprised glance. The Russian ambassador's irritated face revealed a look of disdain.
At the head of the table, the Marquess of Salisbury raised his thick eyebrows slightly. A hint of disdain curled at the corner of his mouth.
You're smart to know your place.
He picked up the cup in front of him, ready to drink some water and enjoy the performance to come.
Even Constantine, who had been expressionless the whole time, felt a little curious about Venizelos's completely unexpected opening.
Venizelos ignored all the reactions around him.
He remained bowing, pausing for a moment.
Just when everyone thought he would continue with the cliché of "we accept in principle, but hope to discuss the details," he straightened up.
The respect on his face vanished.
Instead, there is a sharp, even aggressive aura, like that of a lawyer standing in court, about to deliver their final statement.
"but--
"He spoke, his voice suddenly rising like a drawn sword."