[Your fear draws him like a shark to blood. It makes him stronger.]

Angleterre. [Patient. So patient. He taps his fingers somewhere. Drumming. They drum with select, precise intervals so that his fingers fall--then silence--fingers fall--then silence.]

Angleterre.

[The worst of it is that the following is in English.]

Subtlety was something at which you never succeeded. [consistent. drumming.]

You have nothing to fear, Angleterre. You, the mighty empire that you are--or is it were? I did hope you would not fade and rot as you apparently have-- The mighty empire you are, you would not object to a meeting in person, oui?

[And then... Silence.

There is nothing.

But.

Silence.

France's features split into a smile and he laughs softly.]

If you do not agree to meet with me, as you will certainly do out of this fear which has apparently gripped you with your usual stupidity, I will locate you myself.

Oh!

Look! Look at how simple this will be. Collect your rifles, swords and cannons, Angleterre, Arthur. Gather your toys into your arms!

... I simply want to talk.