Chapter II: Part 2

"This boat is my coffin," he suddenly ejaculated, looking me straight in the face. "That is why I will sell it to no one."

I nodded, and tried to smile in spite of my terror at this sudden change in his manner and the fierceness with which he gripped my wrist.

"When I am tired of life I shall drive into the midst of the Atlantic, sink _Le Diable_ to the lowest ocean depths, and die."

"Yes, when you are tired of life," I answered.

"And who knows when that may be!" he cried. "Perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow," and he chuckled in a mirthless fashion.

I gazed at him and shivered, but in a few moments his frenzy passed, and, taking my hand, he led me towards the mechanism that controlled the boat, and pointed to the clock. "In ten minutes more we shall be there," he cried.

"How do these handles work the boat?" I asked, gently, with my mind upon my mission. "Where is the actual machinery?"

"That is my secret!" he shouted. "Pull." And he placed my fingers on another handle. Obedient to the touch the vessel slowed, and then stopped.

Again he placed my fingers upon a lever. "Hold it," he cried; and then suddenly he switched out the light, and we were in densest blackness.

"Raise it gently; give me your hand."

He drew me back with him, and I waited nervously in the darkness, until a faint, ghostly light flickered through the glass before me. A deep green grew lighter and lighter, until at last the sunlight streamed full in my eyes and the foam-flecked sea danced before me, with the roofs of a town, backed by English hills, beyond it.

It was Ventnor, and we had reached the spot that he had promised.

Then we breakfasted, and all through the meal, while the morning sunshine streamed through the circular windows, I wondered how I was to tempt the secret from him. Of what use was it for me to return to my friends and say I had cruised in the boat, that it was controlled by a series of handles, and that was all I knew? As well not have ventured at all.

"Now show me what guides the boat," I exclaimed, in my most ingenuous voice, as he rose from the meal and moved towards the tower.

"These handles," he answered. "See!" The sunlight vanished, the opalescent green of the sea grew darker and darker, and then blackness enshrouded all. There was not a sound save the click of the wheel as he moved it, and then the boat sprang forward again.

Then, in the darkness, he seized my arm and drew me towards him.

"There are no works," he whispered, "no mechanism at all. All the power is in my brain--_I_ drive it, _I_ control it."

I laughed a nervous laugh. "You are droll, monsieur."

"And you're a fool!" he shouted, wildly. "It's my brain, I tell you, that controls it all."

I wrenched myself free, and he switched on the light again, and then gave a shriek that froze my blood.

I turned with a start, and my flesh prickled as I saw him standing with madness blazing in his eyes, his attenuated hand extended, pointing to the far end of the cabin. "Who is that?" he gasped.

"There is no one here but ourselves," I cried, trembling with apprehension.

"You lie! Look there, and there, and there," and his bony finger pointed to every corner of the saloon. "And there, and there! _Nom de Diable!_ They are all here!"

"Who are here?" I cried, with a weak attempt at bravado.

"They are; those who have tried to rob me of my secret--those whom you met at dinner. Ah!" He turned swiftly and moved slowly towards me, his body half bent, like a wild animal about to spring upon its prey.

"Ah!" he hissed again. "Those you met at dinner. Those you conspired to bring upon the boat to rob me."

"You're mad!" I shrieked, my courage utterly deserting me.

"Mad!" he raved, pointing about the cabin and grimacing at the imaginary intruders. "It's you who are mad. All of you, for you've come to your death. And you're in your coffin now!"

I had gradually crept as far from him as the limited space would allow, but he still advanced with a stealthy tread; and then, when only a few inches separated us, and I hid my face in my trembling hands, I realized that he had halted.

He turned, and, with a bound, made for the switchboard and stopped the boat, pulled the lever right down, and then, snatching a heavy wrench from the side, hammered with the fury of a maniac, until the brass and ebony splintered to fragments, and the handles were snapped off and lay on the floor.

I could feel the vessel sinking rapidly beneath my feet, and he stood grinning hideously, until a slight jar showed that we could descend no farther.

"We are at the bottom of the sea," he chuckled, "and no power on earth can move us."

With two blows he demolished the compass and steering-gear, and then, with a shriek of laughter, stood and viewed the wreckage.

And, dazed and bewildered, deprived of power of speech or movement, I sank back on a seat, the words ringing in my ears, "At the bottom of the sea, and no power on earth can move us."

How long we remained so who can say? for my senses were numbed. I kept no count of time, and was only aroused to consciousness as I saw him, with the wrench still in his hand, creeping towards me again.

I shut my eyes, knowing his purpose, and yet in apathy whether he struck or not. After what seemed ages I opened them, and he had only advanced one step. As I waited, so quietly, so slowly, that I could scarce see any movement, he made another step, and I found myself calculating how many more would be needful, and how long would be the time before he was near enough to strike.

Suddenly, as I watched him, the boat gave a lurch, as though the ground had slipped from beneath it, casting me upon the floor; while he, flinging up his hands to save himself, missed his footing, and fell backwards with a crash, his head striking the jagged edges of the shattered brass-work.

I saw him lying there senseless, and then saw no more, for when I recovered the electric light was spent, and the cabin was in densest darkness. The boat seemed to have righted itself, for the floor was level again, but the air had grown hot and stifling.

Not a sound broke the stillness, unless it was the beating of my heart. There was naught but silence and inky blackness--the silence of the tomb, the loneliness of death.

The air seemed to grow more close and stifling, and my breath came in quick, short gasps. Better any death than this gradual suffocation. If I could only let the water into the boat, and so die swiftly, it would be easier. And so I crawled across the floor. Once I touched him, and drew away; but by his side I found a wrench, and in the darkness I groped on, till I found the steps to the tower and felt for the glass.

Poor Vanity! the reigning passion with us all. I turned my head, so that the flying splinters of glass should not cut my face, and brought the wrench with all my force against the window. It resisted stoutly. But again and again I struck, until at last, with a crash, it flew outwards. And then, in that fraction of a second, so strong is the love of life, I wished I had held my hand.

But there came no torrent of water, only a rush of cold air, and I realized that I was on the surface of the ocean--realized that when the madman fell backwards upon the shattered switchboard he must have moved the lever. But night had fallen again, and so I had not known it.

Trembling the more now that there was hope of escape, I climbed on deck and waited for the dawn.

And with the first faint streaks upon the eastern horizon came rescue, for a French cruiser had seen us, and steamed down like the wind to examine _Le Diable_.

Yet, with it all, the madman kept his secret--and his coffin.

When the boat from the cruiser was but a yard away I glanced through the open man-hole, and saw that he was moving across the cabin below, and as I stepped upon the gunwale of the launch _Le Diable_ sank like a stone from beneath my feet.

THE ABDUCTED AMBASSADOR

"Monsieur Roche," Therese murmured, and held a card before me.

"I have already told you I will receive no one," I answered, with more than usual tartness, for the afternoon was warm, and the thought of my evening's engagements made me feel that life was unendurable.

"It is a matter of most urgent importance," she so far forgot herself as to urge, and I could scarcely restrain a smile, for through my maid's prim black gown I almost fancied I could hear the rustle of the note that had tempted her to impertinence.

Was it not enough that I had said I was not receiving? And one would assume not, for she still stood there, and the day was too warm to scold her.

But she was an excellent girl, the perfection of maids. To this day I have never met one who could dress my hair as she could, nor one who could understand my peculiar--my dearest friends say exasperating--temper so admirably, and so my heart softened, and, with merely an uplifting of the eyebrows, to show that I noted her persistence, I said I would receive Monsieur Roche. And well I made a virtue of necessity, for he was one who knew not refusal. I turned poor virtue into my necessity, as all did whom Monsieur Roche asked to favor him.

"One would even risk madame's anger for the happiness of seeing her," he murmured, as he took my hand; for, though he held the reputation of one not admiring the sweeter sex, a better gallant for turning a compliment, a more skilful adept in the epigram of flattery, this jaded world has never viewed.

"It is a trying hour for calling, monsieur, unless the reason be most urgent."

"It is most urgent," he gravely assented, as he placed a slender forefinger upon my shoulder. "_Ma chere_," he continued, softly, "you are the cleverest woman in Paris."

"I should have better liked the compliment had you said the prettiest," I answered, demurely.

"Tut, tut! The whole world tells you that. Why proclaim the obvious? I prefer to be original, and pronounce you the cleverest."

"With an object, monsieur, _n'est ce pas_?"

"With a very great object, madame--the desire for your assistance."

Monsieur Roche leaned impressively towards me.

"Have you heard the strange news," he asked, "that is being whispered in diplomatic Paris?"

"There are many strange things whispered in diplomatic Paris," I responded.

"Truly; but this is unprecedented. Sir Edward Rivington, the English Ambassador, has been abducted."

"Yes. It was mentioned to me by a particularly uninteresting gallant at last night's reception; but"--I shrugged my shoulders--"it is too absurd."

"And therefore the more likely to be true! In fact, I know that it is true and also that it is false."

"An enigma, monsieur?"

"Listen. The story is that a closed carriage called for Sir Edward two nights ago. He left the Embassy, saying he would return in an hour. He has not been seen since, and Paris is growing perturbed at this unwarrantable violation of international courtesy. That is the story. But the facts are that Sir Edward has tricked France, has purposely promulgated this mystery, and has departed on a secret mission to England."

"I can see no reason for such ridiculous procedure. _Perfide Anglais_ is only a Boulevard cry when there is no domestic sensation to occupy the green hour."

"Tush!" Monsieur Roche impatiently interrupted. _Ma foi_, how impatient these diplomats are! "France was in active negotiation with England, and also with Italy, upon the same point. What it was matters nothing."

"You are reticent, monsieur."

"It is sufficient that it discloses that England was not wholly in our thoughts. Now, by an unpardonable blunder, Sir Edward received among his own certain other papers intended for Signor Faliero."

"France was playing a difficult game, monsieur."

"A delicate and diplomatic one, madame."

"And has failed."

"Been tricked," he hotly retorted. "The superscription upon the cover was plainly to the Italian Ambassador, and Sir Edward knew that even English diplomacy or intrigue could not be stretched to the fine point of not at once returning the packet. He knew that we should immediately demand it, if necessary, and that restitution could not be withheld. The documents were handed to Sir Edward himself by one of my secretaries, who is now open to accept a fresh appointment, and a couple of hours later, when the error was discovered, I was met with this melodramatic fable of abduction."

"But what is to be gained by such a fabrication? Surely Sir Edward could say he had gone to England, if he wished to."

"What is gained," Monsieur Roche answered, incisively, "is a strong hold upon us, we never knowing whether the papers have been inspected or not. When he returns he will, no doubt, send the packet to me, apparently untouched, and we can only assume that England is cognizant of its contents. We shall be compelled to maintain the negotiations now in progress, and all the time Sir Edward Rivington will smile, and placidly await a _coup d'etat_. It is maddening, simply maddening. _Mon Dieu!_ it binds us hand and foot."

"I do not agree with your theories, monsieur," I said, calmly. "Sir Edward Rivington is an Englishman, and, as a nation, they are honorable."

"Tush! Sir Edward is a diplomat, and the code of honor is different. His aim is to serve his country. Should I hesitate to take advantage of such an opportunity for France?"

"You are unscrupulous, monsieur."

"For what," he cried, "do we all pay millions of francs a year? Secret service: such information as that which Sir Edward has had placed in his hands by chance. Is it reasonable that he would be such a child as to neglect a stroke of policy sufficient to render his country's position impregnable?"

"If all this be as you say, monsieur, then the damage is done, and beyond repair."

"Utterly. There is, however, one favor I would ask of you. To actually, indisputably, know that Sir Edward Rivington has been to England will at least make me sure of my ground. It will be a difficult task, one worthy of the cleverest woman, the prettiest widow in Paris." And, even in his worry of mind, he smiled as he paid me the double compliment. "Ask where you will in London, and they will tell you he is still in Paris. A man would fail miserably, a woman's intuition will succeed."

I pondered over the position. Love for a little excitement, something to relieve the ennui of a solitary existence, had induced me to undertake many little diplomatic services for my friend Monsieur Roche, but in all there had been something of the glamour of romance. This seemed more the task of a secret agency, or even the Quai de l'Horloge itself. What so simple as to discover if a man so well known in Paris as Sir Edward Rivington had crossed the Channel?

And yet, if things were as Monsieur Roche asserted, what infinite pains would be taken to conceal the visit! Looked at from that point of view, the mission appeared more fitting to my disposition, and I accepted.

Why is it ever the fashion to speak of London as a city of smoke and gloom? Paris is not all Champs-Elysees. We have our sunlight and our shadow; and London, sublime in its rugged beauty of stability, common alike to the city and the people, has the same; while Parliament Street, under the bright spring sunshine, might have been one of the boulevards of beloved Paris itself.

A far-seeing Providence must surely have intended women to shine in diplomacy, for men are so impressionable, and some women so fascinating, that the victory is assured before the struggle commences.

And because of this I refused to be satisfied with any of those zealous and most polite officials and secretaries, and ultimately, because I, too, am at times fascinating, found myself in the presence of one of the rulers of the State, whose name in France was as well known as those of our own politicians.

He received me graciously, and waited.

"At a reception in Paris," I said, after a moment, "I had the honor of meeting your Ambassador, Sir Edward Rivington; the greater honor of giving certain information, to him that was of service."

Monsieur seemed to freeze a little. Secret service is necessary, but its agents, be they even pretty women, do not command more than the coldest respect.

"There were further matters which he deemed it desirable I should obtain details of, and as he was leaving suddenly for London upon a special mission, I was instructed to follow him, and, insisting upon seeing you in person, obtain his address, as it was not general knowledge that he had left Paris."

Monsieur looked at me curiously. He seemed debating in his mind whether he should tell me.

"You are under a strange misapprehension," he said, at length, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers.

"It is impossible that such can exist," I interrupted. "Those were my instructions from Sir Edward himself."

"Then he must have changed his plans," monsieur continued, blandly. "Assuredly he is not in London now, and, so far as I am aware, has not left Paris; certainly on no business that could bring him to the Foreign Office. We have our official messengers for such duties. Sir Edward would not come himself."

"I understood the matter was too secret--"

"I am afraid you have been deceived," he answered, with a quiet smile of amusement; "I can give you no address but the British Embassy, Paris, and that must be well known to you already."

The interview was ended, and as I left I carried with me the conviction that the conversation had been marked by such an absence of diplomacy on his part that it must be truthful, and Sir Edward Rivington had not come to England.

Yet I determined that I would stay in London, at all events until I had something more to show for my efforts--what, I knew not; and while I strolled, the gods came to my rescue.

My dearest friend, Gaspard Levive, stood, hat in hand, before me.

"Madame, the fates are kinder to me than I deserve."

"Perhaps they have a better knowledge of your merit than you possess yourself," I responded, with an upward glance. "Are you staying in London?"

"Until this evening only. My friend, Sir Edward Rivington, has done me the honor to ask me to be his second. I have accepted, and return to Paris."

I stopped in bewilderment. "Sir Edward Rivington, the English Ambassador?" I said, hurriedly.

"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "It does not sound English, does it? But here is his letter: 'At le Duc d'Eautine's chateau to-morrow morning. I rely upon your honor to hold this secret, and, as you are in London, to deliver, yourself, the enclosed envelope at the Foreign Office.'"

"_Mon Dieu!_" I cried, excitedly. "_Mon cher_, you have not delivered it yet; you have it still?"

"I am on my way," he replied.

"Then you will not. You will hold it back; bring it to Paris, and give it to Monsieur Roche."

"It is impossible!" he exclaimed, glancing at me in surprise.

"It is not. If you deliver this you will ruin France! For the love of France, pause!"

"I will not be a traitor to a friend who trusts me, even for the love of France," he answered. "I have been asked to deliver this letter; how, then, can I carry it to Monsieur Roche? No, not for the love of France!"

"Then, Gaspard, for me!" I said, turning my eyes upon him. "Do this for me. Prove your protestations have not been idle. Do this for me."

His face flushed crimson, and then grew pale and gray, until, in but a few seconds, he seemed to have become death-like before my eyes.

"Why do you ask this'?" he asked, icily.

"For the sake of France," I repeated. And then, like the lifting of a veil, I saw things clearly, realized that I was tempting him, whom I loved to call my dearest friend, to disgrace; realized that it was not for love of France, but for love of victory, and Monsieur Roche's praises. Gaspard seemed to hesitate, and I trembled lest he should consent.

"Not even for your sake can I do this," he answered, slowly; and my heart quickened at the proof that he was as true as I believed him; yet, because I am a woman, I must perforce feign some slight resentment that he would not yield me what I wished he should not.

"Then leave your papers," I said, after a cold pause, "and escort me to Paris."

"You mean it?" he cried, his eyes brightening again.

"Yes, I mean it," I calmly replied; "one cannot break long friendships for the sake of a difference of opinion. Leave your papers, _mon cher_, and then rejoin me."

"I asked a favor yesterday," I said, as we drew near to Paris, "I ask another to-day. I want to accompany you to le Duc d'Eautine's."

Gaspard raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"It is an affair of honor," he protested. "You know what you ask is impossible, unheard of."

"Again?" I pettishly ejaculated.

"But you must see it yourself," he urged, with a half-amused smile. "How can you be present?"

"With the consent of the principals," I retorted. "Be my escort to Versailles, and then I will release you."

"As you will," he laughed; "but may I not know your reason?"

"The merest curiosity, _mon ami_. You, having been absent from Paris, have not heard our latest sensation. Sir Edward Rivington was abducted nearly a week ago, and you and I are two of the very few who know where he is."

"Impossible!"

"May be, but true. He has been abducted, and only we know by whom, and where he is to be found. Monsieur Roche, your chief, never believed in the rumor of abduction. He set it down as a subterfuge to delay the return of certain private papers intended for, no matter whom, that had fallen into Sir Edward's hands. Those papers, _mon cher_, that you delivered yesterday. The ones that concerned my visit to London. It might have been a wonderful thing for you, Gaspard, if you had not delivered them, but I did not mention your own interests."

"No interests of my own," he cried, laying his hand upon mine, "could have weighed like the heart-burning desire to serve you. There is nothing, that my honor would allow, that I would not do to win your faintest gratitude, and then count myself all too richly rewarded. Nothing I would not do--"

But fortunately we steamed into the Gare du Nord; Gaspard's poetic moment was ruined by a descent from the dizzy heights of sentiment to the commonplace confusion of an arrival platform, and, with a diplomat's smile at the inevitable, he accepted the position.

What creatures of impulse the sex we prefer must be. In a four hours' journey from Calais to Paris he must needs choose the last seventy seconds for serious conversation, in order to be interrupted at the instant when I was most attentive. And how those supreme moments, when lost, seem to be lost forever! Commonplaces, commonplaces, small talk and frivolity from Paris on to Versailles, from Versailles to the Chateau of le Duc d'Eautine.

I felt quite serious when he was speaking just before we arrived in Paris; but had he attempted to resume the subject I should have smiled, and he, wise in diplomacy beyond his years, realized the position, and accepted it.

Our carriage drove into the park of the Chateau, and, leaving the main drive, stopped, in a few minutes, where, in the shade of a magnificent cedar, a group of men were standing, evidently awaiting it. Le Duc d'Eautine, Monsieur Faude, his bosom friend, and Sir Edward Rivington, the lost Ambassador, all seemingly charmed with one another's company, and only a suspicious-looking case, leaning against the tree, spoiled the harmony of the gathering.

It is a thing I have since almost boasted of. I am the only woman who has ever caused that paragon of courtesy, le Duc d'Eautine, to lose his temper and forget all etiquette.

"_Sapristi!_" he gasped, as I alighted--"what pleasantry is this, madame? And you, monsieur," he continued, fiercely, turning upon my poor Gaspard--"you, monsieur, explain this intrusion, or--"

"Tut, tut, _mon cher_ Duc," I mildly interjected, "I come as a service to you, one of my oldest friends."

"I need no service, madame."

"You need great service, _mon enfant_," I retorted, reprovingly, for my twenty-seven years afforded me vast superiority over his twenty-five. "You need great service. What is this foolish escapade of abducting the representative of England, and compelling him to fight a duel in your own park before he regains his freedom? What is--"

"It is an affair of my own, madame," he interrupted.

"An affair of your own," I cried, with a suspicion of anger in my tones. "It is an affair of the nation, of France, when you lure an Englishman, an Ambassador, to your house, and force him into a duel."

"I force him to nothing," he said, as we walked aside. "He has been my guest--"

"Tut! Paris knows he has disappeared; you lured him away, and you now hold him a prisoner here until he fights this duel, _n'est ce pas_?"

"I do not contradict. I but defend my honor; Sir Edward Rivington spoke of me indiscreetly. He alluded to me before my friends as a mere boy; he ridiculed my duels, laughed at our code of honor, mocked at what he described the satisfaction of a scratch, and scoffed as only an Englishman can. A man who has never stood before the sword of his enemy. I challenged him; he laughed, and turned aside with the sneer that Englishmen had neither time nor inclination for such pleasantries. He spoke of his duty to his own country, and, in a word, covered himself with the invulnerability of his official position. He, at the Embassy, was in England, not in France. I removed him from his Embassy. In the grounds of my chateau he is in France, and not in England. In France, where a man avenges insults with his sword."

"Excellent! But if you wound him?"

"Be assured, madame, I shall not. I shall not wound him, nor shall he touch me, but he shall learn that duelling in France is not child's play. I will tire him until he realizes that, and then disarm him; and my sense of honor will be satisfied when he finds his ridicule recoils upon himself."

"And if he wound you?"

He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.

"Then I will apologize to him, and grant my swordsmanship is but a sport for children."

"May I speak with your prisoner?"

"With my guest, madame."

"As you will. Then with your guest."

He bowed, and he and his friend drew back as I walked towards the English Ambassador.

"Paris is more than anxious concerning you, Sir Edward."

"If Paris meant yourself, madame," he responded, "I could bless my imprisonment."

"Then you call it imprisonment?"

"Englishmen have a manner of calling things by their right names," he suavely observed.

"And you propose to--"

"Fight," he drawled. "I really don't care about it, but there's a medium in all things, you know. Not but what he's been most obliging. Except that I'm imprisoned till I give him what he calls satisfaction, I've been very comfortable. Even allowed, on my word of honor not to communicate the peculiar circumstances, to send my private despatches to England."

I shuddered as I thought of those despatches. Truth to tell, in the excitement of the situation, they and Monsieur Roche's distress had left my memory.

"But if you wound or kill him, Sir Edward?"

"I shall do neither."

"But, if he--" I paused, and Sir Edward gravely shook his head.

"Not the faintest chance in the world," he said. "I shall tire him out, and disarm him, thus abundantly proving my theory that these affairs of honor in France are arranged with the minimum of inconvenience to either party."

I could not repress a smile; there was such a wealth of humor in this duel, where neither party intended to injure the other.

"It is merely an exhibition of swordsmanship, Sir Edward?"

"Merely that, madame."

"Then I may remain?"

"It might be disconcerting to your friend."

"But if he permit?"

"Then to me it will be an honor."

But the Duke was less easy to win. It was impossible, unheard of, and yet, while he spoke he wavered, and graced his consent with a whisper that I was the Tournament's Queen.

"On guard, messieurs!"

Like a flash the swords crossed, and the duel commenced.

There was an uplifting of the eyebrows on the part of the Duke, as the trick which had disarmed many an opponent was skilfully met, a tightening of the lips by Sir Edward as a similar attempt of his own was as easily frustrated.

It was a duel that set my blood tingling with excitement, as pass after pass was parried, thrust after thrust was turned aside, and neither man gained a point, neither man lost an inch, until it seemed that equals had met, and who was victor would never be determined; that to be vanquished would be almost as great an honor as to vanquish.

The Duke slipped as he parried a thrust, and I thought that the unexpected had happened; but, like lightning, the Englishman's rapier was drawn back, and his adversary acknowledged the courtesy and skill which had saved his life with a bow worthy of himself.

An hour passed, and still the combat waged. I wearied of the eternal "On guard, messieurs!" It seemed so fruitless that two such masters of fence should strive for empty victory.

"On guard, messieurs!"

Sir Edward Rivington was hesitating, and stood with the dawn of a smile upon his face.

"On guard, messieurs! _s'il vous plait._"

The Ambassador shook his head, and, throwing down his sword, advanced, with hand extended to his adversary.

"I tender you my apologies," he said, gravely. "I admit I spoke triflingly of French duelling. I admit that I sneered at several of your own affairs of honor. I confess that I regarded them as child's play, not knowing then, as I do now, that you are a sublime master of the art of swordsmanship, and could have killed every man who stood before you."

"Every man, save yourself, Sir Edward!" the Duke exclaimed, with a slight smile of satisfaction.

"You were playing, as I was, for the disarm."

"And neither of us succeeded. Frankly, for the first time in my life I have met my equal. Strange that he should be one of the nation that discountenances the use of the rapier."

"You will accept my unconditional withdrawal," Sir Edward continued. "Nay, more, if you desire it, it shall be more openly proclaimed."

For answer le Duc d'Eautine handed his sword to his second, and took Sir Edward's outstretched hand in both of his.

"Sir Edward Rivington," he exclaimed, "I am too honored. Say no more. My greatest pride is that I have won the respect of England's Ambassador; my greatest honor that I have gained the friendship of a splendid swordsman."

These and many other high-flown compliments, dear to our nation, passed between them and between their seconds, until it seemed we must all have floated back to olden times, to the stately days of the Louis--so anxious was each man to pay courtly compliments to the other.

_Mon Dieu!_ what changeable mortals, what creatures of impulse men are; and yet they say that we women are wavering and fickle!

"You will be my guest, _mon ami_, for just another day?" the Duke hazarded, doubtfully, it must be confessed.

"My dear friend," replied the Ambassador, "don't you think that you have delayed the course of diplomatic relations sufficiently long? I expect you will get into disgrace for this attack upon my sacred person, as it is," and he broke into a merry laugh.

"I have made one true friend," returned the Duke, seriously; "what matter the means? Should I find it necessary to suddenly quit France, I shall carry with me the honor of counting yourself among those whom I hold nearest to my heart."

"Quit France! All nonsense," brusquely interjected Sir Edward. "Put your best team to a coach, and I'll drive you all back to Paris; then, for a moment, the urgency of State affairs, _et apres_, in a poor way you will permit me to return your hospitality. At seven, _mes amis_, at the 'Bristol.'"

Sir Edward Rivington must have been a past master of all the arts. As he handled his rapier perfectly, so he drove the four-in-hand; and, doubtless, in all other things he was equally admirable. These English are so thorough.

And of a truth he was certainly charming in conversation, for I, who sat beside him, can vouch for it.

"Will the budding flowers of diplomatic relations have withered owing to your absence, Sir Edward?" I ventured to ask as we drove through St. Cloud.

"No; I do not think so," he answered, with a laugh. "But, seriously, it is a little troublesome. They must have been retarded somewhat, and I shall possibly be blamed for taking a brief holiday at such an important moment."

"Then you will call it a holiday?"

He looked at me with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.

"Naturally!"

"You are more than generous, Sir Edward."

"Tut, tut! but still, things may be a trifle unpleasant. For instance, an hour before le Duc d'Eautine's pressing invitation that I should become his guest arrived, I received a bundle of official papers from your Premier, Monsieur Roche, and, not realizing that I was going to take a holiday, placed them at once in my safe, where they now repose, untouched and unlocked at."

"Untouched and unlocked at!" I cried, my blood tingling with delight at the kindness of the fates.

"Yes; it sounds undiplomatic, does it not?"

"Are we driving direct to the Embassy?"

"Why not? It will destroy the ridiculous rumor of abduction."

"Then, Sir Edward, as a distinct favor to me, will you not at once open the bundle and give to me, in order that I may myself return it to my friend, Monsieur Roche, a document placed there by error, which is not addressed to you?"

"Certainly," he replied, flicking the leaders with his whip. "I should have returned it under any conditions, but, since you wish it, I will do so through you."

I sighed a sigh of deep contentment. "You will make me ever your debtor," I murmured.

"Not at all. But is this the reason of your visit to Versailles?" he inquired after a moment, with a strange little smile.

"Suppose you exchange a little small talk with your other friends, and not devote all your attention to me," I suggested, in a tone of mild reproof.

And, generously discreet, Sir Edward obeyed my desires, till we rolled into Paris, I passing the while in thinking what a fortunate thing it was that Gaspard had not given way to my temptations and purloined his Excellency's private despatches.

PRINCE FERDINAND'S ENTANGLEMENT

Monsieur Roche waltzed divinely, and so thoroughly original was that charming man that he never once made allusion to either the crush or the heat. Yet they were both insufferable.

We strolled into the conservatory, and, taking my fan from my hand, he gently waved it before me, keeping time to the distant strains of the waltz, which we preferred to sit out.

"To be beautiful and accomplished," he murmured, as he seated himself beside me, "is no excuse for idleness when a woman is also brilliant."

I recognized the prelude to a commission, and became attentive, for I was _ennui_ of the tiring pleasures that make up the daily routine of the existence of a woman of fashion.

"It is different from the English affair," he whispered, reflectively.

"And so it need be!" I replied, a little testily, for Gaspard Levive and I had been somewhat ill at ease with each other since we journeyed _tete-a-tete_ from London to Paris.

"It is what a woman's soul craves for--romance."

"A commission from Monsieur le Premier, and yet romantic," I cried, with a laugh. "Monsieur fears to plead his own cause, and would send a persuasive ambassador, _n'est ce pa_?"

"One as skilful in tact and diplomacy as she is in herself perfection," the flatterer answered; and then, "It is not a service to myself," he added, somewhat stiffly, for my bachelor friend was sensitive on these little matters, and rather prided himself on a flattering unction that he laid to his soul, that no woman in Paris--but I wander, for as he spoke I took my fan abruptly from his hand, and gazed severely right through his perplexed face into the ballroom beyond.

"I fail to understand," I said, stonily. "A commission from some one else? Are my services, then, at the command of any one who condescends to require them?"

He put out his hand deprecatingly.

"I imagined," I said, fluttering my fan viciously, "that I dealt with diplomats who regarded my service as much their secret as my own;" and I spoke with warmth, for I felt I had deserved better of him than this.

From my heart I loved these commissions for the excitement they afforded me, and not for mere gain; for what was that to me? My most hazardous adventure brought me the souvenir I chose--a plain gold bangle engraved with the date; my most romantic, a diamond necklace worthy of an empress.

Monsieur Roche stayed the fan that I was fluttering wildly in my indignation, and gently took my fingers in his own.

"Why is a woman the sternest critic--the harshest judge of her best friends?" he asked. "You are an accomplished woman, a clever woman, a beautiful woman, and yet--"

"Simply a woman," I interjected.

"And therefore as lacking in reason as all others of your sex, and as prone to jump at erroneous conclusions. No one in the world knows of what you call your Secret Service save those whom you have met and defeated, and they would be the last to proclaim it."

I felt miserably repentant--what creatures of impulse even the cleverest of women are!--so, smiling upon him, I handed back the fan.

"The vanquished must deliver up his sword," I cried. "I own I was in the wrong, so take a woman's weapon as a sign."

"My dearest friend is in Paris," he said, as he slowly waved the ostrich-plumes, "and in great trouble."

I glanced interestedly towards him as he continued:

"Prince Humbert of Elvirna is the man; the trouble, Prince Ferdinand, his son; the cause, as usual, a woman."

"Cheap cynicism but poorly becomes a man of intellect, much less a diplomat, monsieur."

"Then I will amend the phrase," he answered, contritely, "and say the cause, a woman, and leave 'as usual' out."

"It is strange that man, who owes all that is the better part of his life to woman, should so often make her the object of his sneers," I observed.

"Strange, save that he so often owes all that is the worst," he answered, with a passing shade of irritation. "This young fool, this man, who must marry for the good of the tiny kingdom which will be his own some day, has chosen--"

"To follow his own affections," I interrupted, with a smile.

"Tush! He has chosen to become enamored of the _passee_ charms of a third-rate actress--an adventuress searching for youthful fools with simple hearts and simple brains who cannot discriminate between nature and art, and would never credit the brightness of their siren's eyes was due to belladonna."

"He will get over it, _mon cher_. Even you, I doubt not, have had your weaknesses."

Monsieur scowled at my covert allusion, but ignored it.

"Do you think that this wretched play-actress will give him an opportunity until it is too late?" he asked. "He now lives in Arcadia, wanders from morn till eve in leafy woods, whispering sentimental folly and admiring sunsets, living only in the light of his goddess's eyes, cooing with this soiled dove, while his father vainly implores for his return to reason and to duty."

"And the remedy, _mon cher_?"

"Yourself."

"I scarcely comprehend."

"The boy is only infatuated. Infatuation gives way to greater temptation. He would fall madly in love with the first fresh, pretty face he saw."

"Thank you, monsieur!" I cried, with mock indignation, and, rising, I courtesied to the ground before the perplexed gaze of my friend, who shivered at his blunder.

He twisted his mustache with energy, but did not speak; and I, regaining possession of my fan, waved it with an air of lofty scorn, and tried to keep back the smile that, despite my efforts, was breaking round the curves of my lips.

"Let us be serious, and quite frank with each other," he said at length. "I want you to go for a week to the solitudes of the Forest of Lecrese, in the Kingdom of Elvirna, and, winning this young headstrong from his folly, add yet another service to those which have made me eternally your debtor. Show him--it will be so easy!--what poor theatrical blandishments are possessed by this play-actress when compared with the wit and sparkle of a brilliant woman--what faded beauty when nature challenges art. Surely it is to your taste, for is it not romantic?"

"It is romantic," I acquiesced. "But let us, as you say, be frank. Pursue the story further. Suppose the cure prove efficacious--what then? Is there one greater than I who in turn will win him from me? One more beautiful, more accomplished, more fascinating, who will say, 'Again, most simple youth, you are mistaken. Behold! I am the only woman worthy of your love.'"

The diplomatist chuckled. "If," he said, "I thought there could be one possessing such unheard-of charms, I would not dare to say so--but there is no one! I simply ask you to destroy this wretched entanglement, and then, if the Fates decree that he must surrender utterly to your beauty, so be it. It is better for a man to break his heart for love of a good woman than have it broken by a false one. It is a romance with endless possibilities. Do you consent?"

I reflected. It was a peculiar mission, and, moreover, one in which failure would be such a crushing blow to vanity, that my only refuge would be a convent. What if I set myself to fascinate a man and--failed! Yet there was such a glamour of excitement with it. To match myself against this adventuress, to fight for a man's honor, to triumph for the right. All men's eyes confessed me beautiful. Impartially I had scanned myself, posed as my harshest critic--and a woman can be her own severest critic if she will--and I too had finished by saying, however reluctantly, "Yes, _ma chere_, you really are rather pretty." There was something exhilarating in the thought that here was the opportunity to prove myself right or wrong, and men truthful or mere flatterers.

"I consent," I cried, "on two conditions: that, success or failure, Prince Humbert does not meet me in my character study, and that I am allowed absolute freedom of action, whatever course I take."

"Agreed on all things, and I thank you."

We rose, and I placed my hand upon his arm. "Modesty is woman's sweetest charm," he remarked, and I gazed into his face, vainly striving to fathom the meaning of an observation so apropos of nothing. "Why mention failure?" he continued, and we returned to the ballroom.

* * * * *

The Woods of Lecrese, bathed in the glowing fire of an audacious sunset, were enough to awaken sentimental yearnings in the breast of one even more worldly than I. A long, undulating road swept far into the purple distance, losing itself among the trees that interlaced above; on either side a cool vista of virgin greensward spread from the carriage-drive, only relieved by the crimson splashes of the fallen leaves that foretold the coming autumn, and yet not so severely as to make one dread the winter. All was solitude and peace. A dangerous hour, and a dangerous place, I told myself, for a foolish youth and a designing woman.

I stopped the carriage, and stepped out on to the roadway.

"Knock out the axle-pin," I cried, "and throw it into that thicket; then take a horse each, and ride for assistance."

I spoke in the same tone as I might have ordered my coffee, but who, save my own servants, would have carried out such inane orders without an implied protest? "Go to the blacksmith in the first village you come to."

So they left me, and I, like the lost princess of a fairy-tale, stood by my broken-down carriage, and awaited the Prince, for I knew he must ride this way, and it pleased me that we thus should meet.

A glance in the mirror of my travelling-case stilled any doubts I might have had. I was free from the dust of travel; indeed, I had driven but five kilometres that it might be so. An ostrich-feather-trimmed cloak of silver gray suited me to perfection, and the evening light, with just the fading glow in the sky, was most becoming.

Presently the cantering of a horse upon the road told me of the approach of him whom I awaited. I wearily rested my head upon my hand, and leaned against the carriage, and so absorbed did I become in my woman's thoughts as to what manner of man he would be, that it was his voice that roused me to the knowledge of his presence.

I glanced upward, and he pleased me well. A man rather above the average height, well knit and athletic, with clear-cut, sensitive features, a slight mustache, a kindly look of good-temper in his frank, blue eyes, and a cap set jauntily upon the side of his head of curling hair. Scarcely the man, I thought, to be the easy dupe of a vulgar adventuress; but the world is so strange.

He vaulted lightly from his horse, and, cap in hand, walked towards me; and I saw the look that I have seen in the eyes of other men come into his.

He did not crave pardon for speaking. He came as a man of the world to a woman in distress; came and counted there could be no offence.

"You have had an accident," he said; "can I be of service to you?"

"It is nothing," I answered, with a swift glance into his eyes; "my servants have gone to seek a blacksmith, or a coach-builder."

"The nearest is twenty kilometres away: we are far from civilization at Lecrese; you cannot wait until they return."

"And the nearest village?"

"Five kilometres."

I gazed around in some perplexity up to the sky, where the rosy tints were fading from the fleecy clouds, and then back into his face for inspiration. "If you are riding that way," I said, "I will ask you to send me a carriage from there."

He laughed a merry, good-tempered laugh, as though a child had asked for the moon, and again reminded me of our distance from civilization.

"Can you walk five kilometres?" he asked, with such a serious look upon his face that I smiled with amusement.

"Of course," I answered; "do you take me for an old woman?"

"No," he cried, with boyish emphasis; "only I thought, perhaps--"

"Perhaps I was one of those poor creatures to whom exertion is purgatory. Show me the road, please."

"It is the one I am taking myself."

"Which, although an interesting announcement, scarcely suffices to indicate the direction," I murmured.

"I mean, if you will permit, we will walk together."

"For the moment, at least," I cried, "circumstances have made the highway our joint property: then let us share companionship for mutual benefit;" and I drew my cloak about my shoulders, while he, laughing a strange little laugh, as though he scarcely understood me, swung his horse's bridle on his arm, and we strolled along together.

What need to recount what happened upon that walk, for have I not said that it was a dangerous place for a foolish youth and a designing woman?

What need either to speak of other days when we met by chance again, and I saw a glow of pleasure in his face; what need to speak of his moments of gloom, when, even as we talked, the light went out of his eyes; and I, who have felt the pulse of love so often that I know its every beat, told myself that he was wondering how he was to break with the other woman, the one whom I had never met.

And I, too, felt ill at ease; the country is so different from the capital. In the life that I had lived, to-night's dangerous _tete-a-tete_ was forgotten in the rush of to-morrow's engagements, but here it was different; I yearned for finality, and a release from a position that was becoming embarrassing.

Deprived of the company of my cavalier, I walked alone in the woods of Lecrese, priding myself that victory was mine, and in yet a few days I might say to him that I journeyed to Paris in full confidence that he would follow me.

Then, in the silence of the sultry afternoon, I heard his voice, and another in reply, that told me that if I chose to play the eavesdropper I might behold my rival, the actress; and I did choose, because I was upon a diplomatic mission, and--because I am a woman.

Through a cluster of bushes I gently forced my way, sighing as a jealous thorn caught me and ripped a strip from my silken mantle; and then, drawing the branches upon one side, I looked into the glade, where she was resting upon the trunk of a fallen tree. He sat by her side--and--angels defend us!--held her hand.

Though it be against my desires, the truth is the truth. She was not painted, neither was she old, or even plain, and, worst of all, as she sat listening to him there was a look upon her face that spoke faithfully to me that she loved him.

And he looked back at her with the reflection of the same light within his eyes.

Yet, what a clever little adventuress she was. I laughed scornfully to myself as they continued their conversation.

"What are these distinctions that the world calls difference of class?" she said, in a thoughtful voice. "Who has ordained that this man and that woman shall marry because they are on the same social scale?"

"Why talk of such things?" he answered. "How can it affect us? I am a poor student--"

"And I a poorer girl," she interrupted, "on a visit all too brief."

"On a visit that must last forever. I worship you, and you love me."

"I have not said so," she murmured, so softly that I could scarcely catch the words.

"Your eyes have told me; you will not sacrifice our love."

"Oh, if I were only a man," she said, placing both hands upon his shoulders.

"What, then, my love?" and he would have embraced her.

"Nothing," she answered, and the look in her eyes restrained him. "Let us go."

They passed on together, and I could not but smile at the manner in which the wretched little flirt pretended to keep him from her, and yet with every action strengthened the chain that bound him.

Then as they moved onward I discreetly followed, for I had fixed in my mind that I would spoil this rustic love-making, and show her that I knew her for what she was.

Not a poor girl, as she was pleased to term herself, but a common actress from some booth of Montmartre, a skilled adventuress, who had set herself to delude a foolish boy, knowing what was to be gained thereby. And in truth he was a foolish boy, a most annoying one, a most deceitful one, for I had made no progress when I had counted all was won.

He left her at the gate of a tiny cottage, and, as soon as the bend in the road had hidden him from view, I walked through the garden, and, lifting the latch, boldly entered.