Chapter IV: Part 4

"Give me that document which you, at your father's instigation, stole this morning."

She drew herself away, and her slight, girlish figure seemed to grow in dignity before me.

"How dare you?" she said. "How dare you?"

"I dare anything, when you have ruined the man I love. Give me that paper?"

"You are mad!"

"Mad or not, mademoiselle, I do not leave this house--"

"Monsieur Desormes desires to see you in his study, mademoiselle."

The servant withdrew, and I turned again to her.

"And now," I cried, and my blood throbbed hotly in my veins, "now you will still say you know nothing of this theft?"

"I say nothing now," she scornfully retorted. "You shall come with me and hear what I have to say."

She walked almost unconcernedly towards the door, and then turned and faced me.

"Follow me, Madame Lerestelle," she cried, and in bitter tones added, "and follow me closely, lest a day should come when you will assert I gave my father the clew of what he should speak to you."

And, with no qualms of conscience, I followed her, and so closely that we entered Monsieur Desormes's study together.

He was what those who are foreigners to us would describe as "the typical Frenchman." Though his years must have been fifty, he looked scarcely forty, and his upright military carriage, his dark mustache waxed to dagger points, and close-cropped hair, made him appear even younger still. He was what his appearance proclaimed him, an urbane, clever, and unscrupulous diplomat. He rose and graciously bowed to me, even as though I were an expected guest.

"Your visit is a pleasure as illimitable in its delight as in its surprise, madame," he softly murmured.

"Yet a most unfitting moment for pedantic compliments," Mlle. Desormes warmly interjected; and I marvelled at the rage that still blazed within her eyes.

"I called on Monsieur Levive at the Quai d'Orsay this morning," she continued, turning sharply upon her father; "why I did so concerns but you and me alone. To-day a paper has been stolen from Monsieur Roche's room, which adjoins Monsieur Levive's, and I am charged with the theft."

Monsieur Desormes's eyebrows shot upward. "You?" he ejaculated.

"I," she answered, in cold passion. "I am accused of this theft. My name is linked with that of Monsieur Levive, as the one who tempted him to dishonor. My name--can you realize the stigma, monsieur?"

"I can realize no connection of circumstances," he replied, contemptuously, and she crossed the room, and, laying her hand upon his desk, looked him full in the face.

"It seems that this paper incriminated you," she exclaimed; and I saw that then he started.

"It is a paper that pledged you to support, or, at any rate, not to oppose, the ministry, monsieur," I interrupted; "and it has been stolen."

"I am aware of that, madame. I decided that it was better for France not to keep that pledge."

"But not better for me," mademoiselle cried, "and I am even before France."

"It is your own folly that has caused you to be suspected," he responded.

"It is the devices that men call dishonesty and statesmen diplomacy," she answered; and he put his arm around her waist and drew her back until she was seated upon the edge of his chair.

"Pretty little girls must not use cynical epigrams," he said, softly, as one petting a spoiled child. "Now, come, what is it you want?"

"I want nothing," she burst out, indignantly, "but I demand justice. I demand to be freed from this insinuation of theft. I do not ask, I demand, that Monsieur Levive, who is innocent, shall be relieved from suspicion, and you shall confess how you have stolen this paper."

"Purloined, _ma petite_," he exclaimed, as he playfully pinched her ear.

"Stolen," she doggedly repeated. "Stolen, not caring whom you ruined, man or woman."

"Tut, tut; what an undiplomatic little girl she is," he laughed, with a wonderful depth of fondness in his tone; and then he rose, and, after pacing the room for a minute, turned to me.

"Madame Lerestelle," he exclaimed, "I am known in political life as the most unscrupulous man in France; that is the reputation I have won, and the one I live to retain. As a man, I admire Monsieur Roche; as a politician, I despise him. I consider that his theories are imbecilic, his policy meaningless, and his ministry an insult to the country--"

"Monsieur, I differ--"

"Madame, I respect you the more. You are a friend of Monsieur Roche's, but, because I think what I do think, I will annihilate him. Because I work for the glory of France, and not for my own ends, I have stooped to pledge my written word only to steal it back."

"Diplomacy," mademoiselle murmured, with a world of scorn, and he shook his head reprovingly, then placed his hand quietly upon her arm.

"But my daughter shall not be suspected of connivance with me, and still more, no innocent man shall suffer. Monsieur Levive is incapable of betraying a trust. Even you, madame," and he shot a meaning glance at me, "could not persuade him to break his faith, and you know it."

I bowed my head, and wondered how it was Monsieur Desormes was not universally admired.

"He shall not be disgraced; no shadow of a slur shall rest upon him, for I, madame, will write an explanation that shall satisfy Monsieur Roche, and you shall give it to him yourself."

I bowed my thanks, and he sat down at his desk, and, drawing a sheet of official paper towards him, rapidly covered it and handed it to me. It commenced with the usual courtesies which we have such an innate liking for addressing one another with, and then the letter continued: "Because others who are innocent, monsieur, have been suspected, I am prepared to place in your possession the name of the man and his method. His name is--"

The writing finished there, and I held out my hand for the second sheet, which he had completed while I read.

"You will not ask it, madame?" Monsieur Desormes suggested.

"As you will, monsieur. I have your word that your letter will entirely free those who are innocent from suspicion?"

"You have the word of a--"

"Diplomat?" mademoiselle interrupted, with her anger still smouldering.

"Of a Frenchman," monsieur finished, as he folded the sheets and sealed the envelope.

"And now," he continued, as he addressed it to Monsieur Roche and handed it to me, "there is a favor I must crave of you. I am an implacable enemy, but, I hope, not a false friend. You must give me twenty-four hours, so that the plans I have matured may not be frustrated."

"I scarcely comprehend, monsieur."

"If a man has been an enemy to Monsieur Roche, and an ally with me, I must protect him."

"That is your only object?"

"You have my word, madame."

"Then you have mine, monsieur. This letter shall not be delivered until to-morrow evening."

He raised my fingers to his lips with a smile of satisfaction, and I, having whispered to mademoiselle that after all it was scarcely worth while mentioning Martinique, and gained a smile of mingled thanks and forgiveness, departed, satisfied with the success of my mission, and happy in the knowledge that I had played for the highest stakes that it had been my lot to know--played and won.

There are Boulevard cynics who would declare that, being a woman, I must be miserable because I did not know the name of the thief or the miraculous method he employed. Others, more cynical still, who would say that I cared nothing, because I counted upon coaxing all from _mon cher_ Gaspard; but it would be false. I cared nothing for him who had stolen; my thoughts were all with him whose honor I had saved. For that reason I grudged the delay, but, tried more sorely than ever in my life before, it was not until the following night, enclosed with a note of my own, that I sent Monsieur Desormes's confession to Monsieur Roche.

And as I sat after it had gone, still free from curiosity as to the thief, still proud of my success for Gaspard's sake, the thought, for the first time, came that the Premier was also deeply indebted to me, for his ministry was saved.

I paid fastidious attention to my toilet, for one dared not look anything but one's best at Madame de Vousset's receptions, and Gaspard was such a frequent visitor.

Yet I never looked worse to my own mind, and all the satisfaction seemed to be with Therese.

"_Mais oui! madame, c'est superb_," she cried, with an exaggerated gesture of admiration; and although she possessed many faults, I never had to chide her for lack of truthfulness.

"Monsieur Roche, madame," she announced a moment later, and I said I would receive him in my boudoir, feeling gratified that he should not be lacking in the swift expression of his thanks.

Yet when I greeted him he seemed perplexed, and taking the packet I had sent him from his pocket, he read aloud my own note: "The enclosed letter from Monsieur Desormes will explain the theft of the paper, and prove the innocence of Gaspard, whom you so unjustly accused."

I nodded.

"Do you know the contents of Monsieur Desormes's letter, madame?"

"Partially. 'Because others who are innocent, monsieur, have been suspected, I am prepared to place in your possession the name of the man.' That is what Monsieur Desormes wrote."

Monsieur Roche gravely shook his head and handed the letter to me, and I took it with a chill at my heart, dreading that I had been deceived.

I opened the envelope and withdrew two sheets of paper--blank.

Save at the bottom of the second sheet, where--as a sign of the writing which in the day that had passed had faded, just legible--could be discerned "sormes."

That was all that was left of the words that a day before covered the sheet. The end of the man's signature. The rest had vanished.

I pointed it out to Monsieur Roche, and the perplexity upon his face grew to startled surprise as he caught my meaning glance.

"The last time I saw those sheets, monsieur, they were covered with writing."

"Ah!"

"Monsieur Desormes has been as good as his word; he has saved an innocent man from ruin. His pledge to you was written with this same ink, and faded away a few hours afterwards, leaving only the blank sheet. He has been as good as his word."

"And as good as his intent," Monsieur Roche responded. "He will overthrow the ministry. But for you, _ma chere_, this is a night of glowing and thrilling victory. Allow me to see you to your carriage."

THE END

BY THOMAS A. JANVIER

IN THE SARGASSO SEA. A Novel.

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THE AZTEC TREASURE-HOUSE. A Romance of Contemporaneous Antiquity. Illustrated by Frederic Remington.

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THE UNCLE OF AN ANGEL, and Other Stories.

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IN OLD NEW YORK. With 13 Maps and 58 Illustrations.

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THE ODD NUMBER SERIES

THE GULISTAN: Being the Rose-Garden of Shaikh Sa'di. Translated by Sir Edwin Arnold.

THE NEW GOD. By Richard Voss. Translated by Mary A. Robinson.

THE GREEN BOOK. By Maurus Jokai. Translated by Mrs. Waugh.

BLACK DIAMONDS. By Maurus Jokai. Translated by Frances A. Gerard.

DONA PERFECTA. By B. Perez Galdos. Translated by Mary J. Serrano.

PARISIAN POINTS OF VIEW. By Ludovic Halevy. Translated by E. V. B. Matthews.

DAME CARE. By Hermann Sudermann. Translated by Bertha Overbeck.

TALES OF TWO COUNTRIES. By Alexander Kielland. Translated by William Archer.

TEN TALES BY FRANCOIS COPPEE. Translated by Walter Learned. Illustrated.

MODERN GHOSTS. By Guy de Maupassant and others. Translated.

THE HOUSE BY THE MEDLAR-TREE. By Giovanni Veroa. Translated by Mary A. Craig.

PASTELS IN PROSE. Translated by Stuart Merrill. Illustrated by H. W. McVickar.

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THE STORY OF BABETTE: A Little Creole Girl.

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THE REFUGEES. A Tale of Two Continents. Illustrated.

THE WHITE COMPANY. Illustrated.

MICAH CLARKE. Illustrated.

THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated.

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MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Illustrated.

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BY LILIAN BELL

THE INSTINCT OF STEP-FATHERHOOD. Stories.

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THE UNDER SIDE OF THINGS. A Novel. With a Portrait of the Author.

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THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF AN OLD MAID.

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