CHAPTER XX

FALKENBERG ACTS

At two o'clock, with obvious reluctance, Kendricks' new friends

departed. Their leave-taking was long and ceremonious. Kendricks,

indeed, insisted upon escorting mademoiselle to the door. Madame left

the place with the assured conviction that a prospective son-in-law was

soon to present himself--it could be for no other reason that the

English gentleman had so sedulously attached himself to their party.

Monsieur, having less sentiment, was not so sure. Mademoiselle had both

hopes and fears. They discussed the matter fully on their homeward

drive.

Kendricks strolled over to the table where Julien was and touched him

on the shoulder.

"Is this to be another all-night sitting?" he asked.

Herr Freudenberg was deep in conversation with Monsieur Jesen--the

friend of mademoiselle's friend. He glanced up, but his greeting was

almost perfunctory. Kendricks looked keenly at the man who was leaning

back in his padded seat. The eyes of Monsieur Jesen were a little more

bloodshot now. He had spilt wine down the front of his waistcoat, cigar

ash upon his coat-sleeve. He was by no means an inviting person to look

at. Yet about his forehead and mouth there was an expression of power.

Herr Freudenberg, with obvious regret, abandoned his conversation for a

moment.

"You are taking your friend away?" he remarked suavely. "We shall part

from him with regret. Sir Julien," he added, whispering in his ear, "I

must have your answer to my proposition. I will put it into absolutely

definite shape, if you like, within the next few days."

"I move into my old rooms--number 17, Rue de Montpelier--to-morrow

morning, or rather this morning," Julien replied. "You might telephone

or call there at any time."

"Tell me, is what I have proposed in any way attractive to you?" Herr

Freudenberg asked, still speaking in an undertone.

"In a sense it is," Julien answered. "It needs further consideration,

of course. I must also consult my friend."

Herr Freudenberg glanced at Kendricks and shrugged his shoulders. He

had the air of one slightly annoyed. Kendricks was bending over

Mademoiselle Ixe. Herr Freudenberg whispered in Julien's ear.

"You take too much advice from your boisterous friend, dear Sir

Julien," he asserted. "Mark my words, he will try to keep you here,

cooling your heels upon the mat. He will prevent you from raising your

hand to knock upon the door of destiny. These men who write are like

that. They do not understand action."

Kendricks turned from mademoiselle.

"You are ready, Julien?" he asked.

"Quite," Julien answered.

They made their adieux. Herr Freudenberg watched them leave the room.

The man by his side--Monsieur Jesen--also watched a little curiously.

"An English journalist," Herr Freudenberg remarked, "some say a man of

ability. I find him a trifle boisterous and uncouth. Monsieur Jesen,

our conversation interests me immensely. I feel sure--"

Jesen looked suspiciously around.

"We have talked enough of business," he declared. "It is an idea, this

of yours. For the rest, I cannot tell. A wonderful idea!" he continued.

"And as for me, am I not the man to embrace it?"

"You have but to say a single word," Herr Freudenberg reminded him

softly, "and all is arranged."

Monsieur Jesen puffed furiously at a cigarette. The fingers which had

held the match to it were shaking. The man himself seemed unsteady on

his seat. Yet it was obvious that his brain was working.

"Herr Freudenberg," he said, "there is but one weak point in all your

chain of arguments. To do as you ask, it will be necessary that I--I,

Paul Jesen, so well-known, whose opinions are followed by millions of

my country people--it would be necessary for me to abandon my

convictions, to turn a right-about-face. Ask yourself, is it not like

selling one's honor when one writes the things one does not believe?"

Herr Freudenberg smiled.

"My friend, you ask me a question the reply to which is already spoken.

I tell you that behind, at the back of your brain, you know and realize

the truth of all these things. Think, man! Call to mind the arguments I

have used. Remember, I have lifted the curtain, I have shown you the

things that arrive, the things that are inevitable."

Mademoiselle, the companion of Monsieur Jesen, had had enough of this.

It was her weekly holiday. She yawned and tapped her friend upon the

arm.

"My dear Paul," she protested, "while you and Herr Freudenberg talk as

two men who have immense affairs, Marguerite and I we weary ourselves.

If I am to be alone like this, very good. I speak to my friends. There

is Monsieur de Chaussin there. He throws me a kiss. Do you wish that I

sit with him? He looks, indeed, as though he had plenty to say! Or

there is the melancholy Italian gentleman, who raises his glass always

when I look. And the two Americans--"

"You have reason, little one," Monsieur Jesen interrupted. "Herr

Freudenberg, this is no place for such a discussion."

"Agreed!" Herr Freudenberg exclaimed. "We owe our apologies to

mademoiselle, your charming friend, and mademoiselle, my adored

companion," he added, turning to Marguerite. "Come, let us drink more

wine. Let us talk together. What is your pleasure, mademoiselle, the

friend of my good friend, Monsieur Jesen? Will you have them dance to

us? Is there music to which you would listen? Or shall we pray

Marguerite here that she sings? Let us, at any rate, be gay. And for

the rest, Monsieur Jesen, time has no count for us who live our lives.

When we leave here, you and I will talk more."

It was daylight before they left. The whole party got into Herr

Freudenberg's motor.

"I drive you first to your rooms, Monsieur Jesen," he said. "I take

then the liberty of entering with you. The little conversation which we

have begun is best concluded within the shelter of four walls."

Monsieur Jesen was excited yet nervous.

"It is too late," he muttered, "to talk business."

Herr Freudenberg smiled.

"Ah!" he cried, "you jest, my friend. Look out of that window. You see

the sunshine in the streets, you breathe the fresh, clear air? Too

late, indeed! It is morning, and the brain is keenest then. Don't you

feel the fumes of the hot room, of the wine, of the tobacco smoke, all

pass away with the touch of that soft wind?"

Monsieur Jesen stared. He was conscious of a very bad headache, an

uncomfortable sense that he had, as usual on his weekly holiday, eaten

and drunk and smoked a great deal more than was good for him. He gazed

with wonder at this tall, spare-looking man, who had drunk as much and

smoked as much and eaten as much as any one else, and yet appeared

exactly as he had done four hours ago. Even his linen was still

spotless. His eyes were bright, his manner buoyant.

"Monsieur," he murmured, "you are marvelous. I have never before met a

German merchant like you."

Herr Freudenberg sat quite still for a moment. He looked at

mademoiselle, the friend of Monsieur Jesen, and he realized that theirs

was no casual acquaintance. In both he recognized the characteristics

of fidelity. As he had always the genius to do, he took his risks.

"Monsieur Jesen," he announced, "I am no German maker of toys. Let me

ascend with you to your room and you shall hear who I am and why I have

said these things to you."

Monsieur Jesen held his hand to his head. Something in the manner of

this new friend of his was, in a sense, mesmeric.

"You shall ascend, monsieur," he said. "I do not know who you are, but

you are evidently a very wonderful person. We will ascend and you shall

wait while I place my head in cold water and Susanne mixes me some

absinthe. Then I will listen."

The automobile came to a standstill about halfway down a shabby street

in a somewhat shabby neighborhood. Herr Freudenberg noticed this fact

without change of countenance, but with secret pleasure. He turned to

Marguerite.

"Dear Marguerite," he whispered, "for an hour or so I must leave you.

You will permit that my man takes you to your apartments and returns

for me here?"

"May I not wait for you here in the automobile?" she asked timidly.

Herr Freudenberg shook his head kindly.

"Dear little one," he murmured, "not this morning. Indeed, I have

important affairs on hand. As soon as I am free, I will telephone.

Sleep well, little girl."

He stepped out on to the pavement. The postern door in front of them

was opened, in response to Monsieur Jesen's vigorous knocking, from

some invisible place by a string. The three of them climbed four

flights of rickety stairs. They reached at last a stone landing.

Monsieur Jesen threw open a door and led the way into an untidy-looking

salon.

"Monsieur will forgive the fact," he begged, "that I am not better

housed. If it were not for little Susanne here," he added, patting her

upon the shoulder, "I doubt whether I should keep a roof above my head

at all."

"It is not like this," Herr Freudenberg declared, "that genius should

be treated."

"Indeed," Mademoiselle Susanne intervened, "it is what I tell him

always. Monsieur, they pay him but a beggarly three hundred francs a

month--he, who writes all the editorials; he, who is the spirit of the

papers! It is not fair. I tell dear Paul that it is wicked, and, as he

says, the money, if it were not for me, he would squander it in a

minute. I have even to go with him to the office, for there are many

who know when Paul draws his little cheque."

Herr Freudenberg set down his hat upon the table. He looked around at

all the evidences of unclean and sordid life. Then he looked at the

man. It was a queer housing, this, for genius! His face remained

expressionless. Of the disgust he felt he showed no sign. In the

building of houses one must use many tools!

"Monsieur Jesen," he said, "and mademoiselle--I speak to you both, for

I recognize that between you there is indeed a union of sympathy and

souls. Mademoiselle, then, I address myself to you. On certain terms I

have offered to purchase for Monsieur Paul here a two-thirds share of

the newspaper upon which he works, that two-thirds share which he and I

both know is in the market at this moment. I am willing at mid-day

to-morrow, or rather to-day, to place within his hands the sum

required. I am willing to send my notary with him to the office, and

the affair could be arranged at half-past twelve. From then he

practically owns _Le Jour_. Its politics are his to control. I

make him this offer, mademoiselle, and it is a greater one than it

sounds, for the money which I place in his hands to make this

purchase--five hundred thousand francs--is his completely and

absolutely. You move at once into apartments befitting your new

position. Monsieur Paul Jesen is no longer a struggling and ill-paid

journalist. He is the proprietor of an important journal, through whose

columns he shall help to guide the policy of your nation."

Monsieur Jesen sat down. His fingers were clutching one another.

Mademoiselle stared at Herr Freudenberg. Her color was coming and

going.

"Monsieur, I do not understand!" she cried. "Are you a prince in

disguise? Why do you do this?"

"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg replied, "your question is the

question of an intelligent woman. Why do I do this? Not for nothing, I

assure you. It is my custom to make bargains, indeed, but I make them

so that those with whom I deal shall never regret the day they met Herr

Freudenberg. I offer you this splendid future, you and Monsieur Jesen

there, on one condition, and it is a small one, for already the truth

has found its way a little into his brain. _Le Jour_ has supported

always, wholly and entirely, the _entente_ between Great Britain

and your country. I have tried to point out to Paul Jesen here what all

far-seeing people must soon appreciate--that the _entente_ is

doomed."

The girl glanced at Jesen. Jesen was looking away out of the dusty

window.

"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg continued, "I will not weary you at

this hour in the morning with politics. I have talked long with

Monsieur Jesen and I think that I have shown him something of the

truth. You came to the rescue of Great Britain when she lay friendless

and powerless. You saved her prestige; you saved her, without doubt,

from invasion. What have you gained? Nothing! What can you ever gain?

Nothing! Her army of toy soldiers would be of less use to you than a

single corps from across the Elbe. Her fleet--you have no possessions

to guard. It is for herself only that she maintains it. I ask you to

think quietly for yourself and ask yourself on whose side is the

balance of advantage. You can reply to that question in one way, and

one way only. France has been carried away on a wave of enthusiasm, a

wave of sentiment--call it what you will. But France is a far-seeing

people. The moment is ripe. I propose to Paul Jesen that his should be

the hand and _Le Jour_ the vehicle which shall bring the French

people to a proper understanding of the political situation."

"Who, then, are you?" Mademoiselle Susanne persisted.

Herr Freudenberg barely hesitated.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "we speak of great things, we three, in this

little chamber of yours. I, who have often talked of great things

before, have learned in life one lesson at least, and that is when one

may trust. It is not my desire that many people should know who I am.

It suits my purpose better to move in Paris as a private citizen, but

to you two let me tell the truth. I am Prince Falkenberg."

There was a silence. The man looked at him, sober enough now, in

amazement. The girl's hands were clasped together. She was watching the

man--her man. She crept to his side, her arm was around his neck.

"Dear Paul," she whispered, "think! Think how sweet life might be.

There is so much truth in all this. I know little of politics, but

think of the hard times we have lived through. Think how glorious to

have you ride in your automobile to the offices of your newspaper, to

see you pass into the editor's sanctum instead of waiting outside, to

have me call for you, perhaps, and take you out to lunch--no, never at

Drevel's any more--at the Café de Paris, or Henry's, or Paillard's, or

out in the Bois! And the excursions, dear Paul. Think of them! The

country--how we both love the country! You remember when we first went

out together to the little town on the river, where no one ever seemed

to have come from Paris before? How sleepy and quiet the long

afternoon, when we lay in the grass and heard the birds sing, and the

murmur of the river, and we had only a few francs for our dinner, and

we had to leave the train and walk that last four miles because you had

drunk one more _bock_. Dear Paul, think what life might be if one

were really rich!"

The man's eyes flashed.

"It is true," he muttered. "All my life I have been a straggler."

"You have done your genius an ill turn, my friend," Herr Freudenberg

said slowly. "No man can be at his best who knows care. I, Prince

Falkenberg, I promise you that it is the truth which I have spoken, the

truth which I shall show you. You lose no shadow of honor or

self-respect. There will come a day when the millions of readers whom

you shall influence will say to themselves--'Paul Jesen, he is the man

who saw the truth. It is he who has saved France.' You accept?"

"Monsieur le Prince," Susanne cried, "he accepts!"

Jesen rose to his feet. He had become a little unsteady again. He

struck the table with his fist.

"I accept!" he declared.

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER I

THE FLIGHT OF LADY ANNE

It was exactly nine forty-five in the evening, about three weeks

later, when the two-twenty from London steamed into the Gare du Nord.

Julien, from his place among the little crowd wedged in behind the

gates, gazed with blank amazement at the girl who, among the first to

leave the train, was presenting her ticket to the collector. At that

moment she recognized him. With a purely mechanical effort he raised

his hat and held out his hand.

"Lady Anne!" he exclaimed. "Why--I had no idea you were coming to

Paris," he added weakly.

She laughed--the same frank, good-humored laugh, except that she seemed

to lack just a little of her usual self-possession.

"Neither did I," she confessed, "until this morning."

He looked at her blankly. She was carrying her own jewel-case. He could

see no signs of a maid or any party.

"But tell me," he asked, "where are the rest of your people?"

She shook her head.

"Nowhere. I am quite alone."

Julien was speechless.

"You must really forgive me," he continued, after a moment's pause, "if

I seem stupid. It is scarcely a month ago since I read of your

engagement to Harbord. The papers all said that you were to be married

at once."

She nodded.

"That's exactly it," she said. "That's why I am here."

"What, you mean that you are going to be married here?" asked Julien.

"I am not going to be married at all," she replied cheerfully. "Between

ourselves, Julien," she added, "I found I couldn't go through with it."

"Couldn't go through with it!" he repeated feebly.

Lady Anne was beginning to recover herself.

"Don't be stupid," she begged. "You used to be quick enough. Can't you

see what has happened? I became engaged to the little beast. I stood it

for three weeks. I didn't mind him at the other end of the room, but

when he began to talk about privileges and attempt to take liberties, I

found I couldn't bear the creature anywhere near me. Then all of a

sudden I woke up this morning and remembered that we were to be married

in a week. That was quite enough for me. I slipped out after lunch,

caught the two-twenty train, and here I am."

"Exactly," Julien agreed. "Here you are."

"With my luggage," she continued, swinging the jewel-case in her hand

and laughing in his face.

"With your luggage," Julien echoed. "Seriously, is that all that you

have brought?"

"Every bit," she answered. "You know mother?"

"Yes, I know your mother!" he admitted.

"Well, I didn't exactly feel like taking her into my confidence," Lady

Anne explained, smiling. "Under those circumstances, I thought it just

as well to make my departure as quietly as possible."

"Then they don't know where you are?"

"Really," she assured him, "you are becoming quite intelligent. They do

not."

"In other words, you've run away?"

"Marvelous!" she murmured. "I suppose it's the air over here."

A sudden idea swept into Julien's mind. Of course, it was ridiculous,

yet for a moment his heart gave a little jump. Perhaps she divined his

thought, for her next words disposed of it effectually.

"Of course, I knew that you were in Paris, but I had no idea that we

should meet, certainly not like this. I have a dear friend to whose

apartments I shall go at once. She is a milliner."

"She is a what?" Julien asked blankly.

A smile played about Lady Anne's lips.

"My dear Julien," she exclaimed, "you know, you never did understand

me! I repeat that she is a milliner and that she is a dear friend of

mine, and I am going just as I am to tell her that I have come to spend

the night. She will have to find me rooms, she will have to help me

find employment."

Kendricks, who had come by the same train, and whom Julien was there to

meet, was hovering in the background. Julien, seeing him, could do no

more than nod vaguely.

"Lady Anne," he began,--

"You needn't bother about that," she interrupted. "We were always good

friends, weren't we?" she added carelessly. "Besides, to call me 'Lady'

anything would be rather ridiculous under the present circumstances."

"Well, Anne, then," he said, "please let me get my bearings. I

understand that you were engaged to Harbord--you weren't forced into

it, I suppose?"

"Not at all. I tried to run along the usual groove, but I came up

against something too big for me. I don't know how other girls do it. I

simply found I couldn't. Samuel Harbord is rather by way of being

something outrageous, you know."

"Of course he is," Julien agreed, with sudden appreciation of the fact.

"You needn't be so vigorous about it. I remember your almost forcing

him on to me the day you called to say good-bye."

"I was talking rubbish," Julien asserted. "You see, I was in rather an

unfortunate position myself that day, wasn't I? No one likes to feel

like a discarded lover. I can understand your chucking Harbord all

right, but I can't quite see why it was necessary for you to run away

from home to come and stay with a little milliner."

She laughed.

"My dear Julien, you don't know those Harbords! There are hordes of

them, countless hordes--mothers and sisters and cousins and aunts.

They've besieged the place ever since our engagement was announced. If

the merest whisper were to get about among them that I was thinking of

backing out, there's nothing they wouldn't do. They'd make the whole

place intolerable for me--follow me about in the street, weep in my

bedroom, hang around the place morning, noon and night. Besides, mother

would be on their side and the whole thing would be impossible."

"I have no doubt," Julien admitted, "that the situation would be a

trifle difficult, but to talk about earning your own living--you, Lady

Anne--"

"Lady fiddlesticks!" she interrupted. "What a stupid old thing you are,

Julien! You never found out, I suppose, that at heart I am a Bohemian?"

"No, I never did!" he assented vigorously.

"Ah, well," she remarked, "you were too busy flirting with that Carraby

woman to discover all my excellent qualities. We mustn't stay here,

must we? Are you very busy, or do you want to drive me to my friend's

house? Of course, meeting you here will be the end of me if any one

sees us. Still, I don't suppose you object to a little scandal, and the

more I get the happier I shall be."

"I'll take you anywhere," Julien promised. "You don't mind waiting

while I speak to the man whom I have come to meet?"

"Not at all," she replied. "You are sure he won't object?"

"Of course not," Julien assured her. "Kendricks is an awfully good

sort."

The two men gripped hands. Kendricks was carrying his own bag and

smoking his accustomed pipe. He had apparently been asleep in the

carriage and was looking a little more untidy than usual.

"I got your wire all right," Julien said, "and I am thundering glad to

see you. Are you just in search of the ordinary sort of copy, or is

there anything special doing?"

"Something special," Kendricks answered, "and you're in it. When can we

talk? No hurry, as long as I see you some time to-night."

"I am entirely at your service," Julien declared. "I have been bored to

death for the last few weeks and I am only too anxious to have a talk.

You don't mind if I see this young lady to her friend's house first? I

don't know exactly where it is, but it won't take very long. She is all

alone, and as long as we have met I feel that I ought to look after

her."

"Naturally," Kendricks agreed. "I can go to my hotel and meet you

anywhere you say for supper."

Julien glanced at his watch.

"It is ten o'clock within a minute or two," he announced. "Supposing we

make it half-past eleven at the Abbaye?"

Kendricks nodded.

"That'll suit me. So long!"

He strode away in search of a cab. Julien returned to Lady Anne and

took the jewel-case from her fingers.

"It's all arranged," he said. "You are quite sure that you have no more

luggage?"

She laughed.

"Not a scrap! Have you ever traveled without luggage, Julien? It makes

you feel that you are really in for adventures."

"Does it!" he replied a little weakly. Somehow or other, he had never

associated a love for adventures with Lady Anne.

"Isn't it fun to be in Paris once more?" she continued. "I want a real

rickety little _voiture_ and I want the man to have a white hat,

if possible, and I want to drive down into Paris over those cobbles."

"Any particular address?"

She handed him a card. He called an open victoria and directed the man.

Together they drove out of the station yard. Lady Anne leaned forward,

looking around her with keen pleasure.

"Julien," she cried, "this is delightful, meeting you! I hope I shan't

be a bother to you, but really it is rather nice to feel that I have

one friend here."

"You couldn't possibly be a bother to me," he declared. "I'm rather a

waif here myself, you know, and I am honestly glad to see you."

She looked at him quickly and breathed a little sigh of relief.

"Now that's sweet of you," she said. "Of course, I don't see why you

shouldn't be. We were always good friends, weren't we? and it makes me

feel so much more comfortable to remember that we never went in for the

other sort of thing."

"There was just one moment," he murmured ruminatingly,--

She turned her head.

"Stop at once," she begged. "That moment passed, as you know. If it

hadn't, things might have been different. If it hadn't, I should feel

differently about being with you now. We are forgetting that moment, if

you please, Julien. Do, there's a good fellow. If you wanted to be

good-natured, you could be so nice to me until I get used to being

alone."

"Forgotten it shall be, by all means," he promised cheerfully. "Do you

know that the address you gave me is only a few yards away?"

"Oh, bother!" she exclaimed. "I knew that it was somewhere up by the

Gare du Nord."

They turned off from the Rue Lafayette and pulled up opposite a

milliner's shop.

"Mademoiselle Rignaut lives up above," Lady Anne said, alighting. "It's

sweet of you to have brought me, Julien."

"I am going to wait and see that you are all right," he replied,

ringing the bell.

There was a short delay, then the door was opened. A young woman peered

out.

"Who is it?" she asked quickly.

A little of Lady Anne's confidence for the moment had almost deserted

her. The girl's face was invisible and the interior of the passage

looked cheerless. Nevertheless, she answered briskly.

"Don't you remember me, Mademoiselle Janette? I am Lady Anne--Lady Anne

Clonarty, you know."

There was a wondering scream, an exclamation of delight, and Julien

stood on the pavement for fully five minutes. Then Lady Anne

reappeared, followed by her friend.

"Sir Julien," she said, "this is Mademoiselle Rignaut. I am awfully

lucky. Mademoiselle Rignaut has a room she can let me have and we are

going to raid her shop and get everything I want. She has costumes as

well as hats."

Julien shook hands with the little Frenchwoman, who had not yet

recovered from her amazement.

"But this is wonderful, monsieur, is it not," she cried, "to see dear

Lady Anne like this? Such a surprise! Such a delight! But, miladi," she

added suddenly, "you must be hungry--starving!"

"I am," Lady Anne admitted frankly.

The little woman's face fell.

"But only this afternoon," she explained, "my servant was taken away to

the hospital! What can we--"

"What you will both do," Julien interrupted, "is to come and have

supper with me."

"Do you really mean it?" Lady Anne asked doubtfully. "What about your

friend?"

"He won't mind," Julien assured her. "You shall take your first step

into Bohemia, my dear Anne. We had arranged to sup in the Montmartre.

You and Mademoiselle Rignaut must come. I can give you half an hour to

get ready--more, if you want it."

"What larks!" Lady Anne exclaimed. "Can I come in a traveling dress?"

"You can come just as you are," Julien replied. "One visits these

places just as one feels disposed. I'll be off and get a taximeter

automobile instead of this thing, and come back for you whenever you

say."

"You are a brick," Lady Anne declared. "I shall love to go."

"Monsieur is too kind," Mademoiselle Rignaut agreed, "but as for me, it

is not fitting--"

"Rubbish!" Lady Anne interrupted briskly. "You've got to get all that

sort of stuff out of your head, Janette, and to start with you must

come to supper with us. Bless you, I couldn't go alone with Sir Julien!

I was engaged to be married to him three months ago."

Mademoiselle shook her head feebly.

"But indeed, Miladi Anne," she protested, "you are a strange people,

you English! I do not understand."

Lady Anne took her by the arm and turned towards the open door.

"Don't bother about that. We'll be ready in half an hour, Julien."

Julien returned to the Gare du Nord and treated himself to a whiskey

and soda. He was surprised at the pleasurable sense of excitement which

this meeting had given him. During the last few weeks in Paris he had

found little to interest or amuse him. He had been, in fact, very

distinctly bored. The newspapers and illustrated journals, although

they were always full of interest to him, had day by day brought their

own particular sting. Although his affection for Lady Anne had been of

a distinctly modified character, yet he had found it curiously

unpleasant to read everywhere of her engagement, of her plans for the

future, and to look at the photographs of her and her intended

bridegroom which seemed to stare at him from every page. Somehow or

other, although he told himself that personally it was of no

consequence to him, he yet found the present situation of affairs far

more to his liking.

He lounged about the Gare du Nord, smoking a cigarette and thinking

over what she had told him. There was a good deal in the present

situation to appeal to his sense of humor. He thought of the Duke and

the Duchess when they discovered the flight of their daughter,--their

efforts to keep all details from the papers; of Harbord and his horde

of relations--Harbord, who had neither the dignity nor the breeding to

accept such a reverse in silence. He could imagine the gossip at the

clubs and among their friends. He himself was immensely surprised. He

had considered himself something of a judge of character, and yet he

had looked upon Lady Anne as a good-natured young person, brimful of

common sense, without an ounce of sentiment--a perfectly well-ordered

piece of the machinery of her sex. The whole affair was astonishing.

Perhaps to him the most astonishing part was that he found himself

continually looking at the clock, counting almost the minutes until it

was possible for him to start on this little expedition!

CHAPTER II

"TO OUR NEW SELVES"

Julien found a taximeter automobile and, punctually at the time

appointed, drove to the little milliner's shop in the Rue St. Antoine.

Lady Anne and her companion were waiting for him and they drove off

together in high good humor. The manager at the Abbaye bowed before

them with special deference. He recognized Julien as an occasional

customer, and Lady Anne, even in her traveling gown, was a person to

inspire attention.

They chose a table and ordered supper for four. Kendricks had not yet

arrived, but it was barely half-past eleven and the place was almost

empty. Lady Anne was in high spirits and chattering all the time.

Julien looked at her occasionally in amazement. They had seldom been

alone together in London, but on those few occasions when the

conventions had demanded it, he had been inclined to find her rather

stupid. She was certainly nothing of the sort this evening!

"I suppose I am a baby," she exclaimed, laughing, "but to-night I feel

as though I were beginning a new life! Tell me, mademoiselle, have you

a place for me as a seamstress? Or will you have me for a model? My

figure is good enough, isn't it?"

"Miladi," Mademoiselle Rignaut declared deprecatingly, "there is no

girl in my shop with a figure like yours, but it is not well for you to

talk so, indeed. It is shocking."

Lady Anne laughed gayly.

"Now, my little friend," she said, "let us understand one another.

There is no more 'miladi.' I am Anne--Anne to you and Anne to Julien

here. I've finished with the 'miladi' affair. I dare say I shouldn't

care about being a model, but all the same I am going to earn my own

living."

"Earn your own living!" Mademoiselle Rignaut echoed, in something like

horror.

She had met the Duke and the Duchess--she had traveled even to London

and had passed the night beneath the ducal roof. Lady Anne's mother had

very sound ideas of economy, and Mademoiselle Rignaut was cheap and yet

undoubtedly French.

"Earn my own living, without a doubt," Lady Anne repeated, helping

herself to a roll. "You don't mind my eating some bread and butter, do

you, Julien? I couldn't lunch--I was much too excited, and the tea on

the train was filthy. Why, of course I am going to earn my own living,"

she continued. "I've only got a few thousand francs with me, and some

jewelry. I believe I have got a small income, but Heaven knows whether

they will let me have it!"

Julien's eyes were suddenly lit with humor.

"Why, the Duke will be here for you to-morrow," he exclaimed, "to take

you back!"

She leaned back in her seat with an air of deliberation.

"I'm free," she insisted. "I'm twenty-six years old, thank Heaven!

Twenty-six years I've had of it--enough to crush any one. No more! You

know, I like this sense of freedom," she went on. "It's perfectly

amazing how young I feel. Julien, do you remember when mother wouldn't

let us lunch together at the Ritz without a chaperon?"

"I do," he assented. "I'm sure we didn't need one, either."

She smiled reminiscently.

"What sticks we were! What a silly life! I really have the most

delightful feeling, as though I were starting things all over again, as

though there were all sorts of wonderful adventures before me."

Julien looked at her quickly. There was no woman in the place half so

good-looking or with any pretensions to such style. He was conscious of

an odd twinge of jealousy.

"You'll have no trouble in finding adventures," he remarked a little

grimly.

Her eyes flashed back an answer to his thought.

"Bless you, I don't want anything to do with men! Fancy having been

engaged to you and to Samuel Harbord! What further thrills could

possibly be in store for me?"

"Well, I don't know," Julien retorted. "I suppose if I was a stick,

there must have been something about you which induced me to be one."

"Not a bit of it," she objected. "You were a solemn, studious,

gentlemanly, well-behaved, well-conducted prig--very much a male

edition of what I was myself. What a life we should have lived

together!... Here's your friend. You know, I rather like the look of

him. He's so delightfully untidy. I should think he belongs round about

the new world, doesn't he?"

"He's a working journalist," Julien answered, "a very clever fellow and

a good friend of mine."

"Then I shall adore him," Lady Anne decided,--"not because he is a good

friend of yours, but because he is a working journalist. Why, I saw him

sitting waiting for you the day you came and wished me that touching

good-bye," she added. "I liked him even then. It seemed so sweet of him

to come and help you through that terrible ordeal."

She held out her hand to Kendricks very charmingly when he was

presented.

"Don't be terrified at finding us here, please," she begged. "I know

you have some business to talk over with Julien, but you see we were

starving, and Julien had to be polite to me because we were once

engaged to be married. I promise you that when we have eaten we will go

home."

Kendricks looked at her for a moment and smiled.

"You know," he said, "I believe you've run away."

She laughed.

"I felt sure that I was going to like your friend, Julien!" she

exclaimed. "He understands things so quickly."

"I am a newspaper man, you see," he told her. "Just as I left, I was

reading all sorts of things about your wedding, and the presents, and

the rest of it. I saw you in the train and recognized you."

"Don't think I've come over after Julien," she continued cheerfully. "I

never dreamed of seeing him--not just yet, at any rate. I had no idea

where to run to, but Paris seemed to me so easy and so natural, and

somehow or other it must be more difficult to worry any one into going

back from a foreign country. Not that I've any idea of going back," she

broke off. "I think I'm going to enjoy life hugely out here."

"But it is most astonishing!" Mademoiselle Rignaut declared with a

gasp.

"My little friend here," Lady Anne went on, "hasn't got over it all

yet. She doesn't understand the sheer barbarity of being a duke's

daughter. The worst of it is she'll never have an opportunity of trying

it for herself. Heaven save the others! Julien, I hope we are going to

have some champagne. Mother never liked me to drink champagne at a

restaurant. You see," she explained, "we weren't rich enough to be in

really the smart set, or else I should have been allowed to do any

mortal thing, and if you aren't in the very smart set, it is best to

turn up your nose at them and to ape propriety. That's what we did. It

suited father because it was cheap, and mother because she said it went

with my style."

"Champagne, by all means," Julien agreed. "I ordered it some time ago.

And here comes the lobster."

"Julien, tell him to give me some wine," Lady Anne begged. "I am

thirsty."

Julien gave the order to the _sommelier_. She raised the glass to

her lips and looked at him.

"To our new selves," she exclaimed, laughing, "and to the broken

bonds!"

Julien raised his glass at once.

"To our new selves!" he echoed.

CHAPTER III

WORK FOR JULIEN

The new Anne had not forgotten her natural stubbornness. At half-past

twelve she rose from the supper table and declined absolutely to allow

Julien to escort her home.

"My dear Julien," she declared, "the thing is ridiculous. We have

finished with all that. I am a Bohemian. I expect to walk about these

streets when and where and at what hour I choose. You have business

with Mr. Kendricks and I am glad of it. You certainly shall not waste

your time gallivanting around with me. Janette and I together could

defy any sort of danger."

"But, my dear Anne," Julien protested, "you cannot make these changes

so suddenly. To drive you home would take, at the most, half an hour."

"I shall enjoy the drive immensely," Lady Anne answered coolly, "but we

shall take it alone. Don't be foolish, Julien. Come and find us a

little carriage and say good night nicely."

He was forced to obey. He found a carriage and helped her in. She even

stopped him when he would have paid for it.

"For the present," she said, "I prefer to arrange these matters for

myself. Thanks ever so much for the supper," she added, "and come and

see me in a day or two, won't you?"

She gave him her hand and smiled her farewells at him. The lamplight

flashed upon her as she leaned forward to say good-bye, and Julien for

the first time realized that her hair was a beautiful shade of brown,

and that there was a quiet but very effective beauty about her face

which he had never appreciated. She waved her hand and laughed at him

in frank good-fellowship which he somehow felt vaguely annoying. The

carriage rolled away and he went back to Kendricks.

"My friend," the latter exclaimed, "pay your bill and let us depart! I

am in no humor for the cafés to-night. Let us go to your rooms and sit

quietly, or drive--whichever you choose."

"You have news?" Julien remarked.

"I have news and a proposition for you," Kendricks replied. "I am not

sure that we do ourselves much good by being seen about Paris together

just now. I am not sure, even, whether it is safe."

Julien stared at him.

"You are making fun of me!"

"Not I," Kendricks assured him. "We are both being drawn into a queer

little cycle of events, events which perhaps we may influence. When we

get back to your rooms, I will tell you about it. Until then, not a

word."

They drove down the hill, talking of Lady Anne.

"Somehow," Kendricks remarked, "she doesn't fit in, in the least, with

your description of her. I imagined a cold, rather stupid young woman,

of very moderate intelligence, and certainly no sense of humor. Do you

know that your Lady Anne is really a very charming person?"

"She puzzles me a little," Julien confessed. "Something has changed

her."

Kendricks nodded.

"Whatever has done it has done a good thing. She gave you your congé

quite calmly, didn't she?"

"Absolutely," Julien admitted. "She brushed me away as though I had

been a misbehaving fly."

"After all," Kendricks said, "you were of the same kidney--a prig of

the first water, you know, Julien. I am never tired of telling you so,

am I? Never mind, it's good for you. Have you seen Herr Freudenberg

this week?"

Julien shook his head.

"Not since we were all at the Rat Mort together nearly a month ago. Did

I tell you that he made me an offer then?"

"No, you told me nothing about it," Kendricks replied, leaning forward

with interest. "What sort of an offer? Go on, tell me about it?"

"He wanted me," Julien continued, "to undertake the command of an

expedition to some place which he did not specify, to discover whether

a German who was living there was being held a prisoner--"

"Oh, là, là!" Kendricks interrupted. "Tell me what your reply was?"

"I told him that I must consult you first. As a matter of fact, I never

thought seriously about it at all. The whole affair seemed to me so

vague, and it didn't attract me in the least. I don't know whether you

can understand what I mean, but to me it appeared to be an entirely

artificial suggestion. If such a thing had been reasonable at all, I

should have said that it was an offer invented on the spur of the

moment by Herr Freudenberg, to get me out of Paris."

"Really, Julien," declared Kendricks, "I am beginning to have hopes of

you. There are times when you are almost bright."

"What are you here for?" Julien asked. "Is there anything wrong in

London?"

"Anything wrong!" Kendricks growled. "You and your foolish letters,

Julien! You left the way open for that little bounder Carraby and he'll

do for us. Lord, how they love him in Berlin!"

"They are not exactly appreciating him over here, are they?" Julien

remarked. "I don't understand the tone of the Press at all. There's

something at the back of it all."

"There is," Kendricks agreed grimly. "Sit tight, wait till we are in

your rooms. I'll tell you some news."

"We are there now," Julien replied, as the little carriage pulled up.

"Follow me, Kendricks, and take care of the stairs. I hope you like the

smell of new bread? You see, the ground floor is occupied by a

confectioner's shop. It keeps me hungry half the time."

"Delicious!" Kendricks murmured. "Are these your rooms?"

Julien nodded and turned on the electric light.

"Not palatial, as you see, but comfortable and, I flatter myself,

typically French. Don't you love the red plush and the gilt mirror? Of

course, one doesn't sit upon the chairs or look into the mirror, but

they at least remind you of the country you're in."

Kendricks threw open the window. The hum of the city came floating into

the room. They drew up easy-chairs.

"Whiskey and soda at your side," Julien pointed out. "You can smoke

your filthy pipe to your heart's content. I won't even insult you by

offering you a cigar. Now go ahead."

Kendricks lit his pipe and smoked solemnly.

"Your remarks," he declared, "are actuated by jealousy. You haven't the

stomach for a man's smoke. Now listen. There's the very devil of a

mischief abroad and Falkenberg's at the bottom of it. Do you know what

he's doing?"

"I know nothing."

"You remember the night that we were up at the Rat Mort? He was talking

with a dirty-looking man in a red tie and pince-nez."

"I remember it quite well," Julien admitted.

"Well, he was the leader writer in _Le Jour_,--Jesen--a brilliant

man, an absolutely wonderful writer, but shiftless. Do you know what

Falkenberg has done? The paper was in the market, the controlling share

of it, and he bought it, or rather he put the money into Jesen's hands

to buy it with. The whole tone of the paper with regard to foreign

affairs has turned completely round. Every other day there is a

scathing article in it attacking the _entente_ with England.

You've read them, of course?"

"So has every one," Julien replied gravely. "The people here talk of

little else."

"It is known," Kendricks continued, "that Falkenberg has made every use

of his frequent visits to this city to ingratiate himself with certain

members of the French Cabinet, and to impress them with his views. To

some extent there is no doubt that he has succeeded. The German

Press--the inspired portion of it, at any rate--is backing all this up

by articles extremely friendly towards France and deriding her

friendship with England."

"This, too, I have noticed," Julien admitted.

"Carraby is in hot water already," Kendricks went on. "He had a chance

on Monday in the House, when he was asked a question about the German

gunboat which is reported to have gone to Agdar. The fool muddled it.

He gave the sort of suave, methodist reply one expected, and the German

Press jeered at him openly. Julien, it's serious. The French people are

honest enough, but they are impressionable. A Liberal Government was

never popular with them. You were the only Liberal Foreign Minister in

whom they believed. This man Carraby they despise. Besides, he has

Jewish blood in his veins and you know what that means over here.

Jesen's articles come thundering out and already other papers are

beginning to follow suit. The poison has been at work for months. You

remember monsieur and madame and mademoiselle, with whom I talked so

earnestly? Well, they were but types. I talked to them because I wanted

to find out their point of view. There are many others like them. They

look upon the _entente_ with good-natured tolerance. They doubt

the real ability of Britain to afford practical aid to France, should

she be attacked. This good-natured tolerance is being changed into

irritation. Falkenberg's efforts are ceaseless. The moment he has the

two countries really estranged, he will strike."

"Against which?" Julien asked quickly.

"Heaven only knows!" Kendricks answered. "For my part, I have always

believed that it would be against England. There is no strategic reason

for a war between France and Germany. Germany needs more than France

can give her. She does not need money, she needs territory. Falkenberg

is a rabid imperialist, a dreamer of splendid dreams, a real genius. He

is fighting to-day with the subtlest weapons the mind of man ever

conceived. Now, Julien, listen. I am here with a direct proposition to

you."

"But what can I do?" Julien exclaimed.

"This," Kendricks replied. "It is my idea. I saw Lord Southwold this

morning and he agreed. We want you to write for our paper a series of

articles, dated from Paris and signed in your own name, and we want you

to attack Falkenberg and the game he is playing. We will arrange for

them to appear simultaneously in one of the leading journals here. We

want you to write openly of these German spies who infest Paris. We

want you first to hint and then to speak openly of the purchase of

_Le Jour_ by means of German gold. We want you to combat the

popular opinion here that our army is a wooden box affair, and that we

as a nation are too crassly selfish to risk our fleet for the benefit

of France. We want you to strike a great note and tell the truth.

Julien, those articles signed by you and dated from Paris may do a

magnificent work."

Julien's eyes were already agleam.

"Splendid!" he muttered, rising to his feet. "If only I can do it!"

"Of course you can do it," Kendricks insisted firmly. "Before you spoke

so often you used to write for the _Nineteenth Century_ every

month. You haven't forgotten the trick. Some of your sentences I

remember even now. I tell you, Julien, they helped me to appreciate

you. I liked you better when you took up the pen sometimes than I liked

you in those perfect clothes and perfect manner in your office at

Downing Street. Your tongue had the politician's trick of gliding over

the surface of things. Your pen scratched and spluttered its way into

the heart of affairs. Get back to it, Julien. I want your first article

before I leave Paris to-night."

"I'll do my best," Julien promised. "It's a great scheme. I'm going to

commence now."

"I hoped you would," Kendricks replied. "You've got the atmosphere

here. You're sitting in the heart of the France that belongs to the

French. It isn't for nothing that I've taken you round a little with me

since we were here. Chance was kind, too, when it brought us up against

Freudenberg. Remember, Julien, journalism isn't the gentlemanly art it

was ten or twenty years ago. You can take up your pen and stab. That's

what we want."

"It's fine," Julien declared. "It is war!"

Kendricks rose to his feet.

"I'm going to bed," he announced. "The last month has been exciting and

there's plenty more to come. I need sleep. Julien, just a word of

caution."

"Fire away," Julien sighed. He was already gazing steadfastly out of

the window, already the sentences were framing themselves in his mind.

"The day upon which your first article appears," Kendricks said,

"Freudenberg will strike. Your life here will never be wholly safe. You

will be encompassed with spies and enemies. Why, this wild-cat scheme

of his of sending you off on some expedition was solely because you are

the one man of whom he is afraid. He feared lest Carraby might make

some hideous blunder in a crisis and that the country might demand you

back. That is why he wanted you out of the way."

"You may be right," Julien admitted. "What's that striking--one

o'clock? Till to-night, David!"

Kendricks nodded and left the room. Julien sat for a moment before the

open window. It was rather an impressive view of the city with its

millions of lights, the fine buildings of the Place de la Concorde in

clear relief against the deep sky, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the

distance, the subtle perfume of pleasure in the air. Julien stood there

and raised his eyes to the skies. Already his brain was moving to the

grim music of his thoughts. He looked away from the city to the fertile

country. Some faint memory of those once blackened fields and desolate

villages stole into his mind. He turned to his desk, drew the paper

towards him and wrote.

CHAPTER IV

A STARTLING DISCLOSURE

Julien was driving, a few afternoons later, with Madame Christophor.

She had picked him up in the Bois, where he had gone for a solitary

walk. In her luxurious automobile they passed smoothly beyond the

confines of the Park and out into the country. After her brief summons

and the few words of invitation, they relapsed into a somewhat curious

silence.

"My friend," Madame Christophor remarked at length, glancing

thoughtfully towards him, "I find a change in you. You are pale and

tired and silent. It is your duty to amuse me, but you make no effort

to do so. Yet you have lost that look of complete dejection. You have,

indeed, the appearance of a man who has accomplished something, who has

found a new purpose in life."

Julien to some extent recovered himself.

"Dear Madame Christophor," he exclaimed, "it is true! My manners are

shocking. Yet, in a way, I have an excuse. I have been hard at work for

the last few days. I was writing all night until quite late this

morning. It was because I could not sleep that I came out to sit under

the trees--where you found me, in fact."

"Writing," she repeated. "So you are changing your weapons, are you?

You are going to make a new bid for power?"

Julien shook his head.

"It is not that," he answered. "I have no personal ambitions connected

with my present work. It was an idea--a great idea--but it was not my

own. Yet the work has been an immense relief."

She looked away, relapsing once more into silence. He glanced towards

her. The weariness of her expression was more than ever evident to-day,

the weariness that was not fretful, that seemed, indeed, to give an

added sweetness to her face. Yet its pathos was always there. Her eyes,

which looked steadily down the road in front of them, were full of the

fatigue of unwelcome days.

"You men so easily escape," she murmured. "We women never."

Julien was conscious of a certain selfishness in all his thoughts

connected with his companion. He had been so ready always to accept her

society, to accept and profit by the stimulus of her intellect. Yet he

himself had given so little, had shown so little interest in her or her

personal affairs. He sat a trifle more upright in his place.

"Dear Madame Christophor," he said earnestly, "you have been so kind to

me, you have shown so much interest always in my doings and my

troubles. Why not tell me something of your own life? I have felt so

much the benefit of your sympathy. Is there nothing in the world I

could do for you?"

She sighed.

"No person in the world," she declared, "could help me; certainly not

one of your sex. I start with an instinctive and unchanging hatred

towards every one of them."

"But, madame," Julien protested, "is that reasonable?"

"It is the truth," she replied. "I do my best when we are together to

forget it so far as you are concerned. I succeed because you do not use

with me any of the miserable devices of your sex to provoke an interest

whether they really desire it or not. You treat me, Sir Julien, as it

pleases me to be treated. It is for that reason, I am sure--it must be

for that reason--that I find some pleasure in being with you, whereas

the society of any other man is a constant irritation to me."

Julien hesitated.

"You know," he began, "I am not naturally a curious person. I have

never asked a question of you or about you from the few people with

whom I have come in contact over here. At the same time,--"

"Do you mean," she interrupted, "do you seriously mean that you are

ignorant as to who I really am, as to any part of my history?"

"Entirely," Julien assured her.

She was thoughtful for several moments.

"Well, that is strange," she declared. "You are upsetting one of my pet

theories. All the men whom I have ever known have been more curious

than women. Are you interested in me, by any chance, Sir Julien?"

"Immensely," he replied.

"I am glad to hear it. Do you know, that is a great concession for me

to make, but it is the truth? I like you to be interested in me. Yet I

must confess that your ignorance as to who I really am astonishes me.

Perhaps," she added gravely, "if you knew, you would not be sitting by

my side at the present moment."

"I cannot believe," he said, smiling, "that you are such a very

terrible person."

"Terrible? Perhaps that is not the word," she admitted.

"There is one thing," he went on, "concerning which I have always been

curious."

"And that?"

"The little manicure girl whom I met in the Soho restaurant," he

replied promptly, "what on earth was her reason for wishing me to come

and see you? Why did you want me to come?"

"I thought," she murmured, "that we had agreed not to speak of those

matters for the present."

"That was some time ago. Things are changing around us every day. It is

possible that within a very short time I may find myself in such a

position here that I am forced to know exactly who are my friends and

who my enemies."

"Can you believe," she asked, "that you would ever find me among the

latter?"

Julien thought for several moments.

"I shall not ask you," he proceeded, "not to be offended with me for

what I am going to say. It was a chance remark I heard--no more. It

certainly, however, did suggest some association. There is a man who

comes often to Paris, who calls himself a maker of toys. He says that

he comes from Leipzig and that his name is Herr Freudenberg."

She sat as still as a statue. Not a line of her features was changed.

Julien turned a little in his seat. As he watched, he saw that her

bosom underneath the lace scarf which she wore was rising and falling

quickly. Her teeth came suddenly together. He saw the lids droop over

her eyes as though she were in pain.

"Herr Freudenberg," she repeated, "what of him?"

"I knew him in the days when I counted for something in the world,"

Julien explained. "Don't you remember that on the night when we dined

together at the Maison Léon d'Or he sent one of his emissaries for me?

He was a man in whom I had always felt the greatest, the most complete

interest. I went to him gladly. Since then, as you will know if you

read the papers, events have moved rapidly. I am beginning to realize

now how completely and absolutely that man is the enemy of my country."

"It is true, that," she murmured.

"For some reason," Julien continued, "he seemed anxious to remove me

from Paris. He made me a somewhat singular offer. He wanted me to go to

some distant country on a mission--not political and yet for Germany."

"And do you go?"

"No," he replied, "I have found other work. I don't think that I

seriously considered it at any time, yet I have always been curious as

to why he should have made such an offer to me."

She had the air now of a woman who had completely recovered control of

herself.

"Sir Julien," she asked, "I beg of you to tell me this. If you do not

know who I am, why have you mentioned Herr Freudenberg's name to me?"

"Madame," Julien answered, "because the man who brought me the message

from Herr Freudenberg, the man who conducted me to him, the man

concerning whom you told me that strange, pathetic little story--he let

fall one word. I asked him no question. I wished for no information

except from you. Yet I am only human. I have had impulses of

curiosity."

"Herr Freudenberg is my husband," Madame Christophor declared.

Julien looked at her in amazement. For the moment he was speechless.

"I say what is perhaps literally but not actually true," she went on.

"He was my husband. We are separated. We are not divorced because we

were married as Roman Catholics. We are separated. There will never be

anything else between us."

Julien remained silent. It was so hard to say anything. The woman's

tone told him that around her speech hovered a tragedy.

"Now you know that Herr Freudenberg is my husband," she asked, "are you

not a little afraid to be sitting here by my side?"

"Why should I be?"

"Don't you know," she continued, "that he is your enemy?"

Julien looked grave.

"No, I have scarcely realized that," he answered. "I think, perhaps,

when he reads yesterday's papers he may be feeling like that. At

present, so far as he knows, what have I done?"

"You," she said, "were the only man who ever stood up to him, who ever

dealt a blow at his political supremacy. At the Conference of Berlin

you triumphed. German papers politely, and in a very veiled manner,

reminded him of his defeat. It was not a great matter, it is true, but

none the less the Conference of Berlin was the first diplomatic failure

in which he had ever been concerned, and you were responsible for it."

"You think, then," Julien remarked, "that he still harbors a grudge

against me for that?"

"Without a doubt. Now tell me what you mean when you speak of

yesterday's papers?"

"I am writing a series of articles," Julien told her. "They commenced

yesterday. They will appear in a French paper--_Le Grand

Journal_--and in the English _Post_. They are written with the

sole idea of attacking Herr Freudenberg. When he reads the first, he

will understand--he will be my enemy."

She held out her hand.

"Then say good-bye to me now, my friend," she murmured, "for you will

die."

Julien laughed scornfully.

"We do not live in those days," he reminded her. "We fight with the

pen, with diplomacy, with all the weapons of statecraft and intrigue,

if you will. But this is not now the Paris of Dumas. One does not

assassinate."

"My friend," she said earnestly, "you do not know Herr Freudenberg. If

indeed you have become during these last few days his enemy, by this

time next week you will surely have passed into some other sphere of

activity. There are no methods too primitive for him, no methods too

subtle or too cruel. He can be the most charming, the most winning, the

most generous, the most romantic person who ever breathed; or he can be

a Nero, a cruel and brutal butcher, a murderer either of reputations or

bodies--he cares little which."

"Presently," Julien declared, "I shall begin to feel uncomfortable."

"Oh! you have courage, of course," she admitted, with a scornful little

shrug of the shoulders. "No one has ever denied that to your race. But

you have also the unconquerable stupidity which makes heroes and

victims of your soldiers."

Julien smiled.

"Well, I am at least warned, and for that I thank you. Now let me ask

you another question. You have told me this very strange thing about

yourself and Herr Freudenberg. You have told me of your feelings

concerning him. Yet you have not really told me exactly on what terms

you are with him at present? Forgive me if I find this important."

"I do not receive him," she replied. "I have no interest in his comings

or his goings. I have a solemn promise, a promise to which he has

subscribed upon his honor, that he shall not seek to cross the

threshold of my house. He sent me an ambassador once quite lately to

make me a certain proposition connected with you."

"With me?" Julien repeated.

She nodded.

"He has great faith in my powers," she went on, looking him full in the

face, "also, apparently, some belief in your susceptibility. Is that

unkind of me? Never mind, it is the truth. He imagined, perhaps, that I

might help him to rid Paris of your presence. There was just one thing

he could offer me which I desired. He came to offer it."

"You refused?" Julien exclaimed.

Her eyes rested upon his. Her expression was faintly provocative.

"How could I accept an offer," she asked, "to deal with a thing which

did not belong to me? You have shown no signs at present, Sir Julien,

of becoming my abject slave."

The car rushed through a straggling village. All the time she was

watching him. Then she threw herself back among the cushions with a

little laugh.

"A week or so ago," she murmured, "I had a fancy that if I had

tried--well, that perhaps you were not so different from other men. I

should have loathed my conquest, I should probably have loathed you,

but I think that I should have expected it. At the present moment," she

went on, glancing into a little gold mirror which she had picked up

from a heap of trifles lying on the table before her, "at the present

moment I am disillusioned. My vanity is wounded though my relief is

great. Nevertheless, Sir Julien, tell me what has happened to you

during the last few days?"

"Work," Julien replied, "the sort of work I was craving for."

"Not only that," she insisted, setting down the mirror with a sigh.

"There is something else."

"If there is," Julien assured her, "I am not yet conscious of it."

They had emerged from the country lane along which they had been

traveling and were returning now to Paris along the broad highroad.

They were going at a fair speed when suddenly a huge racing car came

flashing by them, covered with dust, and with all the indications of

having come a great distance. Madame Christophor leaned forward in her

seat and clutched her companion's arm. Her eyes were fixed upon the

figure of the man leaning back by the side of the driver.

"You see?" she muttered.

"Herr Freudenberg!" Julien gasped.

She nodded. Already the car had vanished in a cloud of dust.

"He is just from Germany or from the frontier. He very seldom comes all

the way by rail. The car is always waiting."

"I shall see him, then, to-night," Julien declared. "Already, without a

doubt, he knows. Already he is my enemy. What about you, Madame

Christophor?"

"My friend," she promised, "you will have nothing to fear from me. So

long as I can forget your sex, I rather like you."

"Are you going to answer my question about the little girl who sent me

to you?" he asked.

"I will tell you, if you like," she said. "Mademoiselle Senn was once

in my service. She occasionally executes commissions for me in London.

She knows everybody. It was in obedience to my wishes that she gave you

that message."

"But why?" Julien demanded. "What interest had you in me?"

"None," she answered a little coldly,--"no personal interest. I sent

that message because I discovered that the individual who has just

passed us in the automobile was framing certain schemes in connection

with you if you should come to Paris. Politically as well as personally

he and I are enemies. He hates America and the whole Anglo-Saxon race.

It has amused me more than once to thwart his schemes. I intended to

set you upon your guard. You see, it is very simple. Mademoiselle Senn

wrote me at first that she did not know you and that she feared you

were inaccessible. Then she wired me of an accidental meeting and that

she had delivered my message. The whole affair is simpler than it

seemed, is it not so?... Now listen. I have satisfied your curiosity.

You now shall answer a question. Who is Miss Clonarty?"

Julien gazed at her in astonishment.

"Miss Clonarty?" he repeated.

Madame Christophor nodded.

"The name seems to surprise you. A young English woman called on me

to-day in answer to my advertisement for a secretary who could write

and speak English. She said that her name was Miss Anne Clonarty and

she referred me to you."

"If she is the lady whom I suppose she is," Julien replied, "you will

be perfectly safe in engaging her."

Madame Christophor looked at him from underneath the lids of her eyes.

"Do you think that I do not know?" she asked, with a shade of contempt

in her tone,--"that I do not sometimes read the papers? Do you think

that I have not seen that Lady Anne Clonarty, the girl whom you were

engaged to marry, disappeared from her home the other day, on the eve

of her marriage to another man? It is this girl who comes to me for my

situation, is it not so?"

Julien was silent.

"I knew nothing of her coming. I did not even know that you wanted a

secretary."

"I wonder why she came to Paris," Madame Christophor remarked. "Is she

in love with you?"

"There was never any question of anything of the sort," Julien declared

fervently.

"You have seen her since she arrived in Paris?"

"Entirely by accident. I saw her alight from the train. I was at the

Gare du Nord to meet Kendricks."

Madame Christophor leaned back in her seat.

"Is it your wish that I engage her?"

"Certainly," Julien replied. "I am sure that you will find her

competent. At the same time, I don't know how long she will keep this

thing up."

"As a rule I do not care for handsome women around me," Madame

Christophor said composedly. "Lady Anne is much too good-looking to

please me. She has all the freshness and vitality," she added, dropping

her voice a little, "which seem to have left me forever."

"You have experience," Julien reminded her. "Experience in itself is

wonderful, even though one has to pay for it."

They were in the streets of Paris now. Madame Christophor shrugged her

shoulders and sat up.

"It is one of the misfortunes of my sex," she said, a little bitterly,

"that without experience we lack charm--in the eyes of you men, that is

to say. It is your own folly.... Are you coming home with me, my

friend, or shall I set you down somewhere?"

"As near the Gare du Nord as possible, if you please," Julien begged.

"I have wearied you enough for one afternoon."

Madame Christophor looked at him thoughtfully. There was a slight frown

upon her forehead.

"Somewhere near the Gare du Nord!" she repeated.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST ARTICLE

Julien found Lady Anne in a small, stuffy apartment on the third floor

of the house in the Rue St. Antoine. Before her was a sewing-machine,

and the floor of the room was littered with oddments of black calico.

She herself was seated apparently deep in thought before an untrimmed

hat.

"What on earth, my dear Anne," he exclaimed, "are you doing?"

She merely glanced up at his entrance. Her eyes were still far away.

"Don't interrupt," she begged. "I am seeking for an inspiration. In my

younger days I used to trim hats. I don't suppose anything I could do

would be of any use here, but one must try everything."

"But I thought," he protested, "that you were going to be a lady's

secretary, or something of that sort?"

"I have applied for a situation," she admitted. "I am not engaged yet.

By the bye, I gave your name as a reference. I wonder if there is any

chance for me."

"As a matter of fact," he told her, "I have just left the lady whose

advertisement you answered."

"Madame Christophor?"

"Madame Christophor. If you are really anxious for that post, I can

assure you that it is yours."

She flung the hat to the other end of the room.

"Good!" she exclaimed. "I don't think this sort of thing is in my line

at all. Tell me, is Madame Christophor half as charming as she looks?"

"I have known her only a short time," Julien replied, "but she is

certainly a very wonderful woman."

"What does she do," Lady Anne asked, "to require a secretary?"

"She is a woman of immense wealth, I believe," Julien answered, "and

she has many charities. She is married, but separated from her husband.

I think, on the whole, that she must have led a rather unhappy life."

"I think it is very extraordinary," Lady Anne remarked, "that she

should be willing to take a secretary who knows nothing of typewriting

or shorthand. I told her how ignorant I was, but she didn't seem to

mind much."

Julien sat down by the side of the sewing-machine.

"Anne," he began, "do you really think you're going to care for this

sort of thing?"

"What sort of thing?" she demanded.

"Why, life on your own. You have been so independent always and a

person of consequence. You know what it means to be a servant?"

"Not yet," Lady Anne admitted. "I think, though, that it is quite time

I did. I am rather looking forward to it."

Julien was a little staggered. She looked over at him and laughed

scornfully.

"After all," she said, "I am not sure, Julien, whether you are a person

of much understanding. You proposed to me because I happened to be the

sort of girl you were looking for. My connections were excellent and my

appearance, I suppose, satisfactory. You never thought of me myself, me

as an independent person, in all your life. Do you believe that I am

simply Lady Anne Clonarty, a reasonable puppet, a walking doll to

receive some one's guests and further his social ambitions? Don't you

think that I have the slightest idea of being a woman of my own? What's

wrong with me, I wonder, Julien, that you should take me for something

automatic?"

"You acted the part," he reminded her.

"With you, yes!" she replied scornfully. "I should like to know how

much you encouraged me to be anything different. A sawdust man I used

to think you. Oh, we matched all right! I am not denying that. I was

what I had to be. I sometimes wonder if misfortune will not do you

good."

"Misfortune is lending you a tongue, at any rate," he retorted.

"As yet," she objected, "I know nothing of misfortune. The impulse

which led me to chuck things was just the most wonderful thing that

ever came to me in life. I awoke this morning feeling like a freed

woman. I sang while I got up. It seemed to me that I had never seen

anything so beautiful as the view of Paris from my poky window. And I

got up without a maid, too, Julien. I had no perfectly equipped

bathroom to wander into. Not much luxury about these rooms of

Janette's."

He glanced at her admiringly.

"You certainly look as though the life agreed with you," he answered.

"Put on your hat and come out to dinner."

She rose to her feet at once.

"I have been praying for that," she confessed. "You know, Julien, I

should starve badly. The one thing I can't get rid of is my appetite.

You don't expect me to make a toilette, because I can't?"

"Nothing of the sort," he assured her. "Come as you are."

She kept him waiting barely five minutes. She was still wearing her

smart traveling suit and the little toque which she had worn when she

left home. She walked down the street with him, humming gayly.

"Have you read the English papers this morning, Julien?" she asked.

"Not thoroughly," he admitted.

"Columns about me," she declared blithely. "The general idea is that I

am suffering from a lapse of memory. They have found traces of me in

every part of England. Not a word about Paris, thank goodness!"

"But do you mean to say that no one has an idea of where you are? Won't

your mother be anxious?"

"Not a bit of it," Lady Anne laughed. "I left a note for her, just to

say that she wasn't to worry. She knows I'll take care of myself all

right. Julien, don't you love these streets and their crowds of people?

Every one looks as though they were on a holiday."

"So they are," Julien replied. "Life is only a holiday over here. In

England we go about with our eyes fixed upon the deadliest thing in

life we can imagine. Over here, depression is a crime. They call into

their minds the most joyous thing they can think of. It becomes a

habit. They think only of the pleasantness of life. They keep their

troubles buried underneath."

"It is the way to live," she murmured.

"This, at any rate," he answered, leading the way into Henry's "is the

place at which to dine. Just fancy, we were engaged for three months

and not once did I dine with you alone! Now we are not engaged and we

think nothing of it."

"Less than nothing," she agreed, "except that I am frightfully hungry."

They found a comfortable table. Julien took up the menu and wrote out

the dinner carefully.

"In this country," he said, leaning back, "we are spared the barbarity

of table d'hôte dinners. Therefore we must wait, but what does it

matter? There is always something to talk about."

"I am glad to hear that you feel like that, Julien. I remember

sometimes when we were alone together in England, we seemed to find it

a trifle difficult."

"Since then," he replied, "we have both burst the bonds--I of

necessity, you of choice."

"I don't believe," she declared, helping herself to _hors

d'oeuvres_, "that we are either of us going to be sorry for it."

"One can never tell. So far as you are concerned, I haven't got over

the wonder of it yet. You never showed me so much of the woman

throughout our engagement as you have shown me during the last few

days."

"My dear Julien," she protested, "you didn't know where to look for it.

Why does this funny little man with the mutton-chop whiskers hover

around our table all the time?"

"He is distressed," Julien explained, "to see you eating so much bread

and butter. He fears that you will not have an appetite for the very

excellent dinner which I have ordered."

"He is right," she decided. "Never mind, I will leave the rolls alone.

I am still, I can assure you, ravenous."

She leaned back and, looking out into the room, began to laugh. People

who passed never failed to notice her. She was certainly a

striking-looking girl and she had, above all, the air.

"Julien," she cried, "this is really too amusing! Did you see who went

by just then? It was Lord Athlington--my venerable uncle--with the lady

with the yellow hair. He saw you here with me--saw us sitting together

alone, having dinner--me unchaperoned, a runaway! Isn't it delicious?"

Julien looked after his companion's elderly relative with a smile.

"I wonder," he remarked, "whether your uncle's magnificent

unconsciousness is due to defective eyesight or nerve?"

"Nerve, without a doubt," she insisted. "We all have it. Besides, don't

you see he's changed their table so as to be out of sight? I wonder

what he really thinks of me! If we'd belonged even to the really smart

set in town, it wouldn't have been half so funny. They do so many

things that seem wrong that people forget to be shocked."

"I can conceive," he murmured, "that your mother's ambitions would

scarcely lead her in that direction."

Lady Anne shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't think she could get in if she tried. The really disreputable

people in Society are so exclusive. I wonder, Julien, if I shall be

allowed to come out and dine with you when I am Madame Christophor's

secretary?"

"Once a week, perhaps," he suggested,--"scarcely oftener, I am afraid."

"Ah! well," she declared, "I shall like work, I am convinced. Julien,

you are spoiling me. I am sure this is a _cuisine de luxe_. I told

you to take me to a cheap restaurant."

"We will try them all in time," he answered. "I had to start by taking

you to my favorite place."

"You really mean, then," she asked, "that you are going on being nice

to me? Of course, I haven't the slightest claim on you. I suppose, as a

matter of fact, I treated you rather badly, didn't I?"

"Not a bit of it," he assured her. "I was a failure, that was all. But

of course I am going on being nice to you. There aren't too many people

over here whom one cares to be with. There aren't very many just now,"

he continued, "who care to be with me."

"Idiotic!" she replied. "Tell me about this work of yours?"

He explained Kendricks' idea. Her eyes glistened.

"It's really splendid," she declared. "How I should love to have seen

your first article!"

"You shall read it afterwards," he told her. "I have a copy of _Le

Grand Journal_ in my overcoat pocket."

She beckoned to the _vestiaire_.

"I will not wait a moment," she insisted. "I shall read it while dinner

is being served. It's a glorious idea, this, to fight your way back

with your pen. There are those nowadays who tell us, you know, Julien,

that there is more to be done through the Press than in Parliament.

Your spoken words can influence only a small number of people. What you

write the world reads."

She explained what she desired to the _vestiaire_. He reappeared a

minute or two later with the newspaper. She spread it out before her.

Julien read it over her shoulder. He himself had seen it before, but

his own eyes were the brighter as he reread it. When she had finished

she said very little. They ate the first course of their dinner almost

in silence. Then she laid her hand suddenly upon his.

"Julien, dear," she said, "I have done you a wrong. I am sorry."

"A wrong?" he repeated.

She looked at him almost humbly. There was something new in her eyes,

something new in her expression.

"I am afraid," she continued, "that I never looked upon you as anything

more than the ordinary stereotyped politician, a skilful debater, of

course, and with the chessboard brains of diplomacy. This,"--she

touched the newspaper with her forefinger--"this is something very

different."

"Do you like it, then?"

"Like it!" she repeated scornfully. "Can't you feel yourself how

different it is from those precise, cynical little speeches of yours?

It is as though a smouldering bonfire had leapt suddenly into flame.

There is genius in every line. Go on writing like that, Julien, and you

will soon be more powerful than ever you were in the House of Commons."

He laughed. It was absurd to admit it, but nothing had pleased him so

much since the coming of his misfortune! She was thoughtful for some

time, every now and then glancing back at the newspaper. Over their

coffee she broke into a little reminiscent laugh.

"Did I tell you about Mrs. Carraby?" she asked. "Mother and I met her

at Wumbledon House, two or three days after her husband's appointment

had been confirmed. I can see her now coming towards us. There were so

many people around that she had to risk everything. Oh, it was a great

moment for mother! She never troubled even to raise her lorgnettes. She

never attempted any of that glaring-through-you sort of business. She

just looked up at Mrs. Carraby's hand and looked up at her eyes and

walked by without changing a muscle. Of course I did the same--very

nearly as well, too, I believe. Cat!"

Julien frowned slightly.

"You can imagine," he said, "that I am not very keen about discussing

Mrs. Carraby. Yet, after all, her husband and his career were, I

suppose, the most important things in life to her."

"Then she's going to have a pretty rocky time," Lady Anne decided. "I

don't understand much about politics, but I know it's no use putting a

tradesman into the Foreign Office. He's wobbly already, and as for Mrs.

Carraby--well, I don't know if she ever went on with you like it,

Julien, but you remember Bob Sutherland--the one in the Guards, I

mean?--well, she's going an awful pace with him."

"I think," he declared, "that Mrs. Carraby can take care of herself."

"Perhaps," Lady Anne replied, looking thoughtfully at her cigarette.

"You see, the woman knows in her heart that she's impossible. She

copies all our bad tricks. She sees that we all flirt as a matter of

course, and she tries to outdo us. It's the old story. What one person

can do with impunity, another makes an awful hash of. We can go to the

very gates because when we get there we know how to shrug our shoulders

and turn away. I am not sure that Mrs. Carraby has breeding enough for

that. She'll go through, if Bob has his way."

"You are becoming rather an advanced young person," Julien remarked, as

he paid the bill.

"My dear Julien," she said, "I've told you before that you never knew

me. If you had appreciated me as I deserved, when you came that cropper

you wouldn't have called on me to say good-bye. You'd have left that

red-headed friend of yours at home and told me that the empty place in

the taxicab was mine."

He laughed and then suddenly became grave.

"Supposing I had?" he whispered.

She looked at him, startled. In that moment he seemed to see a new

thing in her face, a new and marvelous softness. It passed like a

flash--so swiftly that it left him wondering whether it was not indeed

a trick of his imagination.

"Absurd!" she murmured. "Tell me, what is there we can do now? Must I

go home?"

"On the contrary," he declared, "you are engaged to me for the evening.

Only I must call at my rooms. Do you mind?"

"I mind nothing," she assured him. "Let us take a carriage and drive

about the streets. Julien, what a yellow moon!"

They clambered into a little _voiture_, and with a hoarse shout

and a crack of the whip from the _cocher_, they started off. Lady

Anne leaned back with an exclamation of content.

"If only it weren't so theatrical!" she sighed. "The streets seem so

clean and the buildings so white and the sky so blue and the people so

gay. Yet I suppose the bitterness of life is here as in the other

places. Why do you want to call at your rooms, Julien?"

"There is just a chance," he explained, "that there may be a telegram

from Kendricks. I want to know what they think of my article."

She laughed scornfully.

"I can tell you that. There is only one thing they can think. How these

people will hate you who are trying to make mischief between France and

England!"

Julien smiled grimly.

"I shouldn't be surprised," he admitted. "It may come to a tussle

between us yet."

They pulled up before the door of his rooms. She, too, alighted.

"I want to see what your quarters are like," she said calmly. "I may

come up, mayn't I?"

"By all means," he assented.

She followed him up the dark stairs and into his room. He turned on the

lights. She looked around at his little salon, with its French

furniture, its open windows with the lime trees only a few feet away,

and threw herself into an easy-chair with a sigh of content.

"Julien, how delightful!" she exclaimed. "Is there anything for you?"

He walked to the mantelpiece. There was a telegram and a note for him.

The former he tore open and his eyes sparkled as he read it aloud.

Magnificent. Be careful. Am coming over at once.

KENDRICKS.

He passed it on to her. Then he opened the note.

I am coming to your rooms for my answer to-night.

CARL FREUDENBERG.

Even as he read it there was a knocking at the door. She looked up

doubtfully.

"Who is that?"

"It may be the man who writes me here," he told her.

She rose softly to her feet and pointed to the door which divided the

apartments. He nodded and she passed through into the inner room.

Julien went to the outside door and threw it open. It was indeed Herr

Freudenberg who stood there.

"Come in," he invited.

Herr Freudenberg removed his hat and entered.

CHAPTER VI

FALKENBERG FAILS

Herr Freudenberg was dressed for the evening with his usual fastidious

neatness. He had the air of a man who had been engaged for many nights

in some arduous occupation. There were dark rims under his eyes, the

lines upon his forehead were deeper. Nevertheless, he smiled with

something of his old gayety as he accepted the chair which Julien

placed for him.

"My dear Sir Julien," he said, "I have come a good many hundred miles

at a most inconvenient moment for the sake of a brief conversation with

you."

Julien raised his eyebrows.

"You surprise me!" he exclaimed. "I had no idea that the mission you

spoke of was so urgent."

"Nor is it," Herr Freudenberg replied. "As a matter of fact, it

scarcely exists at all, or if it did exist, it was created simply as a

means of removing you from within the reach of practical politics for

some months. I have foresight, you see, Sir Julien. I saw what was

coming. Permit me to tell you that I do not like your letter in _Le

Grand Journal_ yesterday, a letter which I understand appeared also

in the London _Post_."

"I am sorry," Julien said calmly. "Still, to be perfectly frank, it

wasn't written with a view of pleasing or displeasing you. It was

written in a strenuous attempt to preserve the friendship between

France and England."

"It is to be followed, I presume, by others?" Herr Freudenberg asked.

"It is the first of a series," Julien admitted.

"You know," Herr Freudenberg remarked, glancing at his finger-nails for

a moment, "that it is most diabolically clever?"

"You flatter me," Julien murmured.

"Not at all. I have spoken the truth. I am here to know what price you

will take to suppress the remainder of the series."

Julien considered.

"I will take," he replied, "the exact amount of the last war indemnity

which was paid to you by France."

Herr Freudenberg smiled.

"A mere trifle to the war indemnity we shall be asking from England

before very long."

"I am not avaricious," Julien declared. "Those are my terms."

Herr Freudenberg sighed.