The moment arrived. The long, gray traveling car, covered with dust,

swung around the corner and stopped below. Herr Freudenberg was

travel-stained and almost unrecognizable in his motor clothes as he

stepped out and passed into the block of apartments. Contrary to his

usual custom, he did not at once present himself before the man who

awaited him in fear and trembling. Estermen heard him enter his own

suite of rooms on the other side of the stairway and give a few brief

orders. Then there was a peremptory knock at the door. Herr Freudenberg

was announced and entered.

To the man who had been waiting for his sentence there was something

terrible in the grim impassivity of Prince Falkenberg's features. His

face was set and white and sphinx-like. Only his eyes shone with a

fierce, unusual fire.

"What have you to say, Estermen?" he demanded.

"It was a miracle," Estermen faltered. "Sir Julien descended the stairs

with the copy in his hand to speak to a caller. For seventeen hours he

had been in his rooms, for the following seventeen hours he would

probably have been there, too. For the intervening thirty seconds he

happened to be upon the pavement. It was a miracle!"

This was the end of all the specious story which Estermen had gone over

so often to himself! Yet he had done his cause no harm, for the few

sentences he spoke were the truth.

"You have discovered his present whereabouts?" his master demanded.

Estermen hesitated. He feared that this was another blow which he was

about to deal.

"He is at the house of Madame Christophor in the Rue de St. Paul," he

faltered.

His news, however, did not discompose Prince Falkenberg. On the

contrary, he seemed, if anything, to find the intelligence agreeable.

"Have you made any inquiries as to his condition?"

Estermen shrugged his shoulders.

"The household of Madame Christophor," he replied, "is, as you know,

outside my sphere of influence. It is, besides, incorruptible. I myself

am personally obnoxious to Madame. I could do nothing but wait for your

coming."

Prince Falkenberg stood with his hands behind him, thinking. He had

relapsed into his former grim and impenetrable silence. And while he

waited the sweat stood out in beads upon Estermen's forehead. Greatly

he feared that the worst was to come!

"Have you anything else to say to me?" his master asked.

"Nothing!" Estermen replied, with faltering lips.

Prince Falkenberg's eyes were fierce orbs of light and his servant

quailed before him.

"Have you any reason to believe that the origin of the crime is

suspected?"

It was the question which above all others he had dreaded! Estermen was

a coward and a fluent liar. The latter gift, however, availed him

nothing. He felt as though the nerves of his tongue were being

controlled by some other agency. Against his will he told the truth.

"Jean Charles is watching these apartments!"

"Ah!"

Prince Falkenberg's single exclamation was the death sentence of his

agent. Estermen knew it and his knees knocked one against the other.

"For six years," Prince Falkenberg said, after a moment's pause, "you

have lived an easy and a comfortable life, Estermen,--a life, I dare

say, spent among the gutter vices which would naturally appeal to a

person of your temperament; a life, apart from the small services which

I have required of you, directed altogether by your own inclinations.

Be thankful for those six years. As you well know, but for me they

would have been spent either in prison or in the problematical future

world--a matter entirely at the discretion of the judge who tried you.

It pleased me to rescue you for my own purpose. You were possessed of a

certain amount of low cunning and a complete absence of all ordinary

human qualities, a combination which made you a useful servant of my

will. My one condition has been always before you. The present case

demands your fulfillment of it."

Estermen began to tremble.

"The man may be there by accident," he faltered. "There is no certainty

as yet that I am even suspected. I'm--I'm horribly afraid to die!" he

added, with an ugly little laugh.

"So are most men of your kidney," Prince Falkenberg replied composedly.

"Nevertheless, die you must, and to-night. Write your confession. Make

it clear that one of the victims was your personal enemy. I'll dictate

it, if you like."

"I can do it myself," Estermen muttered. "Let me--let me write the

confession first and then make an attempt to escape," he pleaded. "If I

am taken, the confession shall be found upon me. It will make no

difference. Let me have a chance! I know the secret places of the city.

I have friends who might help me to escape."

Prince Falkenberg watched his agent for a moment in contemptuous

curiosity. Estermen was walking restlessly up and down the few feet of

carpet, his fingers and the muscles of his face twitching. His words

had come with difficulty, as though he had suddenly developed an

impediment in his speech. His sallow complexion had become yellow. His

carefully waxed moustache was drooping, a speck of saliva was issuing

from his lips.

"The request which you make to me," Prince Falkenberg replied, "I

absolutely refuse. I know you and your cowardly temperament too well to

allow you to come alive into the hands of the French police."

"You value your own life highly enough!" Estermen snarled.

"It is not so," Prince Falkenberg asserted. "If I had ever valued my

own life highly, there would have been no Herr Freudenberg; and if the

whole history of Herr Freudenberg is discovered, I follow you, my

friend, post haste. If I seem to be taking any pains to hold my own,

remember that mine is a life which is valuable to the Fatherland. You

have been and you are only a feeder at the troughs. One more or less

such as you in the world makes just the difference of a speck of

dust--that is all."

Estermen shrank cowering into his seat.

"I'd rather live--in torture--in prison or in chains--anywhere!" he

gasped. "I can't think of death!"

Prince Falkenberg was becoming impatient.

"My dear Estermen," he exclaimed, "what prison do you suppose remains

open for the murderer of seven men! You shrink from death. Yet let me

assure you that the guillotine, with the certain prospect of it before

you day after day through a long trial, is no pleasant outlet from the

world for a sybarite. Be a philosopher. Go and die as you have lived.

Write your confession, summon your dearest friend by telephone, give a

little supper--you'll have plenty of time--but see that the affair is

over before midnight! This is my advice to you, Estermen; these are

also my orders, my final orders. If I find you alive when I return, or

the confession unwritten, I will show you how death may be made more

horrible than anything you have yet conceived."

Prince Falkenberg turned on his heel and left the apartment. Estermen

remained for several moments shrinking back in the chair upon which he

had collapsed. Then he rose and with trembling footsteps stole to the

window, peering out from behind the blind. The man at the café opposite

was still there!

CHAPTER XIV

SANCTUARY

"This afternoon," Madame Christophor declared, looking thoughtfully at

Julien, "I am going to send you a new secretary."

He turned a little eagerly in his easy-chair.

"Lady Anne!" he exclaimed.

"Are you glad?" she asked.

Julien hesitated. His eyes sought his companion's face. She was seated

at the small writing-table drawn up close to his side, her head resting

upon her left hand, the pen in her right fingers sketching idle figures

at the bottom of the sheet which she had just written. She was wearing

a dress of strange-colored muslin, a shade between gray and silver, but

from underneath came a shimmer of blue, and there were turquoises about

her neck. Her large, soft eyes were fixed steadfastly upon his. There

was a sort of question in them which he seemed to have surprised there

more than once during the last few days. A sudden uneasiness seized

him. His brain was crowded with unwilling fancies. There were, without

doubt, symptoms of coquetry in her appearance. He had spoken of blue as

the one sublime color. As she leaned a little back in her chair,

resting from her labors, he could scarcely help noticing the blue silk

stockings and suède shoes which matched the hidden color of her skirt,

the ribbon which gleamed from the dusky masses of her hair. Madame

Christophor was always a very beautiful and a very elegant woman, and

it seemed to have pleased her during these last few days to appear at

her best. Julien gripped for a moment at his bandaged arm.

"You are in pain? You would like me to change the bandage?" she

suggested almost eagerly.

"Not yet," he replied. "It is still quite comfortable."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"You have the air of wanting something," she remarked. "Is there

anything that displeases you?"

"Displeases me! If you knew how strange that sounded!" he exclaimed. "I

do not think that any one ever lived with such luxury, or was treated

with so much kindness, as I during the last few days. You make every

second perfect."

Madame Christophor sighed. Almost as Julien finished his speech he

regretted its conclusion. Madame Christophor, on the other hand,

although she sighed, seemed vaguely content.

"You see, the fates against whom you have so great a grievance have

done something to atone," she declared. "No doubt you hated to leave

your work to come and speak to me in the street that afternoon. No

doubt your red-headed journalist friend hated me also. Yet if you had

not come, if my automobile had been detained a few minutes on the

way--ah! it is terrible indeed to think what might not have happened!"

She shivered. A moment later she raised her eyes and continued.

"I think," she said, "you must abandon a little of your hostility

against my sex. It was a woman who worked this mischief in your life

and a woman who was fortunate enough to save it. I think you can almost

cry quits with us, Sir Julien."

He smiled. He was struggling to lead back their conversation to a

lighter level. A certain change in this woman's tone and manner, a

change which was reflected even in her appearance, disturbed him

painfully.

"The balance is already on my side, dear hostess," he assured her. "You

have left me an eternal debtor to your sex. I shall never again indulge

in generalities or wholesale condemnation. It is, after all, foolish.

But tell me why you are sending Lady Anne to help me to-day?"

She watched for any trace of disappointment in his tone. There was

none. On the contrary, his mention of Lady Anne was accompanied by a

slight eagerness which puzzled her.

"I have a few social duties to attend to," she explained a little

vaguely. "Lady Anne is quite efficient. I like her handwriting, too. It

is like herself--clean-cut, legible. There are no hidden pools about

Lady Anne."

"Yet," he said, "a woman always keeps some part of herself concealed."

"You think that Lady Anne, too, has her secret?" Madame Christophor

asked, raising her eyes.

"I think that if she has, she is quite capable of keeping it," he

replied.

There was a knock at the door. Lady Anne entered. She came a few yards

into the room with a slight smile upon her lips, and nodded pleasantly

to Julien. In her slim stateliness, the untroubled serenity of youth

reflected in her smiling face, she represented perfectly the other type

of womanhood. Madame Christophor rose deliberately to her feet. For one

swift moment she measured the things between them. She herself was

conscious of a greater intellectual maturity, a more subtle quality in

her looks, a beauty less describable, more exotic, perhaps, but also

more provocative. The arts of her sex were at her finger-tips, the

small arts disdained by this well-looking and perfectly healthy young

woman. She turned her head quickly towards Sir Julien. It was the idle

impulse of the man or woman who plucks the petals from a flower. Julien

was gazing steadfastly at Lady Anne.... Madame Christophor picked up

her belongings and moved towards the door.

"Be merciless today, my friend!" she exclaimed, pausing upon the

threshold,--"virulent, if you will! _Le Jour_ was screaming at you

last night. Jesen has lost his head a little; or is it the lash of his

master which he feels? How can one tell?"

"After tonight," Julien remarked, with a smile, "who will read _Le

Jour_? I shall tell the story of the purchase of that paper by Herr

Freudenberg. French people will not love to think that the pen of Jesen

has been guided by the hand of Germany."

Madame Christophor made a little grimace.

"My friend," she declared, "my house is, I believe, the safest spot in

Paris, yet there are limits. Remember that you have become a celebrity.

There is an agitation in England to have you back at the Foreign

Office. All Paris is divided upon the subject of your life or death.

And there are men here in the city who seek for you night and day with

death in their hands. My house is sanctuary, but no one can write such

things as you are writing and deem himself secure against any risk."

He smiled at her confidently.

"Yet you would not have me leave out one single line, you would not

have me lower the torch for one second! You suggest caution!--you, who

haven't the word 'fear' in your vocabulary! It is your house, not mine.

There are more bombs to be bought in Paris. Yet tell me, would you have

me spare a single word of the truth?"

She flashed back her answer across the room. For the moment she forgot

Lady Anne. They two were on another plane.

"Not one word," she assured him, with soft yet vibrant earnestness. "I

would have you write the truth in letters of fire upon the clouds, for

all Paris to see. You have a message. See that it goes out."

Madame Christophor closed the door softly behind her. Julien remained

looking at the spot from which she had disappeared. Then he drew a

little breath.

"She is wonderful!" he muttered.

Lady Anne took up her pen. She avoided looking at him.

"Let us begin," she said....

They wrote for hours. Julien was in the mood for this final and fierce

attack upon _Le Jour_ and all the powers that stood behind it. He

held up Falkenberg to derision--the charlatan of modern politics, the

Puck of Berlin, whose one sincerity was his hatred for England, and one

capacity, the giant capacity for mischief! He wound up his article with

a scathing and personal denunciation of Falkenberg, and a splendidly

worded appeal to the French nation not for one moment to be deceived as

to the character of this tireless and ambitious schemer after his

country's welfare. All the time Anne took down his words in fluent and

flowing writing. When at last he had finished, he looked at the sheets

which surrounded her with something like amazement.

"Why, what a pig I've been, Anne!" he exclaimed, glancing from the

table to the clock. "You must have been writing for nearly three

hours!"

She was busy picking up the sheets.

"Quite, I should say," she answered, "but I loved it. Now I am going to

ring for tea, and afterwards you must read it through. We might get the

manuscript down to the office to-night."

"I shall need you when I read it through," he reminded her. "There will

be corrections."

"Either Madame Christophor or I will be here," she replied. "Madame

Christophor may have some other work for me."

He looked at her curiously.

"Even you are different," he murmured.

"Tell me at once what you mean?" she begged.

"I wish I knew," he confessed. "To tell you the truth, Anne, a curious

feeling of detachment seems to have come over me--during the last few

days especially. It is such a short time since I was living the

ordinary sort of mechanical life in London, engaged to be married to

you, and my doings day by day all mapped out--a life interesting, of

course, but without any real variation. And now here I am, hanging on

to life by the thin edge of nothing, writing such things as I should

never have dared to have said from my seat in the House, practically

an adventurer. Do you wonder that sometimes I am not quite sure that it

isn't all a nightmare? I am actually hiding here in Paris from

assassins--in Paris, the most civilized city in the world--the guest of

a woman whose acquaintance I made only because a little manicurist in

Soho insisted upon it. And you, Anne, are here by my side, a

professional secretary, the friend of a milliner, more intimate and on

better terms with me than you were in the days when we were engaged to

be married! What has happened to us, Anne? How did we get here?"

She laughed at him tolerantly.

"We've come a little into our own, I suppose," she remarked. "As for

me, I feel a different woman since I stepped out of the made-to-order

world. And you--well, don't be angry, but you're not nearly so much of

a prig, are you, Julien? You're less starched and more human. Of course

we are more companionable. We are both more human."

He nodded.

"I suppose that so far as I am concerned Kendricks had something to do

with it--he was always trying to make me look at things differently.

But it seems such a short time for such an absolute change."

She was balancing her pen upon the inkpot--keeping her eyes turned from

him.

"It isn't always a matter of time, you know, Julien," she said

thoughtfully. "You were never really a prig--I was never really a

machine for wearing a ready-made smile and a few smart frocks. It took

a shock to make us see things, but neither of us remained wilfully

blind. You'll be back in your world before long and a better man than

ever."

"And you?"

"I have hopes some day of becoming a perfect secretary," she confessed.

"If I fail, I will at least make more bows than any one else in a day."

He leaned towards her, showing a sudden and dangerous forgetfulness of

his bandaged arm.

"Anne," he said firmly, "if I go back, you go back. Sometimes I think

that I shall never regret anything that has happened if--"

The door was softly opened. It was Madame Christophor who entered with

a little pile of letters in her hand. Lady Anne, with slightly

heightened color, rose to her feet. There was something in Madame

Christophor's eyes which was almost fiercely questioning.

"I am not disturbing you, I trust?" she asked slowly. "I bring Sir

Julien some letters."

He caught up the sheets which lay by his side.

"I will not even look at them until I have corrected my article," he

declared.

Madame Christophor settled herself composedly in an easy-chair.

"Lady Anne shall read it aloud," she proposed calmly, "and I will

assist in the corrections. For the French edition I may be able to

suggest. The papers today are most amusing," she continued. "The German

press is almost unreadable. No wonder that there is a price upon your

head, my friend!"

Julien moved restlessly in his place.

"I have had the most extraordinary luck," he remarked. "No other man,

naturally, knew so much of Anglo-German and Anglo-French relations. And

instead of being at home in Downing Street, and muzzled, I happened to

be here on the spot, to run up against Falkenberg, discover his little

schemes, and with my own special knowledge to see through them at once.

No one else ever had such an opportunity."

Madame Christophor smiled enigmatically. She was looking thoughtfully

across at her guest.

"It is not every opportunity in life," she murmured, "which a man knows

how to embrace!"

CHAPTER XV

NEARING A CRISIS

That night, for the first time since his arrival in the house as a

guest, Julien dined downstairs. To his surprise, when he presented

himself in the smaller salon to which he had been directed, he found

the table laid for two only. Madame Christophor, who was standing on

the threshold of the winter-garden opening out from the apartment, read

his expression and frowned.

"You expected Lady Anne to dine?" she asked bluntly.

Julien was taken a little aback.

"It seemed natural to expect her," he admitted.

Madame Christophor moved towards the bell, but Julien intercepted her.

He remembered all that he owed to this woman. He was ashamed of his

lack of tact.

"Dear Madame Christophor," he pleaded, "forgive me if for a moment I

forgot how altered things are. Indeed, it was not a matter of choice

with me. Of course, it will give me the greatest pleasure to dine

tête-à-tête with you!"

He was, perhaps, a shade too impressive, but Madame Christophor, as all

women who greatly desire to read in a man's words what they choose to

find there, hesitated. Finally, with a shrug of the shoulders, she

turned away from the bell.

"Three is such an impossible number," she declared, with well-assumed

carelessness. "Lady Anne has her own salon adjoining her apartment. She

dines there always. If I am without company, I enjoy the rest of being

alone. She is very delightful in her own way, your dear Lady Anne, but

she and I have not much in common. Come and see my roses."

She led the way into the conservatory, a dome-shaped building with

colored glass at the top, fragrant, almost faint with the perfume of

roses and drooping exotics. A little fountain was playing in the

middle. When the butler announced the service of dinner and they

returned to take their places, she left the door open.

"Tonight," she announced, as they sat side by side at the small round

table, "I am going to take advantage of the situation. I am your

hostess and you are an invalid. It is my opportunity to talk. Are you a

good listener, Sir Julien?"

She had dropped her voice almost to a whisper. Those beautiful deep-set

eyes were challenging his. She seemed to have made up her mind that for

that night, at any rate, her beauty should be unquestioned. She wore a

dress of black net, fitting very closely, a wonderful background for

her white skin and the ropes of pearls which were twined about her

neck. He had never seen her _décolletée_, but he remembered

reading in a ladies' fashion paper that a famous sculptor had once

declared her neck and bust to be the most beautiful in Paris. She had

even added the slightest touch of color to her cheeks. There was no

longer any sign of the wrinkles at the sides of her eyes. She read the

half ingenuous, half unwilling admiration in his face, and she laughed

at him.

"Ah, my friend," she murmured, "I can see that you object to the rôle

of listener! Very well, then, you shall talk. You shall tell me of your

life in England. You shall tell me what dreams have come to you for the

days when once more you shall help to shape the destinies of your

nation. Tell me how you mean to live! Shall you be again--what was it

Lady Anne thought you?--a prig?"

"I am like many other and more famous men," he remarked. "I have

learned much in adversity."

"I read the English papers," she continued presently. "I have also a

large correspondence. Do you know that there is nearly a rebellion in

your party? Questions have been asked about you in the House. Both

sides want you back. There is a feeling that you were allowed to go

much too easily, that the indiscretion of which you were guilty was a

trifle. This man Carraby is what you call--a cad! That does not do in

the high places. Nationality cannot conceal a lack of breeding."

"I have thought over many things," Julien admitted. "If the way is made

clear for me, I shall go back. Why not? I believe that I can serve my

country, and it is the life for which I am best fitted. Carraby may

have his good points, but his ambitions have been a little too

extensive. He would have made a better mayor of the town where he was

born."

"You are right," she declared. "There is no place for such men in the

great world. You will go back. It is written. See--I drink to England's

future Prime Minister!"

She raised her glass, which the butler had just filled with champagne.

She looked into his eyes as she drank and Julien was conscious of a

passing uneasiness. She set the glass down, empty. Her hand lay for a

moment near his.

"You will go back," she murmured. "You will forget. The people whom you

have met in your brief period of adversity will seem to you like

shadows. Is it not so?"

He took her hand and raised it boldly to his lips.

"It will never be like that with you, dear hostess," he assured her.

"There are things which one does not forget."

She did not withdraw her hand. Its pressure upon his fingers was faint

but insistent.

"Do you remember when we first met," she said softly, "how bitter we

were against the others--even at first against one another? You had

been betrayed by that unimportant woman and the whole sex was hateful

to you. I had just come from seeing the tragedy caused by a man's crass

selfishness. I, too, was wearing the fetters. To me the whole of your

sex seemed abominable.... You see," she went on, "my marriage was a

terrible disappointment. I fancied that I was marrying a great man, a

genius, an inspired statesman, and I found myself allied to a political

machine. My wealth--have I told you, I wonder, that I am very

wealthy?--helped him. For the rest, I was a puppet by his side. I

lived in Berlin for one year. Official life in Berlin for an American

woman, even though she be Princess von Falkenberg, is still

intolerable. The men were bad enough, the women worse. I could not

breathe. I was no part of my husband's life. I was no part of any one's

life. The German women did not understand me. My husband--oh, he is

very German in his heart!--only laughed at my complaints. He would have

been perfectly willing to see me become as those others--_hausfrauen_,

bearers of children, a domestic article. So we separated--divorce at that

moment was impossible. I came back to Paris."

"You had no children?" Julien asked.

"One boy," she answered, her eyes becoming very soft. "Do not let us

speak of him for a moment."

The service of dinner continued. Outside, the water from the fountain

fell into the basin with a gentle, monotonous sound. The perfume of the

roses stole through the open doorway. One softly-shaded lamp had been

lit, but the rest of the lofty room remained in shadowy obscurity. The

light from that one lamp seemed to fall full upon Madame Christophor's

beautiful face.

"I loved my boy," she went on. "It was part of my husband's cruelty to

detach him from me. He has the law on his side. I may not even see

Rudolf. Very well, I do my best to steel my heart. I come here to live.

I have many friends, but Falkenberg is the only man to whom I have ever

belonged, and he has treated me as he would have treated one of those

others--his companions for the moment. I have occupied myself here in

work of different sorts. I have tried in my way to do good among women

less happy, even, than I. Wherever I went I saw that every woman who

has sinned, every woman who is miserable, every woman who has become a

blot upon the earth, is what she is by reason of man's selfishness.

Can you wonder that I have grown a little bitter?"

"I wonder at nothing in the woman who has been Falkenberg's wife,"

Julien replied. "He seems to me the most unscrupulous person who ever

breathed. Yet in his way he is marvelously attractive."

"He is," she admitted. "I fell in love with him against my will.

Directly my reason intervened, the madness was over. How old do you

think I am, Sir Julien?"

Julien was a little startled.

"How old?" he repeated.

"A foolish question, of course," she continued. "How could you be

honest! I am twenty-nine years old. I believe that I am the richest

woman in Paris. I am tired of being called brilliant and cynical, of

showing fortune-hunters to the door, of living my life in loneliness.

Falkenberg has sworn that if I take any steps to make a divorce

possible, I shall never see my boy again. I have not seen him, as it

is, for nearly two years. The threat is losing its terrors.... You are

listening, my friend?"

"Of course!"

She turned to the butler. The other servants had already left the room.

"Bring coffee into the winter-garden," she ordered. "Come, Sir Julien."

She lit a cigarette and threw it away almost immediately. Her eyes were

gleaming like stars. She laid her fingers upon his arm as they passed

out into the perfumed air of the conservatory, and he seemed to feel

some touch of the fire that was burning in her veins. She swayed a

little towards him. The color in her cheeks was brilliant. Her bosom

was rising and falling quickly. She was splendidly handsome, nerved up

to great things, a woman inspired by a purpose. Julien was afraid. He,

too, felt something of the excitement of the moment, but his brain

seemed numbed. There was nothing he could say. She threw herself back

into a low chair and drew him down to her side. With her other hand she

caught hold of a cluster of pink roses and pressed their cool blossoms

to her cheek.

"Sir Julien," she murmured, "I have looked so steadfastly into life, I

have striven so hard to find a place there. I have something to give. I

do not come empty-handed. I can place offerings upon the altar of the

great god. I have myself, my brains such as they are, and the golden

key which unlocks the wonderful doors. Can you wonder that I ask for

something in return? I have stood in the marketplace of life, I have

passed down between the stalls, and I am humiliated. There is no life,

there is no career upon this world for a woman. It is a strange

doctrine, perhaps, to preach in these days, but I have searched and I

know it to be the truth. Nature meant woman for man, and if she rebels

there is no seat for her alone among the mighty places. Alone I can win

none of the things I desire. You see, I talk to you like this, nakedly,

because we are of the order of those who understand. You very nearly

married a duke's daughter and became a middle-class politician. Don't

do it. Don't think of it any more, Julien. You were meant for the great

places, and I think--I think--that I was meant to hold the torch to

light you there!"

"Madame Christophor!"

She started at his tone. In the splendid arrogance of her assured

position, her brilliant gifts, her almost inspired individuality,

failure had never occurred to her. Even now she refused to read the

message in his set face.

"You feel, perhaps," she went on, leaning towards him, "that you are

pledged to Lady Anne. Dear Sir Julien, rub your eyes! I want you to

see--all the way to the skies. Lady Anne is a sweet girl who will look

nice at the head of any one's table. She will read the papers and take

an intelligent interest in her husband's work, and ask him trite and

obvious questions to prove that she understands all about it. She will

give you phenacetin when you have a headache, she will fill your house

with the right sort of people. She will be very amiable and very

satisfied. She'll always read the debates and she'll sit up for you at

night in a pretty dressing-gown. And all the time the wall will grow,

brick by brick, and you will look up to the skies and find them empty,

and listen for the music and hear none, and a web will be spun about

your heart, and your brain will be clogged, and the fine thoughts will

go, and you'll never be anything but a successful politician. You

know very well that all the paths to the great pit of unhappiness are

crowded with men who have been successful in their profession."

She swayed even closer towards him, her head a little thrown back, her

eyes inviting him. He scrambled to his feet. Still she held out her

hands.

"Won't you trust me?" she begged. "Believe me that I know the way into

the great places, Julien."

"Listen!" he cried hoarsely. "You have offered me everything except

your love. Thank Heaven you did not offer me that! I love Lady Anne."

"Everything _except_ my love!" she exclaimed, with the first note

of trouble in her tone. "Everything _except_ my love! Are you mad?"

"I love Lady Anne!" he repeated, setting his teeth.

They stood facing one another. She tore a handful of the blossoms from

a syringa tree and commenced crushing them in her fingers. The sound of

footsteps scarcely disturbed her. The butler appeared, followed by Lady

Anne. The former excused himself with a grave face.

"Madame," he announced, "the Prince von Falkenberg is here."

Madame Christophor turned slowly around.

"The Prince von Falkenberg! Where?"

"In the waiting-room, madame."

She moved away. She did not glance towards Julien.

"I come," she announced.

Lady Anne had some letters in her hand, which she handed to Julien. He

threw them hastily aside and drew her suddenly into his arms and into

the shadow of the giant palm.

"Anne," he pleaded, "not because of your mother, not because you would

make me a suitable wife, but because I love you, will you marry me?"

He felt her relax in his arms.

"Julien!" she murmured.

"I didn't finish the sentence," he went on,--"to-morrow at the

Embassy?"

"Absurd!"

"It's the only way," he insisted confidently. "We couldn't be married

in London. All the tribe of Harbord would come and boo, and it would

save no end of gossip and bother when we got back. Anne--I love you

very much and I want you just as soon as I can get you!"

"Of course, if you put it like that," she said softly,--

"Well?"

"This is the only frock I have."

"The Rue de la Paix is at our gates," he reminded her.

"Be sensible," she begged. "You can't show your-self about Paris.

Something terrible will happen."

"Not it!" he replied confidently. "It's too late."

His arm crept a little further around her waist, he drew her even

further back among the drooping palms.

"I think that I like this better than the last time you asked me!" she

whispered.

CHAPTER XVI

FALKENBERG'S LAST EFFORT

"Madame," Prince Falkenberg declared, with a formal bow, "I owe you a

thousand apologies for this visit."

Madame Christophor looked at him across the room, and in her eyes there

was no welcome nor any anger--only surprise.

"You break," she reminded him, "the word of a prince!"

Falkenberg smiled icily.

"There are cataclysms in life," he said, "whirlpools into which one may

sometimes be drawn. One's will is overborne. I myself am in that

unfortunate position."

Madame Christophor looked steadfastly at her visitor. Was it her fancy

or was he really growing older, this man of iron? The story of the last

few weeks was written into his face, there were shadows under his eyes,

a deep line across his forehead.

"Since you are here, be seated," she invited, sinking herself wearily

into a chair. "Tell me as quickly as you can what has brought you?"

"Portel has brought me," Falkenberg answered grimly. "They tell me that

he has taken shelter under the shadow of your petticoats."

"Shelter from your assassins!"

"Precisely!" Falkenberg admitted.

"I do not admire your methods," Madame Christophor remarked. "They seem

to me not only brutal but clumsy. You killed seven men and injured

several others, to no purpose."

"Madame," Falkenberg declared, "to secure the death of that man I would

have destroyed a whole quarter of Paris and every person in it."

Madame Christophor shivered.

"Thorough, as usual, my dear Prince," she murmured. "Nevertheless, I

find such statements loathsome. We should have outlived the days of

barbarity. I do not understand men who deal in such fashion with their

enemies."

Falkenberg frowned.

"There is something between us greater than personal enmity," he

retorted fiercely. "My personal enemy I would deal with in such a

manner as I make no doubt would commend itself to your scruples. Julien

Portel is more than that. He is the enemy of my country. Upon him,

therefore, I shall have no mercy."

"I will not argue with you," she replied. "There is a plainer issue

before us. In passing my threshold you have broken your word of honor.

What do you want?"

"I want Julien Portel!"

Madame Christophor shrugged her shoulders.

"You have wanted him for some little time."

"Never so badly as at this instant," Falkenberg declared bitterly. "He

has set all Europe in a ferment with those infernal letters. He knows

too much. He knows whence came the money which bought _Le Jour_.

He knows every detail of my campaign here."

"There are surely others," she objected, "who must have guessed--"

"But there was no one else," he interrupted, "who had the special

knowledge which Portel has. He came from the Foreign Office, with the

records of the last two years in his mind. At Berlin he and I crossed

swords. He is the only Englishman who has ever caused me a moment's

uneasiness."

"Are you sure," she asked, "that your campaign here has been a wise

one?"

"The wisdom of Solomon," he replied grimly, "can be made to look like

folly by the accident of failure. There is no doubt as to its wisdom.

No one has studied these matters as I have studied them. No one has

seen the truth more clearly. An alliance between England and America is

a matter of a few years only, and when it comes the progress of Germany

is set back for a generation. The one absolute necessity before me was

to cut the bonds between England and France and to settle with England

alone and quickly--diplomatically, if possible; by force of arms as a

last resource. We don't seek war, Henriette. We are not really a

bloodthirsty nation. We seek territory. We need new lands--fruitful

lands, trade, the command of the seas. If we cannot get what we want

by peaceful means, then it must be war. England for the present is

weakly governed. She is in the throes of labor troubles. Her political

parties are ill-balanced. There is a puppet at the Foreign Office. Now

is the time to strike."

"Is it wise to tell me your secrets?" she inquired coldly. "I have no

sympathy for you or your country."

"I have a bargain to strike with you and you must understand," he

answered. "Twenty-four hours ago we dispatched a gunboat to a certain

neutral port which comes under the influence of England. We paid a

German to go there and send us word that he was in danger. We have sent

an intimation to the French and English Governments. To England it is

an insult. I have taken the chance that France has had enough of this

_entente_. Now you understand why I must have Julien Portel before

they can get him back to the Foreign Office, before he can do more

mischief. A strong man in Downing Street at this juncture might upset

everything."

"I understand well enough why you need Julien Portel," she admitted. "I

am still in the dark, however, as to why you imagine that I shall give

him up?"

"Because I am going to buy him from you," Falkenberg asserted.

She glanced across the room at him, half curiously, half scornfully.

"Buy him! You!"

"Exactly," he replied. "You smile because you do not understand. I

offer you a dispensation for your divorce, and your son."

A little tremor seemed to pass through her whole frame. For a moment

she closed her eyes. Then she sprang to her feet and stood quivering

before him.

"This is one of your traps!" she exclaimed. "You don't mean it!"

"To prove that I do," he insisted, "I have brought Rudolf with me to

Paris. He can be in your arms in a few minutes. Look into the street,

if you will."

She crossed the room hastily and lifted the curtain. A low cry broke

from her lips. In the tonneau of the great touring car outside a little

boy was lying back amongst the cushions, asleep.

"He is tired," Falkenberg said slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the

woman. "He has come all the way from Berlin without an hour's rest. Am

I to take him back to-morrow? It is for you to decide."

Madame Christophor turned toward the door. Falkenberg barred the way.

"Not yet!" he declared. "Do you accept my terms?"

"But he is hungry!" she cried. "I can see that he is hungry! And he is

so pale--let me fetch him in."

"Of course he is hungry," his father agreed. "He has also been asking

me questions about you all the way. He believes that he is going to see

you. I, too, believe that. You consent?"

"Tell me exactly what it is that you require?" she demanded.

"Take me to Portel," he answered swiftly. "Inform him that you cannot

any longer permit him the shelter of your roof."

She sat down and began to laugh, softly but in unnatural fashion.

Falkenberg watched her with grim curiosity.

"And then?" she inquired.

He hesitated.

"I have made some plans," he said slowly. "If he passes outside your

doors to-night, he will write no more articles!"

"But the whole of the English Press is clamoring for his return to

power! There will be no need for his pen--he will take up his old

position."

"Precisely!" Falkenberg assented. "It is not my intention that he shall

return to that position!"

Madame Christophor sat with her eyes fixed upon the wall. Then she

began to laugh once more in the same strange manner. Falkenberg was

curious.

"You find my intentions amusing?" he asked.

"I find the situation amusing," she replied. "Half an hour ago I

offered Sir Julien Portel what is left of my life."

Falkenberg stood perfectly still, watching her closely. Then his eyes

filled with a sudden bright light.

"You!" he exclaimed. "You--Princess von Falkenberg--offered yourself to

this man and were refused?"

"You are indeed a genius," she admitted. "I was refused."

There was a brief silence. Falkenberg waited. Madame Christophor

remained silent. Her attitude puzzled him a little. He was afraid to

speak for fear of striking the wrong note. Nevertheless, the onus of

speech was thrust upon him.

"Madame," he said at last, "I anticipate your reply. This man has put

an intolerable insult upon you. While he lives you could never forget

it. There are some privileges still belonging to me. I claim the right

of avenging that affront."

"It comes conveniently--the affront!" she remarked, through her

clenched teeth.

"Conveniently or not, the affront exists!" he cried. "You cannot refuse

me now! You would not have him go unpunished!"

"I am not sure that he was to blame."

"Not to blame?" Falkenberg repeated, with emphasis. "Would you have me

believe that you threw yourself at his head unasked, without

encouragement--you, the proudest woman in France? One does not believe

such folly!"

"Nevertheless, it is the truth," Madame Christophor declared.

Falkenberg smiled incredulously, but he said nothing. Madame

Christophor had found her way once more to the window. She stood there,

looking down into the car. The boy was still asleep. She gripped the

window-curtains with both her hands. He was so pale, so tired, and how

he had grown!

"I give you even his heritage," Falkenberg promised. "Make of him a

Frenchman or an American, if you will. He is your own son. Take him. I

give my firstborn for my country. You will not refuse what I offer?"

Madame Christophor made no answer. Falkenberg, however, saw the longing

in her face. It was enough! He suddenly changed his tactics.

"This Julien Portel," he said,--"it is another woman he prefers."

He saw her bosom heave. The storm against which she had been struggling

all the time seemed on the point of bursting. The hot blood was singing

in her ears, her eyes were aflame. She crossed the room and rang the

bell. Falkenberg was content to wait. He felt that he had won! The

butler appeared almost immediately.

"You will conduct the Prince von Falkenberg into the winter-garden,"

she directed. "He desires to speak to Sir Julien Portel."

"And you?" Falkenberg asked, turning towards her.

A swift gesture showed him her disordered countenance. It was

reasonable.

"I follow," she announced.

CHAPTER XVII

DEFEAT FOR FALKENBERG

Among the palms of Madame Christophor's conservatory, Julien and Lady

Anne were living through a brief new chapter of their history. The

wonderful thing had come to them. It was amazing--almost unrealizable!

A new glamor enveloped the merest trifles. They spoke in halting

sentences, they were at times almost incoherent. The marvel of it was

so great!

Lady Anne was the first to hear the sound of approaching footsteps. She

listened. It was not Madame Christophor who returned. She laid her hand

upon Julien's arm.

"It is Jean, the butler, who comes," she whispered. "He conducts some

one."

On the threshold of the winter-garden, only a short distance away, they

heard Jean's voice.

"Monsieur le Prince will find Sir Julien Portel a few steps further

on."

"Monsieur le Prince!" Anne faltered, with whitening face. "Julien, what

does it mean?"

Julien rose to his feet. The footsteps were close at hand now upon the

tessellated pavement. Then through the drooping palm boughs they saw

him. Julien was standing tense and prepared, his uninjured arm was

ready to strike. Falkenberg was there.

"You!" Julien exclaimed. "Well?"

The iron prince had disappeared. It was Herr Freudenberg, maker of

toys, suave, genial, fascinating, who bowed before them.

"Why so surprised, Sir Julien?" he asked. "You forget that this is my

wife's house. The little difficulties which have existed between us

have to-day, I am happy to say, been removed. I have restored her son

to Madame la Princesse. We are reunited. Henceforth my wishes are the

wishes also of madame. You will present me? It is Lady Anne Clonarty, I

believe?"

They were both bewildered. For the moment Falkenberg was supreme. He

bowed low upon the hesitating words of introduction.

"Dear Lady Anne," he murmured, "do not be prejudiced against me. Sir

Julien believes that I am his enemy. I am not. I am his sincere and

heartfelt admirer."

Lady Anne's eyebrows were slowly raised.

"You have surely," she remarked, "a strange manner of showing such

sentiments!"

Falkenberg smiled whimsically. He had the expression of a penitent boy

who has misbehaved.

"It is at least consistent," he pleaded. "I admire Sir Julien's talents

to such an extent that I am perhaps a trifle too anxious that he should

not use them against my country."

"You haven't forced your way in here to bandy phrases," Julien asserted

a little harshly. "What is it that you want?"

"You!" Falkenberg answered softly. "You, my friend! Madame la

Princesse--my wife, whom you have known as Madame Christophor--finds it

impossible, against my wishes, to offer you any longer the shelter of

her roof. I am here to escort you, if you will, to your new

quarters--to follow you, if I cannot reconcile you to my company."

Julien was startled, Lady Anne incredulous.

"I do not believe," the former declared, "that Madame Christophor

intends any such act of inhospitality."

"As to that," Falkenberg replied pleasantly, "my wife will be here

herself in a few moments. You shall hear what she has to say from her

own lips. You must remember that I have paid a price. I have given up

the guardianship of my son. You yourself," he continued, looking

steadfastly at Julien, "may know if any other cause exists likely to

have influenced my wife in granting my request."

Julien set his teeth, but he did not flinch.

"What is it that you want with me, Prince Falkenberg?" he demanded.

"Another brutal attempt at massacre? I owe you this," he added, raising

his bandaged arm. "Do you imagine that you can continue to use the

methods of other generations with impunity? The thing is absurd. There

are too many who know already the secret of Herr Freudenberg, maker of

toys! There are too many who will know, also, before long, the secret

of the explosion in the Rue de Montpelier!"

Falkenberg nodded gravely.

"I understand," he admitted. "One moves, of course, always, with the

knife at one's heart. Yet, until now, I, personally, am safe. Another

man dies to-night, even as we talk here, and confesses himself guilty

of the Rue de Montpelier affair. But let that pass. We have crossed

swords, Sir Julien, and I frankly admit, although I have gained my end

to-night, that I am worsted. The money I spent to purchase _Le

Jour_ has been thrown away. The months of careful intrigue, the

sacrifices and efforts I have made to destroy the _entente_, have

been rendered almost futile by your diabolical pen. Very well, for what

you have done I will accept defeat--I will accept defeat without

malice. But there is the future."

"What of it?" Julien asked.

"I do not intend," Falkenberg declared, in a low, firm tone, "to have

you back, a member of any English Government. I prefer Carraby and such

as he."

"You flatter me!" Julien remarked grimly.

"Not in the least," Falkenberg objected. "You know the position as well

as I. The political party of which you are a member is in power for a

long time. You have got hold of the middle class, you've bought the

Irish vote, you've bought labor. In the ranks of your party there isn't

a man whom I fear--only you. I will not have you go back."

"But as it happens," Julien announced, "I am going back. I have heard

from England this evening. Your friend Carraby is resigning."

Falkenberg shook his head. He remained calm, but there was an ominous

flash in his eyes.

"You would make a mistake," he asserted. "No one ever goes

back--successfully. Do I not know--I who am twenty years your senior, I

who have felt my way into all the corners and crevices of life? Listen

to me, please."

He drew a chair towards them and sat down, crossing his knees and

looking towards them both in friendly fashion.

"Sir Julien," he said, "and you, my dear young lady, your entire future

depends upon this little conversation. Can you not put it out of your

minds for a few moments that I am the dangerous Falkenberg, the

mischief-maker, the ogre of all respectable Britons? Can you not

remember only that I am a well-meaning, not unkindly old gentleman who

has some good advice to offer? You at least will listen to me, Lady

Anne. Do I look like an assassin by choice? Do I seem like the sort of

person to indulge in these dangerous exercises for mere amusement? You

are both young, you have both your lives before you. Why do you, Sir

Julien, voluntarily put the yoke about your neck? Why do you, my

gracious young lady, suffer the man with whom your life is to be linked

to deliver himself over voluntarily into a state of bondage? Politics

lose all glamor to those who have dwelt within the walls. Sir Julien

has dwelt there and so have I. He knows in his heart whether it is

worth while. One lives always amidst a clamor of evil tongues, a

pestilent trail of poisonous suspicions. One gives up one's life to be

flouted and misunderstood, to be accused of evil motives and every

imaginable crime. When it is all over, when one has time to think of

all that one has missed, one feels that all one has done could have

been done just as well by the next man in the street. That is the end

of it. And against all that, you two have the world before you. You can

be rich--very rich indeed. You can make an idyll of this love of yours.

You can travel around the world in your own yacht, you can visit all

strange countries, you can wander where you will, and all the time

affairs in the world will go on very much the same as if you had stayed

and given the best hours of your life to the dusty treadmill. I am an

old man, Lady Anne, and I have an evil name in your country. They call

me greedy, subtle, and ambitious. I may be all these things, but let me

assure you that if I had my time over again my master could find

another servant and my country another toiler. There are fairer flowers

in life to be plucked than any which can be reached from the high

places in Downing Street or Berlin.... Let me, at least, Lady Anne,

make sure of your support? Mind, I am not threatening now--I plead."

Lady Anne looked at him gravely.

"Sir Julien," she declared, "will answer you for himself."

"But I want your own decision," Falkenberg insisted. "I want you to see

the truth as I see it. I want you to tell me that you agree with me."

She shook her head.

"But I do not!" she exclaimed. "To me you have spoken like a sophist.

One does not gain happiness by seeking it. You may be honest in some

part of what you say--I cannot tell. Only I think that you have

mistaken Sir Julien's ideas--and mine."

"You disappoint me!" Falkenberg murmured.

Sir Julien smiled.

"Not very much, I think," he said. "You always did believe in trying

the hundredth chance. Let us come back to the reasonable part of our

discussion. Do you propose, then, that I should leave this house at

this moment with you?"

"My car is entirely at your service," Falkenberg suggested.

"Do I seem to you so ingenuous?" Julien inquired. "I am wondering what

resources are open to me. I might propose to Lady Anne here that she

telephone for the gendarmes. Why should I not have an escort to take me

to an hotel?"

Falkenberg shrugged his shoulders.

"I like the idea," he admitted. "By all means, do as you say. Only do

me the favor to remember that this is my wife's house and with her

authority I request that you leave it immediately."

"I wonder," Julien asked, "what may be in store for me?--what pleasant

schemes you have hatched?"

Falkenberg shrugged his shoulders.

"Listen," he said,--"if you listen attentively you will hear the murmur

of Paris calling you back. Almost you can hear the falling of a

thousand feet upon the pavements of the boulevards, the voice of life.

You may find an asylum there. Who can tell?"

They heard the soft swirl of a woman's gown passing over the marble

floor. They all turned. It was Madame Christophor who stood there.

"Still here?" she remarked.

Julien frowned.

"It is not my intention to linger," he assured her. "Prince von

Falkenberg has given me your message. I am prepared to go."

Lady Anne moved hastily forward.

"Do you know," she cried, "that they will kill him? Do you know that

this man," she added, pointing to Falkenberg, "has admitted it? Would

you dare to send him out to be butchered in the streets?"

"The young lady exaggerates," Falkenberg protested. "This is a

perfectly respectable neighborhood. What possible harm can come to an

English gentleman? Besides, I have offered him, if he will, the

protection of my car."

Madame Christophor sighed. She waved back Sir Julien.

"Alas!" she exclaimed, "there has been a slight misunderstanding."

She touched a bell which stood on the table by her side. Almost

immediately a tall, pale-faced man in dark clothes appeared, followed

by Jean, the butler.

"My dear Prince," she said to her husband, "I do assure you that you

need have no special anxiety. Let me present to you Monsieur Bourgan of

the French Detective Service. Monsieur Bourgan--the Prince von

Falkenberg--Sir Julien Portel!"

Monsieur Bourgan saluted. The two men looked at him,--as yet they

scarcely understood.

"I suppose," Madame Christophor continued, "that I am a somewhat

nervous woman, but you see I can always plead the privilege of my sex.

I was delighted to have Sir Julien here with me, but in a sense it was

a responsibility. It occurred to me then to send a message to the

Minister of the Police, who happens to be a great friend of mine, and

at his suggestion Monsieur Bourgan here, who is, as I have no doubt you

both well know, very distinguished in the Service, has taken up his

residence in my house. He has occupied, as a matter of fact, the next

room to Sir Julien's. Forgive me," she added, smiling at them all, "if

I kept this little matter secret, but I know that men hate a fuss. I

propose, dear Prince," she added, turning to her husband, "that

Monsieur Bourgan accompanies you to your rooms. You need not fear then

any molestation."

There was an absolute silence. It was broken at last by the Prince von

Falkenberg.

"I must confess," he said slowly, "that I do not altogether

understand."

Madame Christophor faced him with a faint smile upon her lips. The

smile itself told him all that he desired to know.

"But, my dear Prince," she declared, "it is my anxiety for your safety

which induces me to propose this. Only a few minutes ago you were

telling me that you feared that you had become an extremely unpopular

person in Paris, and that the very streets were not safe for you. Under

the circumstances, one can scarcely wonder at it! The French

Government, however, is above all small feelings. A private citizen in

Paris, even though he be an enemy of France, is a person to be

respected. The protection of the detective force of Paris is at your

service. Monsieur Bourgan, you will do me the great favor of conducting

my husband to his rooms. Afterwards you will return here to continue

your watch over Sir Julien."

"I am entirely at your command, madame," Monsieur Bourgan replied.

Falkenberg hesitated for one single moment. He seemed to be measuring

the distance between Julien and himself. Under the pretense of picking

up a match, Monsieur Bourgan was almost between them. Falkenberg

laughed softly, then most graciously he made his adieux.

"Lady Anne," he said, bowing, "one is permitted to wish you every

happiness? Sir Julien, let me assure you," he continued, "that it has

been a pleasure to renew our acquaintance. Dear Henriette," he added,

"this care for my safety touches me! And the boy?"

"He is safe in my room," she assured him. "It is absurd of me, no

doubt, but I have turned the key upon him and placed a footman outside

the door. Take care of yourself, dear Rudolf. Monsieur Bourgan, I know,

will watch over you well. Yet you are one of those who take risks

always."

Falkenberg raised her fingers to his lips.

"Almost, dear Henriette," he murmured, "you make me regret that I ever

have to leave Paris at all."

She leaned a little towards him.

"I bear you no ill-will, Rudolf," she said softly. "Take my advice.

Leave Paris quickly."

His eyes held hers as though seeking for some meaning to her words. She

only shook her head. He turned and followed Jean. Monsieur Bourgan

brought up the rear. Madame Christophor shrugged her shoulders.

"Really," she declared, with a sigh, "life is becoming altogether too

complicated. Never mind, I have got rid of Prince Falkenberg for you,

Sir Julien. Between ourselves, I think that he will receive a hint to

leave Paris, and before very long. Listen--there goes his car."

"Dear Madame Christophor," Lady Anne whispered, "you are wonderful!"

Madame Christophor was already moving away.

"Not really wonderful," she replied. "Only a little human. I must go to

my boy."

CHAPTER XVIII

THE ONE WAY OUT

Estermen started up from his chair. In the unlit room the figure of

his master seemed to have assumed a portentous, almost a threatening

shape.

"Who's that?" he cried out.

Falkenberg calmly turned on the electric light.

"Still here, my friend?" he remarked significantly.

Estermen began to tremble.

"There is plenty of time," he faltered. "I am not sure about the man

opposite. It may be some one else he is watching."

Falkenberg walked to the window and stood there in the full glare of

the light. The man opposite was still sipping his eternal coffee. He

glanced casually at Falkenberg and back at his paper.

"You fool!" the latter said to Estermen. "Can't you see that he is

waiting only to draw the others in? Do you know that I--I, Von

Falkenberg, Chancellor of Germany, have received what they are pleased

to call a hint from the French Minister of Police that it would be

advisable for me to leave Paris? This is your blundering, Estermen!"

"Not mine only," the man muttered. "Do you know that there are those

who wait for you in your rooms?"

Falkenberg turned away.

"Stay here till I return," he ordered.

He turned the key of his own apartments and entered. His servant

hurried up to him.

"There waits for Your Highness," he announced, "the Baron von

Neudheim."

Falkenberg started.

"Here?" he exclaimed.

"In His Excellency's private apartment. There waits also--"

Falkenberg had already departed. He opened the door of his room. His

secretary rose hastily to his feet.

"What do you here, Neudheim?" Falkenberg demanded. "What has happened?"

"Excellency," the young man replied, "there is trouble. Within half an

hour of your leaving, I had important news. I dared not telegraph. I

have followed you. I took a special train from the frontier."

"Go on," Falkenberg said calmly. "It is something serious?"

"Indeed, yes, Your Excellency!" the Baron continued. "It is concerning

the Agdar matter."

Falkenberg's face lit up.

"An ultimatum!" he exclaimed. "So much the better!"

Baron von Neudheim shook his head.

"For once, I am afraid," he said, "we have been trapped. His Excellency

himself sent for me. The reply from Downing Street has been received."

"Well?" Falkenberg interrupted impatiently.

"Your Excellency, the reply to our note is exceedingly courteous. It

states that the unrest referred to had already been reported to the

British Government, and a warship which left Portsmouth under sealed

orders some months ago was instructed to proceed to the port last week.

The note goes on to state that no intimation was given to Germany, as

the British Government was not aware that Germany had any interests,

but it further contains an assurance that the welfare of all white men

will receive equal attention." Falkenberg set his teeth.

"What battleship was sent?" he asked.

"The 'Aida,'" the young man replied slowly,--"a first-class cruiser,

twenty-six thousand tons."

Falkenberg was silent for a moment. His face had grown dark.

"And ours," he muttered, "was a third-rate gunboat! Who in all Downing

Street could have planned a coup like this?"

"It was Sir Julien Portel--his last official action," the Baron

answered. "The papers to-morrow will be full of this. The Press of

Germany and England and France have the whole story."

"Which is to say," Falkenberg exclaimed, "that we are to be the

laughing-stock of Europe! Anything else?"

"There is an imperial summons commanding your presence at Potsdam at

once," Neudheim acknowledged reluctantly.

"I start for the frontier in a quarter of an hour," Falkenberg decided.

"I shall drive to Châlons and telegraph for a special train from

there."

"You will let me accompany you?" the young man begged.

Falkenberg hesitated, then he shook his head.

"No, it is my wish that you return by train. Take a day's holiday, if

you will. You will be back in time."

The young man's expression was clouded. He was obviously disappointed.

"But, Excellency," he pleaded, "there is trouble in Berlin. It is best,

indeed, that I should be by your side."

Falkenberg held out his hand.

"My dear Fritz," he replied, "you will obey my orders, as you always

have done. It is my wish that you return by the ordinary train

to-morrow night."

"There is nothing I can do--no message--"

"Nothing!" Falkenberg interrupted. "Look after yourself. Leave me now,

if you please."

The young man moved reluctantly towards the door.

"Excellency," he protested, "I do not desire a day's holiday. Things in

Berlin are bad. Let us talk together on our way north. You have never

yet known defeat. We can plan our way through, or fight it. Don't tell

me to leave you, dear master!" he wound up, with a sudden change of

tone. "There are still ways."

Falkenberg laid his hand upon the young man's shoulder.

"Fritz," he said, "my orders, if you please! Remember that I never

suffer them to be disputed. Goodbye!"

The young man left the room. As he passed down the stairs he shivered.

Falkenberg passed into an inner apartment. Already he had guessed who

it was waiting for him. Mademoiselle rose to her feet with a little

cry.

"At last!" she exclaimed. "Dear maker of toys, how long you have been!

How weary it has been to wait!"

She came into his arms. He patted her head gently.

"Dear little one!"

"You are taking me to supper?" she begged.

He shook his head. Her face fell, the big tears were already in her

eyes.

"But you are troubled!" she cried. "Oh, come and forget it all for a

time! Isn't that what you told me once was my use in the world--that I

could chatter to you, or sing, or lead you through the light paths, so

that your brain could rest? Let me take you there, dear one. To-night,

if ever, you have the look in your face. You need rest. Come to me!"

He looked at her steadfastly, looked at her feeling as one far away

gazing down upon some strange element in life. Then a thought came to

him.

"Little one," he whispered, "you are irresistible. Wait, then. It may

be as you desire. Only, after supper I pass on."

"And I with you?" she implored.

He shook his head.

"Wait here."

Once more he returned to Estermen's apartments. Estermen was still

there, smoking furiously. The room was blue with tobacco smoke.

Falkenberg regarded him with distaste.

"Make yourself presentable, man," he ordered. "We sup in the Montmartre

and we leave in a few minutes."

"What, I?" Estermen exclaimed, springing up.

"You and I and mademoiselle," Falkenberg told him. "I have made plans.

You may perhaps escape--who can tell?"

Estermen, with a little sob of relief, hurried into his sleeping

apartment. Soon they were all three in the big car, gliding through the

busy streets. It was getting towards midnight and they took their place

among the crowd of vehicles climbing the hill, only wherever the street

was broad enough they passed always ahead. At the Rat Mort they came to

a stand-still. Falkenberg led the way up the narrow stairs, greeted

Albert with both hands, nodded amiably to the _chef d'orchestre_,

the flower girl and the head waiter, who crowded around him.

"For as many as choose to come!" he declared. "The round table! The

best supper in France! It is a gala night, Albert. Serve us of your

best. Mademoiselle will sing. We are here to taste the joys of life."

Albert led the way.

"Ah, monsieur," he said, "it is good, indeed, to hear your voice! There

is no one who comes here who enters more splendidly into the spirit of

the place. When you are here I know that it will be a joyful evening

for all. They catch it, too, those others," he explained. "Sometimes

they come here stolid, British. They look around them, they eat, they

drink, they sit like stuffed animals. Then comes monsieur--dear

monsieur! He talks gayly, he laughs, he waves salutes, he drinks wine,

he makes friends. The thing spreads. It is the spirit--the real spirit.

Behold! Even the dull, once they catch it, they enjoy."

Falkenberg took the cushioned seat in the corner. Close to his side was

mademoiselle, her hand already clasping his. Estermen, gaunt, red-eyed,

still haggard with fear, sat a few feet away.

"Wine!" Falkenberg ordered. "Pommery--bottles of it! Never mind if we

cannot drink it. Let us look at it. Let us imagine the joys that come,

added to those we feel."

Already the wine was rushing into their glasses. Falkenberg raised his

glass.

"To our last supper, dear Marguerite!" he whispered.

She shivered all over. She looked at him, her face was suddenly

strained.

"You jest!"

"Jest? But is it not a night for jests!" he answered. "Why not? Ah,

Marguerite, I take it back! To our first supper! Let us say to

ourselves that to-night we stand upon the threshold of life. Let us say

to ourselves that never before have I seen how blue your eyes shine,

how sweet your mouth, how soft your fingers, how dear the thrill which

passes from you to me. Close to me, Marguerite--close to me, little

one! Our first evening!"

"Dearest," she whispered, "first or last, there could never be another.

It is you who make my life. It is you who, when you go, leave it

desolate."

He held her hand more tightly.

"Ah, little friend," he murmured, "you spoil me with your sweet

phrases! You set the music playing in my heart--the witch music, I

think. Come, we must speak to Estermen," he continued, looking

resolutely away from her. "We cannot have him sitting there glum, a

death's-head at our feast. Estermen, drink, man! Is this a funeral

party? Wake up. Mademoiselle who dances there looks towards you. Why

not? You see, she waves her hand. You have waltzed with her before. Ask

her to sit down with us. I have ordered supper. See, mademoiselle

approaches, Estermen. More glasses, waiter. Open more wine. There is

champagne here for everybody. Mademoiselle does us great honor. Permit

me!"

The little dancing girl obeyed his invitation. She sat by Estermen's

side, but she cast a longing glance at Falkenberg. Their glasses were

filled. Estermen drank quickly, all the time looking about him with the

furtive air of a whipped dog.

"To-night," Falkenberg cried, as he lifted his glass, "I have but one

command--be joyful. Why not? To-night I have Marguerite by my side, and

you--you can choose from the world of Marguerites. There is nothing in

life like this--the hour of midnight, the music of the moment, the wine

of the hour, the woman we love. Drink, Estermen, once more. Fix your

thoughts upon the present. Mademoiselle looks around her. She finds you

dull. She will seek for another admirer. Ah, mademoiselle!" he added,

leaning across the table, "if the sweetest girl in Paris were not here

already by my side, do you think that I would permit you to be for an

instant the companion of a dumb admirer?"

Mademoiselle laughed back into his eyes.

"If monsieur's friend were but as gallant as monsieur himself!"

"He is depressed," Falkenberg declared, "but it passes. Behold! Another

glass like that, Estermen! Drink till you feel it bubbling in your

veins. Look at him now!"

Falkenberg leaned back in his place and pressed his companion's arm.

Indeed, the wine was working its magic. The terror was passing from

Estermen's face. Already he was becoming more natural.

"Leave them alone," Falkenberg said softly. "He will have no relapse.

The wine is in his blood. Ah, Marguerite! never did you seem so sweet

to me as tonight, when my face is set for the cold north! Have you joy

in remembering, little one? Have you sentiment enough for that?"

"I have sentiment enough," she whispered, "to suffer every time you

leave me. To-night I am afraid to let you go. Oh! dear--my dear--take

me with you! I have begged you before, but to-night I beg you in a

different manner. I am afraid to be left alone. I care not where or

whatever the end of your journey may be. Take me with you, dear one. It

is because I love that I ask this!"

He looked at her for a moment and there were wonderful things in his

eyes.

"Ah, little girl," he murmured, "you teach one so much! One passes

through life too often with one's eyes closed, one finds the great

things in strange places, the rarest flowers even by the roadside.

Drink your wine, press my fingers--like that. See, it is the _chef

d'orchestre_ who approaches. You shall sing--sing to me, little

one."

He motioned to the musician, who with a smile of delight held up his

hand to the orchestra. Mademoiselle hummed a few bars. The man who

listened nodded his head. Then he raised his violin, he passed his bow

across the strings. With the touch of his fingers he drew from them a

little melody. Mademoiselle assented. Her head was back against the

wall, her eyes half closed. Then she began to sing; sang so that in a

few moments the passionate words which streamed from her lips held the

room breathless. It was no ordinary music. It was the love prayer of a

woman, starting in sadness, passing on to passion, ending in wild

entreaty. As she finished she turned her head towards her companion.

"You shall not go alone!" she cried, and her words might well have been

the text of her song.

Falkenberg shook his head.

"Something gayer," he begged,--"something more like the wine which

foams in our glasses."

She obeyed him after only a moment's hesitation, yet in the first few

bars her song came to an abrupt end, her voice choked. She leaned

suddenly forward in her place, her face was hidden between her hands.

They all gazed at her curiously.

"Nerves!" one declared.

"Hysterics!" another echoed.

"It is the life they lead, these women," an American explained to a

little party of guests. "They weep or they laugh always. Life with them

quivers all the time. They pass from one emotion to another--they

seldom know which. Look, it is over with her."

It was over, indeed. She raised her head and sang, sang ravishingly,

charmingly, a gay love-song. Falkenberg was the first to applaud her.

"To-night, dear," he murmured, "you are wonderful. You sing from the

heart, your voice has feeling, you bring to one the exquisite

moments.... Behold, the supper arrives! Estermen has made friends now

with his little _danseuse_. Sit closer to me, dear. These are the

golden hours. Give me your hand, look into my eyes, drink with me....

How the minutes pass! There is magic in this place."

Towards four o'clock Falkenberg and his companions came down the narrow

stairs, out into the morning. A fine rain was falling, the pavements

were already wet. Falkenberg was still gay, still laughing and talking.

Behind, a little company--the _chef d'orchestre_, the chief

_maître d'hôtel_, the flower girl--wondering at his generosity,

stood at the head of the stairs to bid him godspeed. He gave a louis to

the _commissionaire_ and called for a special carriage. He had

almost to lift Marguerite inside.

"Dear child," he said, holding her hands, "here we must part for a

time--not for so long, perhaps. Who can tell? It is a comfortable

carriage, this. Here is a handful of money for the fare. It is of no

use to me."

He emptied his pockets into her lap as she sat there. She made no

effort to pick up the shower of gold and silver.

"What do you mean--that it is of no use to you?"

"We drive for home," he answered. "We shall need no money to take us

there. Listen."

He drew her face very close to his.

"When you arrive at your apartment," he said, "you will find there a

little packet from me. Be wise, dear. If chance will have it that we do

not meet again very soon, may it help you to take all out of life that

you can find. Only sometimes when the heart is joyous, when the wine

flows and your feet are keeping time to the music of life, think for a

moment--of one who dwells, alas! in a quieter country. Dear

Marguerite!"

He kissed her, first upon the lips and then lightly on the forehead.

Then gently he thrust away the arms which she had wound around his

neck. He waved to the coachman to drive off. With a little shrug of the

shoulders he took his own place in the great touring car. Estermen,

too, clambered into the tonneau.

"You have supped well, I trust, Henri?" the Prince asked the chauffeur.

"Without a doubt, Excellency," the man replied.

"Then drive for the frontier," Falkenberg ordered. "We will stop you

when we need a rest."

They left Paris in the semi-darkness. They were away in the country

before the faintest gleam of daylight broke through the eastern clouds.

Even then the way was still obscured. It was a stormy morning, and

banks of murky clouds were piled up where the sun should have risen.

The rain still fell. Soon they commenced to ascend a range of hills. At

the summit Falkenberg pulled the check-string.

"Henri," he said, "come in behind here. I will drive for a time--it

will amuse me."

The man descended. Falkenberg took his place at the wheel. Estermen,

obeying his gesture, scrambled into the seat by his side.

"Go to the signpost," his master ordered the chauffeur. "Tell me

exactly, how many miles to Rheims?"

The man clambered up the bank. The gray morning twilight was breaking

now through a sea of clouds. From where they were the vineyards sloped

down to the bank. A thin, curving line of silver marked the course of

the river. Here and there a little gleam of sunlight fell upon the

country below them. Estermen closed his eyes.

"It makes me giddy," he muttered. "I hope that you will drive slowly

down the hill!"

Falkenberg glanced to the left--the chauffeur was still peering at the

milestone. He slipped in the clutch and the car glided off, gathering

speed as though by magic.

"You have left Henri!" Estermen cried. "He is running after us. Stop

the car! Can't you stop it?"

Falkenberg turned his head only once. The stone walls now on either

side seemed flying past them. Estermen looked into his face and quaked

with fear.

"This ride is for you and me alone, my friend!" Falkenberg replied.

"Sit tight and say your prayers, if it pleases you. This is better,

after all, than poison, or the cold muzzle of a revolver at your

forehead. Close your eyes if you are afraid; or open them, if you have

the courage, and see the world spin by. We start on the great journey."

Estermen shrieked. He half rose to his feet, but Falkenberg, holding

the wheel with his right hand, struck him across the face with his left

so that he fell back in his place.

"If you try to leave the car," he said, "I swear that I will stop and

come back. I will shoot you where you lie, like a dog. Be brave, man!

Be thankful that you are going to your death in honorable company and

in honorable fashion! It's better, this, than the guillotine, isn't it?

Look at the country below, like patchwork, coming up to us. Listen to

the wind rushing by. You see the trees, how they bend? You feel the

rain stinging your cheeks? Sit still, man, and fix your thoughts where

you will. Think of mademoiselle _la danseuse_, think of her

kisses, think of the perfume of the violets at her bosom! You see, we

arrive. Watch that corner of the viaduct."

They were traveling now at a terrific speed, falling fast to the level

country. Before them was a high bridge, crossing the river. On the

left, a portion of it was being repaired and a few boards alone were up

for protection. Falkenberg, recognizing the spot for which he had been

looking, settled down in his seat. A grim smile parted his lips.

"Jean Charles will never place his hand upon your shoulder now!" he

cried. "Can you hear the wind sob, Estermen? Soon you'll hear the water

in your ears! Hold fast. Don't spoil the end!"

They were going at sixty miles an hour, and with the slightest swerve

of the steering wheel they turned to the left on entering the bridge

and struck the boards. Henri, in his account of the accident, declared

that although the car turned over before it reached the river,

Falkenberg never left his seat. Estermen, on the other hand, was thrown

violently out, and struck the water head foremost. From the condition

of his body it would seem that death was instantaneous. Falkenberg was

found with his arms locked around the steering wheel, his head bent

forward. He, too, seemed to have been drowned almost immediately. The

steering wheel was jammed, the car wrecked....

The authorities, who had left only a temporary protection while they

repaired the viaduct on the bridge, were severely censured. The makers

of the car were subjected to a very searching cross-examination. The

brakes and the uncertain light were blamed. Henri, who from the

hillside a mile or more back had watched with ghastly face, was the

only one who understood the accident, and he kept silent!

CHAPTER XIX

ALL ENDS WELL

The Duchess of Clonarty was famous for doing the right thing. Three

weeks after the return of Julien and Lady Anne to London, she gave a

large dinner-party in their honor. At a quarter past eight, a

telephone message from the House of Commons was received, explaining

that Sir Julien would be ten minutes late, owing to his having to speak

at greater length than he had first intended upon the Agdar question.

Lady Anne was waiting for him, and they would arrive together certainly

within a quarter of an hour. The Duchess made every use of her

opportunity. She was at her very best during that brief period which

ensued while they waited for the delayed guests.

"You know, my dear Lady Cardington," she explained, raising her voice a

little to indicate that this was not entirely a confidence, "I never

dreamed that dear Anne had so much self-confidence and resolution. Even

now I have scarcely given up wondering at it. If she had only told me

that she was so sincerely attached to Julien, I would never have

listened for one moment to that Harbord affair. It was a mistake, of

course," she rippled on, "but then one learns so much by one's

mistakes. Notwithstanding their wealth, they were most terrible and

impossible people. I am sure the association would have been most

distasteful to the Duke. Poor Henry used to lock himself in his study

when any of them were about the place, and what it would have been if

they were really able to call themselves connections, I cannot imagine.

You were speaking of the Carraby woman a few minutes ago. My dear Eva!

Of course, you have heard about her? Her husband, when he resigned,

gave out that he was obliged to go abroad for his wife's health. My

dear, his wife had already left him, three days before! She was seen in

Paris with Bob Sutherland. I hear the divorce suit is filed. What a

terrible woman!"

"A great escape, I am sure, for Sir Julien," Lady Cardington declared.

The Duchess drew a little breath.

"Poor Julien was always so chivalrous," she murmured. "How thankful

your dear husband must be to think that at last he has one person in

his Cabinet who does command some sort of a following in the country!"

The Duchess delivered her little shaft and moved to the door. Sir

Julien and Lady Anne Portel had just been announced. It was almost a

family dinner. The Duchess took Julien's arm and drew him into a corner

while the others filed past.

"Is it true," she whispered, "that the Carraby woman has bolted?"

Julien nodded.

"I am afraid there isn't a doubt about it," he admitted.

"How are things to-night? Anything new?" she asked.

"Quite calm again," he replied. "The trouble seems to have passed over.

Falkenberg's death upset the whole scheme which was brewing against us,

whatever it may have been. All the notes which are being interchanged

at the present moment are perfectly pacific."

The Duchess sighed.

"After all," she said, "my little visit to Paris was

not so wild. I don't think you would ever have found out about Anne

but for me."

Julien smiled.

"If I really believed that," he assured her, "and I shall try to, then

I should feel that I owed you more than any person upon the earth."

The dinner was a success. Lady Anne seemed certainly to have developed.

She was looking wonderfully handsome, and though her eyes strayed more

than once to the end of the table where her husband was sitting, she

carried on her share of the conversation with just that trifle of

assurance which marks the transition from girlhood to the dignity of

marriage. After the women had left, conversation for a few moments was

necessarily political. The Duke, who read the _Times_ and the

_Spectator_, and attended every debate in the House of Lords,

spoke with some authority.

"I believe," he said firmly, "that we have passed through a crisis

greater than any one, even those in power, know of. It is my opinion

that Falkenberg was the bitter enemy of this country--that it was he,

indeed, who kept alive all that suspicious and jealous feeling of which

we have had constant evidences from Berlin. He was dying all the time

to make mischief. I am sorry, of course, for his tragical end. On the

other hand, I am inclined to believe that his departure from the sphere

of politics was the best thing that has happened to this country for

many years."

"There is no doubt," Lord Cardington declared, "that he was working

hard to estrange France and England. Your letters, Sir Julien, made

that remarkably evident."

"'The good that men do lives after them,'" some one quoted, "also the

evil. I am afraid it will be some time before France and England are on

exactly the same terms."

"I would not be so sure," Julien interposed, setting down his glass.

"The politics of Paris are the politics of France, and the spirit of

the Parisian is essentially mercurial. Besides, the days of the great

alliance draw nearer--the next step forward after the arbitration

treaty. Who can doubt that when that is completed, France will embrace

the chance of permanent peace?"

The Duke rose to his feet.

"Five minutes only I am allowed, gentlemen," he said. "My wife wants

some of us, some of us have to go back to Westminster. I shall ask you,

therefore, before we separate, as this is in some respects an occasion,

to drink to the health of my son-in-law, Sir Julien Portel. Though a

politician of the old type, I do not fail to appreciate what we owe to

the new school. I am a reader of the old-fashioned newspapers, but I

recognize the fact that the modern Press sometimes exercises a new and

wonderful function in politics. It is my opinion that by means of this

modern journalism Sir Julien Portel has maintained the peace of the

world. I ask you, therefore, not only as my private friends and

relatives, but as politicians, to drink to-night to the health of my

son-in-law."

They all rose.

"And with that toast," Lord Cardington added, as he bowed toward

Julien, "let me associate the fervent pleasure felt by all of us in

welcoming back once more the colleague to whom we have so many reasons

to be thankful."

The party broke up soon afterwards. Lady Anne drove back with her

husband to Westminster. She sat by his side in the closed car which had

been her father's wedding present. Her hands, linked together, were

passed through his arm. She was a very well satisfied woman.

"Julien," she declared, "it's lovely to be back here, but I wouldn't

have been without those few weeks in Paris for anything in the world. I

don't think we can ever get back down into the bottom of the ruts, do

you?"

"If ever we feel like it," he answered, smiling, "we'll cross the

Channel again, and take Mademoiselle Janette with us and seek for more

adventures."

"Lovely!" she exclaimed. "I shall hold you to that, mind."

"No need," he replied. "Kendricks is going to stay there as

correspondent for the _Post_. We must go and see him occasionally.

There is no one who understands better the temperament of the Parisian

than he."

"There will be no more Herr Freudenberg to circumvent," she remarked.

"Paris always has its problems," he answered. "Kendricks realizes that.

The plotting of the world takes place within a mile of Montmartre."

They were nearing Westminster. Julien drew his wife towards him and

kissed her.

"I shall only be about twenty minutes, dear," he suggested. "Why not

wait?"

"Of course," she replied. "I have a little electric lamp here, and a

book. I'd love to."

Julien walked blithely into the House. Lady Anne turned on the lamp,

drew out her book, and leaned back among the cushions with a deep sigh

of content.

* * * * *

That same night, wandering around Paris, Kendricks met Monsieur,

Madame, and Mademoiselle.

"It is the gallant Englishman!" mademoiselle exclaimed.

"It is the gentleman who ate both portions of chicken!" madame cried,

clapping her hands.

It was a veritable meeting. Kendricks willingly joined their little

party and sat down with them in the brightly-lit cafe. Monsieur ordered

wine.

"The business affairs of monsieur are prospering, I trust?" he said.

"After all, the _entente_ remains."

Kendricks lifted his glass.

"I drink to it!" he exclaimed. "It is the sanest thing to-day in

European politics. Drink to it yourself, monsieur, and you, madame, and

you, mademoiselle. You shall accuse us no longer, we English, of

selfishness or stupidity. For what reason, think you, did we order a

warship to Agdar and brave the whole wrath of Germany?"

Monsieur held out his hand.

"My friend," he declared, "it was a stroke of genius, that. It was what

we none of us expected from any English Minister. It was magnificent. I

confess it--it has altered my opinions. I drink with you now, cordially

and heartily. I drink to the _entente_. I believe in it. I am a

convert."

Kendricks shook hands with every one solemnly. He shook hands last with

mademoiselle, and forgot to release her little fingers for several

moments.

"Tell us of your friend, monsieur?" madame asked politely.

But Kendricks did not hear! He was whispering in mademoiselle's ear.

Her dark eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth, her pretty lips were

parted, a most becoming flush of color was in her cheeks. Monsieur

looked at madame and winked. Madame smiled, well pleased.

"_L'entente!_" monsieur murmured.

Madame nodded.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Mischief Maker, by E. Phillips Oppenheim