"Saints defend us!" I pettishly exclaimed. "Is there no one in the world
with an atom of brains? I don't want to go as 'Night' or 'Morning,' nor
as 'Marguerite' or 'Pierrette,' or 'Madame la Pompadour'; I want
something original!" And I stamped my foot to give emphasis to the
remark.
"Shall it be as 'Carmen,' madame?"
I sank into a chair in dismay. "Carmen!" This was the creature's idea of
originality. It was too ludicrous for anger. I laughed, and then, as I
raised my eyes to Madame Virot's indignantly bewildered countenance, my
glance fell upon a dress in a wardrobe behind her, and I pointed to it
in a flutter of excitement.
"Some one has originality, after all," I cried. "What does that dress
represent?"
"An ice palace, madame."
"_Mon Dieu!_ It is superb."
"_Mais oui, madame, c'est magnifique, c'est un miracle_," and then,
carried away with enthusiasm, she brought it forth and dilated upon it.
A pale green dress, covered with a shimmering, sparkling net-work that
looked like frost itself.
"You see, madame, the head-dress forms the snowy pinnacle of the tower,
and the _eau de Nil_ embroidered skirt follows the frosted outlines of
the building, which is a _fac-simile_ of the ice palace raised last
winter upon the Neva. An emerald satin mask, with tiny crystal icicles
hanging from the edge, in place of the usual fringe of lace, completes
the costume."
"I must have it," I cried; "it is incomparable."
"It is sold, madame."
"I will pay double."
"Impossible!"
"Treble!"
"I would willingly give it to madame, as it pleases her fancy, but I
cannot; it was designed according to sketches sent to me."
"Tush!" I impatiently exclaimed; "make a duplicate."
"It is impossible, madame, for the dress is for the same _bal masque_
that you will attend."
"And for whom?" I superciliously queried, for I was beside myself with
vexation. "Some nobody who has secured a card by chance, and wishes to
be thought a princess in disguise, eh?"
"I make for no such people," Madame Virot exclaimed, with a reflection
of my own annoyance. "The dress is for the Countess Zarfine. If madame
will suggest something else--"
I turned my eyes from the dress that tormented me, and racked my brains
for something that should excel its splendor, but the idea came not, and
with a contemptuous glare I faced the inoffensive milliner, who had
tried to please me for years, and had never more than half succeeded.
"To be original nowadays," I said, indifferently, "is, after all, so
commonplace, that to be commonplace is to be original. I will go as
'Carmen.'"
The daintiness of my epigram pleased me so well that I was almost
content, yet as I drove towards Le Bois the desire for the costume came
upon me again, and I was disconsolate. For it was no ordinary _bal
masque_, where everything was to be pretence, from the characters
represented to the fable that the dancers knew not one another. It was
all to be real, and no dissimulation. There was to be no unmasking time,
but every one was to be _incognito_ from the beginning to the end. It
was rumored that even our host and hostess would drive up to their own
house and enter amid the throng. No one was to know any one, and yet
every one was to know every one; no master of the ceremonies, no host
and hostess, no introductions or formal presentations. The fact that one
was there was an official stamp upon one's passport of reputation. It
was a Bohemian idea worthy of her who had brought it to Paris--the
Countess Zarfine, wife of the Russian Ambassador, and since, perforce, I
must be masked, I would have dazzled by art instead of nature; yet it
was not to be, and I grew peevish as I nursed my discomfiture.
My landau pulled up as we entered the gates, and Monsieur Roche, the
Premier, from whom I had received in the past many diplomatic
commissions, raised his hat and extended his hand.
"Madame, the gods love me."
"Monsieur, you are too modest; you should have used the feminine."
"I wanted to see you more than any other woman in Paris," he answered,
"and therefore I repeat--'The gods love me.'"
"'Those whom the gods love,' monsieur--" and I smiled, for I would have
given worlds to quarrel with some one, and preferably my best of
friends.
"'Die young,' eh?" he chuckled. "Well, the danger for me is past." And
then, without waiting for an invitation, he calmly stepped into the
carriage and seated himself beside me.
Here was, indeed, candor too wonderful for words, and I gazed
reprovingly upon him.
"You must help me, _ma chere_," he said, gravely. "It is no pleasantry,
but a serious matter--one that touches my reputation nearly."
"Well, _mon ami_?"
"You know our relationship with Russia?"
"The pretty girl with inviting graces to a gallant who hesitates."
"Precisely," he answered, in a tone of appreciation at my simile; "but
the pretty girl's love-letters are being opened."
"Humiliating."
"More than that," he cried, impetuously; "detrimental to me. Three times
in the past month has the most secret cipher of the government been
changed, because identical with the receipt of our message by Russia its
import has become public property in the capitals of Europe."
"Then, ineffectually changed," I observed.
"Utterly. I have just left Count Zarfine, the Russian Ambassador, and he
has dared to imply, in almost undiplomatic language, that his government
suspects us of trifling. _Mon Dieu!_" Monsieur Roche cried in an
awe-stricken voice; "trifling with Russia!"
"Who holds this cipher?"
"Myself and Count Zarfine. When it is changed the new cipher is sent to
St. Petersburg by him direct to the Minister, and the documents by me,
through the diplomatic departments. We have varied the cipher three
times, we have sent different messengers each time, but the result has
always been the same. The world learned the message at once, and we are
fast becoming the laughing-stock of Europe, for the pretty girl is ready
to offer so much for alliance."
"And the Count could not help you, _mon ami_?"
"He was brusque almost to rudeness, but his wife--"
"Ah, monsieur, his wife, what of her?" I asked, with a smile, for I well
knew the fascinations of the Countess Zarfine.
"She knows, as I know," monsieur answered, "that, as in France, so in
Russia, there are powerful influences against this alliance."
He lowered his voice and continued impressively, "Influences so powerful
that it might be possible for them to obtain our secret papers, open
them, read them, and then reseal them and pass them on to their
destination."
"But that would be useless without the key to the cipher, _mon ami_."
"That is stolen in Paris."
"Ah! from whom?"
"The Count himself, and despatched at once to those awaiting it."
"Childlike in its simplicity," I murmured, with a world of satire.
"The Countess is a wonderful woman," he admitted, and then continued:
"You see how easy it is. These people can gain access to the documents
passing between France and Russia, but not to the key of the
cipher--that is stolen here."
"And, of course, the thief is known already," I cried, disdainfully.
"Almost," he replied, with the first flash of enthusiasm he had
manifested--"almost. On Wednesday we shall catch him in the very act. Of
one thing we are certain. He moves in diplomatic circles, and knows that
our final proposal will be made to Russia by the end of the week. On
Wednesday morning I hand the new cipher to the Count, at night he
despatches it, but in the hours that intervene the Countess will
discover the thief. She suspects one of her husband's secretaries."
"You have enlisted a new and powerful ally, monsieur," with a jealous
tremor in my voice.
"Tut, tut," he answered, mildly; "you are the ally I must have, for,
frankly, I do not believe a word the Countess says."
"Then the saints be praised," I ejaculated; "you are not the simpleton
that I feared you were. But you go too far, _mon ami_, for all is true
excepting one thing, the name of the spy, and that is--"
"Let us be diplomatic," he interrupted, "until we are sure. Take the
missing quantity X."
"Why not Z?" I replied, and then I own I started with slight surprise at
the coincidence, for the Countess herself cantered up to the side of the
carriage, and I took her proffered hand.
"I do not believe in Z," Monsieur Roche cried, raising his voice a
little. "Zero cannot win the race, notwithstanding her distance
allowance;" and then he looked up and bowed to the Countess Zarfine.
"I did not suspect diplomacy found recreation in horse-racing,
monsieur," she exclaimed, with an arch smile.
"Age has its follies as well as youth," he answered, and then leaned
anxiously towards her and whispered, "Any news?"
"What can there be until then?" she asked. "On the night of the day
chosen I shall know. At the _bal masque_ I will tell you his name."
Monsieur Roche looked the picture of despair, and then, with a gesture
as though the whole world had been lost to him, spoke in an undertone to
the Countess, said something that I judged by a dainty frown she did not
favor; but in an instant the cloud had passed, and she smiled again, and
answered, "As you will."
Yet to me it still seemed that she was being forced into some action she
would not have elected of her own free choice.
Then Monsieur Roche, still a little embarrassed, turned to me. "A
message--a written message--is to be conveyed to me at the _bal masque_;
I cannot be there, and"--how charmingly he was confused--"will you
receive it for me?"
"And take it at once to Le Quai d'Orsay," the Countess interjected.
"Bring it myself?" I cried, in simulated surprise.
"Yes," monsieur answered, and tactfully continued, "I am shamed at the
greatness of the favor I ask, but it is vital."
"Very well," I reluctantly consented. "If that be so I will do it;" and
he murmured his thanks.
"At midnight I shall pass the head of the staircase and slip a note into
your hand," the Countess exclaimed; "that will be the message."
"But we are all _incognito_," I observed, with my most ingenuous smile.
"You will easily recognize me--I shall represent the 'Franco-Russe
Alliance,'" she answered, with the ready lie of a Russian. "The National
emblems and the National colors--the Double Eagle and the
_fleur-de-lis_. And you?"
"The 'Lost Provinces,'" I replied, meeting lie with diplomatic evasion.
The look of annoyance still slumbered in the depths of her dark eyes,
and I thought, too, there was the glint of a dawning suspicion; but it
was swiftly chased away as she turned with a jest to Monsieur Roche, and
after the interchange of a few pleasantries, nodded gayly to us both and
rode off.
"You are well matched in one thing," Monsieur Roche suavely remarked, as
he watched her retreating figure, "your originality of costume."
"And in another," I replied; "the fact that neither will wear what she
has said she will."
The dear man's eyebrows shot upward in bewilderment.
"She will represent 'An Ice Palace' I, 'Carmen.'"
He looked at me for a moment in undisguised admiration, and then sank
back and whispered with contented appreciation, "_Mon Dieu!_ you are a
wonderful woman."
"And a fortunate one," I replied, "to win the approbation of so
accomplished a diplomat."
"_Ma chere_," he murmured, "men are diplomats by education, women by
intuition. It is civilization against nature."
"The dresses we have mentioned," I continued, "will probably be worn by
our maids, leaving the Countess Zarfine at liberty to carry out her
work, and me free to frustrate her; for I am certain now that it is she
who reveals the cipher. Had I not known the costume she really intends
to wear I should have devoted the night to watching the 'Franco-Russe
Alliance.' As it is, my maid, the 'Lost Provinces,' will do that for the
sake of diplomatic appearances, the Countess will be deceived, and I
shall be free. So I require another card for the carnival--get it
secretly for me."
"Success is assured," he cried, enthusiastically.
"Not so fast, _mon ami_. She already suspects me--I could see it in her
eyes--and therefore you must act with consummate tact; you must delay
the delivery of the key on some pretence until an hour before the ball,
and so render it impossible for it to be revealed to any one except at
the carnival. Then I know when it will be done--directly I have left."
"After you have left?" he cried, in bewilderment.
"After my maid has left with the Countess Zarfine's message for you."
"Ah," he sighed, and there was a world of admiration in the utterance of
that monosyllable, but a moment after, his face became grave again, as
he suggested, "Perhaps the key may be given in such a way that you
cannot prevent it--another note, for instance, skilfully passed from
hand to hand."
"I think not. She would not risk anything so liable to be discovered.
Besides, she suspects; and more," I continued, "does not the whole idea
of this _bal masque_ proclaim the lady's love for the theatrical? No,
_mon ami_, the cipher will be given in such a manner that if a man
watched her actions every minute of the night he would see nothing, but
a woman might see much."
Monsieur smiled again, complaisantly.
"Then, too, if I fail, it is not ruin," I said, "for the documents will
not be despatched until you have heard from me. If I succeed, the
evidence against her will be strong enough to give you all the proofs
you need."
"But--"
"No more suppositions, _mon ami_; you weary me."
"You're the cleverest woman in Paris," he said, with a glance of warm
admiration, as he alighted and stood by my carriage.
"And you, for one who has left youth behind, are the most gallant man in
France," I answered, with a glow of merriment, for I already counted my
mission as accomplished.
"Left youth behind," he murmured, despondingly.
"You said so,_ mon ami_."
"It was in an undiplomatic moment."
"Therefore true, and your tongue, at least, is still youthful. _Au
revoir_, monsieur."
* * * * *
Therese created a sensation. There are women even among my chosen
acquaintances who insist upon their maids being stiff, and, if possible,
ugly. Perhaps they fear the comparison which I am too satisfied with
myself to be concerned about, and on that night I was thankful that my
choice had fallen upon a girl who could so admirably play the part I had
selected for her, one whom I need not fear, by some vulgar _gaucherie_,
would spoil my plans or endanger my success.
Therese created a sensation, and, as she entered, the audacity of her
costume drew all eyes towards her.
Her pretty auburn curls were surmounted by the "Cap of Liberty," draped
in crape; her skirt was of the palest yellow silk, with the outlines of
our "Lost Provinces" in black; while, symbolical of the day we prayed
for, the arms of France were more than half eclipsing those of Germany.
For a moment there was the silence of admiration as she entered, and
then a hum of applause burst into a shout as each loyal heart caught the
symbolical meaning of the fading colors of the German arms, almost
hidden by the simple sweetness of our own dear _fleur-de-lis_, and
patriotic voices cried, "_Vive belle Alsace! Vive, vive Lorraine!_"
And Therese bore the sensation as I would have done myself. I turned a
diamond half-hoop on my finger, reflecting it was the last time I could
do so, for to-morrow it should be hers.
Strictly obedient to my instructions, she danced but little, always
following, with some ostentation of persistence, the movements of a lady
who had attracted passing attention--the embodiment of the "Franco-Russe
Alliance." It was a quaint sport we favored--the maid watching the maid.
Midnight struck, and from a secluded corner I saw the note passed to
Therese, who quietly descended the steps, mingled for a moment in the
kaleidoscopic throng, and so departed.
Then I added a new gown to the diamond ring, for what other girl could
have left a carnival where she was the belle because she had been told
to do so?
Like a modern Cinderella, she left it all, and yet, wiser than the
damsel of the fairy tale, left before she was discovered, and I, a
commonplace "Carmen"--for I remember there were three of us--now felt
the decisive moment had arrived. A man had been watching Therese as she
descended the staircase, and I touched him lightly upon the arm.
"The Provinces are lost, monsieur," I said, softly. "Be content with
operatic Spain," and I hummed a melody of Bizet's.
"You, madame?" he cried, as he recognized my voice.
"Yes, I."
"I thought she who just left was you," he said, as though anxious to
explain the attention he had devoted to Therese.
"And I, monsieur, know my friends too well to be deceived by a
masquerade," I answered, and, of a truth, I believe that there must have
been a tell-tale trace of sentiment in my tones. And why not? Even a
pretty widow may have sentimental moments at times when her dearest
friend is near at hand. He looked straight into my eyes as though he
would read my inmost thoughts.
"Do you mean that?"
"I mean this, Gaspard, _mon cher ami_. I want you to do me a favor.
Indeed, before the night is out there may be many favors I need to ask,
and I want you to grant them all."
"Then they must be renamed," he answered, "not favors, but pleasures."
"See," I cried, "that woman dressed in the frosted green gown--intended,
I should think, to represent an ice palace?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who she is?"
"No; who can say?" he replied, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.
"I must be near her for the rest of the night--I want to watch her."
The Countess Zarfine was walking slowly across the ballroom, her hand
resting upon the arm of a tall man in the dress of an exquisite of the
period of Louis XIV., and, quickly grasping my meaning, Gaspard strolled
aimlessly in the same direction, carrying on an animated conversation
with me all the while, which raised him greatly in my estimation as a
budding diplomat.
"They are going to sit upon the balcony," I found an instant to whisper,
and we followed them, my nerves thrilling with delight as I realized the
strength of my position, for now the Countess would feel herself secure,
thinking that I had departed.
She was seated upon a basket-chair upon the balcony overlooking the
Champs Elysees, talking, in a voice that challenged criticism, of the
new play at the Renaissance, and Gaspard skilfully led me to a seat
facing them, and took one by my side.
And then the clever boy entered with zest into the Bohemian conceit of
the _bal masque_, for without a word of introduction he joined in their
conversation, and in an instant we were a quartette discussing the
frivolities of life.
Gradually an idle group grew round us--flattering gallants who protested
with glowing compliments "that it was too cruel of their hostess to hide
all the lovely faces of Paris behind silken masks."
"It must be because she is jealous," the Countess cried, with a smile
that showed for an instant the gleam of her teeth; "she fears the
contrast."
But then--for men, despite their deceit, are strangely truthful
sometimes--no one dared to dispute the beauty of his hostess, and her
eyes gleamed with gratified pride as her sneer was left unsupported in
the silence--yet perhaps they were suspicious.
"Still, messieurs," she exclaimed, with a ripple of laughter, "since our
faces are hidden, our freedom is greater--we may be more Bohemian." And
in an instant she produced a gold case, and, extracting a cigarette,
placed it with a gesture of impudence between her lips. "Those who love
me join with me," she continued, handing the case to the surrounding
group.
It seemed to me that there was a falseness in this ingenuous mood that
sat but ill upon one so contemptuously proud.
In an instant the blue smoke curled in the air from half a dozen
cigarettes.
"'Carmen,'" she cried, reproachfully, with a glance at me, "you who
should have led the way still hesitate," and she extended the case, and
carefully lighted the cigarette for me from her own.
"And you, monsieur," with a glance at the man who had been her companion
from the ballroom.
"It was a privilege I had never anticipated, and so came unprepared."
"Then she who grants permission supplies the means of enjoyment. Take
two, or three, or four, or what you will; their fragrance may be even
greater in the morning."
There was an intonation in the last words that struck me with a sense of
hidden meaning, and as the man carelessly took several, and, after
lighting one, slipped the remainder into his pocket, the truth burst
upon me in a flash--the key to the cipher had been passed.
On each cigarette paper was the key. I held it between my fingers half
consumed, and those around were obligingly burning the others before her
eyes, save for that man whom I knew still had three in his possession.
What a thoughtless fool I had been, I who held all I needed in my grasp
had myself destroyed it. The cigarette had burned down to my fingers. I
was compelled to drop it, and he trod it to dust beneath his foot.
But he still had three. With an _abandon_ worthy of "Carmen" herself I
turned my fascinations upon him; with a swift glance at Gaspard, who
instantly comprehended, I sent him to the side of the Countess, and she,
nothing loath to be the centre of a group of admirers, elated because
her mission was over, encouraged them, and kept them from her with the
arts of one born to coquetry.
The saints be praised, all men are young--or, at least, feel they
are--when a pretty woman smiles upon them. He was what a diplomat would
have called middle-aged, but--saints be praised--I am a pretty woman.
"You are the incarnation of 'Carmen' herself," he whispered, as we found
ourselves excluded from the group surrounding the Countess.
"_Merci_, monsieur, you flatter me--it is the dress attracts you."
"No; it is the sparkle of your eyes behind that envious mask, the grace
of each gesture, the soul of music in your voice, the poetry in every
motion that proclaims you the ideal 'Carmen.'"
"Save for one thing: a cigarette, _s'il vous plait_, monsieur," and I
extended my hand.
Slowly, even as though he realized that he was being drawn into a trap,
he took one of them from his pocket and hesitatingly handed it to me.
Half suspiciously, half in a fashion of tenderness, he held a match to
the cigarette, and then, almost before the paper had caught, it dropped
through my fingers to the ground; and I, with a laugh at my
carelessness, placed my heel upon it and edged it beneath my skirt.
My shoe pressed upon it lightly, my lips smiled apologetically, yet
murmured, "_Merci_, monsieur," as I awaited another to replace it.
I saw his features tighten as his eyes followed my movements, yet what
could he do? Realizing that I had discovered him, and I could not but
feel that he knew it, he gave me another, and I lighted it.
For a second we measured glances, and I knew that he fathomed my plans
as truly as I did his.
"You are a clever little devil!" he said, with almost a touch of
appreciation.
"Monsieur!"
"You have my cigarette under your shoe, but what of that? In a minute I
shall offer you my arm, you will take it, we shall go to the ballroom
and dance the cotillion."
"You are sure?"
"Perfectly. I have only to raise my voice and say 'The air is cool,' and
the Countess will understand; she will rejoin us, and that being so, a
lady cannot search for a half-burned cigarette. You have the desire of
your quest within your reach, and yet as far removed as the north is
from the south."