"Monsieur Roche," Therese murmured, and held a card before me.
"I have already told you I will receive no one," I answered, with more
than usual tartness, for the afternoon was warm, and the thought of my
evening's engagements made me feel that life was unendurable.
"It is a matter of most urgent importance," she so far forgot herself as
to urge, and I could scarcely restrain a smile, for through my maid's
prim black gown I almost fancied I could hear the rustle of the note
that had tempted her to impertinence.
Was it not enough that I had said I was not receiving? And one would
assume not, for she still stood there, and the day was too warm to scold
her.
But she was an excellent girl, the perfection of maids. To this
day I have never met one who could dress my hair as she could, nor
one who could understand my peculiar--my dearest friends say
exasperating--temper so admirably, and so my heart softened, and, with
merely an uplifting of the eyebrows, to show that I noted her
persistence, I said I would receive Monsieur Roche. And well I made a
virtue of necessity, for he was one who knew not refusal. I turned poor
virtue into my necessity, as all did whom Monsieur Roche asked to favor
him.
"One would even risk madame's anger for the happiness of seeing her," he
murmured, as he took my hand; for, though he held the reputation of one
not admiring the sweeter sex, a better gallant for turning a compliment,
a more skilful adept in the epigram of flattery, this jaded world has
never viewed.
"It is a trying hour for calling, monsieur, unless the reason be most
urgent."
"It is most urgent," he gravely assented, as he placed a slender
forefinger upon my shoulder. "_Ma chere_," he continued, softly, "you
are the cleverest woman in Paris."
"I should have better liked the compliment had you said the prettiest,"
I answered, demurely.
"Tut, tut! The whole world tells you that. Why proclaim the obvious? I
prefer to be original, and pronounce you the cleverest."
"With an object, monsieur, _n'est ce pas_?"
"With a very great object, madame--the desire for your assistance."
Monsieur Roche leaned impressively towards me.
"Have you heard the strange news," he asked, "that is being whispered in
diplomatic Paris?"
"There are many strange things whispered in diplomatic Paris," I
responded.
"Truly; but this is unprecedented. Sir Edward Rivington, the English
Ambassador, has been abducted."
"Yes. It was mentioned to me by a particularly uninteresting gallant at
last night's reception; but"--I shrugged my shoulders--"it is too
absurd."
"And therefore the more likely to be true! In fact, I know that it is
true and also that it is false."
"An enigma, monsieur?"
"Listen. The story is that a closed carriage called for Sir Edward two
nights ago. He left the Embassy, saying he would return in an hour. He
has not been seen since, and Paris is growing perturbed at this
unwarrantable violation of international courtesy. That is the story.
But the facts are that Sir Edward has tricked France, has purposely
promulgated this mystery, and has departed on a secret mission to
England."
"I can see no reason for such ridiculous procedure. _Perfide Anglais_ is
only a Boulevard cry when there is no domestic sensation to occupy the
green hour."
"Tush!" Monsieur Roche impatiently interrupted. _Ma foi_, how impatient
these diplomats are! "France was in active negotiation with England, and
also with Italy, upon the same point. What it was matters nothing."
"You are reticent, monsieur."
"It is sufficient that it discloses that England was not wholly in our
thoughts. Now, by an unpardonable blunder, Sir Edward received among his
own certain other papers intended for Signor Faliero."
"France was playing a difficult game, monsieur."
"A delicate and diplomatic one, madame."
"And has failed."
"Been tricked," he hotly retorted. "The superscription upon the cover
was plainly to the Italian Ambassador, and Sir Edward knew that even
English diplomacy or intrigue could not be stretched to the fine point
of not at once returning the packet. He knew that we should immediately
demand it, if necessary, and that restitution could not be withheld. The
documents were handed to Sir Edward himself by one of my secretaries,
who is now open to accept a fresh appointment, and a couple of hours
later, when the error was discovered, I was met with this melodramatic
fable of abduction."
"But what is to be gained by such a fabrication? Surely Sir Edward could
say he had gone to England, if he wished to."
"What is gained," Monsieur Roche answered, incisively, "is a strong hold
upon us, we never knowing whether the papers have been inspected or not.
When he returns he will, no doubt, send the packet to me, apparently
untouched, and we can only assume that England is cognizant of its
contents. We shall be compelled to maintain the negotiations now in
progress, and all the time Sir Edward Rivington will smile, and placidly
await a _coup d'etat_. It is maddening, simply maddening. _Mon Dieu!_ it
binds us hand and foot."
"I do not agree with your theories, monsieur," I said, calmly. "Sir
Edward Rivington is an Englishman, and, as a nation, they are
honorable."
"Tush! Sir Edward is a diplomat, and the code of honor is different. His
aim is to serve his country. Should I hesitate to take advantage of such
an opportunity for France?"
"You are unscrupulous, monsieur."
"For what," he cried, "do we all pay millions of francs a year? Secret
service: such information as that which Sir Edward has had placed in his
hands by chance. Is it reasonable that he would be such a child as to
neglect a stroke of policy sufficient to render his country's position
impregnable?"
"If all this be as you say, monsieur, then the damage is done, and
beyond repair."
"Utterly. There is, however, one favor I would ask of you. To actually,
indisputably, know that Sir Edward Rivington has been to England will at
least make me sure of my ground. It will be a difficult task, one worthy
of the cleverest woman, the prettiest widow in Paris." And, even in his
worry of mind, he smiled as he paid me the double compliment. "Ask where
you will in London, and they will tell you he is still in Paris. A man
would fail miserably, a woman's intuition will succeed."
I pondered over the position. Love for a little excitement, something to
relieve the ennui of a solitary existence, had induced me to undertake
many little diplomatic services for my friend Monsieur Roche, but in all
there had been something of the glamour of romance. This seemed more the
task of a secret agency, or even the Quai de l'Horloge itself. What so
simple as to discover if a man so well known in Paris as Sir Edward
Rivington had crossed the Channel?
And yet, if things were as Monsieur Roche asserted, what infinite pains
would be taken to conceal the visit! Looked at from that point of view,
the mission appeared more fitting to my disposition, and I accepted.
Why is it ever the fashion to speak of London as a city of smoke and
gloom? Paris is not all Champs-Elysees. We have our sunlight and our
shadow; and London, sublime in its rugged beauty of stability, common
alike to the city and the people, has the same; while Parliament Street,
under the bright spring sunshine, might have been one of the boulevards
of beloved Paris itself.
A far-seeing Providence must surely have intended women to shine in
diplomacy, for men are so impressionable, and some women so fascinating,
that the victory is assured before the struggle commences.
And because of this I refused to be satisfied with any of those zealous
and most polite officials and secretaries, and ultimately, because I,
too, am at times fascinating, found myself in the presence of one of the
rulers of the State, whose name in France was as well known as those of
our own politicians.
He received me graciously, and waited.
"At a reception in Paris," I said, after a moment, "I had the honor of
meeting your Ambassador, Sir Edward Rivington; the greater honor of
giving certain information, to him that was of service."
Monsieur seemed to freeze a little. Secret service is necessary, but its
agents, be they even pretty women, do not command more than the coldest
respect.
"There were further matters which he deemed it desirable I should obtain
details of, and as he was leaving suddenly for London upon a special
mission, I was instructed to follow him, and, insisting upon seeing you
in person, obtain his address, as it was not general knowledge that he
had left Paris."
Monsieur looked at me curiously. He seemed debating in his mind whether
he should tell me.
"You are under a strange misapprehension," he said, at length, leaning
back in his chair and interlacing his fingers.
"It is impossible that such can exist," I interrupted. "Those were my
instructions from Sir Edward himself."
"Then he must have changed his plans," monsieur continued, blandly.
"Assuredly he is not in London now, and, so far as I am aware, has not
left Paris; certainly on no business that could bring him to the Foreign
Office. We have our official messengers for such duties. Sir Edward
would not come himself."
"I understood the matter was too secret--"
"I am afraid you have been deceived," he answered, with a quiet smile of
amusement; "I can give you no address but the British Embassy, Paris,
and that must be well known to you already."
The interview was ended, and as I left I carried with me the conviction
that the conversation had been marked by such an absence of diplomacy on
his part that it must be truthful, and Sir Edward Rivington had not come
to England.
Yet I determined that I would stay in London, at all events until I had
something more to show for my efforts--what, I knew not; and while I
strolled, the gods came to my rescue.
My dearest friend, Gaspard Levive, stood, hat in hand, before me.
"Madame, the fates are kinder to me than I deserve."
"Perhaps they have a better knowledge of your merit than you possess
yourself," I responded, with an upward glance. "Are you staying in
London?"
"Until this evening only. My friend, Sir Edward Rivington, has done me
the honor to ask me to be his second. I have accepted, and return to
Paris."
I stopped in bewilderment. "Sir Edward Rivington, the English
Ambassador?" I said, hurriedly.
"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "It does not sound English, does it?
But here is his letter: 'At le Duc d'Eautine's chateau to-morrow
morning. I rely upon your honor to hold this secret, and, as you are in
London, to deliver, yourself, the enclosed envelope at the Foreign
Office.'"
"_Mon Dieu!_" I cried, excitedly. "_Mon cher_, you have not delivered it
yet; you have it still?"
"I am on my way," he replied.
"Then you will not. You will hold it back; bring it to Paris, and give
it to Monsieur Roche."
"It is impossible!" he exclaimed, glancing at me in surprise.
"It is not. If you deliver this you will ruin France! For the love of
France, pause!"
"I will not be a traitor to a friend who trusts me, even for the love of
France," he answered. "I have been asked to deliver this letter; how,
then, can I carry it to Monsieur Roche? No, not for the love of France!"
"Then, Gaspard, for me!" I said, turning my eyes upon him. "Do this for
me. Prove your protestations have not been idle. Do this for me."
His face flushed crimson, and then grew pale and gray, until, in but a
few seconds, he seemed to have become death-like before my eyes.
"Why do you ask this'?" he asked, icily.
"For the sake of France," I repeated. And then, like the lifting of a
veil, I saw things clearly, realized that I was tempting him, whom I
loved to call my dearest friend, to disgrace; realized that it was not
for love of France, but for love of victory, and Monsieur Roche's
praises. Gaspard seemed to hesitate, and I trembled lest he should
consent.
"Not even for your sake can I do this," he answered, slowly; and my
heart quickened at the proof that he was as true as I believed him; yet,
because I am a woman, I must perforce feign some slight resentment that
he would not yield me what I wished he should not.
"Then leave your papers," I said, after a cold pause, "and escort me to
Paris."
"You mean it?" he cried, his eyes brightening again.
"Yes, I mean it," I calmly replied; "one cannot break long friendships
for the sake of a difference of opinion. Leave your papers, _mon cher_,
and then rejoin me."
"I asked a favor yesterday," I said, as we drew near to Paris, "I ask
another to-day. I want to accompany you to le Duc d'Eautine's."
Gaspard raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"It is an affair of honor," he protested. "You know what you ask is
impossible, unheard of."
"Again?" I pettishly ejaculated.
"But you must see it yourself," he urged, with a half-amused smile. "How
can you be present?"
"With the consent of the principals," I retorted. "Be my escort to
Versailles, and then I will release you."
"As you will," he laughed; "but may I not know your reason?"
"The merest curiosity, _mon ami_. You, having been absent from Paris,
have not heard our latest sensation. Sir Edward Rivington was abducted
nearly a week ago, and you and I are two of the very few who know where
he is."
"Impossible!"
"May be, but true. He has been abducted, and only we know by whom, and
where he is to be found. Monsieur Roche, your chief, never believed in
the rumor of abduction. He set it down as a subterfuge to delay the
return of certain private papers intended for, no matter whom, that had
fallen into Sir Edward's hands. Those papers, _mon cher_, that you
delivered yesterday. The ones that concerned my visit to London. It
might have been a wonderful thing for you, Gaspard, if you had not
delivered them, but I did not mention your own interests."
"No interests of my own," he cried, laying his hand upon mine, "could
have weighed like the heart-burning desire to serve you. There is
nothing, that my honor would allow, that I would not do to win your
faintest gratitude, and then count myself all too richly rewarded.
Nothing I would not do--"
But fortunately we steamed into the Gare du Nord; Gaspard's poetic
moment was ruined by a descent from the dizzy heights of sentiment to
the commonplace confusion of an arrival platform, and, with a diplomat's
smile at the inevitable, he accepted the position.
What creatures of impulse the sex we prefer must be. In a four hours'
journey from Calais to Paris he must needs choose the last seventy
seconds for serious conversation, in order to be interrupted at the
instant when I was most attentive. And how those supreme moments, when
lost, seem to be lost forever! Commonplaces, commonplaces, small talk
and frivolity from Paris on to Versailles, from Versailles to the
Chateau of le Duc d'Eautine.
I felt quite serious when he was speaking just before we arrived in
Paris; but had he attempted to resume the subject I should have smiled,
and he, wise in diplomacy beyond his years, realized the position, and
accepted it.
Our carriage drove into the park of the Chateau, and, leaving the main
drive, stopped, in a few minutes, where, in the shade of a magnificent
cedar, a group of men were standing, evidently awaiting it. Le Duc
d'Eautine, Monsieur Faude, his bosom friend, and Sir Edward Rivington,
the lost Ambassador, all seemingly charmed with one another's company,
and only a suspicious-looking case, leaning against the tree, spoiled
the harmony of the gathering.
It is a thing I have since almost boasted of. I am the only woman who
has ever caused that paragon of courtesy, le Duc d'Eautine, to lose his
temper and forget all etiquette.
"_Sapristi!_" he gasped, as I alighted--"what pleasantry is this,
madame? And you, monsieur," he continued, fiercely, turning upon my poor
Gaspard--"you, monsieur, explain this intrusion, or--"
"Tut, tut, _mon cher_ Duc," I mildly interjected, "I come as a service
to you, one of my oldest friends."
"I need no service, madame."
"You need great service, _mon enfant_," I retorted, reprovingly, for my
twenty-seven years afforded me vast superiority over his twenty-five.
"You need great service. What is this foolish escapade of abducting the
representative of England, and compelling him to fight a duel in your
own park before he regains his freedom? What is--"
"It is an affair of my own, madame," he interrupted.
"An affair of your own," I cried, with a suspicion of anger in my tones.
"It is an affair of the nation, of France, when you lure an Englishman,
an Ambassador, to your house, and force him into a duel."
"I force him to nothing," he said, as we walked aside. "He has been my
guest--"
"Tut! Paris knows he has disappeared; you lured him away, and you now
hold him a prisoner here until he fights this duel, _n'est ce pas_?"
"I do not contradict. I but defend my honor; Sir Edward Rivington spoke
of me indiscreetly. He alluded to me before my friends as a mere boy; he
ridiculed my duels, laughed at our code of honor, mocked at what he
described the satisfaction of a scratch, and scoffed as only an
Englishman can. A man who has never stood before the sword of his enemy.
I challenged him; he laughed, and turned aside with the sneer that
Englishmen had neither time nor inclination for such pleasantries. He
spoke of his duty to his own country, and, in a word, covered himself
with the invulnerability of his official position. He, at the Embassy,
was in England, not in France. I removed him from his Embassy. In the
grounds of my chateau he is in France, and not in England. In France,
where a man avenges insults with his sword."
"Excellent! But if you wound him?"
"Be assured, madame, I shall not. I shall not wound him, nor shall he
touch me, but he shall learn that duelling in France is not child's
play. I will tire him until he realizes that, and then disarm him; and
my sense of honor will be satisfied when he finds his ridicule recoils
upon himself."
"And if he wound you?"
He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"Then I will apologize to him, and grant my swordsmanship is but a sport
for children."
"May I speak with your prisoner?"
"With my guest, madame."
"As you will. Then with your guest."
He bowed, and he and his friend drew back as I walked towards the
English Ambassador.
"Paris is more than anxious concerning you, Sir Edward."
"If Paris meant yourself, madame," he responded, "I could bless my
imprisonment."
"Then you call it imprisonment?"
"Englishmen have a manner of calling things by their right names," he
suavely observed.
"And you propose to--"
"Fight," he drawled. "I really don't care about it, but there's a medium
in all things, you know. Not but what he's been most obliging. Except
that I'm imprisoned till I give him what he calls satisfaction, I've
been very comfortable. Even allowed, on my word of honor not to
communicate the peculiar circumstances, to send my private despatches to
England."
I shuddered as I thought of those despatches. Truth to tell, in the
excitement of the situation, they and Monsieur Roche's distress had left
my memory.
"But if you wound or kill him, Sir Edward?"
"I shall do neither."
"But, if he--" I paused, and Sir Edward gravely shook his head.
"Not the faintest chance in the world," he said. "I shall tire him out,
and disarm him, thus abundantly proving my theory that these affairs of
honor in France are arranged with the minimum of inconvenience to either
party."
I could not repress a smile; there was such a wealth of humor in this
duel, where neither party intended to injure the other.
"It is merely an exhibition of swordsmanship, Sir Edward?"
"Merely that, madame."
"Then I may remain?"
"It might be disconcerting to your friend."
"But if he permit?"
"Then to me it will be an honor."
But the Duke was less easy to win. It was impossible, unheard of, and
yet, while he spoke he wavered, and graced his consent with a whisper
that I was the Tournament's Queen.
"On guard, messieurs!"
Like a flash the swords crossed, and the duel commenced.
There was an uplifting of the eyebrows on the part of the Duke, as the
trick which had disarmed many an opponent was skilfully met, a
tightening of the lips by Sir Edward as a similar attempt of his own was
as easily frustrated.
It was a duel that set my blood tingling with excitement, as pass after
pass was parried, thrust after thrust was turned aside, and neither man
gained a point, neither man lost an inch, until it seemed that equals
had met, and who was victor would never be determined; that to be
vanquished would be almost as great an honor as to vanquish.
The Duke slipped as he parried a thrust, and I thought that the
unexpected had happened; but, like lightning, the Englishman's rapier
was drawn back, and his adversary acknowledged the courtesy and skill
which had saved his life with a bow worthy of himself.
An hour passed, and still the combat waged. I wearied of the eternal "On
guard, messieurs!" It seemed so fruitless that two such masters of fence
should strive for empty victory.
"On guard, messieurs!"
Sir Edward Rivington was hesitating, and stood with the dawn of a smile
upon his face.
"On guard, messieurs! _s'il vous plait._"
The Ambassador shook his head, and, throwing down his sword, advanced,
with hand extended to his adversary.
"I tender you my apologies," he said, gravely. "I admit I spoke
triflingly of French duelling. I admit that I sneered at several of your
own affairs of honor. I confess that I regarded them as child's play,
not knowing then, as I do now, that you are a sublime master of the art
of swordsmanship, and could have killed every man who stood before you."
"Every man, save yourself, Sir Edward!" the Duke exclaimed, with a
slight smile of satisfaction.
"You were playing, as I was, for the disarm."
"And neither of us succeeded. Frankly, for the first time in my life I
have met my equal. Strange that he should be one of the nation that
discountenances the use of the rapier."
"You will accept my unconditional withdrawal," Sir Edward continued.
"Nay, more, if you desire it, it shall be more openly proclaimed."
For answer le Duc d'Eautine handed his sword to his second, and took Sir
Edward's outstretched hand in both of his.
"Sir Edward Rivington," he exclaimed, "I am too honored. Say no more. My
greatest pride is that I have won the respect of England's Ambassador;
my greatest honor that I have gained the friendship of a splendid
swordsman."
These and many other high-flown compliments, dear to our nation, passed
between them and between their seconds, until it seemed we must all have
floated back to olden times, to the stately days of the Louis--so
anxious was each man to pay courtly compliments to the other.
_Mon Dieu!_ what changeable mortals, what creatures of impulse men are;
and yet they say that we women are wavering and fickle!
"You will be my guest, _mon ami_, for just another day?" the Duke
hazarded, doubtfully, it must be confessed.
"My dear friend," replied the Ambassador, "don't you think that you have
delayed the course of diplomatic relations sufficiently long? I expect
you will get into disgrace for this attack upon my sacred person, as it
is," and he broke into a merry laugh.
"I have made one true friend," returned the Duke, seriously; "what
matter the means? Should I find it necessary to suddenly quit France, I
shall carry with me the honor of counting yourself among those whom I
hold nearest to my heart."
"Quit France! All nonsense," brusquely interjected Sir Edward. "Put your
best team to a coach, and I'll drive you all back to Paris; then, for a
moment, the urgency of State affairs, _et apres_, in a poor way you will
permit me to return your hospitality. At seven, _mes amis_, at the
'Bristol.'"
Sir Edward Rivington must have been a past master of all the arts. As he
handled his rapier perfectly, so he drove the four-in-hand; and,
doubtless, in all other things he was equally admirable. These English
are so thorough.
And of a truth he was certainly charming in conversation, for I, who sat
beside him, can vouch for it.
"Will the budding flowers of diplomatic relations have withered owing to
your absence, Sir Edward?" I ventured to ask as we drove through St.
Cloud.
"No; I do not think so," he answered, with a laugh. "But, seriously, it
is a little troublesome. They must have been retarded somewhat, and I
shall possibly be blamed for taking a brief holiday at such an important
moment."
"Then you will call it a holiday?"
He looked at me with a slight elevation of the eyebrows.
"Naturally!"
"You are more than generous, Sir Edward."
"Tut, tut! but still, things may be a trifle unpleasant. For instance,
an hour before le Duc d'Eautine's pressing invitation that I should
become his guest arrived, I received a bundle of official papers from
your Premier, Monsieur Roche, and, not realizing that I was going to
take a holiday, placed them at once in my safe, where they now repose,
untouched and unlocked at."
"Untouched and unlocked at!" I cried, my blood tingling with delight at
the kindness of the fates.
"Yes; it sounds undiplomatic, does it not?"
"Are we driving direct to the Embassy?"
"Why not? It will destroy the ridiculous rumor of abduction."
"Then, Sir Edward, as a distinct favor to me, will you not at once open
the bundle and give to me, in order that I may myself return it to my
friend, Monsieur Roche, a document placed there by error, which is not
addressed to you?"
"Certainly," he replied, flicking the leaders with his whip. "I should
have returned it under any conditions, but, since you wish it, I will do
so through you."
I sighed a sigh of deep contentment. "You will make me ever your
debtor," I murmured.
"Not at all. But is this the reason of your visit to Versailles?" he
inquired after a moment, with a strange little smile.
"Suppose you exchange a little small talk with your other friends, and
not devote all your attention to me," I suggested, in a tone of mild
reproof.
And, generously discreet, Sir Edward obeyed my desires, till we rolled
into Paris, I passing the while in thinking what a fortunate thing it
was that Gaspard had not given way to my temptations and purloined his
Excellency's private despatches.