Part 4

"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.

PRINCE FERDINAND'S ENTANGLEMENT

Monsieur Roche waltzed divinely, and so thoroughly original was that charming man that he never once made allusion to either the crush or the heat. Yet they were both insufferable.

We strolled into the conservatory, and, taking my fan from my hand, he gently waved it before me, keeping time to the distant strains of the waltz, which we preferred to sit out.

"To be beautiful and accomplished," he murmured, as he seated himself beside me, "is no excuse for idleness when a woman is also brilliant."

I recognized the prelude to a commission, and became attentive, for I was _ennui_ of the tiring pleasures that make up the daily routine of the existence of a woman of fashion.

"It is different from the English affair," he whispered, reflectively.

"And so it need be!" I replied, a little testily, for Gaspard Levive and I had been somewhat ill at ease with each other since we journeyed _tete-a-tete_ from London to Paris.

"It is what a woman's soul craves for--romance."

"A commission from Monsieur le Premier, and yet romantic," I cried, with a laugh. "Monsieur fears to plead his own cause, and would send a persuasive ambassador, _n'est ce pa_?"

"One as skilful in tact and diplomacy as she is in herself perfection," the flatterer answered; and then, "It is not a service to myself," he added, somewhat stiffly, for my bachelor friend was sensitive on these little matters, and rather prided himself on a flattering unction that he laid to his soul, that no woman in Paris--but I wander, for as he spoke I took my fan abruptly from his hand, and gazed severely right through his perplexed face into the ballroom beyond.

"I fail to understand," I said, stonily. "A commission from some one else? Are my services, then, at the command of any one who condescends to require them?"

He put out his hand deprecatingly.

"I imagined," I said, fluttering my fan viciously, "that I dealt with diplomats who regarded my service as much their secret as my own;" and I spoke with warmth, for I felt I had deserved better of him than this.

From my heart I loved these commissions for the excitement they afforded me, and not for mere gain; for what was that to me? My most hazardous adventure brought me the souvenir I chose--a plain gold bangle engraved with the date; my most romantic, a diamond necklace worthy of an empress.

Monsieur Roche stayed the fan that I was fluttering wildly in my indignation, and gently took my fingers in his own.

"Why is a woman the sternest critic--the harshest judge of her best friends?" he asked. "You are an accomplished woman, a clever woman, a beautiful woman, and yet--"

"Simply a woman," I interjected.

"And therefore as lacking in reason as all others of your sex, and as prone to jump at erroneous conclusions. No one in the world knows of what you call your Secret Service save those whom you have met and defeated, and they would be the last to proclaim it."

I felt miserably repentant--what creatures of impulse even the cleverest of women are!--so, smiling upon him, I handed back the fan.

"The vanquished must deliver up his sword," I cried. "I own I was in the wrong, so take a woman's weapon as a sign."

"My dearest friend is in Paris," he said, as he slowly waved the ostrich-plumes, "and in great trouble."

I glanced interestedly towards him as he continued:

"Prince Humbert of Elvirna is the man; the trouble, Prince Ferdinand, his son; the cause, as usual, a woman."

"Cheap cynicism but poorly becomes a man of intellect, much less a diplomat, monsieur."

"Then I will amend the phrase," he answered, contritely, "and say the cause, a woman, and leave 'as usual' out."

"It is strange that man, who owes all that is the better part of his life to woman, should so often make her the object of his sneers," I observed.

"Strange, save that he so often owes all that is the worst," he answered, with a passing shade of irritation. "This young fool, this man, who must marry for the good of the tiny kingdom which will be his own some day, has chosen--"

"To follow his own affections," I interrupted, with a smile.

"Tush! He has chosen to become enamored of the _passee_ charms of a third-rate actress--an adventuress searching for youthful fools with simple hearts and simple brains who cannot discriminate between nature and art, and would never credit the brightness of their siren's eyes was due to belladonna."

"He will get over it, _mon cher_. Even you, I doubt not, have had your weaknesses."

Monsieur scowled at my covert allusion, but ignored it.

"Do you think that this wretched play-actress will give him an opportunity until it is too late?" he asked. "He now lives in Arcadia, wanders from morn till eve in leafy woods, whispering sentimental folly and admiring sunsets, living only in the light of his goddess's eyes, cooing with this soiled dove, while his father vainly implores for his return to reason and to duty."

"And the remedy, _mon cher_?"

"Yourself."

"I scarcely comprehend."

"The boy is only infatuated. Infatuation gives way to greater temptation. He would fall madly in love with the first fresh, pretty face he saw."

"Thank you, monsieur!" I cried, with mock indignation, and, rising, I courtesied to the ground before the perplexed gaze of my friend, who shivered at his blunder.

He twisted his mustache with energy, but did not speak; and I, regaining possession of my fan, waved it with an air of lofty scorn, and tried to keep back the smile that, despite my efforts, was breaking round the curves of my lips.

"Let us be serious, and quite frank with each other," he said at length. "I want you to go for a week to the solitudes of the Forest of Lecrese, in the Kingdom of Elvirna, and, winning this young headstrong from his folly, add yet another service to those which have made me eternally your debtor. Show him--it will be so easy!--what poor theatrical blandishments are possessed by this play-actress when compared with the wit and sparkle of a brilliant woman--what faded beauty when nature challenges art. Surely it is to your taste, for is it not romantic?"

"It is romantic," I acquiesced. "But let us, as you say, be frank. Pursue the story further. Suppose the cure prove efficacious--what then? Is there one greater than I who in turn will win him from me? One more beautiful, more accomplished, more fascinating, who will say, 'Again, most simple youth, you are mistaken. Behold! I am the only woman worthy of your love.'"

The diplomatist chuckled. "If," he said, "I thought there could be one possessing such unheard-of charms, I would not dare to say so--but there is no one! I simply ask you to destroy this wretched entanglement, and then, if the Fates decree that he must surrender utterly to your beauty, so be it. It is better for a man to break his heart for love of a good woman than have it broken by a false one. It is a romance with endless possibilities. Do you consent?"

I reflected. It was a peculiar mission, and, moreover, one in which failure would be such a crushing blow to vanity, that my only refuge would be a convent. What if I set myself to fascinate a man and--failed! Yet there was such a glamour of excitement with it. To match myself against this adventuress, to fight for a man's honor, to triumph for the right. All men's eyes confessed me beautiful. Impartially I had scanned myself, posed as my harshest critic--and a woman can be her own severest critic if she will--and I too had finished by saying, however reluctantly, "Yes, _ma chere_, you really are rather pretty." There was something exhilarating in the thought that here was the opportunity to prove myself right or wrong, and men truthful or mere flatterers.

"I consent," I cried, "on two conditions: that, success or failure, Prince Humbert does not meet me in my character study, and that I am allowed absolute freedom of action, whatever course I take."

"Agreed on all things, and I thank you."

We rose, and I placed my hand upon his arm. "Modesty is woman's sweetest charm," he remarked, and I gazed into his face, vainly striving to fathom the meaning of an observation so apropos of nothing. "Why mention failure?" he continued, and we returned to the ballroom.

* * * * *

The Woods of Lecrese, bathed in the glowing fire of an audacious sunset, were enough to awaken sentimental yearnings in the breast of one even more worldly than I. A long, undulating road swept far into the purple distance, losing itself among the trees that interlaced above; on either side a cool vista of virgin greensward spread from the carriage-drive, only relieved by the crimson splashes of the fallen leaves that foretold the coming autumn, and yet not so severely as to make one dread the winter. All was solitude and peace. A dangerous hour, and a dangerous place, I told myself, for a foolish youth and a designing woman.

I stopped the carriage, and stepped out on to the roadway.

"Knock out the axle-pin," I cried, "and throw it into that thicket; then take a horse each, and ride for assistance."

I spoke in the same tone as I might have ordered my coffee, but who, save my own servants, would have carried out such inane orders without an implied protest? "Go to the blacksmith in the first village you come to."

So they left me, and I, like the lost princess of a fairy-tale, stood by my broken-down carriage, and awaited the Prince, for I knew he must ride this way, and it pleased me that we thus should meet.

A glance in the mirror of my travelling-case stilled any doubts I might have had. I was free from the dust of travel; indeed, I had driven but five kilometres that it might be so. An ostrich-feather-trimmed cloak of silver gray suited me to perfection, and the evening light, with just the fading glow in the sky, was most becoming.

Presently the cantering of a horse upon the road told me of the approach of him whom I awaited. I wearily rested my head upon my hand, and leaned against the carriage, and so absorbed did I become in my woman's thoughts as to what manner of man he would be, that it was his voice that roused me to the knowledge of his presence.

I glanced upward, and he pleased me well. A man rather above the average height, well knit and athletic, with clear-cut, sensitive features, a slight mustache, a kindly look of good-temper in his frank, blue eyes, and a cap set jauntily upon the side of his head of curling hair. Scarcely the man, I thought, to be the easy dupe of a vulgar adventuress; but the world is so strange.