His lips twitched even as though my words came as a shock to him.

"I thought one woman would believe me. I was on my way to ask for your a.s.sistance."

"a.s.sistance is impossible, monsieur, with half-hearted confidences. A lady called upon you, and you refuse her name."

"Monsieur Roche discovered that it was the Countess Renaze."

"It was Mlle. Desormes," I said, coldly. Gaspard's face turned even a shade paler, and his eyes fell before my gaze.

"You know that?" he said, in astonishment.

"Yes; why did you not tell Monsieur Roche?"

"Because there are circ.u.mstances in which explanation may be counted as half-confession."

"Indeed."

"I was appalled at the accusation, and such an admission must have stamped my guilt. Think, the daughter of the very man who had tricked us, Monsieur Roche's implacable enemy. It was impossible, and so I kept silent."

"It was a criminal silence, a worse falsehood than a spoken untruth. Why did she call?"

Gaspard flushed, and after a moment's pause spoke in a voice that was hesitating and constrained.

"I had promised to lend her a government book upon the island of Martinique."

And then--for I could scarce restrain a smile--it was so ridiculous for one of the belles of Paris to take to the study of official reports; he hotly continued: "Now you see why I did not tell Monsieur Roche the truth, for even you do not believe it. It seems too childish, too ridiculous."

"It seems too childish to be false, _mon ami_," I answered; "but are you sure there was not some little--what shall I say when a beautiful woman and a clever man are concerned?--some little--"

"You need say nothing, Aide," he answered, looking me straight in the face; "you know there was not."

And my heart seemed to suddenly grow so light that I forgot the serious business that troubled us.

"Well, _mon cher_ Gaspard, I think it is a mistake; a promising diplomat ought to have tendencies towards matrimony, because it is so respectable."

"Only let me get this wretched problem solved, Aide, and then I will give you a commission to find me a wife. But I am hard to please," he laughed. "She must be the most beautiful woman in Paris, the most brilliant, and the most accomplished."

I think there must have been just a tinge of heightened color in my cheeks, and we were both smiling, forgetful of misfortune; but I had promised to find this paragon, and so I lightly laid my hand on his, and murmured, "Gaspard, _mon cher_, she is the very woman you shall marry."

I believe it was in his thoughts to say more, but I stopped him. "Let us get back to serious realities," I said. "Mlle. Desormes called upon you ostensibly for the Yellow Book that you promised to lend her. Was she left alone in your room?"

"For five minutes, perhaps, while I went to fetch it."

"And your room communicates with that of Monsieur Roche?"

"Yes."

"Then it is simplicity itself; in that five minutes she stole the paper."

"It is not simplicity itself Aide; far from it. Last night I locked the safe. Monsieur Roche went early, and left the key with me, and I saw the letter there when placing other doc.u.ments in the safe. This morning before he arrived I unlocked it, took some papers out, and locked it again, and Monsieur Roche found it so when he arrived. So it is impossible to believe that Mlle. Desormes could have accomplished the theft."

"It seems impossible, Gaspard, because we do not know the method."

"There is but one key, and that did not leave my possession. The packet was to all intents and purposes intact this morning, the seal Monsieur Roche stamped upon it a month ago unbroken, but the contents had been stolen."

"She may have subst.i.tuted a counterfeit for the original," I answered.

"It is a favorite trick with a woman," and I smiled as I recollected a similar affair that had occurred between ourselves.

"And forged Monsieur Roche's private seal?"

"My dear Gaspard," I cried, irritably, "what is the use of adopting this supercilious air of obstruction? Papers are not spirited from steel safes. It must have been stolen, and it is for us to discover how, and regain it."

"I only seek to show how inexplicable the thing is," he answered.

"In detail, yes, but on the broad principle it is as plain as sunlight.

Why should Monsieur Roche open the packet to-day?"

"Because of Monsieur Desormes's insolent threats of exposure and disgrace."

"Ah! now see, _mon ami_, how easy it becomes. A paper which incriminates Monsieur Desormes, which proclaims in his own writing his complicity in the policy adopted by the present ministry, was in Monsieur Roche's safe. This morning his daughter calls upon you on a preposterously transparent errand. She, one of the beauties of Paris, desires the loan of the recently issued report on Martinique; that necessitates your leaving her, and when she is gone, the paper is missing."

"The inference, on the broad principle, is that she stole it."

"Then that is the inference upon which we will base our work, _mon ami_."

"So you do not credit that in me she had a willing accomplice?"

"Should I be walking with you this afternoon if I did?" I said. "Only one thing I am sure about, and that is that Mlle. Desormes, in some inexplicable manner, stole that paper this morning, and must have it still. I am going to her at once, and next time we meet, _mon ami_, I will hand it back to you."

"You seem confident, Aide."

"And that is victory half accomplished,_ mon cher; au revoir_."

Ten minutes later I entered the court-yard of one of the mansions of the Boulevard Haussmann, and requested to see Mlle. Desormes. We were slight acquaintances, and already I counted that I had forced her to obey me, and to submit, for, although a very pretty and charming girl, she was too young and too inexperienced to be a match for a woman who was fighting for the good name of the man--But why confuse sentiment with diplomacy?

Mlle. Desormes received me in her boudoir with a smile of welcome, and thrust down amid the cushions of her chair, only half-concealed, was that eternal book on Martinique.

"Have you seen your father to-day, mademoiselle?" I asked, quietly, after a few moments' chat upon commonplaces.

"No," she cried, with a start, and then hastily added, "Has anything happened to him?"

"Nothing," I replied, rea.s.suringly; "but have you communicated with him to-day?"

"No," she answered. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I desire to know," I enigmatically responded, and I could not but admire the clever look of perplexity upon her face. "As you have not done so, the matter is more easily arranged."

"What matter, madame?"