And I was constrained to rise and bow my acknowledgments for the twin compliment.

"But she is one of the richest," Monsieur Roche continued. "Money can be no inducement."

"To serve France?" Monsieur Vicenne hazarded.

"And the love of adventure," I added. "Monsieur, I will do my best. If I am successful, I will claim as my reward that the first boat built upon this invention shall be named after me."

"_L'Incomparable_," suggested M. Vicenne.

"_Merci, monsieur, mais non, 'L'Aide._'"

I had started on my journey before I had seriously considered what a mad-brained scheme I had taken in hand. I, who knew nothing of such things, was about to attempt to persuade where the whole diplomatic tact of French administrators had failed. I was to be a bidder for this wonderful boat that had startled the world; appearing to-day at Ostend, to-morrow a thousand miles away, and all the power in the hands of a man who was deaf to entreaty, impervious to persuasion.

The experts of the navy had pleaded to be allowed to inspect the boat.

His answer had been, "Keep level with it, and watch."

"Keep level, and watch"--it was a pleasant satire. England's latest toy, the _Turbina_, steamed only thirty-four knots an hour, and there were those who swore that this submarine boat at times got near to sixty.

Still the die was cast. I was to obtain, somehow, an interview with the inventor, who was so unlike others of his species that he invented for his own satisfaction, and not to sell his discovery. I was to offer whatever I liked. And if, as was probable, he refused, try and induce him to take me for a cruise, and learn what I could as fortune favored me.

It was as foolish a scheme for them to suggest as for me to undertake; but everything about the vessel was so secret and mysterious, that even if I could bring back the vaguest idea of how this craft was propelled it would be of inestimable value.

It was to the wild coast of Normandy that I was speeding, clad in a rusty black gown and a still rustier mantle that libelled nature in the manner it distorted me; and the day was as wild and boisterous as I could wish for the first act of the play, comedy, or tragedy, as Fate decreed.

The gray eve was fading to a dirty twilight, and inky clouds scurried across the gloomy sky, as I alighted some four kilometres from the Chateau de Lorme, and, setting my face resolutely to the wind, started to walk the distance.

The wind, howling and biting from the sea, brought with it merciless sheets of hail and sleety rain; and after the first ten minutes I realized that I could get no wetter, and so I mechanically battled onward, my wretched, ill-shapen garments streaming with water, and flapping miserably around me.

Saints! what a walk! A dozen times I was for relinquishing the whole thing and turning back in despair, but something kept me struggling on until more than half the distance had been traversed, and then it was better to press forward than to return.

On and on, the sharp hailstones stinging my cheeks, until I felt it must be seclusion for a month before I dared appear in Paris again, and then a turn of the road brought me before a house standing on the edge of the cliff, an enormous mansion shrouded in blackness, and apparently deserted.

Night had fallen, and everywhere was darkness and solitude. An avenue of trees led to the door, and while I walked under their shelter I had an opportunity of gaining my breath before I grasped the heavy iron knocker, and, with determined hand, knocked until the house seemed to shake with the echoes.

"Well?" at last came a gruff shout above my head. "Well, what is it?"

"I want shelter," I cried, irritably, and not with feigned annoyance, for I was shivering with the damp and cold, and wished I had never left Paris.

"This is not an inn."

"No, but it's a house," I cried, defiantly. "I must have shelter. I can pay for it."

A man's voice chuckled--what a mirthless chuckle it was!--the window was banged down with a thud, and I had seized the knocker to hammer again, when the entrance-hall blazed into light, and the door was opened.

A gust of wind threw me forward, and as I recovered myself and stepped across the threshold I caught my breath in amazement, for I, who have viewed the mansions of the greatest, never before beheld such barbaric splendor. It was an entrance-hall fit for the palace of a prince, and lighted with enormous cl.u.s.ters of incandescent lamps.

My wretched rain-soaked dress was making pools upon the parquetry, and I moved to a rug and surveyed my host, who was as striking as his surroundings--a tall, thin individual, with long, gray, straggling hair that hung round his shoulders, and a wild, unkempt beard. His eyes, which flashed fiercely, and seemed to read one through and through, were overhung by heavy, jet-black eyebrows.

He looked the very embodiment of Eugene Sue's Wanderer, and yet he was politeness personified, for his eyes did not turn to the pools upon the polished floor, nor to the wet trail I had made with my bedraggled skirt.

"I am favored, madame," he said, bowing, with a thin, transparent hand upon his breast.

"And I am cold and wet and hungry," I answered, prosaically, for I was determined to be in no wise awed by these unexpected surroundings.

"Three evils so easily remedied that it is scarcely worth designating them even as evils," he replied; and then, with another bow, escorted me up the staircase into a s.p.a.cious corridor, were he opened a door, and stood aside for me to enter.

"I have so many guests to-night," he murmured, apologetically, "that I fear I cannot treat you as I would wish; but you will find all your needs supplied in the dressing-room beyond."

He paused in the doorway.

"There is only hunger left now," he exclaimed, with another chuckle, "and dinner is at eight. May I expect you in the reception-room a few minutes before that hour?"

"With pleasure," I answered. "And, monsieur, you have my grat.i.tude."

He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly, and then, with a momentary glance at my costume, waved his hand towards the adjoining room.

"You will dress to meet my guests, madame, and look your best, for you will meet the greatest men the world has ever seen."

With that he chuckled again, closed the door, and left me; while I shot the bolt behind him, and stood--I confess it--and laughed--laughed a long peal of merriment. The greatest men of the world visiting here. It was too droll.

But I was in the house of the inventor of _Le Diable_, received as his honored guest. Already I had been startled and surprised, and I wondered what the next few hours might hold in store for me. A shiver brought me back to realities. I pa.s.sed into the adjoining room, a dressing-room lined with wardrobes, containing gowns and feminine adornments, before which even my own treasures from the Rue de la Paix were insignificant.

Through curtains beyond was the bath-room, with every dainty requisite that a woman of fashion could desire.

In an hour I was ready to do honor to my host and his famous guests. I missed Therese. But who could look anything but bewitching in the magnificent creations at my disposal? I pa.s.sed from my apartment into the lengthy corridor, noticing that on either side, with the doors flung open, were suites of rooms similar to my own.

My gown was, perhaps, an inch shorter than I could have wished, but in every other respect it was perfection, hanging loosely from the low-cut shoulders to the hem, except for an elaborate silver filigree belt that caught in its silken folds at the waist, and I felt confident that, no matter whom I might meet, I had no reason to be ashamed of my appearance.

I descended the stairs, and should have wandered about the building, impelled by natural curiosity; but I caught sight of monsieur standing alone in the middle of a s.p.a.cious room upon my left, and so I entered and walked towards him, feeling a keen satisfaction in my improved appearance as my train rustled across the floor.

"You have kept us all waiting," he cried, with evident annoyance in his tone.

I glanced round in astonishment, for there was no one save our two selves in the great apartment.

"I will present you to my guests, Madame----?" and he paused interrogatively.

"Lerestelle," I exclaimed, still bewildered.

And then he took me by the hand, and we made the tour of the room.

Truly, as he said, his guests were the greatest ones of the earth; truly my host was hopelessly mad, for no reception-room that the world has ever known has been filled with such a gathering. And truly, too, he and I were alone.

Living and dead, these imaginary creatures of his disordered brain were ma.s.sed together in hopeless confusion. He flung a witticism at Madame de Stael, a cynicism at Voltaire, a quotation from "Fedora" at Sardou, and a line from a sonnet at Alfred de Musset. And I bowed to the empty chairs, and humored this weird pleasantry.

We reached the climax when my host presented me to Napoleon Bonaparte, and I could scarcely restrain the hysteric laughter which was dangerously near escaping. But relief came as he introduced me to the last imaginary guest of all, the present Minister of Marine, my friend Monsieur Vicenne.

There seemed a certain irony in the fact that the man upon whose behalf I had braved this dwelling should have been, in the crazed mind of my host, included with his ill.u.s.trious guests. He left me beside my friend, and I sank into a chair, with a vague uneasiness that I could not dispel, a feeling of restless horror that deepened, as monsieur, like an ideal host, sauntered from one chair to another, chatting lightly to these impalpable creatures of his imagination; laughing at some jest with this one, and anon leaning towards another, as though interchanging a whispered confidence.

I felt I was growing hysterical: a moment longer and I should have shrieked. The strain was becoming too great, the horror at being alone with such a man too much; but a gong boomed without, and he, with some imaginary beauty leaning upon his arm, pa.s.sed from the room, while I sauntered behind, and far behind, too, for I was fearful of the order of precedence.