"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 a.s.serted, 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 a.s.sured 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 Amba.s.sador, 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.

"a.s.suredly 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 amus.e.m.e.nt; "I can give you no address but the British Emba.s.sy, 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 G.o.ds 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 Amba.s.sador?" 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 e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"But you must see it yourself," he urged, with a half-amused smile. "How can you be present?"

"With the consent of the princ.i.p.als," 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 grat.i.tude, and then count myself all too richly rewarded.

Nothing I would not do--"