"You are--" she inflected.

"His secretary, madame," the young man bowed.

"No, I have not an appointment," she replied, "but I come from Madame Durrand who was the bearer of a cipher letter from the Foreign Minister.

Madame Durrand was injured as she was about to take train in New York, and gave me the letter to deliver."

The secretary looked at her blandly and smiled faintly.

"You have the letter with you?" he asked.

"Again, no," she replied. "It is to explain its loss, and to warn the Amba.s.sador that I am here."

"His Excellency is exceedingly busy--will you not relate the circ.u.mstances to me?"

"My instructions from Madame Durrand are most specific that I am to deal only with his Excellency," Mrs. Clephane explained--with such a dazzling smile that the secretary's eyes fairly popped. "Won't you please tell him I'm here, and that I have a luncheon engagement at one o'clock."

The secretary hesitated. Again the smile smote him full in the face--and he hesitated no longer.

"Come with me, Madame Clephane," he replied "His Excellency is occupied at present, but I'll deliver your message."

Once more the smile--as opening the door for her he bowed her into an inner office, and carefully placed a chair for her.

"A moment, madame," he whispered, disappearing through an adjoining doorway.

Whereat Mrs. Clephane sighed with amused complacency, and waited.

Presently the door opened and the secretary appeared. "His Excellency will receive you, Madame Clephane," he said.

"I thank you--oh, so much!" she whispered as she pa.s.sed him--and the look that went with the words cleared all her scores--and almost finished him.

So much for a smile--when a beautiful woman smiles, and smiles in just the right way, and especially when the man smiled on is a Frenchman.

The Amba.s.sador was standing by a large, flat-topped desk in the centre of the room, his back was to the light, which was generously given in all its effulgence to his visitors. He was a small man and slight of build, intensely nervous, with well-cut features, gray hair--what there was of it--and a tiny black moustache curled up at the ends but not waxed.

He came briskly forward and extended his hand.

"My dear Madame Clephane," he said in French, leading her to a chair, "how can I serve you?"

"By listening to my story, your Excellency, and believing it," Mrs.

Clephane answered,--"and at the end not being too severe on me for my misfortune and ignorance."

"That will not be difficult," he bowed, with a frank look of admiration.

"You come from Madame Durrand, I believe?"

"Yes--you know Madame Durrand?"

The Marquis nodded. "I have met her several times."

"I'm glad!" said she. "It may help me to prove my case."

"Madame is her own proof," was the answer.

For which answer he drew such a smile from Edith Clephane that in comparison the secretary's smile was simply as nothing.

"Your Excellency overwhelms me," she replied. "I'm positively trembling with apprehension lest I fail to--" she dropped into English--"make good."

He laughed lightly. "You will make good!" he replied, also in English, "Pray proceed."

And Mrs. Clephane told him the whole story, from the time she met Madame Durrand on the steamer to the present moment--omitting only the immaterial personal portions occurring between Harleston and herself, and the fact that his taxi had escorted hers until she was at the Emba.s.sy.

Her narrative was punctuated throughout by the Marquis's constant exclamations of wonder or interest; but further than exclaiming, in the nervous French way, he made no interruption.

And on the whole, she told her story well; at first she was a little nervous, which made her somewhat at a loss for words; yet that soon pa.s.sed, and her tale flowed along with delightful ease.

"Now you have been a wonderfully gracious listener, your Excellency,"

she ended, "ask whatever questions you wish in regard to the matter; I shall be only too glad to answer if I am able."

"Madame's narrative has been most detailed and most satisfactory," the Marquis answered. "But let me ask you to explain, if you can, why Madame Durrand has not made a written report of this matter to the Emba.s.sy?"

"I have no idea--unless she is ill."

"Broken bones do not usually prevent one from writing, or dictating, a letter."

"It _is_ peculiar!" Mrs. Clephane admitted.

"What is the name of the hospital?" the Marquis asked.

"In the hurry and excitement I quite forgot to ask the name," she replied. "The station officials selected it. I was thinking of her--Madame Durrand, I mean--more than the name of the hospital. I don't even know the street; though it's somewhere in the locality of the station. It is dreadfully stupid of me, your Excellency, not to know--but I don't."

"We can remedy that very readily," he said, and pressed a b.u.t.ton. His secretary responded. "Telephone our Consul-General in New York to ascertain immediately from the railroad officials the hospital to which Madame Durrand, who broke her ankle and wrist in the Pennsylvania Station, at ten o'clock on Monday, was taken."

The secretary saluted and withdrew.

"Might not our friends the enemy have bribed someone to suppress Madame Durrand's letter or wire?" Mrs. Clephane asked.

"Very possibly. It is entirely likely that they wouldn't be apt to stop with the accident."

"You think they were responsible for Madame Durrand's fall?" she exclaimed.

"Have you forgotten the man who jostled Madame Durrand?" the Marquis reminded.

"To be sure! How stupid not to think of it. You see, your Excellency, I am not accustomed to the ways of diplomacy and to a.s.suming every one's a rogue until he proves otherwise."

"You have a poor opinion of diplomats!" he smiled.

"Not of diplomats, only of their professional ways. And as they all have the same ways, it's fair, I suppose, among one another."

"Did you tell Monsieur Harleston your opinion of our vocation?" he asked.