"Oh! It was supposed at the time that all of Herr Wilner's personal property was destroyed when the school and compound burned. Do you happen to know just what was saved, mademoiselle?"

Of course I immediately thought of the bronze demon, the box of instruments, and the photographs and papers at home with which I used to play as a child. I remembered my father had said that these things were taken on board the _Oneida_ when he, my mother, and I were rescued by marines and sailors from our guard vessel which came through the Bosporus to the Black Sea, and which escorted us to the _Oneida_. And I was just going to tell this to Izzet Bey when I also remembered what the Princess had just told me about giving any information to Ahmed Pasha. So I merely opened my eyes very innocently and gazed at Colonel Izzet and shook my head as though I did not understand his question.

The next instant the Princess came in to see what I was about so long, and she looked at Izzet Bey with a funny sort of smile, as though she had surprised him in mischief and was not angry, only amused. And when Colonel Izzet bowed, I saw how red his face had grown--as red as his fez.

The Princess laughed and said in French: "That is the difference between professional and amateur--between Nizam and Redif--between Ahmed Pasha and our esteemed but very youthful attache--who has much yet to learn about that endless war called Peace!"

I didn't know what she meant, but Izzet Bey turned a bright scarlet, bowed again, and returned to the smoking room.

And that night, while Suzanne was unhooking me, Princess Naa came into my bedroom and asked me some questions, and I told her about the box of instruments and the diary, and the slippery linen papers covered with drawings and German writing, with which I used to play.

She said never to mention them to anybody, and that I should never permit anybody to examine those military papers, because it might be harmful to America.

How odd and how thrilling! I am most curious to know what all this means. It seems like an exciting story just beginning, and I wonder what such a girl as I has to do with secrets which concern the Turkish Charge in Paris.

Don't you think it promises to be romantic? Do you suppose it has anything to do with spies and diplomacy and kings and thrones, and terrible military secrets? One hears a great deal about the emba.s.sies here being hotbeds of political intrigue. And of course France is always thinking of Alsace and Lorraine, and there is an ever-present danger of war in Europe.

Mr. Neeland, it thrills me to pretend to myself that I am actually living in the plot of a romance full of mystery and diplomacy and dangerous possibilities. I _hope_ something will develop, as something always does in novels.

And alas, my imagination, which always has been vivid, needed almost nothing to blaze into flame. It is on fire now; I dream of courts and armies, and amba.s.sadors, and spies; I construct stories in which I am the heroine always--sometimes the interesting and temporary victim of wicked plots; sometimes the all-powerful, dauntless, and adroit champion of honour and righteousness against treachery and evil!

Did you ever suppose that I still could remain such a very little girl? But I fear that I shall never outgrow my imagination. And it needs almost nothing to set me dreaming out stories or drawing pictures of castles and princes and swans and fairies. And even this letter seems a part of some breathlessly interesting plot which I am not only creating but actually a living part of and destined to act in.

Do you want a part in it? Shall I include you? Rather late to ask your permission, for I have already included you. And, somehow, I think the Yellow Devil ought to be included, too.

Please write to me, just once. But don't speak of the papers which father had, and don't mention Herr Conrad Wilner's box if you write.

The Princess says your letter might be stolen.

I am very happy. It is rather cold tonight, and presently Suzanne will unhook me and I shall put on such a pretty negligee, and then curl up in bed, turn on my reading light with the pink shade, and continue to read the new novel recommended to me by Princess Naa, called "Le Crime de Sylvestre Bonnard." It is a perfectly darling story, and Anatole France, who wrote it, must be a darling, too. The Princess knows him and promises that he shall dine with us some day. I expect to fall in love with him immediately.

Good night, dear Mr. Neeland. I _hope_ you will write to me.

Your little Gayfield friend grown up, Ruhannah Carew.

This letter he finally did answer, not voluminously, but with all cordiality. And, in a few days, forgot about it and about the girl to whom it was written. And there was nothing more from her until early summer.

Then came the last of her letters--an entirely mature missive, firm in writing, decisive, concise, self-possessed, eloquent with an indefinite something which betrayed a calmly ordered mind already being moulded by discipline _mondaine_:

My dear Mr. Neeland:

I had your very kind and charming letter in reply to mine written last January. My neglect to answer it, during all these months, involves me in explanations which, if you like, are perhaps due you. But if you require them at all, I had rather surrender them to you personally when we meet.

Possibly that encounter, so happily antic.i.p.ated on my part, may occur sooner than you believe likely. I permit myself to hope so. The note which I enclose to you from the lady whom I love very dearly should explain why I venture to entertain a hope that you and I are to see each other again in the near future.

As you were kind enough to inquire about myself and what you describe so flatteringly as my "amazing progress in artistic and worldly wisdom," I venture to reply to your questions in order:

They seem to be pleased with me at the school. I have a life-drawing "on the wall," a composition sketch, and a "_concours_" study in oil.

That I have not burst to atoms with pride is a miracle inexplicable.

I have been told that my progress at the piano is fair. But I am very certain I shall do no more with vocal and instrumental music than to play and sing acceptably for such kind and uncritical friends as do not demand much of an amateur. Without any unusual gifts, with a rather sensitive ear, and with a very slightly cultivated and perfectly childish voice--please do not expect anything from me to please you.

In French I am already becoming fluent. You see, except for certain lessons in it, I have scarcely heard a word of English since I came here; the Princess will not use it to me nor permit its use by me. And therefore, my ear being a musical one and rather accurate, I find--now that I look back upon my abysmal ignorance--a very decided progress.

Also let me admit to you--and I have already done so, I see--that, since I have been here, I have had daily lessons in English with a cultivated English woman; and in consequence I have been learning to enlarge a very meagre vocabulary, and have begun to appreciate possibilities in my own language of which I never dreamed.

About my personal appearance--as long as you ask me--I think perhaps that, were I less thin, I might be rather pretty. Dress makes such a vast difference in a plain girl. Also, intelligent care of one's person improves mediocrity. Of course everybody says such gracious things to a girl over here that it would not do to accept any pretty compliment very literally. But I really believe that you might think me rather nice to look at.

As for the future, the truth is that I feel much encouraged. I made some drawings in wash and in pen and ink--just ideas of mine. And Monsieur Bonvard, who is editor of _The Grey Cat_--a very clever weekly--has accepted them and has paid me twenty-five francs each for them! I was so astonished that I could not believe it. One has been reproduced in last week's paper. I have cut it out and pasted it in my sc.r.a.pbook.

I think, take it all in all, that seeing my first ill.u.s.trations printed has given me greater joy than I shall ever again experience on earth.

My daily intercourse with the Princess Mistchenka continues to comfort me, inspire me, and fill me with determination so to educate myself that when the time comes I shall be ready and able to support myself with pen and pencil.

And now I must bring my letter to its end. The prospect of seeing you very soon is agreeable beyond words. You have been very kind to me. I do not forget it.

Yours very sincerely, Ruhannah Carew.

The enclosure was a note from the Princess Mistchenka:

Dear Jim:

If in the past it has been my good fortune to add anything to yours, may I now invoke in you the memory of our very frank and delightful friendship?

When you first returned to America from Paris I found it possible to do for you a few favours in the way of making you known to certain editors. It was, I a.s.sure you, merely because I liked you and believed in your work, not because I ever expected to ask from you any favour in return.

Now, Fate has thrown an odd combination from her dice-box; and Destiny has veiled herself so impenetrably that n.o.body can read that awful visage to guess what thoughts possess her.

You, in America, have heard of the murder of the Austrian Archduke, of course. But--have you, in America, any idea what the consequences of that murder may lead to?

Enough of that. Now for the favour I ask.

Will you go _at once_ to Brookhollow, go to Ruhannah's house, open it, take from it a chest made of olive wood and bound with some metal which looks like silver, lock the box, take it to New York, place it in a safe deposit vault until you can sail for Paris on the first steamer that leaves New York?

Will you do this--get the box I have described and bring it to me yourself on the first steamer that sails?

And, Jim, keep your eye on the box. Don't trust anybody near it. Rue says that, as she recollects, the box is about the size and shape of a suitcase and that it has a canvas and leather cover with a handle which b.u.t.tons over it.

Therefore, you can carry it yourself exactly as though it were your suitcase, keep it with you in the train and on shipboard.

Will you do this, Jim? It is much to ask of you. I break in upon your work and cause you great inconvenience and trouble and expense.

But--will you do it for me?