Bazaine wavered. Then he smiled. This Mexican bride of his was Mexican all the time; and French, sometimes not at all. She had not the big trust in the pantalons rouges when it came to those Yankees.

"But, Pancho mio," she went on softly, "now for the real reason, the one that holds you back. It is your Emperor Napoleon, verdad? You think that he does not want this offer to reach Maximilian. Bien, have you had any intimation of what he wants? Any orders? Of course you haven't. Then save this American. Look at me--Don Pancho, I say-if----"

"Sapristi, call the girl in! No, first I must have----"

When madame could free herself from what he must have, she opened the door and triumphantly called to Jacqueline's maid.

A half-hour later, in one of the marshal's own carriages, Berthe returned to the castle of Chapultepec. At once she hastened to her mistress's apartments, and confessed what she had done. Still in the blue flowered calico, with the dust of their frantic ride still on her, Jacqueline was seated before a little desk. Her head was buried in her arms, and her loosened hair fell like a shower of copper over her shoulders. She did not move as Berthe entered, nor give any sign. But when in a word the story was told, she got to her feet and stared blankly at the girl. Berthe expected dismissal, but the next instant two arms were about her, and lips were pressed to hers, and hot tears, not her own, wetted her cheek.

"Berthe, you little addle-pated goose! You--oh you little ninny, you, you----" Her phrases were broken by laughter, then by an uncontrollable peal that was near a shriek, "Little, little fool, dost thou know, thou hast this night lost to France fifteen thousand leagues of empire?

Thou--thou----" Yet kisses were again the portion of the thief of fifteen thousand leagues.

"But do you think they will be in time, Berthe? Yes, yes, you've answered that once. And Michel leads them, you say?"

"Oui, madame, Monsieur Ney was most eager to go, above all when His Excellency gave him Frenchmen to command. They are the cuira.s.siers. They will surely save the American monsieur."

"But will they be in time? Yes, yes, I think I've asked that already."

Her hysteric glee, changing to anxiety, now changed as quickly to something else. Her face went deathly white, the pretty jaws set hard, and there was the glint of resolution in the gray eyes. She seized a cloak and threw it about her.

"Come," she said to the maid.

"Madame is going----"

"Yes, to _undo_ your mischief. Bazaine must send to overtake Ney, must command him _not_ to interfere with the execution. Bazaine will do this, when I see him."

"But you will not find His Excellency to-night. Madame la Marechale ordered the carriage for them both, as I was leaving there."

"Indeed? Then she knew you were coming here to me? Then she did not mention where they were going?"

"No, madame."

"Of course not. Oh, she is cunning, your Madame la Marechale!"

Alas for Jacqueline! She might conquer herself, but add to herself a second woman against her, and she was beaten. She confessed defeat by throwing off the cloak.

"Tuxtla is far, you think they will--will----"

"Oh I think they will, madame!"

"Say you _know_ they will! Say it, Berthe, say it!"

"Oh, I hope so, madame. Monsieur the American is lucky."

The American? Somehow the blood swept hotly into Jacqueline's cheeks.

"Say they will _not_ save him, Berthe. Say no, no, no!" she commanded, and imperiously stamped her foot, but stamp as she would, her furious shame was there still, flaunting its glorious color. She was thinking of her letter, of her avowal to a doomed man. After that, _any_ man was under obligations to get himself shot. Only, this one was of a contrary fibre.

In such an April mood, Jacqueline was capable of yet another caprice.

"Berthe," she cried, even as the whim came, "one is tired after playing the goose, n'est-ce pas? Do you, then, rest--yes, yes, while I comb your hair."

"Madame!" Berthe protested with what breath astonishment left her.

"Do ye call me chief?" demanded the mistress. "Then, de grace, sit still! And why shouldn't I, parbleu? If it took our big French Revolution to throw me up an ancestor out of the common kettle, there has just now been another revolution here"--she pressed a hand against her breast--"to stir me back among the people again. Do you know, dear, that your hair is beautiful!"

And so they were two girls, girl-like, pa.s.sing the evening together.

Of a sudden Jacqueline stopped, the braiding arrested by a most startling thought.

"Grands dieux," she told herself slowly, for it had to be believed, however improbable, "until this very moment I've never once stopped to think of all the emotions I have been having this day. I've never once examined them, and such emotions--Oh, la, la, they're a collection, a veritable museum of creeps! And here I've hurried through that museum, till I've even forgotten my umbrella at the check stand!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

MIKE

"Quand on est aime d'une belle femme, on se tire toujours d'affaire."

--_Zoroaster, vide Voltaire_

The Storm Centre chafed under a mad desire to verify his name, which was not unusual. But it was the first time he had ever craved active danger as an antidote for his thoughts. The sound of bars lifting came as a relief, and he shook off the dark mood and was himself. Before the door opened, he thrust her letter into the candle flame. He had kept it till the last minute, but now he burned it, as she knew he would.

Instead of executioners, he beheld a tray, gripped by chocolate hands.

Involuntarily he looked up to the face above the tray.

"Johnny the Baptist!" he exclaimed. "Well, well, how goes it itself to Your Mercy this evening?"

"Pues bien, senor," returned the Baptist, grinning sheepishly. "Would, would Y'r Mercy like another bath?" The grimace was not unamiable. It betokened that this time he, and not the prisoner, might have a game to play.

"A thousand thanks," replied Driscoll, "but I'll try to make that other bath answer."

"But senor, you wasted it."

"Well, perhaps so. You see, Johnny, it was this way. I had only one bath coming, and on the other hand there were two things to save. Do you know, Johnny, I've been mortified ever since, to think how I squandered my one bath in saving just my life, and how I left my soul to bustle along for itself."

The Baptist drew nearer. "But suppose, senor," he whispered, "suppose the need of absolution was again postponed, even now?"

Driscoll's fork stopped half way to his mouth. There was no superst.i.tion in the affair this time. The once gullible Dragoon, moreover, was playing all the leads. "Of course," Driscoll agreed heartily, "I'd certainly like it right well," and he went on eating. But his wits were in a receptive state, alert for the meaning when it should come. The opening innuendoes exasperated him, for the guard was a clumsy agent.

The man must needs feign a great dread of discovery, and tremble lest his colonel, Don Miguel Lopez, should find him out. As though supper, instead of a shooting squad, did not belie it all?

"Still your move, Johnny," Driscoll had to remind him.

In the end it was to be gathered that Don Benito Juarez, the fugitive Senor Presidente of the fugitive Republic, might welcome an offer of Confederate aid, and 'twas a pity that the condemned senor should have no chance to escape. But if he did escape, he might find his way to the Senor Presidente far off in the state of Chihuahua.

So, the cards were dealt at last. Driscoll looked over his hand. He recognized a crooked game, a game of treachery and dark dealing; but even so he perceived that a trump or two had fallen to him, perhaps unwittingly, and he decided to "sit in for a spell."