was the next question thrown suddenly at Mr. Dundas' head. Now, you see, Mademoiselle, that my story is not dull."

"Am I to hear the rest--according to your protege?" I asked, twisting my handkerchief, as I should have liked to twist G.o.densky's neck, till he had no more breath or wickedness left in him.

"Mr. Dundas tried his best to convince the Juge d'Instruction, a most clever and experienced man, that if he had, as an old friend, brought you a present of diamonds, it was something entirely different, and therefore far removed from this case.

"'Are you not Mademoiselle de Renzie's lover?' was the next enquiry. 'I admire her, as do thousands of others, who also respect her as I do,'

your friend returned very prettily. At last, dearest lady, you begin to see what there is in this string of questions and answers to bring me straight to you?"

"No, Count G.o.densky, I do not," I answered steadily. But a sudden illuminating ray did show me, even as I spoke, what _might_ be in his scheming mind.

"Then I must be clear, and, above all, frank. Du Laurier loves you. You love him. You mean, I think, to marry him. But deeply in love as he is, he is a very proud fellow. He will have all or nothing, if I judge him well; and he would not take for his wife a woman who accepts diamonds from another man, saying as she takes them that he is her lover."

"He wouldn't believe it of me!" I cried.

"There is a way of convincing him. Oh, _I_ shall not tell him! But he shall see in writing all that pa.s.sed between the Juge d'Instruction and Mr. Dundas, unless--"

"Unless?--but I know what you mean to threaten. You repeat yourself."

"Not quite, for I have new arguments, and stronger ones. I want you, Maxine. I mean to have you--or I will crush you, and now you know I can.

Choose."

I sprang up, and looked at him. Perhaps there was murder in my eyes, as for a moment there was in my heart, for he exclaimed:

"Tigeress! You would kill me if you could. But that doesn't make me love you less. Would du Laurier have you if he knew what you are--as he will know soon unless you let me save you? Yet I--I would love you if you were a murderess as well as a--spy."

"It is you who are a spy!" I faltered, now all but broken.

"If I am, I haven't spied in vain. Not only can I ruin you with du Laurier, and before the world, but I can ruin him utterly and in all ways."

"No--no," I gasped. "You cannot. You're boasting. You can do nothing."

"Nothing to-night, perhaps. I'm not speaking of to-night. I am giving you time. But to-morrow--or the day after. It's much the same to me. At first, when I began to suspect that something had been taken from its place, I had no proof. I had to get that, and I did get it--nearly all I wanted. This affair of Dundas might have been planned for my advantage.

It is perfect. All its complications are just so many links in a chain for me. Girard--the man Dundas chose to employ--was the very man I'd sent to England; on what errand, do you think? To watch your friend the British Foreign Secretary. He followed Dundas to Paris on the bare suspicion that there'd been, communication between the two, and he was preparing a report for me when--Dundas called on him."

"What connection can Ivor Dundas' coming to Paris have with Raoul du Laurier?" I dared to ask.

"You know best as to that."

"They have never met. Both are men of honour, and--"

"Men of honour are tricked by women sometimes, and then they have to suffer for being fools, as if they had been villains. Think what such a man--a man of honour, as you say--would feel when he found out the woman!"

"A woman can be calumniated as well as a man," I said. "You are so unscrupulous you would stoop to anything, I know that. Raoul du Laurier has done nothing; I--I have done nothing of which to be ashamed. Yet you can lie about us, ruin him perhaps by a plot, as if he were guilty, and--and do terrible harm to me."

"I can--without the trouble of lying. And I will, unless you'll give up du Laurier and make up your mind to marry me. I always meant to have you. You are the one woman worthy of me."

"You are the man most unworthy of any woman. But, give me till to-morrow evening--at this time--to decide. Will you promise me that?"

"No, I know what you would do. You would kill yourself. It is what is in your mind now. I won't risk losing you. I have waited long enough already. Give me a ring of yours, and a written word from you to du Laurier, saying that you find you have made a mistake; and not only will I do nothing to injure him, but will guard against the discovery of--you know what. Besides, as a matter of course, I'll bring all my influence to bear in keeping your name out of this or any other scandal. I can do much, everything indeed, for I admit that it was through me the Commissary of Police trapped you with Dundas. I will say that I blundered. I know what to do to save you, and I will do it--for my future wife."

"No power on earth could induce me to break with Raoul du Laurier in the way you wish," I said. "If--if I am to give him up, I must tell him with my own lips, and bid him good-bye. I will do this to-morrow, if you will hold your hand until then."

We looked at each other for a long moment in silence. G.o.densky was trying to read my mind, and to make up his accordingly.

"You swear by everything you hold sacred to break with him to-morrow?"

"By the memory of my father and mother, martyred by bureaucrats like you, I pledge my word that--that--if I can't break with Raoul, to let you know the first thing in the morning, and dare you to do--what you will."

"You will not 'dare' me, I think. And because I think so, I will wait--a little longer."

"Until this time to-morrow?"

"No. For if you cheated me, it would be too late to act for another twelve hours. But I will give you till to-morrow noon. You agree to that?"

"I agree." My lips formed the words. I hardly spoke them; but he understood, and with a flash in his eyes took a step towards me as if to s.n.a.t.c.h my hand. I drew away. He followed, but at this instant Marianne appeared at the door.

"There is a young lady to see Mademoiselle," she announced, her good-natured, open face showing all her dislike of Count G.o.densky. "A young lady who sends this note, begging that Mademoiselle will read it at once, and consent to see her."

Thankful that the tete-a-tete had been interrupted, I held out my hand for the letter. Marianne gave it to me. I glanced at the name written below the lines which only half filled the first page of theatre paper, and found it strange to me. But, even if I had not been ready to s.n.a.t.c.h at the chance of ridding myself immediately of G.o.densky, the few words above the unfamiliar name would have made me say as I did say, "Bring the young lady in at once."

"I come to you from Mr. Dundas, on business which he told me was of the greatest and most pressing importance.

"DIANA FORREST."

That was the whole contents of the note; but a dozen sheets closely filled with arguments could not have moved me more.

CHAPTER XVIII

MAXINE MEETS DIANA

G.o.densky was obliged to take his leave, which he did abruptly, but to all appearance with a good grace; and when he was gone Marianne ushered in a girl--a tall, beautiful girl in a grey tailor dress built by an artist.

For such time as it might have taken us to count twelve, we looked at each other; and as we looked, a little clock on the mantel softly chimed the quarter hour. In fifteen minutes I should be due upon the stage.

The girl was very lovely. Yes, lovely was the right word for her--lovely and lovable. She was like a fresh rose, with the morning dew of youth on its petals--a rose that had budded and was beginning to bloom in a fair garden, far out of reach of ugly weeds. I envied her, for I felt how different her sweet, girl's life had been from my stormy if sometimes brilliant career.

"Mr. Dundas sent you to me?" I asked. "When did you see him? Surely not--since--"

"This afternoon," she answered quietly, in a pretty, un-English sounding voice, with a soft little drawl of the South in it. "I went to see him.

They gave us five minutes. A warder was there; but speaking quickly in Spanish, just a few words, he--Mr. Dundas--managed to tell me a thing he wished me to do. He said it meant more than his life, so I did it; for we have been friends, and just now he's helpless. The warder was angry, and stopped our conversation at once, though the five minutes weren't ended. But I understood. Mr. Dundas said there wasn't a moment to lose."

"Yet that was in the afternoon, and you only come to me at this hour!" I exclaimed.

"I had something else to do first," she said, in the same quiet voice.

She was looking down now, not at me, and her eyelashes were so long that they made a shadow on her cheeks. But the blood streamed over her face.