Part 11 (1/2)

”I fail to understand,” I said, stonily. ”A commission from some one else? Are my services, then, at the command of any one who condescends to require them?”

He put out his hand deprecatingly.

”I imagined,” I said, fluttering my fan viciously, ”that I dealt with diplomats who regarded my service as much their secret as my own;” and I spoke with warmth, for I felt I had deserved better of him than this.

From my heart I loved these commissions for the excitement they afforded me, and not for mere gain; for what was that to me? My most hazardous adventure brought me the souvenir I chose--a plain gold bangle engraved with the date; my most romantic, a diamond necklace worthy of an empress.

Monsieur Roche stayed the fan that I was fluttering wildly in my indignation, and gently took my fingers in his own.

”Why is a woman the sternest critic--the harshest judge of her best friends?” he asked. ”You are an accomplished woman, a clever woman, a beautiful woman, and yet--”

”Simply a woman,” I interjected.

”And therefore as lacking in reason as all others of your s.e.x, and as p.r.o.ne to jump at erroneous conclusions. No one in the world knows of what you call your Secret Service save those whom you have met and defeated, and they would be the last to proclaim it.”

I felt miserably repentant--what creatures of impulse even the cleverest of women are!--so, smiling upon him, I handed back the fan.

”The vanquished must deliver up his sword,” I cried. ”I own I was in the wrong, so take a woman's weapon as a sign.”

”My dearest friend is in Paris,” he said, as he slowly waved the ostrich-plumes, ”and in great trouble.”

I glanced interestedly towards him as he continued:

”Prince Humbert of Elvirna is the man; the trouble, Prince Ferdinand, his son; the cause, as usual, a woman.”

”Cheap cynicism but poorly becomes a man of intellect, much less a diplomat, monsieur.”

”Then I will amend the phrase,” he answered, contritely, ”and say the cause, a woman, and leave 'as usual' out.”

”It is strange that man, who owes all that is the better part of his life to woman, should so often make her the object of his sneers,” I observed.

”Strange, save that he so often owes all that is the worst,” he answered, with a pa.s.sing shade of irritation. ”This young fool, this man, who must marry for the good of the tiny kingdom which will be his own some day, has chosen--”

”To follow his own affections,” I interrupted, with a smile.

”Tus.h.!.+ He has chosen to become enamored of the _pa.s.see_ charms of a third-rate actress--an adventuress searching for youthful fools with simple hearts and simple brains who cannot discriminate between nature and art, and would never credit the brightness of their siren's eyes was due to belladonna.”

”He will get over it, _mon cher_. Even you, I doubt not, have had your weaknesses.”

Monsieur scowled at my covert allusion, but ignored it.

”Do you think that this wretched play-actress will give him an opportunity until it is too late?” he asked. ”He now lives in Arcadia, wanders from morn till eve in leafy woods, whispering sentimental folly and admiring sunsets, living only in the light of his G.o.ddess's eyes, cooing with this soiled dove, while his father vainly implores for his return to reason and to duty.”

”And the remedy, _mon cher_?”

”Yourself.”

”I scarcely comprehend.”

”The boy is only infatuated. Infatuation gives way to greater temptation. He would fall madly in love with the first fresh, pretty face he saw.”

”Thank you, monsieur!” I cried, with mock indignation, and, rising, I courtesied to the ground before the perplexed gaze of my friend, who s.h.i.+vered at his blunder.