Part 48 (1/2)
The figure of a man glided from behind the worn screen close by her side, and stood between her and the door.
”Madame!” De Grost said, bowing low.
Even then she scarcely realized that she was trapped. ”You?” she cried.
”You, Baron? But I do not understand. You have followed me here?”
”On the contrary, Madame,” he answered. ”I have preceded you.”
Her colossal vanity triumphed over her natural astuteness. The man had employed spies to watch her! He had lost his head. It was an awkward matter, this, but it was to be arranged. She held out her hands.
”Monsieur,” she said, ”let me beg you now to go away. If you care to, come and see me this evening. I will explain everything. It is a little family affair which brings me here.”
”A family affair, Madame, with Bernadine, the enemy of France,” De Grost declared, gravely.
She collapsed miserably, her fingers grasping at the air, the cry which broke from her lips harsh and unnatural. Before he could tell what was happening, she was on her knees before him.
”Spare me,” she begged, trying to seize his hands.
”Madame,” De Grost answered, ”I am not your judge. You will kindly hand over to me the doc.u.ment which you are carrying.”
She took it from the bosom of her dress. De Grost glanced at it, and placed it in his breast-pocket.
”And now?” she faltered.
De Grost sighed--she was a very beautiful woman.
”Madame,” he said, ”the career of a spy is, as you have doubtless sometimes realized, a dangerous one.”
”It is finished,” she a.s.sured him, breathlessly. ”Monsieur le Baron, you will keep my secret? Never again, I swear it, will I sin like this. You, yourself, shall be the trustee of my honor.”
Her eyes and arms besought him, but it was surely a changed man--this.
There was none of the suaveness, the delicate responsiveness of her late host at Porchester House. The man who faced her now possessed the features of a sphinx. There was not even pity in his face.
”You will not tell my husband?” she gasped.
”Your husband already knows, Madame,” was the quiet reply. ”Only a few hours ago I proved to him whence had come the leakage of so many of our secrets lately.”
She swayed upon her feet.
”He will never forgive me,” she cried.
”There are others,” De Grost declared, ”who forgive more rarely, even, than husbands.”
A sudden illuminating flash of horror told her the truth. She closed her eyes and tried to run from the room.
”I will not be told,” she screamed. ”I will not hear. I do not know who you are. I will live a little longer.”
”Madame,” De Grost said, ”the Double-Four wages no war with women, save with spies only. The spy has no s.e.x. For the sake of your family, permit me to send you back to your husband's house.”