Part 12 (2/2)

With the first thrill of pleasure I had felt since I knew that the treaty had disappeared I lifted the beautiful diamonds from the box, and slipped them into a small embroidered bag of pink and silver brocade which lay on the table. It was a foolish but pretty little bag, which a friend had made and sent to me at the theatre a few nights ago, and was intended to carry a purse and handkerchief. But I had never used it yet.

Now it seemed a convenient receptacle for the necklace, and I suddenly planned out my way of giving it to Raoul.

At first, earlier in the evening, I had meant to put the diamonds in his hands and say, ”See what I have for you!” But now I had changed my mind, because he must be induced to go away as quickly as possible--quite, quite away from the theatre, so that there would be no danger of his seeing Count G.o.densky at the stage door. I was not sorry that Raoul was jealous, because, as he said, his jealousy was a compliment to me; and it is possible only for a cold man never to be jealous of a woman in my profession, who lives in the eyes of the world. But I did not want him to be jealous of the Russian; and he would be horribly jealous, if he thought that he had the least cause.

If I showed him the diamonds now, he would want to stop and talk. He would ask me questions which I would rather not answer until I'd seen Ivor Dundas again, and knew better what to say--whether truth or fiction. Still, I wished Raoul to have the necklace to-night, because it would mean all the difference to him between constant, gnawing anxiety, and the joy of deliverance. Let him have a happy night, even though I was sending him away, even though I did not know what to-morrow might bring, either for him or for me.

I tied the gold cords of the bag in two hard knots, and went out with it to Raoul in the next room.

”This holds something precious,” I said, smiling at him, and making a mystery. ”You'll value the something, I know--partly for itself, partly because I--because I've been at a lot of trouble to get it for you. When you see it, you'll be more resigned not to see me--just for tonight. But you're to write me a letter, please, and describe accurately every one of your sensations on opening the bag. Also, you may say in your letter a few kind things about me, if you like. And I want it to come to me when I first wake up to-morrow morning. So go now, dearest, and have the sensations, and write about them. I shall be thinking of you every minute, asleep or awake.”

”Why mayn't I look now?” asked Raoul, taking the soft ma.s.s of pink and silver from me, in the nice, clumsy way a big man has of handling a woman's things.

”Because--just _because_. But perhaps you'll guess why, by and by,” I said. Then I held up my face to be kissed, and he bundled the small bag away in an inside pocket of his coat, as carelessly as if it held nothing but a handkerchief and a pair of gloves.

”Be careful!” I couldn't help exclaiming. But I don't think he heard, for he had me in his arms and was kissing me as if he knew the fear in my heart--the fear that it might be for the last time.

CHAPTER X

MAXINE DRIVES WITH THE ENEMY

When Raoul was gone I made Marianne hurry me out of the cloth-of-gold and filmy tissue in which the unfortunate Princess Helene had died, and into the black gown in which the almost equally unfortunate Maxine had come to the theatre. I did not even stop to take off my make-up, for though the play was an unusually short one, and all the actors and actresses had followed my example of prompt readiness for all four acts, it lacked twenty minutes of twelve when I was dressed. I had to see Count G.o.densky, get rid of him somehow, and still be in time to keep my appointment with Ivor Dundas, for which I knew he would strain every nerve not to be late.

My electric carriage would be at the stage door, and my plan was to speak to G.o.densky, if he were waiting, if possible learn in a moment or two whether he had really found out the truth, and then act accordingly.

But if I could avoid it, I meant, in any case, to put off a long conversation until later.

I had drawn my veil down before walking out of the theatre, yet G.o.densky knew me at once, and came forward. Evidently he had been watching the door.

”Good-evening,” he said. ”A hundred congratulations.”

He put out his hand, and I had to give him mine, for my chauffeur and the stage-door keeper (to say nothing of Marianne, who followed me closely), and several stage-carpenters, with other employes of the theatre, were within seeing and hearing distance. I wanted no gossip, though that was exactly what might best please Count G.o.densky.

”I got your note,” I answered, in Russian, though he had spoken in French. ”What is it you want to see me about?”

”Something that can't be told in a moment,” he said. ”Something of great importance.”

”I'm very tired,” I sighed. ”Can't it wait until to-morrow?”

I tried to ”draw” him, and to a certain extent, I succeeded.

”You wouldn't ask that question, if you guessed what--I know,” he replied.

Was it a bluff, or did he know--not merely suspect--something?

”I don't understand you,” I said quietly, though my lips were dry.

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