' 
 
 :< f f 

 
 A New Race Diplomatist
 
 " I LOVK A WOMAN HOPELESSLY" 
 
 Page 56
 
 A 
 
 New Race Diplomatist 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 e Bullard Waterbury 
 
 AUTHOR or "AN AMERICAN ASPIRANT" 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 EDOUARD CUCUEL 
 
 PHILADELPHIA & LONDON 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 1900 
 

 
 COPYRIGHT, 1899, 
 
 BY 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 AND PRINTED BY J. B. LlPWNCOTT COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA. U.S.A.
 
 Les barrieres servant & indiquer oh il faut passer." 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I PAGE 
 
 THE AMERICAN POINT OF VIEW ............. 9 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 COUNTERPARTS ...................... 15 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 AT GNARLWOOD ................. .... 24 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT .............. a8 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW .............. 36 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP ................. 49 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 A VERY GREAT LADY .................. 60 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 THE UNDERTOW ..................... 6 S 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY . ................... 7 1 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 THE FRONTIER ...................... 78 
 
 vii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 ACTION ......................... 87 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE ............... 97 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 REMINISCENT ....................... 108 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S ................... 112 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 HALF-PAST Two A.M .................... 121 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS ................ 125 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP ................... 133 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 A RETROSPECT ...................... 143 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 UNMASKED ........................ 151 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 A SIGNIFICANT FRUSTRATION ............... 159 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE ............... 165 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK ............. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG ................ 183 
 
 viii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV PACK 
 
 AN UNGUARDED PROCEEDING 190 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 A DISCLOSURE 196 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 206 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 THE AMBASSADOR ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 214 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 A LIGHT WITH SHADOWED RAYS 222 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 CHECKMATE 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 AT CAREMBOURG 237 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 DEFIANCE 243 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 ON THE TRAIL . . . 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 CLOSING IN 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 266 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 FOUND 274 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 BETWEEN DARK AND DAYLIGHT 282 
 
 ix
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII ,AGR 
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 286 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL 298 
 
 CHAPTER XXXLX 
 THE AMBASSADRESS'S STORY 304 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 JACK'S STORY 311 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 THE SIGN AT THE CROSS-ROADS 320 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 THE TRIAL 325 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 MARIOTTI'S DEFENCE 335 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 THE ULTIMATUM 343 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 MARKOE'S STORY 351 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 THE AMBASSADOR'S REPORT 362
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 V* 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " I LOVE A WOMAN HOPELESSLY" Frontispiece 
 
 TRANSFIXED AT THE PICTURE SHE MADE 32 
 
 "I HAVE TO THANK You FOR A NEW EXPERIENCE," HE SAID . 168 
 
 "THE QUICKER HE is REMOVED THE BETTER" 279 
 
 "You ARE BOLD INDEED, MONSIEUR, TO ACCUSE LAMBALLE" . 348
 
 A New Race Diplomatist 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE AMERICAN POINT OF VIEW 
 
 ' ' THE post will be no sinecure in the forthcoming in- 
 stance," asserted the newly-sworn-in President. "It will 
 govern an international complication." 
 
 ' ' Carried over ?' ' inquired Markoe. 
 
 "Let us first dismiss the point in hand," was the cau- 
 tious response. 
 
 Markoe had stepped into the private office of the na- 
 tion's chief in answer to a summons he had received the 
 day before. 
 
 It was a week since the President had sat at his desk 
 with a sketched plan before him ; a chart which indicated 
 an unfaltering memory, and a unique faculty for general- 
 ship. Below it were written three names, Burroughs, 
 Spencer, and Markoe. 
 
 To-day Markoe stood before him, an individual who was 
 dreaded more, understood less, yet felt to a larger extent 
 than any man within the political radius out of office. 
 
 The alluded-to complication involved a dispute over the 
 attainment of American rights to erect factories at a place 
 on the frontier between France and Alsace-Lorraine, in 
 which to fabricate domestic goods by aid of foreign ingre- 
 dients.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 In lesser monopolies this right had been bought, grasped, 
 and held ; the ground had been broken and built on. In 
 the present case, where Germany might in a measure profit 
 off the requisite if merely temporary establishment of a 
 colony of manufacturers and their families, a hint, adminis- 
 tered through the Bureau of Foreign Affairs, had rung a 
 note of warning which indicated that opposition would be 
 unmitigated, if roused. 
 
 "Burroughs," stated Markoe later, in answer to the 
 President' s somewhat guarded inquiry, ' ' can look on with 
 more ability than any man I know. He is a good listener, 
 a trained observer. He practises discretion ; he plays chess 
 with his adversaries, and his friends even, without either one 
 of them suspecting his game, and he can manoeuvre as 
 deftly as an adjutant on parade. Moreover, he is a linguist 
 of no mean talent, considering the lack of practice from 
 which a stay-at-home suffers. That adjunct of diplomacy 
 will be imperative in the forthcoming issue. ' ' 
 
 Markoe had been informed of France's intolerance 
 through a member of the Cabinet at the President's in- 
 stigation. 
 
 ' ' A good accent, eh ?' ' interpolated the head of the 
 nation slowly, taking up a palm-leaf fan, and waving it to 
 and fro violently, while conspicuously bestowing scant at- 
 tention upon Markoe. ' ' Where did he acquire his knowl- 
 edge, and, if I may ask the question without appearing 
 too personal, why do you consider yourself capable of 
 judging?" 
 
 The President's bidden guest was obliged to turn his 
 head slightly to meet the eyes of his interlocutor with his 
 own. His were colorless. 
 
 The President's were soft as the proverbial murmur of the 
 sucking dove. Yet the two resembled, curiously enough, 
 a pair of racers, with a common goal ; achievement. 
 
 10
 
 THE AMERICAN POINT OF VIEW 
 
 "I was educated in Paris," vouchsafed Markoe, as 
 though registering an insignificant afterthought. ' ' Bur- 
 roughs speaks like the college-bred American. He mas- 
 tered his French grammar once, but he has left it, since, 
 slightly practised. As far as he has gone, it is presentable. 
 He judges France, ' ' humorously, ' ' from the stand-point of 
 the traveller who manages to make himself understood by 
 people whom he considers not worth the effort. He pos- 
 sesses a unique fund of wit. His may be the record of 
 having mastered the game of the century with less expendi- 
 ture of individual force than usual." 
 
 ' ' What' s the game ?' ' inquired the President, idly. He 
 was turning the leaves of a note-book near his elbow. If 
 he were listening, otherwise than superficially, he certainly 
 accorded diplomacy's propounder scant attention in the 
 process. 
 
 " Silence first, " retorted Markoe, concisely, "conscien- 
 tious concentration next, and a master makeshift when 
 requisite. Turn about is fair play in diplomacy, love, and 
 arbitration. ' ' 
 
 The President raised his eyebrows. 
 
 "Your definition," he returned, ponderously, " is ade- 
 quate, if partially prejudiced by, let us say, enthusiasm. I 
 have played I should say I have been quoted as playing 
 diplomacy myself. Is it acquirable, do you think, or 
 innate ?' ' 
 
 " Innate," flashed out Markoe, without an instant's hesi- 
 tation. 
 
 ' ' And you consider Burroughs capable of ' ' 
 
 1 ' Burroughs can play any role. He never commits him- 
 self until thoroughly informed as to his opponent's reserve. 
 He holds the bauble called success in the palm of his 
 hand." 
 
 The President did not speak. The eyes under his heavy
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 seamed lids were invisible. Two moments later he stirred 
 slowly ; he lifted them. They were dull, comparatively 
 lifeless. 
 
 "You think the affair contains possibilities of difficulty?" 
 
 " Undeniably. Your representative will be on the 
 ground, however. He will study his hour and his man. 
 He can manipulate, determine, and command when the 
 time is ripe. He may also keep himself out of any im- 
 broglio by not creating one. ' ' The speaker stopped. An 
 amused smile drifted across his lips. The situation, in his 
 opinion, evidently offered scope for some fine work. ' ' He 
 will battle with a formidable antagonist, ' ' he added. He 
 laughed aloud. 
 
 "Lamballe?" 
 
 "Lamballe." 
 
 ' ' A conservative ?' ' 
 
 ' ' A radical in personal matters ; he was trained conser- 
 vatively. A conservative as regards monopolies out of the 
 new world ; not as to progress in the old. Personally one 
 of the most charming of men, of the ancien regime. The 
 ancien regime is nothing if not chevalresque. I met him 
 some twenty years since at a chateau party in Touraine, 
 where I went hawking with a grande dame of the French 
 aristocracy in her own forest, as exact as possible an imi- 
 tation of Francis I. and his court. In Burroughs' s case it 
 will be a struggle of tact and patience against trained 
 astuteness and the consciousness of pedigree of the dyed- 
 in-the-wool imperialist who has eaten humble pie for the 
 sake of his personal interests, who declines it when it as- 
 sumes the form of an international concession." 
 
 "If we fail ?' ' suggested the President. 
 
 ' ' Ah, that would mean more than the exchange of a few 
 acres to us ; graver results than the loss of good fellowship 
 to them. The deposit is an immense one. The projected 
 
 12
 
 THE AMERICAN POINT OF VIEW 
 
 industry promises mutual benefits. Theirs is a dog-in-the- 
 manger policy at the best. They don't want that chalk 
 bank until we signify a regard for it ; then they cling to it. 
 We are bound to win, though. Burroughs can outwit 
 Lamballe in tenacity and common sense. Besides, his an- 
 tagonist is too intelligent a man to conduct so important a 
 contest when he finds it contains as much for France's 
 good as for ours in anything but an amicable spirit. ' ' 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 ' ' I mean We have the map here, ' ' drawing a sketchily 
 
 traced plan from his pocket, and stretching its curled edges 
 out flat on the table before the President. ' ' You perceive, 
 there is not a stone's throw at this point between Alsace- 
 Lorraine and France. The establishment you propose to 
 erect could stand as well on Prussian foundation as on 
 French soil, if the chalk deposit extends across the border. 
 Do the French reject our offer ' ' 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "We can treat with Prussia. One is as good as the 
 other to us. We have given the preference to France thus 
 far, as I understand it, because our site has been determined. 
 If she meets us half way we are ready to embrace her offer 
 and cede her her rights. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But say she opposes us ?' ' 
 
 ' ' We have her enemies to deal with, then. The land 
 about Carembourg abounds in the material whose principal 
 ingredient is the indispensable adjunct to the fulfilment of our 
 plans. There is also the possibility," continued Markoe, 
 as he folded the piece of badly thumbed paper, to place it 
 in under the flap of his vest-pocket, ' ' of our being accused 
 of collusion with ' ' 
 
 "With ?" 
 
 ' ' Germany. ' ' 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 13
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Markoe subjoined, succinctly, ' ' Burroughs cannot fail if 
 he plays the game as it should be played." 
 
 1 ' I am pleased to have learned your views upon the sub- 
 ject," remarked his listener in a colloquial tone of voice. 
 
 Markoe recognized in it the signal for his dismissal. He 
 rose. 
 
 ' ' You command a wide scope for character insearch in 
 the profession you are at present pursuing, do you not?" 
 inquired the President. 
 
 Markoe lifted his hat off the table before him. 
 
 "A lawyer," he conceded, lightly, "like a family physi- 
 cian, may be said to personally conduct a private character 
 signal bureau." 
 
 "Do you never long to change your field of action, to 
 extend your horizon, to use your hardly acquired knowl- 
 edge pro bono publico rather than lock its mammoth use- 
 fulness within your own breast ?' ' 
 
 Markoe stooped and picked up a paper which had fallen 
 to the floor. He laid it neatly in its place before answering. 
 
 ' ' I have at times believed myself to be possessed of fac- 
 ulties which are as yet unawakened," he finally returned 
 with deliberation, ' ' but, up to the present, no one else hav- 
 ing suspected them, I have deemed it wiser to keep them 
 dormant. ' ' 
 
 He colored a trifle, as though proved guilty of an unen- 
 viable weakness. 
 
 The President rose and walked with his guest towards 
 the door. 
 
 " It's a pity to waste anything," he remarked. " Good 
 morning." 
 
 Markoe crossed the threshold. He closed the door. 
 
 The President stood on the spot where he had taken leave 
 of his guest for some seconds. 
 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 14
 
 COUNTERPARTS 
 
 His words broke against the silence of the room like bell- 
 strokes on a cylinder. Their import conveyed a picture 
 quaint and Puritan- haunted. They were not new, neither 
 were they original. Between the lines an attentive reader 
 could have discovered a gentle rebuke, some humor, and a 
 settled resolve. 
 
 " 'Why don't you speak for yourself, John?' " asked 
 the President. 
 
 A week later, by cable and otherwise, was announced 
 to the civilized world the detail of a totally unexpected 
 appointment : 
 
 "As United States Ambassador at Paris, Stephen W. 
 Markoe. ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 COUNTERPARTS 
 
 MARKOE, notwithstanding his modest opinion of himself, 
 had some years before considerably stirred the sanctum 
 sanctorum of New York's upper set by his uncommonly 
 clever handling of a divorce suit which had been far on the 
 way to becoming a cause celebre. 
 
 It had been whispered that the suppression of what might 
 have been a nauseating record of nineteenth century eroto- 
 mania owed itself to this eminent lawyer's tactful adjustment 
 of secret difficulties ; that a prominent household which 
 headed that army of martyrs facetiously denominated as 
 the "heavy swells," owed its present glowing conjugal 
 prosperity to this wary friend and adviser, who had known 
 just when and how to take the bull by the horns. 
 
 What also edified the onlookers was the fact that Markoe 
 appeared totally undesirous of the prominence his treatment 
 
 '5
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 of the case lent him. He had since pursued the unruffled 
 tenor of his intellectual way apparently unaware of any 
 benefit which might have accrued to him therefrom. 
 
 His wife, one of those winsome, graceful creatures with 
 which the world is too seldom endowed, had drawn a little 
 circle of her own close about her. She was sought far and 
 near, because she dared to carve her own groove in social 
 matters and hold to it. This requires more moral courage 
 than is popularly admitted. Mrs. Markoe was about fifteen 
 years her husband's junior. Three years before this story 
 opens she had been one of the season's beauties. 
 
 When Markoe was notified of the honor the President 
 had conferred upon him he realized at once that, added to 
 his personal and official household, he would stand in need 
 of a sturdy helper ; a friend who, with time to spare, an 
 ample income to call upon, and ability of no mean order, 
 must be close at hand to perform deeds of equal energy 
 and tact. 
 
 He first sought this paragon, without disclosing his need, 
 among his constituents, almost immediately to arrive at 
 the conclusion that it was not in the ranks of the diligent 
 that he was to discover what he sought. Neither among 
 the seekers for place was he to fall upon the individual to 
 fill the difficult post which he had elected to make. The 
 office would be, obviously, unremunerative ; the mission 
 obscure, possibly thankless. He could not request that an 
 able worker, well established, should throw up a good posi- 
 tion for a possibly bad one. He had neither the right nor 
 the inclination. What he could do, however, was to seek 
 a young person of as yet unacknowledged proficiency among 
 the rank and file of idlers which constituted so large a ma- 
 jority of his social acquaintances. 
 
 Markoe held an idler in the faintly contemptuous estima- 
 tion of most men of his calibre who have struggled from 
 
 16
 
 COUNTERPARTS 
 
 preference rather than by force of positive need. The man 
 who did nothing more arduous than ride across country 
 after the fox with the hounds, the man who drifted from 
 summer sea to summer sea in a perfectly appointed yacht 
 searching for new sensations, the man who led cotillons, 
 who golfed inordinately, and flirted subordinately, the 
 pleasure-seeker, the misanthrope, and often, in conse- 
 quence, the voluptuary and the sceptic, he considered in- 
 significant. 
 
 His acquaintances, the young millionaires, he adjudged, 
 perhaps unjustly, to be incompetent. They exemplified a 
 class that was comparatively obnoxious to him in its reck- 
 less expenditure of seemingly misused force. But, oddly 
 enough, he made his choice from among their rank and 
 file. 
 
 He obtained his first glimpse of Jack Conway when the 
 latter was riding across country. Markoe stood in a buck- 
 wheat-field giving final directions to his head gardener con- 
 cerning his stewardship during the coming Ambassador's 
 enforced absence from the United States. 
 
 The young figure came whirling through the air, which 
 was spicily fragrant with the odor of pine, like an embodi- 
 ment of vim and recklessness. The mare on which he was 
 astride was a beast with clean fetlocks and roving eyes, 
 fiery, neatly set up, and thoroughbred, like her rider. 
 
 The two cleared a stone wall with ease. Markoe drew 
 back instinctively as she trotted forward to slip her nose 
 into Fownes's evidently familiar hand. 
 
 "She's a daisy, Fownes, and no mistake," cried the 
 young fellow, cheerily, as he slid off her back, and began 
 beating the mud from his top-boots with his whip. 
 
 His eyes then fell on Markoe. He lifted his riding-cap, 
 
 disclosing a small, well-formed head. It was adorned with 
 
 /i ebon hair parted straight in the middle and slicked down 
 
 '7
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 at both sides after the fashion of the day, a deep, rich olive 
 complexion, a clean-cut nose, and a mouth which was 
 marked with a curiously distinct expression of race and 
 will. 
 
 "She's been heatin' 'er 'ead hoff, Mister Jack, an' no 
 mistake ! H' it' s a pity you cawn' t come down of ner to ' er. 
 She's a beauty," said Fownes. 
 
 "Too far," returned Jack, laconically. He was looking 
 at his watch already. 
 
 ' ' I say, Fownes, ' ' he added, rapidly, with an apologetic 
 gesture towards Markoe, a gesture which meant, "You'll 
 understand ; I haven't time to explain," "run her down 
 to the stable, will you," pointing to a barn some rods 
 distant ; "you'll find a boy there to attend to her. Haven't 
 time to do it myself and catch the train. Miscalculated." 
 He pitched Fownes a quarter, and made off. There was 
 the whistle of the locomotive. 
 
 In a second the tall, slim figure had scrambled across the 
 top rail of a neighboring fence, and was scurrying across 
 an open field in hot haste. Markoe and Fownes watched 
 him anxiously until he was dragged ignominiously to the 
 platform of the train just moving off. 
 
 The young fellow waved his cap to them gleefully, after 
 he had gathered himself to his feet. 
 
 "Jack who?" inquired Markoe, idly. 
 
 " Conway, sir. 'Is mother owns that big place, Gnarl- 
 wood, up in Westchester County. ' E' s the richest visitor 
 in these parts, an' as easy-goin' an' simple as a child. 
 There ain' t a cat about ' ere but luvs ' im. ' As more than 
 fifteen 'osses down below there at Tuttles's trainin' fur a 
 steeple-chase that's comin' hoff at White Plains next month. 
 'E'sasport an' no mistake. There ain't a blud in the 
 ole country could beat 'im fur luv o' hanimals. " 
 
 It was plain that Fownes knew of what he spoke. 
 
 18
 
 COUNTERPART 
 
 ' ' Conway !' ' ejaculated Markoe. ' ' Not the son of Mrs. 
 Livingstone Conway ? But yes, yes," as Fownes began to 
 scratch his head dubiously, ' ' to be sure. He must be that 
 age by this time. How time flies ! He is the same indi- 
 vidual of whom Somers spoke to me recently." 
 
 " 'E's a thoroughbred, sir," confirmed Fownes solemnly. 
 
 ' ' Why, there ain' t a groom on Long Island don' t luv 
 Mister Jack. ' E' s that friendly-like. ' ' 
 
 "Mm," rejoined Markoe. 
 
 Later he escorted his wife to a ball at the Randolphs 
 
 The cotillon took place after supper. Its leader was 
 Jack Conway. From remarks that were let fall here and 
 there Markoe had already discovered him to be one of the 
 most popular in the dancing set. 
 
 He learned, moreover, that he was feared a little for his 
 cut and dried cynicisms and expressed distaste for anything 
 but the most daring of escapades, and adored for his devo- 
 tion to his mother, to whom he owed his position of social 
 prominence, and for the enormous wealth over which she 
 stood trustee. 
 
 Mrs. Conway was a widow. She was exceedingly beau- 
 tiful. Blessed with a large personal income she had married 
 a colossal fortune, and at the same time given evidence of 
 superlatively cool judgment. 
 
 In many respects she was a remarkable woman. She 
 was an acknowledged leader, could unmake social reputa- 
 tions with a shrug of her polished shoulders, and bestowed 
 her attention on nothing unworthy of her consideration. 
 For her seldom mistaken perspicacity she was an acknowl- 
 edged power in her world. 
 
 Naturally that world had accepted her at her own valua- 
 tion, an apparently exalted one. 
 
 If it forgot, in its subservience to her great wealth, that 
 character alone has been known to merit distinction, this 
 
 19
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 was possibly because that major supremacy is often over- 
 looked in the rush and go of life by those who hold high 
 places. 
 
 The cotillon, held in the famous Louis XIV. drawing- 
 room, was as pretty a sight as even an overworked man of 
 the world, a little disgruntled with a coming revolution in 
 his methodical arrangements, could have wished. 
 
 In the midst of the third set the dancers got tangled up 
 through lack of attentiveness or effervescence of spirits. 
 
 Conway had been unflagging in his attempts to make the 
 affair a success. A close observer could have seen his heart 
 was not in it. He preferred a clover-patch to a boudoir. 
 That preference, up to the present, was the healthiest germ 
 in him. 
 
 But when his favorite figure bade fair to become an 
 enigma, the leader, with a slight flush on his face, cleared 
 the middle of the room with a gesture, knelt on one knee 
 quietly, dotted, with a pencil, starting-points on the polished 
 floor, summarily ordered the dancers into line, as though 
 they were his regiment and he their captain, and in five 
 minutes the set was what he had determined it should be in 
 the beginning, a mathematical calculation. 
 
 He barred it off later with bands of white and rose-colored 
 satin ribbon. As the couples filed by slowly, to the tune of 
 a Waldteufel march, the applause from the onlookers was 
 tremendous and unstinted. 
 
 A half-hour later Markoe approached him. 
 
 Conway' s was a nervous, passionate face with Spanish 
 eyes and blood-red lips ; an odd face among those Anglo- 
 Saxon ones with their perfect control of feature, and the 
 retentive expression in the eyes which passes unremarked 
 unless compared with less well -governed countenances. 
 His conversation was vivid. He could turn a speech into 
 a picture with three words. There was surplus vitality in 
 
 20
 
 COUNTERPARTS 
 
 his light poise which was essentially magnetic. He talked 
 like one who, to conceal the effort it cost to walk un- 
 scathed across hot ploughshares, such as age, death, and 
 loss, emitted platitudes and epigrams whose mission was 
 to conceal the shudder this chance victim apprehended. 
 
 "Ingenious," remarked Markoe in his vibrant voice, 
 pointing to the dots on the floor near them, as he ap- 
 proached. 
 
 Conway glanced across his shoulder at the speaker. He 
 clapped his hands for the dancers to secure partners. 
 
 ' ' I am something of a landscape-gardener, ' ' he ex- 
 plained, smiling. "My mother's place at Gnarlwood, 
 you know. It fretted her when I imported a green hand, 
 and couldn't apprentice him. I have too much time on 
 my hands." 
 
 He gazed dubiously at his slender palms. They were 
 olive-stained, like his face. 
 
 "Enjoy planning?" inquired Markoe, quietly, the next 
 time the intricacies of the dance brought Conway in his 
 direction. Markoe was not dancing himself. 
 
 " My lean is in that direction," returned Conway. " I 
 fancy I have a latent talent for craggy projects which demand 
 manceuvring and mediocre ability." 
 
 " Would you like to use it?" inquired Markoe. His 
 voice was animated. 
 
 Conway was twisting his small black moustache reflec- 
 tively. He had been looking down. He looked up. 
 
 ' ' I like anything, ' ' he ejaculated, with a glance about 
 him to make sure he was not heard, "anything, that is, 
 which means work instead of play, life in place of stagnation. 
 I envy, ' ' harshly, it was astonishing the bitterness the mere 
 words conveyed, " I have always envied the laboring man 
 who earns his right to rest." His eyes were sombre as 
 they met the steady orbs bent full upon him.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Markoe nodded. 
 
 He made Conway feel that he attached small value to his 
 words, but that their import nevertheless was with him in 
 its most exalted sense. 
 
 ' ' Handicapped, ' ' he let forth abruptly. Conway distrib- 
 uted garlands of la France roses among the dancers, and 
 set the orchestra, which was concealed in the gallery above, 
 to playing the pas de quatre before he answered, ' ' What ?' ' 
 
 There were two perpendicular lines between his eyes 
 which seemed to have taken their place by right. He was 
 contemplating Markoe with a puzzled expression. " I 
 can' t altogether see what you mean by ' handicapped, ' " he 
 ejaculated, aggressively, after a moment's reflection. 
 
 Markoe leaned against the wall mutely regarding the 
 dancers. 
 
 " You've been coddled too much," he explained, finally. 
 "You need " 
 
 " I need ?" urged Conway, eagerly. 
 
 "Jostling." 
 
 " How the deuce did you discover that ?" demanded Con- 
 way, abruptly. 
 
 Markoe did not answer. He had a fashion of making 
 his silence convey more than his speech. 
 
 Ten minutes afterwards, Conway had been taken out re- 
 peatedly, and deferred to by more than one man for pre- 
 sentation, Markoe remarked nonchalantly, "You'd like 
 to fight wild tigers, eh ?' ' 
 
 Conway started. 
 
 "Would I?" he rejoined. 
 
 " Why not men?" inquired Markoe, tentatively. 
 
 "Do you call these men," asked Conway, contemptu- 
 ously. He waved a nervous hand in two or three direc- 
 tions ; it fell to his side limply. 
 
 ' ' I presume you have heard of my appointment ?' '
 
 COUNTERPARTS 
 
 "Naturally," responded Conway. The sympathetic 
 lines under his moustache quivered, and then grew still. 
 " Allow me to seize this occasion in which to congratulate 
 you." 
 
 Markoe bowed. 
 
 ' ' The great man, ' ' he stated, Conway suddenly realized 
 that the lines at the corners of the speaker's eyes were 
 essentially keen and shrewd, ' ' is he who grasps his oppor- 
 tunity." The statement seemed impersonal. It was not. 
 
 ' ' I am glad the American nation is to be represented by 
 a citizen of whom we are so justly proud," cried Conway, 
 in a sort of burst which was unusual to him. 
 
 ' ' Drop that, will you ?' ' interpolated Markoe. He lifted 
 his right arm involuntarily, the hand across his eyes, the 
 elbow upward, as though warding off a blow. 
 
 "It's true," insisted Conway, obstinately, " and I'm not 
 the first one to ' ' 
 
 ' ' Would you like to accompany me ?' ' inquired Markoe. 
 
 Conway turned unsteadily, and looked straight at him 
 now. He thought his hearing was becoming defective. It 
 was a whole hour after supper. He wondered. 
 
 " Because if you wish it," continued Markoe, "I have 
 a post at my disposal which I am inclined to believe you 
 might fill." 
 
 ' ' But , ' ' ejaculated Conway. 
 
 ' ' But me no buts, ' ' interpolated the coming Ambassador, 
 with a twinkle. ' ' The question is, will you drop all this, 
 and do the work I shall set you at in Paris and out of it ? 
 It may be a thankless task. It may be a glorious one. 
 The situation contains, in any case," he stopped a moment 
 as though searching for the word which would most clearly 
 express his meaning, "meat," he subjoined. 
 
 "Am I fit for it?" 
 
 ' ' Will you go, or won' t you ?' ' impatiently. 
 
 23
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Conway's hand shot out from his side, and grasped the 
 powerful one which was extended towards him. 
 
 " I go," he said, as though registering a vow. 
 
 "Thanks, don't mention it," returned Markoe, color- 
 lessly. Made aware of an advancing couple he dodged 
 back, and took up his nonchalant position against the wall. 
 
 "It's not official," he remarked to his wife in relating 
 the circumstance, "but that's my business." 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AT GNARLWOOD 
 
 MRS. LIVINGSTONE CONWAY was giving a high tea in 
 honor of the newly-appointed Ambassador to France. The 
 function was held in her famous scarlet dining-room. All 
 New York had come, in drags and by rail, to glorify and 
 be presented. 
 
 The guest of the day, having concluded a conspicuously 
 indigestible repast, stood chatting with his predecessor in 
 a window embrasure at the end of the beautiful room. The 
 ex- Ambassador's countenance, freshened with outdoor exer- 
 cise, ruddy, and lit by a pair of fiery blue orbs, was alert. 
 He was two inches taller than his smooth-faced, steel-eyed 
 interlocutor. 
 
 He measured the latter' s outward stature deprecatingly 
 as the two exchanged opinions. 
 
 ' ' The place has its disadvantages, ' ' he affirmed. ' ' The 
 French possess one talent which they have trained to per- 
 fection, adaptability. France's sins may be laid at the 
 door of too ardent an appreciation of beauty, always. ' ' 
 
 1 ' I am told you regretted the place when it was with- 
 drawn. Have I been correctly informed ?' ' 
 
 24
 
 AT GNARLWOOD 
 
 "I did, and did not. For my family's interests the 
 post was most alluring. For my own Well, I con- 
 fess, I was balked. Now that I look back it appears to 
 me that the courtesy I received concealed many things 
 the value of which I, at the time, ignored. I may be mis- 
 taken. One is apt to doubt even hindsight when beaten. 
 As diplomatists they are superlatively accomplished. The 
 Anglo-Saxon must look to it in the future if he hopes 
 to excel in astuteness. The Gaul will vanquish every 
 time." 
 
 ' ' You speak advisedly ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes. I will do even more. I will bid you beware of 
 one Parisian. He is frankly opposed to our new-world 
 claims. As a power he is almost immeasurable. That 
 sounds exaggerated. It is not. I accustomed myself to 
 regarding him as an edition de luxe of a Scotland Yard de- 
 tective, so thorough is his knowledge of foreign and do- 
 mestic affairs. His name is Ferdinand Lamballe." 
 
 Markoe' s expression altered very slightly. ' ' Enlighten 
 me," he suggested. 
 
 ' ' Lamballe, ' ' began the ex- Ambassador, a stinging bit- 
 terness in his tone, ' ' has risen from the ranks, in spite of his 
 pedigree. His property was confiscated in his youth. 
 Unlike his titled contemporaries he did not meekly accept 
 his fate. He did what the French call ' ' lutter. ' ' That is, 
 he exhibited from the first a keen desire to tussle for his share 
 of life. When I was in France one side of his prismatic 
 genius was bent upon the drama. He was presenting a 
 series of satires which laid bare the idiosyncrasies of his 
 contemporaries. By a fairly considerable minority he was 
 cordially detested for his pains. Added to the notoriety 
 he attained as public censor of human nature's foibles, he 
 expresses an inordinate dislike for humbug, he was con- 
 ducting at one and the same time a syndicate which gov- 
 
 25
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 erned numerous lesser syndicates. The man is unique 
 inasmuch as he writes criticisms of his own plays in such 
 perfection that they alone are seized by the public with 
 avidity, thus insuring success. He is beloved by many, 
 because he rarely hesitates to do his opponents full justice 
 at his own expense. That is the reason I never lose the 
 chance to award the French character the palm for ap- 
 preciation. Lamballe more than once has been suspected 
 of acknowledging an opponent's superiority, even in 
 defeat." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! You admit, then, that he may be defeated ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Who can tell ? He is the man to whom I alluded when 
 I said I had been ' balked.' " 
 
 ' ' May I inquire, inasmuch as you have gone so far ?' ' 
 
 "It is your due. The affair at issue was one whose con- 
 summation would have in no manner whatsoever jeopardized 
 the welfare of France. Indeed, rather would it have in- 
 sured her prosperity by inculcating a novel branch of 
 industry. Outside of the duties coincident with a foreign 
 post I was intrusted with a secret mission. I failed. ' ' 
 
 "The mission?" 
 
 "The establishment at Carembourg, near Alsace-Lor- 
 raine, of a mammoth factory in which to fabricate home 
 goods by aid of foreign material which can only be obtained 
 on the frontier. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Foiled ?' ' asked Markoe. His suddenly animated tone 
 contained a strident note. 
 
 " More. I was duped, played, magnificently played. 
 In the end the subject was courteously closed. In this 
 Lamballe' s hand was invisible. I learned of that later. It 
 seems that nationally he bears us no grudge, but that per- 
 sonally he abhors our increasing monopolies. He had de- 
 termined to score. He scored. 
 
 ' ' But surely you could have forced his hand, discovered 
 
 26
 
 AT GNARLWOOD 
 
 the root of his power ! One man may not buy up a fron- 
 tier, nor control it, nor refuse it. The assumption is ab- 
 surd. He must have governed some pull you overlooked. ' ' 
 
 " His power consists in knowing his man," returned the 
 ex- Ambassador, dryly. ' ' Lamballe' s victims are only made 
 aware, after having been cut to pieces, of their total inability 
 to put themselves together again." 
 
 ' ' There might be a way, ' ' remarked Markoe. 
 
 ' ' You say ?' ' ejaculated the ex- Ambassador with an 
 
 astonished expression. 
 
 " I say there might have been a way." 
 
 "And that way ?" ironically. 
 
 Markoe did not answer. He was gazing absently at a 
 rift in the clouds outside. The young moon looked through. 
 ' ' You say he is benevolent ?' ' he inquired, irrelevantly, after 
 some moments. 
 
 "He is called the ' patented moralist of France,' " stated 
 the ex- Ambassador, with obvious incredulity. 
 
 ' ' Did you know him personally ?' ' 
 
 ' ' No. He eludes as successfully as he precludes. Albeit 
 the air is alive with his epigrams, the stage charged with his 
 witticisms, the boulevards ringing with his name, he is hard 
 to find. Those who have met him call him a philanthropist. 
 I have been told he is personally a dangerously fascinating 
 man." 
 
 " Could you not command?" 
 
 ' ' In my position ? That would have too forcibly em- 
 phasized acknowledged impotence. You must remember 
 that it was only later I discovered the magnitude of his 
 reach. ' ' 
 
 ' ' With whom did you treat ?' ' 
 
 "With men in his employ. Their name is legion." 
 The ex -Ambassador glanced about him. He leaned for- 
 ward guardedly. "It was a defeat I have never for- 
 
 27
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 given," he murmured, in a sibilant whisper, through his 
 teeth, " a lock to which only he holds the key." 
 
 ' ' I feel honored by your confidence, ' ' observed Markoe. 
 
 ' ' There is no impotence so aggravating as that of en- 
 forced inaction," hissed the ex- Ambassador. His face was 
 congested. His eyes were a trifle bloodshot. 
 
 " To an American, you should qualify," subjoined Mar- 
 koe, flashing a keen glance at the speaker. Then he said, 
 tersely, " You are right. The only way," he added, he 
 had turned towards a charming feminine figure advancing 
 towards them, " is to reopen fire with bigger guns." 
 
 "Tell me," cried Mrs. Markoe, "is it endurable, the 
 colony ?' ' 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT 
 
 "THE American colony," replied the ex- Ambassador, 
 " is a law unto itself." He was smiling broadly. "It is 
 made up of people who possess the courage of their con- 
 victions, if seldom that of other people. I cannot answer 
 whether or no you will fancy it, but of one thing I am cer- 
 tain," he had moved towards Mrs. Markoe, in a courtly 
 fashion he lifted her hand and laid it across his coat-sleeve, 
 he evidently proposed to lead her across the French win- 
 dow-sill into the conservatory beyond ; but Mrs. Markoe 
 had other views, she recoiled almost imperceptibly, "of 
 one thing I am certain, ' ' reiterated the ex -Ambassador, con- 
 tinuing his speech, albeit evidently somewhat nonplussed, 
 "and that is, that the colony will be more than able to 
 'endure' Mrs. Markoe." 
 
 Mrs. Markoe looked up at him. She wore a huge black 
 
 28
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT 
 
 hat. It cast so deep a shadow across her face that her 
 expression was barely visible. She stood with her back 
 to the light. The ex- Ambassador faced it. 
 
 ' ' Why ?' ' inquired Mrs. Markoe. There was so positive 
 a dignity in the carriage of her graceful head that the ex- 
 Ambassador, for once in his life, feared his compliment 
 might have been too broad. 
 
 ' ' Because you are new, ' ' retorted he, remembering his 
 foreign experience, which had " made him quite odious," 
 Mrs. Markoe was reflecting at this precise moment, " and 
 because you are true." 
 
 ' 'Are not the members of the American colony both new 
 and true ?' ' demanded Mrs. Markoe. 
 
 ' ' It would be unadvisable for me to confess it, had I 
 been so unfortunate as to prove them otherwise," finally 
 returned the ex- Ambassador, slightly discountenanced, for 
 the moment, at so unexpected an onslaught. 
 
 " Quite so," replied Mrs. Markoe, thinking to herself, " I 
 wonder what they proved you. " "Be merciful to that poor 
 orchid," she pleaded, softly, a moment later, the ex- Am- 
 bassador's fingers were fumbling at the orchid in his button- 
 hole. ' ' I desire your advice concerning some matters con- 
 nected with foreign household management, about which 
 you, and you alone, can enlighten me. Come." 
 
 She had walked a little away from him towards the con- 
 servatory. She was looking back. "Will you come," 
 she asked, "and look at Mrs. Conway's latest acquisition 
 in palms, if not a ' new,' quite the rarest, variety?" 
 
 They strolled across the threshold. 
 
 ' ' Here at my right, please, ' ' urged Mrs. Conway with a 
 welcoming gesture as, glancing up, she perceived Markoe al; 
 her elbow. ' ' And so we are to be neighbors, and in Paris ?' ' 
 she said. 
 
 29
 
 A NEW RACE .DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "The most delightful of contingencies," murmured 
 Markoe. 
 
 ' ' What rare ability has that bad boy of mine ever dis- 
 played that you should flatter him to such an extent ?' ' 
 
 "Hush," whispered Markoe. "I beg your pardon," 
 as Mrs. Convvay cast him a slightly astonished glance, 
 "Jack, with you, is perhaps ignorant that full justice may 
 not be done to our cause, are we suspected of strategy. ' ' 
 
 " Is it all quite fair ?' ' 
 
 The question was brief. The splendid blue eyes were 
 searching. 
 
 ' ' All is fair in love and war. The American at home is 
 perfectly equipped. Abroad he is more or less in the dark. 
 We must not leave a stone unturned, Jack and I, to make 
 ourselves valuable." 
 
 ' ' To your friends ? You are valuable. ' ' The statement 
 was made with unusual conviction for a woman of Mrs. 
 Conway's reserve. 
 
 ' ' Pardon me. To our government. Nothing exists 
 diplomatically until it has been proven." 
 
 ' ' Thank you. I am deeply grateful. You will teach 
 Jack much. But wherefore Jack ? Although his mother, 
 I confess I am at a loss to understand why you should 
 have selected my boy to aid you in your campaign. ' ' 
 
 ' ' There are worse boys, ' ' remarked Markoe, guardedly. 
 The speaker's eyes were roving in search of their young 
 friend. He was not visible. Jack had been called off, ob- 
 viously, to attend to one of his guests. 
 
 "Worse? Yes. Idler? No. Less ambitious? Per- 
 haps. Until now there has been nothing I could find which 
 would rouse him. It has almost seemed to me at times 
 that this" waving her hand towards her guests and all the 
 glowing, exquisite room contained "has cramped and 
 crippled Jack instead of enlarging his sphere, as I had in- 
 
 30
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT 
 
 tended it should ; that the one thing requisite which might 
 
 have brought him out I could not give him ;. and yet " 
 
 she sighed. 
 
 "And that thing is ?" Markoe leaned forward ; he 
 
 was listening intently. His head was bent upon his chest. 
 His arms were folded. 
 
 ' ' Adversity. ' ' 
 
 ' ' We never can tell until we try, ' ' vouchsafed Markoe, 
 perfunctorily. 
 
 ' ' Paris holds memories, ' ' said Mrs. Conway , dreamily, a 
 little later. 
 
 " Memories?" 
 
 " My girlhood dreams. And the empire I thought my 
 kingdom in those glad young days, when I had all my 
 life ahead of me, and my illusions were given full play ; 
 and " 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 Markoe, for an instant, thought she had been going to be 
 guilty of a confidence ; but as her face paled a little, her 
 lips took on a firm expression. She lifted her eyes. ' ' It 
 was the happiest and the saddest period of my life," she 
 said. ' ' It seemed the end, then ; I find now it was only 
 the beginning." 
 
 "You married?" said Markoe. 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she answered, quietly, ' ' afterwards. One always 
 marries afterwards. ' ' 
 
 In the conservatory Mrs. Markoe, after a prolonged 
 interview with the ex -Ambassador, during which she had 
 been egregiously bored, and he considerably enlightened as 
 to the mutinous charm of the coming Ambassadress, "a 
 remarkably brilliant woman, my dear," he confided to the 
 wife of his bosom, later, a confidence which she received 
 with a sniff, Mrs. Markoe was moving from plant to plant 
 with a rapturous expression, and giving vent now and then 
 
 31
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 to little exclamations of delight. She had dismissed her 
 cavalier under pretence of a desire to be alone a few mo- 
 ments for rest. 
 
 She did not see Jack Conway come through the door- 
 way and stand transfixed at the picture she made. There 
 was a tendril of bronze hair which had escaped from its 
 place in the careless curls of her low coiffure ; it had fallen 
 in among the sombre ruchings of her black gown. She 
 wore no color but a bunch of scarlet geraniums she had 
 carelessly fastened in her diamond-buckled belt. The twist 
 of loosened hair was like a shaft of sunlight let loose across 
 one shoulder. 
 
 Suddenly she looked up, and saw him. If the lines of 
 his slight, erect figure were tense, more so than usual, 
 she apparently had not perceived it. 
 
 ' ' You !' ' she cried. She went on with her little springs 
 and dartings here and there, like a bright bird. 
 
 ' ' What luck !' ' ejaculated he, coming forward, just as 
 though he had not been standing for five minutes in rapt 
 contemplation. 
 
 ' ' The flowers, you mean ?' ' she retorted, glancing about 
 her in a peculiarly radiant way she had. "Are they not 
 more desirable than anything else ?' ' 
 
 She had not said so, but he knew, with the aid of a quick 
 sympathy which was born that moment between them, that 
 she meant, " How much more desirable than all that noise 
 and confusion inside ! How far worthier of consideration ! 
 How peaceful !" 
 
 " I think," returned Jack, "that we have one taste, at 
 least, in common." 
 
 He threw himself down on a settee, and looked up into 
 her lovely face. It had more than a hint of strong char- 
 acter in it. The chin was determined ; the mouth, well 
 governed ; the eyes had arching brows, and level lids. 
 
 32
 
 TRANSFIXED AT THE PICTURE SHE MADE
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT 
 
 ' ' Many, ' ' she answered, "is it not ?" in a half-foreign 
 fashion. ' 'And now, ' ' she added, ' ' that we are to live in 
 the same city we must discover more ; mustn' t we ?" 
 
 Her cheeks were slightly flushed. The lace had fallen 
 back from her slender, perfect arm. She lifted herself on 
 tiptoe, to adjust a branch of trailing ivy running across a 
 window above his head. 
 
 ' ' Markoe is good to willingly widen my hitherto limited 
 sphere, ' ' murmured Jack. 
 
 "Ah, do you know how good he is?" she acquiesced, 
 unexpectedly. ' ' Can you know are you capable of real- 
 izing half how good he is?" 
 
 " Perhaps," he answered, a little astonished at the inten- 
 sity of her response. She was generally silent, unless among 
 her most intimate friends. She was a woman who required 
 sympathy to bring out her intrinsic sincerity. Perhaps 
 the enforced intimacy which was to come had already, in 
 a measure, broken down the barrier which custom had 
 hitherto invariably erected between these two in public. 
 
 ' ' No, no, ' ' she added, hurriedly, as though fearful he 
 was about to interrupt her eulogy, ' ' you cannot know, 
 until you have tried him, what a man he is, I mean my 
 husband. Staunch, a little autocratic, perhaps, but infi- 
 nitely just. 
 
 ' ' I have always regarded him in the light of an extraor- 
 dinary success," said Jack, entering into her mood with the 
 greatest tact. ' ' He has proved himself my friend. If, 
 within the uneven tenor of my unworthy way, I can reward 
 him for the trust he has placed in me, I will do so." 
 
 ' ' Yes ?' ' she answered. ' ' You will ' prove it, ' you say ?' ' 
 
 " I will prove it," returned Jack, almost solemnly. 
 
 ' ' I think I should like to shake hands with you, ' ' she as- 
 serted, noiselessly moving towards him, for the first time in 
 his life, of her own sweet will. 
 3 33
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Here," said Jack, briefly. 
 
 He extended his hand, a nervous, handsome young hand, 
 quivering with life, quickening visibly in its muscles and 
 the coursing of hot blood through its owner's veins. 
 
 He held it out towards her. 
 
 She laid her fingers within it. They were bare. 
 
 "I think," she half whispered, in the same sweet, con- 
 templative fashion, as though forming a delightful project, 
 and, with it, the desire to cling to it, "I think we shall be 
 friends. ' ' 
 
 Jack answered nothing. 
 
 He had enough to do looking at her. It seemed, some- 
 how, a very solemn compact, this ; a compact which 
 might be far more binding than most covenants of a friendly 
 description. He did not speak, because he could think 
 of nothing more eloquent than silence. 
 
 " I need friends," she said, gently. " I have only Ste- 
 phen, you know. He is so often busy. ' ' 
 
 Jack nodded. 
 
 "And in Paris," she added, " I do not know my way 
 about as well as Stephen does. He was educated there. 
 I shall need, I wonder " 
 
 She hesitated. Jack was looking at her with dumb eyes. 
 
 Markoe crossed the threshold. 
 
 " Come, Kate," he cried, in his vibrant voice, in the tone 
 that had been quoted, by a cynical bench contemporary, to 
 1 ' knock the bottom clean out of sentiment, " ' ' those cobs of 
 yours are restive ; we must get back to New York. ' ' 
 
 He glanced at Jack. 
 
 The young fellow sat in a despondent posture, both 
 hands pressed between his knees. They had fallen there 
 about two moments since. The one which Mrs. Markoe 
 had clasped was folded under. Jack was holding it with 
 an iron grip, after having looked it over closely, curiously. 
 
 34
 
 AN UNCONDITIONAL COMPACT 
 
 ' ' Done up ?' ' inquired Markoe. 
 
 Jack rose, and shook himself. 
 
 ' ' Seedy, ' ' he returned, shortly. 
 
 He walked forward, then, and laid his hand on Markoe' s 
 broad shoulder. 
 
 " Stephen," said the young fellow, it was the first time 
 he had called his chief Stephen ; Markoe started slightly. 
 "Oh, let me call you Stephen," pleaded Conway, with a 
 slight quiver in his voice ; ' ' all our family does, my mother, 
 grandfather, and the rest. ' ' His features were twitching a 
 little, as though he were struggling to control some pro- 
 found emotion ; it was a nervous face, at the best, and was 
 often guilty of little, apparently uncommandable, disclosures 
 of undue sensitiveness. ' ' You have offered me the biggest 
 thing you know of. I mean to obey your orders as grandly 
 as the strength may be given me. It is the opportunity of 
 my life." 
 
 Markoe shifted his shoulder, after he had contemplated 
 him curiously. 
 
 ' ' Don' t be heroic until the time is ripe for action. Wast- 
 ing powder," he advised. 
 
 "Perhaps," returned Jack. 
 
 He stood quite still as Mr. and Mrs. Markoe walked 
 away from him towards the porte cochere, under which a 
 pair of handsome cobs were fretting restlessly. 
 
 Across his mind there flitted a vague shadow of the sub- 
 stance to come, of the difficulties to be encountered, of his 
 inexperience. He did not tremble at the task ahead of 
 him a task embracing, as he and Markoe already realized, 
 some grave features. Rather he quivered to be in the thick 
 of even an unknown fray, meeting subterfuge with grit, 
 intrigue with caution. In his audacious courage, in his 
 eager reach out into the unknown, in his indomitable desire 
 to conquer, he left out of consideration an adversary which 
 
 35
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 has paralyzed effort as effectually as death shuts down upon 
 achievement. It stood at his elbow now, ready to stab him 
 in all his pride of youth and energy. 
 
 ' 'Au revoir, ' ' shouted Markoe as they drove off, touch- 
 ing the brim of his hat with his whip. 
 
 Then Jack ran forward. 
 
 It was too late to do anything but wave his hand. As 
 he waved it a flush of color rose to his face. He remem- 
 bered the fingers with which it had come in contact but 
 recently. 
 
 As it fell he looked at it steadily. He turned it over. 
 
 There was a queer light in his eyes as he shoved it into 
 an opening between the buttons of his coat, and held it 
 there. 
 
 He would not see his chief again, it had been deter- 
 mined, until they all met in Paris. 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 ONE morning, in the beginning of June, a messenger in 
 private livery made his way hastily towards a long building 
 on the left-hand side of the Seine, not far from Notre Dame. 
 Arrived there, he parleyed a moment with an official who 
 kept guard under the stone arch of a frowning doorway. 
 After some severe questioning he succeeded at last in ob- 
 taining permission to mount the narrow stairway at the back 
 of the big court to the right. 
 
 He scaled the first flight lightly ; indeed, so impetuous 
 was he, charged apparently with a message of importance, 
 that he sometimes leaped two or three steps at a time, 
 
 36
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 thinking to arrive the sooner. But as he proceeded on his 
 way, encountering broad and narrow corridors, and offi- 
 cials who peremptorily demanded his credentials, which, 
 with a perceptibly obstinate determination, he refused to 
 divulge, whereupon, being laid open to suspicion, he at 
 last whispered a name in their ears which made them fall 
 back instantly with an enlightened expression, his steps 
 grew slower. With deliberation and slackening elasticity 
 he stolidly pursued his way. 
 
 He climbed and climbed. He made straight to the 
 right only to turn on himself, to climb twisted passageways 
 to the left. He crossed another court, at last, and came 
 into a wide, low-studded hall in which two or three officials, 
 in the garb of the French government, stood at their posts. 
 Among them was an old man wearing the forbidding air of 
 a public servant in special employ. The messenger ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 " It is a message from you know whom," he whispered, 
 ' ' and I am to deliver it in person, and au plus vite. ' ' 
 
 ' ' My orders are that Monsieur Monod is not to be dis- 
 turbed, " replied the old man, imperturbably, with the super- 
 cilious indifference of the transiently authorized. His name 
 was Ben6it 
 
 The messenger made an impatient gesture. He stooped 
 forward to whisper in the old man's ear the same name 
 which had procured for him attention in past similar diffi- 
 culties. 
 
 It produced a like effect here. 
 
 Be'noit started, placed his right hand, after having curved 
 it cup-shape, to his ear, as though unwilling in so important 
 a confidence to trust entirely to his own failing hearing, and 
 then hurriedly bade the messenger be seated, while he re- 
 tired to announce him and his errand. 
 
 The messenger, fretting at even so slight a delay, agreed 
 
 37
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 to possess his unruly soul in patience while an effort was 
 made to pierce the absorption of the listener he sought. 
 
 B6n6it disappeared. 
 
 The vast hall seemed sole owner of that silence which, 
 some thinker tells us, is possessed of a roar on its further 
 side. Officials hurried to and fro, in and out, at intervals, 
 with the gravity on their countenances which indicates the 
 conscious burden of municipal affairs. 
 
 At last, after three quarters of an hour's dull submission, 
 by the messenger, to the law of the superior being whose 
 time is valuable, Ben6it came leisurely through the opening 
 made by the swinging of a green baize door. 
 
 His lined old countenance was puckered into an expres- 
 sion of puzzled wonder. 
 
 ' ' He is very closely occupied, ' ' he announced, deliver- 
 ing a well-learnt lesson with unction, ' ' but considering that 
 
 your message comes from ," he stopped, and nodded 
 
 his head solemnly, ' ' he says for me to bid you enter. ' ' 
 
 The messenger rose and hurried forward. 
 
 "Gently, gently," murmured Ben6it, shambling after 
 him. He first threw open the baize door, led him through 
 a small entry, and finally brought him into the presence of 
 a very solemn-looking official in dark clothes ornamented 
 with the liberte", egalite", and fraternite 1 buttons of France. 
 About this individual's neck was suspended a heavy brass 
 chain. Hanging from it, and falling to the middle of his 
 broad chest, was a seal. Its bearer seemed fully impressed 
 with the gravity of his office. 
 
 He looked the messenger over, as though, considering 
 him a villain of the deepest dye, he thus would check any 
 attempt with concealed weapons. Then, throwing open a 
 narrow, mulberry leather portal studded heavily at the bor- 
 der with wrought brass nails, he vouchsafed ungraciously, 
 "Entrez." 
 
 38
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 Disclosed was a room with one window, and, in the 
 centre, a table on which were papers and writing imple- 
 ments, an inkstand, a blotting-pad, and, at the corner, a 
 large revolving globe of the world. There were three 
 leather chairs. There was one occupant. 
 
 The messenger entered. 
 
 The door fell to softly behind him. 
 
 Seated at the table, writing rapidly, was a man about 
 forty years of age, in civilian's clothes. After a few mo- 
 ments he glanced up, and cast a pre-occupied look towards 
 the messenger, as though so absorbed in the matter under 
 discussion that he was barely capable of enduring an in- 
 terruption. Then he said, suddenly, going on with his 
 writing, 
 
 ' ' You came from ?' ' 
 
 "From Lamballe." 
 
 The writer immediately flung down his pen. He bent 
 his gaze upon the messenger. The messenger bore the 
 look unflinchingly. 
 
 " I am to understand you are Lamballe' s ," the words 
 
 arrested themselves in mid-air ; the speaker apparently in- 
 tended that his sentence should be filled up. The messen- 
 ger was nothing loath. 
 
 ' ' My master bade me hand you this package, ' ' he 
 said. 
 
 He unbuttoned his coat, withdrew a sealed envelope 
 from a leather wallet he had carried inside, and delivered 
 it in person, as he had been ordered to do. 
 
 The individual of importance, at the table, broke the seal 
 and unfolded the letter. He withdrew the contents from 
 the envelope carefully, after casting another attentive look 
 at its bearer. He began reading the missive with marked 
 signs of interest. His face flushed, slightly haggard coun- 
 tenance that it was, with hard lines in it, and a razor-like 
 
 39
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 profile. With a quick, almost imperceptible motion he 
 drew the globe of the world towards him, and with his 
 forefinger rapidly traced out a portion of the corner which 
 a geographer would have recognized as the quadrangular 
 map of France. Then, pushing globe and letter from him, 
 he let his head fall on his hand, and his thoughts into 
 what has been denominated a brown study. 
 
 Some coals fell in the grate ; outside, a few rain-drops 
 spattered against the window. A scurrying cloud quenched 
 the sunshine for a space. 
 
 It broke forth again as the room' s inmate leaned forward. 
 Drawing pen and paper towards him, he began to sketch 
 an uneven outline with the aid of what seemed an unbridled 
 imagination. 
 
 Finally he threw down his pen in disgust. 
 
 Happening to glance up, he encountered the stolid gaze 
 of Lamballe's messenger. 
 
 ' ' You know the import of this message ?' ' peremptorily. 
 
 The messenger hesitated. 
 
 " J'e'coute," vouchsafed his superior, encouragingly. 
 
 4 ' I know, ' ' began the messenger, 4 ' that it is a subject 
 which has caused monsieur mon maitre some anxiety. It 
 is the same affaire, he told me to inform monsieur, that 
 cropped up some four years since, il me semble, the 
 'affaire internationale. ' Monsieur mon maitre had con- 
 sidered it defeated ' ' 
 
 "And " 
 
 44 Monsieur mon maitre is disturbed, he told me to em- 
 ploy that word, ' disturbed' that the question should 
 have been opened again. But monsieur had received 
 orders to consider it. Monsieur had but to obey." 
 
 4 4 You left him at the palace, ' ' pointing in the direction 
 of the Palais de Justice. 
 
 4 ' Pardon. Monsieur mon maitre had but just time to 
 
 40
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 thrust the document into my hand before he retired last 
 night" 
 
 ' ' Ecoutez ! Is he still chez lui ?' ' 
 
 "Jelecrois." 
 
 ' ' Return to the house and tell him his presence here is 
 desired most urgently, and at once." 
 
 The messenger folded his coat-flap across his chest care- 
 fully, fastened the buttonhole which had remained open, 
 and, with a profound inclination, withdrew. 
 
 An hour later a man well ripened, in the prime of life, 
 of a singularly commanding presence, with a pale, high- 
 bred face, a pair of piercing black eyes, and a gray im- 
 perial, drove into the court in a high English cart. 
 Throwing the reins to his groom he was ushered up a 
 private staircase into the apartment of the individual who 
 had summoned him. 
 
 The visitor was Ferdinand Lamballe. 
 
 He was attired in a gray spring suit of flawless cut and 
 make. His head was surmounted with a soft, gray, felt hat. 
 He wore an enormous white carnation in his buttonhole. 
 
 Monod was well versed in his business. He rose, as 
 his visitor entered, and bowed profoundly. 
 
 ' ' It is with deep regret, monsieur ' ' he began. 
 
 But Lamballe interrupted him by meeting his eyes with 
 a peculiarly sweet smile and waving him to his seat. His 
 was the gracious patronage of an acknowledged superior. 
 It none the less conveyed the studied thoughtfulness of 
 one born to command but never to oppress. 
 
 ' ' The dispute is theirs, not ours, ' ' he said, concisely, 
 relegating what might have seemed an act of undue per- 
 tinacity a possible international complication to its proper 
 niche. 
 
 He seemed to be placing himself under an obligation to 
 the man who had sent for him. His was that winning
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 magnetism which acquires friends right and left through 
 the sheer supremacy of forbearance. " Now this has 
 come to the front again, we must defeat it," he added, 
 seating himself. 
 
 The question had evidently been well digested by Lam- 
 balle before being passed on for consideration to a subordi- 
 nate. He forgot that Monod occupied his present position 
 rather by proof than by the chance of superiority. 
 
 "If I may venture to propound the question," Monod 
 began, "and, yes, I may venture," in response to Lam- 
 balle's glance of concentrated attention, " I would ask the 
 wherefore of monsieur' s opposition ? His generosity is 
 proverbial. He, without doubt, has full command of the 
 matter to have so entirely decided upon the formula of 
 contention in regard to it which we, he assumes, are 
 about to pursue ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Stop, ' ' interrupted Lamballe, in a clear voice. There 
 was a harsh ring on the edge of it, as though its owner 
 protested even more in his spirit than by aid of his words. 
 ' ' The cause of my opposition is purely personal. ' ' 
 
 His listener permitted himself to look not only incredu- 
 lous, but regretful. 
 
 " I acquired an implacable distaste for the American in 
 my youth," continued Lamballe, still with that harshness 
 in his tone of which at other times it was devoid. " It still 
 abides with me. Until now I have considered it needless 
 to reveal a secret prejudice. Rather, however, than you 
 should labor under a misapprehension, I herewith dis- 
 close it. ' ' 
 
 The confession had evidently cost him something. His 
 breath came in a labored fashion for a second or two. Then 
 it grew regular once more. 
 
 "A petty definition, n'est-ce-pas, monsieur?" he de- 
 manded, a trifle ironically, as though himself aware of the 
 
 42
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 narrowness his confession divulged. ' ' But so it is. Perhaps 
 I am not the first individual to allow a personal prejudice to 
 strangle a wider or, say rather, a wiser concession. ' ' 
 
 He looked repentant, but absolutely decided. 
 
 ' ' Understand, ' ' he continued, after a few moments si- 
 lence, in which his listener had vouchsafed nothing, a 
 pencil rolled across the smooth green leather of a desk in 
 the corner, and fell with a clatter to the floor, " I consider 
 I am doing my country no harm. Rather am I protecting 
 her very positively from an uncalled-for nuisance. ' ' 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 4 ' I am to believe you are of a like opinion ?' ' he asked, 
 then, courteously. 
 
 Monod stirred ever so slightly. His lips remained firmly 
 compressed. 
 
 Lamballe looked at him piercingly. A light broke across 
 his face. 
 
 ' ' Speak, ' ' he cried. ' ' Figurez-vous, I have often longed 
 for a side-light on this issue from one of my own people. ' ' 
 The manner was ardent, convincing. 
 
 A voice from the somewhat insignificant figure in the 
 arm-chair spoke. 
 
 " It is with your permission ?' ' it began, cautiously. Its 
 owner's eyes, from under a pair of heavy, overhanging 
 brows, peered forth as though dreading a coming storm 
 with perhaps undue apprehension. His hand, thick, large, 
 with stumpy fingers, the honest hand of an uncompromis- 
 ingly self-confessed member of the bonne bourgeoisie, 
 fumbled with a crumpled piece of paper on which it had 
 drawn, an hour or so since, the semblance of a quadrangle. 
 
 "But speak." 
 
 ' ' Then I would say the decision, monsieur, appears to 
 us, from you, an unjust one." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 43
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "You have never hesitated to accuse us, as a nation, of 
 mingling personal vanity with party prejudice ; to state 
 that we combine, singularly enough, the sturdy opposition 
 of the ignorant with the enlightened views of the advanced. 
 How is it that you, who clamor, the word is perhaps too 
 strong, you who clamor for justice, who deplore our con- 
 servatism as compared with the progress of a quicker civil- 
 ization, who never lose the chance to rail against our misuse 
 or, rather, abuse of opportunity, in your books, in your 
 dramas, with your acts, are guilty I use the word advis- 
 edly of so narrow a conclusion ?' ' 
 
 ' ' I own Carembourg. ' ' 
 
 All the pride of race shone from the piercing black eyes, 
 the pride which makes of the lord of the manor a master. 
 All the noble use of power for which this man was justly 
 famous, all the recognition of the fact that possession is 
 nine points of most laws not all stood declared in the 
 firm retort. 
 
 1 ' Monsieur, then, constitutes himself a ' ' 
 
 " I claim the privilege to sell my own land to whomso- 
 ever it pleases me, ' ' impetuously, ' ' to ignore a proffer which 
 stinks of an invasion, of positive vandalism. The law of 
 gain is the curse of the coming race. The New World 
 thinks, if it offers a larger sum than most, it may buy up 
 our prejudices. It finds itself, for once, rejected. Natu- 
 rally, charged as it is with intoxication, the ecstasy of the 
 new-born drunk with life, it is nettled. ' ' 
 
 Lamballe spoke sharply. His meaning was clear. His 
 eyes carried in their flashing depths the memory of a wrong. 
 His listener, habituated to eluding side-issues, called him 
 to order with his subsequent speech. 
 
 " The New World, " he argued, "is inevitable, albeit at 
 times too grasping, perhaps. The actual is the absolute. 
 Monsieur is too wise to refute that. I say it were unworthy 
 
 44
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 of a man like Lamballe to throw himself as a wedge between 
 two nations which might, with mutual benefit, unite. ' ' 
 
 ' 'And I contend this project is more or less of an oppres- 
 sion. The ingredient my chalk contains could be worked 
 out and exported, as other properties have been worked 
 and exported. Why acquiesce in the superfluous establish- 
 ment, even if only temporary, of an army of foreigners who 
 are odious to me, a practical invasion, whereas the other 
 manner is feasible ?' ' 
 
 ' ' The ' other manner' ? What is the ' other manner' ?' ' 
 
 ' ' The rental of the land during the process of removing 
 the chalk ; its ultimate importation, in its crude state, to be 
 worked in the United States. The proposition was ad- 
 vanced and contemptuously refused." 
 
 ' ' But that is not feasible ; more, totally impracticable. 
 Besides, if it were advisable, given that monsieur would cede 
 the land long enough to have it deliver itself of its proper- 
 ties, the exportation of the raw material unworked would 
 involve enormous expense. Labor is cheaper here than in 
 the United States. ' ' 
 
 " Oh, that!" pronounced Lamballe, with a laugh. " You 
 little comprehend the financial radius of the new world if 
 you think it stops at the expenditure of a few millions more 
 or less. The magnitude of their spirit of enterprise is al- 
 most incalculable. It savors of comic opera. ' ' 
 
 He spoke contemptuously. 
 
 " It seems to me," argued the voice from the depths of 
 the arm-chair, with an obviously determined accent, ' ' that 
 their offer is a peculiarly generous one, as it now stands. 
 We cannot help but profit largely off the invasion alone, 
 according to present propositions. The price to be paid 
 down is a colossal one, taking into consideration the sur- 
 plus expenditure which will be involved during the pit's 
 excavation. ' ' 
 
 45
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " Generous !' ' broke forth Lamballe, with a sneer. ' ' You 
 do not know the American. He permits no sentiment to 
 interfere where self-interest is concerned. In this he is, 
 acknowledgedly, our superior. ' ' 
 
 His listener remained stolidly unconvinced. 
 
 ' ' You say ' sentiment, ' " he reiterated later, mildly. 
 " Have you not confounded sentiment with sentimentality, 
 monsieur?" 
 
 ' ' Suit yourself. The entire proposition is insufferable to 
 me." 
 
 ' ' And why, if monsieur will still permit that I continue 
 my argument in the case," Lamballe had risen ; he was 
 striding uneasily about the room like a white bear in his 
 cage, " why should generosity be denied the new world 
 by you, the most magnanimous of men ?' ' 
 
 " Because I know them, know them root and branch, up 
 and down, round and about," cried Lamballe. "Assez, 
 monsieur. The proposition to me is odiously distasteful. 
 Tell our chief, from me, mind you, that the affair was set- 
 tled, done with, dead, four years ago ; that I totally re- 
 fuse to reopen it ; that what I said then I say now. I am 
 as adamant." 
 
 He looked it, standing there at his full height : a princely 
 figure, in stature unusually tall for a Frenchman, with that 
 unmistakable air of race which exemplifies the memorable 
 imprint of a kingly ancestry as to character as well as 
 blood. 
 
 " One moment," the tone was dry, as though purposely 
 drained of feeling. " You wish, then, that Germany should 
 obtain the option of refusing or accepting this offer ?' ' 
 
 Lamballe had lifted his hat from the table. He stood 
 near the door adjusting his gloves. 
 
 " I cannot see ," he ejaculated. 
 
 1 ' The frontier. It is but one step across the border. 
 
 46
 
 THE FRENCH POINT OF VIEW 
 
 Prussian soil, to a foreigner, is as good as French. It is 
 possible, albeit it appears monsieur refused to allow his sur- 
 veyor even to confirm this statement, that the chalk may 
 extend across the frontier. If this is true, and if the Ameri- 
 can discovers this, our cause is lost." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 ' ' The invader, ' ' relentlessly pursued the voice from the 
 arm-chair, its occupant had not risen, " malgr6 lui, is 
 but human. He wants, too, his own way. I have been in- 
 formed he will get it. He has not threatened, ' ' in answer 
 to Lamballe' s flashing look of annihilation. ' ' Rather he 
 has reopened the attack with courtesy and surety. My 
 impression is that this time he has his weapons ready ; that 
 the man who backs the present motion is of totally different 
 calibre from the man who backed a similar enterprise four 
 years ago. He " 
 
 ' ' Well ?' ' urged Lamballe, still contemptuously. 
 
 ' ' I think he intends to win. ' ' 
 
 Lamballe, with a proud smile, turned towards the door 
 again. He evidently had not swerved an inch from his 
 prejudice. 
 
 "The man's name?" indifferently. 
 
 "Markoe." 
 
 Lamballe buttoned his gloves. He made no answer. 
 One Anglo-Saxon word, it was obvious, was the same as 
 another to him. They were, one and all, abhorrent. 
 
 Monod rose. ' ' France will be grieved to consider you 
 thus contemplate thwarting her interests, monsieur," he 
 said, quietly. 
 
 "France!" 
 
 "She must so consider it. I was ordered, not a week 
 since, to inform you of this truth, if you concluded to 
 pursue your evident, your most regrettable, intention. 
 
 ' ' France !' ' cried Lamballe. "Is it to France I am to 
 
 47
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 sell my land ? No. It is to this vandal. It would be the 
 irony of fate should I treat, if only for a short period, with 
 the race which is the most displeasing to me. Que voulez- 
 vous, Monod ?' ' He spread his hands wide, with an expres- 
 sion of despair. He was at an utter loss, it seemed, to 
 disentangle his interests from so lamentable an exigency. 
 
 ' ' Cannot you sacrifice a mere personal prejudice ?' ' 
 
 "No," responded Lamballe, "a thousand times no." 
 
 He looked arrogant, but the pained anger in his eyes, 
 like the fury in the eyes of a wounded animal, was not so ; 
 rather it betrayed the consciousness of an unhealed wound, 
 a contingency publicly disallowed within Lamballe's charmed 
 sphere. His had been, so the world considered, a triumphal 
 progress ; and the world's judgment is the only judgment 
 which counts, after all. What does it matter if a man's heart 
 break in the progress, so long as he appears to have won ? 
 Was he, Lamballe, to be attacked at last in his profoundest, 
 his most loving conviction, his passion for his country ? 
 
 ' ' Consider, monsieur ' ' 
 
 ' ' I have considered. My answer is, I am not to be 
 bought." 
 
 1 ' Ah ! But did your adversary know you as you are, 
 you are to be won. ' ' The Gallic love of sentiment was ad- 
 vancing with alacrity. 
 
 "To be won ?' ' repeated Lamballe, with a queer, unsee- 
 ing smile, almost the brave, blind look of the condemned. 
 " C'est selon ! Give them my answer, Monod, between the 
 teeth, straight in the teeth, remember. Lamballe is not to 
 be bought." 
 
 1 ' And if they choose to read between the lines ?' ' cried 
 the tormentor's voice behind him, as he strode towards the 
 door and out into the passageway. 
 
 "Tell them, even then I fight to the death," called back 
 Lamballe, loudly, from far down the corridor. 
 
 48
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 That night a message, with a government seal, was 
 handed in at 63 Avenue Marceau, the residence of the 
 United States Ambassador. 
 
 "It's war to the knife," it read it was a single line, but 
 the two men who perused it knew it to be the signal for im- 
 mediate action "it's war to the knife unless France can 
 be forced to intervene." 
 
 "Jack," said Markoe, "you are due at Carembourg. 
 I'll remain here, and meet Lamballe." 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 " CAREMBOURG," began Markoe, in a low voice, "lies in 
 a valley. There is a swift little river runs through here to 
 the left, as I understand. In this corner," pointing to a 
 map of France with a billiard-cue he had obtained in an 
 adjoining room, having gone there to detach it from its 
 bracket for the purpose, ' ' are the chalk strata we are 
 so anxious to acquire. The deposit is stated to be the 
 largest in the world. What you will have to do," turning 
 towards the eager, listening face which was bending over 
 his shoulder, "will be to take our surveyor with you. 
 Burgess is the man selected. When you have mastered 
 the situation return here to me and report. Lamballe in- 
 herited Carembourg from his maternal uncle, who profited 
 very largely, in a back-hand fashion, by the indemnity de- 
 manded by Bismarck at the time of the Franco-Prussian 
 war. The dividing line, in his case, was drawn, luckily 
 enough, just the other side of his possessions, which, unlike 
 his neighbor's, escaped confiscation." 
 
 "And the bed of the river?" 
 4 49
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' Is chalky, too, perhaps. Across the frontier is Alsace- 
 Lorraine. Curious how two distinct principalities may be 
 separated by a purely imaginary line. However, as re- 
 gards the propinquity of Germany's possessions my infor- 
 mation is deficient. That is your business. The Carem- 
 bourg valley is a rarely beautiful one, ' ' terminated Markoe, 
 ' ' and I heartily envy you your trip. ' ' 
 
 4 ' I feel like an explorer, ' ' ejaculated Conway. ' ' I am 
 what the English call ' keen' for it, notwithstanding my 
 departure takes place before either the Grand Prix or the 
 Duchesse's ball." 
 
 But these gayeties were evidently devoid of the attractive- 
 ness they might have offered some weeks before to the 
 vigorous young fellow who looked to-day well worthy of 
 the confidence placed in him. His eyes had steadied. 
 The sensitive lips were tightened in a firm, strong curve. 
 The color, a trifle paler, was bronzed and even. The 
 spirited head was chiefly remarkable for a width between 
 the brows, which hinted of unusual concentrative force. 
 
 ' ' Beware of Lamballe !' ' broke out Markoe, with a 
 subtle smile. " It is said that he never sleeps, his friends 
 even suspect him of an eye in the back of his head " 
 
 " Superfluous," incredulously, and with a fine contempt. 
 
 ' ' That his servants are many and powerful ; that he 
 oversees his vast possessions untiringly, in person as often 
 as possible. You will find an exceptionably good inn at 
 Carembourg. Keep your tongue between your teeth and 
 work silently, you and Burgess. If you must speak, 
 remember there are more flies to be caught with molasses 
 than with vinegar." 
 
 The Ambassador was smiling broadly by this. It amused 
 him to preach a policy which he rarely practised. 
 
 ' ' I will visit Carembourg as an artist, ' ' serenely remarked 
 his trusted aid, "and take Burgess along as my factotum."
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 ' ' Poor artists are not generally provided with factotums. ' ' 
 
 ' ' This one shall be in the form of an even more indigent 
 relation," humorously. "We will set forth daily with 
 our paraphernalia. It will ostensibly consist of palette, 
 brushes, colors, and an easel. It will be, in reality, a kit 
 of the necessary tools. At night we will return to the inn 
 fagged out." 
 
 " Lamballe's minions are many and powerful," cautioned 
 Markoe, with emphasis. 
 
 ' ' There is a servant known as determination, and 
 another called silence. 'They are more than discreet," 
 retorted Conway. 
 
 The door at the farther end of the room opened. A 
 radiant figure stood disclosed. 
 
 It was Mrs. Markoe. She had but just returned from 
 the Ope"ra Comique, whither she had gone with a party 
 chaperoned by Mrs. Conway. She wore a gown of some 
 soft, diaphanous, white material which disclosed her superb 
 neck and arms. She came forward with her forefinger 
 against her lips, an astonished look in her almond-shaped 
 eyes. 
 
 Her opera-cloak, which was lined with black satin, made 
 her dazzling skin seem as white as snow. 
 
 ' ' Jack ! You here ?' ' she exclaimed ; adding, ' ' and I 
 left your mother not twenty minutes since with the assur- 
 ance that you returned from here to the Avenue d'lena 
 immediately after dinner." 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' he answered, quietly. He was looking towards 
 her stolidly, with a peculiar expression. 
 
 "Instead?" 
 
 ' ' I remained here for marching orders. I have received 
 them. I take my departure to-morrow. Perhaps it is 
 just as well, since my train leaves before ten A. M. , that I 
 bid you good-by now," he said.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 She looked back at him with great, unabashed, and 
 startled eyes. 
 
 ' ' Now ?' ' she stammered. There was a little shocked 
 strain in the suddenly faint voice. 
 
 Markoe had been closing his desk after disposing of 
 some valuable documents he had consulted. He turned 
 the key with a grating sound. His back was towards 
 them. 
 
 ' ' I will bid you God speed," he said. He strode towards 
 Conway and, lifting his right hand, placed it on his shoulder. 
 Then he glanced towards his wife. ' ' Order up some 
 edibles, Kate," he suggested, heartily. He bent and 
 kissed her lightly on the forehead. ' ' Give the young one a 
 bracing send-off. I am utterly worn out, and will turn in." 
 
 His cheery voice came back to them as he crossed the 
 threshold and closed the door after him. They heard his 
 firm tread echoing down a far corridor. 
 
 ' ' I will !' ' cried Mrs. Markoe. 
 
 She flung her cloak from her, and flew across the room 
 to obey her husband's bidding. She placed her finger 
 against the electric bell. 
 
 Then she turned. Her eyes, still with that unconsciously 
 startled look in their wide depths, flashed from one corner 
 of the room to another until they found the figure which 
 was bending over her cloak. It had stooped, lifted it, 
 and folded it carefully, and, after a pause, had laid it across 
 the back of a fauteuil. 
 
 " It doesn't matter," she said. 
 
 " A pretty cloak," he answered her. The tone was de- 
 jected. The attitude ? He stood with his head thrown up 
 as though, having registered a vow, he intended keeping it. 
 
 The footman came to answer Mrs. Markoe' s summons. 
 
 " I desire some supper served at once," she said. 
 
 ' ' Oui, madame. ' ' He vanished. 
 
 52
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 She crossed the room and threw herself onto a low seat 
 near the piano. She clasped her slender hands across her 
 knees. Her face a little bent forward, her eyes, still 
 haunted as though by a distasteful apprehension, looked 
 out ahead. 
 
 "An interesting place, Carembourg?" she inquired, as 
 Conway hesitated. 
 
 He came across the room and stood before her. The 
 mantel-piece was behind him. Over it hung a copy of 
 Correggio's Madonna. 
 
 ' ' I wonder if you know what the last three weeks have 
 been to me ?' ' he began, impetuously. 
 
 There was a silence. 
 
 She glanced at the lovely face above his head ; such a 
 perfect woman's face in its absolute purity and utter self- 
 forgetfulness, she thought. 
 
 " Have been to you ?" she repeated, lightly. 
 
 " The happiest weeks of my life," he said. 
 
 It was a statement which he felt must come as inevitably 
 as his departure. The words had echoed through his 
 mind and heart ; their meaning had penetrated his soul 
 for thrice seven days. They would out now. They said 
 themselves, almost. 
 
 ' ' You will have many perfect hours, I hope, ' ' she re- 
 turned, very gently, still with her lifted gaze upon the face 
 above his head. The picture seemed to stand between 
 her and something which was threatening to envelop her ; 
 something which was perilous, sweet, and yet regrettable. 
 Was it regrettable? Was it not rather, she wondered, 
 the thought stabbed her like a poisoned dart, what would 
 she do without this something enveloping her ? It seemed 
 to her, now, that it had been with her, in all its intangible, 
 delicious charm, for weeks. 
 
 "No," he was answering, before the unbidden thought 
 
 53
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 had shaped itself entirely with her, the response to his own 
 statement. The retort to her benevolently expressed desire 
 for his future happiness came slowly, sadly, as though heavy 
 with the bitterness it carried. " Those weeks will never 
 come again, God help me !" 
 
 He was looking straight at her. The slender, tense, tall, 
 young figure, the vivid, nervous face with its compelling 
 gaze, the spirited, high-bred head which she had come to 
 look for in every gathering she and he had attended of 
 late, and at which she had even been the bright, particular 
 star. The eyes, oh ! how she wished he would stop look- 
 ing at her so ! 
 
 She walked about the room a bit, turning a flower away 
 from the light here and straightening a book there. 
 
 Then she stepped towards him steadily, and allowed her 
 own eyes such placid, limpid things, with their piquant, 
 arched brows to fall upon him. As they met his there 
 came into hers an expression of faint bewilderment. 
 
 "Tell it to me," she pleaded ; "I can see you are in 
 love. It is but meet," she added, slowly, firmly, after an 
 intense pause, ' ' that I should know her name. ' ' 
 
 "You! Her name?" 
 
 He had turned his eyes away now. He was looking 
 down as though studying a figure in the carpet at his feet. 
 His face was pale, visibly wan. There seemed to fall cavi- 
 ties into the cheeks, a greenish pallor about the compressed 
 lips. She had never seen him pale before. 
 
 "Yes," she insisted : then, with solemn emphasis, "am 
 I not your friend and Stephen's wife?" 
 
 Conway was silent. 
 
 Some carriages rattled by, rolling towards the Arc. 
 
 The door swung wide, after a distinct knock, to which 
 Mrs. Markoe responded, ' ' Entrez. ' ' 
 
 The footman entered with a tray. He set it down on a 
 
 54
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 stand, and spread the table under a cluster of tinted lights 
 in one corner of the room, a table against which the glit- 
 tering glass and old-fashioned silver stood out brilliantly 
 from a background of neighboring feathery palms. 
 
 "Woodcock," announced she, brightly, "and cham- 
 pagne. Ah ! 'twas Stephen who thought of this." Then 
 she added softly, " Stephen !" 
 
 Conway had not altered his position by the mantel under 
 the brooding gaze of the Correggio Madonna. But he 
 heard her. 
 
 ' ' Come, ' ' she said ; ' ' and now, "as he seated himself, 
 ' ' I am going to give you a scolding. ' ' He lifted his som- 
 bre eyes. She continued, brightly, after lifting a piece of 
 woodcock from the platter before her to his plate, and 
 handing him a napkin, and pushing his champagne flute 
 towards him, "What business have you to grow despondent 
 before victory ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Victory ?' ' he repeated. 
 
 ' ' To be sure. You certainly are not going to admit of 
 defeat even in your own mind. The conqueror, in all 
 things, is he who determines to vanquish." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " I think," she continued, audaciously, her head on one 
 side, she had been nibbling at a wing ; the light fell across 
 her charming face as though it loved to linger there and 
 caress it, "you must tell me all of it, Jack." 
 
 " I cannot," he replied, at last, with difficulty. 
 
 " Not tell me ? Are we not then comrades ? Is our com- 
 pact forgotten?" winningly, and, oh, so sweetly, as she 
 gracefully raised the champagne to her lips and bade him 
 drink " to victory !" 
 
 "Listen," he began, finally, after he had set down his 
 glass, and dried his lips with his napkin, there was a look 
 in his face she had never seen before, an old, worn look : 
 
 55
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 some lines she did not remember were at the corners of his 
 eyes. " If I tell you a secret, I have disclosed to no one 
 before, will you help me ?' ' His eyes, those burning, 
 hunted eyes which seemed to see, aye, and feel, to-night, 
 the heat and burden of the day and not to recoil from it, 
 met hers fully. 
 
 She looked away. 
 
 ' ' With all my heart, ' ' she answered, softly. 
 
 He raised his glass again, and drained its contents to the 
 dregs. Then he set his chair back a bit. 
 
 "What would you say," he asked, "if I told you that 
 I loved a woman who could never love me ?' ' As he said 
 the words, as though forcing his lips to lay bare a wound, 
 he winced visibly. Then he pulled himself together again 
 perceptibly and went on, dully, ' ' I love a woman hope- 
 lessly." 
 
 That was all. It was evident that the recounter of this 
 simple story, old and pitiful and hackneyed, considered he 
 was telling something entirely new, a relation which for 
 unmitigated sadness would ever remain unmated. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe had bent her eyes upon his firmly, as 
 though bracing herself, when he began. When he ended, 
 the tiny lace handkerchief, which lay in her lap under the 
 cozily appointed supper-table, had assumed a curiously 
 distorted shape. Almost it looked as if it, too, had 
 winced. 
 
 " I should say," she answered, coolly her tone was un- 
 sympathetic to a degree, as though unrequited love were 
 far from her, because she could not, or would not, under- 
 stand it "that you had been unfortunate ; but " 
 
 He interrupted her harshly, bitterly. " ' Unfortunate !' " 
 
 " Wait. That you had been unfortunate, but that time 
 heals everything, and that some day, oh," at his impatient 
 gesture, " perhaps years hence" in answer to his withering 
 
 56
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 look of utter incredulity, "you might recover, and love 
 again. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Never, ' ' he said. ' ' That shows how little a woman 
 can gauge a man's heart." 
 
 " Is it so much more loving, then, than a woman's ?" she 
 asked, with unexpected scorn. ' ' Since you say your love 
 is hopeless, why not seek to forget it ?' ' 
 
 But as she heard herself giving forth the brave words 
 nobody knew better than she how hard they sounded, how 
 unelastic, how futile, too, in the present emergency. 
 
 ' ' I would not wish to forget, ' ' she heard him responding, 
 earnestly, ' ' rather I would keep it as it is. ' ' 
 
 His eyes such miserable eyes were devouring every 
 line of her face, her hair, her little, scornful, classic nose, the 
 hand and arm which lay so carelessly across the table, so 
 perilously near his coat-sleeve. ' ' I would loathe myself, ' ' 
 he burst forth, hoarsely, "did I ever forget her. She is 
 matchless, perfect, and, ' ' almost with a groan, ' ' unattain- 
 able." 
 
 "Ah ! That's it," she cried, with a forced laugh, " ' the 
 unattainable !' The acme always of a man's ambition ! 
 And if you attained, perhaps you, even you, with all your 
 exalted sense of chivalry, with all your old-fashioned ideas 
 of conjugal congeniality, you too might neglect the little 
 daily tendernesses for which we women starve !" She 
 stopped abruptly. 
 
 To her consternation, he was looking at her with yearn- 
 ing, pitying, awakening eyes. 
 
 "Oh, do not look so serious," she cried, hastily, still 
 with that strain in her voice which was so foreign to con- 
 tent ; it had been taken on not only in this latter portion of 
 her wild little speech. ' ' I am not talking of my own case, 
 only of other people's. Stephen is all that any reasonable 
 woman could desire. And so your love is hopeless ?' ' she 
 
 57
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 said, after a few moments' pause, in which she too had 
 drawn a little back from the supper-table, and had looked 
 up at a clock whose pendulum was noisily swinging near 
 her. " I am so sorry. ' ' 
 
 Then, as the import of her guarded speech was with him, 
 he stood quietly, having risen. 
 
 She pushed back her chair, and leaning her hands upon 
 the table before her, lifted herself erect. Somehow the 
 movement seemed an effort. She began speaking in her 
 every-day voice, the voice of the spoiled woman of society 
 who positively declines to lose her beauty-sleep in an ar- 
 gument over so fleeting an inconvenience as an unfortunate 
 love-affair. ' ' I wonder what our friends would say could 
 they see us now," her features were sparkling, mischiev- 
 ous, bonny. ' ' Imagine Mrs. Markoe, the American Am- 
 bassadress, talking seriously with Mr. Conway, at midnight, 
 over a hopeless love-affair !' ' 
 
 She knew that ridicule can slay the veriest tragic situa- 
 tion on earth. With unhesitating nerve she played her 
 best card. He started as though he had been stung. 
 
 ' ' I will go, ' ' he said. ' ' You have dismissed me. ' ' 
 
 She laughed. "Well, not quite that, is it?" she asked, 
 teasingly ; "and yet" She pointed towards the clock. 
 
 " I will bid you good-by," he said. The words were 
 firm. He was standing with his coat over his arm, and his 
 hat in his hand. He had marched with measured tread 
 out into the hall, and had quietly detached them from the 
 hat-rack as she stood watching him silently. 
 
 The room, in that moment of his absence from it. had 
 been oddly still. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe had not stirred an inch. 
 
 Breathlessly she watched the man's figure turn from her, 
 detach the light overcoat, and turn her way again. 
 
 Her way ! 
 
 58
 
 A DEFEATED HANDICAP 
 
 A thought had lit up her mind of an engraving she had 
 seen on the dingy wall of a country hotel somewhere near 
 Mount Desert, a mother lifting her anguished face to kiss 
 her soldier boy farewell : such a pitiful countenance, its 
 predominating characteristic, unmitigated resolve. 
 
 She glanced at a mirror near her. Slowly, very slowly 
 and tranquilly, with the calm which is born of desperation, 
 she mastered the expression in her own face. Had it too 
 been anguished ? Why ? She, who did not believe in 
 presentiments ! 
 
 But the face that Conway's eyes fell upon, in despairing 
 fashion, as he turned for the last time in her direction, was 
 radiant and quite self-possessed. 
 
 ' ' Bon voyage, ' ' she said, brightly, laying her hand in his 
 extended one with just the correct measure of cordiality 
 admissible between the matron and the boy ; ' ' bon voyage, 
 and a safe return. ' ' 
 
 " I am grateful. ' ' 
 
 Before she could prevent him he had bent and kissed the 
 slender fingers in his grasp. 
 
 She drew back. 
 
 ' ' A French custom, ' ' she remarked, coldly, ' ' which I 
 consider meaningless. ' ' 
 
 Her heart smote her. 
 
 He was regarding her with the dumb gaze of a tortured 
 animal. 
 
 " Good-by," he said, as though quoting from her book. 
 He was, in truth, past questioning her manners or her 
 methods. All he saw was the debonair, sparkling counte- 
 nance, which had made his happiness complete once in a 
 sunny past that seemed slowly drifting out. 
 
 "To victory !" she cried, with a thrill in her voice. 
 
 At that moment he turned again to look at her. 
 
 She was standing behind him on the threshold as he 
 
 59
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 started to descend the stairs ; a vivid, graceful figure, the 
 spirited chin well up, the sweet eyes fixed, and strangely 
 still. 
 
 "Ah! But if it is defeat ?" 
 
 ' ' Defeat !' ' she retaliated, incredulously ; " we are of the 
 stuff which will not brook defeat. ' ' 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A VERY GREAT LADY 
 
 THE Duchesse de Launoy was giving a breakfast for a 
 young poet, her latest prote'ge', when Lamballe entered, an 
 hour after his interview with Monod. Condorcet was a 
 timid young fellow whom the French capital' s social leader 
 had discovered in an attic, at Courbevoie, on her rounds as 
 a mother of mercy. She had picked up the sheets on the 
 common deal table before him, after listening attentively to 
 his halting story, and had cast her penetrating eyes over 
 the words scribbled thereupon. 
 
 The sonnet possessed unusual merit. The Duchesse was 
 a trifle sceptical as regarded genius. She had run across 
 so much notoriety which had no background but influence, 
 often her own too sympathetic influence. She inclined 
 involuntarily before this ragged- sleeved nobody with the 
 record of abused midnight oil in his pallid cheeks and 
 faded eyes. A few days afterwards she had sent a liveried 
 servant to bid him come to her. 
 
 It was the day of his life. 
 
 He recalled years afterwards that enchanting morning in 
 his famous patroness's airy breakfast-room ; its frame of 
 aviaries and flowering plants ; its ceiling in pure white bas- 
 reliefs of Cupids wreathing roses about an angel face. The 
 
 60
 
 A VERY GREAT LADY 
 
 beauties in his sonnet were publicly enlarged upon by an 
 individual who was on the top rung of fame, a lion who, at 
 a hint from his hostess, took his precious time to tell her 
 poet, in no guarded style, that he would give his right arm 
 to be able to write as perfect a specimen as the one under 
 discussion. For glow and conviction, for construction, 
 for metaphor, the great writer declared it to be a chef 
 d'ceuvre. Where, he asked, had Condorcet wooed his 
 muse ? 
 
 The poet replied, in a trembling voice, that select 
 party read between the lines, an acquired habit with the 
 pulse-hasteners of the Western hemisphere, something 
 to the effect that the nature which has been repressed in- 
 variably lets forth its message to the world- a wandering 
 shade of oversoul a child crying in the night. 
 
 When the lad paused as though out of breath, Margue- 
 rite de Launoy sighed unaffectedly, dried her eyes, and 
 smiled. 
 
 Then Lamballe came in. 
 
 His hostess bade him be seated, and listen to her poet's 
 story. But by this Condorcet had shrunk into himself. 
 He suddenly realized the contrast he presented with that 
 magic interior. His inspiration deserted him. He drooped 
 visibly. Suffering becomes second nature ; it may not be 
 thrown off at command even by a poet who has for years 
 struggled unseen, unlistened to. 
 
 So the Duchesse temporarily drew the kind scrutiny of 
 her guests away from his flushed countenance, and began 
 talking with Lamballe upon the topic of the day. All 
 Paris was agog over the great dramatist's coming play, 
 which was to be presented a day or two later at the Fran- 
 9ais. 
 
 " It's a go," he stated, succinctly. He had been super- 
 intending rehearsals for a month. He looked fagged. 
 
 61
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The Duchesse, who understood him better than any one 
 of her generation, recognized some disheartened lines in 
 his frank physiognomy. 
 
 "A la bonne heure," returned she, in response to his 
 disclosure. ' ' Do you hear that, Vodillet ?' ' she called 
 down the table to a long-haired individual who was arguing 
 violently with a deputy next him. ' ' The premiere is to be 
 the night after to-morrow. Ferdinand states its success is 
 assured. ' ' 
 
 1 ' I have secured the best talent the Franjais can offer, ' ' 
 added Lamballe. 
 
 " Paris knows when her favorite child has proved his 
 worth, ' ' proudly asserted the Duchesse. ' ' The theme, ' ' in- 
 sistently, "tell us of the theme." 
 
 ' ' The old story, ' ' vouchsafed Lamballe. ' ' The story 
 of the humbug of this epoch. The fatuity of poor human 
 
 nature presuming it can superintend the will of ," he 
 
 stopped. He cast a quick, suspicious glance at the listen- 
 ing faces about him. 
 
 The little circle, which consisted of eleven men and 
 women, had turned involuntarily towards this magnet in 
 their midst. The faces were alive, each one indicative of a 
 nimble wit. 
 
 ' ' As opposed to the will of ?' ' urged the Duchesse. 
 
 " Of a Higher Power," answered Lamballe, reverently. 
 
 There was a chorus of protests. 
 
 " But what would we do without science ? Answer me 
 that, Ferdinand." 
 
 "And progress, the progress you advocate?" 
 
 "And the law of preservation, where does it come 
 in?" 
 
 ' ' What heresy have you swung your plot on now, mon 
 ami?" demanded the Duchesse in her sonorous voice, after 
 the tempest of questions had died out. 
 
 62
 
 A VERY GREAT LADY 
 
 ' ' The heresy of medicine. The fallacy of cure in general 
 as opposed to the will of God in particular. The presump- 
 tion of man's belief that he may conquer what the Re- 
 deemer commands. You know Caracci ?' ' The physician 
 named was conspicuous for having declared himself the dis- 
 coverer of an infallible cure. 
 
 ' ' Yes !' ' shouted Vodillet, with emphasis. Caracci had 
 failed to heal the great journalist's son of an inherited 
 malady, after declaring himself supreme in this speciality. 
 
 ' ' I have imagined Caracci himself in the clutch of an in- 
 vincible disease," stated Lamballe, tersely. 
 
 ' ' Admirable, ' ' remarked a woman in one corner. She 
 had quitted the table. Her elbows resting on a bracket 
 back of her, her head thrown forward, she cast her eyes up 
 rapturously towards the sun-flecked ceiling. She longed 
 for the unfolding of a plot a rarissima avis in Paris which 
 might be fraught with novelty. 
 
 ' ' It will create a tremendous sensation, ' ' asserted the 
 Duchesse, with sang-froid. Her practised acumen rose to 
 an emergency with relish. She had always claimed that 
 Lamballe enjoyed throwing his glove to the dogs of public 
 opinion. When the agony was over, he stooped, picked it 
 up, brushed off the dust, rearranged the pieces, and util- 
 ized the abominable treatment it had received as a lesson 
 instead of an assault. 
 
 With one delicate hand she was holding a bunch of 
 grapes. In her other, the right one, she was plying a 
 pair of grape-scissors in the form of a stork. She placed 
 the bunches, when she had done detaching them from the 
 main stem, upon a silver dish, and bade the maitre d' hotel 
 distribute them among her guests, some of whom by this 
 time had risen. Others were lighting their cigarettes. 
 
 " What is the title ?" 
 
 " 'Avoided.'" 
 
 63
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' We are to suppose, then, that Caracci ' avoids' the in- 
 evitable?" 
 
 ' ' You are to suppose that Caracci avoids, through a mer- 
 ciful death, the revelation of his own too pitiful failure." 
 
 "Ah ! It is a piece a clef," mused the Duchesse. " In 
 a piece a clef," she explained rapidly to the poet, in re- 
 sponse to the unworded question in his listening face, ' ' the 
 main roles are assumed by the players in as exact as possi- 
 ble a similitude of the living characters' habiliments and 
 idiosyncrasies. It requires a dramatist of very unusual 
 capacity, of tact, and of vast wit, to do this thing. Lam- 
 balle is the foremost at it. He cuts deep." 
 
 "The method is a new one, is it not?" inquired the 
 poet, timidly, in his thin, high voice. 
 
 ' ' On the contrary, it' s as old as the hills, ' ' remarked Lam- 
 balle. ' 'Are we not, nous autres thinkers, constantly seek- 
 ing to solve the problem of life ? Why not try and guess 
 the riddle of death?" 
 
 ' ' But death is extinction, ' ' implored the poet, in his flexi- 
 ble voice, with distended eyes. 
 
 1 ' Yes. Then why object to it, enfant ? There are losses 
 all through our lives far more agonizing than the loss of 
 breath." 
 
 "I know," answered the boy, very low. The whole 
 gamut of his past sufferings stood revealed in his answer. 
 The conviction in the face of Lamballe' s outspoken fling at 
 falsity, that he was one of the forgotten of God and men, 
 was with him once again in its fullest force. 
 
 Lamballe contemplated him piercingly. He wore cus- 
 tomarily the introspective gaze of the thinker. Trained 
 observation revealed to him the famished lines about the 
 poet's lips, the hollow curves in the delicate temples. 
 
 "Hand over that sonnet," commanded the dramatist, 
 peremptorily. The boy obeyed. Lamballe perused it, scep- 
 
 64
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 tically at first. As he read his attention grew. His ex- 
 pression softened reverently. His black eyes with their 
 powerful brows, eyes which mocked and jeered, mostly, 
 because of having mastered the fact of the ineptitudes of 
 life, grew profoundly earnest. 
 
 He glanced across at the Duchesse, who was watching 
 him and the poet with the brooding look of a mother bird 
 guarding her nest. 
 
 " My old friend, thou has found a thing which will live," 
 he pronounced, deeply moved. 
 
 ' ' You know my belief, ' ' she responded, quietly. ' ' The 
 gifted human being is an instrument straight from on high." 
 
 There is, perhaps, as much rejoicing in heaven over a 
 soul that repenteth as in France when a new genius is dis- 
 covered. If there is more, it is because the quality of the 
 listening hosts is chosen, and the spurious in achievement, 
 happily, an unknown quantity. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 SUBSEQUENTLY, when the Duchesse' s guests had de- 
 parted, Lamballe's reserve crumbled away. He seemed 
 all at once endowed with a devil which would out. His 
 speech, habitually more trenchant than that of most of his 
 contemporaries, sprang up and flamed. It was the thor- 
 oughly equipped output of the man who works, rejoices, 
 and observes to a superlative extent. But to-day its pre- 
 dominating accent was a death-knell to peace. He flung 
 out cynical syllogisms, imagining his case, proving it, and 
 watching its throes with fine irony. He rejected his chosen 
 confidante's protest, to her gentle dismay, that protest 
 
 65
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 which had hitherto made way with him, of human nature's 
 foremost duty to itself. He stormed like a poisonous wasp 
 desirous of inserting its sting in every corner of the stately 
 room to which they had withdrawn that they might unin- 
 terruptedly exchange confidences. 
 
 No hint of hers touched him ; no venture seemed equal 
 to coping with his violence. At last she sat silent, watch- 
 ing him pitifully, as he paced to and fro clamorously pur- 
 suing an imaginary contest against wrong, perfidy, intoler- 
 ance. Oddly enough, this accomplished thinker appeared 
 to have suddenly forgotten that his attitude expressed all 
 three. 
 
 The force of the Latin race expends itself more by protest 
 than in action. His present mood was a new one with 
 Lamballe. His watcher took note of it uneasily. Where 
 was the calm of the high-minded philosopher, the cool con- 
 tempt of the critic whose standard had been tampered with ? 
 Here was an individual wasting his energy where it would 
 have commanded respect by silence. 
 
 His brows, like shelving roofs, knit up in a fretwork of 
 deepest lines, his eyes two jets of sombre flame, scorching, 
 feverish, his nostrils dilated, his figure erect, the muscles 
 stiffened as though ready for action, his head thrown up 
 as if to the last striving to prove itself victorious, he strode 
 with palpable bitterness the way of the soul which claims 
 its just due. 
 
 His listener waited patiently. She had a refutal ready 
 for each cutting dart the speaker let forth, a remedy for 
 every revulsion of feeling. First and last she felt contempt 
 for a cowardice which proclaims its impotence aloud. She 
 knew that to voice a pain is to reject its most soothing balm, 
 that of secrecy. 
 
 But still she waited. 
 
 And at last, like a tired child who has spent his wrath 
 
 66
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 wantonly and comes home to be punished, he threw him- 
 self upon an embroidered stool at her feet and was still. 
 
 Only then did she lay down her knitting, about which 
 her slender white fingers had been creeping like mice. In 
 the act she let her hand fall against his shoulder and felt 
 with keen sympathy the rigid muscles through the cloth 
 of his coat. The veins in his temples stood out like whip- 
 cords. 
 
 ' ' The old pain, Ferdinand ?' ' very pitifully. 
 
 ' ' The same. It is my lot to be yoked with insufficiency. ' ' 
 He was looking back at her with stormy eyes, as though 
 swept by a hurricane which had uprooted many a living 
 thing in its mad might. 
 
 "I do not understand. I never have comprehended 
 your unrest. Life is full for you. You are famous. The 
 world is at your feet. What could man ask more ?' ' 
 
 " I thought the thing was dead," he murmured, desper- 
 ately, ' ' until to-day. Am I an infant to be stirred like 
 this, by memory, when the daily facts which move most 
 people pass by me like a breath across a mirror ? Will my 
 time never come wherein I shall suffer no more, just wait, 
 like a tired child, my turn to be stricken once for all? 
 What a coward I am, chere amie ! At a breath from the 
 past my blood curdles, my muscles stiffen, my judgment is 
 muddy. My vaunted will, ' ' ironically, ' ' becomes a shadow, 
 substanceless, like paper. I am sick and tired." 
 
 He drew one powerful hand across his forehead. His 
 face was haunted, gray. 
 
 "But your work," murmured the Duchesse's pained 
 voice. " Our need of you. Think of the hundreds whom 
 you feed and clothe. You exhale the breath of new life 
 into your people's nostrils. Is not that consciousness 
 enough to insure content?" 
 
 She had dropped her knitting-needles, which for the past 
 
 67
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 few seconds she had vainly striven to manipulate efficiently. 
 She gazed at Lamballe with pleading eyes. 
 
 ' ' Fame P ' he went on. ' ' What is fame in the place of 
 love ? Success ! What is the success one acquires in the 
 face of the success one has striven for and failed at? 
 Charity ! Aye, I have been charitable. Where is the 
 charity that should have been meted out to me ?' ' 
 
 His was the face of an avenging angel by this time. He 
 was asking questions of the air, of the room, of the frown- 
 ing pictures in their sixteenth century frames upon the 
 walls. 
 
 "Ah, old friend, the world thinks that success is what I 
 crave, success in being a consoler instead of a participator 
 in the joys which have been denied me. What am I ? 
 Merely the spur to other men's content, their friend, 
 perhaps, ' ' hopelessly. ' ' Don' t you understand now ? I 
 have looked at happiness all my life ' through other men's 
 eyes.' I want my own." 
 
 The tall figure had begun its striding up and down again, 
 down and up, with heavy, heedless feet. The face was hag- 
 gard ; its lines furrowed. They seemed to have set deeper 
 in this last half-hour's unbridled fret. 
 
 ' ' But there are many women even yet, ' ' began the 
 Duchesse, timidly. 
 
 He checked her instantly with a frown. "There are 
 usually three women for a man : the woman whom he de- 
 sires and who is not desirous of him ; the woman who is de- 
 sirous of him and of whom he is not desirous ; and the 
 woman of whom he is desirous, who is desirous of him, 
 and whom Fate decrees he may not have." 
 
 "And for a woman there are but two men," returned 
 the Duchesse, dryly ; she had been a widow for thirty 
 years, and was an accomplished philosopher: "the man 
 who desires what he may not have, and the man who dis- 
 
 68
 
 THE UNDERTOW 
 
 regards what is his. Perhaps, who can tell, he may be one 
 and the same. ' ' 
 
 " What brought it near you?" she inquired, later. 
 
 ' ' A mere chance. The case came up four years ago. 
 It concerned my deeply rooted prejudice against abandon- 
 ing Carembourg to a horde of vandals. It broke out again 
 to-day. The American is at our door again. I shall not 
 let him in." 
 
 "The American ! Was she then an American ?" 
 
 "You did not know?" he answered, feebly, in a shaken, 
 incredulous fashion. 
 
 "I !" ejaculated the Duchesse, in the utmost astonish- 
 ment. ' ' How should I know ?' ' 
 
 ' ' But it was chez vous," he asserted, in that queer, dazed 
 manner which was so pathetic. 
 
 The Duchesse rose. She let her knitting-needles fall un- 
 heeded to the ground. 
 
 ' ' I beg of you, Ferdinand, ' ' she cried, authoritatively, 
 "what is this mystery?" 
 
 ' ' There is no mystery, ' ' he returned, instantly. ' ' It was 
 Madeleine Farragut." 
 
 " Madeleine Farragut !" 
 
 She lifted her hand now, in a blind, stumbling fashion, to 
 her forehead. Madeleine Farragut ! Her friend, her life- 
 long friend ! ' ' You speak of those days, years ago, at La 
 Valliere ?' ' she whispered. 
 
 Her voice came to Lamballe as through a mist. 
 
 "La Valliere? Yes," he answered, slowly, caressingly. 
 His memory was throbbing, too. ' ' Yes. It was at La 
 Valliere. Strange, you never knew. " 
 
 " No," returned the Duchesse, faintly. 
 
 She was seeing many things which she had never even 
 suspected before : the cause for forgotten enigmas in her 
 brain ; certain questions without answers ; answers to stray 
 
 69
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 interrogations. The Duchesse had all her well-ordered life 
 been fond of quoting the sins of omission to be greater than 
 those of commission. She had sinned, indeed. How blind 
 she had been ; how much more than blind ! Be"te ! Was 
 there nothing now that she might do? A sudden light 
 beamed across her face. She drew herself up. She crossed 
 the room, steadily, to where Lamballe stood with his back 
 to her. He was staring blindly at a golden crucifix on 
 which a silver Christ, the piteous thorn-crowned head of 
 peculiarly exquisite workmanship, hung, wearing its sublime 
 expression of heroic martyrdom. 
 
 ' ' And you have carried that scar in your heart all these 
 years ?' ' she asked. 
 
 Lamballe made no answer. 
 
 Her eyes were full of tears. ' ' But it is almost unheard 
 of !' ' cried the Duchesse. Then she added, as though to 
 herself, " And we are told that man is faithless." 
 
 1 ' Would that he were, ' ' breathed Lamballe, huskily. 
 
 ' ' My friend, ' ' she said, laying her hand against his 
 arm. ' ' Come, seat yourself near me, and tell me of your 
 grief. That poor heart must be congested. ' ' 
 
 She drew him onto a sofa beside her. 
 
 " I cannot," he muttered, after a little, in a stifled voice, 
 springing up. ' ' Let me tell it my own way. ' ' 
 
 He again began pacing the floor rapidly, stopping at 
 intervals as though to concentrate all his strength upon 
 stating as minutely as possible the color, the feel of the 
 period he was striving to put before her. But he visibly 
 recognized his words to be shadows, providing for sub- 
 stance vapor instead of flesh and blood. The words alone 
 were pallid, however ; the subject-matter was radiantly 
 alive, the vital era of a man's first love.
 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY 
 
 "You must imagine her en toute beaute 1 ," he began, 
 hoarsely. "Fancy me, too, young and hopeful, not the 
 worn individual you see now. ' ' 
 
 He checked himself a moment. Then he continued, 
 
 ' ' It was when you instituted those hawking parties in 
 the forest of La Valliere after the manner of Francis I. 
 I can see the spaces in the woods between the bay-trees, 
 which stood in clusters, where the sun shot through its 
 yellow bars of light. I can see, too, the more ancient 
 portions of the forest, where the gloom was copl and still. 
 I can see her, cannot you ? Her hair was a wonderful 
 color, like that of our impe'ratrice. Her profile was the 
 chaste outline of Diane. She had the delicate features, 
 the rose-leaf bloom, of the women of her race. I can 
 picture her with the morning in her face, and again in 
 the moonlight when we met to kiss and clasp and vow. 
 Such vows ! Was there any proof of faith she did not 
 give me? Was there a feat on earth I would not have 
 attempted for her ?' ' 
 
 He drew his hand across his burning eyes. His features 
 quivered. With an effort he controlled them. 
 
 ' ' How I loved her ! I remember the world took on a 
 new meaning for me. Up to then the bird's songs had 
 seemed shrill and tuneless. They now were symphonies 
 rehearsed for our benefit. The sun grew warm. The sky 
 stretched, a perpetual blue, off towards a limitless horizon 
 which I longed to reach. The world was made of gold ; 
 a poem, telling but one sweet story, ours ! Her father
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 had been sent out to represent his home government. 
 He brought her, his only daughter, with him. You re- 
 member ?' ' 
 
 The Duchesse nodded. She could not speak. She, 
 too, was wandering in the fastnesses of those woods of 
 hers, disporting with her bidden guests, witnessing their 
 enjoyment, with the then new agony of loss in her heart 
 which she had so bravely determined to stifle with con- 
 stant prayer and useful deeds. How strangely still her 
 grief was to-day, and patient ! She had almost grown 
 to love it, a friend that, never changing, held in its 
 depths fidelity, illusion, fulfilment, the souls of love and 
 life. 
 
 Lamballe stooped and plucked a piece of drooping hya- 
 cinth from its stem. It grew in a wrought silver jar at his 
 elbow. He contemplated the tiny, bell-like flower wist- 
 fully. Then he laid it down. The gesture said it had 
 ever been his portion to put sweetness and light away 
 from him. 
 
 " I don't know how it came about, just," he murmured, 
 after a little. ' ' Ah, now I remember ! One day I doubted. 
 It seemed too much to ask ! She, to love a brute like 
 me ! She knew. Out of her womanly mercy she bade 
 me doubt no longer." His voice took on a wondering, 
 joyous note, merely at the recollection. 
 
 The Duchesse was gazing at him still with those wide, 
 moist eyes, pools wherein the tears seemed glistening, held 
 back against the white lids, awaiting their own time to fall. 
 
 ' ' She loved me, ' ' continued Lamballe, solemnly, a 
 thrill in his voice, which had all at once grown rich and 
 ringing. " In that day she was truthful. It was my day, 
 our hour. No one had taught her to be mercenary yet. 
 We learn that," very low, and with supreme contempt. 
 ' ' She was unspoiled. We loved each other like grave 
 
 72
 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY 
 
 children who reverently accept the munificent gift proffered 
 them with a full realization of its value. If in my young 
 madness I forgot for the time to consider her interests, 
 that was but momentary. The thought slowly framed 
 itself as the sense strengthened in me of the great responsi- 
 bility I assumed in agreeing to shape and carry through 
 her happiness. I bore a great name. That was all though. 
 The estate was heavily encumbered. I was practically 
 penniless. I held a position under Gontran in those days. 
 You remember? His secretary. He was a government 
 official with vast power. My position came to me through 
 my father's influence, before his death. Gontran' s was an 
 uneven, fiery nature, which broke out in queer places. 
 One day, in a fit of rage, he dismissed me. Then I awoke 
 to facts. I told her how rash I had been, how we must 
 wait ; that I could not ask her to waste her youth thus, 
 but that I would be patient all my life ; that I must go 
 away and work ; that here all my energies were stunted, 
 dwarfed, my great love for her made me practically im- 
 potent. She said that she had money in her own right, 
 and that I must take it. I was too proud. Since then I 
 have learned that he who accepts nobly is far finer than he 
 who gives ! At my refusal she threw her arms about my 
 neck and implored me, like the child she was, to remain 
 with her, not work, anything rather than leave her. 
 I refused. Her father had been obstinate as regarded our 
 union because of my poverty. I was wounded to the 
 quick. I determined to prove my mettle. I often think, 
 now that the years have sped, that did poor human nature 
 know enough to hold fast its most sacred joys, to submit 
 with less resignation to loss or change, perhaps it would 
 not expend its forces in after years in imaginings of what 
 it might once have done. Surely we have the right to 
 happiness. We are brought up to believe ourselves 
 
 73
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ignorant of what is best for us. Why then are we given 
 hearts ?' ' 
 
 He was looking into vacancy, transfixed, apparently, at 
 the sombre colors of his own destiny. 
 
 The Duchesse saw a tear fall across her cheek from un- 
 der the lids of her half-shut eyes. She had closed them 
 meekly. It was more than she could bear to look upon 
 Lamballe's working face. She neither moved nor spoke. 
 
 ' ' My light, ' ' he broke forth, harshly, ' ' went out. I 
 think perhaps she was coerced by those about her, a 
 worldly, pleasure-loving set, her friends. She was so 
 young and rarely beautiful. I have never known ; that 
 has been the hardest part, to have never even known. 
 At St. Petersburg I worked to still the throbbing fever in 
 my blood. The impatience I suffered was a living force. 
 They said it would not be long before I proved myself in- 
 valuable. I knew that would command a price, always. 
 Her letters came. They were girlish, unchecked ; the 
 outpour of a loving woman's loyal heart. I have them 
 still. At night I take them out and read them over and 
 over. I can see her face, her lips, her eyes. I can hear 
 her voice. She ' loved me so, ' they read. ' ' Here his 
 voice broke off short. He made a fierce gesture, and 
 stumbled on. " She wrote the 'days' were 'long' ; they 
 had ' no sunshine' in them. They were ' not the old 
 days.' It was 'not the same world!' I, at last, had 
 leave given me. I wrote her I was coming. Such a 
 letter ! It almost scorched the covers in which it was 
 enwrapped. 'When I reach you,' it read, 'remember 
 nothing, mignonne, but that my arms are hungry for you, 
 my lips dry, my heart drained !' ' 
 
 The Duchesse' s face was drawn and white. The agony 
 in Lamballe's voice was as live as though the cause for it 
 stood close. 
 
 74
 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY 
 
 "When I arrived they told me she had gone. Her 
 father had been called back. His term was over. She, his 
 only daughter, went with him. Not a word, not a line. 
 Even then I never doubted ; I was so sure she loved me. 
 I sent a cry after her : Why had she gone, and wherefore ? 
 My trust was absolute. There came no reply. Then, one 
 day, I knew. I read she had married a man three times 
 her age, with money. And she had been rich, I loved her, 
 I was young !" 
 
 ' ' And you did nothing ?' ' 
 
 ' ' What was there to do ? My dream was dead. My 
 bird had flown. The sun had vanished from my sky. It 
 never has returned. Ah, perhaps a pale ray, sometimes, 
 now and again shines on me through the blessings of a 
 poor, woman or the smile of a child. I am not one of 
 those men, chere amie, who can patch up a memory and 
 call it truth. I wanted the best of life. I lost. ' ' 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 After a time Lamballe's voice continued; it had re- 
 gained its steadiness, the trenchant tones he assumed as 
 his disguise reasserted themselves. " I have my love 
 for that murdered dream with me always. In latter 
 years I have considered that enough. She chose ; not 
 I. She, without doubt, suffered the consequences, poor 
 child, as we all must suffer when we choose dross instead 
 of gold." 
 
 ' ' And you have forgiven her ?' ' 
 
 It was the Duchesse's voice. 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' responded Lamballe, decisively, without an in- 
 stant' s hesitation. His features took on a mortal pallor now. 
 1 ' Have souls the right to slay one another, and go un- 
 punished ? Think what it was to have the mainspring of a 
 life broken, the hands shattered, the hours set at variance. 
 Other men can fool themselves into taking what they can 
 
 75
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 get, perhaps. I failed. That acknowledgment has never 
 passed by me." 
 
 ' ' And this this is the source of all your bitterness, old 
 friend?" 
 
 " Is it not enough ?' ' asked Lamballe. 
 
 The Duchesse made no answer. 
 
 A man who elects to bear, unmurmuring, a wrong, to 
 cloak his eternal ache with merciful deeds, to work out 
 others' salvation with death at his heart, is truly noble. 
 Despised love may turn and sting itself ; it may, again, bear 
 richest fruit, but the renunciation demanded of it in the 
 latter mortal process is ten times more acute than the travail 
 induced by natural laws. 
 
 ' ' I thank you for your confidence, ' ' murmured the 
 Duchesse, softly. 
 
 Lamballe gripped her extended hand. ' ' I am weak, ' ' he 
 acknowledged, sadly. 
 
 She lifted herself to her feet, and placed one approving 
 hand against his powerful shoulder. ' ' There are weaker 
 things than love of justice," she stated enigmatically, add- 
 ing, ' ' I think love is yours, Ferdinand. ' ' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' ' The love of your fellow-men. ' ' 
 
 "A poor apology for home and wife," he whispered, 
 painfully. 
 
 She did not contradict him. 
 
 Some moments later she changed the subject. Their con- 
 versation caught up the theme of the coming play. After 
 exhausting that topic, the Duchesse' s annual fete came under 
 discussion. The Duchesse recounted a story of a rival great 
 lady who had dared to say she would outdo her ; whereupon 
 the Duchesse had ordered three orchestras instead of one, 
 and had substituted a wing at the end of her banqueting 
 hall, which was to be a marvel of ingenious contrivance. 
 
 76
 
 LAMBALLE'S STORY 
 
 Lamballe suggested some novelties which his listener agreed 
 to adopt, and, finally, refused to divulge the costume in 
 which he was to appear. 
 
 She finally desisted. 
 
 " But I will discover you, never fear," said she, shaking 
 her finger at him. 
 
 He rose. He had promised to be present at Bagatelle as 
 umpire at the polo match. Already his carriage had been 
 announced. 
 
 They walked down the long room together, out into the 
 great hall, which, dome-ceilinged, let in through colored- 
 glass panes patches of crimson and violet and amber. 
 
 ' ' There will be a number of new costumes, ' ' exclaimed 
 the Duchesse, she was like a child ; her fete had taken a 
 vivid hold of her imagination, ' ' and the ordinary duplicates 
 of old ones, I presume. The feature which promises the 
 most amusement is that none of your sex will be admitted, 
 unless masked." 
 
 " Vivandieres," remarked Lamballe, beginning to count 
 off on his fingers as he drew on his gloves, ' ' a folly or 
 two " 
 
 ' ' Oh, as for that, follies always come in threes, I have 
 been told," laughed the Duchesse. 
 
 ' ' The customary shepherdesses, and all the queens. ' ' 
 
 " Tiens !" cried the Duchesse, " I had almost forgotten ! 
 There will be a rarely perfect Marie Antoinette. ' ' 
 
 She stood with her strong head thrown back, looking at 
 Lamballe with kindling, benign eyes. They held a hint of 
 light malice which he could not take time to understand. 
 He saw it, however. It nettled his curiosity somewhat. 
 
 ' ' Marie Antoinette ?' ' he returned. ' ' And is she not al- 
 ways beautiful and perfect ? Would it be indiscreet were I 
 to ask, does she come with or without her head, chere 
 amie?" 
 
 77
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The Duchesse was observing him narrowly, it might 
 have been said with a slight apprehension. 
 
 She brought the corners of her eyes together in a peculiar 
 fashion as she retorted, ' ' With her head this time. What 
 if remarques-tu, I say only what if- she won your heart, 
 Ferdinand ?' ' 
 
 " Impossible !" protested Lamballe. He was descending 
 the broad staircase leisurely, buttoning his glove. He 
 looked back over his shoulder. The purple light from one 
 of the windows above lay across his face. 
 
 ' ' Take my advice, ' ' warned the Duchesse, with a tremor 
 in her voice, "and beware of Marie Antoinette !" 
 
 ' ' Is my name Lamballe, ' ' cried he, with mock self- 
 sufficiency, "that I should fear my Queen?" 
 
 "And yet," said the Duchesse, full fifteen minutes 
 afterwards, she stood reflectively where her guest had 
 taken farewell of her, her gown lifted between her thumb 
 and first finger, her foot on the landing of the stairway 
 which led to her private apartments, and which she began 
 slowly to ascend, "and yet," she murmured, "I can 
 think of no better way to tell him that Madeleine Farragut 
 is in Paris?" 
 
 4 ' I will not inform Madeleine of our interview, ' ' she 
 decided that night, after having cogitated all day. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 THE Qth of June, at Carembourg, in the Wallindorf 
 valley, two masculine figures wended their way across the 
 fertile fields. They left behind them an inn which nestled 
 in a hollow a few paces from the shabby railway station, 
 
 78
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 They pursued their route silently towards a point in the 
 landscape which commanded no view and little beauty. 
 
 The Wallindorf valley stretches, a broad green ribbon, 
 between tufts of hills that group like listening spectators 
 about an arena of verdure. 
 
 The highest elevation is surmounted by a quaint chateau, 
 architecturally a masterpiece of the early Italian era. The 
 king who bestowed upon France a historical new birth im- 
 ported his outlines, with his hobbies, from the prolific 
 south. 
 
 Once arrived at a point in the picturesque landscape, the 
 younger man swung his leather sack off his shoulders and, 
 whistling softly an air which a participator in the doings of 
 the active world might have easily recognized to be a 
 popular refrain, an echo of the music halls in London, 
 Paris, and New York, steadied his easel in the long grass. 
 With an attentive eye fixed severely ahead of him upon a 
 stretch of road, his chosen position commanded a view of 
 the inn, the railway station, and the castle above it, the 
 main road, and the cross-roads at the corner, he pro- 
 ceeded to brush in a picture which for impressionistic real- 
 ism was unique. 
 
 Happily, there were no severer critics about him than a 
 carter with his yoke of oxen, and a dog pursuing his zig- 
 zag chase after the butterflies. These were either too 
 ignorant or too indifferent to cast on the stranger more 
 than a shifting glance as they passed. 
 
 The second individual's peregrinations it would have 
 been more difficult to explain had one set out with that 
 acknowledged purpose. Whereas the artist, serenely con- 
 tented, whistled now and then gayly, stopped his work at 
 intervals to throw himself down on the side of the road for 
 a smoke, wandered idly towards the dashing river, and 
 sometimes fashioned a rod of a drooping willow bough 
 
 79
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 which he tore unhesitatingly from the mother stem for his 
 own piscatorial delectation, the elder man, a rough-look- 
 ing specimen in tweed and knickerbockers, possessed of a 
 pair of shrewd, humorous eyes, a long upper lip, rough 
 hands, and a lined, tanned skin, leathery and sunburned, 
 which told its own story of wind and weather ignored, 
 darted about like a ground-sparrow, hither and thither, 
 tirelessly. Squatting, kneeling with his face close to the 
 ground, lying flat in the shadow of the forest many yards 
 off, punching, pummelling the ground with his fists, and 
 then rising to walk leisurely with measured tread across 
 from the point in the road towards a clump of woods out 
 of which some oaks, in stately fashion, lifted their feathery 
 tops towards nature's roofing, the odd being seemed im- 
 bued with the demon of unrest. 
 
 There was a long, low line about half a mile from the 
 cross-roads corner, wavering, uncertain, blood-red in color. 
 Like the knife-blade crest of a tossing sea it rose and fell 
 at intervals under the light breeze blowing. From a 
 distance this line resembled a streak of life cutting its in- 
 evitable way through nature, uneven, listless a trifle, but 
 clear. 
 
 Nearer to, the crimson line disclosed itself, a double row 
 of wild, red poppies with black centres. 
 
 It marked the frontier between France and Germany. 
 
 It seemed an emblem of past warfare ; a gory memory 
 which had left a scar which throbbed and multiplied. 
 
 The elder man followed along its uneven length for a 
 mile. Then, with a puzzled expression, he returned to 
 the point he started from at the cross-roads and made his 
 round again. From the tree at the corner of the road 
 which stood sentinel over a gravel path distinct and well- 
 marked in its frame of living green, up the little incline to 
 the left, over across a gully which ran out of sight, swallowed 
 
 80
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 up in the forest, around back of a slight elevation and again 
 to the tree, coming this time from the right instead of the 
 left with measured tread. Like a tragedian, repeating his 
 lines while stringing his gestures onto his periods, he kept 
 his lips moving. 
 
 At intervals he called something across from where 
 he stood to the artist, who immediately, it was aston- 
 ishing to see with what alacrity the idle young fellow 
 accepted any interruption, no matter how intently he ap- 
 peared bent upon his own amusement, at his com- 
 panion's low, clear, concise words, whipped a small note- 
 book from his pocket and jotted down some numbers 
 furtively. 
 
 The second day, after slinging his leather sack off his 
 back, unpacking it deftly, and disposing his artist parapher- 
 nalia conveniently, he withdrew from the bottom of it a 
 clumsy instrument with a wooden handle and two heavy 
 pieces of iron crossed at the end. 
 
 This he gave to his companion silently. 
 
 That personage took a firm grip of it and placed it against 
 his shoulder, after having cast a glance behind him and 
 another towards the little village nestling under the shadow 
 of the castle at the foot of the hill back of the inn. 
 
 He then made off with it, walking rapidly. 
 
 But no sooner was he within range of a scrubby-looking 
 brushwood, which edged the corner of the roadside, than 
 he drew a long string from his pocket and some pegs, 
 which he whittled sharp at one end with his knife. 
 Fastening the string into the earth with one of the pegs, 
 he began deliberately pacing off distances with his feet. 
 
 The artist was restless. 
 
 He stood, with both hands in his pockets, casting doubt- 
 ing looks at the sky, which was no longer gray but thick, 
 dun-colored. 
 
 6 8l
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The inn, under the thickening clouds, made a black dot 
 against a murky background. There was a thin line of 
 smoke far off towards the horizon, which bespoke the 
 passing of a locomotive to, or from, the great centres of 
 the earth. 
 
 Carembourg, in the Wallindorf valley, is but eight hours 
 from Paris. 
 
 Conway's thoughts were not with the sturdy figure in 
 the underbrush to-day, but rather on the crowded boule- 
 vards with their interminable hum, in his mother's entresol 
 on the Avenue d' lena, or even at the United States Em- 
 bassy. 
 
 ' ' What were they all doing ?' ' he wondered. 
 
 His mother at this hour he drew his watch from his vest- 
 pocket : it was half-past four was at the Grand Prix. He 
 could see the sloping pelouse dotted with bright-hued 
 toilets ; hundreds on the Grand Stand. He pictured men- 
 tally the Champs- Elyse"es with its multitude of spectators 
 gradually thickening and spreading ; the long rows of 
 horsechestnut-trees like giant bridal bouquets shading the 
 holiday costumes of the women and the more sombre ac- 
 coutrements of the men. Later would come that hetero- 
 geneous scrabble towards home, the return from the races, 
 which exemplifies more thoroughly than anything the strug- 
 gle for life, or supremacy, or both. 
 
 'Twas the night, too, of the Duchesse's ball, the fete 
 of the season. 
 
 All Paris would be there. Paris of the Faubourg ; Paris 
 of the green-room. Political Paris ; sporting Paris. The 
 vast salons would be thrown open, as they invariably were 
 once a year, for the throng which, in mask and domino, 
 would come there, to dance and frolic until dawn. 
 
 It was odd what he had come upon inadvertently in re- 
 gard to that ball ; he who was so utterly indifferent to the 
 
 82
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 inner machinations of the set which so large a proportion 
 of the world seeks to know, the set with which he had been 
 conversant all his life. He knew it through and through, he 
 thought, wearily. Society was the same thing the world 
 over : a selfish, self-seeking, self-indulgent thing. The 
 same in France, Conway had discovered, as in New York. 
 It fought with all its weapons for place, and, once arrived, 
 proved itself in so many instances unworthy of the promi- 
 nence it had bled to attain. Was it its insatiability that made 
 it seem so insignificant ? 
 
 He had been strolling past a play-house in the rue Drouot 
 only yesterday, an hour before he had quitted Paris. 
 
 A clown stood in the doorway. Paris knew him as well 
 as his gags and its excesses. Mariotti had set the jaded 
 capital by the ears with his jokes, which were two-edged 
 with cynicism and truth. 
 
 His hands were plunged deep into his pockets. His 
 countenance, unwhitened to-day with a spurious effigy of 
 purity illuminate, was open, and bland as a child's. 
 
 Conway stopped to chat with him. 
 
 "And the ball," he asked, "the Duchesse's fte? In 
 what costume do you go, Mariotti ?' ' 
 
 He put the question more as a poser than through curi- 
 osity. He fully expected the retort might embody a coun- 
 ter-thrust out of the mouth of this original babe and suck- 
 ling who reverenced no man. 
 
 Mariotti bestowed a queer look upon his fashionably clad 
 interlocutor in response. 
 
 " Monsieur mocks ! Mariotti is not bidden to the ball of 
 the Duchesse, " he vouchsafed, cautiously. "But, would 
 monsieur learn a secret, I can tell him one which Paris would 
 give a fortune to know, but first, does monsieur attend the 
 ball ?" It was evident this specimen of mixed ancestry had 
 been copiously imbibing. 
 
 83
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' No. I shall be miles away by that hour. I leave Paris 
 to-night," Conway returned. 
 
 ' ' A la bonne heure ! Know then, monsieur, that Mariotti, 
 and Mariotti alone, knows of the costume to be worn by 
 Lamballe!" 
 
 ' ' Lamballe attends the ball ?' ' cried Conway, astounded. 
 He had imagined his adversary of graver ways and means. 
 
 ' ' Always. Monsieur Lamballe is everywhere. He has 
 nine lives, I tell him, of a cat. He is of Mariotti' s most 
 faithful clients." The simple fellow made this statement 
 with the air of a monkey wooed by the moon. 
 
 " What will be his costume?" 
 
 ' ' That of a harlequin, ' ' whispered Mariotti. "It is to 
 be an exact copy of my costume. All Paris knows it. I 
 created it for this past season's extravaganza. I take it 
 through the provinces this summer." 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " How monsieur is bte ! Cannot monsieur fancy the 
 intrigue? Lamballe goes as Mariotti. Mariotti stays at 
 home. In sum, monsieur, Lamballe lays aside, for the time 
 being, his identity and becomes the simple clown. ' ' 
 
 What a pity he could not have remained in town, to 
 pierce his enemy's disguise through this disclosure so art- 
 lessly betrayed ! What a chance lost ! What a revelation 
 neglected ! 
 
 But he had his orders, and must obey them. 
 
 The train, two hours later, conveyed him and Burgess in 
 the direction of Carembourg, Lamballe's secret unrevealed. 
 
 Night was falling. The ball was coming on. He could 
 see her entering with the diplomatic party. 
 
 Ah ! En masque to-night, my lady ? And the costume, 
 an outspoken freak. The costume of Folly, in cap and bells. 
 
 She could grace it. 
 
 Mrs. Conway would go as Marie Antoinette. 
 
 84
 
 THE FRONTIER 
 
 Stephen ? He had refused to be present. ' ' Masks and 
 dominoes are made for children," said he. 
 
 ' ' But she would be there, all grace and charm and light- 
 ness. The cynosure of every eye. Her winsome face 
 aglow with mischief. Her radiant eyes ? What eyes they 
 were ! so full, so frank, so sweet. Heavy lids. High- 
 arched brows. 
 
 And she was Stephen's wife. 
 
 He started as though stabbed. 
 
 The clouds were blackening overhead ; thickening, 
 lowering. 
 
 The day was to be short. The night was falling. 
 
 Ay, falling ! Shutting him in. 
 
 And he was here and she was there. 
 
 Stephen ! 
 
 Suddenly he saw it as it stood. 
 
 Like the writing on the wall, the thing which had been 
 gradually forming shape and substance stood in all its un- 
 utterably sweet might confessed. 
 
 He ! Conway ! 
 
 Why, his mother knew : mentally he was groping halt- 
 ingly, a soul lost in the dark creeping on its hands and 
 knees in search of light. God Himself could vouch that he 
 had always possessed a higher sense of honor than most 
 men, through some subtle forestalling, a recognition of an 
 issue to come before it was made evident to the common 
 herd. To be sure, he had suspected himself, at odd, brief 
 moments, of an apprehension, an unspeakable dread of the 
 inevitable. But he had sworn, when his turn came, that he 
 would fight, struggle against, conquer. 
 
 Coward ! Knave ! 
 
 In college his cool courage had been proverbial. Even 
 in childhood his contempt for lesser things had been held 
 almost unparalleled among his comrades. 
 
 85
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 But this ! 
 
 This insidious, wanton thought. This desire ! This 
 yearning which fastened him in the whole fibre of his be- 
 ing. It was undoing him minute by minute, hour by hour, 
 heart-throb by heart-throb. 
 
 What moral implement had he which would fight it 
 back? 
 
 None. 
 
 He knew, as he stood there, stood as though stricken by 
 the lightning which was already darting like a glistening 
 viper across the thundering hosts which rallied thicker and 
 blacker above, that he was impotent to down an antagonist 
 which would not fight back ; a fretting beast which, endeavor 
 as he would to drive it on the curb, seemed to experience a 
 wicked delight in releasing curb and snaffle. 
 
 He was fighting slack. 
 
 Oh, for action ! The clash of arms ; the puff of battle- 
 smoke ; a foe worthy of his steel ; a metal stronger and more 
 forceful than his own metal. Not this skulking, shame- 
 ful acknowledgment which must be concealed, maltreated, 
 denied. 
 
 It came over him sickeningly that here was his oppor- 
 tunity at last. 
 
 Not the chance he had sought ; a thing with healthy blood 
 in it, with clean muscles and sinews, of tissue stronger than 
 his own, of mettle which would command his subservience, 
 stir from his strongest depths adequate retaliation ; but a 
 poisoned adder which, like a thief in the night, had fas- 
 tened its fangs in his peace, and was slowly undermining 
 him bit by bit. 
 
 He had met his foe. The obstacle which was to bring 
 out his capabilities. He had wished for it ; reached out 
 for it. 
 
 But a live, open-hearted, sturdy, decent thing. 
 
 86
 
 ACTION 
 
 Not this. Not thus. 
 
 He must put her from him because he loved her. 
 
 It would be like tearing the delicate tendrils of a flower 
 from off his soul and cursing them as vipers. 
 
 He was seated upon a stone. His head was buried in 
 his hands. The sky grew black, thicker. The air seemed 
 breathed up. 
 
 He felt a touch on his shoulder. 
 
 With a violent start he looked up. 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ACTION 
 
 BURGESS stood before him with a short pipe in his mouth, 
 which he was sucking doggedly. 
 
 "I've found 'em," he remarked, laconically. 
 
 1 ' Eh ?' ' returned Conway. 
 
 Burgess continued, unmindful of his dazed glance. 
 
 "There's four stones, sir. Over to the east there near 
 the river ; one to the north, a bit of distance ; one to the 
 south well up over them hills, and the other - ' ' Burgess 
 stopped. He eyed his listener deliberately. 
 
 "The other?" 
 
 ' ' You' re settin' on it, sir. ' ' 
 
 They both looked down as the younger man sprang to 
 his feet. 
 
 He had been seated on a square stone of shot granite, 
 well hammered into the soil. It had nursed as mother 
 nature so often nurses unsolicited her children some wild 
 flowers, daisies, clover, buttercups. The little weeds had 
 lifted their heads unobtrusively. Sentinels, they were stand- 
 ing guard over their self-chosen sponsor. 
 
 8?
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 On the top of the stone, chiselled clearly, unadorned with 
 arabesque or workmanship, was the letter L. 
 
 4 ' Do you see that line of smoke, sir ?' ' spoke up the 
 elder man, after a pause. He was pointing towards a 
 funnel of smutty-looking vapor which was uncurling its 
 shadowy length slowly against the blackening sky, near an 
 edge of the woods, about a quarter of a mile off. 
 
 "What, then?" 
 
 "It's Lamballe's men, sir, or I'm a liar." 
 
 ' ' Have they seen us ?' ' 
 
 Conway had thrown down his brush as Burgess spoke to 
 him. 
 
 His expression was alert ; his eye calm and bright as he 
 stooped, with a heightened color, to pick it out of the dust 
 into which it had fallen. 
 
 " There's a couple uv 'em, sir. I can't tell whether or 
 no the furriner claims the privilege of livin' on his own land 
 all the year roun' or not." Burgess wore a humorous 
 smile. "I take it they're Lamballe's men, sir. I run up 
 against one uv 'em not a quarter of an hour sence, devil 
 take ' im. I sported the bland smile* of the suckin' babe. 
 I had seen 'im comin'. 'Who's there?' says I, startin' 
 back. He was a little feller, with a sharp look that cut like 
 a knife. He said somethin' under his breath, sudden-like. 
 Then he stopped short. He made off, sir. I kep' on me 
 way. I had been takin' bearin's. I had time, luckily, to 
 whip me string back into me pocket. All at once another 
 figger sprung out o' the grass at me feet, in green, sir, 
 velvet, like the color o' the ground. ' Good-mornin',' says 
 he, in English." 
 
 ' ' Did you answer ?' ' 
 
 ' ' So struck was I with the attack, an' in me own tongue, 
 I answered before I knew what I was doin'. 
 
 " ' Good-mornin',' says I. 
 
 88
 
 ACTION 
 
 " ' A fine mornin',' says he, with a grin. 
 
 ' ' Then I remembered it was late afternoon. I think he 
 remembered it before I did. 
 
 " ' There have been finer,' says I, takin' in the cut uv his 
 jib without appeartn' to do so. He was measurin' me with 
 the benign expression of a mother superior contemplatin' 
 the mornin' s milk. 
 
 ' ' ' On your travels, my good man ?' asked he, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 " ' It's a matter uv some miles, sir,' says I ; at which he 
 laughed again. Then I passed on. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Was he old or young ?' ' 
 
 "MiddlinV 
 
 "Short or tall?" 
 
 "Tall, very tall. About your height, sir." 
 
 ' ' What was the color of his hair ?' ' 
 
 "Gray." 
 
 ' ' We' re in for it, ' ' remarked Conway, with a new 
 light in his eyes. He seemed to be slowly acquiring 
 steel. 
 
 "You mean ?" 
 
 " I think it was Lamballe." 
 
 ' ' He had no beard, sir. ' ' 
 
 ' ' He may have shaved it off. ' ' 
 
 "He's too late, sir." The statement was made with 
 triumphant brevity. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " I have me bearin's neat an' sure. I know me ground 
 as well as the weasel his nest. I can fix me dimensions on 
 a piece o' paper with half a day's leeway as clear an' fresh 
 as paint. ' ' 
 
 " But the chalk ! How far does it extend ? You haven't 
 determined that ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Leave that to me, sir. What' s the night fur ?' ' 
 
 89
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The aforesaid conundrum was propounded with a look of 
 cunning which was consummate. 
 
 Darkness fell. By five-thirty it was black as Erebus ; a 
 soaking night with frequent gusts of wind, which swept 
 across the helpless valley like warring hosts. The river 
 roared, tossed, leaped, like a pulse in its last fierce flicker 
 for supremacy. 
 
 The little inn was lit up as soon as the dark declared 
 itself. Its host, a cheery individual, his wife, a pretty, 
 rosy-cheeked Alsatian, wearing the butterfly black bow 
 across her level brow, which bespoke her unwilling subjec- 
 tion to the Teuton invasion, invited his guests to a repast, 
 the succulence of which was undeniable. 
 
 There was a soup first a la bonne femme, which for deli- 
 cacy of flavoring could not have been outdone by a Joseph 
 or a Paillard. It was followed by a fried sole dished up 
 with a sauce which melted as vapor on the tongue, while 
 tickling, like the odor of roses, the mental palate. After 
 this, potatoes from the tiny garden at the back en papillotes, 
 a whiff of the flower in their flavor, peas sweet as sugar, in 
 absinthe-green coats, haricots verts with the strings left on 
 them Parisian-wise, the strings which tell their own story 
 of taste, and a chicken a la Marengo abloom with the 
 roseate hue of the tomato, and snow-banked with rice. 
 Topped off by the crowning glory of the country-side, a 
 pudding stiffened with apple meringue and vanilla, with a 
 vin du pays sauce, and gaieties hot from the oven, the 
 dinner was a feast for the gods. 
 
 The fruit was redolent of blossom and sunburn. When 
 three kinds of cheese had been administered Brie, Roque- 
 fort, and Gruyere and the amber-tinted coffee served, 
 Conway and his surveyor leaned back in their comfortable 
 chairs elbow-worn in their wooden arms content. 
 
 The host withdrew discreetly. None knew better than 
 
 90
 
 ACTION 
 
 he the hour to let digestion woo the mellowing faculties of 
 his guests. 
 
 Their dining-hall was small with a door opening onto 
 the road. A door cut in the right wall disclosed a bed- 
 chamber which Conway occupied. 
 
 The temporarily constructed space had been converted 
 into a cozy interior for the benefit of itinerant guests. 
 
 The silence was broken abruptly by a whistle from the 
 locomotive, which sped through the valley like a messenger 
 of evil. 
 
 "It's the down train," remarked Conway. " The train 
 for Paris is due in thirty minutes." He glanced at his 
 watch. It was quarter of six. 
 
 He yawned. 
 
 "I'm off, sir." 
 
 Conway looked up. 
 
 Burgess had risen. He was detaching his coat from a 
 peg where it had hung against the wall. An instant later 
 he was tugging at his boots, which had been drying by the 
 fire, a roaring one at the end of the room. The warmth 
 was not ungrateful, owing to the soaking dampness which 
 the storm had brought in its breath. 
 
 ' ' What ?' ' Conway glanced at him with amused eyes. 
 The fellow's energy was incorrigible, he thought. 
 
 "I'll finish what I have to do, sir." 
 
 1 ' Not a night like this, surely ?' ' 
 
 "We've no time to lose." The retort was conclusive. 
 
 The dreaminess faded out of Conway 's eyes like smoke 
 from a tornado-swept horizon. Across them jetted a fork 
 of new life. Purpose, that daring light. 
 
 He rose. He marched across the room and steadily 
 confronted Burgess just as he was turning towards the 
 door. 
 
 " You think there's danger?"
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Some." 
 
 The sententious precision of the reply was indubitable. 
 
 " Our work is on private land, you mean? Well, what 
 then?" 
 
 It was the cool, unconvinced epicureanism of the land- 
 owner who has too enforced his rights. 
 
 "We're nothin' more nor less than poachers, sir, in the 
 present instance. There's game preserves in them parts I 
 purpose burrowin' in to-night, preserves well ticketed 
 against the invader." 
 
 1 ' What of it ?' ' incredulously. 
 
 "There's a law in France that can imprison a male- 
 factor three months fur the same." 
 
 There was a grim conquest of local technicalities in 
 Burgess's statement which adequately informed individuals 
 had been unwise to ignore. 
 
 Conway's face brightened. .The light which had been 
 growing in his eyes set them aflame, an after-calculation's 
 conflagration suddenly put upon a forethought's track. 
 Fire to tow. 
 
 "Let me go." 
 
 The words burst forth unguided, almost as if un- 
 thought. They argued an acknowledged force at their 
 rear which impelled them. 
 
 "You stay here, sir." The command was brief. Into 
 Burgess's stolid gaze had stolen a dogged contradiction. 
 
 But the cool, smooth voice, the surveyor knew, had gone 
 out forever with some other ingredients which, up to now, 
 had formed the integral portion of Mrs. Livingstone Con- 
 way's only son. A new voice was in its place, an organ 
 with a strident ring in it. Real earnest. 
 
 "I'm master here, man. Come. Hand over those 
 tools. We'll change places." 
 
 "Don't be unwary, sir," urged Burgess. His speech 
 
 92
 
 ACTION 
 
 was not indicative of disrespect. It held the whine of the 
 cur set to watch, in the watching betrayed. 
 
 ' ' Hand over the tools, ' ' sternly. ' ' I have been idle too 
 long." 
 
 The kit was handed over without a word. 
 
 ' ' Now give me your instructions, ' ' with determination. 
 
 Burgess measured the slender figure before him reluc- 
 tantly. 
 
 ' ' If you will do it, sir. You always were a young divil fur 
 gettin' your own way. Be cautious an' the game is ours." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 "There's a gravelly corner over near the poppy-field, sir, 
 where I stuck in one o' me pegs to-day. If it's still there 
 all will be easy sailin' enuff. If the wind an' the rain has 
 swept it away your work' 11 cum harder. It's the place 
 thet decides whether or not the chalk extends into Ger- 
 many. Pull out the peg, if it's there, and dig down 
 with this knife with all yer might. If the knife melts in, 
 you're on the wrong spot. If it's gravel, and at first only 
 lets you through, after some sharp digging, onto a sub- 
 stance as brittle as flint, you've struck the chalk. If the 
 peg is not there, you must feel around on your hands and 
 knees until you find the gravelly spot I speak of. You 
 see the importance of makin' sure of this point, sir ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' answered Conway. 
 
 He was pulling on his boots now, a thick pair he dragged 
 hastily from his box in the adjoining room. He drew on 
 his coat. He muffled his throat up in a scarf which came 
 to his eyes, drew a soft hat well over his forehead, and 
 slung the wallet, which contained a pickaxe, a pipe, some 
 tobacco, a piece of string, and an old bone case-knife 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 ' ' Yer own mother wouldn' t know ye, sir, ' ' exclaimed 
 Burgess, admiringly. 
 
 93
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 As he neared the doorway Conway looked back. 
 
 ' ' Pity we aren' t sure whether or no Lamballe is in 
 Paris," he said, lightly. "'Twould save us a heap of 
 manoeuvring. Daylight is always daylight. Oh, I say, 
 Burgess," he laid his hand upon the latch and glanced 
 back across the glowing lamp-lit room, "if, by any 
 "chance, I have not returned before morning, there's a tele- 
 graph blank there," pointing towards his valise. 
 
 "You'll be back, sir," in a gruff voice, phlegmatically. 
 
 ' ' Good-night, Burgess. ' ' 
 
 1 ' Good-night, sir. ' ' 
 
 There came a gust of wind which almost swept Conway 
 off his feet. He threw the door wide open and looked out. 
 
 The valley, a surging, tossing black wave, throbbing 
 with unseen things, a pulse of the night beating out its 
 life against a formidable enemy, screeched and rumbled, 
 roared and howled, in its contest with the rain and wind. 
 
 A sheet of rain dashed into Burgess's face, standing far 
 back from the door, as he did, impotent, his stifled will 
 inert. He had been accustomed to obey all his life. The 
 thought never occurred to him to rebel at the inactivity 
 thrust so imperiously upon him. 
 
 The intrepid figure dashed forth into the warring dark. 
 
 It vanished. 
 
 Burgess stepped forward. He closed the door. 
 
 With a yawn he seated himself and drew off his boots. 
 His carpet slippers were donned again ; the coat doffed, 
 the dilapidated slouch hat hung on the wall. He walked 
 towards the stone fireplace and threw a stick of wood into 
 its smouldering depths. ' ' As well to keep the fire goin' . 
 It will dry Mr. Jack on his return," he thought. 
 
 The inn had been a stable once. The fireplace, an in- 
 stitution of some troops in time of war. Burgess seated 
 himself after a careless glance back over his shoulder. 
 
 94
 
 ACTION 
 
 Once, when the window rattled as if it would smash to 
 pieces, he rose, walked forward awkwardly, as though the 
 eyes of his young master were upon him, and peered forth. 
 With a shrug, finally, he returned to his chair and stretched 
 himself, his head thrown back, to sleep. 
 
 A piece of burning wood fell onto his coarse sock ; 
 with an ' ' ouch !' ' he kicked it off. 
 
 He heard the innkeeper call his dogs to order ; they 
 were howling like a pack of fiends, lending their chorus of 
 yells gratuitously to the increasing fury of the storm, which 
 seemed to be whipping the seething valley into a tidal 
 wave of revolt. 
 
 Mine host called cheerily from above to know if all was 
 well before retiring. It was a question mouthed in Alsa- 
 tian. Burgess guessed its meaning and answered, ' ' Aye, 
 aye, ' ' wondering, while he did so, if Conway would report 
 before the inmates of the little inn were wrapped in sleep. 
 
 His intention was to remain awake. He reflected un- 
 easily that perhaps he had not explained the ground 
 where he had been about to pursue his operations as 
 clearly as he might : that Conway, unversed as a man 
 of his inexperience must necessarily be at taking note of 
 landmarks to aid him in discovering his way, might wander 
 from his path and get lost in the forest. 
 
 But as the fire blazed up and the roar of the storm 
 soothed the surveyor's relaxing senses, he recollected com- 
 fortably that the roads were wide and well defined, that, 
 albeit there was but the one hamlet between the hill and 
 the castle, the hamlet which in feudal times was the back 
 door of the castle's need, there was still that hut with 
 provender within, a man, and perhaps a beast. Even the 
 enemy would be preferable to total annihilation. 
 
 What a storm ! A perfect hurricane. The inn rocked 
 like a helpless atom, a victim of its fury, which was surely 
 
 95
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 stupendous. He seemed to be in motion. A song he had 
 heard sung by a sailor, while crossing, at Markoe's order, 
 came to him, " Rocked in the cradle of the deep." 
 
 The sun was shining across his face. 
 
 He sat up. Then, as his eyes sleepily and fretfully 
 blinked, his fingers sought his watch-pocket and extricated 
 his big silver watch. 
 
 Lazily he lifted it towards his eyes. He started violently. 
 
 It was eight A. M. 
 
 He rose. He staggered towards the window, rubbing 
 his swollen eyelids. 
 
 The valley was dimpling and glistening in a glowing 
 flood of radiant sunshine. The earth seemed crowing 
 with rapture over her ravishing new birth, rain-washed, 
 wind-clean. 
 
 Suddenly he gave vent to an ejaculation. 
 
 Conway must have returned, and quietly stepped across 
 the intervening space between the entrance-way and his 
 bedchamber, fearful of awakening him. 
 
 He turned and looked across into the room beyond 
 through the wide-swung door. 
 
 The bed had been unslept in. 
 
 The trunk, its tossed contents revealing the hasty un- 
 packing of the impatient seeker, yawned as Conway had 
 left it the night before. Burgess sprang across the floor 
 and stolidly contemplated what he saw there. 
 
 The room was empty. 
 
 It was evident Conway had not returned. 
 
 96
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 ' ' AND I cannot prevail upon you to accompany me, 
 Stephen?" 
 
 There was no response. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe stood on the threshold of her husband's 
 study. 
 
 The Ambassador was intently consuming the contents of 
 a home newspaper. The postman had delivered a batch of 
 them some hours before. This was the first moment, 
 seized with avidity, which had been his to utilize in their 
 perusal. 
 
 ' ' Stephen !' ' in faint remonstrance. 
 
 The Ambassador laid his paper down on his knee with a 
 visible effort to disengage his attention from its contents. 
 He removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose with 
 the air of a person who had been disturbed by some foreign 
 element, the nature of which he suspected, but could not 
 precisely determine. This unwarrantable intrusion might 
 be repeated unless met with and argued against. 
 
 ' ' Stephen !' ' with exasperation. 
 
 "Well?" phlegmatically. 
 
 ' ' Why won' t you go ?' ' 
 
 The Ambassador turned in his chair. It was a desk- 
 chair : it revolved. As he twisted the unbidden thought 
 flitted across his wife's mind that if determinations were 
 built on pivots life would be possessed of infinitely more 
 variety. Then came the after- thought. " It's a poor rule 
 that can' t work both ways, ' ' she reflected. 
 
 Before her husband's gaze an absent, newspaper- 
 7 97
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 haunted gaze fixed itself upon Mrs. Markoe the thought 
 had been dismissed. 
 
 It was eleven P.M. It was the loth of June, the evening 
 of the Grand Prix : the night of the Duchesse de Launoy's 
 ball. 
 
 That the Ambassadress was attired in a fascinating ne'g- 
 lige 1 , all soft ruchings and billowy lace, her hair loosened, 
 a mass of somewhat dishevelled waves and curls, her cheeks 
 like crumpled rose leaves ; she had been asleep, she was on 
 her way to her room to adjust her war-paint, was a detail 
 unremarked by the Ambassador. 
 
 He had been disturbed. He resented it. He looked a 
 protest. His manner expressed, " Haven't I told you once 
 for all I wouldn' t go ? Why recommence the argument ?' ' 
 He was too well-bred to voice his grievance. He was not a 
 boor ; far from it. He was a prominent citizen interrupted 
 in the occupation which he enjoyed. The diurnal worm 
 that turns is the newspaper-charged masculine whose in- 
 clination has been denied him. 
 
 ' ' Ah, Kate, ' ' said the Ambassador, colorlessly. He was 
 swinging his glasses about in circles, dangerously. The 
 string made them jump, elastically, in the air. Was the 
 string whipping out its owner's irritation thus? 
 
 "Yes 'Kate,' " she repeated, a little mockingly, the 
 drift was cynical, the tone was not, "just ' Kate.' ' 
 
 She stepped across the threshold. She slowly moved 
 towards him. 
 
 The room was dim, delightfully lit with lamps. 
 
 As she came forward the shadows lengthened behind her. 
 A warm ray shone from under a rose-colored lamp-shade 
 onto her slippers. It crept up till it reached her knees. Still 
 she moved forward. It attacked her shoulders, then lin- 
 gered on her white throat, and then her chin, her lips, her 
 eyes, her hair. 
 
 98
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 She stood directly under the Ambassador's absent gaze 
 with two cold hands clasped behind her. 
 
 She frowned deliciously. She spoke, 
 
 ' ' Oh, thou noble and distinguished representative of 
 home government," said she, with an inflection of faintest 
 irony in her manifestly guarded tone, her voice was flute- 
 like, her manner a little uncertain, " whence this indiffer- 
 ence to society ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Be off, butterfly, ' ' returned the Ambassador. ' ' Haven' t 
 we been doing it ad nauseam for a matter of eight weeks ? 
 My record is made. I am as tired of twiddle-twaddle, 
 gossip, fads, and tal-lals as a reprobate on sufferance. Go 
 your way. Leave me mine. ' ' 
 
 But she held her ground. Her chin crept up a little as 
 her under lip fell in, like a grieved child's. It was evident 
 the persiflage of her premonitory symptom was a faithful 
 precursor of a graver attack. ' ' Oh, astute individual ! 
 society demands of you but your presence, but your most 
 egregious boredom. Yours is not to speak, nor to deny, nor 
 to expound. Yours is to be. Your presence to-night will 
 not only swell the list of the Duchesse's distinguished guests 
 in to-morrow's newspapers ; it will prove the United States 
 has mastered the Faubourg. Come." She extended both 
 hands. There was a witching, half-startled look in her eyes. 
 
 ' ' Your reasoning is faulty, ' ' shortly. The Ambassador' s 
 hand was reaching out for the newspaper again. Mrs. 
 Markoe saw this with a lightning glance and a swelling 
 heart; she drew a short breath. "Masked, all men are 
 only men. My presence is not of official importance to- 
 night. To-morrow, perhaps, at that premiere of Lam- 
 balle's." The fiat had gone forth. 
 
 He was still grasping out for the papers, turning his 
 shoulder towards her to do so. But she had pushed them 
 out of reach purposely. 
 
 99
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Give me those papers, will you?" he said. He was 
 tired of the subject already. 
 
 They were at her elbow. She silently lifted them, with a 
 faintly contemptuous expression, between her finger and 
 thumb ; gingerly, as though the margins were primed with 
 microbes. She laid them lightly in his hand. She drew 
 back. Her lips were quivering very slightly ; she bit 
 them in. 
 
 ' ' One moment, ' ' said a resigned voice. 
 
 It came from Mrs. Markoe. Her face was wan. Her 
 eyes were as inscrutable as the Ambassador's own. Her 
 fists were clinched in among the folds of her gown. 
 
 She had retreated to the threshold. ' ' I beg your par- 
 don," she interpolated, in response to her husband's sur- 
 prised look. "What could there be" he was, possibly, 
 thinking "more interesting than the news he had been 
 perusing?" 
 
 " The coiffeur, " said she. "He's waiting, you know. 
 I will show myself to you before I go alone. But, has it 
 occurred to you, what will the colony say if it knows I go 
 alone?" 
 
 ' ' You' 11 be masked, won' t you ?' ' returned the Ambas- 
 sador, cheerfully, in a relieved tone ; ' ' and devilish hot in 
 the bargain, ' ' he added. 
 
 The figure on the threshold vanished. 
 
 The Ambassador appeared unaware he was alone. He 
 read on. The footman entered and laid some letters at his 
 elbow. He retired on tiptoe. The clock on the mantel- 
 piece, a clock with a blue enamelled face, gold hands, and 
 a double frame of rhine stones, the whole surmounted by 
 a winged Mercury, tolled the half-hour, then the three- 
 quarters, then the hour, then the quarter, then the half- 
 hour. 
 
 The Ambassador perused the sheet before him de-
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 lightedly. Once he stopped, lifted his head, and listened 
 intently. A carriage rolled into the courtyard below. 
 
 The sound it made was like the echo of distant thunder. 
 He remembered his wife was going out. He frowned 
 slightly. He rose and walked towards the window. He 
 glanced at the clock. ' ' These French things begin late, ' ' 
 he said, aloud. Then he opened another paper, and was 
 soon buried in its contents. The hum of the city grew 
 thinner, fainter. Finally it seemed to die out altogether, 
 with the exception of a fiacre which rattled by madly, the 
 miserable steed galloping under the cruel lash of the Paris 
 Jehu's notorious overbearance. 
 
 All at once Markoe became aware of a vivid light which 
 made the black letters on the white sheet beneath his in- 
 tent eyes dance. It roused him to a realization that some- 
 thing was happening. 
 
 He stirred. Removing his glasses, he looked up. 
 
 A footman had entered at Mrs. Markoe' s instigation. 
 The coolly darkened room, with its discreetly shaded lamps, 
 had altered into a garishly illuminated place with every 
 corner and console revealed. Electricity had done its 
 work. 
 
 The Ambassador blinked. Then his eyes encompassed 
 a masked feminine figure which stood in the doorway in a 
 costume as paradoxical as a woman' s heart. 
 
 On the pretty, tossed, reddish curls was a tricolored cap 
 of pink and orange and green, made of odd little trian- 
 gles of silk with loose corner ends, which bobbed saucily at 
 the on-looker from unexpected places. Each corner was 
 finished off with a rhine stone, in emulation of a dew-drop. 
 In the shell-like ears were two huge diamonds. The skirts 
 were short, disclosing two tiny feet incased in green satin 
 slippers with pink French love-knots embroidered across 
 the instep, the whole surmounted by two enormous oblong
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 paste buckles. The creamy, dimpled neck and arms were 
 unadorned. As if to make up for this deficiency which 
 betrayed a coquetry that was absolute the corsage was 
 literally encrusted with magnificent gems of every denomi- 
 nation, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. The 
 small fingers were covered with gems. They could be dis- 
 cerned sparkling under the silk mits which encased the hands. 
 
 The mask, a perforated golden one, was studded with 
 pearls, bordered by a flounce of priceless lace which com- 
 pletely covered the chin. The charm and grace, the air of 
 delighted expectancy, the bird-like poise, and distinction of 
 the wearer's carriage was indescribable. 
 
 Across the front of the three-cornered cap was marked in 
 gilded letters one word, Folly. 
 
 The Ambassador scrutinized the figure long and steadily. 
 His expression was serene. What he thought was, 'as 
 usual, to be imagined. Apparently he had no opinion 
 whatsoever upon the subject. 
 
 He made a sign to his footman with his hand. 
 
 " You may await Mrs. Markoe down-stairs for a few mo- 
 ments. I will conduct her to the carriage," he said, suc- 
 cinctly. 
 
 The footman withdrew. 
 
 Neither of the two spoke for some moments. 
 
 "Take off your mask," suggested the Ambassador, 
 coldly. 
 
 Without a word she obeyed. 
 
 The creamy arms, their contour dented in unexpected 
 places under the soft flesh, indentures which were not dim- 
 ples but which looked as if they wished to be, were lifted. 
 A clasp under the coiffure was unfastened. She stood with 
 her mask in her hand. 
 
 Her face was flushed, mutinous, petulant, a little hard. 
 Her eyes' expression was dubious.
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 As though unable to resist longer the development which 
 might be brewing, she asked, petulantly, ' ' How do you 
 think I look?" 
 
 The Ambassador cleared his throat. ' ' The left shoulder- 
 strap," he suggested distantly, not at all as though he felt 
 any personal interest in the matter, ' ' isn't it a little too far 
 off the shoulder ?' ' 
 
 "That's the fashion," she said. "Intentional, you 
 know," with an explanatory gesture. "Is my costume 
 becoming, do you think?" 
 
 ' ' Very, ' ' returned the Ambassador, with about the same 
 amount of enthusiasm in his tone he might have used in re- 
 questing a servant to close the door. 
 
 ' ' Madeleine goes as Marie Antoinette, ' ' she began again, 
 feverishly, hurriedly, as though to put behind her at once 
 his visible lack of interest. She was bitterly aware of it. 
 "Her costume ? 1 1' s perfect. ' ' 
 
 " A beautiful woman, Mrs. Con way," acquiesced the Am- 
 bassador perfunctorily. He looked at his watch. ' ' When 
 do you meet her?" 
 
 ' ' At two thirty, ' ' she returned, ' ' on the staircase ; sec- 
 ond landing." 
 
 ' ' Hadn' t you better hurry a little ?' ' inquired Markoe, 
 with the first show of interest he had evinced. 
 
 She snatched up her mask. 
 
 ' ' Let me fasten it for you ?' ' he said. 
 
 She bent her head, after confiding the mask to his big 
 hand, reluctantly. 
 
 He passed back of her. He held the mask, a frivolous 
 thing enough, which, for a few hours, was to conceal Mrs. 
 Markoe' s lovely face, and give some moments of relaxa- 
 tion from its accustomed expression of polite indifference 
 demanded of her by the public. He lifted the soft curls. 
 
 Because of this the nape of her soft neck was disclosed, 
 
 103
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 helpless, bared to his scrutiny, highly delectable ; essen- 
 tially kissable. 
 
 His fingers hesitated a moment. Long enough for her 
 to cry out, " Won't you hurry, please?" 
 
 There was a click. The charming countenance was 
 hidden. The curls fell into place. The Ambassador 
 stepped back into his proper niche of Ambassador. 
 
 But if she had looked around, if she had moved a hair's 
 breadth to right or left, if she had swerved in her mood, or 
 breathed up instead of down, she would have mastered the 
 man. 
 
 Into the inscrutable eyes had come a fierce, unguarded 
 light. The blue steel went out. The red fire burned in. 
 The veins in the hand which fastened the tiny clasp 
 throbbed visibly. The strangled pulse of the human 
 being, who had chosen out of a great love to make this 
 woman his wife, woke, plead, and was conquered. 
 
 The Ambassador had learned his lesson. He knew it 
 body and soul. 
 
 "Stephen," said a very quiet voice, unexpectedly, as the 
 powerful hands folded her cloak about her and dropped 
 once more to Markoe's sides, "I often wonder why you 
 married me." 
 
 About the Ambassador's lips crept a curiously grim line. 
 It died out. 
 
 "Why, indeed?" he answered, being a man of few 
 words. 
 
 1 ' Because, ' ' went on the flute-like voice persistently, 
 the inflection was essentially weary, ' ' there are times when 
 it seems to me you are almost too accustomed to me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am never that, ' ' he answered, this time forcibly. 
 
 Still she hesitated. The hour was very late. She 
 knew it. She did not care. She was so miserable. 
 
 "Well?" vouchsafed the Ambassador, neutrally. 
 
 104
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 "I am lonely," she confessed, suddenly, with a pitiful 
 little thrill in her voice. Well aware was she that without 
 her mask the present scene would have remained forever 
 unrehearsed. 
 
 ' ' Have you not all you require ? Are the servants not 
 
 to your taste ? Do they not ?' ' He was speaking as 
 
 though by rote. 
 
 She interrupted him passionately. ' ' The servants ? The 
 household ? How dense you are ! I want companionship. 
 I am lonely over here. At home it is so different. All 
 the girls run in, and there are a thousand and one inter- 
 ests I can forget. I miss " she hesitated a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 He had been regarding her steadily. Now his eyelids 
 were lowered. His head was bent upon his chest. He 
 had folded his arms. He stood perfectly still, apparently 
 listening with indifference. In reality his heart had swelled 
 terribly under that pitiful thrill in her voice. ' ' Poor 
 child," he was thinking ; "poor, little, tortured child." 
 
 " I miss," she said, with emphasis, "Jack." 
 
 ' ' Ah !' ' from the Ambassador. The exclamation had 
 come out with a rush. It was immediately checked. It 
 seemed to his wife that Markoe bit off a piece of sponta- 
 neity between his teeth. His tongue was his slave, not 
 his master ; his will, a heavily hampered adversary. His 
 intention invariably governed his impulse. 
 
 Because of which he added later in that colorless voice 
 of his which could be so tender but would not, ' ' Odd 
 that you miss him. Why, the boy has been gone but two 
 days !" 
 
 "All the same, I miss him," intensely, giving vent, 
 apparently, to an unbridled impulse in order to deliver her 
 heart of an overcharged memory. ' ' He has time for me. 
 He listens to me. He admires me. He understands me.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He runs errands for me. He looks up things and places 
 for me to go and see. He is Jack. Bless him !' ' cried 
 this little rebel. 
 
 The Ambassador was silent for a moment. Then he 
 vouchsafed, with a humorous irony cropping out between 
 his words, ' ' An efficient self-made courier, Jack, you 
 mean ?' ' 
 
 " How unkind !" she ejaculated. 
 
 1 ' But a fair specimen, ' ' he hastened to add ; "a very 
 fair specimen of a boy. ' ' 
 
 "Fair!" she reiterated, scornfully, with that exasper- 
 ating look women wear of knowing much which they could 
 disclose but won't. 
 
 "A little raw," went on the Ambassador's cool, piti- 
 less voice, ' ' suggestive of veal somewhat, at intervals, in 
 his enthusiasms, head over heel of their kind. Too im- 
 petuous. Young, but considerable of a boy." 
 
 "Boy!" she cried, with an impatient movement. She 
 was looking at him defiantly as she passed him. He had 
 procured his hat, and was about to follow her to the car- 
 riage. ' ' I hardly think you realize, Stephen, how very 
 much Jack is a man." 
 
 There was a pause. She descended the stairs. He 
 stood with the door-knob in his hand looking straight at 
 her. 
 
 "Do you?" he inquired, pleasantly. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe stepped past him into the carriage. 
 
 "En route," said Markoe to the footman after he had 
 tucked the carriage robes about his mistress, the Ambas- 
 sador standing a grim sponsor for the deed the while. 
 " Attendez," to the coachman. The footman had sprung 
 to his seat. 
 
 The Ambassador took off his hat and leaned his head 
 into the brougham window. 
 
 1 06
 
 THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 
 
 " Do I neglect you is that what you mean, Kate?" he 
 asked. 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 ' ' I think, ' ' she returned after a moment that literally 
 throbbed with unseen things for them both, ' ' perhaps, that 
 if you stopped to consider the little time you give me, and 
 how much you lavish on other people, you would conclude 
 that, from appearances, an unbiased critic might imagine 
 the other people to be uppermost. ' ' The tone was stand- 
 offish in the extreme. 
 
 ' ' Do not we pay all our official visits together ?' ' dryly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' We drive every afternoon you have told me we 
 should be seen together at least once a day in the Bois. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, that!" 
 
 "We are the living picture of a happy couple," went 
 on the monotonous voice. ' ' Is not that enough ?' ' 
 
 " I hate living pictures," flashed out Folly. 
 
 The Ambassador stared icily into the eyes behind the 
 mask ; they were regarding him defiantly. His wife's whole 
 figure was visible. There was a brilliant gas lamp near. 
 
 ' ' I think that was our bargain ; was it not, Kate ?' ' 
 
 She stirred ever so slightly. That he should have been 
 obliged to remind her ! 
 
 ' ' Kate !' ' The tone was rasping, a cry. 
 
 ' ' Will you tell Baptiste to drive on ?' ' she asked, icily. 
 
 107
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 REMINISCENT 
 
 THE Ambassador made his way up the steps heavily as 
 Mrs. Markoe's brougham rolled out into the Avenue Mar- 
 ceau. There was no spring in his step. There was little 
 life in his face. When he reached his study he sank into a 
 chair and bent his forehead on his scooped palm. 
 
 He was looking back, a luxury he seldom indulged in. 
 He was a man of simple habits. He considered retrospec- 
 tion foolish in the first place, useless in the second. 
 
 She had said full two years ago that she ' ' did not love 
 him." He had answered that he " knew." 
 
 Yes. He knew. 
 
 He had never forgiven himself the gigantic folly of sup- 
 posing an exquisite child like Kate Morrow could love a 
 man of his settled tastes and ponderous convictions. To 
 be sure, she had said she loved him, at the first, dazzled 
 possibly by the prospect of becoming united with a public 
 citizen who ranked so high among his fellow-creatures. 
 But the respect she had borne him which, out of her inno- 
 cence and ignorance, she considered love had ' ' not been 
 love" she confessed to him, one night, in her impetuous, 
 abnormally cruel, self-revealment. 
 
 He loved her. He always should love her. The fact 
 was as unalterable as his life. But ' ' in his middle-aged 
 way," she had more than once reminded him. Her youth 
 was the only feature which made him bitterly regret his 
 middle age at times. Man-like, he ignored the loss of 
 beauty or charm which the acknowledgment of years brings 
 home so painfully to a woman. He had considered that 
 
 108
 
 REMINISCENT 
 
 she must know how profoundly she was the flesh of his 
 flesh and the bone of his bone. None other. 
 
 That had been his gravest fault she had told him ; the 
 sin which she could not forgive. His simple faith that she 
 knew and understood, believed, trusted. She ignored the 
 fact that reiterated expression of love often emphasizes a 
 conscious lack which the concealment of passion reveals. 
 
 She had begun by drawing comparisons with the manners 
 of the husbands of her friends. Gradually it stole in upon 
 her that Stephen was undemonstrative. In her maiden 
 pride she dared not plead for outward symptoms. In his 
 recognition of the concession she had made, according him 
 her youth and unusual beauty in exchange for his mature 
 manhood and experience, he feared to evince his passion 
 too forcibly, for fear of altogether killing hers. 
 
 They had drifted slowly and surely, in consequence, wider 
 and wider apart. 
 
 Then, that night ! He was remembering it now. . The 
 shadow on his face was heavy ; the indomitable mouth, 
 with its look of steadfastness and power, was extremely sad. 
 The man sat literally eating his heart out over his sorrow. 
 That night would he ever forget the little proud quiver- 
 ing figure in its ball-dress, standing on the threshold of 
 their room at home? He likened her, in after-hours, to 
 the angel with the flaming sword denying him his Gate of 
 Paradise. 
 
 She had accused him of indifference. Some fancied 
 slight, some evidence of selfishness of which he had been 
 guiltless. As he listened, the total unreasonableness of her 
 attack had come home to him so strongly that he had 
 found no words with which to refute her misconstruction. 
 He had only recognized the collapse of his dream. His 
 fairy structure had crumbled before his eyes. 
 
 He had no heart to patch it together. Vainer men than 
 
 109
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 he might have endeavored to do so, men less passionately 
 and singly devoted. But he had not even denied. He had 
 recoiled, mentally helpless, before her torrent of wilful mis- 
 apprehension and injustice. 
 
 She had her passion out. Even after it had spent itself 
 it never occurred to him to remind her of the evidences of his 
 loving care and trust, and pride in her her home bore wit- 
 ness to ; her unlimited expenditures expressed ; her freedom 
 and original methods exposed ; the hard places he softened 
 for her by watchfulness as tactful as it was deft ; the errors 
 of judgment she might have made without his steady good 
 sense at the helm. Personally, his ambition was an un- 
 known quantity. 
 
 For her it was overpowering. Nobody appreciated more 
 acutely than this silent, self-contained man Kate Markoe's 
 rare qualities. But it was innate with him to foster and 
 cherish silently the thing he loved ; to strive not to spoil it 
 with overpraise. His reserve, sadly enough a latent force 
 which had accrued with startling rapidity under her reit- 
 erated accusation of a selfishness which left her whims un- 
 considered, was the source of all her wretchedness. 
 
 He had not spoken ; principally because he had learned, 
 by aid of her cutting, merciless words, she did not care. 
 
 It would have taken a more accomplished student of 
 womankind than Stephen Markoe to dare combat a force so 
 tangible as this. 
 
 Theirs was the old story of the woman who demands the 
 expression of love exhaustively, endlessly, and of the man 
 who feels it so much he cannot express it. She wanted 
 words. He gave proofs. She exacted assurances. He 
 lived and breathed for her. She ignored it. 
 
 "With your coldness and indifference," she had said, 
 ' ' you have put me away from you. You have made life 
 commonplace where it should have been rose-colored. ' '
 
 REMINISCENT 
 
 " Rose-colored !" he had exclaimed, bitterly, bewildered 
 at having to wage war against this untenable idealistic vision, 
 he who knew so exhaustively the ins and outs of things, 
 the realities of life, the ineptitudes of happiness, " Rose- 
 colored ! You should have married a boy with views." 
 
 "True," she retorted. "But we are married, more's 
 the pity, and you, as much as I, must put up with it. But 
 since you will not and cannot fall in with my ' views, ' spare 
 me the semblance of love from a sense of duty. We can 
 keep up an effigy of happiness if you like, for the sake of 
 appearances. The rest is odious, impossible, as much to 
 you, no doubt, as to me. ' ' 
 
 And he had not spoken. 
 
 Out of his acknowledgment of her sweetest purity and 
 youth, with the sad and solemn conviction of her lament- 
 able disorder, he forbore to plead where a lesser man 
 might have commanded. 
 
 Since then they had led the crippled, strangled life of two 
 beings yoked together by one acknowledged purpose : to 
 deceive the world as to their real relation. 
 
 In the interests of his busy life the sordid weariness of the 
 situation went out at periods, swallowed up by his cares. At 
 deeper moments he contemplated it all with profound pity. 
 
 He had rejoiced for her sake at the recent honor so un- 
 expectedly thrust upon him. " It may lighten her burden, 
 poor child," he thought. 
 
 Instead the breach seemed widening. He was more 
 powerless than ever to arrest its course. 
 
 She, acclaimed as the bright particular star of any and 
 every firmament, utilized other men's admiration as a 
 wedge to widen her grievance. She literally flung herself 
 into a vortex of gayety because of the consciousness of the 
 death of all things which made life worth living. She 
 thought she had been disillusionized. She was only blind.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He controlled her incomings and outgoings unmurmur- 
 ingly ; her banker ; her adviser, when requested ; her com- 
 rade no more. 
 
 He felt like her jailer. She fretted at the bars. She con- 
 sidered herself forsaken, overlooked in the Ambassador's 
 dignified interpretation of his manifold duties. She forgot 
 his present most difficult position of trust existed by force 
 of her commands. She would have been grateful for his 
 interest even, had he exhibited nothing more. He dared 
 not profess to feel interest. He had arrived at almost not 
 feeling it. He gave purpose, patience, will, care, fidelity, 
 in return for her mutability. 
 
 But his pride had received an almost mortal blow. 
 
 Hers, woman-like, resented its own unjustly enforced, 
 hence most deserving, punishment. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S 
 
 THERE is a dart through the perfumed air ; then a 
 many-colored flash, swift as the wing-fleck of a flying bird. 
 
 "It's Mariotti !" shouts the tossing throng, pushing 
 forward in its eager, insatiable reach after a new toy. 
 
 The Hotel Launoy is thrown wide from the tessellated 
 vestibule faced with a granite double-balustered flight of 
 steps, through the vast entrance hall galleried above into 
 two tiers of landings, past the antechambers, the large 
 and small salons, in under the marble staircase which leads 
 to the floor above, out to the famous gardens which lie 
 melting and quivering under the dual rays of tempered 
 electric light and full moonbeam. 
 
 112
 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S 
 
 It is crowded with a rainbow-tinted throng of dancers 
 and masks frolicking, pirouetting in mad accord. There 
 are dominoes, orange, purple, yellow, scarlet, white, black, 
 mauve, pink, green. There are cardinals in blood-colored 
 robes chatting with peers of an unknown realm in black 
 and yellow. Purple-clad prelates sandle-footed, rosary- 
 belted ; monseigneurs, a group of them, wearing the em- 
 erald insignia which bespeaks the Vatican. There are 
 pages like old missals in illuminated colors, green, bronze, 
 and dull gilt. There are vivandieres in regimental orders, 
 tiny barrels slung across their shoulders, administering re- 
 freshing beverages to the overheated dancers. 
 
 Pierrots and Pierrettes coo like traditional doves in corners 
 against the tapestried background of discrete tete-a-tete 
 rooms screened for the purpose of exchanging confidences. 
 The wax lights flicker under their tinted globes. Bands 
 of revellers, linked arm in arm, chase across the vestibule, 
 down the steps, and round the house to the garden at the 
 back. They surround the great granite palace. 
 
 There is a lull. 
 
 The queen of the footlights arrives, dashing up under 
 the porte cochre in her specially constructed victoria 
 which bespeaks, in the clamor of its belled harness, the 
 notoriety of a celebrity. She comes attired in her well- 
 known toilette in which she has played the death scene in 
 a drama being given at the Renaissance, a drama in which 
 the heroine dies of poison in her own ball-room. After 
 which death's portrayer has administered a fresh dash of 
 powder to her nose and a soupfon of rouge to her chin 
 and her ear-lobes, and has made off to secure her portion 
 of amusement. 
 
 Hers is a royal road up the marble staircase towards the 
 Duchesse, who extends her hand, to receive her illustrious 
 guest, with marked favor. The swaying crowd fantasti- 
 8 113
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 cally acclaims this well-known theatrical favorite with 
 fanciful steps born of the occasion's ecstasy. The kisses 
 that are thrown to her, the praises that are exchanged un- 
 der her pleased gaze, the pirouettes which are executed, 
 before her advancing figure, as a gayly constituted body- 
 guard speeds forth to lead her up the stairs, prove her 
 popularity. 
 
 She bows and smiles, highly elated. 
 
 The marble balustrades are bound with garlands of roses. 
 Ministers of State, disguised as court fools or grand cham- 
 berlains, block the way, inclining fantastically, saluting 
 pompously. There are Eastern women veiled everywhere 
 except across their eyes, and Spanish dancers with twink- 
 ling ankles. 
 
 The orchestra strikes up the Habanera. 
 
 A feminine figure with a high comb in her hair, a red 
 rose concealed in a coquettishly disposed piece of lace, a 
 rounded body fitted miraculously into a yellow satin gown 
 meshed in black chenille, emerges from a group of chatter- 
 ing maskers and begins stepping daintily, with insinuating 
 grace, to the intrinsically voluptuous strains of Bizet's Car- 
 men. She sings ; she dances : at the same time she lends 
 an unhipped translation of the Spanish heroine to the lilt 
 of that audacious theme which undoes austerity as effectu- 
 ally as it teaches an erotic lesson in living. 
 
 The throng begins whispering among itself that this is 
 a personage of note. Not the prima donna Paris had ac- 
 claimed all winter in a hitherto altogether novel and exu- 
 berant example of their favorite character. At the whisper 
 an aristocratic name speeds from ear to ear, from lip to lip 
 a wave of apprehension sweeps across the dancing body. 
 
 With an unattended dart it glides away and is lost 
 amid the throng. 
 
 A group of clownesses waltz forward. They trip out a 
 
 114
 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S 
 
 fandango, their odd, white-leaded countenances ludicrously 
 painted in effigy of a smile, with wide red lips and con- 
 vulsed brows, and cheeks made up of laughter lines. They 
 make way for a set of Watteau shepherds and shepherdesses 
 who, at a given signal, take their places in line to the stately 
 measure of a minuet. It is followed by a gavotte, the pow- 
 dered heads of the maskers inclining as by rote, their move- 
 ments marked. 
 
 The evening is but a quarter spent, the flowers are barely 
 withered on their stems, the atmosphere has not had time 
 to vitiate, when a harlequin springs into view ; a harlequin 
 made of fire and steel, or quicksilver, with elastic limbs, 
 muscular, tireless, a victim of fantastic quips, of daring 
 leaps, of insinuating curves, a very prince of mischief and 
 by-play. 
 
 It seems as though he comes to prove how rarely good 
 a thing is laughter ; how worthy of seeking, happiness ; 
 how fleeting, gayety. He proves the first with his high 
 spirits, the acme of intoxication ; he accentuates the sec- 
 ond in his recklessness. He leads the game of merriment, 
 a very king of fools. 
 
 "It's Mariotti !" they all cry simultaneously, at last, as 
 exhausted with his meanderings, led hither and thither 
 after his bewildering ups and downs and sideways pranks, 
 they recede. 
 
 As one man they mass together to still him. This 
 elusive sprite, with his black and green and purple limbs, 
 must be taken captive. But as they press forward, their 
 arms extended, laughing, shouting, striving to caress, the 
 figure bounds up past them into the air and disappears. 
 
 "It's Mariotti! It must be Mariotti!" they yell, 
 aghast. 
 
 They have -surged forward to seize him, grasping, trip* 
 ping, falling. He has melted into thin air.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 They stop appalled. 
 
 For as they hiss, roar, shout, tumble about in searcn of 
 this being who represents in such perfection the nucleus of 
 their unchecked joy, suddenly far out on the edge, perched 
 on an ornate encrustation of an elaborate pillar, above the 
 gallery in which is seated the Duchesse and her guests, 
 looms forth their fantastic tormentor, scaling easily the 
 dizziest height imaginable. 
 
 Then there rises a cheer of astonishment and recogni- 
 tion ! Their doubts are at an end. Their failure to achieve 
 as much as this being whose art it is to prove a level head, 
 steel-muscled limbs, is explicable. 
 
 No one save Mariotti had been capable of this. Mariotti, 
 the clown, the trapeze performer, the spoiled child of the 
 hour. This is, indeed, a whim of the Duchesse. How 
 magnificently wrought out ! 
 
 Here he comes ! 
 
 He swoops down upon them with a wild yell. He clasps 
 a struggling, shrieking vivandiere captive. He bends his 
 masked lips to hers, in spite of the jeerings and mockings 
 of the delighted crowd. As he bends to kiss the face so 
 masterfully forced to meet the mocking masked one above 
 it suddenly his hand shoots forth. It seizes a rose from 
 the bosom of a laughing flower-girl near. With a mocking 
 motion carrying in its pantomimic hint the definition that 
 stolen fruit is not a preference of this delinquent he lays 
 his pillaged proffering saucily against the lips below his, 
 and dashes on, the throng at his heels. 
 
 "Mariotti, it is thou, n'est-ce-pas? Tell us the tale of 
 the baa-baa and the cow ; eh, Mariotti?" 
 
 But the harlequin darts ahead, now here, now there, run- 
 ning in jumps like a kangaroo, crawling on all-fours like a 
 dog, leaping to inscribe curious circles in the air, turning at 
 unexpected intervals with that mock air of superiority to 
 
 116
 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S 
 
 cheer, in emulation of the crowd's caterwaulings ; to shout 
 in imitation of their shouts ; to shriek, to laugh, to ap- 
 plaud. 
 
 He starts as a major-domo passes attired as a halberdier. 
 The pompous fellow brings down his jewelled staff upon 
 the tessellated floor and announces in stentorian tones, 
 "Souper." 
 
 The harlequin's pursuers perceive their advantage. They 
 rush forward and fall upon him. For an instant they seem 
 to hold the most daring figure of all in their delighted tu- 
 multuous grasp, for an instant only. 
 
 The creature must be possessed of a demoniacal force, of 
 a magic means of escape. He eludes, their hands and 
 arms fingering his garments, with the taste of his breath 
 in their nostrils. 
 
 He stands at the head of the staircase now, looking back 
 with that mocking air which is so indescribably mischievous. 
 
 There is an inarticulate cry of baffled rage. A domino 
 darts forward, of unutterable mischief, on pleasure bent. 
 He will attain or die. 
 
 With a leap far into the perfumed air below him a leap 
 in which the tense, elastic, marvellously graceful figure has 
 seemed for one breathless instant to swing in mid-air, mo- 
 tionless Mariotti is no more ! 
 
 Did he go down the staircase? Nobody knows. Did 
 he glide away on a moonbeam ? A drifting ray is melting 
 in below there through the aperture of a tented recess to 
 the left of the entrance-way. The question is unanswer- 
 able, Mariotti, their life, their toy, their tireless, bewitching 
 comrade, has gone, escaped them. 
 
 The throng protesting tumultuously, exchanging laugh- 
 ing, irritated sallies, is forced to seek amusement elsewhere. 
 
 As the fantastic form glides through the gardens furtively, 
 leaping over dark spaces with noiseless feet, evading the 
 
 117
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 bright patches made by the moonbeams and artificial lights, 
 there comes a breath in his ear. 
 
 " Mariotti ! I am a friend; tu comprends? Meet me 
 there by the kiosque." 
 
 The sentence is voiced in French, with a slight foreign 
 inflection. 
 
 ' ' Bien, ' ' says Mariotti. The fever of intrigue is still 
 boiling in his blood. 
 
 Ten minutes later two figures stand under a tree in front 
 of a kiosque at the corner of the Champs- Ely sees. The 
 Place de la Concorde, softly lit up with its myriad, absinthe- 
 colored lights, stilly gleams under the velvet impress of the 
 night. It stars its own pathway, from the Seine to the 
 Madeleine, until dawn. 
 
 It is late, two A.M. The speaker is pleading. Mariotti 
 obstinate. 
 
 ' ' And wherefore, monsieur ?' ' 
 
 ' ' For a freak. Simply a whim. I will make it one hun- 
 dred francs. ' ' 
 
 "A song," protests Mariotti, contemptuously. The keen 
 light of the professional expert who knows more than the 
 face value of the talent his public overrates grows apace in 
 his unmasked countenance. He is moping his purple brow. 
 
 " Five hundred," impatiently. 
 
 Mariotti' s pulse leaps. He glances curiously at the 
 speaker. Is he prince or beggar ? It would be difficult 
 to determine. The stranger wears a slouch hat, well drawn 
 over his brows. A scarf conceals his chin and throat to 
 the eyes. He is attired in a loose coat. His boots are 
 muddy. He is tall and spare. 
 
 ' ' Eight hundred, ' ' suggests Mariotti finally, still reluc- 
 tantly ; adding, as his companion hesitates, " I hand you 
 over the costume then for good and all. ' ' 
 
 "Done." 
 
 118
 
 AT THE DUCHESSE'S 
 
 In a trice Mariotti stands counting over the bills in be- 
 wildered fashion. Who is this individual who carries bank- 
 notes worth so it seems to the simple rascal a king's 
 ransom on his person, who exchanges his own identity for 
 the doubtful calling of a clown with calm ? Mariotti' s cos- 
 tume has been donned above his every- day clothes. The 
 individual into whose eager hands he has thrust his dis- 
 guise has seized it piece by piece as it is doffed, gingerly. 
 He contemplates it with what seems like satisfaction. In 
 reality it is disgust. The costume is worn, old, and shabby. 
 
 "Hold," says Mariotti. "I do a scurvy thing, mon- 
 sieur, to thus sell myself twice." 
 
 "Twice?" 
 
 There is the underlying impress of a humorous contempt 
 in the tone, a dominant note which has transfixed the clown 
 all through this odd transaction. It seems now to boast of 
 a power which threatens to overmatch Mariotti' s belief that 
 he has contracted a good bargain, what Mariotti calls a 
 "good bargain," clean money for a roll of dirty rags. 
 The mask has been handed over also. The recipient cogi- 
 tates. He, visibly, is wondering where he may effect a 
 change in his own costume without disclosing his identity. 
 
 The mask first. 
 
 As he lifts his hat to insinuate the little black silk face 
 between his eyebrows and hair, Mariotti gives vent to a 
 low exclamation of wrathful recognition. 
 
 "Ciel!" he falls back. "But," he cries aloud, "it's 
 the monsieur who ' ' 
 
 " Be silent, you hound !" 
 
 Mariotti desists, shaking like a leaf. He clasps his 
 hands appealingly. " Monsieur, monsieur ! it must not 
 be. You alone know Lamballe's secret. He wears my 
 costume also. It must not be. With two of me there 
 will be endless complications." 
 
 119
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Yes," concurs the voice behind the scarf, with grim 
 determination not unpossessed of a biting humor, ' ' there 
 will be 'complications.' Look here," it continues shortly, 
 turning towards Mariotti, who is pale as a sheet and 
 trembling visibly, " you betrayed his secret. More's the 
 pity. If you think I have gone thus far and am going no 
 farther you don' t know me. See ?' ' with a gentle irony 
 which leaves Mariotti speechless. The speaker is not 
 waiting for a response. This he makes evident. ' ' March 
 on, you son of a mucker," impatiently ; "show me where 
 to make myself beautiful or, by Jove, I'll tell your story 
 to Lamballe !" 
 
 "There's a house below there," murmurs Mariotti, after 
 a moment's utter collapse ; it makes his companion chuckle, 
 a sound Mariotti remembers to the end of his life. He 
 points to a cluster of lights a short distance from them. 
 " Monsieur can change his costume and not be disturbed." 
 
 " Right you are." 
 
 A hand is laid heavily on Mariotti' s cringing shoulder. 
 ' ' Come with me, you betrayer of identity. Once bit, 
 twice shy ; I don' t think I care to let you out of my sight, 
 you distinguished rascal." 
 
 "Pour 1' amour de Dieu, monsieur," whines Mariotti; 
 he is running alongside the tall figure which strides forward 
 so powerfully, its hand always fastened sturdily in the 
 bunch of muscle which seems the integral part of his con- 
 ductor's coat-sleeve. 
 
 ' ' Dieu, Mariotti ?' ' repeats the ironical, undaunted 
 voice. "God, you mean? If 'twere not for the love of 
 woman, my boy, I'd let you go, God knows." 
 
 1 20
 
 HALF-PAST TWO A.M. 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 HALF- PAST TWO A.M. 
 
 THE Duchesse is enjoying herself. ' ' How I like life !' ' 
 she ejaculates, every now and then, under her breath. 
 She has said it more than once in her spin down the years ; 
 in her manner, which is genial ; through her living, that is 
 individual. Her husband has been a legitimist. Odd that 
 she, his wife, should have totally abandoned his prejudices, 
 which cramped, to assume her own, which mellow. 
 
 She ' ' prefers to be taught than to teach, ' ' confesses the 
 Duchesse. She has used a portion of her fortune to skirt 
 the borders of several continents, to prove foreign methods 
 and manners, foreign ways, means of reasoning, living. 
 She has profited therefrom. She has returned invariably 
 enlightened to her native land ; fresh air in her hostrils, 
 old theories banished ; swept clean of the clogging element 
 induced by stay-at-home fogyism. 
 
 The Duchesse's main clause in her declaration of inde- 
 pendence is outspoken admiration for America. She claims 
 it has taught her two lessons. Foremost, anent friendship 
 between the sexes. Subsequently as regards a lavish hos- 
 pitality, before which she throws down her arms. 
 
 She is reflecting soberly to-night, in spite of her gay sal- 
 lies and her attentive ears and her comprehending eyes, 
 that human nature is truer to itself in mask and domino 
 than otherwise. She has always argued that the big 
 maxim, too often considered a small one, which bids so- 
 ciety not carry its heart in its sleeve in its hand if it will, 
 or behind its tired eyes, or on its lips, or through its make- 
 
 121
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 shift tongue, but never in its sleeve to be the provoker of 
 much that is lamentable in man- and womankind. 
 
 In that rollicking throng below she sees the abandon of 
 the butterfly under the sunlight ; the frank avowal of the 
 bee that seeks honey solely because it is sweet. 
 
 She is glad ; thankful she feels no less. Grateful she 
 sees no more. 
 
 "A very great thing, human nature," states she to her 
 neighbor, an Austrian Princess who has arrived in Paris the 
 day before to be at her friend's fete to-night. " A simple 
 and lovable thing too when unchecked. It only grows 
 petulant, stifled, poisonous, when it is tamed or civilized. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Do you think so ?' ' returns the Princess, doubtfully. 
 
 "Think so," repeats the Duchesse, impatiently. "I 
 know it. Does a dog fail to lick his comrade's wounds into 
 health until he is taught there may be poison in them ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Ah ! But who puts the poison there ?' ' returns the 
 Princess, who is notoriously fond of extending her ex- 
 perience. 
 
 ' ' Civilization, ' ' retorts the Duchesse, triumphantly. 
 " Knowledge, growth. Nature teaches human nature 
 what not to do every day of its glowing, God-proving ex- 
 istence. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Youth, perhaps, is willing to be ignorant. Not so 
 middle age," the Princess insists. 
 
 ' ' I am not talking of rust, or moth, or mould, ' ' vouch- 
 safes the Duchesse, with a short sigh. ' ' I claim that man, 
 like horse, is rendered vicious through his trainer." 
 
 ' ' And his trainer is the world, ' ' states the Princess. 
 
 "It all depends upon how we make use of our knowl- 
 edge," protests the Duchesse, in her fresh mellow voice. 
 1 ' If the medicine administered to human nature by human 
 nature were half of it repudiated, I contend there would be 
 more cases of salvation than have yet been quoted." 
 
 122
 
 HALF-PAST TWO A.M. 
 
 ' ' You are peculiar. You will not admit, even, of innate 
 wickedness !" 
 
 ' ' Que veux-tu ?' ' exclaims the Duchesse, soberly, ' ' I 
 grow old." 
 
 She is seated in the gallery above the great staircase op- 
 posite the entrance-way, which is draped with silken tissues 
 bearing the emblem of France, a gigantic fleur-de-lis. At 
 her left stands the English Ambassador with his look of ac- 
 quired dilettantism impregnated with stolid satisfaction. 
 On her right is an attach^ of the Swedish Embassy who 
 has but just arrived. He bends to kiss her slender hand. 
 He watches, with kindling eyes, the scene below them. 
 The throng is swelling every hour. It is nearly two 
 thirty A.M. 
 
 There is a blast from the horn a footman, in the de 
 Launoy livery, had carried to his lips. He is stationed near 
 the great entrance-door to announce the guests. The crowd 
 makes way for a stately figure which moves past. 
 
 The Duchesse draws in her breath. She leans over the 
 railing. 
 
 A major-domo has advanced to escort a regal figure up- 
 stairs towards Madame de Launoy. 
 
 One would say Marie Antoinette herself, in her palmy 
 days, before the ghostly finger of a hideous fate had pointed 
 towards her. The face is masked. But in those royal blue 
 velvet paniers from knee to waist, the corsage cut to reveal 
 a snowy neck and shoulders, with a kerchief of lace knotted 
 about the bosom as Louis XVI.'s queen loved to wear it, 
 with a mass of snow-white hair surmounted by a tocque of 
 blue velvet, ornamented with a huge aigrette sparkling with 
 diamonds, this is the fairest copy imaginable of the haughty 
 Austrian who marched to her doom with the same insouci- 
 ance with which she confronted her accusers, and exposed 
 her follies. 
 
 123
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Madeleine," explains the Duchesse in the Princess's 
 ear. 
 
 She glances over her shoulder to see if another expected 
 guest may have ingratiated himself among the group about 
 her chair. No. The English Ambassador is exchanging 
 platitudes with the Princess. 
 
 The Swedish attache" waves his handkerchief across to a 
 Spanish beauty who has tossed him a rose. 
 
 As the Duchesse contemplates the figure advancing 
 slowly up the stairs, a Folly but the most exquisite inter- 
 pretation of unwisdom this great lady has ever seen crosses 
 a corridor which meets the landing half-way up, and makes 
 her way towards Marie Antoinette. 
 
 They exchange a few words. Together the two come 
 forward. The major-domo falls back. 
 
 The figure of France's doomed queen, singularly enough, 
 it occurs to the Duchesse, is now accompanied by a 
 masked semblance of what France so bitterly proclaimed 
 to be her reigning sovereign's besetting sin. The Folly 
 who advances so calmly is as eloquent a plea in her royal 
 mistress's favor as beauty is ever a plea for vanity. 
 
 By her bewitching costume she commands attention. 
 Because the world cringes to a master and repudiates a 
 slave she obtains it. Not an eye in that vast assembly 
 fails to gaze with awe upon the two masked figures which, 
 with such rare grace, are advancing to do homage to the 
 mistress of the house. One and all accord them the tribute 
 of boundless curiosity and admiration. 
 
 As they stop under the gallery just in front of the 
 Duchesse there rises a discreetly modulated murmur of 
 applause. 
 
 124
 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS 
 
 THE Duchesse leaned forward impressively. 
 
 "Thrice welcome," cried she, in her sonorous voice. 
 "Will your most gracious Majesty but condescend to 
 seat herself within my humble circle ?' ' This was said in 
 emulation of the exalted manner required of a reigning 
 sovereign's subjects, a manner which the Duchesse, with 
 twinkling eyes, hit off to the life, while at the same time 
 she regarded every detail of the marvellously perfect cos- 
 tume which submitted itself to her appreciative scrutiny. 
 
 She threw wide a carved minature gate, a part of the 
 gallery railing in front of her. The hasp of this was un- 
 fastened only at the Duchesse' s sweet will. She made a 
 motion for Marie Antoinette to enter. 
 
 ' ' Most willingly, ' ' returned a low voice, with a sober, 
 musical intonation. 
 
 Without further ado the queen entered. With a stately 
 inclination to the distinguished company attendant upon 
 the Duchesse she seated herself at her hostess's right. 
 
 The gate still remained ajar. 
 
 The Duchesse was observing closely the enchanting 
 originality of the figure dressed as Folly which lingered 
 outside. 
 
 "A friend of Madeleine's," thought she. She again in- 
 clined. She repeated the gesture of invitation with which 
 she had begged Marie Antoinette to join her ranks. 
 
 To her surprise, Folly demurred. 
 
 "Not so," murmured a disguised voice, indistinctly, 
 from behind a perforated golden mask dotted with seed 
 
 125
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 pearls, and flounced with a ruffle of lace which barely con- 
 cealed the cleft in a lovely chin. ' ' It were not meet, oh, 
 most noble lady, that Folly should attain, without effort, 
 so exalted a recognition as a queen of France." 
 
 The Duchesse smiled. The words were double-edged. 
 She welcomed wit, like most French women, as a proof of 
 that superior mentality which fences by means of femi- 
 ninity's best weapon, tact. 
 
 "And yet," she replied, "we are told that Folly has 
 climbed heights, and sounded depths, that many a queen 
 has aspired to, vainly." 
 
 ' ' The reason why Folly, to-night, elects to remain out- 
 side the charmed circle," returned the disguised voice 
 of her interlocutor, instantly ; ' ' she prefers the common 
 throng with whom intrigue is the watchword, where honors 
 may be even." 
 
 ' ' A wise decision, ' ' murmured the Duchesse, approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 She pulled the gate to. Across her face, the only femi- 
 nine one in that vast assembly which remained unmasked, 
 flitted the shadow of a regret. Who was this who dared 
 to decline an honor extended to so few, she wondered for 
 a brief second. 
 
 Folly stood lightly poised on her two slippered feet. 
 The light from the mammoth crystal chandelier above 
 shone out to light two huge paste buckles which sparkled 
 against her high instep, against her orange silk ankles, 
 and the tiny satin slippers embroidered with French love- 
 knots. Through her mask her eyes gazed intently, seek- 
 ing to pierce the subtle meaning of the manifold crush 
 below, a crush of color kaleidoscopic, surging in and out : 
 a quivering rainbow of varying beauty. 
 
 As she looked, there floated towards her ears and to the 
 ears of the Duchesse and her guests an indistinct murmur, 
 
 126
 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS 
 
 which advanced, was caught up, and spread with the 
 rapidity of chain-lightning. From a group around the 
 entrance-way, in and out of the myriad corridors to left 
 and right of the hall below, until it increased to a roar 
 which widened and deepened, the sound seemed a worded 
 device, tossed like a shuttlecock from mind to mind, from 
 lip to lip, from tongue to tongue. 
 
 It detached itself at last from the noise and confusion, 
 and sprang crisply forth out of the throng's midst to salute 
 the straining ears of the Duchesse and her group. 
 
 When it sounded, that portion of the swarm of maskers 
 who, up to this, had ignored its import, became as though 
 magically endowed with unparalleled intoxication. A new 
 pulse was born, an emanation from the joy the word' s utter- 
 ance foretold, a talisman that made that whole laughing 
 world akin. 
 
 In a trice the multitude was cheering, shouting, surging, 
 gesticulating. Myriad faces twisted eagerly towards a figure 
 which, it could now be seen, was pushing its way through 
 the ranks about the entrance-door. 
 
 "It's a man," announced the English Ambassador, 
 leaning forward from a higher altitude than the rest of 
 the Duchesse' s circle had been able to command, he thus 
 controlled a view which overlooked the situation below, 
 1 ' a man in the costume of a harlequin. He enters. He 
 is coming this way. ' ' 
 
 The cry was mounting up. The figure was trying to 
 make a pathway up the staircase towards the Duchesse, 
 this was plainly discernible. 
 
 The yells of recognition grew more and more distinguish- 
 able. Then came a burst of uproarious acknowledgment 
 that made the chandeliers rattle. 
 
 The figure sprang forth fully revealed. 
 
 There was another burst of frantic delight. 
 
 127
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 It was a man's figure, slim, unusually tall, clad in a silk 
 maillot of as many colors as Joseph's coat, the costume 
 of a harlequin. 
 
 The name which detached itself from the dust and noise 
 and fluctuating wave of motion and color below now floated 
 up to them clear, unmistakable. 
 
 "Mariotti !" 
 
 ' ' Notre ami Mariotti !' ' let forth a monk in a brown 
 cowl with a rope knotted about his waist, a beard which 
 drooped against his chest like a twist of brown fur, and a 
 tonsured head. 
 
 The name was caught up a thousand strong, in every 
 shade of meaning, with every grade of conviction, doubt, 
 joy, relief, mockery. 
 
 ' ' Mariotti, Mariotti ! Thou hast returned to us then, 
 again, thou imp of deviltry?" This, Mariotti ! 
 
 Where was the elasticity of the bounding figure Paris 
 knew so well ? Whence had fled the reckless audacity of 
 the trapeze performer with his steel-trained muscles, his 
 pranks, his mercurial entity, their playmate, their toy ? 
 
 The harlequin was an exact prototype of Mariotti ; that 
 was incontestable. But this figure exacted the subservi- 
 ence those who control high places obtain by their royal air. 
 His poise, so supple and absolute, was that of a master 
 spirit, not a clown. To be sure, the movements were inde- 
 scribable. But the figure obtained in a trice, without the 
 aid of any outward sign, the allegiance of the illustrious 
 of that vast throng. It bore the imprint of conscious 
 pride of race. The larger portion of the maskers, with 
 the affrighted gaze of awe-stricken children gradually 
 taking umbrage at an element in their midst which was 
 foreign to their hitherto interpretation of rollicking joy, 
 began to protest loudly. 
 
 "Art fatigued, Mariotti?" asked one, a lad clad as a 
 
 128
 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS 
 
 butterfly, with black and blue wings, and antennae which 
 had paid their homage to the purport of the night by tick- 
 ling tortured prayers for mercy from the victims of their 
 wearer's prowess. 
 
 "Art ill, Mariotti?" This was a soft, woman's voice ; 
 a nun with a white kerchief across her brow, which belied 
 the coquetry of the eyes below it. 
 
 ' ' Art in love, thou laggard ?' ' mocked a third. 
 
 But the figure pressed on silently. 
 
 It made its way past them out into a space in front of 
 the staircase when 
 
 Were eyes bewildered ? Had joy degenerated into de- 
 lirium ? Was the throng victim of nightmare or of unbridled 
 and too riotous intoxication ? Had their ecstasy of merri- 
 ment undone them ? Was this Mariotti ? 
 
 If so, what was that ? 
 
 For as the first harlequin set his rainbow- clad instep with 
 its black-slippered sole against the lower step of the stair- 
 case, which he was about to mount, a second harlequin 
 appeared upon the second landing ; the counterpart of the 
 harlequin below. 
 
 The first harlequin gave vent to an ejaculation. 
 
 The second one stood still. 
 
 His head, upon which was the multicolored cap com- 
 patible with harlequin etiquette, seemed quivering with a 
 demoniacal expression of conscious deviltry. 
 
 'Twas almost as if the one were the mirror for the other. 
 
 At a distance they looked the same height. Perhaps, 
 had the measure been taken, it might have registered the 
 difference of half an inch between these two ; no more. 
 
 The first harlequin now began to move forward. 
 
 Not a sound from the breathless silent throng, which was 
 craning its variegated neck towards this unexpected rally of 
 innumerable Mariottis. 
 
 9 * 2 9
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Was it a trick of their incorrigible trifler ? it was asked 
 dumbly. 
 
 Were there one or two or three Mariottis ? 
 
 The figure above was to the figure below as the cheek to 
 the cheek. The figure below to the figure above as the 
 eyelash to the eyelash. 
 
 The same graceful form ; the same poise ; the same black 
 eyes, roving restlessly behind two slits in the black mask : 
 the same air of reserved strength, of race ; tendons alert : 
 muscles supple, and under absolute control. 
 
 The harlequin above, as though to accentuate his coun- 
 terpart' s manifest discomfiture, executed a fantastic flourish ; 
 a mocking inclination to his double below. 
 
 The harlequin below returned his salute with marked em- 
 phasis. Then, with a shrug, he made a bound forward, 
 and dashed towards his second self on the landing above. 
 
 The second harlequin, at this, moved slowly forward. 
 He, too, evidently was desirous of an encounter. 
 
 As they approached one another the crowd's hushed 
 watchfulness burst its bounds. There came whispers, ex- 
 cited cries ; bets were exchanged freely as to either of the 
 harlequin's identity. 
 
 " 'Tis Mariotti's double !" they cried, vociferously, as the 
 two harlequins approached one another, and more fully ex- 
 posed an absolute oneness in the fidelity of their make-up. 
 
 The ground of each costume was black, with darts of 
 color shot helter-skelter across it, like jets of flame woven 
 into the stuff. By a close observer the costume of the first 
 harlequin disclosed itself of a newer make than the some- 
 what shabby costume of the second ; but this remained un- 
 noticed. The costume was known to all Paris as the ' ' cos- 
 tume Mariotti." 
 
 " 'Tis the devil and his shadow," muttered the attache 1 , 
 crossing himself. 
 
 130
 
 THREE MODERN DROMIOS 
 
 The Duchesse frowned. Marie Antoinette turned pale 
 under her mask. For some unknown reason her heart- 
 strings seemed to have tightened. 
 
 Folly lifted her soft arm off the railing on which it had 
 reclined. She stood back, fearlessly, to make way for the 
 advancing pair. 
 
 As the first harlequin met the second on the landing, 
 just below two steps which remained to be spanned in order 
 to reach the Duchesse, the second bent and whispered 
 three words in the first harlequin's ear. 
 
 "Isitthou, Lamballe?" 
 
 There was but an instant's hesitation, unperceivable to 
 the throng. 
 
 Then the first harlequin let forth three words, a phrase 
 which carried the weight of a light rebuke, nothing more. 
 
 ' ' Mariotti, thou clown !' ' 
 
 The two passed on together towards the Duchesse. 
 
 But the heart of the second harlequin was beating furi- 
 ously with a sense of triumph. 
 
 The first harlequin, being convinced of his would-be 
 rival's identity, dismissed the subject, with an inward curse 
 at the simple fellow's audacity. 
 
 "If 'tis Mariotti, he has, indeed, found his match," 
 laughed the Duchesse, with a marked emphasis on the if. 
 She had, at a glance, understood the intricate handling of 
 this delightful comedy to be another proof of Lamballe' s 
 crafty imagination. 
 
 As she extended her hand, and the first harlequin bent to 
 impress a kiss upon it, the great lady and her vassal ex- 
 changed two words. 
 'Ferdinand?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 At a sign from the Duchesse he passed through to join 
 the circle behind her chair.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The Duchesse now leaned forward, with a dancing light 
 in her eyes, towards the second harlequin. 
 
 She started back. 
 
 Those were the same eyes, she thought, was her mind 
 a little confused with the unexpected developments of the 
 night? the same eyes which had just now confronted 
 hers. Perhaps the black mask accentuated the similitude. 
 They were strangely alike, she thought. 
 
 ' ' Welcome !' ' cried the Duchesse. 
 
 The second harlequin did not speak. He merely bowed. 
 
 As he lifted his head he looked straight up into the 
 brooding puzzled orbs of that daring young Folly who had 
 elected to remain outside the elect circle where "frolic was 
 the watchword and honors were even. ' ' 
 
 She retained her attitude of intent scrutiny. 
 
 ' ' A rarely perfect night, ' ' remarked the second harlequin 
 in a whisper ; his masked lips were close to her ear ; "a 
 night for leaps in the dark and lovers' vows. Wilt go with 
 me for a stroll, oh, lady of beauty?" Then, very low, 
 "Don't faint. It's Jack !" 
 
 Folly gasped audibly. Then, being a woman and com- 
 plex, she hurriedly detached a rose from some loose ones 
 she carried in her hand and bestowed it upon her daring 
 cavalier with an exaggerated flourish, her contribution to 
 the night's masked batteries. 
 
 The Duchesse' s party was absorbed with itself. The 
 harlequin had been presented to Marie Antoinette. She 
 was fanning herself in stately fashion as his supple body in- 
 clined before her. 
 
 When the Duchesse looked forth in search of the pil- 
 grims at her gate, some moments afterwards, the second 
 harlequin had basely deserted his post, and Folly's twink- 
 ling heels had made the most of their mistress's daringly 
 exposed desire to meander. 
 
 132
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 
 THE two sped on, Folly in her gown which bespoke the 
 mutinous wilfulness of its wearer, the harlequin in his fanci- 
 ful portrayal of versatile force. 
 
 She had said one word, apprehensively, " Why?" 
 
 He has answered shortly, ' ' Wait. ' ' 
 
 Her heart beat so she could hear it above the shouting 
 and bustling of the crowd, above the lilt of the dreamy 
 waltz's measure, the refrain sounded loud in her memory 
 in after-years, above and far beyond the present agony of 
 apprehension in her veins. 
 
 His left hand had fastened upon hers with a grip that 
 made her shrink. 
 
 They stopped at last in a secluded corner of the garden, 
 a bosquet screened by a stone wall covered with ivy. It 
 made a background for the two figures which stood against 
 it as individual will is thrown out in spite of itself, at times, 
 through the accident of circumstance. 
 
 There was no sound but the drip of the fountain some 
 steps away. 
 
 An itinerant moonbeam escaped through a slit in two 
 fleecy clouds and made its way across her. 
 
 Her figure stood out, in all its womanish avowal of co- 
 quetry, triumphantly revealed as perfection. 
 
 Her face drooped visibly. 
 
 For the first time in her life she was afraid. 
 
 "Take off your mask," Conway's voice commanded. 
 The words came as though his vocal chords had tightened 
 in a spasmodic stricture.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 She remembered, in a faint, half-thought-out fashion, 
 that somewhere lately she had heard those peremptory 
 words, that command, under totally different auspices, 
 however. She did not stop to question when, or where, 
 or from whom. It had been a memory with a singular 
 accompaniment of distaste for her. Now it was all dif- 
 ferent. 
 
 She lifted her exquisite arms obediently and unfastened 
 the clasp from under her curls. 
 
 She did not raise her eyes. Somehow she could not. 
 
 He stood looking at her. 
 
 Such a gaze ! 
 
 If life could blot up in an hour all that look was en- 
 deavoring to assimilate in a second, time were vain, and 
 love a farce. 
 
 ' ' Will you not speak to me ?' ' The young voice was 
 charged with a sternly evaded element of revolt. 
 
 It held the echo of an enforced renunciation. 
 
 She stirred restlessly. She would have given her right 
 hand just then to have dared. 
 
 "I ask you," he went on, most miserably, "why you 
 will not look at me ?' ' 
 
 Still she was silent. 
 
 Then very slowly as though in the act she was striving 
 to conceal a mortal illness which was gradually stealing 
 over her bit by bit, she fighting it inch by inch she lifted 
 one hand, off which she had dragged the glove a moment 
 before, and laid it with its back across her tell-tale eyes. 
 
 The acknowledgment of weakness the gesture betrayed 
 was supreme. 
 
 He saw a curled, rosy, satin palm with a mouth below it 
 which might have been God's model for His rosebuds, 
 he thought, tumultuously. 
 
 " I want to hear you speak."
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 
 She knew she must answer. Her conscience told her 
 that this was to be an unequal battle, in which she must 
 fight for two instead of for one. But she had been wish- 
 ing for the sound of his voice for forty-two hours ; and for 
 one moment she hesitated, because she knew that when she 
 spoke that she must slay. 
 
 Oh, why was it her portion to undo, to kill, what seemed 
 so perilously worth keeping ? A line of Browning' s drifted 
 across her brain. Her brain? Was it a brain, or only 
 another medium of the Almighty with which to coerce 
 misery? The lilted words sifted through her awakened 
 vanity gold pollen across a ripening field. 
 
 "How sad, and mad, and bad it was, 
 And yet how it was sweet." 
 
 A little while, a very little while. Just all her life, 
 it seemed to her, wherein she lived through a shamed 
 admission with a staggering conviction of its mighty im- 
 port, in which she seemed to leap with a bound to the 
 right-about. In which she seemed to be looking back 
 upon a determination which blasted and quenched. The 
 scourge of guilt might be upon her unless she pushed it 
 off. 
 
 Her voice came haltingly. He bent to listen. 
 
 The words were oh, the inefficacy of vocabulary with 
 which to express thoughts that must mean so much ! 
 
 She said, " I thought Stephen could trust you.' 
 
 That was all. 
 
 The flood-gates had rolled back. 
 
 She was in the open sea again, in her own boat, 
 alone, tired out ; facing a stretch horizonless, colorless, 
 perhaps ; unattainable surely ; but she held the tiller. 
 
 Her heart fell on its knees to Conway, in supplication 
 that he might forgive the anguish she must it was her
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 duty cause him. Her soul lit up in an ecstasy of exalta- 
 tion towards her Maker, in prayerful acknowledgment of 
 a strength that had all at once been given her. 
 
 The tears gushed into her eyes. Already her con- 
 science's penitential pearls were afloat ; but were they 
 tears of relief, or came they from an overpowering sense of 
 loss? 
 
 She turned abruptly, and walked a little way from him. 
 
 He was standing motionless, as though turned to stone. 
 
 " Cowardly !" she broke forth all at once. As though 
 her former words had carved a way for her speech, and she 
 must profit off it as mercilessly as she dared, she flashed 
 out, ' ' Why have you returned ?' ' 
 
 A breathless pause. It throbbed. Then, 
 
 " Yes : yes. Ah, hush!" 
 
 The abject misery of the hoarse, boyish voice. 
 
 She had started to speak again. He had checked her 
 at last. 
 
 And then she turned and looked at him. 
 
 The expression of her face cut him to the heart. In his 
 mad seizure of a chance which he had come to believe must 
 guide the hand of fate this side issue as the secret cause 
 for his own unbridled temerity his biased reasoning had 
 never imagined the possibility of her contempt. He had 
 thought perhaps she, too, might see as he had seen ; might 
 think as he had thought. She, too ! There had been 
 no evil in the thought, only that awful yearning to see 
 her face, to hear her voice. 
 
 Oh, fool ! Was there no line in her features but that 
 line of invincible scorn. What should he ever do to ob- 
 literate that look ? It would remain with him as long as 
 life. That his mad self-love should have stamped it 
 there ! 
 
 " I will explain," he began, hoarsely. 
 
 136
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 
 ' ' Do so, ' ' peremptorily. The retort cast on his repent- 
 ance' s track a damning stain of doubt. 
 
 " My coming was imperative," he ventured. 
 
 His pallor was startling. His features looked of chiselled 
 ice as he stood there endeavoring to prove he was not the 
 coward she had elected to suppose. 
 
 A coward he ? 
 
 His inflexible accuser she? 
 
 Oh, the pity of it ! The thought was born, grew, and 
 was old, worn, hopeless in a second, that she would never 
 understand. Cowardice had proved itself from him to 
 her. 
 
 Her cold look was piercing his sore soul like a point of 
 jagged iron. 
 
 "Tell the truth," she advised most bitterly; "tell me 
 the truth." And as he hesitated, torn between his tor- 
 turing self-acknowledgment of bitterness new-born and 
 acute, she said, ' ' You cannot tell it because you are afraid. 
 You came, because you could not remain away. ' ' 
 
 As she made the affirmation with much bitter apparent 
 contempt, she knew that if he denied, her most exultant 
 consciousness of power lay still forever. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 He did not deny. He did not confirm. She had turned 
 her eyes away as though he were unworthy for them to rest 
 upon. At least so he translated it. 
 
 In reality she was almost beside herself at the havoc she 
 seemed, with each cruel word, to impose. 
 
 ' ' I came, ' ' he blurted out, ' ' to find Lamballe. I 
 had reason to believe he was in Paris. It was a thing 
 which must be verified, one way or the other. The 
 knowledge," monotonously, blind fury growing apace in 
 him that she would not believe, ' ' will aid our cause 
 mightily." 
 
 137
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Just the same distant expression of polite incredulity on 
 the fair face which had once been so winsome and bonny 
 for him and every one. 
 
 ' ' And your curiosity has been gratified ?' ' 
 
 The meaning her tone conveyed was clear. She did not 
 believe him. 
 
 All at once he went a little mad, the way men do when 
 young and hopeless, towards the woman who enjoys tor- 
 menting them. He strode forward, and clutched her hand 
 in his with a fierce clutch which made her gasp. She did 
 not cry out. She bore. She felt this might, in some 
 slight measure, offset her seeming cruelty. Would he 
 ever recognize she had been kind to him ? His face was 
 close to hers, close, closer. His breath was against her 
 cheek. She felt the powerful young figure against her 
 gown. 
 
 She struggled a little. Then she was very still. 
 
 If it were a battle of anything but spirit she might lose, 
 she thought. 
 
 ' ' When you have done, ' ' broke forth her stinging voice, 
 finally, ' ' I will tell you why you are here. ' ' 
 
 He let her hand fall with a moan. 
 
 " You came because you wished to see me," con- 
 tinued the merciless voice. The words beat on his lis- 
 tening senses like hammers on a gaping wound. 
 
 "Well?" he returned, doggedly. 
 
 He had lifted his head. He was confronting her boldly. 
 The shame over the mad course he had chosen had gone 
 out for him, swallowed up in a mighty recognition of her 
 incarnate cruelty. He hoped, bitterly, it did her good to 
 say those hateful words. He knew they hurt him mor- 
 tally. He did not seek to vindicate himself. His heart's 
 secret was revealed in one word. She had spoken the 
 truth. Why, longer, deny it ? 
 
 138
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 
 " It was cowardly," she said. 
 
 She knew no other word, possibly, he thought, in a 
 dazed fashion. Why so ? Well ! Perhaps the term was 
 just. It was, too, conclusive. 
 
 As a final effort she now replaced her mask with shaking 
 fingers. 
 
 He did not know it ; but she knew she was locking in, 
 until some blessed period when she could think things out, 
 the tears, the sense of guilt, the rest. All the rest. She 
 would have time to take it out some day and think it well 
 over, she thought. 
 
 He swept her from head to foot with a look which made 
 her turn cold ; a glance which, in its crude acceptation of 
 her final decree, she had not preimagined. 
 
 " To prove that what you say is untrue I will leave you 
 to-night forever, ' ' he said, in a dull, monotonous voice, she 
 had never heard before from him. 
 
 She started involuntarily. How glad she was of her 
 mask, how glad ! For her lips were stiffening against 
 her will. ' ' What heroics are these ?' ' came to her out of 
 her store of platitudes. But she did not voice them. In- 
 stead she waited apprehensively. ' ' Forever, ' ' she thought, 
 lamely, gropingly, ' ' is a long time. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I will never see you again, ' ' continued the young voice 
 with its burden of impotent despair. ' ' Will you bid me 
 God-speed ?' ' 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 He could scarcely believe his ears. Then he thought 
 this must be another form of chastisement, a forefend of 
 unmistakable expiation. He had made a false step. He 
 must abide by the consequences. Other men had. 
 
 " I bid you to come no more," she ejaculated, with an- 
 other wild laugh. " You must have been mad to have 
 come at all." 
 
 139
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' Am I mad ?' ' he returned instantly, in a famished, 
 stifled tone, there came a dull thudding in her ears; she 
 seemed to be beating it off with her thoughts, " am I mad 
 to wish to bid so sweet a thing as you good-by ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Oh, go !' ' she cried. 
 
 The place was slipping from her with him. She 
 stooped and gathered up a corner of her skirt with one 
 hand, anything to start the blood which seemed to be 
 coagulating in her veins ; the mesh had caught in a 
 rose-bush which stood near surrounded by palms and 
 plants. 
 
 "It is well, ' ' she said, softly, slowly, and very dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 But with all the clearness of her words there lay, along- 
 side of her summing up, so evident a weight of conscious 
 woe that for the moment his heart bounded, just for one 
 ecstatic second. Then he spoke. 
 
 ' ' It was weak, ' ' he admitted, tentatively. 
 
 ' ' More, ' ' from her, mercilessly. 
 
 "It was dastardly, a subterfuge." He knew in his 
 heart that the subterfuge had been hardly equivalent to the 
 emergency which had induced it ; but he was thinking 
 that, so long as she thus cruelly misjudged his ulterior mo- 
 tive, he would not withdraw from one iota of his merited 
 chastisement. 
 
 "There is always, Stephen ," she broke forth, ab- 
 ruptly. Aye. There was the rub. ' ' Otherwise 
 
 " But I was human," he pleaded, lamely, huskily. 
 
 "Oh that!" Words evidently failed his judge with 
 which to advocate wisdom in case of a subsequent de- 
 plorable, like weakness. 
 
 "Good-by," she added very low, as if by rote, me- 
 chanically. 
 
 He began hoarsely again, "I hope you will remem- 
 
 140
 
 ANOTHER HANDICAP 
 
 ber, ' ' he said, ' ' I would not have caused you pain for all 
 the world." 
 
 ' ' Oh, why did you come ?' ' she cried, in a strangled, 
 unguided voice. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 "I think," he answered, as if he had not heard her, 
 his conscience was awakening to the touch of a groping 
 thought which once his will had bowed to somewhere this 
 sense of slack as the opportunity out of which to prove 
 himself a man or a knave, "if I do not return, some 
 day you will forget I was a coward once ?' ' 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 One hand of hers was wringing the other in helpless 
 fashion among the folds of her gown. 
 
 He drew himself up with the old familiar movement of 
 unalterable resolve. He had turned from her, after a flash- 
 ing glance in which he had striven to imprint the record of 
 her, body and soul, on his abnormally illuminated memory. 
 
 The little figure that was not his, that never could 
 be ; the creamy arms ; the neck full- chested, with all its 
 royal promise of maturity fulfilled, the outline of a woman- 
 liness unmistakable. 
 
 He looked out ahead with a curious light in his eyes, 
 out past something she could not see. Was it the phan- 
 tom of the to-come ? Was it the forerunner of his mortal 
 pain ? 
 
 She could not tell. Dumbly, blindly, hopelessly, she 
 could not tell. She must not ask. 
 
 She saw the dauntless face with its Spanish coloring im- 
 pregnated by an alarming pallor ; it seemed to her that she 
 had imprinted it there. She saw the young figure in all its 
 manly beauty. She knew its reckless energy, its over- 
 powering sense of what was right and just. 
 
 Yes just ! 
 
 141
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' Good-by, love, ' ' he whispered, loudly, sharply, with a 
 queer blind gesture, as though putting gently away from 
 him forever the right to his soul's happiness. 
 
 Then her will broke up. 
 
 With a helpless, choked cry, supreme in its confession of 
 abject abandon, she ran forward. 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 She tore off her mask. Her face, blistered, outspoken, 
 betrayed the disorder her own unguarded vanity had sown, 
 and would reap. 
 
 With an infinitely weary gesture she slipped, like a 
 shadow, to the ground. 
 
 Was it an hour later ? She did not know. Gradually 
 the cool drip of the fountain surged in again ; the distant 
 sound of waltz music ; memory ; reason. She dragged 
 herself to her feet. 
 
 Folly ! That was her name. 
 
 Her eyes had fallen on her corsage with its display of 
 magnificent gems ; upon the soft flesh above it. 
 
 Then it all came back to her. 
 
 He would never know. It had been heart hunger ; she 
 had reached out. He had misunderstood. What a tangle 
 life was ! 
 
 And Stephen ? 
 
 Oh, God God ! 
 
 Her duty came towards her as though out of a mist. 
 She must put away from her the forceful, the free ; and ac- 
 cept, in its stead, a reluctant makeshift named ' ' affection. ' ' 
 
 She rose painfully. She pushed her hair off her temples 
 with trembling fingers. Then, her eyes wistful, her hands 
 reaching out as though feeling their way through the dark, 
 she went forward towards the rollicking maskers in the ball- 
 room beyond. 
 
 142
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 
 ' ' I HAD scarcely hoped to be accorded so rich a privi- 
 lege," murmured Lamballe, bending over the hand ex- 
 tended to him by Marie Antoinette, subsequent to the 
 Duchesse's presentation. 
 
 The recipient of his marked compliment merely inclined 
 her head silently in response. 
 
 She was striving to locate the speaker' s voice. It seemed, 
 to her, to possess a strain foreign to her chosen mental atti- 
 tude of perfunctory courtesy. Where had she heard those 
 tones with their ring of command before ? What theme did 
 they convey which, augmented by a commonplace, struck 
 from her guarded heart's profoundest depths an answering 
 chord ? 
 
 The sensation contained an unpleasant element of per- 
 tinacity. 
 
 Mrs. Conway was a woman who contemplated life un- 
 flinchingly. The time was past, she considered, when she 
 might expect ; the folly of striving to live over again in 
 her maturity the tumults and protests of her youth she 
 relegated, through unusual dignity of character, to a recess 
 upon which she bestowed scant attention. She was not, 
 like the Duchesse, grandly benevolent. Neither did she 
 live with the expressed intention of deriving the noblest 
 interpretation from all things. Her wit was too keen to 
 permit her to ignore the justice of retribution, her critical 
 acumen too discriminating not to acknowledge shadow as 
 much as sunshine. Her will had been efficacious in obtain- 
 ing for her her present uniquely exalted position in society ;
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 but her tact had done more. Her wealth she recog- 
 nized had been largely instrumental, too, in commanding 
 place. 
 
 After long years of contact with the best intellect and 
 talent of her generation she did not pose as a lover of 
 humanity. 
 
 Rather as a receptor, who obscured her private opinion 
 with discreet platitudes, and retained her individual creed 
 without disclosing its tenets. It had even been said by 
 persons who boasted of intimacy with her that Mrs. Con- 
 way contemplated life, and human nature, with disdain. 
 But this would have been difficult to reconcile with her atti- 
 tude of acquired calm. She was fond of saying that she 
 derived benefit as well as amusement from the social world's 
 frequentation. To her son, who had unconsciously made a 
 study of this being who, up to a few weeks since, had ex- 
 emplified his ideal of womanhood, the fundamental key- 
 note of her character that character which is the output 
 of most high-bred women after thirty, a recreation com- 
 posed of prejudices invoked, illusions destroyed, and ideals 
 reorganized was scepticism. 
 
 Mrs. Conway's moods were as evanescent as the tints in 
 a mass of shifting sands. The sceptical note was the note 
 with which her son could never be patient. It gently and 
 firmly proclaimed a consciousness of superior judgment 
 which fretted his vanity. He disliked it, too, because it 
 seemed the element which summarily established a barrier 
 between him and his best friend. He did not realize it to 
 be an outcome of that substitute for happiness known as 
 resignation, a thing acquired by patience and pain born of 
 inevitable contact with transitory issues. 
 
 He felt it when the sapphire eyes were lifted to his with 
 a faint suspicion of quizzical amusement in their depths. 
 It had checked his confidences more than once. But when 
 
 144
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 
 he endeavored to force it into more conspicuous being, it 
 faded out as if a strong hand had quenched it with tried 
 power. 
 
 This characteristic he considered a flaw in his mother's 
 perfect nature, which he worshipped as nineteenth century- 
 ana seldom worships its progenitor. 
 
 He objected to it because it seemed to him a proof that 
 the bloom of her ideal had, in some mysterious manner, 
 been damaged, once, away off in a past that he might not 
 fathom. If he overestimated his mother's conquest of 
 philosophy, she permitted it. Being a woman of her gener- 
 ation, she was nothing loath to shine resplendently for a time 
 in the white light of her only child's approval. 
 
 She knew that in this her time would be short. That 
 there would come the comparisons which betray the natural 
 law of evolution : that the child is invariably the judge of 
 the parent. She thought that by that bitter time her scepti- 
 cism, faint and guarded as it was, must explain itself to him 
 without her aid. She waited. 
 
 That acquired note had done so much for her. It 
 was the offshoot from an inner consciousness which would 
 not be stilled. It was her shield between her heart and 
 the world's prying eyes and merciless judgments. She 
 fenced with it lightly, gracefully, the world seldom sus- 
 pecting itself of being the object of her almost impercepti- 
 ble scorn. It enabled her to look impersonally, as she 
 thought, at both sides of any question without committing 
 herself to either. It was her hard note. But she rejoiced 
 over it. It had been long in growing, shaping, taking its 
 stand. 
 
 It was made up of revolt, misery, and lacerated senti- 
 ment. A poor solution this, perhaps, of a force which she 
 refused to allow to dominate her. But the scepticism acted 
 as a check in many instances, and was a distinct feature now, 
 
 10 145
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 an echo of that past which, with such unflagging dili- 
 gence, she concealed. 
 
 She was accused of coldness. She never attempted to 
 deny the impeachment. Rather she welcomed such a con- 
 clusion, with devout thankfulness that her role was so well 
 played it had assumed a natural expression, so natural that 
 none suspected her to be the leading lady in the drama ; 
 simply one of the on-lookers. 
 
 Society teaches an equivocation of realities, an expression 
 of complete satisfaction, a more or less rank example of the 
 instinct of self-preservation. So that when the harlequin 
 addressed Mrs. Conway in a voice which set all the bells 
 ringing in a corner of her soul which she thought grown 
 over, this woman of the world, true to her colors to deny 
 anything so complicated as an emotion, fenced with the feel 
 of it, denied the chimes, and uttered a commonplace in 
 return. 
 
 She supposed her interlocutor to be some friend of the 
 Duchesse, a notability without doubt, since he had been so 
 courteously requested to join their select circle. 
 
 "Why a harlequin?" she questioned, with a gesture 
 designating the costume worn by her interlocutor. And 
 then her voice died out ; a great astonishment crept over 
 her with the acknowledgment that their consternation was 
 mutual. 
 
 What strange effect was this which her mild response had 
 produced upon her companion ? 
 
 He was visibly confused. 
 
 If Mrs. Conway had not witnessed his manner she would 
 have gainsaid the assertion that her simple phrase could 
 have produced so extraordinary a result. 
 
 She glanced at the Duchesse. 
 
 To her surprise she was, with undisguised anxiety, watch- 
 ing the effect of her friend's words upon the harlequin. 
 
 146
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 
 Mrs. Conway could not believe her eyes. 
 
 Emotions are communicative. Her heart began to beat 
 in wild thuds, such as it had not experienced for years. 
 
 The harlequin had collected himself mechanically. He 
 stood still. 
 
 The eyes behind his black mask gleamed strangely, as 
 though striving with all their might to pierce their neigh- 
 bor's disguise. 
 
 Mrs. Conway, with a sigh of relief, became comfortably 
 aware of her mask. Her heart beat regularly as she spoke 
 again. 
 
 She repeated her question, permitting a faint cynicism to 
 pervade it. " Probably a Frenchman," she was thinking, 
 ironically, ' ' in consequence, unduly responsive. ' ' Even in 
 her secret heart she sternly clung to a dislike for the Latin 
 race superinduced by long ago circumstance. "Why a 
 harlequin," she demanded aloud, "unless the disguise 
 conceals a spirit as many-sided as your variegated costume 
 claims?" 
 
 Why, she was thinking to herself irritably, make so 
 serious a matter out of a mere shadow of memory, in this 
 night which the Duchesse had promised should bear as close 
 as possible a resemblance to the mirthful epoch they had 
 enjoyed together years ago ? 
 
 His answer came slowly. It was fraught with acerbity. 
 
 "The human being, man or woman," said he, "who 
 strives to be all that is required of him, all the characters 
 his friends and comrades ascribe to him, all the feelings he 
 conceals, all the emotions he refutes, all the joys he denies, 
 must needs be a harlequin, indeed." 
 
 There was food for thought to be read between the lines. 
 The insinuation pricked Mrs. Conway' s retaliative faculty. 
 
 1 ' You admit the heart of man capable of change then, 
 Monsieur Harlequin, ' ' she retorted, lightly. ' ' You are
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 broader than most. Until now the world has been led to 
 presume that woman, and woman solely, possesses the fac- 
 ulty of infidelity." 
 
 " Madame were less than a queen did she renounce her 
 prerogative to jest," stated the harlequin, with more ear- 
 nestness than the burden of his speech warranted. ' ' Does 
 she believe that man or woman changes ? I, for one, deny 
 it. Character, that is worthy of the name, lasts ! ' Time 
 changes ? Potter and clay endure. ' ' He was quoting a 
 line from a great English poet. 
 
 This was an anomaly, indeed. A Parisian with a cosmo- 
 politan education was a novel departure, thought Mrs. 
 Conway. 
 
 She smiled delightedly under her mask. This curious 
 being had pointed his clean-cut speech directly at her. She 
 had been less than a woman had her vanity not been flat- 
 tered. She was silent. 
 
 She became conscious sturdily aware as she was at one 
 and the same time of the brilliant scene about her with its 
 multitudinous suggestions, its fascinating toss of color, the 
 couples whirling on the floor below in the mad abandon of 
 the waltz, festive, fantastic of an environment which she 
 thought her memory had disowned, through the cogency 
 of her vigilant will, forever. 
 
 The environment comprised a mental mirage, a forest 
 through which the sun shot in bars of molten gold. The 
 tender trees stood forth lightly in their perfect garniture of 
 spring green. It was morning, fresh, new-born. The grass- 
 blades trembled, dew-stained, from the kiss of a light, per- 
 fumed wind. There was an indescribable fragrance of 
 pushing buds, blossoms being caressed from nestling sleep 
 to wakening courage, and with it all words ! Fiery, im- 
 petuous, passion-fraught, telling a love-story old as time 
 and sweet as youth. 
 
 148
 
 A RETROSPECT 
 
 She saw the stretch of years between this and that ; a 
 long, colorless blank with only one glad figure in it, her 
 boy. She felt the old glamour well up and cry out. 
 Once more came the love of conquest ; the desire for 
 appreciation ; the disdain of everything but her heart's 
 chosen god. She pressed it back again a second habit 
 uncompromisingly. But it surged up as a weed floats 
 to the top of a summer sea, and looks through helplessly 
 at the blue sky above, between it and heaven only a 
 volatile circumstance. 
 
 Through a subtle force inexplicable either from a famil- 
 iar strain in the voice which had addressed her, or because 
 Marguerite de Launoy sat there again by her side contem- 
 plating her with the same kind, understanding eyes with 
 which she had gazed, when a young widow, at her friend's 
 conquests, or by right of some plea hushed or unlistened 
 to which sprang to life now, long after she considered it 
 buried and done with a forked consciousness grew apace, 
 defying will, betraying rank growth, a power which would 
 not be stilled nor smothered. 
 
 Side by side she saw the girl she had been and the 
 woman she was. 
 
 The thought grew and strengthened. 
 
 She saw a child with life's morning in her eyes and soul ; 
 glad, eager ; possessed of all the pitiful sophistry of the 
 unformed and receptive. 
 
 She saw, again, a woman, carrying the burden of an 
 unflinching resolve, to shield her secretly invincible pain 
 at any cost : the pain of having been despised and for- 
 saken. 
 
 Had her interpretation been a wise one ? She could not 
 tell. She only knew she had been sadly young to have had 
 her hopes so ruthlessly denied, her heart so wantonly be- 
 trayed. 
 
 149
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He had left her. He had not returned. There had been 
 no word. 
 
 Then she had confronted the long stretch of years, and 
 had been afraid. She had accepted an apology for happi- 
 ness instead of clinging to her girlish faith that each man 
 or woman has the right to genuineness. 
 
 She had ignored the truth that there is nothing between 
 weakness and strength. 
 
 She had been afraid to live alone, unguided, beautiful no 
 longer, unsought ; reluctant to watch her beauty ebb out 
 unplucked ; fearful of that sense of loss which drained her 
 joy-duct diurnally with diligence and pertinacity ; averse to 
 acknowledge the wound of an abused pride which made 
 her despise herself. 
 
 So she had married. Without a sense, until too late, of 
 the gravity of the vows she had taken upon herself. Only 
 as a distraction. 
 
 She had thought her dream would fade. But gradually 
 she came to know that the more she fought against it the 
 more it augmented. It afforded her material everlasting for 
 comparison, a comparison which dulled the present and 
 fired the past. As the faces of the dead assume to the 
 living a majesty which they have never borne in life ; as 
 the inequalities of character fade with tender memory's 
 allegiance to beauty, so her dream, in spite of her, had 
 ever remained a distinct reality. It contained a revulsion 
 of feeling which she had striven vainly to defeat. It pos- 
 sessed, too, the conviction that Ferdinand Lamballe had 
 been her heart's affinity, and none other. This in spite of 
 his cruelly inexplicable conduct. 
 
 And she was old. 
 
 The past had come ebbing back with the insistence of a 
 child's voice or a bird's song to remind her that her chance 
 of happiness had fled. 
 
 15
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 She had thought herself numb. She ! Her day was past. 
 Like so many others, she had had her opportunity, and 
 missed it, through no fault of her own. She had wished to 
 grasp a rose. Instead, her soul had encompassed a thorn 
 which tore her spirit's flesh and lacerated it, and, at last, 
 sickened her. 
 
 Had it seemed as pure as milk and honey because it had 
 proved futile ? 
 
 She could not tell. 
 
 She only knew that she had loved. And she had lost 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 "THERE is a favor I wish to ask of you," broke forth 
 the Duchesse. "It is that all of you, my dear friends, 
 will remain to sup with me. We will unmask. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Happy thought !' ' responded the harlequin. 
 
 He, too, had been silent, dimly conscious of a wave of 
 feeling which was threatening to engulf him. But his im- 
 agination had discovered no solution of his inward disturb- 
 ance. That indescribable sensation stood stripped of any- 
 thing but the immeasurable longing that his neighbor 
 might speak once more. 
 
 At a sign from the Duchesse the little group now rose, 
 and made way for itself through the ranks of waltzers 
 and maskers towards a supper-room below, decked out in 
 garlands of roses. They drooped from a crown in the 
 middle of the apartment surmounted by the de Launoy 
 crest to the four corners of the room, where they were 
 caught up with tufts of feathery ferns.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 As they passed the Duchesse drew Mrs. Conway into 
 her private apartment, ostensibly to remove her mask. 
 
 As it was lifted, and the sapphire eyes were revealed, 
 oddly melancholy eyes those for the orbs of a reigning 
 sovereign, the Duchesse spoke. 
 
 " I crave your forgiveness, dear friend, for a scheme of 
 which I have been guilty," she began, agitatedly con- 
 cerned with the message her remark conveyed. 
 
 " A ' scheme' ?' ' The reiteration was politely inquisi- 
 tive. 
 
 ' ' I feel like a conspirator ; but it seemed there was no 
 other way," continued the Duchesse, impetuously. "My 
 intentions were of the best, although they may, in the light 
 of subsequent events, appear to the contrary. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Conway permitted a bewildered expression to flit 
 across her features. ' ' Continue, ' ' she begged. She 
 looked at the Duchesse with a set expression which har- 
 bored an apprehension. 
 
 1 ' Madeleine, what would you think if I told you that 
 to-night I had purposely brought you into contact with an 
 old friend?" 
 
 "A friend?" with the old, faint scepticism. 
 
 ' ' Surely, ' ' confided the Duchesse, " ' a friend. ' Perhaps 
 I have been unwise in assuming so great a responsibility 
 without consulting either you or your inclination ; but I 
 felt that possibly the years which have intervened might 
 have softened for you and him the memories which must 
 lie between." 
 
 "Him!" 
 
 The word was breathed, not spoken. The blue eyes, 
 with their limitless pellucid depths, were wide, startled, 
 fearful. The head, with its crown of snow-white hair, was 
 lifted like a stag that hears the approach of her assassin 
 through the underbrush. 
 
 152
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 ' ' Ferdinand Lamballe. ' ' The voice was the Duchesse' s, 
 clear, forceful. 
 
 There was no sound save the distant hum of the throng 
 some rooms away. 
 
 Then Mrs. Conway spoke. A quiver had passed across 
 her features. Her lips were so dry they hardly let forth 
 her words distinctly. 
 
 "A cousin, or nephew, perhaps?" 
 
 She was willing, with a wonderful calm born of the 
 moment's desperate pain, that her heart's weakness should 
 not betray her at this supreme test. She had heard that 
 name often within the past few weeks ; and she had steeled 
 herself to hear it without giving evidence of the tortured 
 valve it set swinging. In the last two months' mercurial 
 evolutions, necessitating a change of home, of views, of 
 substances, that memorable name had been mentioned more 
 than once, both by her son and Stephen Markoe. She 
 supposed it an accidental similarity of nomenclature. The 
 real Ferdinand Lamballe for years she had thought she 
 could not have told why dead. 
 
 ' ' Neither a cousin nor a nephew, ' ' replied the Duchesse, 
 instantly, with emphasis. ' ' The same Ferdinand Lam- 
 balle, Madeleine, whom you and I knew when we were 
 young. ' ' 
 
 "Young! Yes." 
 
 They were only two words, but the Duchesse' s eyes 
 filled. 
 
 The utterance was a complete revelation of the quenched 
 anguish of a woman's heart. 
 
 ' ' Have I been imprudent ?" asked the Duchesse, moving 
 forward to take in hers her friend's two hands. One of 
 them pitifully enough had stretched forth to steady 
 itself against a neighboring fauteuil. 
 
 "Imprudent! Why?"
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 There was to be no withdrawal from the heroic role she 
 had played it so well until now of indifference, of disdain. 
 
 "I thought, perhaps," ventured the Duchesse, how 
 pathetic was Madeleine Conway's haughty face in its effort 
 to hold back its story! "I thought that you might 
 suffer." 
 
 She said the word deliberately ; conscious that, to be 
 kind, she must strike home. 
 
 Her daring did its work to rouse. 
 
 Mrs. Conway, with decision largely composed of reserve, 
 drew a little away from her friend with an indescribable ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Suffer," she repeated slowly, still wearing her air of 
 ironical scepticism. ' ' Ferdinand Lamballe ? Suffer !' ' 
 
 The Duchesse could not tell whether the word registered 
 a confirmation or quite otherwise. 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 Then she stepped across the room to ring and give an 
 order. 
 
 When this had been accomplished, and, some ten min- 
 utes later, she turned towards the regal presence in its 
 Marie Antoinette robes, the sapphire eyes were cold, the 
 expression was, as usual, calm. 
 
 Mrs. Conway was herself again. 
 
 They wended their way through the crowded halls by a 
 path made for them by a domestic attired in the de Launoy 
 liveries. After being thus piloted through numerous pas- 
 sage-ways, they finally were ushered into the Duchesse' s 
 private supper-room. 
 
 The apartment was already occupied by the members of 
 that select circle Marguerite de Launoy had purposely 
 gathered around her for the feast to come. 
 
 The Princess was chatting with Lamballe, under a cluster 
 of lights in one corner of the room. She was a woman who
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 had roused even the Pope's admiration by her audacity, 
 her frank interest in cosmopolitan issues, and a taste in 
 dress which, years before, had become proverbial. 
 
 The English Ambassador was exchanging ponderous 
 efforts at repartee with a feminine compatriot who had 
 recently made her mark in London literary circles through 
 an onslaught upon matrimony, an attack which she refused 
 to retract with all the delightful inconsistency of a pretty 
 woman with a mission, which she might, or might not, 
 substantiate. 
 
 ' ' You push the plank from under our feet, ' ' the Ambas- 
 sador was saying, plaintively, ' ' and you give us nothing to 
 take its place. How like a woman !" 
 
 ' ' Is it not ?' ' blandly returned the new authoress of ways 
 and means hitherto undreamt of in even her own philos- 
 ophy, with an inconsequence which savored of superfi- 
 ciality. She had a complexion of milk and roses, forget- 
 me-not eyes, and an enchanting expression of innocence. 
 If her matrimonial experiences, which were said to be hope- 
 lessly entangled, had crowded out her deductive faculty, the 
 result was quite inevitable, considering. 
 
 " I beg to present you all," said the Duchesse, impres- 
 sively, the little company had turned as she entered, the 
 two regal figures in their sumptuous robes sparkling with 
 gems were in exquisite contrast to the sombre room with its 
 armorial panels and Florentine carvings, "to my friend 
 Mrs. Conway. L'Americaine la plus charmante qui ex- 
 iste, and that is not too much to say." 
 
 As Lamballe moved forward from a rally with the Prin- 
 cess, which had left him mentally floored for the time being, 
 his flashing eyes missed the flicker of almost uncontrollable 
 trepidation which played across the features of the woman 
 who occupied so prominent a position under the electric 
 bulb, in the centre of the room.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 But, as they gradually accustomed themselves to the 
 glare, and with it the sumptuous circumstance which was 
 thus submitted to his scrutiny, his heart leaped. Then it 
 ached. 
 
 He knew. 
 
 Without a flickering line his memory darted out, and 
 claimed the familiar substance of those memorable sapphire 
 eyes ; that queenly presence ; those features so delicately 
 traced, with their air of haughty reserve. Above the hair 
 was, frankly undisguised, piled in masses like a crown of 
 snow. 
 
 Her hair had been golden. 
 
 With another leap his spirit spanned the years. A 
 moment had come which he had not anticipated. The 
 volatile flux of his imagination in all its ebb and flow had 
 never, in its acknowledgment of loss, fraud, self-revealment, 
 thought to be overcome by this thing which brought in its 
 train such an indescribable medley of forgotten sensations. 
 
 "The Princess Mennerlich," continued the Duchesse, 
 clearly, she had seen Lamballe's face and knew her stew- 
 ardship, for the time, was over. " My friend, Mrs. Ark- 
 wright, who has unearthed from perfidious Albion's social 
 green-room a cancerous growth for which she must find the 
 cure," with a humorous smile ; " my comrade and neigh- 
 bor, Monsieur Nordenskold, " presenting the Swedish at- 
 tach6 ; ' ' and my lifelong friend, the dramatist, Ferdinand 
 Lamballe." 
 
 "A great pleasure," said Lamballe, simply, bowing 
 low. 
 
 Mrs. Conway did not answer. 
 
 With a glance she, too, had registered the changes in the 
 patrician face so oddly at variance with its chosen costume 
 of harlequin. 
 
 But the voice was the same, musical, instinctively com- 
 
 '56
 
 UNMASKED 
 
 manding. And the sombre eyes which remained unlit to- 
 night ? She had seen them flash and blaze, conflagrations 
 which she had ignited. 
 
 At the table the conversation was desultory at first. The 
 coming play was discussed and dismissed. ' ' Time enough 
 to-morrow," said Lamballe, shortly, inwardly wondering 
 what his sensation would be if Mrs. Conway witnessed his 
 triumph. 
 
 Strangely enough, after the first throb which rent asunder 
 a wound he fancied healed, or at least dormant, he was ex- 
 periencing a curious sense of repose, a restfulness he had 
 not imagined in years. 
 
 In spite of everything, here was a woman who under- 
 stood him. She had been frail, but of a rare intelligence. 
 Little things came back to him as he listened, without ap- 
 pearing to do so, to the low tones of her voice as she 
 carried on a conventional conversation with her neighbor, 
 Nordenskold. 
 
 How sweetly she had changed ! In spite of the crown 
 of snow which gave her the air of an old miniature, which 
 augmented rather than took from her beauty, her features 
 were the same, icily perfect. The fair face seemed as 
 though Time had passed over it lightly, unwilling to lay 
 its impress on either such blue-lined temples or delicate 
 cheeks. The natural sequence, thought Lamballe, bitterly, 
 of a cold temperament. 
 
 But the bitterness passed out of him, a breath from the 
 mirror of memory. In its place came a question which 
 hammered at his heart' s portal insistently. 
 
 Why? 
 
 Had it been ambition? The question insinuated itself 
 between his graceful persiflage with the Princess ; between 
 his shafts of irony and wit in response to the Duchesse, 
 through his intellectual expansion under the warm in-
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 terest of the English Ambassador. Had ambition alone 
 induced this woman to renounce her birthright of single- 
 hearted devotion ? 
 
 As the dawn crept through the shutters and paled the 
 candlelight the Duchesse's guests withdrew, realizing the 
 night was past and the new dawn begun. 
 
 She remembered but one thing. That she was old. 
 
 It was a germ that clogged her pulse, a check that 
 reined her fancy taut, a fact that, with rugged insistence, 
 quenched her courage. 
 
 The reacknowledgment had come to her with the sound 
 of his voice. It set forward the hands on her mental clock- 
 work instead of setting them back, as she could have wished. 
 It was the burden of the night. She saw her name in the 
 call-roll of the gone out ; the condemned. 
 
 She had a merciless personal sense of the fitness of things. 
 
 In her stern retrospection she forgot that he, too, had 
 passed down the years, and had remained unmarried. 
 
 Her imagination invested him with none of the charms 
 for which other women loved him : his fame ; his record ; 
 his manly patrician beauty ; his proof of superior ability. 
 
 She remembered an eager young face with a love-light 
 upon it which seemed to her to have descended from a 
 heaven made for them alone. She heard the musical voice 
 which had ebbed out for her and to-night flowed in 
 throbbing with how faithful an effigy of truth ! 
 
 He lifted his hat as he conducted her to her carriage. 
 The gray lines of care in his face shone out under the 
 dawn's cold emphasis. They held the visible drain baldly 
 captive. Unflattering evidence, indeed, of the superfluous 
 energy which had been expended with the years ! 
 
 As Mrs. Conway rolled out into the Champs- Elyse'es to- 
 wards the needle of the Eiffel tower which pierced the pink- 
 ening eastern sky, the dome of Napoleon's tomb yellowing 
 
 158
 
 A SIGNIFICANT FRUSTRATION 
 
 into a bulb of glorified prophecy as the sun crept up back 
 of it, and threw it out, a gilded bubble, an innocent symbol 
 of the love-flushed capital's wealth, she was wondering 
 listlessly, hopelessly, bereft of either pride or will. 
 
 Wherefore ? 
 
 His hand had crushed out her dawn for her ; his will, the 
 rose of her pinkening sky ; his faithlessness, her sunshine. 
 
 She had chosen a bubble of gold, like that glistening over 
 below there which registered a nation's loss, in place of a 
 lifetime of bliss. 
 
 Her choice had exemplified, also, a tomb. 
 
 "Ambition," muttered Lamballe, as he threw himself 
 into his coupe, and shivered under the sharp caress of the 
 morning air. " Of that sin fell the angels." 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A SIGNIFICANT FRUSTRATION 
 
 MARKOE had long wished to study his antagonist at 
 closer range. This opportunity would have been readily 
 obtained had not Lamballe, faithful to his attitude of strict- 
 est seclusion, obstinately opposed so straightforward a 
 solution of the Franco-American problem. 
 
 When one day the courteous director of the Franfais, at 
 the express order of the President of the French Repub- 
 lic, forwarded the United States Ambassador a loge for the 
 first night of the great play ' ' Avoided, ' ' Markoe rejoiced 
 that the coming representation would afford a bonne- 
 bouche which, in his case, held a double-edged signifi- 
 cance. The accident which thrust Lamballe into his sup- 
 posed enemy's very jaws, nolens volens, tickled the latter' s 
 midriff, and prepared his receptive faculty.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 A servant stood at his elbow. 
 
 The Ambassador had been writing. He had not heard 
 the discreet knock which preceded the interruption. He 
 arrested his hand slowly, and detached his thoughts from 
 the subject under pen discussion with difficulty. He had 
 given special orders not to be disturbed. As he lifted his 
 eyes impatiently they glanced across the liveried underling 
 at a flash, to astonishedly grasp the conviction of a sturdy 
 masculine figure, in fustian, standing on the threshold, 
 with a dilapidated cap held clumsily between the fingers 
 of a sunburned, toil-worn hand. 
 
 1 ' Burgess !' ' ejaculated Markoe, dropping his pen. 
 
 1 ' The same, sir. ' ' 
 
 The surveyor's tone was charged with deepest melancholy. 
 
 The Ambassador rose. He made a sign to his valet de pied 
 to withdraw. That worthy obeyed orders, casting a suspi- 
 cious glance at the figure on the threshold as he passed. 
 
 Markoe followed him to the door, closed and locked it 
 deliberately, and then looked towards the surveyor with 
 wordless impatience. He wondered at his dejected bear- 
 ing. Burgess's was generally the complete satisfaction of 
 a self-made underling. 
 
 " Out with it," ejaculated Markoe : adding, " My time 
 is short. Did you take your bearings ?' ' 
 
 " Aye, aye, sir ; clear as paint." 
 
 "And the chalk-pits?" 
 
 ' ' There are no pits, sir. Those remain to be dug. The 
 bank lays under ground, an' has remained unworked. It 
 is covered with a cluster o' trees, a belt line o' green. 
 The gravel covers that : the chalk is below it." 
 
 ' ' Does it extend across the border ?' ' 
 
 Burgess hesitated. He was visibly troubled. 
 
 " My time is short," reiterated Markoe, looking at his 
 watch pointedly. He had heard a carriage drive into the 
 
 1 60
 
 A SIGNIFICANT FRUSTRATION 
 
 court below. He knew his wife had gone to her room to 
 don her evening toilet. They had consumed a late dejeu- 
 ner, and had mutually decided to postpone solider suste- 
 nance until after the play. He was not dressed. His 
 valet had knocked, to remind him there was but ten 
 minutes' leeway, some minutes since. 
 
 ' ' I have a little matter ter relate which will cum unex- 
 pected ter yer, Mr. Markoe," Burgess let forth, with trepi- 
 dation, at this period. 
 
 The Ambassador looked at him sharply. He had not 
 been mistaken. The honest fellow was a victim of unde- 
 niable agitation. He was usually so stolidly at variance 
 with emotion that Markoe contemplated his present state 
 with considerable apprehension. 
 
 " Unexpected !" he repeated, slowly. 
 
 "Mister Jack sir," tentatively. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 The retort direct was sharp. Markoe had not concerned 
 himself with either the name or the man since last night, 
 when his wife had professed her loneliness to be augmented 
 by Conway's absence. His thoughts now reverted to a 
 scene in that memorable interview of his with the head 
 of the nation, in which he remembered a sentence of his 
 own. " We will be obliged to treat with raw recruits as 
 helpers, that is wherein the main difficulty will lie." He 
 frowned. ' ' What of Mr. Jack ?' ' he inquired, coldly. 
 
 "He's gone, sir." 
 
 "Gone!" 
 
 The Ambassador wheeled around and contemplated his 
 informant with a pair of incredulous eyes. 
 
 " If you'll give me five minutes, sir " 
 
 ' ' Ten, ' ' vouchsafed Markoe. < ' Go ahead. ' ' He looked 
 at his watch, this time without recognizing the hour the 
 hands registered. 
 
 ji 161
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 11 We were two days at it, sir ; I takin' bearin's an' Mister 
 Jack keepin' watch-like. We had decided everything, 
 except the point as ter how fur the chalk extended, when 
 the night cum on, an' with it, a deluge ! At six o'clock 
 we went back ter the hotel an' took our dinner, prepared ter 
 put in another day at it, weather permittin' , later. I went 
 oneasy-like after our meal was over. Mister Jack, sir, he 
 got enter my oneasiness, an' nothin' would do but thet he 
 should take my place. I argued and argued. He wus a 
 green hand, I am an old one ; but Lord, sir, it wus jest 
 like wavin' a red rag at a young bull. He scented the 
 danger, an' he went off half-cocked in search of it I had 
 run across that day a couple o' coves who seemed to be 
 spyin'. I tole Mister Jack about 'em. He would have it 
 they were Lamballe's men, sir. There is parties who hang 
 onter their own property like grim death," with a grin. 
 ' ' So when Mister Jack got onter it thet a malefactor dis- 
 covered on private premises wus sent up fur three months 
 in France, nothin' would do but thet he makes fur them 
 premises, in the pourin' rain at night, ter be done fur. He 
 wus done fur," with solemn emphasis. 
 
 ' ' What do you mean ?' ' 
 
 " I mean he went, sir. He did not cum back. I waited 
 fur him all night. When mornin' came, he had not re- 
 turned. Since then I have scoured the country-side with- 
 out discoverin' 'im nor his tracks. The valley looks as 
 smilin' an' bland as a spring lamb. He went, sir, ter find 
 out whether or no the chalk extended inter Germany or not. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador was silent for a moment. Then he 
 said, pleasantly, " That will do, Burgess." 
 
 Burgess, for answer, scratched his head and looked 
 puzzled. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," he ventured mechanically, after a 
 period of stillness which tried his patience mightily. 
 
 162
 
 A SIGNIFICANT FRUSTRATION 
 
 ' ' Go back to Carembourg, ' ' Markoe ordered presently, 
 a new crispness pervading his authoritative manner. 
 ' ' Remain there until you hear from me. ' ' 
 
 ' ' An' Mister Jack, sir ?' ' anxiously. 
 
 ' ' Ah, ' ' ejaculated the Ambassador, as though the 
 thought had slipped from him and had suddenly been 
 reawakened at the mild hint of his surveyor. 
 
 "He's too darin' sir," garrulously; "I allers said so. 
 Reckless-like. We ole 'uns know a thing or two about 
 bein' cautious. But them young 'uns. They allers runs 
 their heads inter a noose." 
 
 ' ' Considerable of a boy," mused the Ambassador, audibly. 
 
 ' ' He ain' t exactly thet, sir, ' ' ejaculated Burgess, blanch- 
 ing painfully now, and moving towards him sideways, crab 
 fashion. His cap was being twisted out of shape. His 
 chin had dropped. A hard, short breath came from behind 
 his teeth in a panting sound like a dog that has been 
 summarily lassoed. ' ' There' s more ter tell, sir, ' ' went on 
 the surveyor, hoarsely. ' ' I saw a light spring up in the 
 young 'un's eyes last night thet looked as though he meant 
 bizness. He wus took all uv a heap when I told him thet 
 danger, real danger, wus in the air. Wot I blame myself 
 now fur is thet I didn't warn him wot thet danger wus. 
 Lamballe's men, sir, are dreaded like poisonous spiders. 
 Their orders is, Show no quarter. Yer know wot thet 
 means in Kentucky ? It means the same in France. I 
 got it a week sence straight frum an English groom who 
 wus stayin' over a day with his hosses, detained cos some- 
 thin' wus wrong with his passport. Swearin' mad he wus 
 too. He took it out cussin' Lamballe fur makin' the laws 
 so stiff in them parts thet a cock robin can't hop across 
 the border without bein' obliged ter pay a fine. ' Der yer 
 want ter know wot punishmen-t is meted out ter poachers in 
 this blasted country ?' sez he. ' Take the trouble, ' sez he, 
 
 163
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 1 ter twist yer right leg over thet ere fence-rail yonder, jump 
 down, walk fur the distance uv the sixteenth uv a mile 
 straight ahead, an' see wot there is to see. ' I follered his 
 directions, sir," fearfully. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " It wusn't well, sir, it wus ill. I put in a pace or two 
 towards probin' thet ere valley the first night we reached 
 Carembourg, wen young Conway wus sleepin' like a suckin' 
 babe. 'Twus moonlight. I'm an ole hand at gettin' me 
 bearin's. I had 'em all in a matter uv four hours, as neat 
 as though I wus wun uv them Prussian generals they tell 
 on', who knew their ground a matter o' twenty years be- 
 fore they wus called ter fight on it, an' ruined France on 
 thet strategy as much as a better trainin' o' discipline than 
 most. Till thet night, sir, I thought we hed men ter deal 
 with. The moonlight showed me our struggle wus ter be 
 with beasts. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What do you mean ?' ' sharply. 
 
 ' ' I swung me leg across the same fence- railin' as me 
 English friend recommended, sir, an' walked ter where he 
 designated. I wusn't expectant uv findin' anything more 
 than a trap or a game-keeper. I found a corpse. ' ' 
 
 "A dog's?" 
 
 " No ; a man's. Stale carrion with marks uv a week-old 
 blud on it, a hole through his forehead thet cum frum 
 the back, an' a couple uv rabbits tied ter a leash in wun 
 hand. I stumbled over 'im thinkin' he wus underbrush. 
 So he wus, sir; Lamballe's underbrush. He'd been shot 
 down like a dog fur doin' no wus than appropriatin' sum 
 game thet wus a creation uv the Almighty. ' ' 
 
 " It doesn't do to oppose the law, Burgess." 
 
 "There's them as calls murder illegal," retorted the 
 surveyor. 
 
 ' ' Did you inform Conway of your discovery ?' ' 
 
 164
 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 "No, sir. I let him go off, thinkin' thet ignorance is 
 bliss. I wus afeard thet if I squealed he might get rattled. 
 If them Frenchmen has put cold lead inter him they'll hev 
 ter answer fur it or my name ain' t Tom Burgess. ' ' 
 
 4 ' Conway knew his way ?' ' 
 
 4 ' No, sir. ' ' Burgess unaffectedly lifted his arm and 
 drew his sleeve across his eyes. 
 
 ' ' You may go, Burgess, ' ' said the Ambassador, after a 
 little. 
 
 44 But, sir, he may be rottin' there in the underbrush 
 like a dead rabbit, instead uv the gallant young feller he 
 is." 
 
 ''There's only one thing to be done," said Markoe, 
 peremptorily. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 44 Go back to Carembourg." 
 
 4 4 And you, sir ?' ' 
 
 The Ambassador looked at his watch again, started, and 
 closed the lid with a snap. He raised his eyes. There was 
 a peculiar glint in them. 4 4 1 am due in an hour, ' ' he said, 
 reflectively, 4 4 at a meeting with Lamballe. ' ' 
 
 4 4 1 hope you' 11 get inter him as he deserves, sir. ' ' 
 
 "That's what we're here for, Burgess." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 IT was a gala night in the famous house of Moli&re. 
 All thinking Paris was present to hear and see the curious 
 spectacle of a living fraud wittily rebuked by a master 
 analyst. 
 
 165
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Lamballe albeit in theory a dramatist was in fact a moral 
 draughtsman, who rejected lack of symmetry with the 
 identical contempt an artist experiences when he discovers 
 color the dominant note at the expense of fundamental 
 principle. His introspective faculty was overcivilized. 
 The butt of his irony to-night was Caracci, a far-famed 
 specialist, who declared his method of cure infallible. For 
 twenty years he had pursued a notorious career unchecked. 
 Lamballe' s critics did not misconstrue the dramatist's 
 meaning like lesser beings who, through ignorance, might 
 have attached the wrong value to appearances. The sub- 
 ject was presented with too earnest an understanding ; its 
 intention, to benefit mankind, too apparent. 
 
 The curtain fell, after the first act, upon an indescribable 
 tumult. The drift had been indomitable. The vast 
 audience hummed and buzzed like a hive of bees. Each 
 individual exercised his right to contest a subject whose 
 existence until now he had unquestioningly accepted. 
 
 The dialogue had been especially pointed and sparkling. 
 Audacity revealed itself in the undercurrent which aimed 
 at demolishing an old god, humbug, in order to erect a 
 new one, faith. 
 
 Caracci himself, plausible, immaculate, was to be seen in 
 their midst, in evening dress, discussing cleverly, with a 
 faint guarded smile on his thin lips, the reprehensible 
 superficiality of the modern thinker. He was a man who 
 was quoted to fold down the stiffening lids of his dead 
 with the same imperturbability with which he now con- 
 templated his critics. 
 
 Lamballe surrounded by his friends, courteously juggling 
 with their most pointed innuendoes, and evincing a noncha- 
 lance throughout which called forth universal admiration, 
 was slightly discomfited to receive a command from the 
 loge of the United States representative to visit him in 
 
 166
 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 order that the American envoy might exchange views with, 
 and make the personal acquaintance of, the most popular 
 moral diagnostician of the day. 
 
 There was no answer but implicit obedience. 
 
 He crossed the foyer, on his way to Markoe' s loge, to be 
 waylaid half a dozen times in the act, much to his secret 
 irritation. 
 
 "You have scored me temporarily, mon cher," cooed 
 Caracci, with his smooth smile ; ' ' but the advertisement 
 may offset the offence." There was considerable venom 
 in his premeditated attack. 
 
 " Que voulez-vous ?" responded the dramatist, with a 
 shrug. ' ' The world demands a douche. It is but natural 
 it should criticise its doucheur !' ' 
 
 The tone was as inexorable as stone. The aristocrat 
 confronted the charlatan unflinchingly. Caracci winced. 
 His vaunted science dwindled to its true value. Notoriety 
 may be considerably nonplussed by the secret conscious- 
 ness that one thoughtful human being has pierced its flimsy 
 disguise. He stood back instinctively before that calm, 
 far-seeing gaze. It shone with the light of justice repu- 
 diative of judgment and mercy. There had been a quiet 
 humor in the look which said, ' ' Why mask you insuf- 
 ficiency, comrade ; are we not all human ?' ' 
 
 Ambassador Markoe' s loge was the proscenium on the 
 right-hand second tier. As Lamballe entered some of its 
 inmates passed him on their way out. There were a 
 number of personages about Mrs. Markoe' s chair. They 
 prevented the new-comer from attracting the notice he 
 would otherwise have instantly commanded. Chatting 
 with Markoe was a profusely decorated notability holding 
 a high position at the Court of St. Petersburg. At his 
 left was the well-known director who had been the innocent 
 means of promoting the present encounter. He whispered 
 
 167
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Lamballe's name in the Ambassador's ear. Markoe rose, 
 and came forward with marked impressiveness. 
 
 ' ' I have to thank you for a new experience, ' ' he said. 
 
 Lamballe bowed. 
 
 ' ' A great play, monsieur, ' ' went on the Ambassador in 
 singularly pure and flexible French. ' ' You are to be 
 feared by them who hold high places, it appears. ' ' 
 
 " Monsieur is too kind to be quite just." 
 
 Lamballe confronted his host with a perceptible deter- 
 mination not to be outdone by his amiability. The am- 
 biguity of his response was not lost upon Markoe. 
 
 "Is it a French custom to thus expose a weakness 
 which governs mankind," he inquired lightly ; "the weak- 
 ness of adjudging itself all-powerful?" 
 
 ' ' Mankind should govern, ' ' returned Lamballe, with 
 ironical brevity. 
 
 " Quite so. But how about those men who are made to 
 obey laws, monsieur, instead of to make them ?' ' returned 
 the Ambassador, with a responsive gleam in his eye. 
 
 "There are laws and laws," vouchsafed Lamballe eva- 
 sively. He stooped to detach a piece of drapery from the 
 sword of a military officer who stood near him vainly 
 striving to withdraw, with grace, from the diplomatic 
 circle, after having made his adieux to his hostess. Lam- 
 balle continued, lifting his eyes to those of the Ambassador, 
 as if to enforce the meaning of his words : ' ' There are also 
 men you by this, sans doute, have perceived as often as I 
 who are born to enforce the rules which other men break. ' ' 
 
 His face was impenetrable as he gave vent to this state- 
 ment blandly. Markoe felt his spirit leap at the covert 
 insinuation he imagined it contained, like the coat of a 
 thoroughbred to the flick of the whip. 
 
 The crowd which, till now, had surrounded Mrs. Markoe's 
 chair fell back. 
 
 168
 
 I HAVE TO THANK YOU FOR A NEW EXPERIENCE," HE SAID
 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 The new Ambassadress bowed in response to Lamballe's 
 profound inclination. At an inviting gesture from her 
 gloved hand he seated himself at her side. 
 
 ' ' You are treating us to a charming evening, Monsieur 
 Lamballe, ' ' she was pleased to affirm in her sweet voice. 
 " I confess I almost fear you. With pitiless truth you are 
 exposing a state of things which Paris had done more 
 wisely to ignore." 
 
 ' ' Human nature, madame, must ever bear the conse- 
 quences of its own imprudence." 
 
 ' ' The imprudence of believing too much in itself ! You 
 are harsh." 
 
 The low voice was reproachful. The delicate face was 
 set like a white cameo against the crimson curtains which 
 fell behind it. The Ambassadress was attired in a severely 
 simple gown of black velvet. She wore no ornament, with 
 the exception of a huge diamond star which held her mag- 
 nificent coils captive above the forehead, from which her 
 hair rolled back sumptuously. 
 
 Lamballe regarded her piercingly. She returned his gaze 
 coldly. Her critical acumen was not to be biased by her 
 appreciative faculty, an attribute which Lamballe remem- 
 bered to be a peculiarly charming characteristic of American 
 womanhood. 
 
 ' ' There are wheels within wheels, ' ' he explained, a little 
 shortly. ' ' It would be difficult for a foreigner even of 
 unusual intelligence to grasp the hundred and one shades 
 which shift and elude one another in Paris inner circles. If 
 my poor attempt has given you a moment of diversion, its 
 mission is already accomplished." 
 
 The manner was perfect. The words conveyed the mean- 
 ing that this remarkable Frenchman, true to his inherited 
 faith that woman is the inferior animal, did not propose to 
 discuss his motives at large. 
 
 169
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The insinuation nettled Mrs. Markoe. She was accus- 
 tomed to being taken very seriously indeed. 
 
 "I- think," she protested, icily, "you must do me the 
 honor of considering that I understand the motive of your 
 play, monsieur." 
 
 Lamballe glanced at her in a benevolent fashion for a 
 moment. Then he returned the salute of a brilliantly at- 
 tired feminine personage across the house. Both the salute 
 and the slight expression of puzzled attention which pre- 
 ceded it were saturated with considerable weariness. 
 
 ' ' Your play was not written for your own amusement, or 
 for ours," pronounced the Ambassadress, heartily. "It 
 was written with a purpose, monsieur, a noble purpose. I 
 congratulate you !" 
 
 Responsiveness, unimpregnated with either self-interest 
 or envy, was a quality seldom proffered Lamballe. He 
 had not half realized how uncommon the sensation subse- 
 quent upon its unfolding might be, nor how sweet, until 
 now. 
 
 His face flushed to the roots of his hair. He could but 
 bow lower over the frank little gloved hand extended to- 
 wards him. Curious people, these Anglo-Saxons, with 
 their reserve, so peculiarly offset by spontaneity. 
 
 ' ' Madame est trop aimable. Madame, from the richness 
 of her own kind heart, and what so generous as youth ?' ' 
 with a swift glance of respectful admiration, " too gener- 
 ously judges me as she herself would ask to be judged. 
 I am deaf," humorously, with a dancing twinkle which 
 died instantly like a spark with a short life. "HI am 
 also silent, it is because I have not the heart to dispute so 
 generous a criticism. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Tell us, Lamballe, ' ' interrupted a clever young attache" 
 from the English Embassy approaching them, as two more 
 visitors were ushered into the loge, and the inmates were 
 
 170
 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 thus crowded forward, ' ' your play is intended as a direct 
 thrust at Caracci, n'est-ce-pas?" 
 
 " Que veux-tu, mon cher?" returned Lamballe. He 
 denied nothing. He contented himself with listening. It 
 seemed as if his own play were being revealed to him. 
 " Caracci has had his own way for half a century. It is but 
 natural that I, a contemporary, should discover a flaw in his 
 methods. I am not the most pronounced of conservatives 
 as regards tradition. The law of progress must be encour- 
 aged, not rebuked. The young ones have their grievances. 
 It is but fair that I should speak for them." 
 
 ' ' Ah ! You are voicing New World sentiments now, mon- 
 sieur," broke in Markoe's vibrant voice. The Ambas- 
 sador had moved towards them silently. Lamballe started. 
 " Progress, then, you do espouse ? A la bonne heure. The 
 scales begin to fall from my eyes. Why is it that I have 
 been so many weeks in Paris and that this is the first time I 
 have had the honor to meet so enlightened an individual ?' ' 
 
 The question was bluntly delivered. Lamballe answered 
 it with the utmost nonchalance. 
 
 " Pardon me : I evaded monsieur." 
 
 Markoe gazed at his bidden guest imperturbably. " You 
 did me the honor to avoid me. Did you, then, fear me?" 
 
 There was a quizzical light in Markoe's queer, colorless 
 eyes which set off the shrewd lines which framed them. 
 
 " I confess that the dread I experienced was not fear, 
 monsieur, ' ' returned Lamballe, with a subtle smile. 
 
 ' ' Lack of interest, perhaps ?' ' pleasantly. The Ambas- 
 sador apparently considered indifference a natural attribute 
 in so pampered a dilettante. 
 
 ' ' I would scarcely name myself guilty of so discourteous 
 a quality. Let us admit that nous autres Parisians are a 
 trifle lukewarm in our cosmopolitan interests, more's the 
 pity. We are proverbially self-sufficient. We have not yet 
 
 171
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 learned to grow as fast as you have. Does the law of ex- 
 pansion extend to your sympathies as well as to your bor- 
 ders ? It would seem so, since you are pleased to under- 
 stand me better than most." 
 
 Did the remark disguise a challenge ? Or did it contain 
 solely the frank expression of an outspoken gratitude ? 
 
 ' ' The American nation has more than once been made 
 aware of your distaste for it, Monsieur Lamballe," re- 
 marked the Ambassador, coolly. 
 
 This was carrying the war into the enemy' s territory with 
 a vengeance. To Lamballe, the courage displayed in the 
 attack was preeminent. It was a straight-from-the-shoul- 
 der policy which he had never learned to employ. 
 
 He felt as though he had been fretting over cribbage 
 with a person who had never attempted anything more 
 scientific than a game of marbles. The American embodied 
 a new race from his inscrutable eyes which at a glance 
 seized, considered, and dismissed to his patent-leather- 
 clad feet, one of which was beating an impatient tattoo 
 upon the floor. 
 
 Markoe added, ' ' Although I am the United States rep- 
 resentative I refuse to be disliked, monsieur. I decline to 
 be ignored. I came here to-night to make the acquaint- 
 ance of the man who dares to throw down the glove before 
 his fellows for humanity's sake rather than in behalf of his 
 personal interests. Yours is a New World prerogative. I 
 regret the pleasure I experience may not be mutual. I 
 confess I still hope it may be. Were you more generally 
 known among us we would consider it a privilege to up- 
 roariously acclaim so royal a plea for principle. Yours is 
 the courage of the common soldier, who is willing to die 
 unknown so long as his flag waves triumphant !" 
 
 The words were glowing, concise, emphatic. 
 
 Lamballe' s eyes flamed. He felt his prejudice melting 
 
 172
 
 IN THE AMBASSADOR'S LOGE 
 
 like ice before the sun in this, his maiden encounter, with 
 virile common sense. 
 
 " It is a great nation, the new nation," he ejaculated, a 
 vivid light breaking across the settled sadness of his fine 
 face. ' ' It possesses one characteristic which the coming 
 generation of Latins seek to put out, what with its prevail- 
 ing habit of unfaith, its name is trust." 
 
 Markoe had seated himself. He had lifted his elbow over 
 the back of his fauteuil, and was sweeping the house with 
 his glasses. 
 
 "Yes. We trust until we have been deceived," he re- 
 plied, nonchalantly. 
 
 This time his own words were ambiguous. 
 
 A dull knocking was heard. It was the signal an old- 
 time tradition at the Fra^ais that the curtain was about 
 to rise. 
 
 Lamballe started hurriedly to his feet. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 ' ' Shall we call a truce and make friends, monsieur ?' ' 
 suggested he, pleasantly. He was evidently off his guard 
 completely. His manner exemplified the open-hearted 
 ardor of a great child. 
 
 The Ambassador accompanied his guest to the door of 
 the loge as, after making his adieux to Mrs. Markoe, he 
 advanced towards the exit. 
 
 "A truce by all means. Who would not call a truce 
 with a man of your calibre, Lamballe ?' ' 
 
 Lamballe shook his angular shoulders with a peculiar 
 gesture, as though freeing them from a yoke. He smiled, 
 sceptically. 
 
 " ' Calibre,' " he repeated, dubiously. " A calibre into 
 which the world has poured the iron, monsieur." 
 
 " ' Our deeds are fetters that we forge ourselves,' " mur- 
 mured Markoe, the shrewd lines about his colorless eyes
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 deepening. He was gazing absently at the group about his 
 wife's chair, although he stood with the door swung open, 
 ushering out his illustrious guest. 
 
 Lamballe began to speak ardently, impetuously. The 
 past night had set a song agog in his soul which would not 
 be silenced. This evening's curious coincidence seemed 
 the sequel of that meeting with Madeleine Farragut which, 
 although it had strained his patience, had thrown the old 
 question into a new groove. He felt alert, more alive than 
 he had been for years. 
 
 Appreciation sometimes loosens the fetters of endurance, 
 and sets it swinging to a majestic measure fraught with 
 delight. 
 
 He threw off caution, suspicion, conviction. Eager, 
 recklessly lending himself to the invincible charm of an in- 
 tellectual equal, he ended, "Had you known me when a 
 boy, monsieur, I venture to say you would be astonished at 
 the man I have become." 
 
 "Yes," returned Markoe, unresponsively. As Lam- 
 balle' s ardor increased his own spontaneity died out. 
 
 " Ecoutez !" cried Lamballe, radiantly, he was pushing 
 his way out, the crowded corridors were emptying as the 
 throng made its way back into place, his eyes gleamed, his 
 noble face was the picture of a magnanimous soul which is 
 eager to pay its debt with compound interest, " I think we 
 shall be friends, ' ' he said. 
 
 ' ' Pardon me, the curtain is rising on your second act, ' ' 
 returned Markoe, looking towards the stage.
 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK 
 
 ' ' AT the Francais last night, ' ' wrote Vodillet in a promi- 
 nent morning newspaper, ' ' the critical world was treated to 
 a new order of old things. A man named Lamballe came 
 to earth and, lifting his magic wand, endowed a cluster of 
 human beings first with the listening quality, second with 
 the receptive, and third with the enthusiastic. An interest- 
 ing evening ; an able dramatist ; a forceful play. The 
 sword of Damocles in 'Avoided' hangs by a hair over 
 the heads of the audience and the players. Science, in 
 'Avoided,' is undone ; inevitability is proven ; fatuity dis- 
 countenanced. 
 
 1 ' ' Avoided' treats of the great practitioner who is utilized 
 by destiny to deny his own reckless promise to create out 
 of human will a victor over death. It is a nail in the coffin 
 of an esteemed contemporary who will yet confront the 
 problem of ' Physician, heal thyself. ' The title is, pur- 
 posely, a misleading one. That the foremost character 
 proclaims his failure, while appearing to evade it by suc- 
 cumbing to the inevitable, demonstrates the uncommon 
 genius of the play's great author, who thus defies tem- 
 porary extinction in assuming immortality. 
 
 ' ' Lamballe has written many a play to astound his critics. 
 His last bewilders them. 
 
 ' ' The commonplace has been quoted both unenviable 
 and irremediable. 
 
 "Notwithstanding, we can but bow our heads to this 
 reverent spirit, which proves its case simply as a little 
 child through the acknowledgment of immutable laws.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 We have in our midst a Daniel who seeks humbly and 
 justly, with Divine aid, to extinguish the poisonous fungus 
 of every unworthy growth." 
 
 "I go to Carembourg to-morrow," remarked Markoe, 
 on his way home, to his wife. She drooped pallidly back 
 in a corner of their brougham as they rolled up the Rue de 
 Rivoli, across the Place de la Concorde, into the Cours la 
 Reine. Beyond the river the ruins of the Tuileries seemed 
 a ghost of past royalty, its eyes gouged out. 
 
 "Ah, indeed," Mrs. Markoe answered, faintly. "Why?" 
 
 The Ambassador turned and looked at her. There were 
 two marks, like brown velvet bruises, one under each long- 
 lashed lid. Her eyes were closed. Listlessly she reclined, 
 as though the weight of her lace-trimmed wrap were bur- 
 dening her slight body with its over-garnishment. She 
 reminded Markoe of some tropical bird which longs to 
 doff its feathers and soar out towards a land of perpetual 
 joy, where life is all sunshine and love all song. He had 
 been made aware of his wife's complete detachment from 
 himself more acutely than ever to-night. She was som- 
 brely absorbed. Once he heard her sigh heavily. After 
 Lamballe had quitted their loge and the play had un- 
 folded, he had seen her lose interest minute by minute in 
 the contemplation of some problem of which he could not 
 guess, and would not ask the meaning. 
 
 "A very forcible drama," vouchsafed the Ambassador, 
 leaning across Mrs. Markoe and pulling up the window. 
 
 "Thank you," she said, with a shiver. "Yes," in 
 answer to his remark. ' ' Probing does always seem so 
 unnecessary, though, to me. ' ' Her tone was fraught with 
 undisguised melancholy. 
 
 The Ambassador mentally registered a sense of defeat. 
 He threw off the depression the thought brought with it, 
 and abruptly changed the subject. 
 
 176
 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK 
 
 "Why, Carembourg ?" inquired Mrs. Markoe again, in 
 a slightly agitated voice, some minutes later. They were 
 ensconced in the library, before a window looking out 
 onto a garden which harbored two nightingales that were 
 chanting loudly their wedding hymn. 
 
 The Ambassador was dissecting a bird with infinite relish. 
 
 The bones were audibly crunched between his strong, 
 white teeth before he responded. When he did so his 
 eyes fell upon the drooping face across the table. Mrs. 
 Markoe was listlessly rolling some bread-crumbs into a little 
 ball under her restless fingers. She was not hungry, she 
 had said. 
 
 " Curiously enough," began the Ambassador, distinctly, 
 "Burgess came in from Carembourg this morning to an- 
 nounce to me that Conway was missing. ' ' 
 
 There was a dull pause. 
 
 Then Mrs. Markoe raised her heavy lids and looked 
 across the table at her husband. 
 
 "Where?" she asked. 
 
 The question was not strictly grammatical, but the halt- 
 ing word seemed the only one at hand just then. 
 
 ' ' Ah, ' ' replied the Ambassador, ' ' where, indeed ? It 
 
 seems " Mrs. Markoe rose quietly and leaned half 
 
 across the table to arrange a drooping rose in a low vase, 
 the bruises under her eyes seemed deepening minute by min- 
 ute ; the curves of her exquisite lips were compressed, her 
 hand trembled : of this she appeared unconscious. Very 
 softly she lifted the heavy rose and steadied it against a 
 neighboring piece of fern. Then she stood silently, 
 listening. 
 
 " Burgess said," continued Markoe, lighting a cigar and 
 beginning to puff at it contentedly, ' ' that, night before last 
 Conway went forth in the driving rain to hunt up some de- 
 tails about that chalk strata. He did not return." 
 177
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " Since which ?" 
 
 Was that his wife' s voice ? 
 
 Markoe wheeled abruptly and gazed in the direction 
 from which the sound had come. The graceful figure had 
 crossed the room as he spoke. It now stood behind him. 
 One dimpled elbow was against the mantel. She was in 
 shadow. Her outline was motionless. 
 
 "There has been no 'which,' " Markoe said, succinctly. 
 "It's all where. Burgess had scoured the country with- 
 out success. I ordered him back to Carembourg this 
 morning to await my orders. I have heard nothing from 
 him since. There is a screw loose somewhere." 
 
 ' ' What do you fear ?' ' inquired the strained voice. 
 
 ' ' French law as to poachers is admittedly stiff. Conway 
 should have performed his duties by daylight. He chose, 
 out of the exuberance of his characteristic recklessness, to 
 disobey orders. I suppose he can't expect to escape the 
 consequences." 
 
 ' ' Consequences !' ' 
 
 Again the Ambassador turned and looked silently 
 towards the figure behind him. ' ' He may have been 
 arrested, ' ' he continued, shortly, ' ' and he may have 
 been " 
 
 " Well?" breathlessly. The word was almost a cry. 
 
 "Shot," concluded the Ambassador. He knocked the 
 ashes off the end of his cigar with his right hand little 
 finger. 
 
 ' ' What time was it when he disappeared ?' ' inquired 
 an extremely Low, inanimate yoice, after some seconds had 
 elapsed. 
 
 "A little after six o'clock," vouchsafed Markoe, deliber- 
 ately, subsequent to consulting his memory. 
 
 ' ' Six o' clock night before last ?' ' 
 
 "Precisely." 
 
 178
 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK 
 
 "And there has been nothing done since?" with en- 
 forced calm. 
 
 Markoe wheeled about in his chair again, rose, and 
 walked towards his wife. 
 
 ' ' What was there to be done ?" he demanded, pleasantly. 
 
 " You could have instituted a search. If he left Burgess 
 at six o'clock night before last he has been gone already 
 two days and two nights, altogether about forty-eight 
 hours. Time enough, ' ' bitterly, ' ' it seems to an ignorant 
 person like me, to have made some effort to discover his 
 whereabouts. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador smiled slowly. He looked out from 
 under a pair of quizzical eyebrows at the figure before 
 him. Mrs. Markoe was apparently greatly alarmed. She, 
 too, undisguisedly lamented her husband's lack of pertur- 
 bation. 
 
 ' ' There is in all probability no cause for fear, ' ' he said, 
 in that strong, vibrant voice of his which commanded 
 courage and common sense. " He is old enough and 
 clever enough to handle himself, the young rascal. He 
 is losing time, that is all." 
 
 ' ' If there is no cause for fear, why do you go to Carem- 
 bourg?" 
 
 " Lamballe may be ugly," vouchsafed Markoe, lighting 
 his second cigar with punctilious care. 
 
 ' ' The reason why to-night you treated him with such 
 marked courtesy ?' ' 
 
 Mrs. Markoe was regarding her husband with a pair of 
 contemptuous eyes. 
 
 ' ' The reason why I did not display my hand, ' ' Markoe 
 returned, slowly, after an irritating pause. 
 
 1 ' You are diplomatic !' ' 
 
 ' ' Say, rather, something of a strategist, ' ' murmured 
 Markoe, deprecatingly. 
 
 179
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " As you will," abruptly. "And what do you propose 
 10 do now?" 
 
 "Wait." 
 
 " I beseech you, Stephen, do not fail to discover Jack 
 Conway's whereabouts, and at once." Mrs. Markoe was 
 standing in the middle of the room. She had walked there 
 restlessly. She now looked over her shoulder at her stolid 
 husband almost prayerfully. 
 
 ' ' Are you not unduly nervous ?' ' 
 
 ' ' You have said yourself there is no time to be lost. ' ' 
 
 "Yes," he responded, unflinchingly, gazing at his ad- 
 viser with a close, inscrutable intent. 
 
 She walked very wearily to a sofa on which she had 
 thrown her cloak. It seemed to Markoe that her step was 
 a little uneven. She lifted the light crumpled mass of lace 
 and satin up to the level of her elbow and threw it across 
 her arm with an effort. Then she glanced towards the door. 
 The distance seemed far off. How tired she was ! How 
 deadly sodden with fatigue and apprehension ! 
 
 She moved aimlessly across the floor. Then, softly, as a 
 leaf falls from a frost-bitten tree, she stumbled a little for- 
 ward and slid to the floor. 
 
 The Ambassador stepped out hurriedly, after flinging his 
 cigar away. He knelt and lifted his wife's head to his 
 knee. He placed one hand against her heart. It was beat- 
 ing unevenly. He drew a flask from his pocket, unscrewed 
 the silver stopper with his teeth, and forced some drops be- 
 tween her ashen lips. 
 
 After a time the eyelids fell apart, and Mrs. Markoe saw 
 her husband's imperturbable face looking into hers. 
 
 " I think I fainted," she whispered. 
 
 "Yes," confirmed the Ambassador, unsuggestively. 
 
 With his assistance she managed to rise to her feet. 
 
 "Shall I ring?" inquired Markoe. 
 
 180
 
 BETWEEN DAYLIGHT AND DARK 
 
 " Thank you. It is not necessary." 
 
 She moved towards the door slowly. Her husband 
 watched her narrowly between the gleaming slit of his half- 
 closed eyes. Suddenly she arrested her steps. She ap- 
 peared to be gathering all her forces together for her forth- 
 coming remark. When it came its import was not a surprise 
 to the Ambassador. 
 
 ' ' I hope you will lose no time, ' ' she said. Her eyes now 
 looked across the space between them supplicatingly. 
 
 ' ' Rest assured, ' ' he returned, helpfully, ' ' that every- 
 thing feasible will be done. ' ' 
 
 She interrupted him. "I think we should consider," 
 feverishly, ' ' that he is his mother' s only child : in that 
 case we you and I are, in a measure, responsible for his 
 well-being. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Obviously, ' ' returned the Ambassador, dryly. He 
 stood tranquilly, one hand in each trousers-pocket, his head 
 thrust out a little, listening with curious intentness to the 
 sound of his wife's voice. It seemed charged with a new, 
 weird low note to him. The cry of a wood-thrush in the dark. 
 
 She did not observe his attitude. She was too occupied, 
 apparently, with the business in hand. 
 
 "He is very reckless," she said, wistfully. "Only a 
 child after all. All men are grown-up children ; but I think 
 Jack Conway is more of a child than any man I ever knew." 
 She stopped. Her breath seemed gone. 
 
 " Precisely my own opinion," replied Markoe, very 
 gently and kindly. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe became suddenly aware of the patience 
 expressed in his attitude. She flushed visibly all over her 
 exquisite face. She hesitated. 
 
 "I think, Stephen," she whispered, the words leaped 
 across the silent room from her to him, "that I should 
 like it were you to kiss me good-night. ' ' 
 
 181
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Markoe stiffened. 
 
 His hands came out of his trousers-pockets with a jerk. 
 For one instant he stood strangely still, as though con- 
 centrating into that short period the strongest effort of his 
 life. 
 
 "You are weak and ill," he said. Then, as she did not 
 answer, but just stood and looked at him blindly, her lips 
 half parted, one little hand moving up and down the mould- 
 ing of the doorway against which she stood, he added, ' ' I 
 will not take advantage of so generous an offer in your 
 present exhausted condition, my wife." 
 
 That was all. 
 
 To Markoe' s surprise the words did not appear to hurt, 
 or even ruffle her equanimity in the least. She only stood 
 looking at him wistfully, deprecatingly, like a wilful child 
 who has done wrong, knows it, and acknowledges a just 
 punishment. 
 
 " I have been very foolish and weak," she said. 
 
 "You have been overdoing," he subjoined, still kindly. 
 It was his habit ever to help her away from any evidence 
 of pettishness by his complete understanding when she was 
 ill or, in any way, suffering. 
 
 The subtle comprehension seemed perilously sweet to her 
 to-night when she was so completely undone. She must 
 sleep, she was thinking, and find strength somehow to do 
 her part to-morrow. 
 
 " Good-night," she whispered, softly. It sounded soft. 
 It was overwrought. She knew that her breath seemed 
 gone, with the fibre which had dropped out of her being 
 because of Markoe' s mention of Conway's mysterious ab- 
 sence. Oh, what had she done ! What had she done ? 
 
 " Sweet dreams, my wife," said he. 
 
 She waved her hand. She disappeared. 
 
 Markoe went back to the mantel, and. lifting the lid of a 
 
 182
 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG 
 
 match-box, lighted a fresh cigar which he drew from his 
 vest-pocket. He stood reflectively, his legs wide apart, for 
 a full half-hour, puffing slowly. Once, during a period in 
 which his face darkened ominously, he looked across the 
 room at the rose she had propped against the fern beside 
 it with a curious light in his eyes. 
 
 " ' A rose by any other name,' " he said, aloud. 
 
 But his expression softened as he settled down to his 
 familiar habit of endurance. Just before the dawn broke 
 he extinguished the light and passed across the hall to his 
 own room. 
 
 As he stepped over the threshold upon which his wife 
 had stood so supplicatingly thirty minutes before, he raised 
 his left arm awkwardly and, with a quick, strong motion, 
 supreme in the record it expressed of latent tenderness, 
 brushed his hand lingeringly along the panel against 
 which her hand had lain. As he did so his face paled. 
 
 The next morning the Ambassador took the eight A.M. 
 train for Carembourg. He left a message that he should 
 be home for dinner that night. 
 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG 
 
 THE ensuing afternoon Mrs. Conway's salons were 
 crowded. A gifted actress from Milan was voicing the 
 synopsis of a drama to come off the following fall at one 
 of the theatres on the boulevards. She was a fagged-look- 
 ing woman with tragic eyes and a divine smile. She was 
 to be amply remunerated for making that pampered com- 
 pany, which was listening to her passionate delivery with 
 interest, experience genuine emotion. 
 
 183
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The modern fashionable community professes the most 
 desirable sensation alive to be contained in a song, or a 
 speech which makes the cold shivers run up and down 
 one's spine. In this particular the famous Italian actress 
 more than filled the bill. 
 
 When the Ambassadress came in, and the commotion 
 coincident with the universal recognition of her arrival had 
 subsided, the Italian was made aware of another feather in 
 her cap. She glanced shyly in Mrs. Markoe's direction. 
 She saw a statuesque face with heavy, inscrutable eyes, the 
 purest mouth she ever remembered to have witnessed, and 
 a figure which for graceful distinction was unique. She 
 registered a mental vow to address the remainder of her 
 performance to this figure, which was clad in a sumptuous 
 violet creation that seemed to her toil-hardened, if still 
 imaginative, spirit to be composed of chastened angel's 
 wings. 
 
 But as she continued her monotone she discovered to her 
 chagrin that the new-comer's spirit was neither with her 
 own speech nor her own personality. Rather, the limpid 
 orbs were fixed a firm determination in their direct gaze 
 upon a man in the corner who seemed to be the god of 
 that golden afternoon's discourse. 
 
 He was very tall, with a perfect manner, and an ease 
 which betokened race, the Italian was reciting magnifi- 
 cently while making this observation, accompanied by an 
 air of having attained his present distinction by right. 
 
 She saw the Ambassadress rise, as though impelled by 
 an unseen force, and advance towards this man. She saw 
 her lay one gloved hand against his arm impressively. 
 She saw the man who, a few minutes afterwards, Mrs. 
 Conway, upon the tragedian's inquiry, informed her was 
 the most prominent figure in the Paris world, because of a 
 play that he had recently produced at the Franjais, which 
 
 184
 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG 
 
 was registering a colossal success, turn and answer the ques- 
 tion which had been put to him. She saw him stroll away 
 with the Ambassadress out onto a terrace at the back, 
 where a few members of her audience, unable to hear her, 
 had seated themselves unwillingly. 
 
 She wondered. 
 
 Then she realized she was but a spoke in the social wheel, 
 whereas the Ambassadress occupied the enviable position 
 of the hub. And she contemplated the old comedy of 
 position versus ability with mild amusement. 
 
 1 ' Do I know Carembourg ?' ' Lamballe reiterated, after 
 he had acknowledged the Ambassadress's approach by an 
 inclination, and one of his comprehensive looks which in- 
 cluded a recognition and an admiring acknowledgment of 
 toilet and person. " It is my home." 
 
 " I thought Paris was that?" 
 
 He smiled no. ' ' Say, rather, my battle-field, ' ' he sug- 
 gested, humorously. ' ' Carembourg is the feudal castle 
 where my forefathers registered their vows to their king. 
 It is the nest of my ambitions as much. There I sort 
 out my ideas. There I dream my dreams. There what 
 do I not do at Carembourg? Eat, sleep, and be merry? 
 Not so ; I am a child there once more, with a posses- 
 sorship in all the kingdoms of the earth : with my early 
 hope of heaven. It is my storehouse, full of the debris 
 accumulated from contact with mankind. I arrange my 
 confusions, and deliberate a process of neatness and pre- 
 cision subsequent upon the past winter's rush and go. 
 Dear Carembourg ! I go there to-morrow, chere madame. ' ' 
 The end of his speech was strikingly abrupt. It was ac- 
 companied by a sigh of relief. 
 
 ' ' To-morrow !' ' Mrs. Markoe was gazing at him with 
 apparent consternation. 
 
 He took note of it, but appeared not to.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " My play is launched," he affirmed, modestly. " It is 
 high time I withdrew to gather substance for a new one." 
 
 "At Carembourg?" 
 
 " At Carembourg." 
 
 Then he glanced sharply at the shadowed face droop- 
 ing before him, and questioned in his turn, perfunctorily. 
 
 4 ' You know Carembourg ?' ' 
 
 "I know of it." 
 
 " How so? Oh, to be sure," as she hesitated. It is the 
 contested point, he thought. He presumed she knew of 
 that. He refrained, upon this supposition, to continue his 
 eulogy. But she, with a marked desertion of her ordinary 
 tact, insisted. 
 
 "Is it a pretty country? Are there game preserves? 
 Are your acres extensive ?' ' 
 
 ' ' All three, ' ' he answered, gayly. 
 
 ' ' And you have owned the place for centuries ?' ' 
 
 11 My forefathers and I, for centuries." 
 
 " You have never wished to dispose of it ?" 
 
 "For what purpose? In whose name? We do not 
 buy and sell our homes, chere madame, as you do in that 
 country of yours, which shifts so lamentably." 
 
 1 ' I should like to see Carembourg, ' ' announced Mrs. 
 Markoe, impulsively. 
 
 Lamballe bowed. 
 
 "Madame has but to name the day," said he. "My 
 chateau is at her disposal. ' ' 
 
 Then Mrs. Conway moved towards them with the guest 
 who had lent her talent to the afternoon's success, and who 
 had requested an introduction to the dramatist, Ferdinand 
 Lamballe. 
 
 " He was just asking me," remarked Mrs. Markoe, in a 
 very low voice, " if I wouldn't come to Carembourg." 
 
 1 ' How delightful !' ' ejaculated Mrs. Conway. Her fair 
 
 186
 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG 
 
 face pinkened like a pearl rose-tinted. The color receded 
 slowly. 
 
 ' ' Why not form a party and spend some days with me, 
 dear friends, en villegiature ?' ' cried Lamballe, enthusiasti- 
 cally. 
 
 ' ' But the Ambassador ?' ' protested Mrs. Markoe, doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 ' ' If Monsieur Markoe will but consent to accept my 
 hospitality," said Lamballe, with emphasis, " I will extend 
 it to him indefinitely. ' ' 
 
 There was a slight pause. 
 
 Events seemed to them all to be tumbling head over 
 heels. 
 
 " Sunday a week," urged Lamballe, "dependent upon 
 the engagements of Monsieur 1' Ambassadeur. " 
 
 " I think that we will leave the invitation an open ques- 
 tion, dependent upon circumstances," suggested Mrs. 
 Markoe, with her customary air of polite self-detachment. 
 
 Then she exchanged a few words with Mrs. Conway 
 and bade Lamballe ' ' au revoir. ' ' 
 
 She passed a little cluster of chattering women on her 
 way down the room. They had surrounded the Duchesse 
 de Launoy, and were attacking her from all sides upon the 
 subject of her famous ball. The Ambassadress arrested 
 her steps on the outskirts, highly elated for a second. She 
 laid the flattering unction to her soul that no one had im- 
 agined her participation in the famous intrigue. She felt 
 securely convinced that her discovery of the second harle- 
 quin' s identity was a secret which she would carry with her 
 to the grave. 
 
 But she was startled by the words which fell upon her ear. 
 
 "The first one was mercurial enough," cried a young 
 person in a rose-colored frock which had wrought great 
 havoc at the Grand Prix. ' ' When he bounded into view, 
 
 187
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 about midnight, my heart stood still. I was standing with 
 father at the foot of the staircase. When Mariotti made 
 his appearance we both shouted with delight. Only the 
 night before at my birthday fete I had seen him turn somer- 
 saults from the fifth to the first gallery of his little play- 
 house with the killingest sang-froid, my dear," turning 
 towards a sympathetic listener ; ' ' but when he disappeared, 
 after clambering up that pillar like a winged wild-cat, the 
 impetus of the night died out for me. It all seemed dull, 
 stale, unprofitable. Then you," turning to the Duchesse, 
 who was listening to her chatter with amused eyes, " you 
 had contracted for the whole pantomime, rang up the cur- 
 tain for the second act." 
 
 " I ?" protested the Duchesse. ' ' But I assure you I 
 had nothing whatsoever to do with it. It was all Mariotti 
 or all Monsieur Lamballe. I shall never be quite able to 
 determine which." 
 
 1 ' Who was the third harlequin, then ?' ' inquired the 
 young woman in the pink frock. 
 
 "Yes, that is the question," they all buzzed. " Harle- 
 quin, harlequin, catch the harlequin. Who was the third 
 harlequin ?' ' 
 
 ' ' The one who glided out of that corridor like a ghost 
 and confronted the second Mariotti on the staircase ?' ' 
 
 ' ' It must have been Mariotti himself, ' ' suggested the 
 Duchesse. 
 
 ' ' Impossible. He was not lively enough, in the first 
 place 
 
 ' ' Nor mischievous at all, in the second. ' ' 
 
 "Besides, he slipped away when the effect had been 
 made. I saw him with my own eyes glide down a corri- 
 dor with the prettiest Folly alive, a mask in rainbow 
 colors, with a three-cornered cap all rhine stones and bells, 
 and the tiniest feet and twinkling ankles. ' ' 
 
 1 88
 
 CONCERNING CAREMBOURG 
 
 " If I were a matron instead of one of those miserable 
 beings inured to perpetual chaperonage, " protested the 
 rose-colored young person, ' ' I would privately interview 
 Mariotti myself in person and discover the identity of his 
 second double." 
 
 " How would you find him ?" 
 
 ' ' I would address myself to his play-house, my dear, 
 and serenely demand an interview. Nothing dared, noth- 
 ing have." 
 
 Mrs. Markoe moved away, thoughtfully. 
 
 On her way out she was assailed by her friends. Was 
 she to be at the English Embassy ball that night? Had 
 she seen the new American painter's chef-d' ceuvre at the 
 Salon since the alterations had been made at the sugges- 
 tion of the French society of artists? Didn't she think 
 the political imbroglio at the Chamber disgraceful in a 
 civilized nation ? 
 
 When she stepped into her brougham, she ordered the 
 footman to turn the horses' heads cityward, instead of, as 
 was her every-day custom, in the direction of the Bois. 
 
 She gave an address in a low, tense voice. 
 
 Her brougham drew up a few moments later before a 
 florist's in the Rue Royale. 
 
 " I shan't drive this afternoon," Mrs. Markoe announced 
 to her coachman. " You may go home ; I need exercise." 
 
 Then she turned and entered the flower-shop. 
 
 189
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 AN UNGUARDED PROCEEDING 
 
 SHE stepped out of it three minutes later, cautiously. 
 She drew a relieved sigh when she had mastered the fact 
 that her own carriage was just turning the corner. Quietly 
 drawing a thick veil from her pocket, she tied it on hastily 
 and hailed a cab. She ordered the cocher to drive her to 
 the ticket office of a small theatre which she had heard 
 of, but never frequented. 
 
 When she arrived there, she paid the cocher for the 
 course and dismissed him, after having been informed by 
 an urchin, whom she feed largely to obtain the desired in- 
 formation, that Monsieur Mariotti was ' ' chez lui. ' ' 
 
 After watching the fiacre out of sight, she turned and 
 climbed a flight of evil-smelling stairs to the left of a 
 tobacco-shop, where two or three cochers in the buff cloth 
 coats and white rubber hats of the Urbaine livery were 
 noisily disputing over a bottle of vin ordinaire and a game 
 of picquet. 
 
 She knocked on a dingy door surmounted with the name 
 Mariotti in letters three inches high, and gilded heavily. 
 She entered upon the invitation of a coarse voice, which 
 cried, "Entrez." 
 
 Mariotti was seated before a table with a pack of dirty 
 cards before him. He was telling his fortune. 
 
 He sprang to his feet as the unexpected feminine figure 
 made itself evident, and asked his visitor her business. 
 
 ' ' The present interview, ' ' she began, in a muffled voice, 
 "is to be considered strictly private. ' ' 
 
 Mariotti raised his heavy eyebrows. He loved intrigue 
 
 190
 
 AN UNGUARDED PROCEEDING 
 
 the way a mouse loves cheese, because its spice consisted 
 mainly of the forbidden. He lifted himself on tiptoe and 
 made his way cautiously towards the greasy door, against 
 which he laid his ear. 
 
 Then he turned to his chair with his finger against his 
 lips. His carpet slippers dragged out a weary accompani- 
 ment against the slop-stained floor. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe shuddered mentally. 
 
 She took out her purse and extracted fifty francs from it. 
 She laid the money on the table and pushed it towards 
 Mariotti silently. 
 
 She said clearly, ' ' I have a few questions to ask of 
 you. I will require the truth, the whole truth, and nothing 
 but the truth." 
 
 Mariotti nodded. 
 
 "Night before last," she began distinctly, her voice 
 shaking a little, ' ' the Duchesse de Launoy gave a ball ; 
 there were three Mariottis there, I have been informed. My 
 paramount question is, which Mariotti were you ?' ' 
 
 Mariotti grinned ; then he shuffled his heels against the 
 rungs of his chair and answered, fingering the fifty-franc 
 bill indifferently as he did so, 
 
 " I go in first. It is about twelve o' clock. Lamballe is 
 not arrive. He is not to come until I leave. That is the 
 agreement. The idea is that he be taken for Mariotti after 
 I enter and make myself known. His representation falls 
 flat. He might have know it would," in the regretful tone 
 of a specialist who has witnessed a great opportunity lost. 
 " Besides the difference in our ages, my illustrious patron, 
 he is unfit to compete with me. ' ' He slapped himself on 
 his chest, which had inflated like the breast of an extremely 
 ill-groomed peacock. 
 
 "Yes, yes. But how about the third Mariotti ?" 
 
 Mariotti flashed a hurt glance in the direction of his in- 
 
 191
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 terlocutor. It was evident he considered her question as 
 oblique as its subject-matter. 
 
 " Of the third Mariotti," pronounced he, magnificently, 
 with a flourish of contempt, one dirty finger laid against 
 his nose with an expression of cunning, ' ' I concern not 
 myself. He encounters me at night. He strips me of my 
 costume ; of my honor. He offends my illustrious patron. 
 Monsieur Lamballe has not been of late to witness my per- 
 formance. Since the affair at the Duchesse's they are at- 
 tended by the elite. But Lamballe, he not vouchsafe a 
 word. A sure sign he is displease. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Markoe frowned restlessly. 
 
 ' ' You sold your costume to the third harlequin, ' ' she 
 persisted then, ' ' after you had made yourself known at the 
 Duchesse's ; before Monsieur Lamballe put in an appear- 
 ance ?' ' 
 
 "Exactly so." 
 
 ' ' What became of the third Mariotti ?' ' inquired Mrs. 
 Markoe, with emphasis. 
 
 She awaited Mariotti' s reply with palpitating anxiety. 
 
 He accorded it wordlessly by lifting his shoulders to the 
 lobes of his ears, raising his eyebrows to the roots of his 
 hair, pursing out his lips with a quizzical grimace, and ex- 
 tending his hands, their palms upward. 
 
 ' ' You mean you do not know ?' ' 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " You can make no surmise?" 
 
 ' ' How is that possible ? The third Mariotti encounter 
 me in the Duchesse's garden just as I was about to make 
 my exit. He whisper in my ear that he is a friend. Base 
 subterfuge ! He lure me to a kiosque at the corner of the 
 Champs- Elys6es. He demand the costume I wear for a 
 mere pittance. Pour rien ! Saperlotte, say I, I have a 
 
 192
 
 AN UNGUARDED PROCEEDING 
 
 better one at home. Why not give the pauvre diable a 
 chance to amuse himself ? Then I think he has no right 
 to my thunder. I demur. He insist. The exchange is 
 made. For a song," regretfully, and with the air of a 
 generous soul which had been overreached. 
 
 ' ' Where did he leave you ?' ' The tone was weak, 
 spent, hopeless. 
 
 ' ' He dragged me with him to the back room of a house 
 where my friend, the director of the Fricandeau, lives," 
 mentioning the name of a famous cafe chantant ; " there he 
 divest himself of his superfluous garments, attire himself 
 in mine ; make away. I protest. I cry. I implore in 
 vain. He is a low dog with some mauvaise intention 
 against Lamballe in his veins. I become afterwards sure. 
 Of that fear I feel my veins congealing. But as the 
 thought strike me he is off. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Then ?' ' The voice was strident, harassed, ungoverned. 
 
 "That is all," finished Mariotti, with a grimace. 
 
 " But he must have returned if, as you say, he left his 
 clothes in the room to which you conducted him, to alter 
 his costume." 
 
 Mariotti was silent. With a fine smile he was curling 
 the fifty-franc note about his forefinger. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe drew her jewelled purse from her pocket 
 a gold-linked one with a monogram of rubies set in the 
 top and extracted another fifty francs. 
 
 ' ' You would be wise, ' ' she said, softly, ' ' to tell me the 
 whole of your experience in this transaction. I can 
 promise you, you will lose nothing in the operation." 
 
 Mariotti mellowed visibly. 
 
 He leaned forward, and, folding the new note carefully 
 against the old one, he slid the two slowly into his vest- 
 pocket. 
 
 " As far as I know" said he, " he did not return," 
 13 *93
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "And his clothes?" 
 
 ' ' There are no clothes in the house of which I speak 
 which at all answer to his clothes description. Either he 
 made off in the ones he borrow of me, or he return, after 
 my departure, for his own. I swear to you, kind lady, 
 that even address you yourself to the place I mention, you 
 find rien !" 
 
 Mrs. Markoe rose. 
 
 1 ' Have you any idea, ' ' she inquired, as she moved 
 towards the door, "of the third Mariotti's identity?" 
 
 ' ' Aucune. ' ' 
 
 "I thank you." 
 
 She prepared to open the door and step across the 
 threshold, when the Gascon crept up close to her and whis- 
 pered softly, ' ' He was tall ; his voice was a foreign voice. 
 He laugh at me. He steal my clothes. I hate him !" 
 
 Mrs. Markoe recoiled. For some mysterious reason her 
 heart beat uncontrollably. The black snaky eyes of the 
 trapeze performer were thrust wickedly towards her veiled 
 face. Some words hissed forth, a mortal defiance under- 
 lying them. 
 
 "Let me pass," she commanded, peremptorily. 
 
 Mariotti stepped back, muttering between his dark 
 broken teeth. She opened the door with a spasmodic 
 effort. She descended the stairs, expecting every moment 
 4:o hear Mariotti's light footfall behind her. But in this 
 she was happily disappointed. 
 
 The neighborhood was a filthy one. The little play- 
 house's fa9ade shone out meretriciously between the frame 
 work of dingy buildings which stood in rows each side of 
 it. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe hailed a cab, and stepping into it, drove 
 within half a block of her own home. She alighted, paid 
 the cocher for the course, divested herself of her veil, and 
 
 194
 
 AN UNGUARDED PROCEEDING 
 
 as she entered her hallway asked the footman if the 
 Ambassador had returned. 
 
 "Monsieur 1'Ambassadeur had been chez lui just five 
 minutes, ' ' she was assured. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe slowly made her way towards the library. 
 
 After his visitor had turned the corner of that dingy 
 street in which was the play-house, which drew a* vaster 
 crowd than any dwelling of its size in the district, Mariotti 
 slid from an alley-way near by and, flinging himself into a 
 passing fiacre, followed her. He waited until her carriage 
 stopped in the Avenue Marceau, slid to the ground, and 
 silently insinuated himself between her and the gutter until 
 she had entered the courtyard of the private hotel over 
 which swung the tricolored emblem of the United States. 
 Then, as she disappeared, he regarded the house stealthily. 
 He withdrew from his dingy pocket a dirty piece of crum- 
 pled paper and, with a stubby pencil, printed on it clearly 61 
 Avenue Marceau. Then, cramming it into his pocket, he 
 carelessly darted on his way past the fiacre which was wait- 
 ing for him into a neighboring chemist's, where he bought 
 a stick of licorice for a sou while putting some questions in 
 regard to the occupants of the surrounding houses, called 
 at the tobacconist' s to request a light, and walked boldly 
 into the grocer's on the corner to buy a candle. While 
 consummating his purchase he demanded inquisitively the 
 ostensible income of the United States Ambassador. 
 
 The grocer, a garrulous person, who got more entertain- 
 ment out of his exorbitance than his clients ever obtained 
 by purchasing his over-priced goods, whispered a fortui- 
 tous number with the air of a trustworthy personage who 
 absorbs billions as his customary mental diet. 
 
 Mariotti made off as though the information he had 
 received was of small importance.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Arrived at the corner of the street he handed his driver 
 a franc, and receiving in exchange a curse, shrugged his 
 shoulders, carefully stuffed his candle and licorice in his 
 pocket, and, to the cocher's consternation, flung his heels 
 into the air, and walked serenely on the palms of his hands 
 across the roadway with its myriad carts, bicycles, tramways, 
 and motor cars, until he reached the bridge which spanned 
 the Seine. Then as a small urchin recognized him in 
 frantic glee and began shouting his name, Mariotti placed 
 his finger to the side of his nose with a warning gesture, 
 turned a somersault with a gliding motion, and disappeared 
 over the bridge's parapet, going head downward ! 
 
 There was a shout of trepidation from the bustling 
 throng, which had begun to gather as the fantastic figure 
 made its fanciful way across the street. 
 
 As Mariotti' s body swung over the parapet the crowd 
 rushed forward to look over onto what they supposed might 
 be his stark and quivering body lying against the stones 
 many feet beneath. 
 
 Instead their anxious gaze fell on a lithe elastic body, its 
 hands plunged deep in its pockets, swinging nonchalantly 
 along the lower quai. 
 
 MP 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 MRS. MARKOE did not wait to knock. She opened the 
 door softly and looked in. She saw her husband's figure 
 standing before the window with its back towards her. She 
 swung the door wider, stepped across the threshold, and 
 closed it behind her. 
 
 The Ambassador turned. 
 
 196
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 He saw her standing, where she had stood last night 
 supplicatingly, this afternoon attired superbly in a violet 
 creation which set off her beauty to rare advantage and 
 emphasized her expression of self-control. The conviction 
 which had been with him all day that her nature was soften- 
 ing, that he might hope some day for a complete cessation 
 of hostilities at least, vanished. He saw the familiar, weary 
 problem of defiance strong as ever in its attitude of inde- 
 pendence. He did not know his wife had assumed it, in 
 more forcible evidence than ever now, to conceal a horrible 
 feeling of abject apprehension. 
 
 ' ' Have you any news ?' ' she asked. 
 
 " None," he returned, shortly. He turned towards the 
 window again. She persistently came round between him 
 and the view it commanded, and looked straight up into his 
 face. His was tired and worn. The day had been an anx- 
 ious one. He felt checkmated ; he had not yet considered 
 his next move. 
 
 ' ' What course did you pursue ?' ' 
 
 " The only one : I interviewed the innkeeper in vain. I 
 saw the ticket-master at the station. He might have aided 
 us, for, though I do not believe Conway could have deserted 
 his post, still there is the possible chance that he might have 
 taken the wrong route, and been run across by some one 
 either approaching or leaving the station. ' ' 
 
 She was listening with drooping lids. As he had returned 
 her vivid gaze her own serenity had broken up and shifted. 
 Markoe registered her self-consciousness with scant atten- 
 tiveness. He had just cause to remember it later. 
 
 ' ' The innkeeper slept too soundly, it seems, that night. 
 The station-master felt ill, and transferred his duties to the 
 care of a friend who does not remember that anybody 
 passed through the station to the train. All he has recol- 
 lected thus far is the fact of the storm. That, he said, 
 
 197
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 completely dazed him. Burgess fancies there has been foul 
 play. I think, perhaps his surmise may be correct." 
 
 ' ' What will you do ?' ' 
 
 " Employ a detective. He will root the matter out in no 
 time." 
 
 Mrs. Markoe drew a short, audible breath. 
 
 ' ' Does his mother know ?' ' she asked. 
 
 Markoe frowned. ' ' I cannot see, ' ' he ejaculated, ' ' why 
 she should know. It would cause her profound uneasiness. 
 If the young fellow turns up, which he will very shortly, let 
 us hope, it will be time enough to inform his mother of it. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I think she should be told at once. ' ' 
 
 ' ' As you will, ' ' coincided Markoe. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe hesitated. "Will you tell her?" she 
 pleaded, timidly. 
 
 ' ' I think you may assume that responsibility, ' ' returned 
 the Ambassador, dryly. 
 
 His wife flushed painfully. A frightened look came into 
 her eyes. Then they filled with tears. 
 
 ' ' As you will, ' ' she complied. 
 
 Five hours later Markoe was closeted with the chief of 
 the Paris detective force, and two days subsequent to that 
 interview Lubin returned from Carembourg, and was imme- 
 diately admitted to the Ambassador' s presence. 
 
 " It's a curious affair all round," vouchsafed this interest- 
 ing visitor. He was a short, squarely-built personage with a 
 cunning expression, and hair chopped off short in front and 
 sides, and left comparatively long in the back, a hirsute 
 adornment which gave him the air of a sanctimonious prel- 
 ate behind and the profile of an irreverent urchin. ' ' I 
 have made one step in a direction which balks me con- 
 siderably. It is my impression that Monsieur Conway 
 came up to Paris the loth of June, after leaving the inn in 
 ostensible search for the dividing line and the chalk-banks. ' ' 
 
 198
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 "The ticket agent's friend has remembered at last, after 
 an exhausting cross-examination, that a man did come into 
 the station. He bought a ticket for Paris the evening of 
 the loth of June. He was muffled to the chin. His ac- 
 count of the traveller's costume tallies precisely with your 
 surveyor's description of the one in which Monsieur Con- 
 way was attired when he set forth. A slouch hat pulled 
 well over the eyes, a muffler covering the chin, a pair of 
 high boots splashed with mud, and a bag slung across one 
 shoulder. Not the attire of a gentleman, perhaps, but at 
 least a disguise. The man bought a ticket for Paris, ' ' con- 
 cluded the detective. 
 
 " For Paris ! But that fact alone should declare your 
 discovery to be a worthless one. Conway had but just left 
 Paris two days before. There was nothing to call him back 
 until his mission was accomplished. He is not a bungler. 
 He is a clean-cut young fellow, enthusiastically anxious to 
 prove himself of value. The supposition must be incorrect. 
 There were probably a number of persons who took the 
 evening train for Paris the loth of June." 
 
 ' ' Pardon me. There was but one. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You are sure ?' ' 
 
 ' ' The ticket agent' s register confirms this. So does the 
 conductor. There was but one ticket for Paris sold and 
 taken up the night of the loth. A ticket to which was 
 attached a return. ' ' 
 
 "A return?" incredulously. 
 
 ' ' Monsieur seems astonished. What more natural than 
 that Monsieur Conway should have desired to confirm his 
 own possible winnings in regard to the Grand Prix ! He 
 could have come up to Paris by night and returned to 
 Carembourg the next morning." 
 
 ' ' Natural, perhaps, but not probable. I know Conway, I 
 
 199
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 tell you. He was spoiling for immediate action when he 
 left here. I would stake my oath that he is not the man to 
 desert his post." 
 
 The detective lifted his eyebrows sceptically. ' ' Men are 
 not always responsible for their actions. If they were so, 
 our profession would suffer. There might have been some 
 cause which monsieur has not taken into consideration." 
 
 The Ambassador changed his position uncomfortably. 
 The idea had flashed across his own mind. He dismissed 
 it peremptorily. 
 
 "There is but one thing to be done," he stated, shortly. 
 ' ' You must work up your side of the case from the railway- 
 station ticket into Paris and back again, if necessary. I 
 will, if it is imperative, consult Lamballe." 
 
 The latter phrase was uttered regretfully. Markoe was 
 desirous of putting the entire detective force at work before 
 disclosing his need to his antagonist. But he recognized 
 in case of imperious need one must employ a desperate 
 remedy : that to obtain adequate influence he must reveal 
 his own hand. Perhaps it might induce Lamballe to do 
 likewise. In this matter the eminent Parisian had it in his 
 power to be supreme. 
 
 The Ambassadress never felt so much like an adminis- 
 trator of incarnate cruelty as she did that golden afternoon 
 four weeks later when she unsettled her friend's calm by 
 inserting the wedge of the same hideous doubt which was 
 so bitterly assailing her own soul. Mrs. Conway's face was 
 such a serene face. It carried its own story ; it commanded 
 forbearance ; it seemed to have reached the end of en- 
 durance : such a beautiful, intrinsically patient face with the 
 wide, gentle brows, and the level eyes, and the proud lips. 
 How could she break up that calm to put in its place war- 
 ring anguish, Kate Markoe asked herself, with a rebellious 
 
 200
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 ache clamoring within her not to reveal the truth when 
 peace and security might even now, through some unex- 
 pected stroke of destiny, be weaving into place once more. 
 
 They were driving round the lake in the Bois, with its 
 miniature boats and its artificial touches of trained nature. 
 They passed the great barouche of the English Ambassador, 
 who saluted the two stately women impressively. They saw 
 Condorcet in a high English cart with the Princesse. Later 
 they met Lamballe in his own victoria, chatting earnestly 
 with a careworn-looking man who was seated beside him. 
 
 ' ' Tell me about Jack, ' ' Kate Markoe said, swallowing 
 something in her throat with an effort, leaning forward, and 
 pressing her gloved hand against Mrs. Conway's, which lay 
 on the carriage seat between them. 
 
 Jack's mother smiled proudly. 
 
 "It's time he was back, isn't it?" she asked, wistfully. 
 ' ' Let him tell you himself of the day he rescued that old 
 fisherman from drowning at Newport when he was only 
 twelve years old." 
 
 ' ' He never told me that !' ' cried the Ambassadress. 
 
 ' ' Of the day I found him, in speech a silver-tongued baby 
 orator, lecturing a beggar lad who had bullied a cruel boy. ' ' 
 
 "Of course, he never told me that either," said Mrs. 
 Markoe. 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' returned his mother. ' ' Jack only tells the 
 needless parts ; the useless role he plays in life ; the singu- 
 larity of a destiny which seems all fulfilled. You know. 
 We have so many of that class in our country, Kate. It 
 requires considerable self-abnegation for a boy or girl 
 brought up in luxury to first establish their altars and their 
 fires, and then fight for them. Character is a world within 
 a world. There is the character we are born with and 
 the character circumstance makes ; but say there are no 
 craggy circumstances, figuratively speaking ; say one's way
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 is so softened that fibre deteriorates instead of strengthening 
 with use and abuse. It seems to me, up to the present, 
 that has been Jack's case. I glory in the fact that he has 
 fretted against it. I hope this present exigency will bring 
 forth all his energy, all his will-power, and will create a 
 fury of protest within him that will bear upon his whole 
 future life." 
 
 She was speaking dreamily. Thinking aloud. Why 
 not ? She and Kate Markoe had established the sweetest 
 mutual understanding between them. If the Ambassadress 
 had been the one to set the mother's fancy rolling in the 
 direction of her boy since his absence, Mrs. Conway, when 
 she considered the matter, concluded gratefully that the 
 gentle hint was only an evidence of her friend's tact to 
 lead her into beloved rather than distasteful by-paths. She 
 went on, 
 
 " I wish the Carembourg matter would ripen," she said. 
 " I wonder how it has gone with him. Will I ever estab- 
 lish callousness in this maternal heart of mine ? Ah, me ! 
 How weak we women are, and how much more than loving ! 
 My heart throbs with as much anxiety when Jack is far 
 from me as in those days when they took him from my 
 arms as a baby, if only to give him back cooing and rosy 
 from his bath." 
 
 " I have something to say to you," began Kate Markoe 
 in a broken voice. 
 
 Mrs. Conway concurred comfortably. She turned tow- 
 ards her friend, to remember long afterwards how very 
 white her face had seemed ; but then, it never had much 
 color in it. The skin was so ravishingly fair and trans- 
 parent. "I thought so," she returned, gently. "There 
 is something on your mind. It seems to me I have almost 
 seen you grow thinner perceptibly within the past few days. 
 What is it?"
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 ' ' Late hours, possibly. I have been overdoing ; but 
 that is not " 
 
 ' ' Some gnawing worry, ' ' suggested Mrs. Conway, help- 
 fully. ' ' Some little womanly ailment. Out with it, dear 
 heart. An illusion nonplussed ? Then more' s the pity. Ah ! 
 we women with our great steadfast ideals, and our conscious- 
 ness of how very far indeed from sweetness the thing is in 
 reality. Come. Stephen has not responded to your latest 
 whim ? Jack is not here to spoil you. He spoils us all. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I wonder, ' ' whispered Kate Markoe, growing still paler, 
 ' ' why he does not return ?' ' 
 
 It was weeks later. She had hoped the lapse of time 
 might have opened Mrs. Conway' s eyes. But she had 
 seemed oddly trustful. This was the first time Mrs. Mar- 
 koe had dared mouth the awful apprehension which was 
 making of her a thing of ice and anguish with frozen blood 
 and melting flesh. 
 
 Mrs. Conway lifted her sunshade to ward off the rays of 
 the burning July sun. The carriage turned into a narrow 
 by-path away from the congested Avenue des Acacias. 
 
 " I am horribly anxious," whispered the weighted voice 
 beside her. 
 
 Mrs. Conway started. ' ' But Stephen knows his where- 
 abouts. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Stephen does not. ' ' 
 
 "You mean what a preciously sympathetic creature 
 you are, Kate !" 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' answered Kate, dully. 
 
 "Aren't you worrying yourself unduly? To be sure, 
 the matter was to have been consummated in two days, 
 and that is long ago, but Stephen has always put me off 
 when I spoke of it, and told me Jack had a way of doing 
 things which would not brook interference." 
 
 "He has, indeed." 
 
 203
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ' ' And it has been four weeks. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Four weeks and five days. ' ' 
 
 There was a note in the constrained voice which sud- 
 denly broke Mrs. Conway's serenity straight across. She 
 looked right at her companion ; at the eyes with the 
 bruised lines underneath them, which she had remarked 
 and puzzled over for days ; at the hand busy fastening a 
 stray lock of hair which the wind had loosened. Was 
 the gesture meant to hide the delicate pallor of the face 
 which now she began to scrutinize piercingly ; a protest 
 welling up in her which was formidably cruel, tearing her 
 pace in shreds, upsetting her hardly acquired patience ? 
 
 Had she been blind, deaf, and dumb ? 
 
 ' ' Is there cause for anxiety, Kate ?' ' 
 
 Mrs. Markoe let her hand fall, and looked back into her 
 friend's face pitifully. She felt like the assassin of mother 
 and son. 
 
 ' ' I have been very anxious, ' ' she said, brokenly, ' ' for 
 four weeks and three days. Stephen has counselled 
 patience. Patience !' ' with a choked cry. ' ' But I 
 something has told me that the thing is not as it should 
 be. It was so simple, I tell you." She seemed pleading 
 against some violent consciousness which was striving to 
 burst through her speech. She forced the confession 
 down with an iron hand as she had done before. "He 
 left Burgess, it seems, the night before they were to re- 
 turn with their report ; left him in a storm ; set forth in 
 search of some dividing line." 
 
 "That is just like my Jack," broke in the mother's 
 fond, breathless voice. 
 
 ' ' Oh, hush ! He did not return ; he never has returned. ' ' 
 
 " Since which ?" Was that Mrs. Conway's voice. It 
 was a hoarse whisper. 
 
 " There has been everything done. The detective force 
 
 204
 
 A DISCLOSURE 
 
 is hard at work. Stephen is conducting the affair step by 
 step ; he is giving his personal attention to it. He does 
 not sleep night or day. ' ' 
 
 "And?" 
 
 ' ' There is no clue. We are at a loss ' ' 
 
 The wind lifted the lace on Mrs. Conway's parasol. 
 She saw through it a landscape fraught with spring-time 
 and hope, or what seemed hope, wherein a little lad with 
 golden curls and a glowing face lit by a pair of Spanish 
 eyes stood with his fists clinched, looking down on a 
 broken toy at his feet. ' ' But I will buy another soon, 
 little laddie," she heard her own tender voice saying. He 
 stamped his little foot. ' ' Muzzers aren' t sojers, ' ' he said, 
 wickedly. ' ' I want my sojer now. I has my muzzer 
 every day. Jack's tired of muzzer. He wants sojer." 
 
 It had been the incipient cry of the masculine gender for 
 space and action. And she had fretted that his way had 
 not been a stormy one ; she had urged him to find an op- 
 portunity. She had bid him spurn a life of ease to create 
 something worth while in its stead. Was this worth 
 while? A futile mission : loss ; disaster ; nothingness. 
 
 ' ' Oh, we poor women !' ' she cried. 
 
 It was the only moan she voiced aloud. 
 
 But her listener knew that the words contained an infini- 
 tude of woe. It meant that woman's portion now and 
 forever is to wait patiently, prayerfully, and helplessly. 
 
 "We will go home," she said, quietly, to the footman. 
 
 When they drove up in front of her entresol in the 
 Avenue d' I6na she turned and looked back at the figure 
 she had left in the carriage. Her eyes were full of tears. 
 The door, stretched wide by an obsequious domestic, fell 
 open. It disclosed the broad staircase bordered with pots 
 of flowering plants. Some guns, their steel barrels glisten- 
 ing in the rays of the declining sun, hung in rows over a 
 
 205
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 deer's head which young Conway had brought back some 
 two years since as a trophy of his skill in the Rocky 
 Mountains. 
 
 Mrs. Conway looked at the guns, and then at the deer's 
 head, and then at the broad staircase. 
 
 " He used to run up those stairs two steps at a time," 
 she said, brokenly. 
 
 Then she went in. The door fell to behind her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 
 
 DURING the month of August the little theatre, in the 
 congested street to which the Ambassadress had paid her 
 secret visit with its apparently fruitless errand some weeks 
 before, became common talk. Those Parisians whom com- 
 merce, or poverty, or a sluggish inclination deterred from 
 taking advantage of the heated period in which to go 
 a-holidaying, discussed it with infinite delight. 
 
 Masons were set to work to demolish both the exterior 
 and the interior of that dilapidated structure which had 
 witnessed the struggles of a fifth-class genius whose methods 
 of procedure, up to the present, had been as volatile as his 
 representations. After a period in which the gaping crowd 
 experienced the daily joy of witnessing the arrival of plaster 
 and building material enough it seemed to their uninitiated 
 view to have patched up the ruins of the Tuileries ; of 
 swallowing dust in choking clouds coincident with the tear- 
 ing down of the old building and the putting up of the new ; 
 of advancing suppositions as to the sudden incomprehen- 
 sible wealth which had enabled Mariotti to renew with such 
 
 206
 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 
 
 extravagance his frame for professional exhibitions, the fact 
 of the clown's prosperity became an established act ; its 
 development but a matter of time. 
 
 The interior was reported after some days, during which 
 the unimportant roadway it controlled had become but a 
 thoroughfare to and from the boulevards to being high on 
 the way towards representing one of those cozy nests of 
 warmth and illumination which combine amusement and com- 
 fort with art. There was no doubt it would, too, be popular. 
 
 The Theatre Mariotti ! 
 
 That was its name. The words blossomed forth in 
 glaring gas-lit letters on a garish blue background. They 
 were slung across the street on a wire, from the front of 
 the play-house to the second-story window of an obliging 
 cheese-monger, who was nothing loath to augment his 
 clientele by lending his interest, with a few hundred francs, 
 which he was informed by Mariotti was a miserable price 
 for such a big advertisement to the project. 
 
 The Theatre Mariotti was to be the playground of all the 
 jugglers, the trapeze performers, the music-hall singers, the 
 travelling families who substituted their young from infancy 
 as a means of obtaining livelihood by somersaulting through 
 the era of baby elasticity up to adult proficiency, the trick 
 specialists with their dogs and cats, the young ladies who 
 warbled words to the accompaniment of a capital band at- 
 tired in a Mariotti livery ; in sum, the variety specialists of 
 the world. 
 
 But the bright particular star was to be Mariotti himself, 
 in a role which, it was prophesied, would be kaleidoscopic. 
 
 He was known to be a fraudulent specimen of legitimate 
 art ; but the majority of amusement-seekers were not look- 
 ing for problems. They cried for sparkle, fun, wit ; some- 
 thing which lent color, not substance ; brightness, not 
 analysis. At the Theatre Mariotti it was announced weeks 
 
 207
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 before the opening night this delightful state of things 
 would be disclosed for digestion at an insignificant cost. 
 
 When that night came the little street was so gorged 
 with fiacres that it took the grocer and his wife who had 
 been up the Seine for a jollification with a maiden aunt an 
 hour and a quarter to push their way from the boulevard to 
 their own shop. 
 
 It was Sunday. What of human nature which had been 
 gallivanting in the Bois all day, and down and up the river, 
 and over in the Boule' Miche', at Charenton, and Poissy, 
 and out at Auteuil, boiled over again, into the boulevards 
 on its way home. Its sweetheart was on its arm, gabbling, 
 insatiable, looking for the next thing to turn up. 
 
 On the boulevards, which were as light as day, thou- 
 sands of tables were set out on the sidewalks, while hun- 
 dreds of weary and perspiring waiters were flying through 
 the congested lines of people, their napkins over their 
 arms, administering bocks and ices. There was a cold 
 moon looking down on the scene of bustle cynically. The 
 bulbed fringes of light which danced in a soft summer 
 breeze, the harbinger of a black thunder-storm which was 
 rolling up in the west, bobbed wickedly in and out of the 
 tree-branches, which were whispering busily to one another. 
 
 It seemed as if the elements themselves conspired in 
 Mariotti's favor that night. For no sooner had the vast 
 throng dined, its hum, like that of a huge bumblebee, 
 buzzing along the boulevard to the Place de I'Ope'ra away 
 up as far as the Porte St. Martin, than there came a clap 
 of thunder which made the women shriek and the men start 
 and run about for places of shelter. 
 
 There had been sandwich men all day parading the 
 main thoroughfares. They carried placards hung from 
 their shoulders front and back ; they were attired in vari- 
 colored liveries, harlequin-styled, in black, kaleidoscopi- 
 
 208
 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 
 
 cally striped, and pieced together. They wore fanciful, 
 cone-shaped caps. They sang, as they made their way 
 along, in a nasal monotone which pierced its way through 
 the hum of voices and shuffling footsteps, of how young 
 Harlequin had been a beggar lad once upon a time. He 
 had longed to go with his fellows to a village dance on the 
 green. Having no holiday clothes, he wept. His com- 
 rades, sorrowful, made up a plan in his favor. This plan 
 was for each to give a small portion of his or her cos- 
 tume until Harlequin should secure enough to clothe him- 
 self. No sooner said than done. Harlequin went to the 
 dance in a costume made up of pieces of every denomina- 
 tion and color and size and shape. But he broke all the 
 maiden's hearts and roused the jealousy of the men, be- 
 cause he had as many moods as he looked. Ever after- 
 wards man's moods had been as many-colored, as evanes- 
 cent, as deep as the sea. 
 
 Thus the sandwich men chanted as they pushed their way 
 through that rollicking throng all day long, until Harlequin 
 had become an established fact which the boulevards con- 
 sumed rapaciously ; a new plat for the loafer's distraction. 
 
 As the rain came rushing along, swishing right and left, 
 the crowd followed the sandwich-harlequins en masse. 
 When they found they led them into a narrow street, 
 where the shelving roofs sheltered the crowds from the tor- 
 rents of rain which fell in sheets, it seemed but a merciful 
 Providence who guided the footsteps of that congested 
 throng into a gay little play-house which gleamed like a 
 harbor of light and love beckoning them in to forget the 
 storm on their heels. 
 
 It turned out to be the veriest jewel of a play-house with 
 the newest, if rankly meretricious, adornments. The loges 
 were decorated in yellow. The lights were made to repre- 
 sent great bunches of golden wheat, with poppy bulbs 
 M 209
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 softening the glare. And there was a drop-curtain portray- 
 ing a green dog running alongside a pink river, the whole 
 surrounded by purple mountains, which, for fidelity to 
 nature, was unique ! 
 
 That was a gala night. The theatre was warm ; outside 
 the storm was raging fearfully. The theatre was light ; on 
 the boulevards there was an odor of escaping gas caused 
 by the wanton wind's too arduous fooling with the gas-jets. 
 The theatre was full of good cheer. Mariotti's name, from 
 the first to the last of the programme, was on every lip. 
 
 For in that night he outdid himself. He was scene- 
 shifter, performer, audience, initiator, everything in one. 
 There was nowhere he was not ; everywhere he was ; al- 
 most, it seemed, at one and the same time. He led the 
 applause, and urged on the actors, and disclosed his own 
 oddly versatile talent, and relegated his assistants to their 
 most brilliant niche. 
 
 Towards the end, when the house had exhausted itself 
 in cheering, laughing its sides sore, exchanging mutual 
 glances of delight and appreciation, he was called for vocif- 
 erously. 
 
 Mariotti came forward. The rogue understood playing 
 modesty as well as how to command applause, to steal 
 some one else's methods, to copy a good thing, and make 
 out of it a comic interpretation. 
 
 He advanced, rubbing the palms of his hands together a 
 little awkwardly, with a nervous apology of a cough and 
 the wickedest gleam of mischief incarnate in his eye. He 
 wore the harlequin costume. Already some critic, who 
 had slipped in by chance, was imagining his own article for 
 the next day's paper which would recount this remarkable 
 clown's triumph in emphasizing his own mercurial entity 
 through his habiliments, as changeable, as wilfully erratic 
 as himself.
 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 
 
 ' ' Kind friends, ' ' cried Mariotti, ' ' I thank you for this 
 night of encouragement. I had not thought to be so suc- 
 cessful. I am but a humble well-wisher, who seeks to efface 
 from your countenances everything but the lines of laugh- 
 ter. Let gayety be our watchword ; let joyousness be our 
 strength. I have named my little play-house Mariotti' s 
 Theatre ; but if you find it better to entitle it Laugh Hall, 
 or Merriment Auditorium, or even Ecstasy Building, that 
 right of yours shall be observed. I tear down my name, 
 and put in its stead a vow to everlasting cheer !" 
 
 ' ' No, no : we want Mariotti !' ' they all cried. 
 
 Then the clown glowed ; then the hands stopped rubbing 
 themselves together nervously ; the snaky, bead-like eyes 
 changed their shifting expression. 
 
 He drew up his supple, peculiarly serpentine figure, and 
 advanced close to the footlights. With that gesture, for 
 which he was known far and wide, his finger alongside of 
 his nose, he spoke clearly through his broken teeth. 
 
 ' ' You want Mariotti, mes enfants ?' ' asked he. ' ' Be- 
 ware ! Know, then, there is more than one Mariotti. There 
 are two, three, a thousand such. There is the Mariotti who 
 leaps like this." The fellow made a running jump across 
 the stage, bounded on his hands from the footlights to a 
 loge where a crowd of men and women were applauding 
 him vociferously, and then, straightening himself with the 
 languid air of a drawing-room devotee, walked back into 
 place again. ' ' There is the Mariotti who sings. ' ' The 
 clown here broke into a wild tune which for audacious 
 handling of measure was singularly captivating, "There 
 is the Mariotti who loves ; the Mariotti who hates," the 
 countenance was singularly vindictive, " and the Mariotti 
 who suffers." The whole figure drooped helplessly ; aline 
 of despair from the limp hands to the sodden heels. " And 
 there is the Mariotti who hopes." The clown gathered 
 
 211
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 himself together, and, with an expansive gesture, held forth 
 both his arms. ' ' Ah, mes amis ! I love my Paris and my 
 Parisians. ' ' 
 
 The latter appeal brought down the house. 
 
 From that night Mariotti's name was caught up from the 
 boulevards to the Arch, from the Bois to the Place de la 
 Bourse, oil poured on the flame of an oncoming inevita- 
 bility. 
 
 He exercised all his cunning contriving new roles, which 
 he revealed nightly with increasing evidence of ingenuity. 
 He was the idol of the small boy ; the great man of his 
 quarter. The grocer talked of him with tears in his eyes, 
 recounting how ' ' simple' ' he was in his tastes and how 
 1 ' abundant' ' in his expenditures. Of this there was no 
 doubt. Mariotti was living, in the quarter interpretation, 
 like a live lord. His vegetables were cooked in oil and his 
 meat with garlic. The newspapers recounted how the 
 queen of a small island in the Pacific was dying of love for 
 him. A discreet murmur was set agog in select circles, 
 where Mariotti's name, since his escapade at the Duchesse's 
 had been discussed with reverence, that a great lady had 
 said to her confidante that for sparkle and softness and 
 affection the famous clown's eyes reminded her of her pet 
 poodle's that had died at the tender age of twenty-seven 
 years. But concerning all these tales Mariotti protested 
 himself a victim of circumstances. He claimed that the 
 world little comprehended a humble individual who only 
 sought to refrain from tears, to look upon the bright side 
 of the present, to forget the hereafter ; that it was putting 
 him upon a pedestal which he neither desired nor had 
 anticipated ; that it named him a clown, while in reality he 
 merely was living his sunny, ardent nature aloud. 
 
 If the charlatan overreached himself a trifle in the anom- 
 aly he betrayed of a simple soul who bought up critics while 
 
 212
 
 THE RISE OF MARIOTTI 
 
 at one and the same time turning somersaults in their faces, 
 of exhorting appreciation while deploring its quality, it is 
 supposable that he did no less than others. 
 
 If his expenditures overreached his income, if his speeches 
 remained unmatched by his acts, if his promises went un- 
 fulfilled and his cruelties were on a par with his voracious- 
 ness, these minor details might have been considered part 
 and parcel of his versatility. 
 
 A wilier soul never lived, nor a more subtle, nor a less 
 exalted. 
 
 His audience increased night by night and day by day, 
 as, unable to compete with the multitude, he put on matin6e 
 performances. The tales circulated in his honor might 
 almost have been said to be invented by Mariotti himself. 
 
 How the famous theatre was paid for, constructed, man- 
 aged, was not a question which concerned any more con- 
 spicuous beings than a few starving masons who pleaded in 
 vain for their earnings, and some indigent women who 
 railed in the clown's face now and then with cries like the 
 whinings of wounded animals. Mariotti, more and more 
 fearfully, slunk to and from his play-house to a lodging 
 near. Concerning this lodging the population had already 
 made complaints to the police. Mysterious cries came 
 through the walls to their ears, cries muffled and indistinct, 
 but which, in spite of their inexplicable awfulness, continued. 
 
 The police enjoyed Mariotti' s performances they and 
 their families in seats provided for them, weekly, by the 
 management. Being experienced men, as well as influen- 
 tial, they deplored the jealousy and venom of that portion 
 of the quarter which sought to depreciate the clown's pros- 
 perity, and left his dwelling-place uninspected. 
 
 213
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE AMBASSADOR ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 
 
 LUBIN, after four weeks' exhaustive search, reported 
 himself insuperably perplexed. He expressed a disgust 
 for Conway's methods of procedure which he did not hesi- 
 tate to exhibit. Either, he argued, the daring young fel- 
 low was playing them a game of hide-and-seek or he had 
 been totally annihilated by some foreign force. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe and Mrs. Conway had taken a house to- 
 gether at Fontainebleau during the heated period. They 
 were mutually striving to encourage one another in the 
 long anguished days of suspense. The Ambassador spent 
 the chief portion of his time in town attending to inter- 
 national affairs, while endeavoring to discover clues of 
 which Lubin had proclaimed the mystery to be uniquely 
 devoid. 
 
 Finally, as a last resource, Markoe made an appoint- 
 ment with Lamballe. 
 
 The dramatist wrote, in response to the Ambassador's 
 politely worded note, that he would be pleased to receive 
 the illustrious representative of United States interests at 
 breakfast. Markoe, who disliked confounding social inter- 
 course with business affairs, demurred. The interview was 
 compromised for two o'clock the same day at Lamballe' s 
 house, a small, exquisitely appointed hotel in the Rue 
 Dominici, just opposite the Chamber of Deputies. 
 
 The Ambassador found Lamballe in his study with a pile 
 of newspapers at his elbow, which contained criticisms of 
 his play. 
 
 214
 
 ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 
 
 They appeared to highly amuse the dramatist. 
 
 After he had risen to receive his guest, he referred to 
 them with a gesture. ' ' The critics are not so superfluous 
 after all, ' ' he said, ' ' since they sometimes teach us what 
 not to do. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador, with characteristic abruptness, at- 
 tacked the subject in hand instanter. 
 
 1 ' I called to ask for your valuable co-operation in a 
 matter which, curiously enough, is an unattended offshoot 
 of the contention between Ferdinand Lamballe and the 
 United States," he began. 
 
 Lamballe altered his manner at once. It had been 
 suave. It turned opaque. His smile vanished. He 
 seemed all ears. The Ambassador felt he was to meet his 
 match in neutrality. The conviction was exhilarating ; it 
 steadied his impulse and equipped his speech. 
 
 " In what may I be of service to you ?" 
 
 The Ambassador rose. He began striding up and down 
 the room, taking care as he did so to cast a glance now 
 and then towards his host, who still remained nonchalantly 
 seated in his chair opposite the window which looked into 
 the street. When Markoe came between him and the 
 light he did not move : he seemed intently listening. He 
 visibly ignored the fact that his antagonist thus had him at 
 a disadvantage, did he betray any emotion or signify dis- 
 comfiture. 
 
 ' ' I determined, upon being chosen to fill the post of 
 administrator of Franco- American affairs, to take the 
 bearings of the grounds under discussion into personal 
 consideration immediately upon my arrival on foreign 
 soil," stated Markoe. "I have done so. I brought 
 over with me, from my own country, a surveyor, who for 
 quicksilver methods is unusually competent. I sent him, 
 accompanied by a man who crossed for the purpose at 
 
 215
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 my order, down to Carembourg last week to open pro- 
 ceedings. ' ' 
 
 "Subsequent upon my refusal to treat with you?" in- 
 quired Lamballe, with undisguised irritation. 
 
 "Just so. I considered that, did you know personally 
 of the immense advantage France would derive upon ces- 
 sation of the hostilities you have held to, that you and I, 
 being men of sense and not of sensitiveness, men of action 
 and not of ungovernable passions, men of experience and 
 not of unmalleable clay, could come to an understanding." 
 
 "You were courageous !" 
 
 ' ' Let us say hopeful, ' ' corrected the Ambassador. 
 
 "As you will. The term is your own." Lamballe' s 
 eyes were dancing. 
 
 "My visit to-day, however, is not with Carembourg," 
 interpolated the foreign representative. ' ' That issue is 
 one which you and I must fight out later ; or, say rather, 
 determine upon. I came to earnestly request your help in 
 instituting a search for a young friend of mine who has 
 mysteriously disappeared. ' ' 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 Lamballe' s eyes grew dark ; an extension of the pupils 
 subsequent upon excited heart action, possibly. 
 
 " Your surveyor has been made way with ?" 
 
 There was a polite hint of superficial interest contained 
 in the tone, nothing more. 
 
 ' ' You mistake me. Not my surveyor. He is mature, 
 experienced, cautious. The man who has disappeared is 
 the son of a friend of mine, who generously offered to aid 
 me in my explorations, which he desired to personally con- 
 duct and oversee. He arrived at Carembourg one Friday 
 night. He oversaw operations for two days. They were 
 practically concluded. The night came on. There was a 
 final question to be determined. He left the inn to do his 
 
 216
 
 ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 
 
 duty, defying, as he did so, poaching laws. You, perhaps, 
 have come in contact with young America ?' ' 
 
 Lamballe laughed raspingly. ' ' I have met with it more 
 than once," he affirmed, acridly. 
 
 "Quite so," returned Markoe, with a twinkle in his 
 deduction which he peremptorily deterred from mounting 
 to his eyes. 
 
 " He set forth in the pouring rain. He did not return," 
 he concluded. 
 
 ' ' He possibly lost his way, ' ' suggested Lamballe, per- 
 functorily. 
 
 " It is to be supposed that such was the case," returned 
 Markoe, addressing his glance directly at the figure in the 
 chair for the first time. ' ' But supposing he did not lose 
 it ? Let us presume some of the servants of the owner of 
 Carembourg were about. They may have only done their 
 duty if they enforced their authority." 
 
 " I do not comprehend. ' ' 
 
 Lamballe was gazing up nonchalantly at the unflinching 
 figure which stood in front of him. 
 
 ' ' I mean that the laws of France are rude as regards 
 interlopers. Perhaps those laws are sometimes abused. 
 You have it in your power, monsieur, to inform me if the 
 man who has take it upon himself to aid me in the con- 
 quest of individual imperialism may have fallen into a 
 trap." 
 
 Lamballe lifted his elbow off the papers near them and 
 propped it on the back of his chair. 
 
 "Be seated, monsieur, I beg of you," he said, cour- 
 teously. ' ' That way we are on a level. ' ' The statement 
 was oblique. 
 
 Markoe seated himself. 
 
 ' ' You accuse me of having made way with your friend ?' ' 
 began Lamballe. 
 
 217
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " Not so. I ask you if you know his whereabouts?" 
 
 "And if I did?" 
 
 1 ' A direct question demands a direct response among 
 men. ' ' 
 
 " It is not diplomacy." 
 
 "God forbid! In the land of ozone and energy the 
 human brute struggles for supremacy too instinctively to 
 stop to consider in what form his birthright may be 
 clothed." 
 
 1 ' Your answer is worthy of yourself. I do not know 
 the whereabouts of your friend. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador flashed one glance over the man who 
 confronted him so fearlessly. It expressed belief. 
 
 ' ' I thank you for your courtesy. ' ' 
 
 "It is not courtesy alone. It is truth. I claim the 
 right to deal with you, monsieur, as an honest man should. 
 I shall be glad to proffer you any aid in my power to dis- 
 cover your friend's whereabouts. A man may not disap- 
 pear in France even when making inroads into private 
 property without being traced. We control a detective 
 system which commands the respect of the civilized world. 
 It shall be placed at your service." 
 
 The Ambassador remained apparently unimpressed. 
 
 "Your personal assistance first," he asked, " I beg." 
 
 " It is yours. The man's name?" 
 
 ' ' Conway , ' ' returned Markoe. Lamballe had pulled up 
 his chair to his desk, and had taken a pencil in hand to 
 inscribe notes in a small leather-bound memorandum book 
 which he opened for the purpose. 
 
 It was Markoe' s turn to look astonished. Lamballe 
 threw down the pencil he had drawn from his pocket and 
 turned towards him. His face was aglow. 
 
 "Your friend, you say, is an American?" he asked, 
 
 peremptorily. 
 
 218
 
 ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 
 
 "Very much so," returned Markoe, with emphasis. 
 "He is the son of our mutual friend, Mrs. Livingstone 
 Conway ; Madeleine Farragut that was. You may remem- 
 ber, sir, as I do, that we have met before. I knew you 
 twenty years ago when, in the woods of La Valliere, we 
 mutually followed a hawking party in the forest of the 
 Duchesse de Launoy ; an exact copy as possible of those 
 enjoyed in the reign of Francis I." 
 
 Lamballe gave a shout. His chastened face beamed 
 with joy. He rose and came forward, both hands out- 
 stretched. 
 
 ' ' Remember !' ' he echoed. ' ' Is there any feature of all 
 that joyous time which Ferdinand Lamballe could forget ?' ' 
 
 The Ambassador was forced to take the hands which 
 were extended towards him. 
 
 " It seems to me," cried Lamballe, fifteen minutes had 
 expired in which the two had been exchanging experiences, 
 "something told me the first time my eyes fell upon you 
 that I had discovered a friend." 
 
 "Nothing more likely, if friendship were not so ob- 
 viously a disinterested function," responded Markoe. " In 
 my case I do not hesitate to say, considering our mutual 
 disagreement, that it does not yet fill that exalted niche." 
 
 ' ' Your practical habit rebels against sentiment ?' ' Lam- 
 belle suggested. 
 
 ' ' Not so ; business first, pleasure afterwards. I am glad 
 to discover you a man of parts instead of the youth I 
 once knew, whose zeal seemed bent on capturing hearts ; 
 a zeal worthy of a higher cause. You have discovered 
 the cause. I congratulate you." 
 
 ' ' And you !' ' returned Lamballe, after bowing gravely 
 in response to Markoe' s look of warm approval. "You 
 are a representative man ; a servant sent forth by his gov- 
 ernment ; an official dove carrying the emblem of trust.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Maturity insures a weight of saddest accumulation, sor- 
 rows, losses. It is bearable, however, if, with its unwilling 
 acquirement, it registers influence. ' ' 
 
 The two adversaries contemplated one another with 
 kindling eyes. 
 
 " I shall consider my service a failure if young Conway 
 is left missing for long, ' ' vouchsafed Markoe. 
 
 ' ' What age is he ? Tell me his habits ; I can foresee 
 nothing which, with a trifling expenditure of time, may not 
 be vanquished. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador placed the matter before Lamballe in a 
 nutshell. 
 
 The Parisian expected, perhaps, a week's delay, he told 
 Markoe finally. If Conway could be proved to have come 
 up to Paris, the secret service should be set at once dis- 
 covering his whereabouts. If he had remained at Carem- 
 bourg, Lamballe' s servants were many and able. " Leave 
 the affair in my hands, ' ' he concluded. 
 
 The Ambassador recognized that a more generous prop- 
 osition could not have been proffered He rose. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, in his crisp voice. "It is a 
 singular coincidence that should have sent me your way 
 concerning a grievance. It seemed to me no lesser plan 
 was feasible. I discovered the night of your premiere that 
 you possessed a keener perception than my compatriots 
 generally take time to acquire, and exercised a philan- 
 thropy which is praiseworthy. I am pleased to learn that 
 you practise what you preach. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador knew by this that the Latin exacts a 
 surface courtesy which the Anglo-Saxon ignores in his 
 irrelevant appliance of the maxim that time is money. 
 
 ' ' I have a stranger within my gates, ' ' observed Lam- 
 balle, suavely. " He must go forth happier than when he 
 came. I will do my best to give him back his own. ' ' 
 
 220
 
 ENTERS THE ENEMY'S RANKS 
 
 But as Lamballe proffered his aid he did not allow him- 
 self to forget that he who so frankly demanded of him in- 
 fluence and intricate handling of a difficult situation was 
 seeking at one and the same time to despoil him of a 
 cherished portion of his territory. The Frenchman felt 
 for the foreigner the antagonism which is the natural result 
 of an international encounter. His visitor seemed to dis- 
 cover pleasure in unveiling what the distinguished Parisian 
 delighted to disguise, tenacity and a love of power. 
 He worded what the imperialist secreted, audacity. He 
 coarsened what the dramatist had elected to refine, author- 
 ity. But his manner was so breezy, his self-respect so 
 actual, his purpose so frank, that this born conservative 
 saw himself for the first time, as the scion of an unances- 
 tried race had found him all along, a fine fingerer of emo- 
 tions, a meddler in morals. The American's reach com- 
 manded a wider horizon. He stood, in his crude courage, 
 confessed of but the straightforward policy of duty. His 
 religion had health for its symbol and clean-thinking for 
 its god. His fetich was simplicity. 
 
 As the dramatist took leave of his guest he promised to 
 forward him a messenger each day with the latest informa- 
 tion. 
 
 " As I said before," remarked Markoe, he was standing 
 in the doorway, the sun shone straight across his high-strung 
 face, " that play of yours evinced purpose and will. But 
 wouldn't it be wiser to coin your purpose instead of accen- 
 tuating other people's lack of it? I fancy a man goes 
 farther if he handles his own throttle- valve. " 
 
 He did not wait for a reply. He merely threw the sug- 
 gestion off hurriedly, as if it were born that moment, to 
 die the next. But the hint contained so marked an accent 
 of good fellowship that his listener glowed all through. 
 
 " It does not surprise me that you ignore difficulties in 
 
 221
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 our search for Conway, ' ' the speaker subjoined. ' ' I fancy 
 it is to your taste, isn't it, to burrow?" 
 
 He looked right into his adversary's eyes. 
 
 " Which part of my play did you like most?" inquired 
 Lamballe. 
 
 Markoe's face kindled. He stepped out of the vestibule 
 to the steps which descended to the street. ' ' There is no 
 doubt but that your third act is the strongest, if the lines 
 are to be trusted," he responded. 
 
 ' ' Why not trusted ?' ' retorted Lamballe, inquisitively. 
 
 The Ambassador turned. The shrewd lines at the 
 corners of his colorless eyes deepened. "The third act 
 always presupposes the fourth, sometimes for good, some- 
 times for bad, doesn't it?" he asked. 
 
 ' ' You speak advisedly, ' ' cried Lamballe. 
 
 1 ' I am forty-two years old, and I have not ceased to 
 hope," returned Markoe. 
 
 " There is a double edge to his speech," reflected Lam- 
 balle, as he returned to his study. Then he dismissed the 
 thought, and seated himself to write a line to a powerful 
 constituent. 
 
 In an hour his bidden friend presented himself ; a man 
 who for official subtlety stood alone. 
 
 He was the Prefect of Police. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A LIGHT WITH SHADOWED RAYS 
 
 FROM the now registered fact of buying a return ticket 
 at the little station of Carembourg the evening of June 10, 
 the purchaser clothed in a slouch hat pulled down to his 
 brows, a muffler which reached to his eyes, a pair of
 
 A LIGHT WITH SHADOWED RAYS 
 
 muddy, rain-soaked boots, and a small bag slung across 
 the left shoulder, Jack Conway had gone out as effectually 
 as if a tidal wave had overflowed the borders of traffic and 
 civilization and engulfed him. 
 
 Lamballe himself faithful to his promise, which he set in 
 motion instantly, subjoined with a personal supervision 
 which was above praise, started his own private force at 
 work together with the public officers of investigation, com- 
 manding them in this case to show their colors instead 
 of establishing a record for incompetence which would 
 have an echo across the seas. In spite of consummate 
 skill, of influence above par, the diplomatic foreign circle 
 was concerned with Conway 's mysterious disappearance, 
 the rest of the world being kept in ignorance in strict ac- 
 cordance with the United States representative's express 
 orders, the horizon seemed swept forever of that glad 
 young figure which had set forth with so steadfast a pur- 
 pose to conclude the simplest errand in the world. 
 
 His friends had not recognized until now how important a 
 niche he had filled. To-day they acknowledged in him their 
 joy-barometer. For sunshine had come with him, and rain 
 had settled down for evermore where he was not. An 
 unimportant figure enough, perhaps, compared with the 
 men and women who had fought and bled and died con- 
 spicuously, applauded by the multitude, log-rolled for 
 achievement, socially lionized or approved of ; but none 
 the less a good son ; and faithful as a friend ; and true. 
 He had done his share in making one or two people happy, 
 if merely through the fact of a vivid existence which sought 
 feverishly after pastures new. The little circle who loved 
 him came, in these days, to considering that his restless 
 love of travel had not signified self-indulgence altogether, 
 but perhaps the unconscious fluttering of the soul to try 
 its wings in broader spheres ; that his eager clutch of the 
 
 223
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 opportunity his fellow-countryman had proffered him 
 pointed to a painful self-acknowledgment of insignificance. 
 
 Mrs. Conway's sad face grew so wistful and peaked that the 
 Ambassador and his wife, added to their mutual conscious- 
 ness that they had been the unwitting cause of the present 
 unhappy state of things, grew more and more alarmed. 
 Markoe became visibly careworn. He spent all his spare 
 hours concocting plans with Lamballe, who by this time had 
 come to being the consoler and indefatigable suggester. 
 
 But it was Kate Markoe, either because of a too acute apti- 
 tude for sympathy, or a forced wooing of irregular buoyancy, 
 feverish and fluctuating as the weak flutter of a sick insect, 
 or by way of feigning a false courage which she fondly be- 
 lieved might strengthen the little circle about her, presented 
 a picture which the Ambassador acknowledged day by day 
 with more and more discomforting disquietude. 
 
 The Ambassador's wife had boasted her short life 
 through of having sprung from New England stock. 
 
 But society had taught Mrs. Markoe her value. Knowl- 
 edge of the world had set its seal against her mutinous 
 lips and in the fascinating depths of her inscrutable eyes. 
 
 Until now Stephen Markoe had been too loyal to allow 
 that she was spoiled. This summer she evinced moods so 
 mercurial, manners so elusive, ways so utterly out of gear 
 with any presupposed contingency that, whereas in the 
 Ambassador's ordinary tread-mill of duty the fact of her 
 fickle treatment of life would have passed by him unre- 
 marked, now, with every sense strained to its utmost, she 
 represented an anomaly which defied his closest inspection. 
 
 She was "fond of being alone," she said, when her 
 husband questioned her as to the cause of her frequent 
 trips to Paris, from which she returned white as the driven 
 snow, a dim light in her eyes which predicted the ensuing 
 day's inevitable collapse. She felt " overdone," she would 
 
 224
 
 A LIGHT WITH SHADOWED RAYS 
 
 murmur pitifully as an excuse for any discrepancy in her 
 statements as to what she had purchased, or where she had 
 been. She was "dull"; she "desired diversion." Fon- 
 tainebleau, in spite of its glorious forest and splendid palace, 
 she discovered hot and flat. Whereas her household duties 
 had always been foremost, she was a woman who made it 
 part of her creed to most religiously observe her husband's 
 interests in the small details of fare and comfort, she now 
 neglected to give her personal attention to anything but 
 vague and dreamy guesses as to what the end would be. 
 
 She was peevish, too, and self-conscious. Markoe saw 
 the tears on her cheeks once after an interview with Mrs. 
 Conway, in which Jack's mother had been greatly startled 
 at the Ambassadress, suddenly, with the most touching 
 humility, bending over her and sobbing in a choked, 
 guilty voice, that she would "give her life to help Jack's 
 mother !' ' 
 
 "Your life is too helpful and sweet a thing, Kate, to 
 throw it away so lightly," Mrs. Conway had returned. 
 She attributed her friend's hysterical speech to a trip she 
 had made up to Paris the day before which had brought 
 her home on the midnight train, a fact which the Ambas- 
 sador had peremptorily forbidden to occur again. 
 
 "You may consider it unobjectionable to be seen at that 
 hour alone ;' ' he said, ' ' but the Ambassadress must not 
 lay herself open to questioning. You forget that you have 
 a marked personality, and that your movements will be 
 considered undignified in our present position if you over- 
 step a certain path laid down by propriety. ' ' 
 
 She had looked back at him tearfully when he made his 
 speech, standing steadily under the lamp which swung 
 from the roof of the porte cochere regarding her omi- 
 nously. She saw, with a choking sob welling up in her 
 throat, a sensation with which she was becoming curiously 
 is 225
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 familiar, a feeling which she fought out in the privacy of 
 her own room with clinched fists (the limp aspect she 
 presented the following day confirmed this) that his face 
 was set, its expression invincibly stern. 
 
 ' ' I am pleased that you care a little, ' ' she whispered 
 gratefully as she passed him, to his intense surprise. 
 
 He had thought she would flash out some rejoinder, of 
 which she always carried a fuller equipment than most 
 women. Her complete and visible subjection made him 
 wince. 
 
 ' ' You understand, I cannot have my wife laid open to 
 misinterpretations," he blurted out, following her, striving 
 blindly, in a mannish way, to make up for the roughness of 
 his rebuke. 
 
 But she was not to be appeased, it seemed. 
 
 " I need sleep," she said, without turning. 
 
 And as he stood, most helplessly, watching her graceful 
 back as she climbed the stairs, he wondered, with a sharp 
 stab, if rest would ever be his portion in this world. 
 
 Markoe entered his private office one muggy day in Sep- 
 tember to find a figure standing, with its back to him, be- 
 fore a small wood fire which his office-boy had laid to greet 
 him. There had been a harbinger of autumn in the air, as 
 he drove from the Gare de Lyons to the Embassy in his 
 open trap. As his footsteps crossed the threshold the 
 figure turned. The act disclosed a smug countenance with 
 hair chopped short front and sides, and left long at the back. 
 
 "Lubin !" he cried. 
 
 " At monsieur's service." 
 
 There had been a stormy interview some weeks before in 
 which Lubin had come out second best. The Ambassador 
 had declared in outspoken terms his opinion that the French 
 detective service was not worth its salt ; that for stupendous 
 inefficiency it out-Heroded Herod. 
 
 226
 
 A LIGHT WITH SHADOWED RAYS 
 
 Lubin had listened to his employer's peroration with com- 
 pressed lips and flaming eyes. When it was concluded he 
 had asked to be let off. To this the Ambassador, with con- 
 tempt, had acquiesced. Since then Lubin had pursued a 
 search of his own, the result of which he had come to offer 
 for a consideration. 
 
 When the amount of the consideration had been dis- 
 cussed to be gauged by the value of the information dis- 
 closed Lubin spoke, 
 
 ' ' I came to say I discovered a clue. I could have 
 informed monsieur of this clue some weeks since, had 
 monsieur signified the respect for my talents I have always 
 been led to consider was their due. Rather, however, 
 than plead for justice, or yet offer a loophole of hope which 
 might lift monsieur onto a pinnacle of joy, only to be 
 dashed to the ground, a state of things which monsieur 
 contemplates with less indifference than we humbler indi- 
 viduals who are obliged to cultivate patience," this rebuke 
 with a deliberation which highly elated his listener, "I 
 waited. Monsieur will, sans doute, find fault with my 
 methods ; it is his way. He will be unreasonable, indeed, 
 does he also repudiate my facts. ' ' 
 
 " It is not the facts I am receiving, ' ' grumbled Markoe, 
 impatiently. ' ' This is what I should call a prelude, Lubin. 
 I would advise you, in Americanese, to 'go ahead.' ' 
 
 Lubin was not a scholar of any proved penetration ; but 
 he had encountered slack too often not to recognize when 
 he came in contact with fire. 
 
 ' ' I hesitate, because with my disclosure I fear to annoy 
 Monsieur 1' Ambassadeur, ' ' he ventured. 
 
 " As for that, my annoyances are daily increasing," cried 
 Markoe. ' ' For unadulterated cussedness give me the 
 present situation, which should have been cleared up in a 
 month, and would have been elsewhere," he concluded, 
 
 227
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 under his breath. ' ' Out with your news, Lubin. If red 
 tape is in the way, we will down that." 
 
 Lubin' s little, congested face reddened. His eyes grew 
 beady. He pompously drew himself up. He began, 
 
 " I have monsieur's permission, then, to speak of what I 
 know ? We are alone ?' ' 
 
 Markoe's sole response to this question was to draw the 
 curtain of a window which looked across the avenue, which 
 for width and space had led him to choose it for a place of 
 residence and sanitary comfort. He said, returning to his 
 chair, " We are alone." 
 
 ' ' We will imagine the case given up in the first place, ' ' 
 murmured Lubin, in his sing-song voice. " Monsieur will 
 remember that it was but the i3th of June when he signi- 
 fied to me that my services might be discontinued. I sal- 
 lied forth with a sickening sense of failure. Mine is not the 
 character which holds its victim by the eyelids, promising 
 aid when I see no hope of hinting at accomplishment which 
 later may not be substantiated. Rather, I get myself dis- 
 liked. Monsieur only played into my hands when he did 
 me the honor to dismiss me," triumphantly. " But I never 
 let go. Those who know Lubin call him the bull-dog. For 
 tenacity, monsieur, Lubin has no equal. Only death stands 
 in the way of his fight for justice. ' ' The congested face was 
 lifted with a radiant expression of self-approval. 
 
 ' ' An admirable state of things, ' ' interpolated the Ambas- 
 sador. He had by this time concluded to let the little man 
 have his say. He was burning with impatience ; but he had 
 learned within the past few weeks that the Latin race must 
 always play its role, itself a chosen, and invariably ap- 
 proving, audience. 
 
 " As I sauntered forth I saw the most noble Ambassa- 
 dress's carriage drive from the courtyard into the alley- way 
 towards the street. The Ambassadress descended, attired 
 
 228
 
 in a violet creation which so ravished my humble vision that 
 I stopped short, consumed with the profoundest apprecia- 
 tion. She stepped into her carriage. I stood still for no 
 reason whatsoever, unless the desire a modest soul experi- 
 ences to profit off the generously exhibited charms of the 
 illustrious. The carriage of the Ambassadress but turned 
 the corner before, after slowly rolling down the Cours la 
 Reine, it stopped before an apartment house in the Avenue 
 d' lena. I had hardly realized this fact I was idly strolling 
 up and down the Avenue de Trocadero the while, my hands 
 in my pockets, my thoughts warring against my own impo- 
 tence to discover a clue to that mysterious affair at Carem- 
 bourg when I saw the same bewildering violet creation 
 vision roll past me again, this time towards the Louvre. I 
 remember thinking to myself that did I have the same 
 leisure at my command I would frequent the Bois rather 
 than do a round of shopping indoors. Then I recollected 
 the duties of a society queen, and decided to make my way 
 to the Rue Royale to interview a fellow-operator. The 
 consciousness of failure was nettling me like a brier. As I 
 passed down the Rue Royale, after descending from the 
 Porte Maillot omnibus, a figure in violet drove past me 
 again. It was the figure of the Ambassadress, but this 
 time she was in a fiacre ! Full of the enigma which was 
 puzzling me it was only after she had passed me I came 
 into the knowledge that this time she had been in a fiacre 
 I wondered ! Had she met with an accident ? Had she sub- 
 stituted a common hackney for her own luxurious victoria ? 
 No. For just here her own carriage passed me empty, 
 going towards the Bois. Monsieur may imagine that a 
 man who has for years considered it his duty to unravel 
 mysteries has a sense which puts him on the track of a new 
 scent, the way a dog smells out a bird. I followed the fiacre 
 which contained the Ambassadress without further ado. ' ' 
 
 229
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " She drove home, and again you were nonplussed !" 
 
 The voice was vibrant. The Ambassador's hand had 
 lifted, and was scooped above his brows. His face, thus, 
 was in shadow. 
 
 ' ' Pardon me. Not so. The Ambassadress had tied a 
 thick veil over her face when I was not looking. But 
 I knew I could not be mistaken in her figure, which is 
 markedly tall and graceful. When she reached the Rue 
 Drouot she alighted before a wine-shop, paid her cocher, 
 and dismissed him. Then, after parleying for five minutes 
 or so with a small urchin, to whom she gave two francs for 
 his information, she climbed a flight of stairs, and knocked 
 on a door upon which was imprinted, in big letters, one 
 word. ' ' 
 
 "That word?" 
 
 "Was Mariotti." 
 
 The Ambassador did not move. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 CHECKMATE 
 
 " MONSIEUR may not be aware that Mariotti is a clown 
 who has been in evidence some time in Paris because of a 
 certain genius he possesses for amusing the public. In my 
 opinion he is a charlatan. But this, to the public, is a 
 matter of indifference. It welcomes I have discovered 
 humbug more uproariously than worth. The first requires 
 no effort. The second manifestly exacts thought. So 
 humbug goes. ' ' 
 
 "You left the Ambassadress at Mariotti' s ?" 
 ' ' My name is Lubin ! The idea of her collusion with 
 the charlatan appeared to me more and more odious as I 
 
 230
 
 CHECKMATE 
 
 stood there under the frowning arch of a neighboring 
 building. That this most beauteous lady should have 
 cause to confer with so distinguished a rascal as Mariotti 
 roused all my inquisitiveness. I waited. After a half- 
 hour's time she descended the stairs rapidly, and looked 
 about her fearfully, monsieur will pardon me for my ad- 
 verbs," at the Ambassador's fierce scowl and gesture of 
 almost uncontrollable impatience. ' ' She hailed a fiacre 
 and drove home. This time Mariotti followed her. He 
 evidently was desirous too of unearthing her identity. 
 When she arrived at her home she alighted. So did he. 
 She dismissed her cab. Ditto Mariotti. After she en- 
 tered the Embassy Mariotti crept past the wall where I 
 stood placidly eyeing a mason at work on a scaffolding, 
 and darted into the grocer's near, then the chemist's, and 
 across the road to be lost to view. I bought a stamp at 
 the tobacconist's, who told me the Gascon had just called 
 there to inquire who lived at 61 Avenue Marceau, at the 
 chemist's, who rattled off a dissertation about American 
 fortunes, leading me to suppose that it had been a recent 
 subject of conversation with him and at the grocer's, who 
 was dumb. After that I went home." 
 
 ' ' If you have finished ' ' 
 
 "Monsieur is premature; I have not finished. This 
 was two months ago. The affair had almost escaped my 
 memory, when one day, not long since, I caught up a 
 penny sheet let loose on the boulevards which related, in 
 gigantic type, the rise of the clown Mariotti. I went to 
 his play-house, a new one, which has been built by some 
 magic in two months in the place of the old house, a 
 broken-down and dingy specimen of decay. There is no 
 doubt the Gascon's star is in the ascendant. But from 
 where does he obtain his funds ? That is the question, a 
 riddle which remained unsolved until recently. ' ' 
 
 231
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Lubin, who up to this had stood modestly at a distance 
 from his listener, now moved forward with a look of cun- 
 ning pervading his square, undersized form. His little 
 eyes gleamed with that concentrated light which flames up 
 in the orbs of a viper when its forked tongue prepares to 
 dart out and perform its deadly work with unfaltering skill. 
 His words tumbled over one another in their author's 
 eagerness to betray his own extraordinary prowess. He 
 forgot that the man he addressed cherished the woman the 
 detective was accusing like the core of his heart. If he 
 remembered it, he ignored it, as lesser mortals ignore th6se 
 refinements which go to make up the fibre of a higher 
 instinct. 
 
 "Yesterday I completed a scheme which I have been 
 carrying out for weeks," murmured Lubin, proudly. 
 ' ' Detection governs an arena which demands rare inge- 
 nuity of control. I patched some pieces together that had 
 come in my way through an inadvertence. I had made an 
 exhaustive inquiry as to Mariotti's ways and means. The 
 former were less difficult to explain than the latter. No- 
 body could in the least determine the fellow's unfathom- 
 able means of livelihood. To be sure, he was turning 
 crowds away nightly from his theatre, but his expenditures 
 far exceeded his profits, and what puzzled me was where 
 did he obtain the funds with which to establish himself so 
 luxuriously, whereas only six months ago his reputation 
 had been synonymous with everything that was sordid 
 and commonplace. There was another thought which 
 warred in my veins, a burr in my nostrils. This was how 
 madame the Ambassadress could have deigned to take 
 notice of a humble clown who by his comrades is desig- 
 nated as the slipperiest eel of his species. Yesterday the 
 riddle was solved ! I had an errand which took me into 
 the quarter of the Gare de Lyons. Monsieur will believe 
 
 232
 
 CHECKMATE 
 
 that no vulgar curiosity prompted the action. I confess, 
 however, that, upon perceiving the Ambassadress alight 
 from an incoming train, I had the temerity to jump into a 
 fiacre and follow a liveried hack which met her at the 
 station. She drove straight to Mariotti's quarters. I 
 stood outside. In my soul there lurked the deprecation 
 Of a humble observer of ills who deplores the whims of a 
 great lady who, by circumstance, is deprived of that con- 
 tact with mankind which teaches us subordinates the law 
 that much is better left unturned." 
 
 ' ' Spare me your asides, ' ' interpolated the Ambassador 
 at this issue, in a low voice. "State facts," His under 
 lip was bitten in between his strong teeth until it looked 
 like a line of stiffened pink clay. His hand, which hung 
 over the arm of his chair, opened and shut restlessly. 
 
 ' ' I am done. I saw Mariotti accompany the Ambassa- 
 dress to her carriage. She was very white. Her veil was 
 up. There were tears in her eyes. He was bowing and 
 scraping, curving in and out, as he walked with her across 
 the pavings. I crept up close. They neither of them 
 perceived me, by this that had been a matter of indiffer- 
 ence. She handed him a roll of bank-notes from a small 
 satchel she carried and made use of these words : ' I beseech 
 you make haste, Mariotti. My patience is almost spent. ' 
 
 " ' Madame has trusted me thus far,' the rogue answered 
 her through his teeth. ' The affair will take time, I have 
 told her.' 
 
 ' ' ' Time !' she echoed, despairingly, almost with a sob. 
 1 It has been three months already. ' Then she entered 
 her carriage and drove away. I was torn between two de- 
 sires : to keep watch of Mariotti and to follow her. I 
 chose Mariotti. I have said this was yesterday." 
 
 "But " 
 
 Lubin interrupted. ' ' When the Ambassadress said the 
 
 233
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 affair had been three months already, I set my wits at 
 work in another corner of my brain. What had been 
 1 three months' ? Why, the strange disappearance of 
 Monsieur Convvay ! Mariotti must, then, have a clue. I 
 decided to wait, but so sure was I monsieur must know of 
 this enlightenment I came here to-day to inform him of it. 
 I will dog Mariotti' s footsteps hereafter until I know every 
 corner of his life. It might be wise if Monsieur 1'Ambas- 
 sadeur questioned madame the Ambassadress." 
 
 ' ' Your suggestion is superfluous. The Ambassadress is 
 a law unto herself. ' ' 
 
 If Markoe's authoritative words just here harbored an 
 irony which, in spite of him, revealed itself, he was uncon- 
 scious of it. He was bitterly aware only that his wife was 
 pursuing some secret chimera which had not been sub- 
 mitted to him. Apart from the indignation he felt that 
 she had chosen to deceive him, there had sprung to life 
 a memory which, strive as he might, stood forward 
 strongly potent to undo him ; the memory of a sentence 
 which her pallid lips had let forth the evening she had 
 fainted upon hearing the news of Conway's disappearance. 
 " I have been very weak and foolish," she had whispered. 
 Had she referred, in her womanly breakdown, to a mental 
 or a moral consciousness ? He could not tell. She was 
 his pearl of great price. Flawless, he was certain ; but had 
 her love of admiration carried her too far into that land 
 of insatiable ambition which is the unhappy niche of the 
 vain and frivolous ? 
 
 " I consider that you have been guilty of an impertinence, 
 Lubin," vouchsafed the Ambassador. 
 
 Lubin looked bitterly crestfallen. 
 
 " It may be the privilege of professional experts to root 
 out the doings of private individuals, but I doubt it. Mrs. 
 Markoe is a patroness of Mariotti; he is a man of rare 
 
 234
 
 CHECKMATE 
 
 talent, notwithstanding his fantastic version of life. He is 
 but one of the many charitable objects upon which the 
 Ambassadress confers her patronage with my permission" 
 
 Lubin looked piercingly back at the eyes which were 
 regarding him so resolutely and with such cutting con- 
 tempt. A gleam came into his own, the gleam of the cat 
 that fears the possible escape of her victim. 
 
 "Monsieur was then aware that the Ambassadress 
 visited Mario tti ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Since when have you constituted yourself the detective 
 of my private affairs ?' ' 
 
 " Since monsieur did me the honor to appoint me his 
 servant. A master may not be a hero to his valet. The 
 strings of justice are often complicated. I have done my 
 duty only in striving to unearth Monsieur Conway's where- 
 abouts. I shall now consider Mariotti. If Monsieur 
 1'Ambassadeur desires that I discontinue my study of the 
 main issue which threw him in my path he shall be 
 obeyed. ' ' 
 
 Lubin' s face was as bland and artless as a school-boy's. 
 
 "That is my command. The Ambassadress is in no 
 manner whatsoever concerned in the accident of Conway's 
 disappearance. Understand ! We will leave her name out 
 of the question altogether." 
 
 The Ambassador was frowning heavily. 
 
 Lubin bowed and moved backward a little towards the 
 door. 
 
 " In a week's time," said Markoe, "you may call again 
 at this hour, and give me all the information you may have 
 obtained in the interim about Mariotti." 
 
 Lubin withdrew. 
 
 Then Markoe rose heavily. He walked to his desk and 
 turned over some letters which lay there. As he did so a 
 blue envelope came to view surmounted with an unas- 
 
 235
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 suming French crest in superlatively good taste. The 
 Ambassador drew the letter from the envelope ; it had 
 been read already ; its contents considered. It was an in- 
 vitation from the proprietor of Carembourg requesting the 
 United States representative, his wife, and Mrs. Conway 
 to come and spend the week, beginning the next day, at 
 his chateau. 
 
 The turn of events was astonishing. The enemy had 
 placed himself in his hands. He had determined to de- 
 cline his hospitality, fully recognizing the generosity of 
 the man who had chosen to ignore international difficulties 
 during a period of almost intolerable annoyance. But as 
 he stood with the letter in his hand, gradually a plan formu- 
 lated, a growth which was a rank output of the past half- 
 hour's protest. He would go to Carembourg, because 
 the play was a good play, and the situation promised a 
 racy development. He would accept Lamballe's invitation, 
 as a friend instead of an usurper. He would respond as 
 the invited guest of the man who trusted him and whom 
 he trusted with that grim sense of Admiration which he was 
 every day more slowly and surely admitting. He would 
 accompany Mrs. Markoe and, of course, Mrs. Conway 
 for distraction. The two women were anxious to accept 
 Lamballe's genial hospitality. They were consumed with 
 an anxiety which would, in a faint measure, be assuaged 
 by new scenes and new faces. They needed the change. 
 
 If at one and the same time Mrs. Markoe would be un- 
 der the surveillance of her husband through daily inter- 
 course, if her moods might thus be subjected to a skilful 
 observation, this visit would accomplish the object of deter- 
 mining some interrogations in the wounded and unconsid- 
 ered brain of the provider of her charitable expenditures 
 and thereby attain the dignity of a master-stroke. 
 
 Killing two birds with one stone is often a successful 
 
 236
 
 AT CAREMBOURG 
 
 albeit a daring process. The Ambassador while deploring 
 the fact of his wife's perfidy simultaneously recognized his 
 right to exercise the prerogative of a commanding position. 
 
 At Carembourg she would be constantly on view ; an 
 honored guest, she must round the week out. There 
 would be no excuse in those seven days for mysterious 
 visits to Paris. There would be little reason for complaint. 
 Noblesse oblige. She must play her chosen part straight 
 through to the bitter end in public, not in private, before 
 an audience which contemplated her variable moods with 
 keenest attentiveness and unflagging diligence. 
 
 As the Ambassador dictated an acceptance to his secre- 
 tary his neutral eyes presented a new, curiously steadfast 
 aspect of defiance, which, before he reached Fontainebleau 
 that night, had set in coldest steel. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AT CAREMBOURG 
 
 THE Ambassador and his wife were made to feel un- 
 limited hospitality by their host from the moment they left 
 Paris, with Mrs. Conway and her maid, until they reached 
 the ivy-covered nook which flourished under the dignified 
 sobriquet of station in the dimple between the hills, upon 
 one of which stood forth, gauntly stripped of superfluous 
 detail, the chateau. 
 
 Lamballe and his servants met the little party at the 
 station in two open landaus drawn by superbly caparisoned 
 steeds. It was not long before, after a refreshing drive 
 through a rolling country which to the jaded traveller's in- 
 terested gaze seemed to unfold gently like a panorama 
 especially created for their delight, they were driven into a 
 
 23?
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 vast court-yard. Quaint old-worldiness and curious nooks 
 and crannies prepared them somewhat for the musical clang 
 of a silver-toned bell. This clamored noisily as they drove 
 across a low stone bridge barred off from the castle with a 
 portcullis which had stood guard for centuries over a moat 
 which hemmed in the chateau grounds. 
 
 Once inside the moat the chateau a battered granite 
 thing of severe outlines and intrinsic beauty loomed be- 
 fore them against a cool, green, silent background of ever- 
 lasting hills. For peacefulness and stateliness, as a retreat 
 from the bustling market-place far away to the west, 
 against whose horizon could be seen at intervals a fluctu- 
 ating trail of smoke, the only vaporous smirch against the 
 limpidest of landscapes, it was not difficult to imagine why 
 the owner of Carembourg valued his worldly paradise with 
 reason as a balm for any and every unrest. 
 
 The full glory of the view, however, only came home to 
 the little party of foreign guests later, when they had en- 
 tered and gathered together in a vast hall with wide win- 
 dows and an unobstructed view of the laughing valley 
 below. As in all feudal principalities, the village nestled in 
 the valley at the foot of the mountain ; the chateau stood 
 alone on its isolated peak at the top of the hills, majestically 
 presiding over the hazy melting sky, the capricious valley, 
 and the sentinel rows of undulating peaks. 
 
 The Carembourg valley was wide, dented in the middle 
 like a woman's breast. The fulnesses thereof rose on 
 either side. One of these was known as Wallindorf, and 
 the other as Carembourg. Carembourg consisted chiefly 
 of its castle ; Wallindorf solely of a straggling village, 
 presided over by a vine-clad promontory, which loomed 
 above it sombrely and cut off the vanishing orb of day, 
 casting long shadows across its road-ways a full half-hour 
 before the other portion of the valley had done shimmer- 
 
 238
 
 AT CAREMBOURG 
 
 ing in the sunshine. It was through the middle of this 
 shadowed portion of the valley across which fluttered the 
 long, broad line of scarlet which, like a sluggish life-stream, 
 grew wan and gray with each autumn's frosty breath, as 
 though to refute the past summer's glowing protest. Like 
 the commanding generals of two advancing armies the 
 peaks confronted one another defiantly, the long, red line, 
 like a bloody chasm, between. 
 
 This view alone might have been responsible in great 
 measure for Ferdinand Lamballe's love of country and 
 detestation of a nation which had so ruthlessly, if justly, 
 demanded her pound of flesh when her enemy was at her 
 mercy. The burning sense of chagrin, abetted by a con- 
 stant contemplation of a past defeat, fostered that suppu- 
 rating wound which under more moderate auspices might 
 have healed or been appeased. 
 
 Life at Carembourg was one of those semi-Bohemian, 
 gloriously benevolent things which are dreamt of, but 
 seldom realized. For munificent hospitality, for royal 
 benevolence, each guest his own master, president of his 
 individual suite, governor of his time and his inclination, 
 it was like a collection of little states in one household, 
 where a systematic regulation wheeled its mechanism in 
 and out noiselessly, the recipients thereof made aware of 
 but one paramount fact that they were welcome. 
 
 Markoe fished furiously the first few days with his host, 
 who escorted him like a laughing child from his galleries 
 to his wine-cellars, from his stables to his poultry-yards 
 and conservatories, to then, with a sweeping gesture, pro- 
 nounce this entire magnificent domain at his guest's dis- 
 posal. There was so much ingenuousness in this simple, 
 great-hearted man whom fate had frowned upon only to be 
 lifted up, that his bonhomie remained with Markoe more 
 and more as his prejudices drifted out. 
 
 239
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 That international complication was a tabooed subject in 
 these days ; tacitly they all ignored it, until the grave 
 problem which was undermining much of their pleasure 
 and all of their peace had been either conquered or set at 
 rest. So that the odd spectacle of the United States Am- 
 bassador fishing and hunting on the very land which a few 
 weeks before had been the sorest point of contention be- 
 tween two nations merged itself into an every-day fact, 
 instead of confirming, as it might have done under other 
 auspices, a triumph or defeat. 
 
 The Ambassadress and Mrs. Conway had been overjoyed 
 to find among Lamballe's select party Marguerite, Duchesse 
 de Launoy. She was temporarily established as chatelaine 
 in their honor. This rare woman refurbished old memories, 
 instituted diversions, and suggested amusements which 
 made the two sad guests almost forget the insidious growth 
 which was faster and faster quenching any capacity for 
 enjoyment in their sickening veins. 
 
 The kindness displayed at this time, the delicacy of feel- 
 ing expressed without being worded, the anxiety fore- 
 stalled, the shielding care administered by Lamballe and 
 the Duchesse, were elements never forgotten in after years 
 by their guests. It would have been the most natural of 
 errors to have surprised the wound, to have exposed and 
 irritated the supposition which was gradually taking shud- 
 dering secret form and substance with them all, that Con- 
 way's disappearance was to become one of those hideous, 
 too frequent features of so-called modern civilization which 
 defy any adequate translation. 
 
 But the subject, if discussed, was so tenderly handled, the 
 reaction subsequent to such unavoidable communion so deli- 
 cately felt, the underlying pursuit so dauntlessly carried on, 
 that words alone could not have conveyed the gratitude or 
 the appreciation of Conway' s mother or that of his friends. 
 
 240
 
 AT CAREMBOURG 
 
 After those two first days in which the Ambassador had, 
 with a settled melancholy in his gaze, contemplated his 
 wife's delicate face with changed eyes, an event came 
 crashing through their nest of temporary tranquillity which 
 sorely tried him. 
 
 He had gone, one morning early, with fishing parapher- 
 nalia, to meet his host, who, the night before, had been 
 called suddenly to Paris on an undivulged errand. The 
 two had agreed to unite forces, the following morning at 
 daybreak, on the border of a trout stream which tore 
 through the fastnesses of the forest, tossing, turning, 
 gleaming, gliding in all the prismatic evolutions of a re- 
 leased soul. 
 
 Burgess was still at Carembourg. He had a theory of 
 his own in regard to young Conway's whereabouts which 
 he stolidly refused to divulge. He had remained at the 
 little inn ever since the sad going out of his young 
 master, with a dogged fidelity to the place which had last 
 harbored the strong young figure, more like a dog's than 
 a man's. 
 
 Lamballe did not appear at the rendezvous. 
 
 Markoe, after an enchanting morning in which he had bat- 
 tled with the gamest trout he had ever captured, soaked with 
 the tossing current in which he had stood knee- deep, 
 wrestling with the elements, it was a wild day, with nips 
 of frost in the air, gleams of capricious sunshine, and wind 
 which roared along the valley with hoarsening vehemence, 
 finally concluded his host had been detained in Paris. 
 He fastened his captured adversaries together, disposed of 
 them in a neat little basket lined with freshest moss, which 
 he had prepared for this auspicious contingency, should it 
 materialize, which it had done with becoming subser- 
 vience to the distinction of Lamballe's guest, and, lifting 
 his rod over his shoulder, made his way towards a small 
 16 241
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 hut near the edge of the road, some distance from Carem- 
 bourg, to disentangle his fishing-tackle. It seemed to the 
 Ambassador's slightly vague calculation, as he approached 
 it, to be quite across the dividing line which had been 
 pointed out to him. Was the hut a German possession 
 or a French ? he was asking himself, when he heard voices. 
 
 He stopped an instant, instinctively lending his ear to 
 the intonations of an organ whose familiar accent arrested 
 his attention. 
 
 "Oh, tell it all to me," it pleaded, the tones were a 
 woman's, broken, tear-fraught. "All, from the begin- 
 ning, the very beginning to the end." 
 
 Then Burgess's voice with its common utterance re- 
 counted the old story patiently, not omitting one detail of 
 the journey to Carembourg, the two days' exhaustive sur- 
 vey, the sudden determination on the surveyor's part to 
 conclude their errand, and Conway's assumption of the 
 surveyor's duty. 
 
 ' ' He said nothing to lead you to suppose he would not 
 come back ?' ' the feminine voice inquired, still brokenly. 
 
 Burgess hesitated. He scraped his throat. 
 
 The Ambassador had walked forward towards the little 
 hut ; but as the two figures, which his view commanded, 
 stood with their backs turned towards him, they were, as 
 yet, unaware of his presence. 
 
 He heard Burgess say slowly, 
 
 "Yes; there wus one thing, mum, I remember after- 
 wards ; he says, ' If by any chance I should not cum back, 
 there is a telegraph blank in my valise.' He also hands 
 me at this the seal from off his watch-chain, sayin' it 
 might ' betray his identity' should he be stopped. Yer 
 see, mum, it's the Conway crest. An iron hand in a velvet 
 glove. ' ' 
 
 "Give it to me." 
 
 242
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 There was a pause here, and the trinket was handed 
 
 over. 
 
 "You think, then, he was fearful he might be - ?" 
 The Ambassador arrested his footsteps in astonished 
 
 recognition. The voice was his wife's ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 SHE stood, attired in a filmy black morning gown, her 
 pale face strained and ill-looking, absorbing the surveyor's 
 words with a look of anguished anxiety which could not be 
 gainsaid. 
 
 In her hand she held Conway's seal : an intaglio set in 
 dull gold. 
 
 " I had told him, mum, thet the French poaching laws 
 promised no quarter. He seemed to like thet. I think 
 even now he may be in the hands of some of them slippery 
 French coves, Lamballe's servants, unbeknownst to their 
 boss. These 'ere foreigners ain't like us. They has ways 
 and means that 'ud stump a government mule. I ain't 
 presumin' to criticise Mr. Markoe's business, but I dare 
 say to you, mum, thet it's my opinion thet yer French- 
 man is in the way o' pullin' the wool over yer eyes this 
 time to hide his own wickedness. ' ' 
 
 ' ' That will do, Burgess, ' ' interrupted the Ambassadress, 
 imperiously. ' ' You may go now. Say nothing to any 
 one." 
 
 Burgess's clumsy figure slunk off quietly. He did not 
 look back. If he had done so he would have seen the 
 Ambassador deliberately sling his fishing paraphernalia off 
 
 243
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 his shoulder, dispose it on a flat stone near, and stride for- 
 ward. 
 
 Mrs. Markoe was seated on a dilapidated chair, which 
 stood in the doorway of the deserted hut, rocking herself 
 to and fro with a slow monotonous movement whose meas- 
 ured nodding increased rapidly. 
 
 The trinket was between her fingers. She fingered it 
 wistfully. She drew her handkerchief from her pocket 
 now. As the Ambassador approached so near that he 
 would have had but to extend his hand to reach her shoul- 
 der she buried her face in it and shook with sobs. 
 
 It was fully ten minutes before her weeping ceased. It 
 seemed the accumulation of weeks. It was such a hope- 
 less weeping, with so quietly resigned a despair in this, 
 its confession, it seemed a mood so familiarly and fre- 
 quently coped with. It echoed of the secret misery of a 
 woman's heart which strives and struggles to conceal its 
 agony until the sluice-gates break way ; then the freshet 
 drips through, gently at first, then thicker, then stronger, 
 until all at once the warring flood bursts all bounds ; a 
 mighty power which lacerates and destroys. 
 
 When she finished she looked up, her eyes dimmed, 
 her lips swollen, her hands folding and unfolding the little 
 square of cambric, which, with its embroidered, lace-edged 
 border, was such a mean receptacle for such a grief as her 
 tears betrayed. The trinket fell to the ground. 
 
 As she lifted her swollen lids she saw her husband. 
 
 It might have been ten seconds, it might have been 
 three full minutes, before he spoke. She could not have 
 told afterwards the time words took to express that 
 wounded look of his, which for unmitigated endurance she 
 never forgot. 
 
 "You are in bitterest trouble, and you have not told 
 me!" 
 
 244
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 It was not a reproach alone. Any other interpretation 
 he might have given to this stolen interview, any suspicion 
 voiced in the tone of authority some husbands adopt as 
 their portion of the vow which has been exchanged be- 
 tween them and the woman they love at the altar, would 
 have been easier to bear or defy. It was the genuine cry 
 of a great soul which has been left unconsidered when its 
 foremost desire has been to help. 
 
 "You would not understand," she broke out huskily, 
 Still twisting the wisp-like fragment of cambric and lace be- 
 tween her fingers. 
 
 1 ' Is there anything in all the world, concerning you, 
 which could be incomprehensible to me ?' ' 
 
 ' ' Yes, ' ' she said, with a mad uplift in her over a secret 
 longing, which once, not so long ago, she had quenched 
 for his sake. ' ' There are things in us women which you 
 men may not understand. ' ' Hers was now a fierce clutch 
 for the sole ownership of that spiritual consciousness which 
 comes to all womanhood in maturity, that no one may 
 live with and for them the inner life. With it they must 
 wrestle and vanquish unaided. 
 
 At any other time the isolation of such an acknowl- 
 edgment would have disclosed its paramount deficiency. 
 To-day harrowed up, at war with herself, she clung to it des- 
 perately. 
 
 He said firmly, the light had died out of his brooding 
 eyes now, they were colorless, dead, drained of everything 
 but a prayer, which was fast threatening to undo him, 
 
 "I am willing to judge your trouble mercifully if it is 
 put before me now, at once, Kate, in all frankness. I can- 
 not answer if you keep me in the dark much longer for 
 myself." 
 
 "A threat!" 
 
 He continued as though he had not heard her, 
 
 245
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Or for you!" 
 
 It was evident his ultimatum had gone forth. 
 
 ' ' I have nothing to say. ' ' 
 
 "Nothing?" 
 
 " Next to nothing. I came here to-day to ask Mr. Bur- 
 gess if he could throw any new light upon Jack Conway's 
 absence ?' ' 
 
 ' ' He knows nothing. I would not have kept you in 
 the dark as to Burgess's ignorance had you told me of 
 your anxiety. ' ' 
 
 "You, in all probability, heard what we had to say," 
 evasively. ' ' I have had my walk for naught. ' ' 
 
 She had risen. Two fiery, crimson spots glowed on 
 either cheek. Her attitude was the old defiant, was it a 
 brazen one? Her flesh looked he caught himself ac- 
 knowledging this with a desperate feeling more than ever 
 divinely transparent. How slender she had grown ! Her 
 hand was almost emaciated. It was evident she was har- 
 boring some misery which he must, at all costs, root up. 
 
 "Your interest in Conway is kind, and conducted with 
 your customary passion for sympathy. What concerns 
 me, however, is the fact that you choose to pursue your 
 researches without my knowledge. I might be of service 
 to you." 
 
 The Ambassador had seated himself in the doorway, 
 perhaps aware that by this manoeuvre he blocked his 
 wife's egress. His strong face, its profile sharply outlined 
 against the landscape, seemed of granite. His manner 
 was chiefly composed of invulnerable patience. It also 
 evinced resolve. 
 
 " I am at a loss to understand why, in this matter as in 
 so many others, you do not allow me entire liberty to pur- 
 sue my own way ?' ' 
 
 "There are two reasons," still with that severe profile 
 246
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 set like a brown cameo against the distant horizon, the 
 words came through his handsome unbearded lips with a 
 curt emphasis which disclosed they had already been 
 thought out and decided upon. ' ' The first is that the 
 Ambassadress is not sufficiently conversant with profes- 
 sional methods to conduct herself with adequate caution. 
 The second is that her name must not be coupled with 
 Conway's in any manner whatsoever." The tone was 
 authoritative. 
 
 4 ' You leap at conclusions. ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Markoe had seated herself with forced calm. 
 
 ' ' Pardon me, I know of what I speak. You are pur- 
 suing a secret policy of your own, which I beg you will 
 not accuse me of interference must be terminated at all 
 hazards. I have come upon it, Kate, unwittingly," turn- 
 ing now, and looking quietly into his wife's gradually 
 paling face, at her trembling lips, at her drooping lids, 
 which cast so deep a shadow upon her delicate cheeks. 
 "I ask you as a comrade would his equal, under similar 
 circumstances, to be frank and open with me." 
 
 There was no answer. The Ambassador waited dully. 
 Besides a slight movement which might have revealed an 
 effort at control, or only a nervous twitch which dislocated 
 a sigh, the figure at his elbow remained motionless and 
 dumb. 
 
 Then the Ambassador rose and confronted his wife. If 
 his face had been sharply outlined before, it now had soft- 
 ened. There was nothing but profoundest sorrow in the 
 steadfast eyes, which sought in vain to command this wil- 
 ful propounder of mysteries to lift her hidden ones. 
 
 ' ' What have I ever done that you should disobey me ?' ' 
 he asked. 
 
 Then she spoke. ' ' I have not disobeyed you. You 
 ask me to reveal what I choose to consider it wiser to con- 
 
 247
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ceal, a fancy guided by my own impulse and judgment. 
 I am not a slave to be commanded, nor a servant to be 
 forced into unwilling submission. I am a woman who 
 knows her own mind, who determines her own life. What 
 is there, I demand of you in turn, so detestable in my ask- 
 ing Burgess a few idle questions ?' ' 
 
 She was looking at him defiantly. 
 
 He returned her gaze without flinching. His whole soul 
 was fainting under the consciousness that she was deceiving 
 him. 
 
 "I am not speaking of Burgess," he said, steadily. 
 
 "Of whom, then? What folly is this?" 
 
 But her already pale face had faded to a grayish hue. 
 One hand reached out blindly to steady itself against the 
 door embrasure. He had stepped down from the thresh- 
 old onto a stone-coping below. 
 
 " I am speaking of Mariotti," remarked the Ambassador. 
 
 He had made the statement to try her. The result was 
 so incommensurate with his intention that he winced visibly 
 in acute pain for her discomfiture, as she cried out, pushing 
 him back, her hands shaking as though swept by an ague, 
 her lips like pumice, her eyes strained and wide. 
 
 ' ' Mariotti ! What do you know of Mariotti ?' ' 
 
 " I know enough to tremble for your record of common 
 sense," answered the Ambassador. 
 
 His guarded speech was a mild echo of the tumult in his 
 veins. Had she not been his wife he would have laid a 
 commanding hand upon her shoulder then and there and 
 forced the truth from her. But not with this trembling, 
 cherished thing, the core of his innermost heart, the being 
 whom he cradled in his fancy, a pearl of greatest price, 
 this shaken, affrighted child who by this had turned away 
 from him and had buried her burning face in her hands. 
 
 " The fact of Mariotti' s existence was brought home to 
 
 248
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 me through a member of the detective service who is in my 
 employ," added Markoe, in a lifeless, monotonous tone. 
 ' ' With this discovery he also brought me news of your 
 collusion with that clown. The disclosure was so at 
 variance with my knowledge of my wife's sweetest dignity 
 and modesty, I denied it in toto. I had no faith, until 
 now, that it contained even a semblance of truth. Has 
 my confidence been misplaced ?' ' 
 
 ' ' You have been correctly informed. ' ' 
 
 The answer stumbled forth haltingly. She still stood 
 with her back to him, her face that exquisite, haughty, 
 incomparable face buried in two trembling hands. 
 
 " I am to believe, then ?' ' still dully. 
 
 ' ' Everything. ' ' 
 
 "You are in collusion, then, with Mariotti?" 
 
 "With Mariotti." 
 
 ' ' Apropos of Conway ?' ' 
 
 There was a distinct pause. 
 
 A flock of crows lifted themselves with a whir out of a 
 meadow opposite and flew across the blue, cawing of the 
 rain whose coming already haunted the dampening atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 The Ambassador stirred heavily. His forbidding eyes 
 drifted from the figure which had passed him, as though 
 striving to shield itself from his own too annihilating glance. 
 He contemplated stolidly the meagre grass which fringed 
 the stone coping on which he stood. It too was dying of 
 hunger. 
 
 He moved slightly, after some moments, towards that 
 being who now, to his keenest chagrin, did not, even when 
 he urged it, confront him with the defiance he had learned 
 to look upon with endurance, a mood which he would at 
 this painful moment have accepted with profoundest thank- 
 fulness. 
 
 249
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 1 ' You will not tell me of your secret ?' ' 
 
 There was no answer. Only the delicate shoulders 
 turned from him. Only the refractory slant of the grace- 
 ful head. 
 
 He sighed. 
 
 "There is but one course to pursue, a course I deplore, 
 my wife, but one which under the circumstances is but 
 just. We must demand of Mariotti what you refuse to 
 divulge, ' ' he said two seconds later, relentlessly. 
 
 There was utter silence. 
 
 Then, like a whirlwind, she turned. Her cheeks were 
 scarlet. Her eyes, blazing wells of reproach and saddest 
 confirmation of past grief. 
 
 ' ' He will not tell you, ' ' she protested, bitterly. ' ' Why ?' ' 
 in answer to her husband' s look ; ' ' because he does not 
 know. He only imagines. If you force him, if by any 
 means you strive to expedite matters, our one hope is 
 dead." 
 
 Markoe regarded her with puzzled eyes. 
 
 ' ' What hope ?' ' he demanded, instantly. 
 
 But she had checked herself. As though struggling 
 against a recurrence of her grief she waved him off. 
 
 "I want to be alone," she said. It was a moan, 
 strangled, impotent, pitiful. " I must be alone." 
 
 ' ' Let us determine this first, ' ' said her husband. 
 
 She turned and looked at him. 
 
 Endurance and patience were exhausted. With pitiless, 
 accusing eyes he stood facing her. 
 
 ' ' I have been patient, God knows ! I have overlooked 
 your whims, your protests, your equivocations, your inex- 
 plicable absences. My forbearance is at an end. Either 
 you tell me of this miserable secret secret, forsooth !" 
 furiously, with a cold, steel-like gleam in his eyes "or I 
 will seek out Mariotti and unearth it." 
 
 250
 
 DEFIANCE 
 
 " Seek him, then," she cried almost on the instant, as 
 though her strength were spent, her patience too exhausted. 
 " Seek him, then, and on your head be the result." 
 
 "Kate!" 
 
 "Oh, I am tired," she sobbed, "weary, saddened 
 through and through. You might have trusted me. ' ' 
 
 "TrutedjwK/" 
 
 ' ' You might have known I would bring it right if I 
 could, if I could." 
 
 "My wife!" 
 
 But she would not see his pleading eyes nor heed his 
 arms, which sought to hold her as she pushed past him on 
 the step. 
 
 ' ' Yes, your wife, ' ' she said. ' ' Misunderstood, com- 
 manded, threatened. I, in return, defy you !" 
 
 She had turned once more. She flung her head back 
 against the door-moulding. One foot had extended to the 
 grassy plot against the coping. 
 
 Her hand held the knob on which it fastened to throw 
 the door wider that she might pass out. 
 
 The two had changed places unconsciously in the in- 
 creasing turmoil of their present interview. 
 
 ' ' I may, then, attack Mariotti ?' ' 
 
 He was looking at her strangely, fearfully, a joy-gleam 
 welling up in his strange eyes, a wild expression of relief 
 breaking through his sternly controlled features. 
 
 ' ' Why not ?' ' she threw back over her shoulder as she 
 went out, stepping elastically across the long, uneven 
 grass. 
 
 He watched her as she sped across the meadow, and 
 then turned off short into a little path which skirted the 
 edge of the dancing stream ; a path which was made up 
 of easy stages towards the chateau grounds. 
 
 "Mariotti," he repeated aloud then, gropingly. But 
 251
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 the name conveyed in a haunting mysterious fashion 
 another personality to him, a young figure with Spanish 
 eyes, of speech vivid and picturesque, two vertical lines 
 between a pair of brows, lines which held the promise of 
 concentrative force. 
 
 An hour later, when they met at the mid-day breakfast, 
 at which Lamballe outdid himself in brilliant sallies, and 
 Condorcet, who had come up from town with his host, 
 delighted them all by reciting a verse which the Academy 
 was acclaiming as the acme of form, the Ambassador, out 
 of a tenderness which had remained unshaken and a trust 
 which was absolute, determined to await Lubin' s disclosure 
 before he carried out his threatened scheme. His wife's 
 pride was dearer to him than his own peace. 
 
 * ' It seems to me, ' ' said Lamballe to him that afternoon, 
 they were going for a drive ; they were awaiting Mrs. Con- 
 way and Mrs. Markoe on the terrace, drawing on their 
 gloves, " I fancy I have seen that crest somewhere be- 
 fore." * He was looking with puzzled intentness at a seal 
 which swung from Markoe' s watch-chain, an intaglio set 
 in dull gold, the inscription, an iron hand in a velvet glove. 
 " It is oddly familiar to me. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador glanced down. His neutral counte- 
 nance, which had aged perceptibly during the past three 
 months, broke up. 
 
 "It's Conway's crest," he said ; "poor boy !" 
 
 252
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 
 FOUR days later, in the Ambassador's private office, 
 Markoe and Lamballe were discussing fresh methods of 
 procedure, when Lubin was announced. 
 
 The pompous little man entered with a smile of barely 
 dissimulated satisfaction, coupled with an apprehensive 
 manner which demonstrated that secretly he acknowledged 
 his errand to comprehend a ticklish enigma. Recently his 
 pursuit had been obstructed by the conviction that his em- 
 ployer repudiated the maxim that all is fish that comes to 
 the detective's net. This fundamental principle, which 
 comprised foremost the Ambassadress's collusion with 
 Mariotti, had been staggered by Markoe' s unexpected atti- 
 tude. The Ambassador's assurance that he approved of 
 Mrs. Markoe' s quixotic support of a boulevard celebrity, 
 sympathizing with her passion for perpetrating philan- 
 thropy even to the extent of administering it where it 
 was undeserved, was difficult to amalgamate with Lubin' s 
 knowledge of the United States representative's habitual 
 phlegm. 
 
 Hitherto not a screw had been permitted to remain 
 loosely fastened in the structure which, obedient to every 
 law of skilful mechanism, had been built up between the 
 detective private and public force, subsequent and pre- 
 ceding the discriminating governorship of Lamballe, and 
 Markoe. The affair had been conducted with accuracy, a 
 diligence, a pertinacity which had even edified Lubin and 
 his colleagues. 
 
 Lubin reserved his private opinion that his employer 
 
 2S3
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 was as perplexed as himself at the unattended shift of 
 events, and shielded his wife by throwing away his record 
 of thoroughness, a sop to the Cerberus of wounded pro- 
 fessional vanity which his action unleashed. The detective 
 conducted his crippled campaign with the feeling of a crab 
 which, albeit set crawling the wrong way, still is positive 
 that the sea cannot be far off. 
 
 Upon the Ambassador's guarded expression of inquiry, 
 Lubin forthwith continued his peroration at the point where, 
 a week before, he had been so peremptorily checked. 
 
 " Mariotti's means of livelihood," he began, "are appar- 
 ently inexhaustible. Soit! We determined that feature con- 
 tained a mine which we would work later. Immediately 
 upon obtaining your permission, I set to work to fathom his 
 private life. He lives in a ramshackle building in the rue 
 Bon Faubourg, not far from his theatre. The neighborhood 
 is squalid, and abounds in those stenches which the poor 
 accept as their portion. I learned from the inhabitants of 
 the same tenement he occupied that the clown rents two 
 rooms, which are barred off with an iron, cage-like frame- 
 work, which he ordered constructed when hiring his living 
 place ; the windows are barred, also, with iron rods. I 
 sought to obtain an entrance to his apartment, first as a 
 tenant who wished to well examine the building before per- 
 mitting himself to rent lodgings in it, and, second, as a sani- 
 tary inspector. In vain. Mariotti's two rooms are his 
 castle : his actual whereabouts as slippery as his profession. 
 Either he closely guards some one or something mysterious 
 in that space ; or he shields his own interests with the fury 
 of a starving dog. He is vastly unpopular with the other 
 inmates because of a dull, indescribable noise within his 
 walls which the police decline to investigate ; over this 
 miscarriage of justice the neighborhood waxes eloquent 
 and uproariously indignant upon every occasion proffered. 
 
 254
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 
 The supposition is that Mariotti does not live alone ; but 
 whether his companion is an animal or a human being is an 
 open question. I finally succeeded in surprising a portion 
 of his secret." 
 
 Lubin checked himself sharply, and asked Markoe if he 
 would kindly provide a stenographer to take down his 
 affidavit ? 
 
 The Ambassador complied. In ten minutes the detec- 
 tive's narrative was copied by a lightning calculator of 
 hieroglyphics, who thus nonchalantly set the seal on 
 Mariotti' s fate with a disinterestedness which was above 
 praise. 
 
 ' ' I spent two days shadowing the quarter, slipping from 
 out doors into the tenement, and back again. At twi- 
 light the tenants swarmed into the streets for air and 
 carousing. At dawn they slept, their doors and windows 
 swung wide. I attired myself in the trousers and blouse 
 of a working-man, patched, spotted, unobtrusive. I would 
 creep towards that barred door of Mariotti' s every time I 
 discovered the opportunity to listen with my ear to the 
 key-hole. I heard nothing. I had almost concluded that 
 the inexplicable noise might be an effervescence of the 
 neighborhood's absinthe-soaked intellect, when I learned 
 that his fellow- tenants had not imagined it. It was only 
 too true. I say I spent a good portion of my time with 
 my ear at the key-hole, expectant of being annihilated 
 momentarily if Mariotti should come upon me from the 
 street. He is a desperate rascal, and doubtless applies 
 desperate remedies. The quarter stinks of crime and 
 excess. I dogged his footsteps more than once, while 
 studying his meanderings attentively. They consisted of 
 his sneakingly crawling to and from the theatre in time for 
 the performances, one in the afternoon, the other in the 
 evening. At times he remained at the theatre day and 
 
 255
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 night. At others, two or three times a day, he would 
 swerve around the corner on a dog-trot, with foam at the 
 corners of his mouth, like a hound with a fever consuming 
 his inside. Day before yesterday I shadowed him from 
 the street up the staircase. The hall-way is a black laby- 
 rinth of tortuous passages charged with receptacles and 
 boxes ; the floor gray with dirt and refuse ; the stench 
 abominable. It is almost pitch dark as one enters. The 
 hallways, mostly closed, are but means of egress from the 
 miserable rooms to the street. I feared each moment the 
 clown would alter his intention ; but he was so intent upon 
 the uppermost thought in his mind that he neglected to 
 take his customary precaution to shut the street door. I 
 crept through behind him. What was my surprise when 
 he reached the top, he was five floors up, I following so 
 closely upon his felt-slippered heels that he might have 
 heard my breathing, to see him, instead of entering the two 
 rooms which belonged to him, lay his ear to the key-hole, 
 his own key-hole, exactly as I had done a day before, and 
 listen, breathlessly. His face, upon which the light from a 
 neighboring open door shone slantwise, was livid. Just now 
 there came to our strained ears a moan, a shuddering, pite- 
 ous wail, which seemed to me the ungoverned expression of 
 some drugged animal ; a sort of strangled, feeble cry, which 
 sounded expectant of a beating down, a cuff, or a kick. It 
 was extraordinary the effect that sound had upon Mariotti ! 
 Instead of shuddering mentally and physically as I was do- 
 ing, hoping passionately that it would never be my lot again 
 to surprise so acute an accent of untold misery, he drew him- 
 self up with a sigh of relief and stood rigid. The blood, 
 which surged up slowly, put out the greenish pallor of his 
 face. He was nibbling his finger-nails reflectively. As he 
 stood thus the sound welled up louder ; a subdued, sombre 
 note, a moaning that was almost human. The effect upon 
 
 256
 
 ON THE TRAIL 
 
 Mariotti was this time more curious than the last. He 
 laughed ! Just a parting of his cracked lips, and a silent 
 convulsion that shook his whole frame. He lifted his fist 
 and shook it at the door triumphantly, or rather at the 
 grating, an iron one with a lock and key-hole. I saw him 
 creep down into the street. I followed him. It was high 
 noon. Already a crowd was assembling on the sidewalk 
 outside the theatre. The doors were to open at half-past 
 one o'clock." 
 
 Lamballe had been listening intently, with an expression 
 of growing wonder and astonishment. 
 
 "Is he alluding to my erstwhile pet harlequin, the wily 
 speculator in emotions, Mariotti?" he interrupted here, 
 turning towards Markoe. 
 
 The Ambassador nodded. 
 
 ' ' Tiens, ' ' vouchsafed Lamballe. ' ' They are, then, one 
 and the same ? The rascal is enjoying a period of remark- 
 able prosperity, I read." 
 
 "Prosperity," confirmed Lubin, ironically. "In my 
 opinion, for rascality, pressed down and running over, 
 recommend me Mariotti. The clown has attained a per- 
 fection in villany which is only matched by the variegated 
 vices he steals from others with which to adorn himself." 
 
 1 ' Mariotti, ' ' mused Lamballe aloud, as though the 
 name called up memories charged with merriment not un- 
 mixed with awe ; he flung his head back against the 
 fauteuil in which he reclined ; he brought the forefingers 
 of his long, blue-veined hands together into a point ; he 
 dreamily contemplated a shadow which swelled and dimin- 
 ished against the ceiling, the shadow of a swinging blind 
 with shuttered bars of light. "A scoundrel who for in- 
 ventiveness would outwit the devil himself. In our last 
 mutual folly his avarice predominated to such an extent 
 that I have since entirely renounced the pleasure of listen- 
 17 2 57
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ing to his double-edged translation of men and things. 
 Know him ? Why, he has a veritable flair for intrigue. 
 'Twas he who let me in for that affair at the Duchesse's." 
 
 "What affair ?" The voice was the Ambassador's. 
 
 Lamballe glanced at him in surprise. 
 
 "It is not possible," he ejaculated, " that your praise- 
 worthy devotion to official duties precluded you from hear- 
 ing of the main event of the Duchesse de Launoy's ball 
 last June, the evening of the tenth ?' ' 
 
 "I did not attend it." 
 
 In a concise, brilliant fashion, Lamballe pictured the 
 event. 
 
 " We left no portion of our plan unstudied," he asserted. 
 "It never occurred to me, until too late, that Mariotti's 
 vanity might get the better of his ingenuity. We had 
 agreed that he should go in at twelve o'clock to exercise 
 all his talent performing odd pranks ; I was to arrive later, 
 supposedly Mariotti himself, after he had left, with the 
 maskers reaching out vainly for him. The intrigue was 
 double-sided with opportunity. Imagine my chagrin when, 
 upon my appearance at the foot of the grand staircase, my 
 eyes it seemed almost an optical delusion encompassed 
 the fact of my double audaciously awaiting me at the land- 
 ing above ! I realized then and there that the intrigue had 
 lost its savor. It was being played for the clown, not for 
 me. Now that Mariotti's vanity had predominated, my 
 subterfuge was devoid of its principal ingredient, the 
 .enigma was solved then and there, and our plot revealed. 
 I managed to hide my chagrin in the Duchesse's presence ; 
 but the next morning I confronted the rascal who had thus 
 defied me. I found Mariotti in a state bordering on frenzy. 
 He swore that the night in question he had explicitly 
 obeyed orders. That he quitted the Duchesse's at mid- 
 night, after having reduced the throng to crying for him 
 
 258
 
 ON THfi TRAIL 
 
 like a child for the moon. He claimed that the other 
 Mariotti was an unknown person, a rival, perhaps, who had 
 sought to undermine my confidence in this one of my 
 well-recognized proteges. Of course, the fellow lied." 
 
 ' ' He has as many lives as a cat, and has mastered as 
 many falsehoods as would equip Cupid's quiver," swore 
 Lubin, violently. " His last act would be to tell the truth, 
 but only if some nefarious project might be advanced by it." 
 
 "He broke his contract," continued Lamballe, con- 
 temptuously, ' ' after having obtained from me an exorbitant 
 sum which he swore was the price of his silence. He 
 ordered a copy of his own costume made for me, and de- 
 manded a fabulous sum for his services in my behalf, 
 which I paid without demurring. The principal feature of 
 the evening fell flat because of his duplicity. He lost my 
 patronage. He will find it difficult to replace it. I had 
 made a study of that clown. I consider him an honest 
 avower of the iniquity most men elect to deny. I have 
 had many a laugh over his frank expression of ungodliness. 
 Bland confession of wickedness comes to him as naturally 
 as the blush to a maiden's cheek. It never occurred to 
 him to lie, as regarded his admiration of his rank unworth. 
 It was a revelation. I cannot picture him prosperous. 
 He stole with unadulterated cunning, but he always dis- 
 closed his hand. He abhorred anything systematic ; even 
 vice. He is too erratic to be anything but irresponsible." 
 
 The Ambassador had been an absorbed listener to Lam- 
 balle' s black and white sketch, which was delivered crisply, 
 and in his customary trenchant style. Mariotti was slowly 
 attaining the dignity of a dashing operator in his calcula- 
 tion. Secretly he nurtured a dread which was rolling up 
 thicker and faster hourly. What possible contingency had 
 set agog so illicit a communion as the trapeze performer's 
 and his wife's? 
 
 259
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 As he rolled this inquiry under his mental palate, he 
 looked up, and caught the reflection of a curious gleam in 
 Lubin' s narrow, cunning eyes. He became furiously aware 
 that the detective was making the same mental calculation 
 as himself. 
 
 ' ' We are waiting for a new chapter in your story, 
 Lubin, ' ' he remarked with unction. ' ' Your next move, 
 no doubt, will be to effect an entrance into that den of 
 iniquity which you surprised day before yesterday?" 
 There was an underlying irony in his tone. The Latin 
 love of a dramatic situation had been evident to him all 
 through this interview. He was prepared to subtract from 
 it the odor of villany and metaphor, and, when alone, 
 straighten the main plan into proportion. Facts were 
 what he wanted ; not sensationalism. 
 
 Lubin had been standing, leaning most of his weight 
 heavily on one foot. He now changed his attitude, as 
 though preparing to expostulate. He regarded his inter- 
 locutor with a contemplative air, which seemed foreign to 
 his manner of pompous authority. 
 
 ' ' I have made that move, ' ' he finally managed to 
 ejaculate with difficulty. He evidently dreaded arousing 
 his employer's cool refutal of his own paramount convic- 
 tion. His eyelids fell. As they did so, and his lips 
 moved, preparatory to continuing, there carne a galvanic 
 shock over his body, which vanished as suddenly, and left 
 him standing levelly on his two feet, with glittering orbs 
 confronting the Ambassador. The shock had come as 
 Lubin' s eyes fell on Conway's seal, which swung to and 
 fro upon the Ambassador's watch-chain as he had turned 
 to urge the detective to pursue his narrative. 
 
 The Ambassador's eyes followed Lubin' s after that first 
 involuntary start. " What did you discover?" he inquired, 
 blandly. He lifted the trinket idly between his thumb and 
 
 260
 
 CLOSING IN 
 
 forefinger and deliberately fondled it, as he mentally regis- 
 tered the detective's visible emotion. 
 
 "That seal!" cried Lubin, sharply, spontaneously. 
 ' ' Dieu des Dieux, monsieur 1' Ambassadeur, d' ou 1' avez- 
 vous obtenu ?' ' 
 
 "It's Conway's. How does that concern you?" 
 
 The detective for one brief instant seemed to lose his 
 breath. His countenance recorded five changes in a second. 
 Apprehension, consternation, confusion, relief, and, finally, 
 determination. 
 
 " If that seal is Monsieur Conway's for sure, sir, there's 
 no time to be lost, ' ' he finally managed to let forth in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 CLOSING IN 
 
 "WHAT do you mean?" 
 
 ' ' Soyez raisonnable, prof esseur, ' ' interpolated Lamballe, 
 ironically. 
 
 Both he and the Ambassador had risen and approached 
 the little detective with blanched faces. 
 
 "I won't take long, sir," vouchsafed Lubin, after a 
 pause, in which he had fallen heavily into a chair and asked 
 for a glass of water. The three had changed places. He 
 was master now ; the two distinguished parties, to the com- 
 manding attitude he had assumed, his willing slaves. The 
 detective's limbs were trembling under him. His smug 
 countenance gradually, as his parched lips let forth their 
 story, acquired a look of pity and vengeance combined 
 which was almost ludicrous. 
 
 " Those dumb cries haunted me for one whole night, a 
 261
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 night in which my spirit seemed floating in a vortex of 
 beating, and bleating piteous appeals for help. I was in 
 a place made up of a space in which humans and animals 
 were warring pitilessly with one another. I could hear the 
 dull sickening thud of the falling blows ; the strangled 
 whinings of the victims of brute cruelty. I thought I had 
 gone mad when I awoke, and the thing still pervaded my 
 cringing thoughts. I made for Mariotti's dingy quarters 
 like a mouse for its hole. I had determined to unearth 
 that mystery, if I died in the attempt. The neighborhood 
 was deserted that day, happily. I crawled up the stairs, 
 and through the skylight on to the roof unmolested. I 
 had made up my mind to enter through the window. I 
 entered, squeezing my body through the apertures, of 
 which there were two, set wide apart. The stench in the 
 room was foul, so foul I caught my breath. 
 
 " On the bed there was a pile of dirty sheets, which at 
 first I thought served to cover the squalid frame. But 
 now, as I looked steadily, it disclosed the outlines of a 
 human form. Sickeningly I became conscious that I was 
 contemplating the body of a man. The form was rigid ; 
 the eyes were half open." 
 
 Lubin checked himself, and looked straight at the Am- 
 bassador. Markoe swallowed something which obstructed 
 his breathing apparatus, and made a sign for him to con- 
 tinue. His features were gradually becoming impregnated 
 with the same stamp of fought-against conviction which 
 the detective's countenance so frankly revealed. 
 
 Lamballe burst forth in a hushed, broken voice, ' ' Mais 
 de"pchez done, mon ami. Qu' est-ce que vous voulez dire?' ' 
 
 ' ' The figure as I crept up to it was so emaciated ; a 
 mass of skin and bone ; dead, I thought. Oh, the poor, 
 helpless hands and the sunken cheeks and the unkempt 
 hair! It lay quite still. " 
 
 262
 
 CLOSING IN 
 
 There was a dull silence. Lubin's voice, breaking 
 through it a moment later, made them all start. 
 
 ' ' I moved away, after looking about me fearfully and 
 taking note of every feature of the room. Before the door 
 stood a heavy chest of drawers. Mariotti was evidently 
 accustomed to making his egress through the door of an 
 adjoining room. If the body on the bed were his victim, 
 the creature who gave vent to those horrible dumb cries, 
 the wall evidently dulled them to that tenement's occu- 
 pants, but not to the people in the neighboring house. . . . 
 There is a feature of my story which I considered of small 
 importance up to a few moments since, but which I now 
 propose to relate." 
 
 Lamballe stood behind the Ambassador by this time, his 
 eyes intently fastened on his sternly-controlled face. His 
 own was unreadable ; but as the story unfolded, one of his 
 fine, blue-veined hands crept almost involuntarily from the 
 back of the Ambassador's fauteuil to his shoulder and rested 
 there. It almost seemed as if he wished to forestall press- 
 ing him back into his seat did he make too impetuous a 
 move towards rising. 
 
 "As I had stood skulking almost in Mariotti' s pocket, 
 the day I had surprised him listening and grinning over his 
 victim's moans, his hand, an olive-colored thing, the hand of 
 an artist rather than that of a workman, but still with broken 
 finger-nails and callous spots along the palms, stretched 
 out to steady him as he leaned forward and grasped the 
 railing. I was crouched down so near it, to keep out of 
 his sight, that I could have bitten it. On the little finger 
 of that hand was a ring, an intaglio set in dullest gold. 
 The insignia was the same as you carry there, monsieur, on 
 your watch-chain ; an iron hand in a velvet glove." 
 
 Lamballe started forward. ' ' That is where I have seen 
 it," he cried, excitedly ; " on Mariotti !" 
 
 263
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 The three stood regarding one another in dismay, not 
 unmixed with a slowly growing horror. 
 
 ' ' It must have been with Mariotti all the time to have 
 offered us a complete unravelling of this mystery. On his 
 head be the result, ' ' vouchsafed Lamballe, after about two 
 minutes had passed, in which they all read the possible 
 solution to Conway's disappearance, shudderingly. 
 
 Markoe steadied one palm against the clawed arm of his 
 fauteuil until the white skin looked like a drum-head across 
 its frame. 
 
 " Continue," he said, dully. He held the seal again be- 
 tween his fingers, this time tenderly. He heard a glad, 
 eager young voice saying, 
 
 "Stephen, you have offered me the biggest thing you 
 know of. I mean to obey your orders as grandly as the 
 strength may be given me. It is the opportunity of my 
 life !' ' How could he reconcile this version of his ardent 
 young apostle with his wife's defiance, and her secret col- 
 lusion with Mariotti ? The more he thought, the stronger 
 was his sense of dignity outraged. 
 
 "Before I left the room," continued Lubin, fearfully, 
 ' ' I tiptoed once more towards the figure on the bed. Its 
 eyes, filmed like the eyes of a dead fish, were half open ; 
 the lids were arrested by the action of some powerful drug. 
 I bent and listened to his heart. It was beating faintly. 
 The hair was black, so were the eyes. The limbs were 
 clad in a pair of muddy boots ; the mud looked half a 
 year old. I had no clue to his identity ; but I was none 
 the less convinced that here was foul play. Now, knowing 
 what I know," with deadly import, " there is but one con- 
 clusion to draw. Mariotti' s dupe, the creature who wails 
 night and day, the victim of the clown's diabolical treat- 
 ment, is none other than " 
 
 "Than?" 
 
 264
 
 CLOSING IN 
 
 ' ' The man we seek. Conway. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador's hand relaxed its hold of the arm of 
 his fauteuil. His lids lifted. From under them the steel 
 orbs looked out neutrally. Lamballe, after a loud ejacula- 
 tion, turned his back and walked towards the window. 
 The stenographer's pen flew across the page before him 
 with a scraping, monotonous sound which set all their 
 nerves on edge. 
 
 ' ' And we sit here like cowards while even now that 
 scoundrel may be brutalizing his victim with blows, or 
 even worse," finally broke out the Ambassador's voice, 
 vibrantly. 
 
 ' ' Doucement, doucement, ' ' protested Lubin. "It is 
 only by this that we have recognized the part we must 
 play. In France the villain could turn on us, and clap us 
 into prison, if by one slip we proved ourselves his slaves 
 instead of his masters. We must arrest him for the con- 
 fiscation of stolen goods. Thus the affair will be kept 
 within bounds. Monsieur 1'Ambassadeur should we 
 loudly accuse might bring about him that very harvest of 
 scandal which all along he has cautioned me to avoid. 
 Once Mariotti is in our hands, we will turn on the screws. 
 Not before." 
 
 Markoe all at once became curiously conscious of a novel 
 sensation. He felt as though he were stretched on a rack, 
 being steadily dismembered. He made a sign to his secre- 
 tary. He rose and left the room. Then he turned towards 
 Lamballe with his familiar inscrutable expression. 
 
 His face was a trifle paler than usual, which, considering 
 that in the past few seconds he had determined to give rein 
 to a search which might forever defeat his soul's happiness, 
 was not unnatural. 
 
 Lubin grinned expectantly. ' ' Have I your permission 
 to command two of our picked officers in citizen's clothes ?" 
 
 265
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 he said, addressing Lamballe. ' ' We might find it feasible 
 to call at Mariotti's house after we have arrested him, pour 
 prendre une tasse de the" !" 
 
 Lamballe acquiesced. 
 
 "There is no time to be lost," muttered Lubin, ear- 
 nestly, as he lifted his hat to go, after inclining profoundly. 
 " If that poor creature in the bed is alive to-day, it is be- 
 cause Providence is on our side instead of Mariotti's !" 
 
 Making a reverent gesture, as he inserted this wedge, 
 with an air of profoundest religious fervor, a gesture which 
 disclosed that peculiar hirsute arrangement, with its urchin 
 profile and its saint-like back, in Lubin' s salute to a Higher 
 Power, the brave little man triumphantly withdrew. 
 
 Events after all were moving his way, and the screw was 
 turning in the Ambassador's superficial doctrine. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 
 
 Two men applied for a loge, situated as closely as pos- 
 sible to the foot-lights, at the ticket-office of a flourishing 
 theatre, rejoicing under the management of a famous star, 
 at two o'clock the same afternoon. Obtaining this, they 
 entered quietly, keeping in the back of the loge, and be- 
 came masters of the situation. Their seats overlooked 
 every particular of the clown's make-up, his attitudes, and 
 his facial contortions. One of them was a beardless, im- 
 perturbable looking individual, attired in a pepper-and-salt 
 business suit. The other was a Parisian of distinction. 
 The two simultaneously fastened their attention upon 
 Mariotti. 
 
 266
 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 
 
 The clown was in his element. Like a fish to water, he 
 took to the sensation of warm appreciation which mounted 
 like incense towards his inflated soul. A war-horse snif- 
 fing gunpowder might have no less strained every muscle 
 towards responding to the tightened bit than did this 
 frankly ardent child of nature under the delighted eyes 
 and smiles of his worshippers. Hitherto comedy had been 
 his sphere, but a singular coincidence to-day brought 
 tragedy in his way, and he rose to it with the facile impu- 
 dence of a many-sided soul which seeks, in Divine law as 
 well as human, gratuitous sustenance. 
 
 A woman was seated in a conspicuous seat in the second 
 tier, with a wide, congested face surmounting a huge rolling 
 body. Mere Richard was a familiar figure in the neighbor- 
 hood. She was the proprietress of a fish-stand on the boule- 
 vard exterieur. Her libations had been so manifold that the 
 rich blood of her youth had mulled into a purplish decla- 
 ration of ignoble abuse. 
 
 The day was warm, the atmosphere vitiated. Mere 
 Richard had breakfasted with kindred souls. She was 
 topping off her repast with a visit to her favorite theatre, 
 to witness the triumphs of her old favorite, Mariotti. Her 
 loud guffaws, in response to the clown's side-splitting sal- 
 lies, had turned the highly elated attention of the alert 
 audience in her direction more than once. She seemed 
 radiantly alive to the proud honor of knowing a man who 
 had brought the world to his feet. Her eyes were blood- 
 shot ; her ragged, unkempt hair was dishevelled. She 
 leaned heavily forward. Between her gasps of approval 
 and her extravagant bursts of applause, she could be heard 
 all over the lower part of the house, breathing stertorously. 
 
 Mariotti had been exhibiting a fantastic version of gayety. 
 Song had succeeded dance,' and gymnastic proficiency had 
 been followed by audacity. He stood now, his right limb 
 
 267
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 unhipped from the knee up, the toe pointed downward, as 
 he recited a vicious monologue, which for long had been 
 the delight of the boulevards. His wicked eyes roved 
 with a look of conscious power over the uplifted faces of 
 his rapt audience. His words tumbled forth in a pic- 
 turesque harangue, a medley of philosophy and cynicism. 
 He was strung to the highest pitch of vainglory, when 
 Mere Richard suddenly gave vent to a hollow, hoarse 
 shriek, half groan, half sigh, and fell forward against the 
 railing of her loge. 
 
 In an instant all was confusion. The woman had been 
 stricken with apoplexy. 
 
 The spectators had been cheering unstintedly, ex- 
 changing nudges and asides, when the sound of that awful 
 shriek and the falling of a ponderous body put out their 
 mirth. 
 
 Mariotti stopped short. His right limb uncurled from 
 his left, where it had twisted into a curious corkscrew 
 shape, the toe pointed downwards to index his song's pur- 
 port. He glanced involuntarily, with a perceptible whiten- 
 ing of the rims of his ears, the rest of his face was painted 
 grotesquely, towards that portion of the theatre from 
 which the ominous sound had proceeded. He saw Mere 
 Richard doubled forward, her head wedged between the 
 railing and the fauteuil, her face purple, her eyes, haunting, 
 congested balls of gleaming membrane dead ! 
 
 With a shudder the clown doffed his trained mood like 
 an old garment. His olive-hued hands clawed out a pro- 
 test, spasmodically. He leaped to a corner of the stage, 
 after one ghoulish moment in which the dead and the living 
 eyes had confronted one another silently, that watchful, 
 frightened audience between, and placed a finger on an 
 electric button still looking back over his shoulder, as 
 though spell-bound, at those fixed, strange orbs with their 
 
 268
 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 
 
 horrible stare which seemed to see something far beyond 
 him. With a mighty effort he withdrew his own, and fol- 
 lowed their gaze. Destiny ! What had those eyes told 
 him of warning ? He seemed, too, clutched in an awful 
 thraldom. He had read a plain story of the future which 
 awaits all mankind. 
 
 Furiously he shook off this unbidden message with a 
 maddened expression of abject terror. Twisting towards 
 the footlights, his back well set against that silent spectator, 
 who, once so merry, refused now to laugh or applaud, or 
 even acknowledge him, he strung his nerves up to making 
 from the shadow of death a means of grace. His eyes 
 moistened with what his admirers described later as 
 genuine grief. 
 
 " Mes amis," he whispered gently, in broken-hearted 
 tones, as though taking tenderly that eagerly responsive 
 throng into the holy of holies of his distracted peace, 
 ' ' Mere Richard is no more. There is a woman who has 
 played no small part in her day. She mothered many a 
 gamin who, without her help, would have sunk into igno- 
 miny, instead of rising, as I have done," with a smirk 
 of satisfaction, ' ' to the pinnacle of cosmopolitan glory. 
 Fame, she ever preached to me, its chosen apostle, is the 
 golden apple which swings in sight of true genius. I weep 
 for the going out of so actual a philosopher as this fish- 
 wife, who has died happy witnessing the edifying spectacle 
 of an old friend at the apex of recognition." 
 
 And verily, as the great coarse body of the deceased 
 woman was lifted and borne away by two stalwart indi- 
 viduals from the Theatre Mariotti to the Morgue, Mariotti, 
 for the first time in public, seemed to weep. " In the 
 midst of life we are uncertain !' ' sobbed he, in a choked 
 voice, his shoulders shaking hysterically, his handkerchief 
 carried, in a perfect imitation of unmitigated woe, to his 
 
 269
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 sly eyes, orbs which were hinting daringly and delightedly, 
 even now, the consciousness that his last escapade was his 
 best. Tragedy had, too, its property value he was learning in 
 this terrible half hour in which his nerves seemed to have 
 almost gotten beyond his control, and his very vitals had 
 shrunk back appalled at a truth his forced sophistry might 
 not gainsay. 
 
 After five minutes, in which his childlike expression of 
 resigned sorrow had brought him nearer to the hearts of 
 his audience than all the music and the gayety of his 
 hitherto fantastic repertoire, Mariotti reverted to his former 
 mood. In the twinkling of an eye, death, the inevitable, 
 was forgotten, and life, apres Mariotti, was reborn. He 
 left no personage unattacked in his barefaced irreverence. 
 Either the tragedy recently enacted had fired his genius 
 anew, or it had provided a novel outlet to his already 
 seething fancy. With his right hand gracefully laid across 
 his hip, his left drawing curious imaginary circles in the 
 air, he stood, nonchalantly reeling off a vivid account of 
 the past week's doings, typical and topical, which for in- 
 ventive faculty was bewildering as well as just. 
 
 Thus, inwardly delighted at this, a new evidence of un- 
 paralleled power, he ceased casting those restless glances 
 across his shoulder, from which in the past dread seconds 
 he had found it almost impossible to rid himself. 
 
 He did not see three figures glide on to the stage behind 
 him from the wings, one of them a small, unctuous per- 
 sonage with a modest smile and downcast eyes, the back 
 of a sanctimonious prelate, and the profile of an urchin. 
 
 The three newcomers crept up close behind him and stood 
 motionless. It was a curious spectacle. The Gascon, in his 
 fantastic costume, gracefully emphasizing his humorous 
 remarks with gestures as swift and mercurial as his moods. 
 The three figures, like bronze statues, eloquently silent. 
 
 270
 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 
 
 A voice speaks from the depths of a hitherto apparently 
 unoccupied loge to the left of the footlights, close to the 
 stage. It is a ringing organ, charged with an underlying 
 note of command which is peculiarly striking. It fastens 
 the attention of that responsive audience. 
 
 As it salutes the air metallically, Mariotti becomes 
 rigid. 
 
 ' ' Mariotti, king of experts and prince of good things, 
 tell us, thy slaves, the purport of that circlet which binds 
 the first finger of thy right hand? Thou preachest the 
 maxim of eternal mirth. It is but meet that thou shouldst 
 as much reveal the secret of the amulet thou sportest so 
 openly. Tell us the meaning of your badge of beauty ?' ' 
 
 The clown turned ashen. He shook like an aspen leaf. 
 Fumblingly he sought to tear the ring off his shaking 
 hand ; but, either through awkwardness or because the 
 joints of his finger had swelled since he had donned it, 
 the mark of his thieving precepts refused to renounce its 
 place. He gazed about him wildly in search of means of 
 egress as the mocking tones continued, but an officer in 
 citizen's clothes stood at the back of the stage nonchal- 
 antly, and another blocked the sortie at the left wing, and 
 yet another at the right. Mariotti' s defiant muscles 
 dwindled. The rogue knew this portion of his programme 
 was not of his instigation. 
 
 But his audience, attuned to surprises, wildly applauded 
 the authoritative voice which, with unflinching resolve, 
 carried its message straight home. 
 
 "Thou wilt not? Oh, unwary Mariotti ! Oh, clown ! 
 Oh, unjust expounder of a gayety thou thyself, at the first 
 touch of gloom, renouncest ! What knowest thou now 
 that we may not know ? What secret concealest thou that 
 other men may not, too, believe ? Art thou made of fire 
 and brimstone, instead of flesh and blood, that thou darest 
 
 271
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 thus defy ? Fie, Mariotti ! We know thy blood to be the 
 blood of kings, thy flesh the rosy, palpitating flesh of the 
 world's spoiled child, thy spirit the noble spirit which com- 
 mands allegiance from the highest to the lowest. Disclose, 
 then, thy true identity. We would know you through and 
 through. Thou exposest day by day a new side of thy 
 character. Tell us, then, in this hour, of those adorn- 
 ments which decorate thy beautiful body. The ring. Tell 
 us of the ring." 
 
 Then the clown, with a wild glare, a forefend of almost 
 delirious dread, flung out his fantastic story of the hollow 
 theory upon which his fame was strung. 
 
 ' ' The ring proclaims my destiny to rule, ' ' he cried. 
 
 He was interrupted by the caterwaulings of the delighted 
 spectators. 
 
 " See you the iron hand in the velvet glove," he 
 screamed, shaking the finger with its shining circlet 
 furiously at the direction from which the voice came. 
 "The emblem is my emblem. I, Mariotti, the clown, 
 have thus my foot upon the world's neck ; that world to 
 which lesser men cringe, by force of which smaller men 
 swerve from the beaten track of achievement. I play my 
 own scale up the fructifying gamut of my days. I attune 
 all joy to one key. That key is Mariotti." 
 
 But the unseen voice interrupted him. 
 
 "Why not the iron hand alone?" it questioned ironi- 
 cally. ' ' The velvet glove is worn but to conceal thy 
 true purpose, to dismay. The disguise of a coward, for- 
 sooth, which clothes itself in a thin disguise instead of 
 stripping itself nude to let its muscles play their part 
 unhampered. That ring is not thine own, oh, great and 
 glorious clown, or thou hadst had a better answer ready. 
 Whose, then, is it?" 
 
 Mariotti' s features were by this undergoing a twitching 
 
 272
 
 AT THE THEATRE MARIOTTI 
 
 which looked as though set in motion by an electric 
 battery. 
 
 "Loose it, clown," mocked the hidden voice. 
 
 "Who art thou?" cried Mariotti. 
 
 1 ' I am myself. Thou canst not say as much. ' ' 
 
 It was an accusation. The sinning soul which could 
 have stood before that multitude and declared itself not 
 guilty must have had nerves of iron and muscles of steel. 
 Mariotti, in the past hour, during his unwilling encounter 
 with death, had lost his feverish grip. 
 
 The three officers here came forward from up the stage 
 to the footlights, and stood guard over the stage hero. 
 
 The audience was elate with manifest delight. This, no 
 doubt, was a novelty dished up in original fashion, their 
 afternoon's special treat. It bore the hall-mark. There 
 was the dash and dare-devilry in it which signified 
 Mariotti. 
 
 ' ' The day is done, ' ' chanted the hidden voice, sombrely. 
 ' ' Night comes to Mariotti. ' ' 
 
 Two hands were laid upon the clown's shoulders. He 
 felt the stinging sensation of cold iron against his flesh. 
 Slowly the curtain fell. 
 
 The astonished spectators pushed their way into the 
 street. Their mirth, a forced thing at best, rank with 
 insatiate desire for ribaldry, died hard in their strained 
 throats. They felt dimly as though they had been con- 
 fronted with a charnelhouse instead of their promised 
 meed of illimitable glee. They pushed and jostled one 
 another, expostulating. 
 
 ' ' A clown who scoffs at his world, indeed, ' ' cried one. 
 "Where were he, ask I, without that same world? 
 Carrion !" 
 
 "His footstool," sneered another. If the world is 
 Mariotti' s footstool, who, then, is Mariotti?" 
 is 273
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "The seal of death is on that playhouse," muttered 
 the butcher, crossing himself fearfully, and bidding his wife 
 and children do likewise. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 FOUND 
 
 BEHIND the footlights and the drop-curtain, with its 
 green dog running alongside a pink river, an officer stood 
 grimly superintending the annihilation of a depraved indi- 
 vidual who had whetted and glutted a short, sweet fame. 
 A minion of the law firmly fastened a pair of handcuffs 
 about two olive-skinned wrists, which squirmed vainly in 
 their frantic efforts to be free. Another struggled fiercely 
 with a curling serpentine form which was gliding along the 
 ground, striving to effect a wriggling escape from the coils 
 of a stout rope which was being bound fast to ankles and 
 waist. 
 
 Lubin reflectively turned Conway's ring over and over 
 with a look of intense enjoyment. He had drawn it, after 
 one bold struggle, from the clown's finger. 
 
 "I arrest you," said he, solemnly, in response to the 
 whining cries for mercy, the screaming threats of revenge, 
 the curses horrible and augmenting with which the fetid air 
 seemed charged, "in the name of the French Republic, 
 for the confiscation of stolen goods." 
 
 All the answer he received was another foul-mouthed 
 prayer for mercy from the dethroned idol at his feet. His 
 broken teeth bit the dust. The gods of merriment, which 
 the famous harlequin had worshipped for weeks as his 
 special fetich, had deserted their most faithful acolyte in 
 his direst need. 
 
 274
 
 FOUND 
 
 "Our accomplished friend will accompany us to his 
 home, perhaps?" suggested Lubin, with an I-told-you-so 
 grin towards a couple of officers who now joined them. 
 "I have orders to instigate a search for stolen goods in 
 his apartment. ' ' 
 
 At this the miserable scoundrel on the ground gave vent 
 to a shrill shriek. He swore that for poverty, for sim- 
 plicity, for emptiness, his living place represented the ideal 
 shanty of the wanderer and the indigent. 
 
 ' ' Be silent, Mariotti, ' ' cried Lamballe, finally, laying his 
 hand on the squirming rascal's shoulder with a look of 
 pity. ' ' The law which you have so long defied must be 
 obeyed. ' ' 
 
 And now ensued a scene which, for moral contrariety, 
 defies description. 
 
 The clown manifested himself ready to comply with his 
 oppressor's wish. The little company started forth, Ma- 
 riotti piteously beseeching that he be led through the more 
 obscure by-ways, instead of onto the boulevards, where his 
 downfall would be immediately snatched up as food by the 
 loafers who fed upon like discomfiture as their natural 
 prey. In compliance with this, Lubin evinced an igno- 
 rance, concerning the tortuous alley-ways which gave onto 
 the modern forum, which was highly instructive, and 
 revealed the cunning of a master hand. He had dealt 
 with pitch too long not to have become in a measure 
 defiled. He, it was evident, proposed to extract his own 
 revenge then and there from the victim of his skill. The 
 great Lubin, who knew Paris as well and better than the 
 urchin who grows, a ragged flower, fed at its markets, lost 
 his way. To him and him alone could be attributed the 
 grim irony of more than once falling upon the main high- 
 way, clutching a pallid, affrighted thing by the wrists and 
 shoulders, with rolling eyes and foaming lips, and curses 
 
 275
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 breathed in many tongues, who looked upon the crowd 
 that gathered with delighted faces with the turbid, fearful 
 gaze of a maddened soul in torment. The mob grew 
 apace. It finally followed the clown to his tenement, scoff- 
 ing at his pitiful attempts to be released. 
 
 Twice, when Mariotti strove to break through the ranks, 
 a friendly hand might have aided him, the multitude was 
 increasing minute by minute. A clear head, a light pair 
 of heels, and he could have still escaped by force of the 
 slipperiness of his methods, which were ever unantici- 
 pated ; but the tide had turned. A new idol had already 
 come their way, a novelty, whereas the charlatan's notoriety 
 was already half a year old. 
 
 Mariotti' s reverse was now flying from lip to lip. His 
 collapse was indubitable. Two masons joined the ranks 
 who shook their fists at him, and demanded loudly their 
 pay. Some haggard women glided from an alley, where 
 they had been waiting to waylay the clown, and told their 
 piteous story of his cruelty in denying them their wages, 
 as he passed. 
 
 He finally brought up, the howling urchins at his heels, 
 the masons vowing vengeance, the women lending their 
 hoarse, unsexed voices to the general pandemonium, before 
 the tenement where unkempt females nursed their progeny 
 on the sidewalks whose gutters were gorged with rotten 
 fruit and loose paper ends. Gnome-built men, with bleary 
 eyes, slunk to and fro with empty beer-bottles clutched in 
 their dingy fists. 
 
 Lubin halted. His cunning eyes at a glance foresaw 
 that the crowd's attention must be diverted. He gave 
 an order to one of his aids in a low voice and disap- 
 peared. 
 
 The officer turned and promised the mob, if it would be 
 patient, a view of Mariotti as he was led to prison. It 
 
 276
 
 FOUND 
 
 stood sullenly awaiting its time to add its mite to this mel- 
 ancholy spectacle, when the time came for its famous idol's 
 crowning disgrace. 
 
 Lamballe and Markoe had walked from the theatre, and 
 by this had climbed the stairs of the tenement. 
 
 Mariotti's barred door was locked. With the help of a 
 neighboring locksmith they entered. 
 
 Mariotti was dragged, shrieking horribly, up the five 
 flights, and pitched like a sack of merchandise into the 
 middle of the foul room. 
 
 The window its thick iron bars let in but dimly the sun- 
 light was flung wide. 
 
 On the bed lay stretched a motionless thing, which the 
 three men approached, with bated breath, on tiptoe. 
 
 Lamballe bent over it pitifully, motioning Markoe to 
 keep back. Swiftly, with a great start which he strove 
 vainly to control, he reached forward, and dragged the 
 covering off the rigid young body that lay there. 
 
 There had been no mistake. The Spanish eyes, filmed 
 still, shone large and full. The strong young figure 
 stretched motionless. 
 
 It was Conway ; but so emaciated, so hollow-cheeked, 
 the heavy lids half open, the faint breath coming at uneven 
 intervals between the parted teeth, his own mother had 
 hardly recognized him. 
 
 They forced some brandy between the teeth, and piled 
 pillows beneath his head. The temples were so hollow 
 that one could have laid one's fist in them. They pulled 
 the relaxed head forward ; it had fallen back, the jaws 
 almost unlocked. There came, after a little, a dull mur- 
 mur through the cracked lips. 
 
 His hands, those strong young hands which Markoe 
 remembered as so perfectly cared for, and shapely, hung 
 limp. The nails looked as though they had been growing 
 
 277
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 for a month. The body, though rigid, seemed on the eve 
 of utter collapse. So fearful were the awe-stricken watchers 
 of altogether checking the heart's action, they could only 
 stand in guarded inertia around the bed, while Lamballe 
 withdrew to despatch a messenger for a physician. 
 
 Mariotti crouched on the floor, groaning and whining. 
 He had reached out one long, sinuous hand, and had 
 grasped a broken beer-bottle, with a furious look of mad- 
 dened rage towards his captors, which for unmitigated 
 venom made them shudder. He now sat heaped up in the 
 darkest corner of the room, his knees huddled to his chin, 
 chattering like a monkey in broken indistinguishable sen- 
 tences. 
 
 The physician arrived and cleared the room at once. 
 Only Markoe was left standing at the bedside as he made 
 his examination. 
 
 The sheets were foul with vermin. 
 
 He turned with a short sigh finally, and asked Markoe 
 if he were related to the patient. 
 
 Upon Markoe' s silent acquiescence he hesitated. 
 
 4 ' I cannot say, ' ' he began, in an authoritative manner, 
 ' ' exactly when we may expect the worst, but I have no 
 doubt it must come. Your friend has been subjected to a 
 slow course of starvation for weeks. This alone he might 
 have withstood, he evidently was possessed of a magnifi- 
 cent constitution, but with it he has been the victim of a 
 course of poisoning which is nothing less than demoniacal. 
 He has consumed arsenic enough to kill three men, and 
 has been fed on morphine and cocaine to dull his faculties. 
 If he by any chance should recover, his reasoning powers 
 will be forever shattered. ' ' 
 
 Markoe stood silent. If in his heart he vowed ven- 
 geance not a muscle of his impenetrable face betrayed the 
 fact 
 
 278
 
 "THE QUICKER HE is REMOVED THE BETTER"
 
 FOUND 
 
 The physician made a deprecating gesture. 
 
 ' ' He seems a fine young fellow, ' ' he said. 
 
 " He was a fine young fellow," vouchsafed the Ambas- 
 sador. Unconsciously he had made use of the past tense 
 instead of the present indicative. It seemed to register an 
 infidelity to the poor lad who, so pitifully, lay there, a 
 victim of circumstances. 
 
 ' ' The quicker he is removed the better. He must have 
 food, light, air, cleanliness, but I cannot extend you any 
 hope. The poisons employed were deadly, inasmuch as 
 they serve to dry up the blood in the brain. The cells, 
 thus starved of their requisite food, dwindle, and, if left too 
 long, reject sustenance when proffered them. The mind 
 will be irretrievably dwarfed if the patient lives, which is 
 doubtful." 
 
 The physician took up his hat, after having extricated a 
 small phial from his pocket, a few drops from which he 
 forced between Conway's clinched teeth. At the Ambas- 
 sador's request, after having named the amount of his fee, 
 which was handed him, he withdrew. 
 
 Markoe crossed the room to the chattering thing in the 
 corner. His soul sickened under the slow, sure compre- 
 hension of what Conway must have suffered, in durance 
 vile, pending the twelve miserable weeks which he had 
 spent being tortured to death, impotent to acquire either 
 faculty or aid. 
 
 ' ' Tell me, you fiend incarnate, ' ' he muttered, touching 
 the wriggling rascal on the floor with the toe of his boot, 
 he heard Lubin giving instructions to procure a litter, con- 
 sequent upon the doctor's order, "what unseen power 
 threw that innocent individual into your cruel hands ?' ' 
 
 But Mariotti still twisted convulsively, and rolled his 
 eyes toward the ceiling, muttering Ave Maria, and in- 
 voking the powers of hell to slay his tormentors. 
 
 279
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Markoe drew a small, steel-barrelled instrument from his 
 hip pocket, and pointed it deliberately at the figure grovel- 
 ling on the floor. It gave vent to a shrill shriek, and 
 strove to beat him off with shaking hands. 
 
 "We'll have you up before the Juge de la Paix be- 
 fore you are an hour older, you cur," he muttered, in 
 deadly tones, "but I propose to have some things out 
 with you myself. Speak, or I won't answer for my 
 acts !" 
 
 "He stole from me," screamed Mariotti ; "he robbed 
 me of my clothes. 'Twas he," he muttered, with a 
 hideous imprecation, "who turned from me my noblest 
 patron. ' ' 
 
 " Your noblest patron's name?" demanded the Ambas- 
 sador, imperatively, still with that fierce, stirred look in his 
 customarily imperturbable countenance. 
 
 "Lamballe." 
 
 " Lie upon lie, you bundle of iniquity," returned Lam- 
 balle, after disposing the rigid, emaciated body of Conway 
 upon the litter brought for the purpose. He approached 
 Mariotti with two police officers, who roughly dragged 
 him to his feet, shuddering and whimpering. ' ' Conway 
 had no more to do with me than I with him. What 
 would you insinuate?" 
 
 The clown cursed hotly, with a look of cunning which 
 defied still his captors. He might be on the verge of a 
 revelation which would guillotine him ; all the more he 
 thirsted for revenge. 
 
 "I go to prison," he said. " Soit ! But still I hold a 
 secret in this brain," striking his forehead harshly, leaving 
 in the violent process a dull, purplish mark against the 
 soiled skin, "for which I ask my price." 
 
 "We will find means to extract that secret from you," 
 grimly returned the individual with the steel-barrelled in- 
 
 280
 
 FOUND 
 
 strument, which, by now, he had slipped back into place 
 over his hip pocket. 
 
 Mariotti faced the brave eyes with an oblique expression 
 in his long, narrow ones. " If it had not been for her, ' ' he 
 cried, dramatically, with a leer, ' ' I had not known the 
 value of yonder pimping idiot, ' ' pointing to the motionless 
 body of Conway, which was now being conveyed from the 
 room. 
 
 The rogue was satisfied. 
 
 He saw a look of unpremeditated repugnance flash 
 across the countenance of the United States representa- 
 tive. It came and vanished in a trice ; but Mariotti knew 
 his random shot had struck home. 
 
 With a shrug he stopped struggling, gave himself up, 
 and the two officers drew him across the threshold. As 
 he vanished, he glanced across his shoulder at the figure 
 of the neutral-expressioned man who from the first had im- 
 planted in the rogue's seething breast a desire to sting and 
 wound. He felt an innate distaste for inanimate flesh. 
 
 He had thrown his dart with unfaltering skill. No one 
 knew better than this student of other men's foibles that 
 to be tortured by a doubt is to travel the pace that kills. 
 
 That doubt was the Ambassador's. 
 
 The scoundrel let forth three words as he left the room. 
 Lubin, who stood aside, mockingly salaaming to let him 
 pass, the litter with its piteous burden was ahead, heard 
 it. So did Lamballe, as he picked up his hat from the 
 floor where it had fallen, as he stooped low over the mis- 
 erable cot. So did the man who was attacked by it in his 
 profoundest part, his self-respect. 
 
 " Cherchez la femme," hissed Mariotti. 
 
 281
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 BETWEEN DARK AND DAYLIGHT 
 
 THE low-lived insinuation left a bruise, in spite of the 
 fact that its victim's make-up was attuned to so lofty a key 
 that in any less painful hour Mariotti's wicked attempt to 
 discomfit his powerful adversary would have passed by 
 him almost unnoticed. Almost, had it concerned himself 
 alone ; but it did not concern himself alone. It related to 
 the sacredest hidden chamber of his shaken faith. 
 
 The Ambassador, with a quick flush which seared his 
 impenetrable face like a burn, drew one imperceptible sigh, 
 and stood still, as though stabbed to the heart. 
 
 Lamballe stopped a moment, alert, on the threshold. 
 He looked over his shoulder at the quiet, unassuming 
 figure. His trained gift of sentiment dared what a colder 
 nature's sense of delicacy might have precluded. His 
 gaze had construed, with an acknowledgment of acute 
 sympathy, the expression of aversion which, for a second, 
 made Markoe's countenance alive and vivid. One hand 
 had been raised to adjust his hat. At the same time it hid 
 the furrowed lines in his scowling forehead. 
 
 The Parisian's eyes confronted a pair of grey ones, 
 which at this moment more than ever, in their palpable 
 endeavor to express nothing, were colorless. Lamballe' s 
 were brilliant black orbs containing a crosswise glint criti- 
 cized by his enemies as sharp as a knife, and as cruel ; by 
 his friends, wells of luminous benevolence. That cross- 
 wise gleam seemed to broaden at this moment. It ex- 
 tended its effulgence across his kind face. 
 
 " The scoundrel's role is played through," he remarked, 
 
 282
 
 BETWEEN DARK AND DAYLIGHT 
 
 lightly ; had Markoe taken pains to study his tone he 
 would have perceived it singularly devoid of the sympathy 
 which was the root of its expression. The Parisian knew 
 that in moments of intense suffering hidden anguish is in- 
 creased fourfold if it be alluded to by a tactless outsider 
 who voices what is considered by the sufferer as unutter- 
 able. Markoe remembered once, long after, that Lam- 
 balle's voice had, at this hour of unpremeditated mental 
 confusion, sounded like a chime of silver bells. 
 
 "I can see it all," cried Lamballe, bringing his lids 
 closely together, as though at the moment instituting a 
 microscopic investigation of a seemingly insignificant item. 
 
 ' ' All what ?' ' The voice was spent. 
 
 ' ' Mariotti' s little game. ' ' He paused, and smiled slowly 
 here ; the clown's piercing shrieks could be heard mount- 
 ing the stairs, down which he was so mercilessly being 
 dragged to his doom, begging for pity. ' ' One would 
 think that rascal recognized Paris detective methods too 
 well to attempt blackmail." 
 
 "Blackmail!" 
 
 Lamballe stooped. With no perceptible call for com- 
 mitting so unnecessary a piece of disinterested orderliness, 
 he lifted a broken bottle from the floor and placed it upon 
 a neighboring shelf. As he performed this office, he 
 naturally turned his back upon the Ambassador. He thus 
 escaped the knowledge that his listener's face underwent a 
 marked change of expression. Was it relief or bewilder- 
 ment? 
 
 "Clear," continued the Frenchman, colloquially, "as 
 the nose on my face, and that, ' ' laughingly, ' ' is clear as 
 day. Mariotti by some mysterious means has secured 
 Madame Markoe' s trust. Oh !" at the Ambassador's in- 
 voluntary movement of surprise, "I, too, have perceived 
 the kind lady's absorption. I have seen her emotion and 
 
 283
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 uncontrollable anxiety. How could I help it, since we 
 are friends? But if she, from some exalted sense which 
 we beings of a coarser organism may not conjecture, has 
 chosen to keep her secret to herself, how infamous will be 
 her punishment. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What punishment ?' ' 
 
 1 ' You cannot foresee ? Why, the very fact of her col- 
 lusion with Mariotti is the key to the scoundrel's slow, in- 
 sidious method of torture. He has promised to bring 
 your friend to her. She, trusting him, believed the clown 
 to have this in his power. He, perceiving her innocence, 
 has played upon it, and demanded extortionate sums while 
 bidding her be patient that he might put through, in some 
 mysterious fashion, his ends. She has played into his 
 hands. It has almost killed the delicate woman. The 
 rascal has literally held the whip over her head. He has 
 exacted secrecy, knowing that, once his nefarious methods 
 were disclosed, his house of cards would fall to the ground. 
 Her faith has been her undoing. Mariotti, assured of it, 
 has killed his victim, because he through her has been 
 acknowledged to represent an apparently inexhaustible 
 value. He may not have meant to kill him, but such has 
 been, or will be, the end. What will be the unutterable 
 self-accusation of the Ambassadress when she learns the 
 whole miserable truth ?' ' 
 
 He received no answer. He cast a look of keen sym- 
 pathy in Markoe's direction. Then he stepped forth and 
 closed the door. 
 
 Five minutes later the Ambassador followed the little 
 cortege down into the street, where a hushed and threaten- 
 ing crowd was straining its neck and eyes, gazing at an 
 ambulance into which the litter, with its piteous burden, 
 was lifted tenderly. Some of the women had burst into 
 tears. One old hag lifted her scraggy arms, and called 
 
 284
 
 BETWEEN DARK AND DAYLIGHT 
 
 down blessings on the form which lay so pathetically out- 
 lined under its covering, a green cloth obtained from a 
 neighboring billiard saloon. It left the parted lips and 
 the sunken half-closed eyes exposed. 
 
 The ambulance drove away. 
 
 Then a limp and formless, protesting, pallid thing with 
 livid cheeks and gibbering jaws, was hustled forward, its 
 handcuffs rattling, into a wagon which stood, formidably 
 equipped with officers, near the curbstone. 
 
 As it was forced forward, it turned with a curse, and fast- 
 ened its dark, broken fangs in Lubin's hand. The detective 
 gripped the trapeze performer's shoulder. The mob broke 
 out into the fiercest oaths and denunciations. Some 
 urchins on the roof of a neighboring tenement began 
 pitching stones at the affrighted prisoner. With extreme 
 difficulty the police conveyed their shrieking, slippery cus- 
 tomer from the house to the street, and from the curbstone 
 hustled him into the cart. He finally made his way through 
 a horde of vindictive faces and threatening fists. As 
 Lubin, six officers, and Mariotti drove off, the air was 
 rent with a piercing cry, bestial in its ungoverned fury. 
 This cry voiced one word. The word was ' ' Assassin !' ' 
 
 There was no doubt the Cour de Cassation would ring 
 with more of the clown's iniquities than even the present 
 occasion warranted. 
 
 Lamballe turned with an alert expression towards the 
 silent figure which stood at his elbow. 
 
 "The train leaves for Carembourg at four twenty," he 
 ejaculated, abruptly. ' ' We have no time to lose. We 
 must break the news to them." 
 
 The Ambassador drew his watch from his vest pocket, 
 and confirmed Lamballe' s time-keeper. A slowly gather- 
 ing look of determination excluded everything else from 
 his jaded countenance. 
 
 285
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He lifted one finger, and hailed a passing fiacre. 
 
 "I go to the hospital to attend Convvay, ' ' he vouch- 
 safed, dryly. 
 
 " But the Ambassadress?" protested Lamballe, aghast. 
 
 The Ambassador was guilty of a faintly ironical smile. 
 
 "Pardon me," he explained, "but you are arguing 
 from the French standpoint. Our women are educated to 
 fight their battles out alone. ' ' 
 
 ' ' But when she knows the truth, when she realizes that 
 what she has so earnestly striven to advance she has only 
 been instrumental in bringing to a fatal development, when 
 she learns that all her secrecy has been in vain, that she, 
 and she altogether is responsible for this unlocked for con- 
 tretemps ?' ' 
 
 "The Ambassadress is a brave woman," returned the 
 Ambassador, as he stepped into the fiacre, still with that 
 inscrutable smile on his clean-cut features. 
 
 It pervaded them as he lifted his hat to Lamballe, and 
 drove off. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 THE two women had been seated that afternoon, chat- 
 ting with Marguerite de Launoy. She had left them 
 finally, with their web-like fancy work. Now the spell of 
 acknowledged impotence had fallen upon them. Their ob- 
 serving hostess had striven, for many hours, to dispel it. 
 She had understood with the tenderest sympathy the sus- 
 pense which left them each so markedly more and more 
 wan each day. Startling pallor and lack of appetite told, 
 more eloquently than words, their own sad story of white 
 
 286
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 nights, wherein mother and friend tossed on their pillows, 
 revolving in their strained, dazed brains, the eternal prob- 
 lem which would not be solved. 
 
 Blackest silence settled down, silence devoid of elasticity 
 or responsiveness. Kate Markoe let her embroidery fall 
 onto her knees ; its indifferent accomplishment had signi- 
 fied but a subterfuge after all. She looked painfully frail ; 
 her delicate skin was more than ever transparent ; her 
 glorious eyes seemed haunting wells of conscious defeat. 
 
 Mrs. Conway looked across at her at last. Their mutual 
 glance of hopelessness told its own piteous story. 
 
 "It was twelve weeks yesterday," whispered the 
 mother, with a choked sigh that was infinitely touching. 
 "I have prayed, Kate; prayed and prayed. Oh, why 
 does not God answer when we ask, as we ask, at once, 
 instead of forcing us to wait. His own good time? 
 Patient ! I have been patient. I feel as though there is 
 no possibility I have not tried to foresee, and fortify myself 
 against. Now, when I wake from that painful broken 
 sleep which assails me at odd hours, I find myself endeav- 
 oring to beat off God's will." 
 
 She whispered the last words fearfully, looking about her 
 cautiously that no one might surprise so unholy a confes- 
 sion. 
 
 In answer the Ambassadress leaned forward, her lips 
 working pitifully, to lay one slim hand close against her 
 friend's delicate wrist. The wailing voice continued ; 
 touch does little to bring together the gaping lips of a 
 widening wound like this. 
 
 " I used to have words words I taught my boy once 
 about 'Thy will be done.' I can't say them any more, 
 Kate; I cannot say them, try as I may," through her 
 clinched teeth. 
 
 "Oh, hush!" 
 
 287
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 But Mrs. Conway, for once, was too intent upon her 
 own grief to heed that the sharp protest was stimulated by 
 a desire to ward off, at any cost, this rebuke which em- 
 bodied so unconsciously cutting a retaliation. 
 
 ' ' Don' t you tell me to ' hush. ' I must speak. You 
 cannot know what it is to have had a child, and to lose 
 him." 
 
 "No." 
 
 The low response was fraught with pain ; it seemed a 
 sullen acknowledgment that woman's most cherished priv- 
 ilege was not to be for the delicate creature who, her chin 
 in her scooped palms, her two miserable, hopeless eyes 
 looking into vacancy, sat still. 
 
 ' ' To have felt his baby arms about your neck, his baby 
 lips against your bosom ; to have been his sustenance, the 
 breath of his nostrils, his life-stream, and then to have him 
 grow away from you. Motherhood ! Is there any trial on 
 earth equal to the calvary comprised in that term ? We 
 nourish, we sustain, we give our flesh and blood, and then 
 we thrust them from us are we noble and unselfish ? that 
 they may 'grow' ! Wifehood is nothing, nothing, I tell 
 you, in comparison," fiercely. 
 
 Kate Markoe had bowed her head lower now ; the tears 
 were falling unchecked onto the lace under her drooping 
 chin. 
 
 ' ' Men think that their love, forsooth, is enough ; that 
 we women can gratify our thirst for perpetual evidence of 
 affection off a perfunctory caress, or a burning, exacting 
 emphasis of possession. They are mistaken. What we 
 women need, to minister unto, is helplessness ; what our 
 nature craves is the clinging, tender little arms, the tire- 
 less, sweet, milk-hungry lips. The rest is never satisfying 
 enough. I wonder often why the need of little children to 
 gratify the hunger in women's hearts has not strewn the 
 
 288
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 world with graven images of unrest named Unappeased 
 Motherhood. We desire the hourly consciousness that 
 our loved ones cannot live without us ; not the happen so 
 of a magnetic current which merges into another of its 
 species, and grows together in one channel, and names it- 
 self 'affinity,' but the element of self-sacrifice, which 
 comes with birth, and labor, and ecstatic avowal of 
 maternity, women's natural and voluntary martyrdom. 
 Oh, we are martyrs whichever way we look at our poor, 
 one-sided lives, ' ' hysterically, ' ' martyrs, martyrs. ' ' 
 
 They both fell to sobbing unstintedly. 
 
 They did not perceive a masculine figure advance from 
 between two slender Ionic pillars at the end of the long 
 hall whose windows faced the laughing valley. Along 
 that valley the shadows had told their summer idyl of a 
 slow twilight. It now lay sleeping softly under the purple 
 moonlight, a wide shaft of plum-colored velvet barred with 
 sheeny stripes, silver fringed. They threw the trees out, 
 above them, into feathery tossing, bottle-green bouquets of 
 indefinite draughtsmanship. 
 
 There had been broken voices outside for some moments 
 which, at first rising and falling in the emotion coincident 
 with an excited relation, had finally subdued into bitterest 
 weeping. Afterwards had come a woman's figure at the 
 doorway, holding apart two sumptuous pieces of tapestry 
 which cut off the downstairs living-room from the main 
 hall. This figure was Marguerite de Launoy's regal, 
 trembling one, with its wide, far-seeing gaze, and its 
 patient eyes. It now stood in one corner, fearful, expec- 
 tant, its hands clasped before it as though in prayer. 
 
 Lamballe came reluctantly forward, manfully intent upon 
 
 performing in the tenderest fashion the saddest mission of 
 
 his life. He thought, sorrowfully, that it was a curious 
 
 coincidence which had made it his portion to take from the 
 
 19 289
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 woman he still fondly loved her hope of peace, present 
 and to come. 
 
 How should he do it ? 
 
 To arrive at this inopportune moment when the mother's 
 heart was almost breaking, in the hour when the wife's 
 confession of her voluntary martyrdom, pent up for years, 
 had at last burst its barriers in that exceeding bitter cry 
 which Lamballe, to his consternation, had surprised unwit- 
 tingly ! She had need of loving arms, and pleading lips ; 
 the candid, ardent utterance of a boyish young thing 
 carrying the glory of her own vanished youth in his vivid 
 face, not himself, the saddened, submissive version of 
 middle-aged philosophy which men name wisdom, and 
 know to be but tolerance. 
 
 She was the love of his life, and he must break her 
 heart ! 
 
 She looked up. Her eyes were blinded with tears ; her 
 poor unsought-for lips, which now trembled undisguisedly 
 over having sought in her child's incipient caresses the 
 legitimate passion they had missed, were pallid and drawn. 
 Choking sighs came through. 
 
 As she glanced up she saw Lamballe. Very unaffect- 
 edly, and quite simply, she wiped away her tears. His 
 tall figure came forward, out of the gloom, stumbling a 
 trifle. His expressive face was stamped with a new sor- 
 row, which she instantly perceived. His manner expressed 
 a hesitancy which was foreign to Mrs. Conway's knowledge 
 of him. She trembled. Her heart shook with an awful 
 dread. 
 
 She sprang to her feet and ran forward, extending help- 
 lessly her shaking, exquisite hands. 
 
 ' ' You have been absent two days !' ' she cried. ' ' What 
 news ?' ' 
 
 All at once Lamballe found he had lost the power of 
 
 290
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 speech. He remembered afterwards that strange sensation 
 was the offshoot of an anguished look she had given him, 
 which cut through him at that agitated moment like a 
 knife. Then, seeing his vain effort to speak, she made a 
 commanding gesture, and walked forward. At another 
 time her act would have been criticised justly as unwar- 
 rantably familiar. In this, it signified self-forgetfulness. 
 
 She did the only thing it occurred to her to do, doffing 
 conventionality in the process with that simplicity which 
 attacks all great natures at supreme moments. In the 
 doing she forgot that once, many years ago, she had been 
 guilty of the same sweet, unstudied impulse under totally 
 different auspices : at that time, as in this, indifferent to 
 the interpretation which might be put upon her spontaneity. 
 
 The thought only flashed over them both, simultane- 
 ously, a moment later when their eyes met. 
 
 It had been the day he had asked her to be his wife. 
 She had answered his question, through which his heart 
 beats panted out their story of self-depreciation, at once, 
 in order he had seized the fact of such untold sweetness 
 with avidity then, as he remembered it now that he 
 should be put out of pain ! 
 
 She had said instantly, her fair face lifted in radiant joy, 
 her maidenly acknowledgment at its apogee of self-reveal- 
 ment, " How can I help it ?" 
 
 Lamballe now felt suddenly translated into that curious 
 state which all human souls frequent once or twice in 
 life, of having lived through this era before, at a time 
 when he might have profited off its richness, and had 
 not. 
 
 Mrs. Conway stood with one hand on each of his shoul- 
 ders, looking in all confidence and faith into the face of the 
 man who up to now she considered had most wantonly 
 betrayed her faith. The tears stood, arrested crystal 
 
 291
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 pearls, upon her cheeks ; her pure eyes blazed out the 
 same peremptory command which a lioness might show in 
 a reach-out claw-grip for her cub. 
 
 " What news?" she repeated, with a little shake. Then, 
 as he did not speak, a sudden awful pallor fell across her 
 face, putting out its faint rose tint, thinning its contour, 
 and leaving the indelible impress of a dreaded catastrophe. 
 
 "He is dead?" she asked, dully. The tones seemed 
 husks. The fair face was chiselled in stone. 
 
 Lamballe's heart beat quickly. She was striving, his 
 great live mind encompassed the thought with a mighty 
 throb, she was endeavoring now, as then, to help him tell 
 his story in the way which would hurt him the least. 
 Faithful to her own unselfish nature, in spite of the 
 mutually inexplicable past, her spirit had risen to the 
 height of having spared him pain once again. She had 
 said it for him to save him from suffering ! 
 
 The question of either her duplicity, or unfaith, was 
 stilled for evermore. Only the old love stood in good stead 
 as he caught both her hands in his, and, pressing them 
 down against his shoulders very gently, as he did so said, 
 
 "Madeleine, your boy has been found ; but ill, very ill. 
 If you are able you must go to him, but " 
 
 " Oh, say it quickly. I am stronger now." 
 
 The ' ' now' ' leaped up involuntarily ; a reveille sound- 
 ing the morning. It registered a soul's release from cap- 
 tivity. For her, too, the years, in this complex moment, 
 had vanished. 
 
 They two stood self-confessed. Oh, ecstacy unparalleled 
 and untold ! Fate had brought them soul to soul in her 
 deepest sorrow, as they had stood once, knee-deep in 
 youth and hope, clasped each to each, a golden love- 
 fraught day ! 
 
 Shame might have accompanied another woman's ac- 
 
 292
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 knowledgment of fulfilment under such circumstances. 
 Madeleine Conway's nature was too honest to deny that, 
 even within the radius of her son's possible going out, she 
 could realize his loss might be born with comparative calm, 
 if Ferdinand Lamballe stood at her side, to support her in 
 her bitterest hour. For grief is twofold when undivided. 
 
 " He has been found," he said at last. In spite of him- 
 self his voice gushed forth richly. He had clasped her 
 hands in his two, caressingly ; he was taking a deep 
 draught from those blue eyes for which he had hun- 
 gered so long. They were lifted now, giving him back 
 glance for glance all her woman's heart revealed. They 
 stood so close he could see the iris widen and darken. 
 "We fear," he added, slowly, "that if he does recover 
 his reason it may be irretrievably shattered." If there 
 had been some way to say the cruel words more gently 
 than this, he thought, that way had not been pointed out 
 to him. 
 
 Mrs. Conway trembled visibly. Lamballe stood with 
 the dear hands in his ; they were gradually turning icy 
 cold. 
 
 "His 'reason'?" 
 
 The owner of Carembourg changed his position with a 
 start. 
 
 The voice was not Mrs. Conway's ; neither did it come 
 from the imposing figure on the threshold that had stood 
 all this while silently watching the little scene, which had 
 held so unconscious and unexpected a circumstance. 
 
 The voice was Mrs. Markoe's. 
 
 She stood now, an ashen thing, made, it seemed to 
 Lamballe' s acute perception, of a thin white flame, which 
 licked up his meaning, and burned it out more quickly 
 than he could form the syllables. 
 
 ' ' His reason ! You mean that he is mad ?' ' 
 
 293
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Her question seemed to be voicing itself without her 
 own volition through her parched lips. 
 
 "He has been found," Lamballe explained very dis- 
 tinctly, he thought the sooner the agony was over, the 
 quicker would come the Ambassadress's adjustment of 
 self-control; possibly, poor thing! "in the house of a 
 clown, who is known to all Paris as ' Mariotti. ' We have 
 not learned as yet when or by what means the clown ob- 
 tained knowledge of his victim's identity, or how he lured 
 him to his foul nest. We only have surprised the fact that 
 Conway has been subjected to a course of slow poisoning 
 and brutal treatment for weeks. ' ' 
 
 He stopped a moment, hopeful that the Ambassadress 
 might think to collect herself ! 
 
 Of this she seemed for the moment incapable. She was 
 gazing at him with an expression of self-accusing appre- 
 hension, which increased rapidly, as his words confirmed 
 her awful dread that she, and she alone, had been instru- 
 mental in bringing the affair to its present hideous develop- 
 ment. Oh, the pity of it, the untold pity of the fact that 
 wherein she had meant to aid and expedite, she had only 
 warped and ruined ! 
 
 "For some reason," continued Lamballe swiftly, "he 
 has been kept there. I presume, as a sort of hostage. 
 As soon as Mariotti discovered his identity he turned on 
 the screws with some intermediary. ' ' 
 
 He wished she would turn away those piteous eyes. 
 
 "The clown, no doubt, intended ultimately to play the 
 part of the stage brigand, and offer to release his victim, alive 
 or dead, upon the payment of a certain ransom. It is, I fear, 
 too late. If there had not been some one in collusion with 
 him in the past few weeks, from whom he has extracted 
 funds irregularly, exacting secrecy, and promising fulfil- 
 ment in the natural course of events, Conway would have 
 
 294
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 been given up long since, as his oppressor would not have 
 been provided with means to carry out his dramatic 
 satire. ' ' 
 
 " How has he been ' tortured' ?" colorlessly. She had 
 one hand across her eyes. The other was twisting the 
 piece of embroidery she held in her shaking fingers tight 
 about them. 
 
 ' ' I think it is wiser and kinder, ' ' very pitifully, ' ' if that 
 portion of my story remains unembellished. " 
 
 Lamballe had stated the dry facts as concisely as his tact 
 and delicacy allowed him. He was profoundly regretful at 
 the sad part so unwittingly played in this long drama by 
 the woman before him. He had remained as yet undecided 
 as to the measure to be meted out to her concerning Con- 
 way's downfall. World-wise, he seldom deducted unless 
 called upon to do so ; then he exercised the utmost sym- 
 pathy and forbearance of criticism. He considered the 
 Ambassador's wife an exquisite creature, with more than 
 the customary feminine lack of judgment. He thought it 
 quite likely that she had been induced to aid Mariotti in 
 order to secure more quickly her own peace of mind ; for 
 he had taken into consideration long ere this the painful 
 attitude in which Markoe and his wife stood regarding 
 their helper, who had sacrificed himself in the international 
 cause, out of a natural exuberance which seemed the over- 
 flow of the young American temperament. 
 
 But as he looked at the figure, gradually stiffening be- 
 fore him into what appeared an image of grey clay, he 
 dimly wondered if, after all, that expression of aversion he 
 had seen gradually spreading over the Ambassador's 
 neutral countenance had been entirely unwarranted. 
 Those eyes, the only living things in the beautiful stony 
 face, were certainly self-denunciative. The hands had 
 fallen to her sides. Her embroidery lay at her feet. Her 
 
 295
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 gown, with its trimmings of turquoise and jet, rattled a 
 little under the restless tapping of her foot. 
 
 Her stiffened lips let forth one word, after her shamed 
 eyes had wandered across Mrs. Conway, who was contem- 
 plating her curiously with a growing suspicion that made 
 Kate Markoe shrink. 
 
 "Where?" she asked. 
 
 Lamballe mentioned the name of the hospital to which 
 Conway had been conveyed. 
 
 The Ambassadress turned even paler, if that had been 
 possible. She walked swiftly across the room and pulled 
 a tapestried bell-strap. 
 
 ' ' What are you going to do ?' ' 
 
 The imperious question was Mrs. Conway' s. 
 
 "The only thing. I am going to Paris by the next 
 train to nurse Jack. ' ' 
 
 ' ' That is my office. ' ' 
 
 ' ' As you will. We will go together. When is the 
 next train ?' ' to Lamballe. 
 
 " There is one in another half hour." 
 
 But as they sped on their way the two women confronted 
 each other, for the first time, with a warring question be- 
 tween them. 
 
 Lamballe, his arms folded, silently watched the flying 
 landscape, moon-kissed and finally dawn-chilled, as they 
 steamed towards the Gare de Lyons. The silence was 
 broken by Mrs. Conway, five minutes before they drew 
 into the station. 
 
 1 ' Kate, you are like my own child. Tell me : did you 
 know of this?" 
 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I have so often wondered why you took it all so to 
 heart. Your inexplicable absences ; your morbid sense, 
 
 296
 
 A RADICAL DEVELOPMENT 
 
 expressed so strangely every now and then, of having 
 been the unwitting cause of my pain." 
 
 The frozen, miserable face, with its sombre eyes, turned 
 towards its questioner. It scorned to deny. 
 
 "I strove," whispered the poor woman, almost deliri- 
 ously, ' ' to reverse the will of God. This is my just pun- 
 ishment. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You knew then of Mariotti ?' ' persistently. 
 
 Now the eyes looked straight into Madeleine Conway's. 
 The Ambassadress had ignored Lamballe ever since he had 
 voiced the truth. He seemed part and parcel to her, at 
 this brutal moment, of the cruelest misconception of 
 modern times. 
 
 "I have known," said the hard, dull voice, resolve to 
 be just in every shade of its utterance, ' ' that Mariotti, and 
 Mariotti alone, according to his own story, knew of Jack's 
 whereabouts. How? Why? The time is too short to 
 tell. I came upon the fact, seeking blindly to help. I 
 thought in paying Mariotti, I was expediting his promise 
 to deliver Jack into our hands. He told me if I spoke, or 
 mentioned our secret to any one, his prey would escape 
 him. I thought I was saving Jack by aiding Mariotti. 
 But this," with a dry sob, "do you know what this 
 means ? It means that I am a murderess !' ' 
 
 Mrs. Conway made one involuntary gesture of horror. 
 
 Then, with a visible strong determination to punish her- 
 self for such an unsympathetic delinquency, she immedi- 
 ately clasped one arm about the slender, rigid shoulder at 
 her side. 
 
 "How you must have suffered !" she said, gently, still 
 in a slightly puzzled fashion. In her outspoken expression 
 of forgiveness she slew what she considered an unworthy 
 suspicion, and coerced loyalty at one breath, the way fine 
 women do. 
 
 297
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " If you pity me I shall die !" returned Kate, fiercely. 
 
 But her shoulder had yielded to the arm which lay 
 around it as men's tongues curl about proffered moisture, 
 when, dying of thirst, their wants are ministered unto. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL 
 
 KATE MARKOE was spared a confrontation with the man 
 whose search she had endeavored so vainly to facilitate 
 during those fourteen agonized weeks of suspense. 
 
 When the three travellers arrived at the hospital they 
 were informed that the Ambassador had returned to his 
 home an hour before. After installing his helpless friend 
 in the sunniest, most spacious of wards, and providing him 
 with two Sisters of Mercy to administer to his wants, in 
 obedience to the orders of a famous practitioner, who was 
 king of this complicated realm, he had withdrawn. 
 
 Mrs. Conway was assured that the patient could not do 
 more wisely than to remain for a week at least where he was, 
 if he lived. She was informed that everything that science 
 could do would be brought to bear upon her son's case. 
 
 On receipt of this reasonable information, Jack's mother 
 set to work to organize matters. She peremptorily for- 
 bade Mrs. Markoe to do anything more formidable than to 
 betake herself home and put herself to bed. 
 
 "You look like a ghost," exclaimed the sad woman who 
 thus advised. " It is my portion to remain here, and fight 
 for Jack's life. They shall not deny that privilege to his 
 own mother." 
 
 And they did not. One glance at the determined femi- 
 
 298
 
 THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL 
 
 nine personage, with the vivid lips and cheeks, convinced 
 the hospital attendants that Conway's chances of recovery 
 would be increased doublefold did his mother place her- 
 self at the helm. Mrs. Conway's courage had risen to the 
 occasion, eloquent of that grasp of emergency which, for 
 centuries, has declared itself to be intrinsically of woman- 
 kind. 
 
 Superiority walks in unaffectedly and takes its place, not 
 waiting to write volumes upon duty, or harangue multi- 
 tudes concerning the higher life. 
 
 As Lamballe and Mrs. Markoe drove to the Avenue 
 Marceau, she gave a few orders to her quondam host in 
 regard to some wearing apparel she had left strewn about 
 her luxurious apartments in her preparations for a hurried 
 departure from Carembourg. She added that she would 
 be grateful did Lamballe, upon his return there, send her 
 maid home with her trunks, as she intended to remain in 
 Paris. 
 
 Lamballe resignedly acquiesced, after having expressed 
 his regret that their little party should have been so ruth- 
 lessly broken up. ' ' Let us hope for the best, dear 
 madame," he urged, earnestly. " Conway has youth on 
 his side, and an unimpaired constitution." 
 
 But all his kind efforts to insure his companion's peace 
 of mind were futile. The lines of the fair, frozen face at 
 his side remained fixed and white. The shamed look of 
 guilt increased minute by minute. With it there had come 
 a shrinking mental dread, which fortified as they stopped 
 before the Embassy. As she descended, the delicate 
 curves of Kate Markoe' s lips straightened into a hard line. 
 It was evident she was about to confront a far more com- 
 plicated problem than might be comprised either in the 
 case of the helpless invalid at the hospital, or her own con- 
 science. 
 
 299
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 To explain her conduct to the Ambassador, she had by 
 this come to consider the only just manner of taking the 
 consequences of her own so sadly proven deficient policy 
 to aid. 
 
 Even now she could picture the level look which would 
 greet her, the total lack of responsiveness, the cold weigh- 
 ing of her inexplicable act. The colorless eyes with their 
 expression of neutrality, the listening attitude which did 
 not commit itself, the polite attentiveness which promised 
 nothing, were part and parcel of her righteous judge. She 
 had determined that Conway must be shielded at all costs. 
 He had suffered enough. If his death followed, and she 
 were responsible for it, there must be no blot left to mar 
 the purity of his professed intention. She and she alone, 
 out of her feminine intuition, had surprised the unwhole- 
 some truth that his quixoticism had been but the comple- 
 ment of his direst weakness. As Kate Markoe thought 
 out the entire miserable occurrence, she deplored it as an 
 unfortunate circumstance as well as a lamentable contrariety 
 unpossessed of either healthy germ, or explanatory sub- 
 stance. Latterly, the enormity of her own vanity had im- 
 pressed her deeply. It stood forth stripped of anything 
 but deplorable weakness. It stung her highly-polished 
 sense of the fitness of things. Her love of admiration, her 
 heart-hunger, had never pre-imagined, as the result of 
 their excessiveness, so unpalatable a sequence as Conway' s 
 deceit. 
 
 Jack had always seemed very young to her. Albeit but 
 two or three years his senior, she had honestly experienced 
 a maternal interest in the young fellow. His enthusiasms 
 aroused her ; his outspoken idealization of herself flattered 
 her ; his final disclosure of intemperance she fought off 
 with all her woman's wit. The sudden flame of passion 
 which had betrayed him was an unpleasant revelation to 
 
 300
 
 THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL 
 
 her, the inconsequent cause of it. Only after its disclosure 
 had she come into the positive realization of his translation 
 of her invariable kindness. Then, womanlike, she strove 
 to instantaneously undo what she had been instrumental in 
 exciting ; reprehensibly ; in idleness. The brief instant in 
 which she had fought out loyally in all honor, and self- 
 acknowledgment of weakness, her woman's part to slay 
 everything responsive in her, she considered but her just 
 portion. Principle was the keystone of her nature. She 
 had been level-headed enough to recognize that principle 
 must guide her more than ever, when in a moment of sheer 
 weariness Conway might have believed she loved him. 
 
 In her innermost soul Kate Markoe, no matter how fully 
 she appreciated her success in every other sphere where 
 the world's acclamation warranted her conscious pride that 
 she was beautiful and desirable, never for an instant lost 
 sight of the bitter fact that she represented the weakest 
 ingredient in her husband's make-up. The knowledge 
 saddened her ; it seared the edge of all her momentary 
 joys ; it was the canker-worm at the root of her evanes- 
 cent indiscretions. Now, with the conviction that she 
 was nothing to the Ambassador, it was coming upon her 
 that, through her evident lack of judgment, her behavior 
 would justly warrant his complete aversion. 
 
 This was the thought which for the past few tortured hours 
 had been making of her a thing of pallid clay. It was 
 the state which to-day, in view of recent disclosures, she 
 was certain was to be her perpetual portion. She knew 
 that she had, to the best of her ability, fought off a very 
 genuine reality, disclaimed it, and turned Conway back 
 into the groove of his past moderation. But this her hus- 
 band would never learn. Even if it had been possible for 
 him to understand, she felt herself incapable of finding 
 words to describe to him her suspicion, and later the 
 
 301
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 knowledge that all was not well with his trusted advocate. 
 In that memorable interview in the conservatory, the con- 
 viction of Conway' s miserable reach-out for dishonor, 
 which had so shocked her, while at the same time she in- 
 sisted to herself loyally Conway had not taken into ade- 
 quate consideration its lurid and unfair import, when, 
 swept off his feet by an 'unbridled impulse, he had betrayed 
 his most desperate and unholy desire, she blamed herself 
 far more than the boy she had infatuated. 
 
 But alongside her generous mercifulness for Conway, 
 she pitted Markoe : upright, inflexible, just ; a man among 
 men ; a master of common-sense ; an expert as regarded 
 integrity. He had never seemed to her so entirely to be 
 respected as he did now. There was a simplicity about his 
 direct methods which began to attract her oddly. What 
 had seemed colorless before, now took on the true blue of 
 concentrated strength. His very neutrality seemed honor ; 
 that honor which stands alone, unobtrusively, regardless 
 of the warring elements about it. Above all, she was proud 
 of him, and mutual pride in one another is the fundamental 
 principle which holds man and woman yoked together in 
 peace and probity. Her sense of unworthiness increased 
 minute by minute. It made her almost cry out. 
 
 She began to experience a wholesome sense of indigna- 
 tion towards Conway, who had already made her suffer so 
 much for so little. He was weak. Her husband how she 
 gloried in the conviction was strong. Conway was vola- 
 tile. Markoe stood a rock of mental balance, by this 
 faculty alone having out-distanced many of his contempo- 
 raries. Until this racking hour she had never looked ahead 
 far enough to imagine what her mortification might be were 
 he not equally proud of her. 
 
 Five minutes after Lamballe had quitted her at her own 
 door, and driven towards his club for breakfast and a bath, 
 
 302
 
 THE REVERSE OF THE MEDAL 
 
 Mrs. Markoe slowly made her way along the corridor 
 opposite her own apartment, and knocked at the door of 
 her husband's bedroom. Receiving no answer, she en- 
 tered. The room was vacant. The bed had not been 
 occupied. She returned to her own bedchamber a little 
 feebly. Loss of sleep and food made her light-headed. 
 The task she had before her appalled even her courageous 
 spirit. She threw off her hat and cloak. Then a tall, 
 slim figure, clad in costly garments, her anxious face 
 framed in a toss of dishevelled hair : a face which told a 
 sad story of misery and sleeplessness she hesitatingly 
 walked towards her husband's study. He kept up his 
 writing half the night there, and sometimes all through the 
 day. 
 
 The room felt atmospherically delicious to her, after a 
 night spent in the railway carriage in a cramped position. 
 She completely lost sight of her own feelings, however, 
 when her glance took in her husband's face. There were 
 lines about his handsome compressed mouth which she had 
 never seen before. She caught her breath. He was 
 seated in an arm-chair he had brought with him from 
 America ; it stood before a glowing fire. He seemed to 
 have been reclining for hours in the relaxed position in 
 which she had surprised him, although that could not 
 have been according to the information which she had 
 received at the hospital about him. 
 
 As she came forward, he rose and pushed his chair 
 towards her. 
 
 ' ' You arrived by the midnight train ?' ' 
 
 He had evidently made a lightning calculation between 
 the time her light tap had aroused him, and she had made 
 her presence manifest. 
 
 "Yes," she affirmed. 
 
 After that first glance she had not raised her eyes 
 
 33
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 towards him. How should she face his trenchant condem- 
 nation of her too quixotic act? She saw it now as he 
 must have seen it all along, powerless to evade its conse- 
 quences through her foolishness. Oh, why had her weak- 
 ness demanded so cruel a development to bring her to her 
 senses ? 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE AMBASSADRESS'S STORY 
 
 "STEPHEN, I have come to tell you something," she 
 began, quietly. She seated herself, and drew up to the 
 fire. Crouched forward, looking into it intently, conscious 
 of the dread pallor of her face, hoping the flames might 
 burn some color into her cold cheeks, she paused. 
 
 The Ambassador did not stir. 
 
 She half-turned towards him. He was standing when 
 she first commenced to speak. After a little, he walked 
 towards an upright chair which stood near the mantel- 
 piece, and, letting his head droop, looked into the flames. 
 Thus, avoiding each other's gaze, they strove to patch up 
 what she had so ruthlessly striven to destroy. 
 
 "Once," she said, very humbly, "I thought you gov- 
 erned my actions too narrowly. I was wrong. You had 
 lived, and suffered more than I. You knew. ' ' 
 
 The Ambassador lifted his hand involuntarily, and 
 shelved it across his eyes. 
 
 "Perhaps," she faltered, "I should have obeyed im- 
 plicitly. I might have done so had you been a little more 
 gentle with me ; but I have often thought you could not 
 know what it was to be commanded to obey, without any 
 reason given why one should not act according to one's 
 
 304
 
 THE AMBASSADRESS'S STORY 
 
 heart's dictation. Recently I have, as regards Jack's case, 
 taken the reins into my own hands. I have come now to 
 tell you that you have been right always, and that I have 
 been wrong. The terrible result of our mission for, which- 
 ever way it ends, you and I cannot consider it anything 
 but unsuccessful if Jack' s life or reason pay the price for it 
 lies all with me." 
 
 She paused, and beat her hands together for a moment, 
 almost frantically. She tried to dry the tears which were 
 falling fast from her wide eyes, but they flowed faster as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " If there is any penalty I can pay," she said, " I will 
 pay it. If there is any ache you feel that I can assuage, I 
 will try to assuage it. No matter what you can say, I 
 know, however, that I have been instrumental in facilita- 
 ting your deepest mortification." 
 
 There was a dead silence. The Ambassador had neither 
 refuted nor agreed. 
 
 She knew herself abjectly feeling out mentally to learn 
 whether or no he met her avowal half-way. There was no 
 evidence that he even heard her. His handsome hand 
 strong, well-formed, a hand whose warm, firm grasp she 
 knew could insure protection and a restful sense of the 
 most generous helpfulness remained motionless, scooped 
 above his brows. His figure might in its intense rigidity 
 have revealed to a disinterested observer the fact that 
 every nerve was strained to its utmost to absorb her faintest 
 whisper. But this she did not understand him well enough 
 to realize. She only felt an increasing sensation of deso- 
 lation assailing her proud spirit, inch by inch, as she let 
 forth her confession. 
 
 She continued, one hand doubled fiercely in a hard knot 
 under the woollen fringe about the chair, the other twisting 
 in and out her wisp of a pocket handkerchief, wet with 
 20 305
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 tears, which now had suddenly ceased to flow, her eyes a 
 little hard, her face flushed feverishly, her lips now and 
 then bitterly compressed. 
 
 "The night of the Launoy ball, you will remember, I 
 asked you to accompany me. You refused. I think I 
 speak correctly when I state that the reason you advanced 
 for your refusal was that you wished to read some news 
 which your eyes had missed until then. You had before 
 you a full account, in a home newspaper, which had arrived 
 that afternoon. The incident has, without doubt, escaped 
 you." 
 
 Still he was silent. He saw oh, memory, how bitter and 
 yet how sweet ! a figure attired as Folly, a dimpled arm 
 lifted above a sunny, curl-tossed head on which was fast- 
 ened a tiny tri-colored cap, glittering with jewels and 
 clattering with bells. He was fastening the clasp of a mask 
 against the warm nape of a creamy neck. He drew a deep 
 breath. The curls fell ; the mask clicked into place. 
 "That will do," had come a petulant child's voice ; and 
 he had given an hour of his life had she inclined towards 
 him ! 
 
 " I went to the ball that night prepared to enjoy my- 
 self," with a faint echo of past defiance which seemed, 
 even to its propounder, in this moment which throbbed 
 with acute misery, infantine in its flaunting effort to be non- 
 chalant. ' ' Why not ? You had your newspaper ; I liked 
 to dance. We both had our way ; we were quits. I have 
 heard from some very clever people that matrimony con- 
 ducted from so exalted a stand-point installs invariable 
 felicity, and the ultimate content of both parties. ' ' 
 
 He began pacing the floor heavily. The chandelier rat- 
 tled a little, and then stopped, as he passed under it. His 
 hands were clasped behind his back, under his coat-tails ; 
 his eyes looked out ahead, sombrely. 
 
 306
 
 THE AMBASSADRESS'S STORY 
 
 ' ' Imagine my surprise, when Mariotti and his double 
 arrived, the second Mariotti, the harlequin who saluted 
 Monsieur Lamballe en Mariotti on the landing of the stair- 
 case, where Mrs. Conway and I agreed to meet, turned out 
 to be Jack !" 
 
 The Ambassador arrested his steps. He stood directly 
 under the chandelier, his mild regard addressed steadily 
 towards his wife. Her face was turned away from him. 
 She was apparently dragging her story out of the flames 
 ahead of her. 
 
 ' ' He asked me, after he had made himself known to 
 me, to go into the conservatory with him, as he had some- 
 thing of importance to communicate. Naturally, I was so 
 astonished at the contretemps, so curious to know what 
 had impelled him to take such a queer step, that I ac- 
 quiesced. Once there, he said he had come to Paris to 
 find out whether or no Monsieur Lamballe was in town or 
 at Carembourg. If he could prove Lamballe in Paris, he 
 intended returning to Carembourg to pursue his survey un- 
 molested. It seemed to me I told him so a long way 
 to come in order to establish so apparently insignificant a 
 detail. He assured me everything depended upon it ; that 
 Lam ball e's certain presence in Paris would afford him 
 ample leeway to ascertain whether or no the stratum ex- 
 tended across the border. Immediately after this he bade 
 me farewell and returned, as I supposed, to Carembourg. ' ' 
 
 She stopped and swallowed something spasmodically in 
 her throat. Markoe still looked at her intently. A coil 
 of hair had loosened ; it fell along her black dress to her 
 knees. It was singularly soft and fine, he was thinking 
 irrelevantly, when she interrupted his reflections. 
 
 "I attached no special importance to his coming, until 
 you informed me that he had mysteriously disappeared. 
 Then I put two and two together. I concluded Mariotti 
 
 37
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 must have been aware of his presence in Paris, else where 
 had Jack obtained the clown's costume? I secured 
 Mariotti's address. I sought him out. He swore at our 
 first interview that, with the exception of the night of the 
 ball when Jack had come to him and purloined his cos- 
 tume, he had not seen him. I made my most egregious 
 mistake in remunerating him for this information. Ulti- 
 mately he wrote me, requesting another interview. I ac- 
 corded it. This time he informed me that he knew of Jack's 
 whereabouts, but that he had not the power to extricate 
 him from a vile prison, in which he was incarcerated by some 
 mysterious third party, unless I would advance him a sum 
 of money with which to bribe the third party. I advanced 
 it ; at first in small sums, later in larger ones as he demanded 
 it, vowing all the while that Jack's jailers were more and 
 more exorbitant in their demands, and less and less desirous 
 of releasing so desirable a prey. All along I kept the fact 
 from you, because I feared that if you knew Jack had come up 
 to Paris, you might consider he had been guilty of neglect- 
 ing what you so seriously intended to overcome ; besides, I 
 began to dread your anger because I had not confided in 
 you in the first place. Mariotti had sworn me to secrecy. 
 You were occupied. I had learned not to beg for what 
 was mine by right." 
 
 " Meaning?" Markoe's voice was purely interrogatory. 
 
 " Meaning your undivided attention, which, I think you 
 must admit, is not always extended to my ' caprices.' ' 
 
 There was a dull pause. She continued. 
 
 " But afterwards when, week by week, he extorted from 
 me funds which you were so confidently handing over to 
 me, believing they paid for my personal needs, I felt like a 
 thief and a hypocrite. It was too late to recede. Mariotti 
 now threatened that if I betrayed him, Jack would suffer 
 the consequences. If it took all day," she interrupted 
 
 308
 
 THE AMBASSADRESS'S STORY 
 
 herself passionately, " I could not express to you my utter 
 self-disgust in the entire business. I loathed Mariotti ; I 
 was in his toils. When last night Monsieur Lamballe in- 
 formed me that indirectly I had been the instrumental 
 cause in torturing Jack to death, I determined to tell you 
 the truth, and ask you to let me go." 
 
 She had risen now. The two velvet bruises under her 
 great eyes were more than ever apparent. The slender 
 outlines of her figure, which had been so delicious once, 
 now seemed straight and formless. 
 
 "You wish to travel?" inquired the Ambassador, per- 
 functorily. 
 
 ' ' I cannot bear ' ' she faltered, her head had fallen for- 
 ward onto her breast, her eyes were bent upon the carpet at 
 her feet. ' ' I wish to get away from under the burden of 
 your contempt. ' ' 
 
 "But " 
 
 1 ' I cannot bear it, ' ' she cried, impetuously, the tears 
 streaming down her cheeks now undisguisedly. She be- 
 gan to walk to and fro hurriedly. ' ' The situation has 
 always been odious to me. It is more than ever so now. 
 It has been unsupportable enough to live alongside of a 
 man who is made of iron, or of stone, but to know the 
 graven image despises me, to know he blames me, to know 
 that what was once mine of respect and gentlest care no 
 longer exists. Oh, no no, ' ' brokenly, "it is beyond my 
 strength. ' ' 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 His regard was luminous. Almost, in a single flashing 
 glance she had bestowed upon him, it seemed to her his 
 lips had moved in prayer. She looked again involuntarily, 
 but he had turned abruptly towards a window. He let the 
 shade slide up to the top with a startling rattle as he spoke. 
 
 ' ' You must remain, ' ' he said. 
 
 309
 
 She started violently, aggressively. He continued with 
 uncompromising firmness, the underlying force in his tone 
 crushing her mad intention to atoms, so coolly was it 
 fraught with common-sense. 
 
 ' ' Given the fact that I deplore your action, we are none 
 the less man and wife. Married persons are united for 
 better and for worse. Had I committed the fault you 
 plead guilty of, would you for that cause alone have sent 
 me from you ?' ' 
 
 ' ' No no. ' ' The negative rang out without one instant' s 
 hesitation. 
 
 He turned towards her, in response to it, with that beau- 
 tiful, luminous look, which she never remembered to have 
 seen light up his face before, brilliantly apparent. ' ' I think, ' ' 
 he said, ' ' that if you had considered the gravity of your pro- 
 jected departure, you would have decided less hastily. 
 You will " 
 
 " But it has nothing to do with marriage our union." 
 
 1 ' Why so ?' ' imperiously. 
 
 " It is so utterly inept" 
 
 A shadow crossed his face. "I ask you," he said, 
 clearly and very distinctly, ' ' to remain with me until Con- 
 way's recovery, or death, at least." 
 
 1 ' And then ?' ' The question leaped from her, almost 
 without her volition. 
 
 " If Conway recovers I will ask him for his story." 
 
 "Until then?" 
 
 " Until then I will trust him." 
 
 " But if he dies ?" The inquiry was choked. 
 
 Markoe rose to answer a summons at the door. ' ' In 
 that case," he said, "you will tell me the remainder of 
 our story. ' ' 
 
 310
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 Six months later, when the lilacs were in bloom, Con- 
 way's abused intellect drifted back slowly into its own 
 again. It had been a long pull, arduous for the anxious 
 watchers ; trying, and dangerously fluctuating for Mari- 
 otti's innocent victim. The winter was damp, gloomy, 
 unattractive as only Paris winters can be with their burden 
 of sun-deprived days. 
 
 Towards spring devout thankfulness spread its exhila- 
 rating glow in all their hearts. The sick man's young limbs 
 strengthened, and gradually began to take on a semblance 
 of their original contour. His eyes brightened, and re- 
 flected in faintest measure what the ears heard, and com- 
 municated clearly to the weakened brain. 
 
 Listless, indifferent, lethargic, the patient had lain for 
 weeks with a faint wandering smile upon his vacant face, 
 sadder than tears. There had been, too, a far-away look in 
 his eyes which seemed a presentiment of extinction : his 
 words had babbled of unknown places, sometimes dreamily, 
 sometimes madly as he crouched struggling fiercely against 
 a hideous, unseen foe, or smiled foolishly up into an imagi- 
 nary angel face. Gradually the invalid was promoted 
 from liquid to solid food ; he was taught to talk and to 
 walk. At last his bodily strength increased ; his medicines 
 were taken from him, and a powerful mental drug substi- 
 tuted. The watchers, prayerful and on the alert, saw a 
 faint flicker which fortified and broadened, to finally extin- 
 guish permanently the vacuous expression which had made 
 them so sick at heart. The stimulant, which had been ad- 
 
 3"
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 ministered as the final test, had whipped up the dormant 
 mental faculties, and had roused them from their lethargy 
 to work once more. They had only been dulled into tem- 
 porary subjection, after all : not found wanting, or irre- 
 trievably diseased. 
 
 The first change in outside events which Conway re- 
 corded, lying listlessly there in weak convalescence, taking 
 note of his friends' faces as slowly they made their way 
 out to him from the world of grim spectres, and miasma- 
 stricken environment, was that Lamballe seemed now the 
 trusted advocate, whereas before he had played an egre- 
 giously unimportant role in this, their midst. This fact the 
 young fellow accepted, as youth is wont to accept such 
 changes, thoughtlessly, as an improvement upon the old 
 prejudice. Afterwards, weeks afterwards, it slowly broke 
 in upon him that the cause of his mother's placid, pecu- 
 liarly sweetened expression, was not entirely owing to his 
 own almost miraculous convalescence. It had, instead, 
 more to do with that sparkling conversationalist, that pur- 
 poseful individual who filled up the long evenings with his 
 brilliant recounting of the day's doings, who kept the vast 
 apartment blooming with the rarest hot-house flowers, and 
 who peremptorily forbade the stately chatelaine of one of 
 the most agreeable Paris- American salons to do more than 
 her share of nursing. 
 
 The invalid used to lie with serenely puzzled eyes 
 and watch the pair. One day he surprised in his own 
 fancy the consciousness that the discordant note in his 
 mother's make-up, which had seemed to him the only 
 false element in her, had either gone to sleep, or was no 
 more. 
 
 When he alluded to this, she fluslied. Then she knelt 
 down by his reclining chair. He listened quietly while she 
 told him her story. When she concluded he turned his 
 
 312
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 face away for a moment. Then he looked back at her with 
 a pair of feverishly bright eyes. 
 
 "It is all as it should be, mammy," he vouchsafed, 
 feebly. " I, too, have been planning a change, as soon as 
 the trial is over. This illness has shown me my uselessness. 
 I am eager to test my strength. I want to start out for 
 myself. I have been wondering how I could break the 
 news of my intentional departure to you. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You will go ?' ' The tears stood confessed in her 
 startled eyes. 
 
 "I will go," he confirmed, stretching, the two vertical 
 lines deepening between his sombre eyes, the expression 
 of his face was daily settling into firm curves, " where I 
 can work. Paris is no place for an ambitious American. 
 He needs his own country, his favorite atmosphere, the 
 competitive impetus of his fellow-men. I have been idle 
 too long. Satan, you know, might find mischief for me 
 to do." 
 
 Then he came around to the subject of the Ambassador. 
 
 His mother had been holding forth in exalted terms over 
 Marguerite de Launoy. She, it seemed, had surprised 
 both Mrs. Conway's and Lamballe's secret, and had 
 ministered unto it in marvellously adroit fashion. She it 
 was who unearthed the remembrance of proud Madeleine 
 Farragut's meek submission to her autocratic father's 
 whims. It was she who had recollected a day when he, 
 in her hearing, had forbidden any intercourse between his 
 beautiful daughter and the then indigent Frenchman. It 
 was the Duchesse de Launoy also who had possessed the 
 temerity to imagine that the letter Lamballe had written 
 had never been received. In which case, weighted ever 
 with this supposition, she had brought the two quondam 
 lovers together, and witnessed with sympathetic eyes the 
 confirmation of her presumption that they might still care
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 for one another. Now she was awaiting with impatience 
 Conway's recovery, that she might announce the coming 
 nuptials in royal fashion, at La Valliere. 
 
 The Ambassador called daily, Mrs. Conway affirmed in 
 answer to her son's inquiry. He had looked in from the 
 first once a week, in person, in search of a radical change. 
 He had encouraged and sustained them all. He was the 
 same thorough-going, silent force which they all welcomed, 
 and had learned more and more to appreciate. 
 
 Just here the invalid inquired abruptly for Mrs. Markoe. 
 
 " Kate," replied Mrs. Conway, she was bending over a 
 piece of fancy work by this ; her graceful snow-crowned 
 head stood out against a piece of tapestry behind it ; her 
 eyes were downcast, " Kate has been very ill. We have 
 almost been fearful that she might not recover. Not a 
 serious illness exactly, it has not confined her to her bed, I 
 mean, but just nervous, utter prostration, and listlessness. " 
 
 ' ' What was the cause of her illness ?' ' 
 
 ' ' I think that the unwitting part she played in your un- 
 fortunate experience worried her extremely," returned 
 Mrs. Conway, hesitatingly. 
 
 ' ' I have not known. ' ' 
 
 She related to him, softly and very pitifully, the facts. 
 He listened with his face turned away from the light. 
 When she had finished he did not speak for a long time. 
 Then he asked, ' ' Has she, too, visited us ?' ' 
 
 "I have not been able to prevail upon her to do so," 
 answered Mrs. Conway. ' ' I have said all I dared ; 
 Stephen has advised her to be sensible. She says that 
 she will never rest until she has asked your forgiveness. ' ' 
 
 There was the sudden harsh burst of a brass band passing 
 outside. It was a national f6te day. Paris was beribboncd 
 and beflagged from the Place de la Concorde to the Troca- 
 dero ; from La Villette to Bellevue. The river was gay 
 
 3*4
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 with brightly decorated craft, thronged with holiday 
 seekers. Spring was in the air, on the faces of the multi- 
 tude which, in festive array, gorged the avenues, the 
 river, and the by-streets. Some cavalry officers rode 
 clatteringly across the cobble-stones, under the trees, up 
 the bridle path which stretches from the Tuileries Gardens 
 to Passy. The windows were thrown wide. Conway 
 glanced out ; then he sighed shortly. 
 
 " Will you tell her," he said quietly, after a long silence, 
 ' ' to come ? Tell her that I wish to see her because I 
 consider that I have nothing to forgive." 
 
 It was two days later. Mrs. Conway had gone to a 
 bazaar, over which she had been requested to preside as 
 patroness. Lamballe had accompanied her. 
 
 Conway lay fully dressed on a lounge by the window, 
 listlessly turning the leaves of a home magazine. He 
 heard the footman say "Monsieur est chez lui. Oui." 
 He looked around. 
 
 He had thought his visitor might be Markoe, or even 
 Lubin, with whom the invalid had struck up a mutually 
 admiring acquaintance. He had heard nothing in answer 
 to his own request regarding the Ambassadress. His 
 mother had responded to it absently, altering her position 
 and the subject of the conversation peremptorily. 
 
 Now he turned, and saw a slender figure in a grey gown 
 standing motionless in the embrasure of the doorway, 
 looking towards him from under a huge grey chip hat 
 heavily burdened with white roses. 
 
 He had been forbidden to rise. Perhaps because of 
 this, added to his heart beating with a fierce apprehensive 
 suddenness, he held forth his hand, as though to aid her 
 to come towards him. 
 
 She sprang forward, seized it, and pressed it convulsively
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 in both of hers. Then she turned abruptly away from 
 him, and walked swiftly towards a far-off window in another 
 corner of the room. 
 
 He remembered dimly that the last time he had seen her 
 she had stood where had she stood? He felt an awful 
 unexpected stab in a region of his anatomy which he had 
 forgotten. Was it his heart or his head? Then he re- 
 marked, lightly, 
 
 1 ' You have been long in coming. Why ?' ' 
 
 ' ' I could not get up the courage, ' ' she responded, 
 visibly endeavoring to be commonplace, to fail most lament- 
 ably. Her eyes, those long almond-shaped eyes, with 
 their arched brows, were fastened upon him. Bit by bit 
 they were taking in the cadaverous aspect of his face ; his 
 long thin limbs which she had known so shapely and mus- 
 cular ; the general pathetic lassitude of his listless figure. 
 
 "Am I, then, so formidable?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. She raised her hand and 
 covered them for a moment. Then, with an imperious 
 gesture as though scorning her own weakness, she drew 
 up a chair and looked into his face. 
 
 "I want to tell you why I did it," she said, impulsively, 
 ' ' what inspired me. ' ' 
 
 "Suppose we let it drop," he suggested, oddly fearful 
 that she might open his wound. It had only been slum- 
 bering after all, he was cogitating fearfully. Any little 
 accident might bring it to life ; and such life ! Such a 
 throbbing, impotent, insurmountable thing ; hopeless ; ever 
 self-denying ; silent. For then and there, with weakness 
 palpable assailing him in every member, he had determined 
 now and evermore to be dumb concerning his chief ill. 
 He knew what seems dead is often considered evidence of 
 a past as much as a present non-existence. 
 
 She had cast one puzzled glance at him. Then she said,
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 very clearly and slowly, "You must allow me to cure 
 myself in my own way." 
 
 "Do so." 
 
 ' ' I thought, ' ' she explained, ' ' that when you left me 
 that night you were in a desperate mood. Oh, of course, 
 purely imaginary, but a little desperate. The next day 
 events fell into their customary groove, and the thought 
 was crowded out. It was only when I was informed that 
 you had so mysteriously disappeared that I suddenly re- 
 membered what you had said. Do you remember ? You 
 said ' Good-bye forever. ' ' 
 
 Her gaze was wide, strained, fearful. 
 
 Again he held out his hand with that helpful gesture. 
 
 " How little you know me and my exaggerated manner 
 of talk," he said, lightly. "Those words were merely a 
 form of expression prompted by the intrigue and masked 
 batteries of the night. I intended seeing you in a week, 
 possibly at one of your teas, surrounded by your satel- 
 lites." 
 
 He lay gazing at her brightly, not an ounce of anything 
 but a slightly deprecatory rebuke in his look. 
 
 " You did not mean it, then?" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Markoe, if men of my character were 
 made responsible for all their words, the Bourbons would 
 be reigning in Paris to-day." 
 
 She looked at him searchingly. 
 
 "I am grateful," she vouchsafed finally, very softly, 
 with a long breath. ' ' I wish I had known before, though. 
 It would have saved us both so much." 
 
 He did not answer this. He had turned his glance 
 away. He was gazing absently at a cortege of slender 
 little maidens, clad mistily in their first communion robes, 
 who passed his window and vanished hazily. 
 
 "With this conviction," her voice went on, "when I
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 made up my mind that Mariotti knew of your whereabouts, 
 I determined to frustrate your efforts to make way with 
 yourself. ' ' 
 
 He looked straight up at her and smiled. 
 
 "I think," he said, "that you might have given me 
 credit for more balance. ' ' 
 
 ' ' No, ' ' she returned, instantly, and if the slight dejec- 
 tion contained in her tone signified that her vanity had 
 received a mortal sting, he rejoiced over it for her sake. 
 ' ' The one thing I never gave you credit for was balance. 
 You were romantic, delightful, suggestive. Stephen has 
 balance. I never knew, until lately, how thoroughly he 
 outpaced most people in that seemingly simple quality. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Stephen scores then, as always ?' ' with an air of laugh- 
 ing resignation. 
 
 She bit her lip. 
 
 "And he deserves it," the invalid hastened to subjoin, 
 heartily. 
 
 A little warm glow crept up into Kate Markoe's delicate 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I always told you that," she affirmed, proudly, "if 
 you remember, from the first. But won' t you tell me what 
 befell you that night ; how Mariotti got you into his 
 clutches ?' ' 
 
 He hesitated a few moments. He remembered having 
 hurled himself from her contemptuous sight, reckless of 
 coming events, intent upon one scheme ; to beat away for- 
 ever from his scarred memory the sight of her haughty, 
 scornful, beloved face. As he had run into the street, 
 madly unmindful of his whereabouts, something had struck 
 him from behind ; it thickened his thoughts and paralyzed 
 his energies. He had struck out for help, mouthing a 
 prayer inwardly that- this might be the end of all things for 
 him physically as much as morally. Perhaps that weak
 
 JACK'S STORY 
 
 lean of his spirit towards the unknown had been the 
 feature in his defence which had played him into the hands 
 of his enemies. They had seemed to him a small multi- 
 tude standing there in the dark corner of the ruelle, back 
 of the Launoy residence, crossing towards the main 
 avenues. The blows had descended thick and fast. He had 
 fought desperately, with his arms and fists, conscious that 
 he was outnumbered ; aware, too, of an intense lethargy 
 of spirit. Then he had melted into a space where, ulti- 
 mately, from oblivion, he had awakened to confront 
 mildewed walls, a horrid, vindictive, olive-skinned face, 
 what seemed years of maze-like effort to be free, an effort 
 which never materialized, and at length the plaintive 
 features of a white-capped Sister of Mercy ; then his 
 mother and then ! Life had beckoned him on. Weakly 
 he had reached forth for it, not knowing that with it must 
 come the sick unrest, the old torment, this anguish for the 
 unforbiddable ! Oh, just God, was this Life, then this 
 eternal war against what is ? 
 
 He spoke, but so hoarsely she was obliged to lean for- 
 ward to listen. 
 
 1 ' They were footpads. Mariotti headed them. I was 
 intent upon getting back to the station to complete my 
 scheme. They struck me down." 
 
 She had both hands before her eyes. She was shudder- 
 ing. 
 
 He let his glance fall upon her now. Those famished 
 eyes never left off looking for quite forty seconds. Then 
 they steadily, as though dragged mercilessly by some un- 
 seen force, looked away. 
 
 "You are kind to have pitied me," she heard him 
 say distinctly, in a far-off sort of voice, some moments 
 later. 
 
 "And that is all?" 
 
 319
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "All," he answered. 
 " And it was my fault ?" 
 "No." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 THE SIGN AT THE CROSS-ROADS 
 
 THE Ambassador began looking in more frequently. He 
 brought a message from Burgess. The surveyor had re- 
 quested the honor of an interview with the comrade he 
 had so unstintedly mourned ; whose untimely fate he obsti- 
 nately accused himself of having provoked. Upon Con- 
 way's acquiescence he stumbled in one night, his hard old 
 face quivering. They, one and all, retired precipitately 
 upon catching sight of those working features. After a 
 silent moment, in which the surveyor drew his cuff across 
 his eyes, and Conway pulled a coverlet up over his emaci- 
 ated frame, Burgess muttered doggedly, 
 
 "I felt in me bones that yer were meant to push the 
 thing through, Mister Jack, an' so ye will. The game is 
 ours. We have the whip-hand. That chalk stratum crosses 
 the border, God be praised ! Yer Frenchman won't hev 
 a word to say for hisself. ' ' 
 
 The surveyor's moist eyes were eloquent, his cap in his 
 hand ; his coarsely shod feet shuffled in and out against 
 one another, as of old. Burgess was leaving France for 
 America. His plan of the Carembourg lands reposed, 
 neatly rolled, under Conway 's palm on the table between 
 them. 
 
 " I will come along, too, after the trial," said Conway. 
 
 " Right ye are, sir. Ye' re not made fur the cumpaniun- 
 ship uv these 'ere furriners. They're, the entire kit and 
 boodle uv 'em, a rum lot." 
 
 320
 
 THE SIGN AT THE CROSS-ROADS 
 
 Conway asked to see the Ambassador privately that 
 evening. His request was granted. The two friends sat 
 and chatted far into the night. 
 
 Conway began soberly, his eyes cast down, his fingers 
 knotting restlessly the fringe of the knit coverlet under 
 which he reclined. 
 
 ' ' I owe you an apology, ' ' he said, ' ' for not strictly 
 obeying orders." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 Conway suddenly recognized that he was dealing with a 
 lawyer. The Ambassador's tone expressed clearer than 
 his words that he had reserved judgment until an enlight- 
 enment was proffered. 
 
 ' ' I had no business to go up to Paris, when you had 
 sent me to Carembourg. ' ' 
 
 " Why did you go ?" 
 
 The Ambassador's eyes met the invalid's. 
 
 " I went," returned Conway, "because we had seen, or 
 rather Burgess had reported having seen that day, Lam- 
 balle himself." 
 
 "Ah!" The Ambassador's face brightened involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 ' ' I thought to confirm his absence or presence, in Paris, 
 would facilitate our search." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 ' ' In case of his absence from Carembourg, the time to 
 pursue, unmolested, our scheme. In the case of his pres- 
 ence there, to discontinue it." 
 
 " Paris," remarked Markoe, drily, "is a large city." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You found Lamballe ?" 
 
 ' ' I found him. If it had not been for Mariotti, you 
 understand, I would have accomplished my object, and fol- 
 lowed up our errand." 
 
 21 321
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "Yes," acquiesced the Ambassador, quietly, "I under- 
 stand." 
 
 "I made a botch of it, Stephen. I knew I should. I 
 was a green hand, and did not take sufficient precautions. ' ' 
 
 "No," returned Markoe, smoking placidly, "the neces- 
 sary precautions were lacking." 
 
 1 ' I wish my first encounter could have been attended 
 with more success." 
 
 "Success," vouchsafed the Ambassador, "registers no 
 more or less than the accident of averted failures. ' ' 
 
 ' ' You think so ?' ' earnestly. The invalid' s pallid looks 
 belied somewhat his recent querulous statement that he 
 had strength enough to push matters through swiftly now, 
 in order to make up for lost time. 
 
 "There are two classes of men. The men who succeed 
 and those who fail," he continued, dejectedly. 
 
 " Pardon me," intercepted Markoe. " There is but one 
 kind the kind who make mistakes." 
 
 "Perhaps, with Burgess's plan to help me, I may be 
 able to induce Lamballe to reverse his decision, when he 
 becomes sufficiently convinced that it is for France's good," 
 the young fellow went on more hopefully. 
 
 Conway had not learned his chief's opinion as regarded 
 the delay his own unfortunate disappearance had compelled. 
 Neither did he ever know that there had been some sharp 
 reproofs administered through the home office reprimands 
 which deplored the Ambassador's incomprehensible passive 
 policy. 
 
 "I selected you as my assistant," remarked Markoe 
 later. He had risen to go. The invalid, in spite of his 
 protest, had gotten up to accompany his guest to the door. 
 ' ' I think I have not been mistaken in you. ' ' 
 
 " In spite of events having proved to the contrary?" 
 
 "They have proved nothing as yet. We have been 
 
 322
 
 THE SIGN AT THE CROSS-ROADS 
 
 balked. That is not frustration. I told the President that 
 the man required for the Carembourg mission must, in ac- 
 quiring the diplomacy the issue demanded, make three ele- 
 ments evident." 
 
 4 ' And those ?' ' eagerly, the young neck craned forward, 
 the dark eyes in their gaunt frame they had taken on an 
 almost abnormal brilliancy in the past second frankly 
 anxious. 
 
 ' ' Silence first, conscientious concentration next, and a 
 master makeshift." 
 
 "And?" 
 
 ' ' The silence has been yours ; the conscientious concen- 
 tration is yours. The master makeshift ?" 
 
 There was a pause. Jack stretched out his hand. The 
 Ambassador shook it a trifle awkwardly. Madeleine Farra- 
 gut's only son was an oddly emotional specimen. He lit 
 another cigar. 
 
 "You say that after the trial you are going home to 
 strike out for a career, ' ' he said. " I am glad to hear 
 that. You have good stuff in you : steel, mercury, and 
 iron. It may be of use for you to know that there is an 
 inscription printed on the mile-stone that commands my 
 cross-roads. It is my best friend. I was young once ; I 
 had big, strong dreams ; I thought I could control the 
 undercurrent. Unlike you, however, I was poor. I re- 
 member now successful men, for me, never seemed pos- 
 sessed of any element of lasting charm. The strugglers 
 alone roused my interest. They meant fiber. The idlers 
 signified pulp. Of course, in those days, I was intolerant. 
 Perhaps I am still, but not so much as I was. You were 
 pulpy, young one, when I came upon you, shreddy fabric 
 dyed in the loom ; main faults surplus everything ; surplus 
 luxury, surplus overfeeding. They warp and choke up. 
 Grit can't assimilate in such quarters. You had, in spite 
 
 323
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 of this, energy enough to aspire to something different. 
 Something different is what beckons men on in battle, within 
 the range of the enemy' s guns. Something different is the 
 eagle screech of our nation. ' ' 
 
 " What was the inscription on that mile-post, Stephen?" 
 
 The Ambassador let his grey eyes fall upon the strained 
 face at his side. His own softened a trifle. 
 
 As they did so Conway remembered, with a tightening of 
 his pulse which was involuntary, that this man might not 
 live more than his allotted share of three score years and 
 ten. 
 
 "Stephen," he interpolated impetuously, the memory 
 of the sin for which his blood had burned now flared up 
 and scorched his eloquent face, " I would like to tell you 
 something. ' ' 
 
 A mighty light blazed in the Ambassador's neutral eyes. 
 It glowed widely ; then it vanished. He pointed, with one 
 finger, at the clock. 
 
 " You are only convalescent, young one," he remarked, 
 good humoredly. " That, remember, is but a partial cure. 
 It sometimes lets in fever, and even delirium. You are 
 weak still. We must not go backwards. Our cause is 
 almost won." 
 
 There was a cheerier note in his vibrant voice than Con- 
 way ever remembered having remarked before. 
 
 " If we can win," continued Markoe, " without too great 
 an expenditure of superfluous force, it will only be the be- 
 ginning of many victories for you." 
 
 Conway did not speak. He stood regarding him with 
 glittering eyes. The Ambassador pulled on his overcoat. 
 He fastened the buttons of his gloves. It was early spring, 
 and the nights were cold. 
 
 " What is the inscription on your mile-post?" 
 
 " Ah ! I had forgotten. Odd," with a little irrepressible 
 
 324
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 chuckle. " It may seem Greek to you. It won't always. 
 Remember that ; it won't always. Perhaps it may dis- 
 courage you now, ' ' with a sudden frown. ' ' But, no ; I 
 think not. It is full of pith. It is, in any case, a good 
 enigma to work out. Anglo-Saxon is the finest, most con- 
 vincing language in the world, if understood cleverly. ' ' 
 
 4 'And the words?" 
 
 "Failure is opportunity." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 CULTURE of the higher instincts has at times been known 
 to subdue even the impulse of self-preservation. The so- 
 called lower classes, however, rejoice in exercising their 
 individual prerogative practising the old-fashioned theory 
 of vengeance. To those of the inner brotherhood behind 
 the scenes of professional retaliation, the exercise of which 
 brings them close to human depravity, an original scheme 
 of revenge is not only considered the natural sequence of 
 familiarity with the ungodly, but the imperative just claim 
 of any individual who has been wrongfully in the pursuit 
 of executing justice misunderstood. 
 
 Lubin, glowing with the sense of his own importance, 
 had been attacked in his most vulnerable portion when 
 Mariotti had turned on him, under the eyes of the gaping 
 mob, who instinctively up to this regarded the renowned 
 detective as a king of power, and, smarting with his own 
 wrongs, had set his fangs alongside his hand. He had left 
 a bigger wound than the mangled flesh revealed ; a moral 
 sore which suppurated, and plead for vengeance long after 
 
 325
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 the outward manifestation of the clown's venomous spite 
 was healed. In a word, according to Lubin's private con- 
 viction, that attack of the clown had nailed the final screw 
 in his coffin. 
 
 Under any circumstances the eminent official would have 
 felt no pity for the miserable creature whom he had brought 
 to justice ; sympathy dies an easy death in the face of the 
 callousness of human kind. If there is honor between 
 thieves, the quality of mercy is an exploded fantasy among 
 detectives. But without that attack upon Lubin's person, 
 which made him for the time being the under dog, Mariotti 
 might have gotten off with his life. 
 
 Attempted manslaughter cannot prove just cause for 
 guillotining, especially when the patient, alive and well, 
 rejoices in his health and high spirits under the glad eyes 
 of his numerous friends and acquaintances, as did young 
 Conway. 
 
 Lubin knew this. Inasmuch, however, as he had pri- 
 vately resolved that the clown should suffer for his irrever- 
 ence, he lent all his powers towards bringing him now to a 
 final punishment. The law which precluded the total ex- 
 tinction which Lubin so rabidly desired was known as the 
 Berenger law. Its chief quality was mercy. It preached 
 against malevolence, while at the same time according a 
 long rein to the sinner who could prove he had never 
 sinned before. Mariotti would have been sent up for life 
 had it not been for Berenger. That law-maker had it down 
 in the code of public morals that unless a law-breaker has 
 committed a former proven crime, his punishment shall be 
 mitigated. The clause which thus attenuated justice, 
 read the plea of extenuating circumstances. Impulse, it 
 argued, might have been excuse for a first offence, or igno- 
 rance. A second or third delinquency, Berenger claimed, 
 alone confirmed a settled bent towards guile, in which 
 
 326
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 case the hardened sinner must pay the full penalty of the 
 law. 
 
 So Lubin, cognizant of every shade and grade of Gallic 
 municipal mechanism, had set to work, during those long 
 months pending Conway's convalescence, to unearth the 
 Gascon's earlier methods of living. 
 
 It was with great glee that he finally discovered, in the 
 course of his manifold exercise of personal spite, the fact 
 of Mariotti's perpetual leaning towards iniquity, and its 
 public registration. He came across this plethoric circum- 
 stance one day in April, when his courage was almost ex- 
 hausted, and his personal venom was dying out for lack of 
 sustenance. 
 
 He had been running his forefinger along the police 
 register of five years since, when his practised eyes encoun- 
 tered the pithy relation of an anarchist, a Gascon of merid- 
 ional temperament and great personal magnetism, who had, 
 on the sunny slopes of the Riviera, grown so in love with 
 oblique methods that he had formed a gang of political 
 cutthroats, which had finally been arrested for instigating 
 a miniature, badly-organized revolution. The leader had 
 ultimately been proven guilty of almost every sin known 
 in the socialistic rogues' calendar. The little company had 
 been collectively brought to justice, and made to pay the 
 penalty of their crime singly, with the exception of their 
 captain whom, it was quoted, possessed the skin of the 
 proverbial leopard and the subterfuges of the flea. It was 
 related that this Gascon, a man with olive skin and a pair 
 of shifting eyes, was possessed of limbs of rubber, and 
 muscles so capitally trained that he had been known to 
 utilize them to leap as far and as high as a greyhound, and 
 to edge himself through the narrowest apertures like a 
 snake. His name was Antonio Mario. He had, up to 
 now, escaped capture. 
 
 327
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He was wanted chiefly for having assassinated an old 
 woman in the suburbs of Nice. She had been found 
 strangled to death, her treasure box rifled, her body 
 hideously mutilated and burned. 
 
 In a later report the statement was printed that Mario 
 had been seen in Paris, haranguing a gang of anarchists in 
 a cellar in the vicinity of Montmartre. When set upon 
 by the police, his assistants had turned State's evidence to 
 procure their own release, and had proclaimed their leader 
 to be a notorious brigand who had miraculously escaped 
 the penalty of the law. In one case his band had been 
 captured. In the other they had gotten off scot-free 
 through the machinations of their deliverer, who was no 
 less than Mariotti himself he at that time having put into 
 play a sleight-of-hand trick which momentarily turned the 
 attention of the pursuing party from their prey the 
 entire gang escaping, to the extreme discomfiture of the 
 pursuers. This affair had been hushed up, since it could 
 not lay claim to edifying the community at large. 
 
 As Lubin read his face broadened. He copied some 
 notes on his cuff. He made off unctuously to the Prefet 
 de Police, from whose private office he emerged later, with 
 an expression upon his countenance which contained a sus- 
 picion of malice. Lubin was indubitably a great man in 
 his sphere, but the glow which now set fast in his spirit 
 savored not a little of an inferior's satisfaction at having 
 accomplished the noble act, not entirely disinterested, of 
 having rid the famous public of a pest. 
 
 Lubin rooted out slowly the long list of his crimes. 
 When he concluded, not a flaw was to be found in the 
 circlet of proof which was to bind in his chosen enemy. 
 
 That night the detective went home and slept the sleep 
 of the just, the first restful repose he had had for five 
 months. 
 
 328
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 Proceedings were begun some weeks before Conway had 
 entirely recovered. 
 
 The court-room was packed to the doors. Naturally 
 the affair attracted widespread attention. In the colony it 
 was whispered that Conway would give important evidence. 
 The Ambassador's name was mentioned as being, through 
 some mysterious complication, connected with the case. 
 
 Comment was made that he attended the trial daily and 
 with interest watched the slow development of Mariotti's 
 delinquencies which unrolled with increasing evidence of a 
 lurid talent for extracting iniquity from every corner of 
 life. 
 
 The prisoner regarded the affair as an advertisement. 
 He had been ushered into court the first day shambling and 
 chattering ; his skin of a shocking pallor, wasted with con- 
 finement, a gibbering, curse-corroded, dungeon-haunted, 
 human reptile. But as the weeks rolled by his manner be- 
 came cocksure. He occupied again the position he had 
 lost, that of the spoiled child of the public. The world's 
 applause was the fillip to Mariotti's spirit that the cry of 
 ' ' coo-ee' ' is to a colonial. 
 
 So that when the summing up took place, and the next 
 to the last day came and Conway walked into the court to 
 give evidence, Mariotti looked his own affair in the face 
 with the delighted expectancy of a child, who, although 
 having committed a wrong, considers his guilt as but a 
 fair sample of his art. 
 
 Human nature, in spite of its vows to the contrary, sub- 
 mits to the undoing of its fellows with admirable calm. 
 
 The doors of the court-room had swung wide that morn- 
 ing at eight o'clock. There was expectancy in the atmos- 
 phere. If the crowd of gamins at the entrance had not 
 been beaten off by stern officials, the fact of an affair of 
 vast importance would have already declared itself, in the 
 
 329
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 exaggerated exercise of authority which these minions of 
 the law seldom lent to the discussion of a plot less prom- 
 ising of piquante disclosures. 
 
 The great and small journalists by ten A.M. had taken 
 their places in the gallery. Ten minutes later the stenog- 
 raphers sat in a row, their papers and pencils neatly pre- 
 pared on a flat table which stood before them. 
 
 A sprinkling of notabilities began to file in. 
 
 There was Conway, looking taller than ever in his frock 
 coat, pale, aristocratic, carrying a cane on which he leaned 
 heavily as he entered. He chatted from time to time with 
 his mother, who was seated directly behind him, accom- 
 panied by a distinguished looking individual, who some 
 one up in " haute aristocratic' ' details whispered loudly 
 was "the illustrious dramatist, Ferdinand Lamballe. " 
 
 There was the United States Ambassador, and beautiful 
 Mrs. Markoe very wan and frail looking after her recent 
 illness. There was the Austrian princess, and after a time 
 the English Ambassador dropped in with the Swedish 
 attache. Above everything to the gossiping gang, which 
 had prayed for, bought, and stolen an entrance, there was 
 Marguerite, Duchesse de Launoy, in a gown which set all 
 the little pension frequenters, and those upstarts for place 
 with which Paris abounds, into ecstacies over its simplicity. 
 
 Mariotti's features worked violently as he recognized 
 that the affair had by this almost taken on the dignity of a 
 coronation, or a first night. There was the bustle coinci- 
 dent with a great event which he had never been equal to 
 withstanding, when those aristocrats he professed to de- 
 spise acclaimed him as a god in his sphere. His crest- 
 fallen mood vanished. He began to feel as though the sun 
 once more penetrated his turgid fancy. In the gloom of 
 his prison it had sickened and snarled at the approach of 
 a,n unpremeditated doom. It now leaped with joy at the 
 
 330
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 sight of his victim, grinningly aware within of how much 
 he had been able to make the miserable upstart suffer. 
 He forgot past waste hours wherein the innocent recipient 
 of his cruelty had writhed in impotent agony, past brutal- 
 ity towards the guiltless and the oppressed, even the deter- 
 mination to drain from the fortunate his merited socialistic 
 realization of equality. Conway exemplified, to this ex- 
 aggerated specimen of speculative instincts, the best in- 
 vestment he had ever made. The Ambassadress he even 
 now, chucklingly, was laughing at in his sleeve for having 
 accorded him a glimpse of that naivet6 of the spotless and 
 exalted which he had never approached, so nearly, to his 
 own advantage. He wondered coiling mentally, as he did 
 so, a cobra preparing to sting with his forked tongue in 
 two places at once if the racy chance would be proffered 
 wherein he might prove Conway' s impertinence at dealing 
 irreverently with an individual of his prominence, and to 
 strike the Ambassador where he knew his soreness lay a 
 weakness which tickled Mariotti in his profoundest unfaith 
 the feminine sex. 
 
 Markoe sat contemplating the wriggling rascal with his 
 customary calm. His face was drawn and worn. If he 
 experienced any uneasiness that his wife's entanglement 
 with the case might be revealed, thus lending her to being 
 torn to pieces by the wolves of public opinion, he gave no 
 evidence of it. 
 
 The proceedings began after the usual preliminaries had 
 been gone through with and dismissed. They comprised 
 with a list of the prisoner's delinquencies, which the reader 
 of the morning's legal chapter pronounced superfluous in 
 the present issue, a treatment which made Mariotti, who 
 had suddenly turned his old hideous pallor, relax once more 
 Lubin's account of his pursuit of the clown, coincident 
 upon his discovery that he was leading a dual existence.
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He explained that Mariotti had roused his suspicions by 
 instituting inquiries as regarded the Ambassador's financial 
 status. 
 
 The detective pictured graphically, to Mariotti' s visible 
 edification, his own participation in the clown's daily life 
 from that on. He was an interesting study as he stood 
 there, every impression he received faithfully worked out 
 in his vivid countenance. Concisely he depicted the rise of 
 the Gascon who, with such lightning speed, had steadily 
 advanced in his genius for vice, his saintly back in its 
 shiny frock coat turned towards the object of his detesta- 
 tion, his chubby profile expressively delighted at last at 
 being instrumental in bringing the wily criminal before his 
 accusers in his true character, while he related his story. 
 
 The judge checked him as, garrulously, he attempted to 
 gather up the threads of Mario's past life and fasten them 
 with the present imbroglio. 
 
 1 ' That will do. Vous avez le temps, allez, ' ' said he. 
 ' ' For the present we must keep close to the issue at 
 hand." 
 
 Conway was seated with his eyes cast down. It had re- 
 quired all his force to put from him the delicious knowledge 
 that the Ambassadress, singly and faithfully, had sought 
 to save him from the cruel sequel of his own temerity. 
 The burden she had carried for him served to soften some- 
 what the bitter sense of failure which, he had assumed, 
 must hereafter always be his portion. He had not learned 
 as yet that the consciousness of weakness often proves a 
 strength in itself. He only knew that he had been flabby 
 in the one effort of his life wherein he should have been 
 most strong. But he should ever hug to himself, he knew, 
 the sweet knowledge that she had fought for him, with all 
 her woman's wit during those long, slow, tortuous weeks 
 when she might have spoken had she not, too, pitied him. 
 
 332
 
 THE TRIAL 
 
 Now, when Lubin's story led him to read between the 
 lines an evasion of the main circumstance which had 
 brought his own sufferings to light that circumstance 
 which made all those cognizant of Kate Markoe's confu- 
 sion bend their gaze everywhere except upon her flushed 
 face Conway glanced involuntarily at her. 
 
 In that look he received his most acute punishment for 
 past neglect of Markoe's interests or possible sufferings. 
 Kate Markoe's sad eyes were fixed upon her husband's 
 face. As Lubin pursued his story, the court hanging 
 breathlessly on the smallest detail dished up so generously 
 for their special delectation, she forgot time, place, her 
 own pride, as she strove to imprint upon her heart forever 
 the features of the man whose love she had been powerless 
 to keep. And justly. She recognized, perhaps with undue 
 severity, how unworthy she had been of this specimen of 
 manhood who in simplest fashion asked but to do his duty. 
 
 If Stephen Markoe had turned at that instant this story 
 would have concluded here. But he did not turn ; thus 
 he missed seeing in his wife' s fair face a truth which stabbed 
 Conway in his direst need, and left him inexorably crippled. 
 
 The past few weeks had dragged along wearily for the 
 Ambassador and his wife. A widening gulf yawned be- 
 tween them. He had bidden her wait. She had waited. 
 She would wait until the trial had been consummated. 
 But what a waiting ! A veritable sword of Damocles hung 
 over her head suspended by a single hair the hair of 
 Time. One touch of her husband's will and it would fall, 
 cutting her off forever from the greatest gift life had of- 
 fered her. Painfully only Kate Markoe knew how pain- 
 fully it was coming home to her that she had been her 
 own undoing. 
 
 It was Conway 's turn to mount the witness-stand. The 
 audience whispered volubly as he climbed to his place. 
 
 333
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 This had been the intended victim of Mariotti's venom. 
 He had not died by the grace of God ! " What a pity 
 if he had," thought a pretty matron in the audience with 
 a taste for romance. 
 
 "The night was dark," stated Comvay, briefly. "I 
 was bewildered by the glare in the Hotel Launoy, whither 
 I had gone to attend the ball of the season. I ran out 
 from under the canopy, spread over a temporary conserva- 
 tory erected for the occasion, in order to catch my train for 
 Carembourg, where I had been stopping. It was a half 
 hour to the Gare de Lyons. I lifted my hand to call a cab 
 when I suddenly felt as if I had been hit by some blunt 
 instrument from behind. I had met Mariotti earlier in the 
 evening. He was in costume ; a fantastic figure enough, 
 reeling down the Champs Elysees, singing a popular song. 
 It was imperative I should visit the Hotel Launoy that 
 evening." He paused a moment ; his lips whitened. He 
 saw the Ambassador's face as in a mist, with its brave eyes 
 and grave mouth. Then he went on, but in that instant 
 he wondered sharply if men realize that one night's work 
 may mar their hope of peace, present and future. He 
 had seen, as he spoke, the Ambassadress turn and look 
 at him, as though striving instinctively to beg him to pass 
 over this portion of his story as swiftly as possible. ' ' She 
 seeks to protect him this time," he thought, bitterly, then 
 he dismissed the thought as unworthy and dashed on. 
 "They struck me from the back. There seemed a num- 
 ber of them, but as I turned in their midst I saw Mariotti, 
 grinning fearfully. He said something, the import of 
 which I did not catch as I raised my hand to ward off his 
 furious blow. Then I knew no more, but before I fell I 
 saw him strike. I remember now that what he said was 
 ' a bas les aristocrats. ' 
 
 ' ' Everything was a blank until I woke in that fetid 
 
 334
 
 MARIOTTI'S DEFENCE 
 
 chamber, and saw Mariotti standing over me like an 
 avenging- devil, with a glass of some brown liquid in his 
 hand. He told me to drink it. I, struggling against an 
 overpowering sense that all was not well with me, com- 
 plied. There is no need to enlarge upon the further 
 details of my confinement, " he added, shortly the woman 
 who was listening, her heart almost rent asunder, her brain 
 distracted, knew the intonation was pitiful in the extreme 
 for her sake ; not for Mariotti' s. 
 
 Conway seated himself heavily, to the great chagrin of 
 some ignorant persons in the court room, who were gazing 
 awe-stricken at the young millionaire' s costly watch chain 
 with its seal, on which was inscribed an iron hand in a velvet 
 glove. They had been, too, somewhat amused at his guarded 
 French, which, although accurate, was far from fluent. 
 
 The accused, during his victim's statement, had sat 
 vacuously grinning at the ceiling with the resigned smile 
 of a wrongfully accused member of a higher civilization. 
 
 Some witnesses were brought in. They recounted in no 
 guarded terms a grewsome tale of Mariotti' s cruelty towards 
 his comrades. Then that morning's proceedings termi- 
 nated. The court adjourned. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 MARIOTTI'S DEFENCE 
 
 THE trial dragged along for weeks. Gradually the main 
 theme thickened, what with the aid of some able police 
 commissioners and their investigations, inspired by Lubin. 
 
 Paris journalism gleefully seized upon Mariotti' s downfall 
 as its personal opportunity. It had sung Mariotti songs and 
 danced Mariotti waltzes ad libitum. It now chanted his 
 
 335
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 dirge, embellishing it with feats of journalistic skill consist- 
 ing of gigantic sub-heads which, attached to lurid sheets, 
 were strewn from the Batignolles to Notre Dame. Just as 
 Paris had gone Mariotti-mad one day, not long since, re- 
 peating his mots as indication of the acme of gamin phi- 
 losophy, now it jeered mercilessly at his downfall. 
 
 Miniature harlequins were sold like hot cakes at little 
 booths erected temporarily for the purpose on the boule- 
 vards. When the startling news had been put in circula- 
 tion that, having been discovered guilty of the murder of 
 an old woman near Nice, which had taken place some five 
 years before, the murderer was to pay the full penalty of 
 his crime, the delight of the public knew no bounds in an- 
 ticipation of their fallen idol's last unexpected performance. 
 
 The prisoner had thought that his sentence would be 
 light, in view of the fact that Conway lived and flourished ; 
 but one day the prison warden wore so outspoken an ex- 
 pression of gratification that Mariotti, acutely susceptible 
 to physiognomies, surprised it, and asked the cause. 
 
 His keeper regarded him curiously through the slits of 
 his evil eyes. 
 
 ' ' You had better begin to pray, ' ' he said, facetiously. 
 "Your time is short" ; and then, as Mariotti shrieked, 
 leaping to his feet like a galvanized viper, his cold-blooded 
 informant told him he must answer to his Maker in the old 
 form, a life for a life ! 
 
 "Look to yourself," he muttered, touching the wrig- 
 gling rascal at his feet with the toe of his boot, he had 
 fallen inert after rending the air with his curses, "when 
 the day of your trial is at hand say what you have to say 
 boldly. It will be your last chance." 
 
 It had been pouring hard all night. The rain still fell in 
 torrents. The reflection from the black wet roofs outside 
 
 336
 
 MARIOTTFS DEFENCE 
 
 cast over the presiding judge's lined countenance a dark 
 smirk of what seemed like diabolical glee to the accused's 
 inflamed fancy. 
 
 The throng buzzed angrily, at last rendered conscious of 
 the poisonous instincts of the viper they had been cherish- 
 ing in their midst. The corridors were congested with 
 gendarmes, spiked bayonets carried stiffly against their 
 right shoulders. They stood in bodies, lined together 
 at the heads of the staircases, beating off from time to 
 time the surging mob, which threatened to storm their 
 ranks, divided so as to effect an egress for the principal 
 witnesses. 
 
 The air was stifling ; the silence intense. Mariotti had 
 been declared guilty. He had been asked if he had any 
 plea to advance whereinsoever the full penalty of the law 
 should not be meted out to him. 
 
 In his mind's eye the now more than ever notorious 
 criminal had been witnessing all night an arid square at 
 Nancy, in which a wooden-beamed guillotine stood forth 
 against the slowly pinkening four A.M. sky. He had been 
 an urchin on a neighboring roof at dawn years since, no 
 god in view but the god of his own riotous inclination. 
 He remembered now, fearfully, what he had then witnessed 
 gleefully, having craned his neck from dark until dawn, 
 awaiting mercilessly the passing of the condemned. 
 
 A little body of sombre-clad men ; a sad-eyed priest 
 reading in monotone the prayers for the dying ; a limp, 
 horror-stricken creature with leaden eyes and blanched 
 skin, remorselessly marched towards that scaffolding of 
 doom. 
 
 And he had pitched his cap above his tousled head, in 
 silent ecstacy that it was his portion to obtain a glimpse of 
 so ravishing a spectacle ! 
 
 To-day he had been dragged into court, his senses sick 
 337
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 with the grisly ghoulishness his imagination lent them. 
 Now, as he stumbled to his feet to make his plea, he 
 crossed himself, a gesture his confessor had taught him the 
 night before when, refusing to repent, the sinner had only 
 crouched gibbering in the corner of his cell emitting god- 
 less imprecations. He realized he was about to taste for 
 the last time the delicious pastime of holding a multitude 
 spell-bound by force of personal magnetism. 
 
 For Mariotti, as he stood there, a pitiable object enough, 
 his long, oily, unkempt hair falling to his shoulders, his 
 faintly copper-colored features criss-crossed with terror, 
 still stood sponsor for the leashed spirit of the masses. 
 
 He thought now, exultantly, the conviction flitted 
 across his confused brain and cleared away the cobwebs 
 of that too much thinking which makes men mad, that 
 not one of his accusers, not the Duchesse with her follow- 
 ing of worldlings, nor Lamballe, supreme in his marked 
 emphasis of reiterated power, nor Conway, wearing what 
 seemed to the miserable wretch a triumphant smile over 
 Mariotti' s justifiable end, could do as much. He might be 
 the mountebank, the assassin, the proved most iniquitous 
 instigator of other men's crimes : none the less he had 
 always been a master in his line. These beings fraught 
 with the courage which a full pocket-book engenders, these 
 pampered creatures odoriferous of luxury, whose gor- 
 geously caparisoned steeds champed their bits outside, 
 whose servants in livery stood behind them with the block- 
 like expression assumed by the hired underling, never had 
 tasted one corner of life as Mariotti knew it. Theirs had 
 not been the hand-to-hand encounter with reality ; theirs, 
 in all likelihood, would never be the fisticuff tussle for 
 existence. They were rocked on a summer sea of idleness 
 or prosperity ; their dreams were stuffed with sawdust. 
 They mistook it for flesh and blood. They knew no more 
 
 338
 
 MARIOTTI'S DEFENCE 
 
 of the real article, what with the polish exacted by their 
 senses, than the French dolls in the Passage des Panora- 
 mas. Mariotti knew, though. He had lain with his ear 
 close to human nature. He had heard it throb. He had 
 seen it with his own eyes. He had felt with his own senses 
 all the upheavals, the struggles, the ceaseless gnashing of 
 teeth of that stratum which men name of the lower class, 
 but which Mariotti truthfully claimed to exemplify the 
 majority. 
 
 Thus, charged with a brief semblance of grit which 
 flamed up mightily for the moment, burning out in this 
 the last outspoken moment of his life all conscience or 
 sense of responsibility, he spoke. And his listeners, 
 astounded, lifted their faces in wonder as the prisoner 
 swayed there, lightly poised on his long, slender feet, 
 teaching these, the advertised apostles of order, Mariotti' s 
 creed. 
 
 "I will answer him first," he said, almost facetiously, 
 indicating Conway, who was regarding the prisoner from a 
 distance. ' ' That foreigner came to me, monsieur le Juge, 
 to borrow my costume ! Why did he not dare then to 
 appear in his own ? He was no less a man than I and all 
 men are harlequins where they are not fools. Mariotti 
 went as the harlequin Mariotti. Not so the more aristo- 
 cratic of the Duchesse's guests. In all that distinguished 
 assembly the night of the Launoy fete Mariotti was the 
 only man who dared proclaim himself as himself. The 
 others, lords and ladies of high degree, princes, barons, 
 counts, dukes, went the way of all flesh, to deceive. The 
 clown, and the clown alone, took his character in his hand, 
 a custom with Mariotti, and scampered through the throng 
 as ever, their spoiled child. Young America came to me, 
 and asked of me my costume ! 'Twas like asking the 
 leopard for his skin. Know then, messieurs, the costume 
 
 339
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Mariotti is not the costume of tout le monde ; neither is it 
 the invention of any fourth-class costumier who ekes a 
 living stealing other men's ideas. It is the original creation 
 of this brain, ' ' beating his forehead with his hand. ' ' It 
 evolved from this heart, ' ' striking his side. ' ' The hypo- 
 critical intent, then, of him you choose to denominate 
 my ' victim' becomes thus apparent ; n' est-ce-pas ? The 
 American went to the ball to represent me. He went as a 
 lie. Now I am human, monsieur, and I could have slain 
 him for seeking to despoil me of a fame I had taken years 
 to establish. For what I had sought after, starved for, 
 and finally accomplished, he, that miserable upstart from a 
 country nous autres ignore, obtained in one night. And 
 not he alone, the American, but also our illustrious friend, 
 the great Lamballe. Know then, messieurs, that in that 
 famous night Mariotti was at the ball three times for 
 Lamballe went as Mariotti, and the American, and Mari- 
 otti, a triple evidence of superior proficiency. Three times 
 lord of all !" 
 
 There was a low excited murmur from the rapt audience. 
 
 The judge knocked with his gavel upon his desk, per- 
 emptorily. ' ' Silence !' ' he commanded. 
 
 The clown continued, his left hand had crept to his hip ; 
 it rested there in the graceful poise which this abortionist 
 of simplicity had made so peculiarly his own. His left was 
 lifted to gesticulate in Mariotti' s individual fashion. When 
 making a point he laid one finger against his nose ; when 
 scoring a victory he snapped two digits in the air ; upon 
 the acknowledgment of defeat he turned one hand out 
 with the palm upwards, slyly observing the expression of 
 every countenance upturned to him, hissing, now in a sibi- 
 lant whisper, now in a soft, musical, peculiarly mellifluous 
 lisp, through his broken, darkened teeth. 
 
 1 ' The second question is, have I anything to say why 
 
 34
 
 MARIOTTFS DEFENCE 
 
 the extreme penalty of the law should not be passed upon 
 me ? Yes, I have this to say. In meting out a just punish- 
 ment to the American I only paid him back in his own 
 coin. He dispossessed me of my character. It was but 
 meet I should despoil him of his life. He stole from me 
 what was dearer than life if only for an hour with an in- 
 souciance, mais, with an insouciance which was to me a 
 model of its kind ! My answer to the American, monsieur, 
 is that there are things nous autres have which a rich man 
 may not buy. The art of creativeness for one thing the 
 right to administer a just punishment when we so will. ' ' 
 
 Crime upon crime being proved against him, he received 
 the crushing evidence of his guilt nonchalantly, ending 
 thus, 
 
 ' ' What have I to say that death should not be meted out 
 to me in return for my sins ? I have this to say. Who are 
 ye that ye should mete out death to me ? Are ye less self- 
 seeking, or less clowns than I ? I say no ! You dare to 
 judge me by what I do not see. You claim to be better 
 men than I. I, a professional clown, doubt it. Why, 
 then ? Because I have lived, messieurs, lived every inch 
 of my life, royally lived it. Men have not lived until they 
 have suffered, say ye? I have suffered. Men have not 
 lived until they have loved, you claim ? Well, then, I have 
 loved, much and often, and I say that women love our 
 love for them better than they love ourselves, and that 
 men love us for what we teach them of evil. Men have 
 not lived until they have hated. I hate !' ' 
 
 His lips were drawn now like a white cord across his 
 teeth ; his hand still pressed convulsively against his hip ; 
 it was creeping furtively towards a slit in his pocket. 
 
 ' ' Men have not lived until they have killed ! Who of 
 us, I ask, has not killed ?' ' his strident voice now rising to 
 a hoarse shriek. ' ' You !' ' pointing with his slim, shaking
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 finger at the judge. "You !" denoting Conway. "You 
 shake your heads. Fools !" Some foam now could be 
 seen at the corners of the criminal's mouth ; his eyes held 
 curious forked lights like those of a snake. ' ' Do you not 
 kill, then, when you bid men like me cease to hope, when 
 you kick a cur into silence, or torture a hag with neglect ? 
 What have I to say ? This ! Who are you in comparison 
 with Mariotti ! Are you better than he ? He has ruled ; 
 he has gloried in infamy. You have knuckled down. 
 Cowards ! I have lived. You have looked on. I have 
 played my role openly. You play your role secretly. I 
 claim I am the better man of the two. You name me a 
 ' clown' because I have danced and juggled, because I 
 have sinned and suffered, because even now I laugh in the 
 face of defeat, because I show my teeth instead of cringing 
 at life like those low curs that pinch their tails between 
 their flanks, and go off yelping to hide themselves in the 
 garbage heap where they belong. You are more clowns 
 than I. I have loved life. You tremble at it. You fear 
 death. Know then I defy it !' ' 
 
 His grey lips were drawn tight across his broken teeth. 
 His eyes glazed. Then they fixed in a rapturous stare, as 
 they were lifted towards the ceiling. The audience looked 
 upwards. It saw nothing but an angular-shaped sunbeam, 
 which sifted through the half-open casement, and shot un- 
 evenly across the dirty wall. Mariotti' s eyes fixed glassily 
 against this evidence of God's bounty. His body worked 
 convulsively. 
 
 ' ' I say I defy death, ' ' he shrieked. ' ' Let it come. I 
 am not afraid. ' ' 
 
 There was a brief pause, and a long, shuddering, rattling 
 breath. 
 
 A police commissioner, who had stood stolidly at the 
 back of the witness-box, now started hurriedly forward. 
 
 342
 
 THE ULTIMATUM 
 
 It was too late. He had seen the narrow flash of a steel 
 instrument which the clown swiftly drew from his hip 
 pocket. With a lightning-like gesture, supreme in its 
 record of unparalleled grace and energy, he had pointed it 
 directly at his own heart. When he withdrew it, it was 
 red with blood. 
 
 Mariotti fell, an inert mass, across the railing of the wit- 
 ness-box. 
 
 As they lifted him, he murmured some words which 
 were handed down afterwards to rogue posterity as evi- 
 dence of a courage which, in certain circles, became 
 immortal. 
 
 "Bien aime'e la Mort," he had whispered, "tu es la 
 bienvenue. ' ' 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE ULTIMATUM 
 
 THE Ambassador, Lamballe, and Conway made their 
 way direct to the Embassy the night of their return from 
 the La Vallire fete. It had been extended by the greatest 
 lady in France to her circle of aristocratic acquaintances to 
 announce an international engagement of note in her superb 
 domain. It was a day of splendor which for unparalleled 
 hospitality was unforgettable. 
 
 The three gentlemen had agreed tacitly to re-open the 
 Carembourg issue that night, and to dismiss it, one way or 
 the other. 
 
 As they seated themselves, Lamballe looked brilliantly 
 capable of conducting his own campaign with verve, the 
 Ambassador's lips were firmly compressed in a horizontal 
 line, and Conway' s sensitive face was flushed. They had 
 
 343
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 returned to town with the other one hundred and fifty of 
 Madame de Launoy's illustrious guests, in a chartered 
 train. They were now closeted, no more formidable 
 weapon in sight than a globe of the world, which Lamballe 
 contemplated with glistening eyes at the point which re- 
 vealed the quadrangular map of France. 
 
 The Ambassador, offering a brief apology, stood with 
 his back to Lamballe and his step-son-to-be, opening some 
 letters which his secretary had handed him as he passed 
 out of the room at a sign from Markoe. Conway rolled a 
 cigarette between his long nervous fingers. He had prof- 
 fered his cigarette-case to Lamballe, who had declined 
 partaking of its contents with an impatient frown. The 
 Parisian broke forth hastily, as though desirous of bringing 
 matters to a head without further ado. 
 
 ' ' I have but one answer. You know it. Let us termi- 
 nate this matter here, devoid of bad blood, mes amis." 
 
 The Ambassador did not turn. His thumb nail neatly 
 inserted itself between the pointed flap of an envelope and 
 the cover. There was the thin, sharp sound of paper tear- 
 ing. Then it stopped. 
 
 Conway sat forward. The two lines between his eyes 
 deepened. He crossed one knee over the other, brought 
 a closed fist down upon the upper one noiselessly, the 
 lighted cigarette pinched between the first and second 
 fingers of his hand, and said, lifting his other scooped 
 palm to the back of his neck, 
 
 " We don't ask any better than to hear your side of the 
 question from your own lips, Lamballe. Up to the present 
 that opportunity has been denied us." 
 
 ' ' I told Monod, ' ' began Lamballe, with a surprised 
 look. 
 
 "Pardon me. I had not finished. From your own 
 lips, I repeat. We don't know any better way than that 
 
 344
 
 THE ULTIMATUM 
 
 We don't do business from any other standpoint. We are 
 a democratic nation, remember. It is our habit to deal with 
 serious difficulties at close range. What, no doubt, is cour- 
 tesy to you, seems to us impracticable. You are too square 
 a man to wish to cripple us in our foremost principle. ' ' 
 
 ' ' What is your ' foremost principle' ?' ' icily. 
 
 1 ' Straightforwardness. ' ' The retort direct was delivered 
 with flashing eyes. Conway rose. He stuffed both hands 
 obstinately into his pockets, after flinging his unsmoked 
 cigarette into the grate. 
 
 Lamballe looked at him steadily. ' ' No one could 
 accuse you of lacking in that quality, monsieur." 
 
 "You mistake me. It is you whom I accuse." 
 
 Lamballe' s features stiffened. 
 
 "Comment, monsieur!" he ejaculated, as though un- 
 able to trust the evidence of his senses. 
 
 His eyes were fixed, a hurt astonishment and a reluctant 
 admission in their depths, on the stalwart young figure con- 
 fronting him. His profoundest faith was courage. But 
 youth albeit enviable is ruthless always, he thought. 
 
 ' ' I refer to the sense of duty that forces men to meet 
 and state their case shoulder to shoulder, instead of util- 
 izing an underling to do their dirty work for them." 
 
 The Ambassador seated himself, his half-read letters held 
 loosely in one hand. His eyes were fixed anxiously on 
 Conway' s flushed face. Conway continued, impetuously, 
 
 ' ' Strategy is bred in the bone with you, Lamballe, I 
 allow ; but to us of a quicker civilization the incomprehen- 
 sible quantity is a man who renounces his individual pre- 
 rogative to fight the enemy. You rail at other men's sins 
 on the stage. Why don't you try your own hand in live 
 quarters ?' ' 
 
 " I am ready." The spur had evidently rent the quiver- 
 ing flesh. 
 
 345
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 " It is time. It was time six months ago. It was time 
 four years since. ' ' 
 
 Lamballe lifted his hand imperiously. ' ' You asked me 
 here, then, not only to listen to your conditions, but to 
 obey them ?' ' 
 
 "We asked to meet you frankly and openly to state 
 our case, which governs a generous mutual advancement 
 for both parties concerned. You have eluded our ad- 
 vances. You have frustrated our efforts. You now an- 
 nounce your final decree as though we were children 
 instead of men." 
 
 " What more do you require ?" 
 
 "A clear statement of your reasons for declining our 
 proposition. ' ' 
 
 ' ' I am at a loss to understand your translation of my 
 treatment of the matter. It is considered more diplomatic 
 to treat through a third party, obviously, when the response 
 is in the negative. ' ' 
 
 " We don't want diplomacy. State facts." 
 
 " You will have it ?" 
 
 "Try us." 
 
 Lamballe rose. There was a dark, purple flush on both 
 temples. The young voice acted like a saw on his torn 
 prejudices, but he was a man of parts, and, with the justice 
 for which he was proverbial, he extended the benefit of the 
 doubt to his adversary. 
 
 He, too, as he put into words his personal feelings on the 
 subject, recognized for the second time, in this its racy 
 encounter with fresh air, his grievance's paramount dis- 
 crepancy. 
 
 His ringing voice held a metallic note as he said, ' ' I 
 will not sell my home. May a man, then, tear his heart 
 from his breast for daws to peck at ? I say no. It were 
 unworthy of himself, and our first duty is to ourselves. 
 
 346
 
 THE ULTIMATUM 
 
 Why should I be required to throw myself as a burnt offer- 
 ing between two nations ?' ' 
 
 ' ' You are not suffering that highly sacrificial test. Your 
 conduct is redolent of autocracy." 
 
 The daring words were dauntlessly delivered. The pur- 
 ple stain on Lamballe's temples was reflected more brightly 
 in his antagonist's glowing lips and cheeks. Markoe 
 sat forward, an unobserved spectator. His features looked 
 as though hewn in marble. His mouth was unreadable ; 
 his eyes flashed from face to face, craftily assiduous. 
 
 Lamballe began again as though he had not heard the 
 impetuous interruption. 
 
 "We French respect our privacy. This seems, no 
 doubt, antediluvian to you of a less sensitive organism, 
 but so it is. Had you inherited, as I have, race, an old 
 name, and a vast principality, you might comprehend why 
 the born imperialist is far more radical than the made one." 
 
 ' ' A guardian of ancestral acres more faithful or more 
 loving than the man who has earned place with the sweat 
 of his brow ! A free soil graduate with the world for 
 arena possessed of a less emphatic sense of meum et 
 tuum than the inheritor. I deny it. Your theory is un- 
 tenable." 
 
 "You have the ignorance of youth, and its impu- 
 dence." 
 
 "And you the privilege of magnanimity, which you 
 renounce. ' ' 
 
 There was a live pause. 
 
 Lamballe continued hoarsely, his face fixed steadily 
 towards the globe in front of him the blue green quad- 
 rangular square dancing before his strained eyes like a 
 blood spot on the sun. "Voyons! Here, then, is a 
 sample of my love of home and country. You are aware 
 of my revolt against everything connected with the Franco- 
 
 347
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 Prussian war, yet rather than renounce one iota of my 
 hatred for our enemy, I place myself, as it were, at the 
 very gate of that heart-rending memory. It is crucifixion, 
 mais que voulez-vous? When one's martyrdom is volun- 
 tary then alone is it bearable. ' ' 
 
 "You are a good hater," ejaculated Conway, with a re- 
 sponsive gleam in his eye ; ' ' but men, I am told, have 
 done more through love." 
 
 His opponent sighed. He was too old and wise to gain- 
 say truth. 
 
 " You claim you are advancing your country's interests. 
 I claim you are defeating them. At last we are biting the 
 bone of our contention." 
 
 ' ' How am I ' defeating' them ?' ' sarcastically, with an 
 uncontrolled look of fury. ' ' You are bold indeed, mon- 
 sieur, to accuse Lamballe !" 
 
 "In your obstinate clutch of a voluntary martyrdom, 
 you accord Prussia a right which, if you were the patriot 
 you claim to be, you would throw your bleeding body into 
 the gap before conceding. ' ' 
 
 Lamballe' s features stiffened. His black eyes gleamed 
 with an apprehensive light. 
 
 "I do not understand." The Parisian swung his hand 
 around back of him unsteadily, drew forward a fauteuil, 
 and fell into it. 
 
 Conway' s face, for one instant, quivered sympathetically. 
 His tone lost some of its incisive quality as he continued. 
 ' ' We offer you as rich a privilege as any yet backed by 
 our government, and that is saying a great deal. The 
 price is fair. Your deposit is the largest in the world. 
 Our need is imperative. It is a pity that Prussia, to whose 
 interest we are indifferent, should profit through your 
 prejudice alone, and by so doing excite France's bitter 
 mortification. ' ' 
 
 348
 
 M YOU ARE BOLD INDEED, MONSIEUR, TO ACCUSE LAMBALLE"
 
 THE ULTIMATUM 
 
 Lamballe lifted his right hand, and drew it in a puzzled 
 fashion across his brow. He was very pale. " I do not 
 understand, ' ' he reiterated, huskily. ' ' Explain, monsieur. 
 Je vous en prie explain. ' ' 
 
 "If we cannot convince you, we must deal with Prussia." 
 
 " What has she to do with it ?" agitatedly. 
 
 ' ' The chalk extends across the border, monsieur. ' ' 
 
 There was a dead silence. Then Lamballe said in a 
 spent voice, extending his shaking fingers, ' ' Proof ?' ' 
 
 Conway walked towards the table, opened the drawer, 
 and handed the roll containing Burgess's report to him 
 without a word. 
 
 Lamballe unfolded it, his hands trembling violently. 
 
 1 ' It would be like the irony of fate, ' ' remarked Conway 
 colloquially, after a few moments, in which Lamballe had 
 painfully perused the paper before him, folded it carefully, 
 and replaced it upon the table. 
 
 The interim had registered but one slight sound. Brave 
 men have released their hold on love and life with just such 
 a sigh. 
 
 Lamballe' s arm, which had hung limply over the back 
 of his chair for the past few seconds, fell heavily to his 
 knee. His eyes were fixed on vacancy. His features 
 were contracted oddly. He wore the expression which 
 stamped the countenance of that denouncer of treason who 
 contemplated the murder of his son a traitor without 
 the quiver of an eyelash. 
 
 " Prussia may not have it?" The voice was Conway's. 
 
 "No," came the response instantly, sharply resonant. 
 ' ' She is the cancer in our national heart. She must not 
 laugh at us again. Bid your laborers come over. I will 
 meet you half-way. ' ' 
 
 Conway walked across the room to where the Ambassa- 
 dor stood. He had risen. His back was towards his 
 
 349
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 foreign guest. As Conway came towards him he looked 
 up. 
 
 There is no sweeter foretaste of heaven than the ' ' well 
 done good and faithful servant' ' glimmer in the eyes of a 
 friend. 
 
 ' ' It has been like tearing out my heart, ' ' vouchsafed 
 Lamballe an hour later, after the contract had been drawn 
 up and signed. ' ' I have been burned between two fires ; 
 hate and love. Surprisingly enough, they have both con- 
 quered here. I wonder, have you ever noticed in the tower 
 at Carembourg, as you drove across the bridge that spans 
 the moat, a queer oblong projectile imbedded in a wedge 
 of plaster between the granite blocks ? That shell came 
 from the enemy's guns. Its shadow dwells in my heart." 
 
 The Ambassador contemplated his former antagonist im- 
 perturbably. 
 
 ' ' I had heard you were noble even in defeat, ' ' he 
 stated. 
 
 Lamballe shrugged his shoulders as he took up his hat. 
 
 " An exalted niche I may not fill," he protested, sadly. 
 ' ' This is a case of ' faute de mieux. ' ' 
 
 As he passed over the threshold, and the door closed 
 behind him, Conway swung across the room, snatched his 
 gripsack from a chair, placed his hat on his head, and ex- 
 tended his hand towards the Ambassador. 
 
 "Off?" inquired Markoe. 
 
 ' ' More, ' ' returned Conway, very gravely. ' ' Straight 
 on, please God !" 
 
 35<>
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 IT was two A.M. Markoe had been just about to extin- 
 guish the light and cross the hall to his sleeping chamber 
 to retire, when his wife entered, and closed the door softly 
 behind her. 
 
 She was acting on an uncontrollable impulse. 
 
 Conway had gone. Already he was speeding towards 
 Southampton. He had made off opportunely, jubilant, no 
 doubt, over the triumph derived from his final interview 
 with his country's immutable antagonist. He was eager to 
 be doing ; of that she was certain. The cloud, which had 
 been no bigger than a man's hand, had faded away from 
 his horizon forever. Manlike, he had gotten off scot-free. 
 She, the woman, remained to face the storm. The time 
 had come for her to confirm her decision so daringly 
 launched some months since. 
 
 As she stood hesitating the Ambassador had risen, he 
 was regarding her curiously there suddenly sprang to life 
 in her a great longing to rid her spirit of the burden which 
 had been consuming her for weeks ; the secret of Conway' s 
 mad act, and her own guile. All her staunch support, as 
 regarded her friend' s weakness, vanished before her loyalty 
 to the man who, so patiently, had borne with her whims, 
 while knowing of her determination to leave him forever. 
 
 They stood face to face now, both abashed, both aware 
 that the time had come when nothing stood between their 
 solving of a problem which had rolled up, without their 
 volition, on their hearthstone ; which only a mutual under-
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 standing might once have put out, she thought. Even 
 that hope was over now, though ! 
 
 He considered, sadly, if he might have discovered some 
 new method to win her love, this anguished hour had 
 never been his. He had been a dolt to have supposed a 
 woman might be won by either care or judgment. The 
 complex creatures were beyond his ken. 
 
 She wondered, bitterly, why the embers of what she had 
 intended should burn up into perpetual flame, had declared 
 themselves so mercilessly, and so soon. 
 
 ' ' I came here to tell you that I think the time has come, 
 Stephen, in which to bid you good-bye, ' ' she began very 
 quietly, in that hushed tone persons adopt when they 
 know they are attacking a subject that contains elements 
 which hitherto they have deemed it wiser to appear to 
 ignore. 
 
 Wordlessly he confronted her. In after years they re- 
 membered that in that hour they had stood face to face, 
 their limbs rigid, their hearts beating in dull, marked 
 strokes that clutched fast at their breath and blanched 
 their cheeks and lips. 
 
 He had no answer ready for her. A man may not plead 
 in a moment like this. His pride or his reason, or both, 
 forbid it. He felt all along that what was offered him he 
 would accept gladly did a Divine Providence will it that 
 his lines should fall in pleasant places, instead of bald or 
 shallow ones. But he could not demand the impossible. 
 He knew love might or might not be. That when it is, it 
 overflows all lesser things, and submerges pain and loss 
 and grief in a tidal wave of bliss unspeakable. He knew 
 when it is not, the famished land lies as though stricken by 
 a pestilence, defunct ! 
 
 "Before I go," she said, the musical voice was very 
 low and clear, the great mournful eyes wide and dry ; she 
 
 352
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 was wept out, she thought, as she dimly wondered at her 
 strange calm in this moment she had dreaded for so long, 
 ' ' I wish to tell you that in a measure I have deceived you. ' ' 
 
 He raised his hand involuntarily, to bid her hush, but 
 she continued steadily. "Don't check me. In this con- 
 fession which I consider it is my duty to make to you, I 
 think you will discover much that will explain some inepti- 
 tudes in past matters which you have not imagined. But 
 before I speak I want you to know that I will forgive you 
 now and always, if you despise me for the weakness I am 
 about to reveal. A man like you may not understand it. 
 A woman would." 
 
 She stirred a little restlessly. Then she went on. 
 
 He had folded his arms resignedly. He was looking at 
 her intently. 
 
 ' ' I think perhaps men do not imagine how women come 
 to them when they marry, ' ' she explained. ' ' ' They have 
 not have they been as I was loved before. They may 
 not love again. They fancy that, with the marriage ser- 
 vice, all desire to be appreciated, unless in their husband's 
 eyes, will be stilled forever. But after a time, when the 
 first grade of matrimony is a thing of the past, the first 
 grade in which the woman gives all recklessly, voluntarily, 
 and asks nothing in return, if she is wise, but present faith 
 and like purity, she comes into the consciousness that 
 she is the same woman she was before she vowed herself 
 forever to the being who may make her happiness or her un- 
 doing. She discovers herself guilty of the same old aspi- 
 rations which assailed her girlhood, of the same weak- 
 nesses, of the identical capacities, especially so if life falls 
 into the humdrum groove of daily events ; if she is made 
 to feel it is but her duty to love, to honor, and to obey, I 
 mean, if her steadfast allegiance is taken as a matter of 
 course. That is where the shoe begins to pinch. This 
 23 353
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 was the cause of my unrest in our case. I felt nothing I 
 could do you would consider anything but the natural 
 sequence of my vow to love, to honor, and to obey ; that 
 the desire for admiration which I crushed out, the love of 
 power which I renounced, the independence of letting my 
 fancy flow towards the thing which promised it the most 
 pleasure and the least pain, would be, in your estimation, 
 comprised collectively in the correct translation of what is 
 denominated conjugal duty. With women, as with men, 
 the consciousness of doing right is not enough. We need 
 the stimulus of our husband's approval ; the knowledge 
 that he recognizes our self-denials. Otherwise we are no 
 more than the truck horse that staggers on, daily more 
 sodden, under the conviction that he is neither understood 
 nor noticed. Hitherto I have been too proud or too im- 
 patient to tell you of this. I have only let out in fits of 
 temper, of which I have always afterwards felt bitterly 
 ashamed my conviction that you did not love me at 
 least, as other men love their wives. I know compari- 
 sons are odious but there are things more odious. One 
 of them is to reach out towards an unknown sphere, trust- 
 ing to find within it what has been denied one elsewhere. 
 That is a fault intrinsically womanly. It began with 
 Eve." 
 
 She stopped momentarily. Her words came so fast that 
 she was obliged to check herself every now and then, as 
 though to smooth out her reasoning and bring its meaning 
 more forcibly to a point. 
 
 ' ' I think it was because at home I always found you 
 either intent upon a sort of aftermath of municipal affairs, 
 or wearied with the day' s doings, or impatient at my eager- 
 ness to find you as I once had found you, tender, atten- 
 tive, that I gradually grew to demanding of others what 
 you denied me sympathy, and what seemed like complete 
 
 354
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 understanding. It was an insignificant and perhaps un- 
 worthy detail upon which to wreck one's record of clear 
 reasoning ; but there have been even more infinitesimal 
 details utilized to widen the gap of woman's heart hunger 
 and with graver results. Things were at the stage I 
 mention when you chose Jack Conway to come into our 
 midst. He sympathized with my whims. He foresaw my 
 wants. He was sunny ; he was not so absorbed with 
 mental preoccupation that everything else escaped him, 
 even the caprices of a woman who was nothing to him but 
 his friend's wife. I don't think you can imagine what he 
 became to me ; he was my comrade, my playmate, my ad- 
 vocate. He was the companion I had hungered for, and 
 had not found in the place where I needed you. He did 
 not scornfully rebuke my love of enjoyment. He encour- 
 aged it. He made up to me partially for what you denied. 
 I did not see, at first, that I was doing him any harm. I 
 was selfish. I could not consider that what to me was only 
 a pastime was becoming to him his daily portion. I am 
 sure he did not realize it, either, until that night came when 
 all the truth flashed out, and I saw things as they were." 
 
 The Ambassador's head had fallen forward on his breast. 
 Did his attitude express the fact that he had determined 
 to look away from her in order to spare her pain ? Singu- 
 larly enough, the thought irritated her. 
 
 "I wish," she flashed out, with a fierceness which 
 startled her listener, ' ' that you would look straight at me 
 while I am telling you this story. / am not ashamed. 
 You need not be." 
 
 She confronted him proudly as he fixed his eyes upon 
 her once more. One hand had stolen out ; it gripped fast 
 the corner of a small table against which she stood. 
 
 For all response to her momentary unjust onslaught he 
 only raised his lids, and looked back at her mildly. 
 
 355
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 "That night was the night of the Launoy ball," she 
 explained, a little feverishly. "Jack met Mariotti, donned 
 his costume, and came there in a disguise, he said, to as- 
 sure himself that Lamballe was in Paris before he Jack 
 set to work to pursue his search unmolested concerning 
 the whereabouts of the chalk stratum. I told you this be- 
 fore but I left out the fact that from some emotion I saw 
 imprinted on his face, I discovered he had returned to 
 Paris to see me. The knowledge of this, instead of in- 
 spiring me with disgust, filled me with a delightful sense of 
 power. I pitied, I despised him, but I temporarily adored 
 myself, until I saw what my elation might lead him to sup- 
 pose. Perhaps in that one mad moment he thought I 
 might return his passion ; but only in that one. It was a 
 moment which he has bitterly repented since ; which he 
 had not forestalled, rather left weakly unimagined. When 
 he grasped the fact that I only gave him scorn in return 
 for his acknowledgment subsequent upon my furious ac- 
 cusation that he had come up to Paris because he could 
 not remain away from me he awoke to the consciousness 
 of all his mad act might imply. I, too. I don't know 
 what I said to him exactly. I used terms incommensu- 
 rate with the crime he aspired to only aspired to, and that 
 vaguely. All along, though, alongside my furious on- 
 slaught, my forcing his wickedness out to light in order 
 to more clearly accentuate with its disclosure my strength 
 as opposed to his lack of it I was conscious that his com- 
 plete subjugation made me glad, glad, glad ! It meant 
 that if you might not love me he did. That, after all, I 
 was not a put-on-the-shelf, but a woman, with a woman's 
 power to win, a woman's right to make or unmake men. 
 With this there came to me afterwards, with a terrible, 
 merciless insistence which I could not beat off, the con- 
 sciousness that just because I am a woman must I despise 
 
 356
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 myself for rejoicing in the fact that I could make another 
 suffer. But that came later. I sent him from me then. 
 I told him I never wished to look upon his face again. I 
 meant it. He will always recall to me an overpowering 
 memory of my own most reprehensible vainglory." 
 
 She swayed a little. She had paused and lifted the other 
 hand, and had laid it against the one which rested against 
 the table. As she did this she leaned forward a little, 
 pleadingly. The light from the lamp below her cast a 
 warm glow into her liquid, sorrowful eyes, and made the 
 curves of her lips curl outwards. 
 
 ' ' He left me finally after I had exhausted myself en- 
 deavoring impotently enough to express my contempt for 
 him. I was afraid he might not be sure of it. It was all 
 my fault, though. I have known that since. The sequel 
 is to be my just punishment. Inasmuch as I deserved the 
 blame, which I have all along known must be my portion 
 as far as you are concerned when you learned the truth, I 
 have never deceived myself, you may well imagine, in this 
 particular." She stopped. 
 
 The Ambassador had raised one hand imperiously, as 
 though to bid her discontinue her asides. She ignored the 
 gesture rebelliously. ' ' I will not be long," she said, gently, 
 in answer to his distressed look. 
 
 " As he went I shall never forget the shame in his face 
 if I live to be a thousand years old, ' ' she interpolated im- 
 pulsively, ' ' he said ' good-bye forever !' He could not 
 withstand that I had used one word in regard to him. 
 That word was ' Coward. ' I had also reminded him of 
 you. I don't know why, as soon as he left, I was assailed 
 with an awful dread that I had sent him to perdition. 
 When you told me he had mysteriously disappeared, I at 
 once concluded that he had put an end to himself on my 
 account. A vain supposition, was it not ? In spite of a 
 
 357
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 cynicism, which I took good care to foster in all those 
 awful weeks when I so vainly strove to force Mariotti to 
 place him in my hands, I was consumed with that one 
 awful thought that Jack Conway had loved me, and that 
 I had unwittingly sent him to his doom. The idea pur- 
 sued me night and day. It harrowed my waking hours 
 and haunted my sleeping ones. Only after it had faded 
 out he told me, I asked him, that what I said to him had 
 absolutely nothing to do with leading him into the midst 
 of his enemies then I knew how foolish I had been. In- 
 stead of being the woman you had imagined me, I was 
 nothing but a vain, spoiled, wilful insufficiency. I could 
 not go away without telling you the truth, and asking your 
 forgiveness. ' ' 
 
 She had moved around the table which had stood be- 
 tween them. She stood now at his side. He could hear 
 her rustling garments. He inhaled the odor of a subtle 
 sandal-wood scent she made use of. 
 
 " It seems to me," she burst forth, self-accusingly, " that 
 the last evidence of my unfaith is to reveal to you Jack's 
 deceit. You trusted him so ! It will rob you forever of 
 the esteem you had garnered up for him. I wonder, 
 Stephen," very wistfully, "if, when I am gone, you will 
 not, for the sake of that love we once thought might out- 
 last a lifetime, forgive him ? It was my fault. He ac- 
 knowledges now that it was merely a temporary coup de 
 t6te. He has asked me to forget it. ' ' 
 
 " And you go where?" asked Markoe's voice. He was 
 standing quite close to her, looking down at her soberly, 
 intently. She was such a slender young thing. The soft, 
 mutinous face had altered ; it now was set and wan. She 
 was steadily confronting an unknown destiny as fearlessly 
 as an infant. 
 
 She looked back at him a little waveringly. ' ' I think I 
 
 358
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 will go, and begin again somewhere alone," she mur- 
 mured brokenly. Her lips shook visibly. She fumblingly 
 turned the leaves of a book which had lain at her elbow. 
 Her eyelids were downcast. 
 
 "It will be a nine-days' wonder," remarked Markoe, 
 calmly. " It is unfortunate that we could not have arranged 
 the matter a trifle less radically. Why have you told me 
 this?" 
 
 The former part of his speech had been ice cold. The 
 latter shot forth like a projectile from the mouth of a cata- 
 pult. 
 
 She looked up at him instantly ; her eyes wells of truth ; 
 her lips still quivering a little. 
 
 " I knew of no other way but honesty," she said. " I 
 could not leave you in the dark. It has seemed to me, all 
 along, that it would be hardly square. ' ' 
 
 ' ' Would my contempt, then, be so insupportable to 
 you?" 
 
 " I think it might kill me, were I obliged to exist under 
 it for long. ' ' 
 
 He moved up to her with a strange, guarded look in his 
 face. 
 
 ' ' Did it ever occur to you, ' ' he asked, huskily, ' ' that 
 had you not told me all this, I might have felt the same 
 towards you ?' ' 
 
 ' ' No. I should not have allowed you to do that. It 
 would not have been fair. ' ' The answer was as simple as 
 a child's. Rather a just contrition than kindness which 
 had ignorance for its root. 
 
 "If you expressed the desire for me to efface it," he 
 said, shortly, " I might do so." 
 
 "Efface !" 
 
 The word was a whisper. It seemed to them both that 
 it shot forth from a distant corner of the room. 
 
 359
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 He explained quickly. ' ' My ' contempt. ' Yes. If it 
 existed, if it had ever existed which it has not. You 
 have been just," he added, very gently. "Why should 
 you not have given me credit for as much ?' ' 
 
 "As much?" 
 
 The tears were slowly mounting in her wide, startled 
 eyes. She feebly strove to lift her hand to dry them. He 
 caught the little, tender, fragrant thing in his strong fingers, 
 on the way. 
 
 At the physical contact she began to tremble fearfully. 
 
 "If you hold me," she faltered in a queer, choked 
 voice, " I cannot promise to be brave." 
 
 "Suppose that you give up that, too," he suggested in 
 a tone that it was plainly evident he was striving to make 
 commonplace. She now gazed straight into his face. As 
 she looked, the havoc wrought there within the past few 
 weeks sprang out and made her cry agitatedly. 
 
 " You ! Oh, it cannot be, it must not be, that you have 
 suffered, too." 
 
 With a strong gesture he pushed her, very gently, far 
 from him, still holding her fast, as though he wished to im- 
 print every shade of her wistful face upon his heart. Into 
 his eyes had come that powerful, luminous look which she 
 had surprised once, and never forgotten. It seemed to 
 envelop her. As she took cognizance of it, her anguish 
 faded out. In its place grew a quickening of divine peace 
 which folded its wings and settled down : a snow-white 
 messenger straight from God. 
 
 As he looked and noted the change in her, the painfully 
 slender figure drooping in its helpless, womanish avowal of 
 discouragement, Markoe. dropped her hand. With a mag- 
 nificent possessive gesture, supreme in the acknowledgment 
 it contained of self-revealment, he held out both his arms. 
 
 " Come," he whispered. 
 
 360
 
 MARKOE'S STORY 
 
 Her eyes had cleared by this. Slowly, very slowly, a 
 little unsteadily, the way a child tries its first steps towards 
 its mother, she walked forward and laid her two hands 
 against his. But as she did so, with the gesture she still 
 too held him away from her. The ecstacy of his touch 
 had almost undone her. The burning avowal in his regard 
 was completing its work. 
 
 Her face melted into the sweetest appeal. 
 
 ' ' You must tell me if you have known the whole truth 
 all along ?' ' she whispered in an awe-stricken tone. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' All my weakness, all his confusion, all our shame ?' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 4 ' And you have not spoken ?' ' 
 
 "Wherefore?" 
 
 It was half an hour later. She had drawn a stool to his 
 feet. Her head lay back against his breast, within the cir- 
 clet of his arms. The luminous look still reigned in his 
 eyes. Her face seemed lit up by a light from some un- 
 known sphere. 
 
 "Stephen," she murmured, "say it again, over and 
 over and over again. Don' t take it for granted that I know 
 it. Don't presume that I have grown weary of too much 
 loving. Tell it to me every day anew. I cannot realize 
 that you have loved me like this all along. Why have 
 you not spoken ?' ' 
 
 Very tenderly he took the lovely head within the shaping 
 of his broad palms. 
 
 " Love may not speak enough," he vouchsafed. 
 
 ' ' What, then, shall it do ?' ' insistently. 
 
 "Act, and be thankful." 
 
 361
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI 
 OUR AMBASSADOR'S REPORT 
 
 THE scene is the Executive Mansion. The report is 
 made over in the same room in which a previous interview 
 had taken place between the President and Markoe some 
 four years back. The season is winter ; the atmosphere 
 muggy : Washington devoid of ozone. There is the bustle 
 of office suggested by the President's haggard features. 
 The head of the nation sits behind a writing table in the 
 middle of the room. 
 
 Stephen Markoe is seated. He is speaking rapidly. 
 
 "Yes," in response to a question from his chief. "I 
 left them all working there happily. Since Lamballe 
 signed his lasting agreement with us, he can't stop away 
 from the place. He says he has an interest in life now ; 
 life with blood and tissue in it. He seeks no longer to 
 make intellectual provender of vice as he did, when a 
 stickler for a fairer translation of living, he pointed his 
 moral by condemning dramatically popular, if hollow, fads. 
 He considers his American wife a goddess. They reign 
 over their domain like a king and queen whose subjects 
 are their slaves. He has a positive genius for organizing. 
 He now daily, hourly, seeks to strengthen the means, 
 rights, and interests of the little colony in the valley below 
 him. Whether or no he experiences the keen satisfaction, 
 which I should imagine must be his, at thus flaunting pros- 
 perity before the eyes of his enemies, I cannot determine. 
 Lamballe is a nobleman in the best sense of the term." 
 
 ' ' How did he accept his defeat ?' ' 
 
 "We cannot name it defeat precisely can we, and be 
 
 362
 
 OUR AMBASSADOR'S REPORT 
 
 quite just ? He was made to see reason, that is all. When 
 I arrived in France, and realized Lamballe and his will to 
 comprise our foremost obstacle, I set to work to also under- 
 stand his weak point. If the weak point is not vanity in 
 the male sex it is very apt to be sentimentality. Senti- 
 mentality was Lamballe' s flabbiest ingredient. We elected 
 to fight him out on it. We won." 
 
 ' ' Was your ultimatum exhaustively discussed ?' ' 
 ' ' I offered but one solution ; a mutual benefit for both 
 parties concerned." 
 
 " Was your proposal presented in the form of a threat?" 
 " Not exactly. Such a treatment would have been in- 
 significant, would it not ? Conway administered the supreme 
 test. He is the man whom I took over with me to aid us. 
 Burgess made the survey, however, after all, without his 
 assistance ; for during that time Conway lay almost hope- 
 lessly ill. When he recovered, Burgess placed the report 
 in our hands and returned to America. To indicate to you 
 how much sentiment is permitted to prevail within the 
 limits of a so-called business transaction in France, I wish 
 to cite one particular concerning that chalk dispute. When 
 we finally induced Lamballe to accept our terms, or else 
 force us to treat with Prussia, we naturally, upon his ac- 
 quiescence, bade him confirm Burgess's report. This he 
 refused to do. He considered it ' a breach of etiquette, ' he 
 announced, to do less than believe in our honesty. We 
 insisted. He declined. We deplored his ingenuousness 
 for his own sake reflecting that if he ever were led into 
 treating with persons of less upright calibre, he might be 
 undone. We accepted his decree." 
 
 Markoe paused. He lifted his hand to his pocket. His 
 eyes twinkled oddly a rare thing with this servant of the 
 government who was quoted almost totally devoid of 
 humor. He continued, his voice taking on a lively tone 
 
 363
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 which held the President's attention the way a magnet at- 
 tracts steel. 
 
 4 ' You may well imagine my surprise just before quitting 
 France to receive the following letter from Conway. He 
 went West immediately after our transaction was termi- 
 nated." 
 
 Markoe drew a folded paper from his pocket. He un- 
 folded it in a leisurely manner. Then he laid it on his 
 knee, cleared his throat portentously, that unusual twinkle 
 broadening a trifle in his eyes, placed his glasses across the 
 bridge of his nose preparatory to reading the letter aloud 
 and said, as though inserting an after- thought, 
 
 1 ' Conway is the average type of New Yorker who stag- 
 gers under the weight of rank prosperity for a time, and 
 then shakes it off, takes his individual privilege between 
 his teeth, and fights for his birthright to defeat obstacles. 
 He detests being foiled. Perhaps he does not stand alone 
 in this particular." 
 
 ' ' Our constitution may be said to consist of as much, ' ' 
 interpolated the President, dryly. 
 
 1 ' In the first part of our assumption of foreign affairs 
 we were accused more than once of lack of diplomacy. I, 
 being a novice, did not gainsay the accusation, nor did I 
 ever hint to Conway that he should do so. As I said, 
 latterly I received this letter." 
 
 He ran his glance over the opening lines, fixed the frame 
 of his glasses more firmly upon the bridge of his nose, and 
 began, 
 
 " ' I met Burgess recently. The old fellow has gone to 
 pieces considerably. A son has run off with his earnings 
 of twenty years, and left him penniless. He was garrulous 
 as ever. He gave me the biggest shock of my life. He 
 had set to work as usual anathematizing the entire Euro- 
 
 364
 
 OUR AMBASSADOR'S REPORT 
 
 pean community, when he let me in for the following. ' ' I 
 outdid 'em once," he said, with a knowing leer. I asked 
 him to explain himself. ' ' It was when I drew up that chalk 
 report, ' ' he answered. ' ' It was a provision of the Almighty 
 that sent you up to Paris that night to fall into the hands 
 of Mariotti and his crew. In your absence, the next day, 
 I made the survey. That 'ere durned chalk stopped two 
 feet short of the border. If Lamballe weren't a furriner 
 he'd a' found it out long ago." ' 
 
 "The letter continues, 
 
 1 ' ' You may not be unmindful of the fact that I have 
 been brought up in the belief that all is fair in love and 
 war. Personally, I have more than once been convinced of 
 this theory as regards war. Say, for instance, a man con- 
 tests a problem with an antagonist who comes to the fray 
 poorly equipped. The deficiency of the enemy is not the 
 fault of the opposing party ; rather his opportunity. 
 N'est-ce-pas? as our French friends would say. This is 
 not irrelevant. It concerns the Carembourg affair. Do 
 you remember the night Lamballe consented to forego his 
 prejudice, I proffered him Burgess's report, asking him to 
 procure a French expert to confirm it in his Lamballe' s 
 interest ? He refused claiming that French etiquette im- 
 posed that he should take our word for it. I suspected Bur- 
 gess faintly all along. I had experienced a ghoulish sensation 
 that our chosen surveyor was a slippery customer more than 
 once. I do not know why. I set forth the night of that tenth 
 of June to confirm my suspicion that he intended to play Lam- 
 balle. I failed to accomplish my object. When Burgess's re- 
 port was handed in I thought at first I would go down my- 
 self, and have a look at the premises. Then I decided, why 
 not let well enough alone ? Lamballe is satisfied : our vic- 
 tory is complete. There can be no error. The affair went 
 
 365
 
 A NEW RACE DIPLOMATIST 
 
 out for me entirely after I left Paris until I met Burgess. 
 I cogitated over his startling communication not a little. 
 Abroad one's pulse gets the best of one's conscience. Out 
 here a man has time, and will, to think. You have fully es- 
 tablished our interests, and shipped several hundred cargoes 
 of chalk homewards ; in spite of which I ask you to sub- 
 mit this letter to Lamballe, and give him the benefit of 
 Burgess's fraud.' ' 
 
 Markoe placed the letter in its envelope, lifted his eye- 
 glasses from the bridge of his nose, and met the President' s 
 eyes with his own. 
 
 "Did you inform Lamballe of Conway's communica- 
 tion?" 
 
 1 ' I made my way to Carembourg shortly afterwards. 
 The valley was smoking peacefully. Homeliness and in- 
 dustry were holding full sway. I paid my respects to the 
 overseer. Then I asked Lamballe to go for a walk. We 
 finally strolled across the meadows towards the edge of a 
 stream, where once a blood-red row of poppies bore silent 
 witness to the dividing line between Germany and France. 
 It had been replaced by a miniature fortification of upturned 
 earth. We looked back. ' A happy, sunshiny place, eh, 
 Lamballe ?' I suggested ; ' I take it you would not reverse 
 your decision now if you might ?' ' Your surmise is cor- 
 rect,' he confirmed; 'I thank fortune chance intervened 
 to point out to me the error of my ways. ' ' Say the chalk 
 had not extended across the border?' I ventured. He 
 looked at me sharply. ' What would have happened 
 then?' I asked. 'I think, monsieur 1'Ambassadeur,' he 
 said, ' that life is too short for the guessing of conun- 
 drums.' 'But suppose,' I insisted. He refused. I drew 
 Conway's letter from my pocket. I handed it to him. 
 His expression did not change perceptibly as he mastered 
 
 366
 
 OUR AMBASSADOR'S REPORT 
 
 its contents. He smiled faintly, however, as he returned it 
 to me. ' The contract is a fait accompli,' he said. ' Con- 
 way is my wife's son, otherwise he might not have gotten 
 off so easily.' Later he remarked his tone was harsh, 
 but his face bright ' It is curious to note the similarity 
 between Conway's naif assumption of my generosity, and 
 the policy of that wily diplomat Talleyrand. ' ' What was 
 Talleyrand's policy?' I inquired. ' When in doubt don't,' 
 quoted Lamballe." 
 
 ' ' What did you answer ?' ' demanded the President. 
 He was leaning forward, the palm of each hand upon the 
 cap of each knee. 
 
 " I said, ' You do Conway an injustice. We have es- 
 tablished a new heraldry!' ' What is it ?' Lamballe asked 
 sceptically. To the Old World there is a supreme eternal 
 irony in our audacity. ' When in doubt do, ' I said. ' ' 
 
 Markoe folded the letter neatly, and placed it in his vest 
 pocket. 
 
 ' ' You say his name is ?' ' 
 
 "Conway." 
 
 "He is the son of ?" 
 
 ' ' He is the offspring of an unancestried race that is not 
 afraid to be." 
 
 ' ' An ideal record was started there to the west of us 
 thirty-eight years ago," mused the President aloud. He 
 added, with an exultant ring in his voice, 
 
 " A man who makes just use of grace, like Conway, not 
 alone sustains. He approaches it. ' ' 
 
 THE END 
 
 367
 
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