"There were two others," a grim voice shouted from behind.
A waiter, who had seen the two men sit down, looked doubtfully towards them. Kendricks pushed a note into his hand.
"Serve us with something quickly," he begged.
The man pocketed the note and set before them the beer which he was carrying. Kendricks, whose knuckles were bleeding, laid his hand under the table. Julien took a long drink of the beer and began to recover his breath.
"So far," he declared, "I have found your evening with the masses a little boisterous."
Kendricks laughed.
"Wait till my hand has stopped bleeding," he said, "and we will slip out. That was a narrow escape for Falkenberg. What a pluck the fellow must have!"
"It seems almost like a foolhardy risk," Julien muttered. "If those fellows could have got at him, they'd have killed him. Have they gone back to their room, I wonder? Let us hear what the people say about the affair."
"What was the disturbance?" he asked.
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"It was a meeting in one of the private rooms of the café," he declared, "a meeting of some society. They were taking a vote when they discovered a pickpocket. He bolted out of the room. They say that he has got away."
"Did he steal much?" Julien inquired.
The man shook his head.
"A watch and chain, or something of the sort," he told them. "The excitement is all over now. The gentlemen have gone back to their meeting."
Julien smiled and finished his beer.
"Is our evening at an end, Kendricks?" he asked.
Kendricks shook his head.
"Not quite," he replied, binding his handkerchief around his knuckles."If you are ready, there is just one other call we might make."
"More Germanbrasseries?"
Kendricks smiled grimly.
"Not to-night. We climb once more the hill. We pay our respects toMonsieur Albert."
"The Rat Mort?"
"Exactly!"
Kendricks, as they entered the café, recognized his friends with joy openly expressed.
"It is fate!" he exclaimed, striking a dramatic attitude.
"It is the gentleman who ate both portions of chicken!" mademoiselle cried.
"It is the gallant Englishman of the Café Helder," madame laughed, her double chin becoming more and more evident.
"And yonder, in the corner, sits Mademoiselle Ixe," Kendricks whispered to Julien. "For whom does she wait, I wonder?".
"For Herr Freudenberg?" suggested Julien.
"For Herr Freudenberg, let us pray," Kendricks replied.
The husband of madame, the father of mademoiselle, the rightly conceived future papa-in-law-to-be of the attendant young man, rose to his feet in response to a kick from his wife.
"If monsieur is looking for a table," he suggested, "there is room here adjoining ours. It will incommode us not in the slightest."
"Of all places in the room," Kendricks declared, with a bow, "the most desirable, the most charming. Madame indeed permits—and mademoiselle?"
There were more bows, more pleasant speeches. A small additional table was quickly brought. Kendricks ignored the more comfortable seat by Julien's side and took a chair with his back to the room. From here he leaned over and conversed with his new friends. He started flirting with mademoiselle, he paid compliments to madame, he suddenly plunged into politics with monsieur. Julien listened, half in amusement, half in admiration. For Kendricks was not talking idly.
"A man of affairs, monsieur," Kendricks proclaimed himself to be. "My interest in both countries, madame," he continued, knowing well that she, too, loved to talk of the affairs, "is great. I am one of those, indeed, who have benefited largely by this delightful alliance."
Alliance! Monsieur smiled at the word. Kendricks protested.
"But what else shall we call it, dear friends?" he argued. "Are we not allied against a common foe? The exact terms of theentente, what does it matter? Is it credible that England would remain idle while the legions of Germany overran this country?"
Monsieur was becoming interested. So was madame. It was madame who spoke—one gathered that it was usual!
"What, then," she demanded, "would England do?"
"She would come to the aid of your charming country, madame."
"But how?" madame persisted pertinently.
Kendricks was immediately fluent. He talked in ornate phrases of the resources of the British Empire, the perfection of her fleet, the wonder of her new guns. Julien, who knew him well, was amazed not only at his apparent earnestness, but at his insincerity. He was speaking well and with a wealth of detail which was impressive enough. His little company of new friends were listening to him with marked attention; Julien alone seemed conscious that they were listening to a man who was speaking against his own convictions.
"Monsieur! Monsieur Julien!"
It was the voice of Mademoiselle Ixe. She was leaning slightly forward in her place. Julien turned quickly around and she motioned him to a seat by her side. He rose at once and accepted her invitation.
"I do not disturb you?" she asked. "It seemed to me that your friend was talking with those strange people there and that you were not very much interested. It is dull when one sits here alone."
"Naturally," Julien agreed. "My friend talks politics, and for my part it is very certain that I would sooner talk of other things with mademoiselle."
She was a born flirt—a matter of nationality as well as temperament, and not to be escaped—and her eyes flashed the correct reply. But a moment later she was gazing wistfully at the door.
"You expect Herr Freudenberg?" Julien inquired.
"I cannot tell," she replied. "I must not say that I am expecting him because he did not ask me to meet him here. But I thought, perhaps, that he might come—so I risked it. I was restless to-night. I do not sing this week because Herr Freudenberg is in Paris, and without any occupation it is hard to control the thoughts. I sat at home until I could bear it no longer.Eh bien!I sent for a little carriage and I ventured here. There is a chance that he may come."
"Mademoiselle permits that I offer her some supper?" Julien suggested.
She hesitated and glanced at the clock.
"You are very kind, Sir Julien," she answered. "I have waited because I have thought that there was a chance that he might come, and to sup alone is a drear thing. If monsieur really—Ah! Behold! After all, it is he! It is he who comes. What happiness!"
It was indeed Herr Freudenberg who had mounted the stairs and was yielding now his coat to the attentivevestiaire—Herr Freudenberg, unruffled and precisely attired in evening clothes. He showed not the slightest signs of his recent adventure. He chatted gayly to Albert and waved his hand to mademoiselle. He came towards them with a smile upon his face, walking lightly and with the footsteps of a young man. Yet mademoiselle shivered, her lip drooped.
"He is not pleased," she murmured. "I have done wrong."
There was nothing apparent to others in Herr Freudenberg's manner to justify her conviction. He raised her fingers to his lips with charming gayety.
"Dear Marguerite," he exclaimed, "this is indeed a delightful surprise! And Sir Julien, too! I am enchanted. Once more let us celebrate. Let us sup. I am in time, eh?"
"With me, if you please," Julien insisted, taking up the menu.
Herr Freudenberg smiled genially.
"Host or guest, who cares so long as we are joyous?" he cried, sitting on mademoiselle's other side. "Although to-night," he added, with a humorous glance at Julien, "it should surely be I who entertains! Dear Marguerite!"
He patted her hand. She looked at him pathetically and he smiled back again.
"Be happy, my child," he begged. "It is gone, that little twinge. It was perhaps jealousy," he whispered in her ear. "Sir Julien has captured many hearts."
She drew a sigh of content. She raised his hand to her lips. Then she dabbed at her eyes with the few inches of perfumed lace which she called a handkerchief. It was passing, that evil moment.
"There is no man in the world," she told him softly, "who should be able to make you jealous. In your heart you know."
He laughed lightly.
"You will make me vain, dear one. Give me your little fingers to hold for a moment. There—it is finished."
He looked around the room with the light yet cheerful curiosity of the pleasure-seeker. Then he leaned over towards Julien.
"What does our shock-headed friend the journalist do in that company?" he asked, with a backward motion of his head.
Julien smiled.
"He is devoted to madame with the double chin. He is apparently also devoted to mademoiselle, the daughter of madame with the double chin. He is contemplating, I believe, an alliance with the bourgeoisie."
Herr Freudenberg watched the group for a moment with a slight frown.
"They are types," he said under his breath, "absolute types. Kendricks is studying them, without a doubt."
He continued his scrutiny of the room. Then he leaned towards mademoiselle.
"Dear Marguerite!"
"Yes?"
"There is Mademoiselle Soupelles there," he pointed out, "sitting with an untidy-looking man in a morning coat and a red tie. You see them?"
"But certainly," mademoiselle agreed. "They are together always. It is an alliance, that."
"It would please me," Herr Freudenberg continued, still speaking almost under his breath, "to converse with the companion of Mademoiselle Soupelles. From you, dear Marguerite, I conceal nothing. I made no appointment with you to-night because it was my intention to speak with that person, and I could not tell where he would be. All has happened fortunately. We spend our evening together, after all. See what you can do to help me. Go and talk to your friend, Mademoiselle Soupelles. Bring them here if you can. Sir Julien thinks he is ordering the supper, but he is too late; I ordered it from Albert as I entered."
Mademoiselle rose at once and shook out her skirts. She kissed her hand across the room to her friend.
"I go to speak to her," she promised. "What I can do I will. You know that, dear one. But he is a strange-looking man, this companion of hers. You know who he is? His name is Jesen. If I were Susanne, I would see to it that he was morecomme-il-faut."
Herr Freudenberg laughed.
"Never mind his appearance," he said. "He can drive the truth into the hearts of this people as swiftly and as surely as any man who ever took up a pen. Bring him here, little sweetheart, and to-morrow we visit Cartier together."
She glanced at him almost reproachfully.
"As if that mattered!" she murmured, as she glided away.
Julien turned discontentedly to his companion.
"This fellow will take no order from me," he objected. "Do you own this place, Herr Freudenberg, that you must always be obeyed here?"
"By no means," Herr Freudenberg replied. "To-night is an exception. I ordered supper as I entered. You see, there are others whom I may ask to join. You shall have your turn when you will and I will be a very submissive guest, but to-night—well, I have even at this moment charged mademoiselle with a message to her friend and her friend's companion. I have begged them to join us. On these nights I like company—plenty of company!"
"In that case, perhaps," Julien suggested, "I may bede trop."
Freudenberg laid his hand upon his companion's shoulder.
"My friend," he said earnestly, "it is not for you to talk like that, to-night of all nights. If I say little, it is because we are both men of few words, and I think that we understand. You know very well what you and your shock-headed friend have done for me. Not that I believe," he went on, "that it would ever come to me to be hounded to death by such a gang. I am too fervent a believer in my own star for that. But one never knows. It is well, anyhow, to escape with a sound skin."
"Why did you run such a risk?" Julien asked him.
"Partly," Freudenberg answered, "because I was really curious to know what those fellows were driving at; and partly," he added, "because, alas! I am possessed of that restless spirit, that everlasting craving for adventures, which drives one on into any place where life stirs. I knew that these people were plotting something against me. I wanted to hear it with my own ears, to understand exactly what it was against which I must be prepared. But now, Sir Julien, I question you. As for me, my presence there was reasonable enough; but what were you doing in such a place? What interests have you in German socialism?"
Julien shrugged his shoulders.
"I cannot say that I have any," he admitted. "It was Kendricks who took me. He is showing me Paris—Paris from his own point of view. He took me first to a restaurant, where we dined for two francs and sat at the same table with those people to whom he is now making himself so agreeable. Kendricks has democratic instincts. His latest fad is to try and instil them into me."
Herr Freudenberg looked thoughtfully across at the journalist, still deep in argument with his friends.
"I am not sure that I understand that man," he declared. "In a sense he impresses me. I should have put him down as one of those who do nothing without a set and fixed purpose. But enough of other people. Listen. I wish to speak with you—of yourself. I am glad that we have met to-night. I have another and altogether a different proposition to make to you."
Julien remained silent for several moments. Herr Freudenberg watched him.
"A proposition to make to me," Julien repeated at last. "Well, let me hear it?"
Herr Freudenberg leaned towards him.
"Sir Julien," he said, "there has happened to you, as to many of us, a little slip in your life. It is a wise thing if for a few months you pass off the stage of European affairs. You are of an adventurous spirit. Will you undertake a commission for me? Listen. I will guarantee that it is something which does not, and could not ever, by any chance, affect in the slightest degree the interests of your country. It is a commission which will take you a year to execute, and it will lead you into a new land. It will require tact, diplomacy and some courage. If you succeed, your reward will be an income for life. If you fail, the worst that can happen to you is that you will have passed a year of your life without effective result. Still, you will at least have traveled, you will at least have seen new phases of life."
Julien was puzzled.
"You cannot seriously propose to me," he protested, "to undertake a diplomatic errand for a country which has absolutely no claims upon me—to which I am not even attracted?" he added.
Herr Freudenberg tapped with his forefinger upon the table. Upon his lips was a genial and tolerant smile. He had the air of a preceptor devoting special pains upon the most backward member of his kindergarten class.
"My friend," he said, "there is no political question involved whatever. The mission which I ask you to undertake would lead you into a remote part of Africa, where neither your country nor mine has at present any interests. More than this I cannot tell you unless you show signs of accepting my invitation. The negotiations which you would have to conduct are simply these. Four years ago a distinguished German scientist who was in command of a somewhat rash expedition, was captured by the ruler of the country to which I wish you to travel. For some time the question of a mission to ascertain his fate has been upon the carpet. It is true that we have received letters from him. He professes to be happy and contented, to have been kindly treated, and to have accepted a post in the army of his captor. We wish to know whether these letters are genuine or not. If they are genuine, all is well, but a suspicion still remains among some of us that the person in question is being held in torture as an example to other white men who might penetrate so far. This is the first object in the journey which I propose to you. There is nothing political about it at all, as you perceive. It is purely a matter of humanity…. Ah! I see that our party is to be increased. Here are some new friends who arrive."
Mademoiselle Ixe had succeeded. She returned now to her place, followed by the girl with the chestnut-colored hair and her companion. At close quarters the latter, at any rate, was scarcely prepossessing. He was a man of middle age, untidily dressed, whose clothes were covered with cigar ash and recent wine stains, whose linen was none of the cleanest, and whose eyes behind his pince-nez were already bloodshot. Herr Freudenberg, however, seemed to notice none of these unpleasant defects. He grasped him vigorously by the hand.
"It is Monsieur Jesen!" he exclaimed. "Often you have been pointed out to me, and I have long wished to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Sit down and join us, monsieur. Your little friend, too,—ah, mademoiselle!"
He bent low over the girl's hand and placed a seat for her. The party was now arranged. Their host beamed upon them all.
"Come," he continued, "this is perhaps my last night in Paris for some time! We have had adventures, too, within these few hours. You find us celebrating. My English friend here is one of us. I will not introduce him by name. Why should we trouble about names? We are all friends, all good fellows, here to pass the time agreeably, to drink good wine, to look into beautiful eyes, mademoiselle, to amuse ourselves. It is the science of life, that. Monsieur Jesen, mademoiselle, dear Marguerite, my English friend here, let me be sure that your glasses are filled. To the very brim, garçon—to the very brim! Let us drink together to the joyous evenings of the past, to the joyous evenings of the future, to these few present hours that lie before us when we shall sit here and taste further this very admirable vintage. To the wine we drink, to the lips we love, to this hour of life!"
For the moment there was no more serious conversation. Herr Freudenberg had started a vein of frivolity to which every one there was quick to respond. Only every now and then he himself, the giver of the feast, had suddenly the look of a different man as he sat and whispered in the ear of Monsieur Jesen.
At two o'clock, with obvious reluctance, Kendricks' new friends departed. Their leave-taking was long and ceremonious. Kendricks, indeed, insisted upon escorting mademoiselle to the door. Madame left the place with the assured conviction that a prospective son-in-law was soon to present himself—it could be for no other reason that the English gentleman had so sedulously attached himself to their party. Monsieur, having less sentiment, was not so sure. Mademoiselle had both hopes and fears. They discussed the matter fully on their homeward drive.
Kendricks strolled over to the table where Julien was and touched him on the shoulder.
"Is this to be another all-night sitting?" he asked.
Herr Freudenberg was deep in conversation with Monsieur Jesen—the friend of mademoiselle's friend. He glanced up, but his greeting was almost perfunctory. Kendricks looked keenly at the man who was leaning back in his padded seat. The eyes of Monsieur Jesen were a little more bloodshot now. He had spilt wine down the front of his waistcoat, cigar ash upon his coat-sleeve. He was by no means an inviting person to look at. Yet about his forehead and mouth there was an expression of power. Herr Freudenberg, with obvious regret, abandoned his conversation for a moment.
"You are taking your friend away?" he remarked suavely. "We shall part from him with regret. Sir Julien," he added, whispering in his ear, "I must have your answer to my proposition. I will put it into absolutely definite shape, if you like, within the next few days."
"I move into my old rooms—number 17, Rue de Montpelier—to-morrow morning, or rather this morning," Julien replied. "You might telephone or call there at any time."
"Tell me, is what I have proposed in any way attractive to you?" HerrFreudenberg asked, still speaking in an undertone.
"In a sense it is," Julien answered. "It needs further consideration, of course. I must also consult my friend."
Herr Freudenberg glanced at Kendricks and shrugged his shoulders. He had the air of one slightly annoyed. Kendricks was bending over Mademoiselle Ixe. Herr Freudenberg whispered in Julien's ear.
"You take too much advice from your boisterous friend, dear Sir Julien," he asserted. "Mark my words, he will try to keep you here, cooling your heels upon the mat. He will prevent you from raising your hand to knock upon the door of destiny. These men who write are like that. They do not understand action."
Kendricks turned from mademoiselle.
"You are ready, Julien?" he asked.
"Quite," Julien answered.
They made their adieux. Herr Freudenberg watched them leave the room.The man by his side—Monsieur Jesen—also watched a little curiously.
"An English journalist," Herr Freudenberg remarked, "some say a man of ability. I find him a trifle boisterous and uncouth. Monsieur Jesen, our conversation interests me immensely. I feel sure—"
Jesen looked suspiciously around.
"We have talked enough of business," he declared. "It is an idea, this of yours. For the rest, I cannot tell. A wonderful idea!" he continued. "And as for me, am I not the man to embrace it?"
"You have but to say a single word," Herr Freudenberg reminded him softly, "and all is arranged."
Monsieur Jesen puffed furiously at a cigarette. The fingers which had held the match to it were shaking. The man himself seemed unsteady on his seat. Yet it was obvious that his brain was working.
"Herr Freudenberg," he said, "there is but one weak point in all your chain of arguments. To do as you ask, it will be necessary that I—I, Paul Jesen, so well-known, whose opinions are followed by millions of my country people—it would be necessary for me to abandon my convictions, to turn a right-about-face. Ask yourself, is it not like selling one's honor when one writes the things one does not believe?"
Herr Freudenberg smiled.
"My friend, you ask me a question the reply to which is already spoken. I tell you that behind, at the back of your brain, you know and realize the truth of all these things. Think, man! Call to mind the arguments I have used. Remember, I have lifted the curtain, I have shown you the things that arrive, the things that are inevitable."
Mademoiselle, the companion of Monsieur Jesen, had had enough of this. It was her weekly holiday. She yawned and tapped her friend upon the arm.
"My dear Paul," she protested, "while you and Herr Freudenberg talk as two men who have immense affairs, Marguerite and I we weary ourselves. If I am to be alone like this, very good. I speak to my friends. There is Monsieur de Chaussin there. He throws me a kiss. Do you wish that I sit with him? He looks, indeed, as though he had plenty to say! Or there is the melancholy Italian gentleman, who raises his glass always when I look. And the two Americans—"
"You have reason, little one," Monsieur Jesen interrupted. "HerrFreudenberg, this is no place for such a discussion."
"Agreed!" Herr Freudenberg exclaimed. "We owe our apologies to mademoiselle, your charming friend, and mademoiselle, my adored companion," he added, turning to Marguerite. "Come, let us drink more wine. Let us talk together. What is your pleasure, mademoiselle, the friend of my good friend, Monsieur Jesen? Will you have them dance to us? Is there music to which you would listen? Or shall we pray Marguerite here that she sings? Let us, at any rate, be gay. And for the rest, Monsieur Jesen, time has no count for us who live our lives. When we leave here, you and I will talk more."
It was daylight before they left. The whole party got into HerrFreudenberg's motor.
"I drive you first to your rooms, Monsieur Jesen," he said. "I take then the liberty of entering with you. The little conversation which we have begun is best concluded within the shelter of four walls."
Monsieur Jesen was excited yet nervous.
"It is too late," he muttered, "to talk business."
Herr Freudenberg smiled.
"Ah!" he cried, "you jest, my friend. Look out of that window. You see the sunshine in the streets, you breathe the fresh, clear air? Too late, indeed! It is morning, and the brain is keenest then. Don't you feel the fumes of the hot room, of the wine, of the tobacco smoke, all pass away with the touch of that soft wind?"
Monsieur Jesen stared. He was conscious of a very bad headache, an uncomfortable sense that he had, as usual on his weekly holiday, eaten and drunk and smoked a great deal more than was good for him. He gazed with wonder at this tall, spare-looking man, who had drunk as much and smoked as much and eaten as much as any one else, and yet appeared exactly as he had done four hours ago. Even his linen was still spotless. His eyes were bright, his manner buoyant.
"Monsieur," he murmured, "you are marvelous. I have never before met aGerman merchant like you."
Herr Freudenberg sat quite still for a moment. He looked at mademoiselle, the friend of Monsieur Jesen, and he realized that theirs was no casual acquaintance. In both he recognized the characteristics of fidelity. As he had always the genius to do, he took his risks.
"Monsieur Jesen," he announced, "I am no German maker of toys. Let me ascend with you to your room and you shall hear who I am and why I have said these things to you."
Monsieur Jesen held his hand to his head. Something in the manner of this new friend of his was, in a sense, mesmeric.
"You shall ascend, monsieur," he said. "I do not know who you are, but you are evidently a very wonderful person. We will ascend and you shall wait while I place my head in cold water and Susanne mixes me some absinthe. Then I will listen."
The automobile came to a standstill about halfway down a shabby street in a somewhat shabby neighborhood. Herr Freudenberg noticed this fact without change of countenance, but with secret pleasure. He turned to Marguerite.
"Dear Marguerite," he whispered, "for an hour or so I must leave you. You will permit that my man takes you to your apartments and returns for me here?"
"May I not wait for you here in the automobile?" she asked timidly.
Herr Freudenberg shook his head kindly.
"Dear little one," he murmured, "not this morning. Indeed, I have important affairs on hand. As soon as I am free, I will telephone. Sleep well, little girl."
He stepped out on to the pavement. The postern door in front of them was opened, in response to Monsieur Jesen's vigorous knocking, from some invisible place by a string. The three of them climbed four flights of rickety stairs. They reached at last a stone landing. Monsieur Jesen threw open a door and led the way into an untidy-looking salon.
"Monsieur will forgive the fact," he begged, "that I am not better housed. If it were not for little Susanne here," he added, patting her upon the shoulder, "I doubt whether I should keep a roof above my head at all."
"It is not like this," Herr Freudenberg declared, "that genius should be treated."
"Indeed," Mademoiselle Susanne intervened, "it is what I tell him always. Monsieur, they pay him but a beggarly three hundred francs a month—he, who writes all the editorials; he, who is the spirit of the papers! It is not fair. I tell dear Paul that it is wicked, and, as he says, the money, if it were not for me, he would squander it in a minute. I have even to go with him to the office, for there are many who know when Paul draws his little cheque."
Herr Freudenberg set down his hat upon the table. He looked around at all the evidences of unclean and sordid life. Then he looked at the man. It was a queer housing, this, for genius! His face remained expressionless. Of the disgust he felt he showed no sign. In the building of houses one must use many tools!
"Monsieur Jesen," he said, "and mademoiselle—I speak to you both, for I recognize that between you there is indeed a union of sympathy and souls. Mademoiselle, then, I address myself to you. On certain terms I have offered to purchase for Monsieur Paul here a two-thirds share of the newspaper upon which he works, that two-thirds share which he and I both know is in the market at this moment. I am willing at mid-day to-morrow, or rather to-day, to place within his hands the sum required. I am willing to send my notary with him to the office, and the affair could be arranged at half-past twelve. From then he practically ownsLe Jour. Its politics are his to control. I make him this offer, mademoiselle, and it is a greater one than it sounds, for the money which I place in his hands to make this purchase—five hundred thousand francs—is his completely and absolutely. You move at once into apartments befitting your new position. Monsieur Paul Jesen is no longer a struggling and ill-paid journalist. He is the proprietor of an important journal, through whose columns he shall help to guide the policy of your nation."
Monsieur Jesen sat down. His fingers were clutching one another. Mademoiselle stared at Herr Freudenberg. Her color was coming and going.
"Monsieur, I do not understand!" she cried. "Are you a prince in disguise? Why do you do this?"
"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg replied, "your question is the question of an intelligent woman. Why do I do this? Not for nothing, I assure you. It is my custom to make bargains, indeed, but I make them so that those with whom I deal shall never regret the day they met Herr Freudenberg. I offer you this splendid future, you and Monsieur Jesen there, on one condition, and it is a small one, for already the truth has found its way a little into his brain.Le Jourhas supported always, wholly and entirely, theententebetween Great Britain and your country. I have tried to point out to Paul Jesen here what all far-seeing people must soon appreciate—that theententeis doomed."
The girl glanced at Jesen. Jesen was looking away out of the dusty window.
"Mademoiselle," Herr Freudenberg continued, "I will not weary you at this hour in the morning with politics. I have talked long with Monsieur Jesen and I think that I have shown him something of the truth. You came to the rescue of Great Britain when she lay friendless and powerless. You saved her prestige; you saved her, without doubt, from invasion. What have you gained? Nothing! What can you ever gain? Nothing! Her army of toy soldiers would be of less use to you than a single corps from across the Elbe. Her fleet—you have no possessions to guard. It is for herself only that she maintains it. I ask you to think quietly for yourself and ask yourself on whose side is the balance of advantage. You can reply to that question in one way, and one way only. France has been carried away on a wave of enthusiasm, a wave of sentiment—call it what you will. But France is a far-seeing people. The moment is ripe. I propose to Paul Jesen that his should be the hand andLe Jourthe vehicle which shall bring the French people to a proper understanding of the political situation."
"Who, then, are you?" Mademoiselle Susanne persisted.
Herr Freudenberg barely hesitated.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "we speak of great things, we three, in this little chamber of yours. I, who have often talked of great things before, have learned in life one lesson at least, and that is when one may trust. It is not my desire that many people should know who I am. It suits my purpose better to move in Paris as a private citizen, but to you two let me tell the truth. I am Prince Falkenberg."
There was a silence. The man looked at him, sober enough now, in amazement. The girl's hands were clasped together. She was watching the man—her man. She crept to his side, her arm was around his neck.
"Dear Paul," she whispered, "think! Think how sweet life might be. There is so much truth in all this. I know little of politics, but think of the hard times we have lived through. Think how glorious to have you ride in your automobile to the offices of your newspaper, to see you pass into the editor's sanctum instead of waiting outside, to have me call for you, perhaps, and take you out to lunch—no, never at Drevel's any more—at the Café de Paris, or Henry's, or Paillard's, or out in the Bois! And the excursions, dear Paul. Think of them! The country—how we both love the country! You remember when we first went out together to the little town on the river, where no one ever seemed to have come from Paris before? How sleepy and quiet the long afternoon, when we lay in the grass and heard the birds sing, and the murmur of the river, and we had only a few francs for our dinner, and we had to leave the train and walk that last four miles because you had drunk one morebock. Dear Paul, think what life might be if one were really rich!"
The man's eyes flashed.
"It is true," he muttered. "All my life I have been a straggler."
"You have done your genius an ill turn, my friend," Herr Freudenberg said slowly. "No man can be at his best who knows care. I, Prince Falkenberg, I promise you that it is the truth which I have spoken, the truth which I shall show you. You lose no shadow of honor or self-respect. There will come a day when the millions of readers whom you shall influence will say to themselves—'Paul Jesen, he is the man who saw the truth. It is he who has saved France.' You accept?"
"Monsieur le Prince," Susanne cried, "he accepts!"
Jesen rose to his feet. He had become a little unsteady again. He struck the table with his fist.
"I accept!" he declared.
It was exactly nine forty-five in the evening, about three weeks later, when the two-twenty from London steamed into the Gare du Nord. Julien, from his place among the little crowd wedged in behind the gates, gazed with blank amazement at the girl who, among the first to leave the train, was presenting her ticket to the collector. At that moment she recognized him. With a purely mechanical effort he raised his hat and held out his hand.
"Lady Anne!" he exclaimed. "Why—I had no idea you were coming toParis," he added weakly.
She laughed—the same frank, good-humored laugh, except that she seemed to lack just a little of her usual self-possession.
"Neither did I," she confessed, "until this morning."
He looked at her blankly. She was carrying her own jewel-case. He could see no signs of a maid or any party.
"But tell me," he asked, "where are the rest of your people?"
She shook her head.
"Nowhere. I am quite alone."
Julien was speechless.
"You must really forgive me," he continued, after a moment's pause, "if I seem stupid. It is scarcely a month ago since I read of your engagement to Harbord. The papers all said that you were to be married at once."
She nodded.
"That's exactly it," she said. "That's why I am here."
"What, you mean that you are going to be married here?" asked Julien.
"I am not going to be married at all," she replied cheerfully. "Between ourselves, Julien," she added, "I found I couldn't go through with it."
"Couldn't go through with it!" he repeated feebly.
Lady Anne was beginning to recover herself.
"Don't be stupid," she begged. "You used to be quick enough. Can't you see what has happened? I became engaged to the little beast. I stood it for three weeks. I didn't mind him at the other end of the room, but when he began to talk about privileges and attempt to take liberties, I found I couldn't bear the creature anywhere near me. Then all of a sudden I woke up this morning and remembered that we were to be married in a week. That was quite enough for me. I slipped out after lunch, caught the two-twenty train, and here I am."
"Exactly," Julien agreed. "Here you are."
"With my luggage," she continued, swinging the jewel-case in her hand and laughing in his face.
"With your luggage," Julien echoed. "Seriously, is that all that you have brought?"
"Every bit," she answered. "You know mother?"
"Yes, I know your mother!" he admitted.
"Well, I didn't exactly feel like taking her into my confidence," Lady Anne explained, smiling. "Under those circumstances, I thought it just as well to make my departure as quietly as possible."
"Then they don't know where you are?"
"Really," she assured him, "you are becoming quite intelligent. They do not."
"In other words, you've run away?"
"Marvelous!" she murmured. "I suppose it's the air over here."
A sudden idea swept into Julien's mind. Of course, it was ridiculous, yet for a moment his heart gave a little jump. Perhaps she divined his thought, for her next words disposed of it effectually.
"Of course, I knew that you were in Paris, but I had no idea that we should meet, certainly not like this. I have a dear friend to whose apartments I shall go at once. She is a milliner."
"She is a what?" Julien asked blankly.
A smile played about Lady Anne's lips.
"My dear Julien," she exclaimed, "you know, you never did understand me! I repeat that she is a milliner and that she is a dear friend of mine, and I am going just as I am to tell her that I have come to spend the night. She will have to find me rooms, she will have to help me find employment."
Kendricks, who had come by the same train, and whom Julien was there to meet, was hovering in the background. Julien, seeing him, could do no more than nod vaguely.
"Lady Anne," he began,—
"You needn't bother about that," she interrupted. "We were always good friends, weren't we?" she added carelessly. "Besides, to call me 'Lady' anything would be rather ridiculous under the present circumstances."
"Well, Anne, then," he said, "please let me get my bearings. I understand that you were engaged to Harbord—you weren't forced into it, I suppose?"
"Not at all. I tried to run along the usual groove, but I came up against something too big for me. I don't know how other girls do it. I simply found I couldn't. Samuel Harbord is rather by way of being something outrageous, you know."
"Of course he is," Julien agreed, with sudden appreciation of the fact.
"You needn't be so vigorous about it. I remember your almost forcing him on to me the day you called to say good-bye."
"I was talking rubbish," Julien asserted. "You see, I was in rather an unfortunate position myself that day, wasn't I? No one likes to feel like a discarded lover. I can understand your chucking Harbord all right, but I can't quite see why it was necessary for you to run away from home to come and stay with a little milliner."
She laughed.
"My dear Julien, you don't know those Harbords! There are hordes of them, countless hordes—mothers and sisters and cousins and aunts. They've besieged the place ever since our engagement was announced. If the merest whisper were to get about among them that I was thinking of backing out, there's nothing they wouldn't do. They'd make the whole place intolerable for me—follow me about in the street, weep in my bedroom, hang around the place morning, noon and night. Besides, mother would be on their side and the whole thing would be impossible."
"I have no doubt," Julien admitted, "that the situation would be a trifle difficult, but to talk about earning your own living—you, Lady Anne—"
"Lady fiddlesticks!" she interrupted. "What a stupid old thing you are,Julien! You never found out, I suppose, that at heart I am a Bohemian?"
"No, I never did!" he assented vigorously.
"Ah, well," she remarked, "you were too busy flirting with that Carraby woman to discover all my excellent qualities. We mustn't stay here, must we? Are you very busy, or do you want to drive me to my friend's house? Of course, meeting you here will be the end of me if any one sees us. Still, I don't suppose you object to a little scandal, and the more I get the happier I shall be."
"I'll take you anywhere," Julien promised. "You don't mind waiting while I speak to the man whom I have come to meet?"
"Not at all," she replied. "You are sure he won't object?"
"Of course not," Julien assured her. "Kendricks is an awfully good sort."
The two men gripped hands. Kendricks was carrying his own bag and smoking his accustomed pipe. He had apparently been asleep in the carriage and was looking a little more untidy than usual.
"I got your wire all right," Julien said, "and I am thundering glad to see you. Are you just in search of the ordinary sort of copy, or is there anything special doing?"
"Something special," Kendricks answered, "and you're in it. When can we talk? No hurry, as long as I see you some time to-night."
"I am entirely at your service," Julien declared. "I have been bored to death for the last few weeks and I am only too anxious to have a talk. You don't mind if I see this young lady to her friend's house first? I don't know exactly where it is, but it won't take very long. She is all alone, and as long as we have met I feel that I ought to look after her."
"Naturally," Kendricks agreed. "I can go to my hotel and meet you anywhere you say for supper."
Julien glanced at his watch.
"It is ten o'clock within a minute or two," he announced. "Supposing we make it half-past eleven at the Abbaye?"
Kendricks nodded.
"That'll suit me. So long!"
He strode away in search of a cab. Julien returned to Lady Anne and took the jewel-case from her fingers.
"It's all arranged," he said. "You are quite sure that you have no more luggage?"
She laughed.
"Not a scrap! Have you ever traveled without luggage, Julien? It makes you feel that you are really in for adventures."
"Does it!" he replied a little weakly. Somehow or other, he had never associated a love for adventures with Lady Anne.
"Isn't it fun to be in Paris once more?" she continued. "I want a real rickety littlevoitureand I want the man to have a white hat, if possible, and I want to drive down into Paris over those cobbles."
"Any particular address?"
She handed him a card. He called an open victoria and directed the man. Together they drove out of the station yard. Lady Anne leaned forward, looking around her with keen pleasure.
"Julien," she cried, "this is delightful, meeting you! I hope I shan't be a bother to you, but really it is rather nice to feel that I have one friend here."
"You couldn't possibly be a bother to me," he declared. "I'm rather a waif here myself, you know, and I am honestly glad to see you."
She looked at him quickly and breathed a little sigh of relief.
"Now that's sweet of you," she said. "Of course, I don't see why you shouldn't be. We were always good friends, weren't we? and it makes me feel so much more comfortable to remember that we never went in for the other sort of thing."
"There was just one moment," he murmured ruminatingly,—
She turned her head.
"Stop at once," she begged. "That moment passed, as you know. If it hadn't, things might have been different. If it hadn't, I should feel differently about being with you now. We are forgetting that moment, if you please, Julien. Do, there's a good fellow. If you wanted to be good-natured, you could be so nice to me until I get used to being alone."
"Forgotten it shall be, by all means," he promised cheerfully. "Do you know that the address you gave me is only a few yards away?"
"Oh, bother!" she exclaimed. "I knew that it was somewhere up by theGare du Nord."
They turned off from the Rue Lafayette and pulled up opposite a milliner's shop.
"Mademoiselle Rignaut lives up above," Lady Anne said, alighting. "It's sweet of you to have brought me, Julien."
"I am going to wait and see that you are all right," he replied, ringing the bell.
There was a short delay, then the door was opened. A young woman peered out.
"Who is it?" she asked quickly.
A little of Lady Anne's confidence for the moment had almost deserted her. The girl's face was invisible and the interior of the passage looked cheerless. Nevertheless, she answered briskly.
"Don't you remember me, Mademoiselle Janette? I am Lady Anne—Lady AnneClonarty, you know."
There was a wondering scream, an exclamation of delight, and Julien stood on the pavement for fully five minutes. Then Lady Anne reappeared, followed by her friend.
"Sir Julien," she said, "this is Mademoiselle Rignaut. I am awfully lucky. Mademoiselle Rignaut has a room she can let me have and we are going to raid her shop and get everything I want. She has costumes as well as hats."
Julien shook hands with the little Frenchwoman, who had not yet recovered from her amazement.
"But this is wonderful, monsieur, is it not," she cried, "to see dear Lady Anne like this? Such a surprise! Such a delight! But, miladi," she added suddenly, "you must be hungry—starving!"
"I am," Lady Anne admitted frankly.
The little woman's face fell.
"But only this afternoon," she explained, "my servant was taken away to the hospital! What can we—"
"What you will both do," Julien interrupted, "is to come and have supper with me."
"Do you really mean it?" Lady Anne asked doubtfully. "What about your friend?"
"He won't mind," Julien assured her. "You shall take your first step into Bohemia, my dear Anne. We had arranged to sup in the Montmartre. You and Mademoiselle Rignaut must come. I can give you half an hour to get ready—more, if you want it."
"What larks!" Lady Anne exclaimed. "Can I come in a traveling dress?"
"You can come just as you are," Julien replied. "One visits these places just as one feels disposed. I'll be off and get a taximeter automobile instead of this thing, and come back for you whenever you say."
"You are a brick," Lady Anne declared. "I shall love to go."
"Monsieur is too kind," Mademoiselle Rignaut agreed, "but as for me, it is not fitting—"
"Rubbish!" Lady Anne interrupted briskly. "You've got to get all that sort of stuff out of your head, Janette, and to start with you must come to supper with us. Bless you, I couldn't go alone with Sir Julien! I was engaged to be married to him three months ago."
Mademoiselle shook her head feebly.
"But indeed, Miladi Anne," she protested, "you are a strange people, you English! I do not understand."
Lady Anne took her by the arm and turned towards the open door.
"Don't bother about that. We'll be ready in half an hour, Julien."
Julien returned to the Gare du Nord and treated himself to a whiskey and soda. He was surprised at the pleasurable sense of excitement which this meeting had given him. During the last few weeks in Paris he had found little to interest or amuse him. He had been, in fact, very distinctly bored. The newspapers and illustrated journals, although they were always full of interest to him, had day by day brought their own particular sting. Although his affection for Lady Anne had been of a distinctly modified character, yet he had found it curiously unpleasant to read everywhere of her engagement, of her plans for the future, and to look at the photographs of her and her intended bridegroom which seemed to stare at him from every page. Somehow or other, although he told himself that personally it was of no consequence to him, he yet found the present situation of affairs far more to his liking.
He lounged about the Gare du Nord, smoking a cigarette and thinking over what she had told him. There was a good deal in the present situation to appeal to his sense of humor. He thought of the Duke and the Duchess when they discovered the flight of their daughter,—their efforts to keep all details from the papers; of Harbord and his horde of relations—Harbord, who had neither the dignity nor the breeding to accept such a reverse in silence. He could imagine the gossip at the clubs and among their friends. He himself was immensely surprised. He had considered himself something of a judge of character, and yet he had looked upon Lady Anne as a good-natured young person, brimful of common sense, without an ounce of sentiment—a perfectly well-ordered piece of the machinery of her sex. The whole affair was astonishing. Perhaps to him the most astonishing part was that he found himself continually looking at the clock, counting almost the minutes until it was possible for him to start on this little expedition!
Julien found a taximeter automobile and, punctually at the time appointed, drove to the little milliner's shop in the Rue St. Antoine. Lady Anne and her companion were waiting for him and they drove off together in high good humor. The manager at the Abbaye bowed before them with special deference. He recognized Julien as an occasional customer, and Lady Anne, even in her traveling gown, was a person to inspire attention.
They chose a table and ordered supper for four. Kendricks had not yet arrived, but it was barely half-past eleven and the place was almost empty. Lady Anne was in high spirits and chattering all the time. Julien looked at her occasionally in amazement. They had seldom been alone together in London, but on those few occasions when the conventions had demanded it, he had been inclined to find her rather stupid. She was certainly nothing of the sort this evening!
"I suppose I am a baby," she exclaimed, laughing, "but to-night I feel as though I were beginning a new life! Tell me, mademoiselle, have you a place for me as a seamstress? Or will you have me for a model? My figure is good enough, isn't it?"
"Miladi," Mademoiselle Rignaut declared deprecatingly, "there is no girl in my shop with a figure like yours, but it is not well for you to talk so, indeed. It is shocking."
Lady Anne laughed gayly.
"Now, my little friend," she said, "let us understand one another. There is no more 'miladi.' I am Anne—Anne to you and Anne to Julien here. I've finished with the 'miladi' affair. I dare say I shouldn't care about being a model, but all the same I am going to earn my own living."
"Earn your own living!" Mademoiselle Rignaut echoed, in something like horror.
She had met the Duke and the Duchess—she had traveled even to London and had passed the night beneath the ducal roof. Lady Anne's mother had very sound ideas of economy, and Mademoiselle Rignaut was cheap and yet undoubtedly French.
"Earn my own living, without a doubt," Lady Anne repeated, helping herself to a roll. "You don't mind my eating some bread and butter, do you, Julien? I couldn't lunch—I was much too excited, and the tea on the train was filthy. Why, of course I am going to earn my own living," she continued. "I've only got a few thousand francs with me, and some jewelry. I believe I have got a small income, but Heaven knows whether they will let me have it!"
Julien's eyes were suddenly lit with humor.
"Why, the Duke will be here for you to-morrow," he exclaimed, "to take you back!"
She leaned back in her seat with an air of deliberation.
"I'm free," she insisted. "I'm twenty-six years old, thank Heaven! Twenty-six years I've had of it—enough to crush any one. No more! You know, I like this sense of freedom," she went on. "It's perfectly amazing how young I feel. Julien, do you remember when mother wouldn't let us lunch together at the Ritz without a chaperon?"
"I do," he assented. "I'm sure we didn't need one, either."
She smiled reminiscently.
"What sticks we were! What a silly life! I really have the most delightful feeling, as though I were starting things all over again, as though there were all sorts of wonderful adventures before me."
Julien looked at her quickly. There was no woman in the place half so good-looking or with any pretensions to such style. He was conscious of an odd twinge of jealousy.
"You'll have no trouble in finding adventures," he remarked a little grimly.
Her eyes flashed back an answer to his thought.
"Bless you, I don't want anything to do with men! Fancy having been engaged to you and to Samuel Harbord! What further thrills could possibly be in store for me?"
"Well, I don't know," Julien retorted. "I suppose if I was a stick, there must have been something about you which induced me to be one."
"Not a bit of it," she objected. "You were a solemn, studious, gentlemanly, well-behaved, well-conducted prig—very much a male edition of what I was myself. What a life we should have lived together!… Here's your friend. You know, I rather like the look of him. He's so delightfully untidy. I should think he belongs round about the new world, doesn't he?"
"He's a working journalist," Julien answered, "a very clever fellow and a good friend of mine."
"Then I shall adore him," Lady Anne decided,—"not because he is a good friend of yours, but because he is a working journalist. Why, I saw him sitting waiting for you the day you came and wished me that touching good-bye," she added. "I liked him even then. It seemed so sweet of him to come and help you through that terrible ordeal."
She held out her hand to Kendricks very charmingly when he was presented.
"Don't be terrified at finding us here, please," she begged. "I know you have some business to talk over with Julien, but you see we were starving, and Julien had to be polite to me because we were once engaged to be married. I promise you that when we have eaten we will go home."
Kendricks looked at her for a moment and smiled.
"You know," he said, "I believe you've run away."
She laughed.
"I felt sure that I was going to like your friend, Julien!" she exclaimed. "He understands things so quickly."
"I am a newspaper man, you see," he told her. "Just as I left, I was reading all sorts of things about your wedding, and the presents, and the rest of it. I saw you in the train and recognized you."
"Don't think I've come over after Julien," she continued cheerfully. "I never dreamed of seeing him—not just yet, at any rate. I had no idea where to run to, but Paris seemed to me so easy and so natural, and somehow or other it must be more difficult to worry any one into going back from a foreign country. Not that I've any idea of going back," she broke off. "I think I'm going to enjoy life hugely out here."
"But it is most astonishing!" Mademoiselle Rignaut declared with a gasp.
"My little friend here," Lady Anne went on, "hasn't got over it all yet. She doesn't understand the sheer barbarity of being a duke's daughter. The worst of it is she'll never have an opportunity of trying it for herself. Heaven save the others! Julien, I hope we are going to have some champagne. Mother never liked me to drink champagne at a restaurant. You see," she explained, "we weren't rich enough to be in really the smart set, or else I should have been allowed to do any mortal thing, and if you aren't in the very smart set, it is best to turn up your nose at them and to ape propriety. That's what we did. It suited father because it was cheap, and mother because she said it went with my style."
"Champagne, by all means," Julien agreed. "I ordered it some time ago.And here comes the lobster."
"Julien, tell him to give me some wine," Lady Anne begged. "I am thirsty."
Julien gave the order to thesommelier. She raised the glass to her lips and looked at him.
"To our new selves," she exclaimed, laughing, "and to the broken bonds!"
Julien raised his glass at once.
"To our new selves!" he echoed.