er would bring me something--if my correspondence through the
post was found to contain nothing compromising. Oh, there have been eyes
on me, and on every movement of mine, I'm sure. See how efficient,
though quiet, the methods have been where you're concerned. They--the
police--knew the name of the man I was to meet here at this hotel; and
if, as Godensky must have hoped, any document belonging to the French
Government had been found on you or me, everything would have played
into his hands. Raoul would have been ruined, his heart broken, and
I--but there are no words to express what I would have suffered, what I
may yet have to suffer. Godensky would be praised for his cleverness, as
well as securing a satisfactory revenge on me for refusing him. The only
thing which rejoices me now is the thought of his blank disappointment
when he gets the news from the Commissary of Police."

"You don't believe then," I asked, "that Godensky has had any hand in
the disappearance of the treaty?"

"I would believe it, if it weren't for the necklace being put in its
place. Even if Count Godensky could have known of Raoul's mission with
the diamonds, and got them into his own hands, he wouldn't have let them
get out again with every chance of their going back to Raoul, and thus
saving him from his trouble. He'd do nothing to help, but everything to
hinder. There lies the mystery--in the return of the necklace instead of
the treaty. You have no knowledge of it, you tell me; yet you come to me
with it in your pocket--the necklace stolen from Raoul du Laurier, days
ago, in Amsterdam or on the way there."

"You're certain it's the same?"

"Certain as that you are you, and I am I. And I'm not out of my mind
yet--though I soon shall be, unless you somehow save me from this
horror."

"I'm going to try," I said. "Don't give up hope. I wish, though, that
you hadn't to act to-night."

"So do I. But there's no way out of it. And I must go now to the
theatre, or I shall be late: my make-up's a heavy one, and takes a long
time. I can't afford to have any talk about me and my affairs to-night,
whatever comes afterwards. Raoul will be in a box, and at the end of the
first act, he'll be at the door of my dressing-room. The agony of seeing
him, of hearing him praise my acting, and saying dear, trusting, loving
words that would make me almost too happy, if I hadn't betrayed him,
ruined his career for ever!"

"Maybe not," I said. "And anyhow, the