e was infinitely pathetic in my eyes; and though
I had never loved her, though I did love another woman, I would have
given my life gladly at this minute if I could have saved her from the
catastrophe she dreaded.

CHAPTER V

IVOR DOES WHAT HE CAN FOR MAXINE

"How long a time do you think I had been in this room, Monsieur," she
asked, "before you--rather rudely, I must say--broke in upon my
conversation with my friend?"

"You had been here exactly three minutes," replied the Commissary of
Police.

"As much as that? I should have thought less. We had to greet each
other, after having been parted for many months; and still, in the three
minutes, you believe that we had time to concoct a plot of some sort,
and to find some safe corner--all the while in semi-darkness--for the
hiding of a thing important to the police--a bomb, perhaps? You must
think us very clever."

"I know that you are very clever, Mademoiselle."

"Perhaps I ought to thank you for the compliment," she answered,
allowing anger to warm her voice at last; "but this is almost beyond a
joke. A woman comes to the rooms of a friend. Both of them are so placed
that they prefer her call not to be talked about. For that reason, and
for the woman's sake, the friend chooses to take a name that isn't
his--as he has a right to do. Yet, just because that woman happens
unfortunately to be well-known--her face and name being public
property--she is followed, she is spied upon, humiliated, and all, no
doubt, on account of some silly mistake, or malicious false information.
Ah, it is shameful, Monsieur! I wonder the police of Paris can stoop to
such stupidity, such meanness."

"When we have found out that it is a mistake, the police of Paris will
apologise to you, Mademoiselle, through me," said the Commissary; "until
then, I regret if our duty makes us disagreeable to you." Then, turning
to his two gendarmes, he directed them to search the room, beginning
with all possible places in which a paper parcel or large envelope might
be hidden, within ten metres of the spot where Mademoiselle and Monsieur
had stood talking together when the police opened the door.

Maxine did not protest again. With her head up, and a look as if the
three policemen were of no more importance to her than the furniture of
the room, she walked to the mantelpiece and stood leaning her elbow upon
it. Weariness, disgusted indifference, were in her attitude; but I
guessed that she fe