as no triumph in it, no joy that,
so far, she was saved--as if by a miracle. Rather was her tone that of a
woman at bay, fighting to the last, but without hope. "Nor did I ever
see it before." I echoed her words.

She glanced at me as if with gratitude. Yet there was no need for
gratitude. I was not lying for her sake, but speaking the plain truth,
as I thought that she must know.

For the first time the Commissary of Police condescended to laugh. "I
suppose you want me to believe that the last occupant of this room
tucked some valued possession down into a safe hiding place--and then
forgot all about it. That is likely, is it not? You shall have the
pleasure, Mademoiselle--and you, Monsieur--of seeing with me what that
careless person left behind him."

He had laid the thing on the table, and now he tapped it, aggravatingly,
with his hand. But the strain was over for me. I looked on with
calmness, and was amazed when at last Maxine flew to him, no longer
scornful, tragically indifferent in her manner, but imploring--a weak,
agonized woman.

"For the love of God, spare me, Monsieur," she sobbed. "You don't
understand. I confess that what you have there, is mine. I have held
myself high, in my own eyes, and the eyes of the world, because I--an
actress--never took a lover. But now I am like the others. This is my
lover. There's the price I put on my love. Now, Monsieur, I ask you on
my womanhood to hold what is in that leather case sacred."

I felt the blood rush to my face as if she had struck me across it with
a whip. My first thought, to my shame, was a selfish one. What if this
became known, this thing that she had said, and Diana should hear? Then
indeed all hope for me with the girl I loved would be over. My second
thought was for Maxine herself. But she had sealed my lips. Since she
had chosen the way, I could only be silent.

"Mademoiselle, it is a grief to me that I must refuse such a prayer,
from such a woman. But duty before chivalry. I must see the contents of
that case," said the Commissary of Police.

She caught his hand and rained tears upon it. "No--no!" she implored.
"If I were rich, I would offer you thousands to spare me. I've been
extravagant--I haven't saved, but all I have in the world is yours
if--."

"There can be no such 'if,' Mademoiselle," the man broke in. And
wrenching his hand free, he opened the case before she could again
prevent him.

Out fell a cascade of light, a diamond neck