sent agitation. To the flunkey, who noted the public hack and was
reproachful, she said, "I must see His Excellency. Here, I have written
my name on Mademoiselle d'Aumerle's card. I am her maid. Say to Monsieur
le Marechal that he will regret it, if I do not see him at once. Quick
now, you!"

If possessed of guile, Berthe could not have done better. With
Jacqueline's card, used only because it had a blank side, her admittance
was certain and immediate.

She passed the lackey into a luxurious apartment, Marshal Bazaine's
private cabinet. At one end there was a Japanese screen with a lamp
behind, and at intervals came the sound of someone turning the leaves of
a book. But Berthe thought solely of her errand. The marshal, thick
necked, heavy cheeked and stocky, was standing, waiting for her.

"So," he exclaimed, "milady is arrived, eh, and you bring me her
commands?"

"No, Your Excellency, my mistress does not know that I am here. When she
learns, she will dismiss me. I----"

The marshal of France grew cold. "It was a decoy then, the card you
used?" he interrupted. "And was that one also, young woman, when you
threatened that I should regret----"

"You will indeed regret, monsieur, if you do not let me speak. There's a
mistake to correct if--if it's not too late."

The chief of the Army of Occupation shrugged his shoulders until the
back of his neck folded over itself. He had been correcting mistakes
ever since Maximilian's landing. But he was a child of the people
himself, and the distress in her eyes made him patient. "Well, what is
it?" he asked.

"It is an American. They will shoot him, monsieur!"

"Ah, one who interests the young person now before me, eh?"

"And I want you to stop them, monsieur! I want----"

"Child, child, whom am I to stop?"

"Colonel Lopez, monsieur. The American escaped once, but mademoiselle
gave him up again. He'd saved mademoiselle's life, too. And mine."

The veteran soldier rubbed his finger tips on his bald, bullet-like
head. "He saves her, and she gives him to Lopez. He must be an important
species of American!"

"Yes, yes, monsieur."

"There, don't worry. His Majesty will pardon your friend to-morrow--if,"
he added to himself, "only from habit."

"But Lopez will shoot him before the Emperor knows."

The marshal had shrewd eyes, and now they opened wide. "Getting more
important, our American!" he grumbled uneasily. "Berthe, did your
mistress know that Lopez would shoot