astle of Chapultepec. At once she hastened to her
mistress's apartments, and confessed what she had done. Still in the
blue flowered calico, with the dust of their frantic ride still on her,
Jacqueline was seated before a little desk. Her head was buried in her
arms, and her loosened hair fell like a shower of copper over her
shoulders. She did not move as Berthe entered, nor give any sign. But
when in a word the story was told, she got to her feet and stared
blankly at the girl. Berthe expected dismissal, but the next instant two
arms were about her, and lips were pressed to hers, and hot tears, not
her own, wetted her cheek.

"Berthe, you little addle-pated goose! You--oh you little ninny, you,
you----" Her phrases were broken by laughter, then by an uncontrollable
peal that was near a shriek, "Little, little fool, dost thou know, thou
hast this night lost to France fifteen thousand leagues of empire?
Thou--thou----" Yet kisses were again the portion of the thief of
fifteen thousand leagues.

"But do you think they will be in time, Berthe? Yes, yes, you've
answered that once. And Michel leads them, you say?"

"Oui, madame, Monsieur Ney was most eager to go, above all when His
Excellency gave him Frenchmen to command. They are the cuirassiers. They
will surely save the American monsieur."

"But will they be in time? Yes, yes, I think I've asked that already."

Her hysteric glee, changing to anxiety, now changed as quickly to
something else. Her face went deathly white, the pretty jaws set hard,
and there was the glint of resolution in the gray eyes. She seized a
cloak and threw it about her.

"Come," she said to the maid.

"Madame is going----"

"Yes, to _undo_ your mischief. Bazaine must send to overtake Ney,
must command him _not_ to interfere with the execution. Bazaine
will do this, when I see him."

"But you will not find His Excellency to-night. Madame la Marechale
ordered the carriage for them both, as I was leaving there."

"Indeed? Then she knew you were coming here to me? Then she did not
mention where they were going?"

"No, madame."

"Of course not. Oh, she is cunning, your Madame la Marechale!"

Alas for Jacqueline! She might conquer herself, but add to herself a
second woman against her, and she was beaten. She confessed defeat by
throwing off the cloak.

"Tuxtla is far, you think they will--will----"

"Oh I think they will, madame!"

"Say you _know_ they will! Say it, Berthe, say it!