ness. The Nation's business
was awaiting him; he might not stay.

"The Nation's business may await you a little longer," she declared,
taking hold of his arm with both hands, and had she left it at that it
is possible that she had won her way with him. But most indiscreetly she
added:

"Come, Caron, you shall tell me who was your yesterday's visitor. Do you
know that the sight of her made me jealous? Was it not foolish in me?"

And now, from cold politeness, La Boulaye passed to hot impoliteness.
Roughly he shook her detaining hands from him, and with hardly so much
as a word of farewell, he passed down the stairs, leaving her white with
passion at the slight he had thereby put upon her.

The beauty seemed to pass out of her face much as the meekness was wont
to pass out of her uncle's when he was roused. Her blue eyes grew steely
and cruel as she looked after him.

"Wait, Caron," she muttered to herself, "I will cry quits with you."
And then, with a sob of anger, she turned and mounted the stairs to her
apartments.

CHAPTER XIX. THE THEFT

La Boulaye sat once more in the Rue Nationale and with his head in his
hands, his elbows supported by the writing-table, he stared before him,
his face drawn with the pain and anger of the defeat he had sustained
where no defeat had been expected.

He had been so assured that he had but to ask for Ombreval's life,
and it would be accorded him; he had promised Suzanne with such
confidence--boasting almost--that he could do this, and to do it he had
pledged his word. And now? For very shame he could not go to her and
tell her that despite his fine promises despite his bold bargaining, he
was as powerless to liberate Ombreval as was she herself.

And with reflection he came to see that even did he bear her such a tale
she would not believe it. The infinite assurance of his power, implicit
in everything that he had said to her, must now arise in her memory, and
give the lie to his present confession of powerlessness. She would not
believe him, and disbelieving him, she would seek a motive for the words
that she would deem untrue. And that motive she would not find far
to seek. She would account his present attitude the consummation of
a miserable subterfuge by which he sought to win her confidence and
esteem. She would--she must--believe that he had but made a semblance
of befriending her so disinterestedly only that he might enlist her
kindness and regard, and turn th