Two days later I dined at one of the great Bonapartist houses. I was late, and as the guests were about to go to dinner, our hostess said, “Let me present you to a fellow countrywoman, M. Greville of the American Legation—Mme. Bellegarde.” I was so taken aback that I could hardly find words to speak to her until we sat down together at dinner. She, too, was equally agitated. I talked awhile to my left-hand neighbor, but presently her adjoining table companion spoke to her and being thus set free, I said to Mme. Bellegarde in English, speaking low:

“You are my countrywoman, and are, as I know, in trouble. What is it? After we met I learned your name, but I have been prudent enough to refrain from calling.”

She said: “Yes; you are right. I am in trouble, and of my own making. In my distress that awful night I did not want to give my name to a stranger, and now to recognize in my companion one of our own legation is really a piece of great good fortune. We cannot talk here. I may be able to be of service to the legation—to my country, but we dare not talk here. What I have to say is long. You must not call on me, but we must meet. Come to the masked ball at the palace to-morrow—no, not you. Some one who is not of the legation—some one you can trust. It is a masquerade as you must know. I shall wear a mask—a black domino with a red rose on one sleeve, a white one on the other. Let your friend say, ‘Lincoln.’ I shall answer, ‘America.’ But do let him be careful.”

I said, “Yes; I will arrange it.”

“Oh, thank you. Talk now of something else.”

I said, “Yes, in a moment.” It occurred to me that I might use Merton. “My friend will be in our army uniform, an entirely unsuspected man. How pretty those flowers are!”

I found her charming, a widow, and if I might judge from her jewels, one at ease in regard to money. Before we left, after dinner, I had a few minutes more of talk with her in the drawing-room. She was free from the look of care I had observed when presented.

“Good-by,” I said, as we parted, “and be assured that you have friends.”

“Oh, thank you!” she murmured. “But I am involving others in my difficulties. I wish I had never done it. Good night.” I went home, curious and perplexed.

Early in the morning of the next day I went to the rooms of our first secretary. In reply to my request, he said he had two cards for the ball at my disposal, and would arrange matters with the master of ceremonies. I accepted one card for Merton, and went away well pleased and regretful that I found it better, as she had done, to leave this singular errand to another.

I made haste to call on Merton, and finding him in, related my fortunate meeting with Mme. Bellegarde, and told him what she expected us to do. He was much pleased, and I happy in finding for our purpose a man whom no one was likely to watch. I urged him, however, to be cautious, and went away, arranging that he should call on me after the ball, even though his visit might be far on in the night. I was too curious and too anxious to wait longer.

It was after three in the morning when he aroused me from the nap into which I had fallen.

“By George!” he cried, “she is a delightful and a brave woman. I told you so; but, good heavens! she is in a sad scrape.”

“Well, what is it? Has she robbed the Bank of France?”

“Worse. I told you it was some diplomatic tangle. I was right. It is a big one.”

“For Heaven’s sake, go on!”

“She is beautiful.”

“Of course; I know that. But what happened?”

“I said she was beautiful.”

“Yes, twice, and you have never seen her face.”

“No, but you told me so. However, I went early and waited about the door until she came in. I kept her in sight. It wasn’t easy. A half-hour later I got my chance. She had been left by her last partner near a small picture-gallery, and was chatting with an old lady. I said, ‘It is my dance, I believe.’ She rose at once. As we moved away I whispered, ‘Lincoln,’ and on her replying, ‘America,’ she guided me through the gallery and at last into a small conservatory and behind some orange-trees. No one was near. ‘One moment,’ she said; ‘even here I am not free.’ I saw no evidence of her being watched, but she was, I fancied, in an agony of apprehension. As I mentioned my name and tried to reassure her, she let fall her black domino saying, ‘Quick, push it under that sofa!’ She wore beneath it a pearl-colored silk domino, and, of course, was still masked.”

“By George!” said I, “a woman of resources. How clever that was!”

Merton went on: “Then we sat down, I saying: ‘Be cool, and don’t hurry. You are entirely secure.’ She did go on, and what a story! She said:

“‘On the night before I involved Mr Greville in trouble, I went to an evening party at Count le Moyne’s. I was never there before, or only to call on the countess, and at that time talked a few minutes with the count. They have been here hardly more than a month. When I arrived there was a great crush in the hall and on the stair. As I waited to get rid of my wraps the count came through the crowd and passed me. He had, I suppose, been belated at the Foreign Office. He seemed to be in haste and went behind a screen and into a room on the side of the hall. A little later the music up-stairs ceased. I heard cries of fire. People rushed down the stairway screaming. There was a jam in the hall and a terrible crush at the outer doors. A curtain had been blown across a console and taken fire; that was all, but the alarm and confusion were dreadful. Women fainted. One or two men made brutal efforts to escape. I have a temperament which leaves me pretty cool in real danger. There was none but what the terror of these people created. I was hustled about and, with others, driven against the Chinese screen which covered the doorway of the count’s office. I said he had entered it—yes, I told you that. As the alarm grew, it must have reached him, for he came out and had to use violence to push the screen away so as to let him pass. The tumult was at its height as he went by me crying, ‘Mon Dieu!’ He ran along a back passageway and disappeared. There were other women near, but I was so placed as to be able to slip behind the screen he had pushed away. I am afraid that he recognized me. As I thus took refuge in the doorway the screen was crushed against it, and I was caught. Of course I was excited, but I was cool compared with the people outside. I tried the door behind me and felt it open. Then I saw that I was in the count’s private office. On the table a lamp was burning. As I was crossing the room to try a side-door entrance into the garden, I caught sight of a large paper envelop on the table. I could not help seeing the largely written inscription. I paused. In an instant I realized that I was in an enemy’s country and had a quick sense of anger as I read: “Foreign Office. Confidential. Recognition of the Confederate States. Note remarks by his Majesty the Emperor. Make full digest at once. Haste required! Drouyn de Lhuys.” I stood still. For a moment, believe me, I forgot the fire—everything. I suppose the devil was at my side.’

“‘A good devil,’ said I.

“She said: ‘Oh, please not to laugh. It was terrible. If you had lived in France these two years you would know. I have been all summer in the utmost distress about my country. I have been insulted and mocked because of our failures. Women can be very cruel. The desirability of France and England acknowledging the Confederacy was almost daily matter of talk among the people I met. Here before me, in my power, was information sure to be valuable to our legation—to my country. I little dreamed of its importance. I did not reflect. I acted on impulse. I seized the big envelop and drew my cloak around me. The package was bulky and heavy.’”

“Good heavens! Merton,” said I, “She stole it!”

“Stole it! Nonsense! It was war—glorious.”

I shook my head in disapproval, and had at once a vast longing to see our worried and anxious envoys profit by the beautiful thief’s outrageous robbery.

Merton continued: “I will go on to state it as well as I can in her own words. She said: ‘I stood a moment in doubt, but the noise in the hall increased. The screen was driven in fragments against the door. I might be caught at any moment. That would mean ruin. I tried the side door. It was not locked, and in a moment I found myself outside, in the garden. I went around to the front of the house, and in a minute or two secured a cabriolet and was driven home. Then my worst troubles began. I had acted on impulse. It was wrong. I was a thief. Was it not wrong? Oh, I know it was wicked! To think, sir, that I should have done such a thing!’

“When she spoke out in this way,” said Merton, “I saw that if we were to help her, it was essential that we should know whether she was becoming irresolute. To test her I said: ‘But, madame, you could have given it back to the count next day. You may be sure he would never have told; and now, poor man, he is in a terrible scrape, and that unlucky Foreign Office! It is not yet too late. Why not return the papers?’

“For a moment I felt ashamed, because even before I made this effort to see if it was worth while to take the grave risks which I saw before us, I knew that she was sobbing.”

“It was worth while. But what,” I asked, “did she say?” If Merton had said that she was weakening, I should have felt some relief and more disappointment.

He asked in turn, “What do you think she said?”

For my part, I could only reply that it was a question of character, but that while she might feel regret and express her penitence in words, a woman who had done what she had done would never express it in acts.

Merton said, “Thank you,” which seemed to me a rather odd reply. He rose as he spoke and for a moment walked about in silence, and then said: “By George! Greville, I felt as if I had insulted her. You think I was right—it is quite a relief.” He spoke with an amount of emotion which appeared to me uncalled for.

“Yes, of course you were right; but what did she say?”

“‘Say?’ She said: ‘I am not a child, sir. I did what I know to be wrong. I did it for no personal advantage. I am punished when I think of myself as a thief. I have already suffered otherwise. I do not care. I did it for my country, as—as you kill men for it. I shall abide by what I did and may God forgive me! But if you are ashamed—if you are shocked—if you think—oh, if you fear to assist me, you will at least consider what I have said as a confidence.’ She stood up as she answered me, and spoke out with entire absence of care about being overheard. Ah, but I wanted to see that masked face! I said twice as she spoke: ‘Be careful. You mistake me.’ She took not the least notice of my caution. Then at last I said: ‘Pray sit down. It was—it is clear, madame, that all concerned or who may concern themselves, with this matter must feel absolute security that there will be no weakness anywhere. After what you have said, and with entire trust in you, we shall at all risks see this thing through.’ She said, ‘Thank you,’ and did sit down.

“Then I went on: ‘I want to ask you a question or two. Did the count recognize you?’

“‘I was not sure at the time, but he must have at least suspected me, for he called next day at an unusually early hour, insisted on seeing me, and frankly told me that on the night before, during the fire, a document had been stolen from his table. He had remembered me as near to the office. Did I know anything about it? I said, “How could I?” I was dreadfully scared, but I replied that I had certainly gone through his office and had left both doors open. Then he said, “It is too grave a matter for equivocation, and I ask, Did you take it?” I said I was insulted, and upon this he lost his temper and threatened all manner of consequences.’

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