s no fighting or diplomatic tangle, count me in. Think of it,
Jane," turning to his wife; "two old church-goers like you and me,
a-going after a pirate's treasure! Doesn't it make you laugh?"

Laura unfolded the story, and when she came to the end, the excitement
was hot and Babylonic. Napoleon! What a word! A treasure put
together to rescue him from St. Helena! Gold, French gold, English
gold, Spanish and Austrian gold, all mildewing in a rotting chest
somewhere back of Ajaccio! It was unbelievable, fantastic as one of
those cinematograph pictures, running backward.

"But what are you going to do with it when you find it?"

"Findings is keepings," quoted the admiral. "Perhaps divide it,
perhaps turn it over to France, providing France agrees to use it for
charitable purposes."

"A fine plan, is it not, Mr. Breitmann?" said M. Ferraud.

"Findings is keepings," repeated Breitmann, with a pale smile.

The eyes of Hildegarde von Mitter burned and burned. Could she but
read what lay behind that impassive face! And he took it all with a
smile! What would he do? what would he do now? kept recurring in her
mind. She knew the man, or at least she thought she did; and she was
aware that there existed in his soul dark caverns which she had never
dared to explore. Yes, what would he do now? How would he put his
hand upon this gold? She trembled with apprehension.

And later, when she found the courage to put the question boldly, he
answered with a laugh, so low and yet so wild with fury that she drew
away from him in dumb terror.

CHAPTER XIX

BREITMANN MAKES HIS FIRST BLUNDER

The secretary nerved himself and waited; and yet he knew what her reply
would be, even before she framed it, knew it with that indescribable
certainty which prescience occasionally grants in the space of a
moment. Before he had spoken there had been hope to stand upon, for
she had always been gentle and kindly toward him, not a whit less than
she had been to the others.

"Mr. Breitmann, I am sorry. I never dreamed of this;" nor had she.
She had forgotten Europeans seldom understand the American girl as she
is or believe that the natural buoyancy of spirit is as free from
purpose or intent as the play of a child. But in this moment she
remembered her little and perfectly inconsequent attentions toward this
man, and seeing them from his viewpoint she readily forgave him.
Abroad, she was always on guard; but here, among her