tter must have gone through Mornac's hands before it reached
the throne. We did all we dared do; we were in disguise and in hiding
under assumed names; we could not do more.

"Now that Mornac is not even a pawn in the game--as, indeed, I begin
to believe he never really was, but has been from the first a dupe of
Buckhurst--it is the duty of every honest man to watch Buckhurst and
warn the authorities that he possibly has designs on the crown jewels
of France, which that cruiser yonder is all ready to bear away to
Saigon.

"How he proposes to attempt such a robbery I can't imagine. I don't
want to denounce him to General Chanzy or Aurelles de Palladine,
because the conspiracy is too widely spread and too dangerous to be
defeated by the capture of one man, even though he be the head of it.

"What I want is to entrap the entire band; and that can only be done
by watching Buckhurst, not arresting him.

"Therefore, madame, I have written and despatched a telegram to
General Aurelles de Palladine, offering my services and the services
of Mr. Speed to the Republic without compensation. In the event of
acceptance, I shall send to London for two men who will do what is to
be done, leaving me free to amuse the public with my lions. Meanwhile,
as long as we stay in Paradise we both are your devoted servants, and
we beg the privilege of serving you."

During all this time the young Countess had never moved her eyes from
my face--perhaps I was flattered--perhaps for that reason I talked on
and on, pouring out wisdom from a somewhat attenuated supply.

And I now rose to take my leave, bowing my very best bow; but she sat
still, looking up quietly at me.

"You ask the privilege of serving me," she said. "You could serve me
best by giving me your friendship."

"You have my devotion, madame," I said.

"I did not ask it. I asked your friendship--in all frankness and
equality."

"Do you desire the friendship of a circus performer?" I asked,
smiling.

"I desire it, not only for what you are, but for what you have
been--have always been, let them say what they will!"

I was silent.

"Have you never given women your friendship?" she asked.

"Not in fifteen years--nor asked theirs."

"Will you not ask mine?"

I tried to speak steadily, but my voice was uncertain; I sat down,
crushed under a flood of memories, hopes accursed, ambitions damned
and consigned to oblivion.

"You are very kind," I said. "You are the Countess