was a Bavarian, a
petty noble of some sort--baron, I believe. Her mother's name was
Elven, a Breton peasant; it was a mesalliance--trouble of all sorts--I
forget, but I believe her uncle brought her up. Her uncle was military
attache of the German embassy to Paris.... You see how she slipped
into society--and you know what society under the Empire was."

"Speed," I said, "why on earth didn't you tell me all this before?"

"My dear fellow, I supposed Jarras had told you; or that, if you
didn't know it, it did not concern us at all."

"But it does concern--a person I know," I said, quickly, thinking of
poor Kelly Eyre. "And it explains a lot of things--or, rather, places
them under a new light."

"What light?"

"Well, for one thing, she has consistently lied to me. For another, I
believe her to be hand-in-glove with Karl Marx and the French
leaders--not Buckhurst, but the real leaders of the social revolt;
_not as a genuine disciple, but as a German agent_, with orders to
foment disorder of any kind which might tend to embarrass and weaken
the French government in this crisis."

"You're inclined to believe that?" he asked, much interested.

"Yes, I am. France is full of German agents; the Tuileries was not
exempt--you know it as well as I. Paris swarmed with spies of every
kind, high and low in the social scale. The embassies were nests of
spies; every salon a breeding spot of intrigue; the foreign
governments employed the grande dame as well as the grisette. Do you
remember the military-balloon scandal?"

"Indistinctly.... Some poor devil gave a woman government papers."

"Technically they were government papers, but he considered them his
own. Well, the woman who received those papers is down-stairs."

He gave a short whistle of astonishment.

"You are sure, Scarlett?"

"Perfectly certain."

"Then, if you are certain, that settles the question of Mademoiselle
Elven's present occupation."

I rose and began to move around the room restlessly.

"But, after all," I said, "that concerns us no longer."

"How can it concern two Americans out of a job?" he observed, with a
shrug. "The whole fabric of French politics is rotten to the
foundation. It's tottering; a shake will bring it down. Let it tumble.
I tell you this nation needs the purification of fire. Our own country
has just gone through it; France can do it, too. She's got to, or
she's lost!"

He looked at me earnestly. "I love the country," he sai