The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1881-08-29

times for one whole half hour, monsieur!
But she must have the parure on the instant
and in her own hands, and so come from
madame myself to conduct you to Villa Ste
fania without delay"
All this was fully in accord with all that
had ever heard of the eccentric restlessness
of this great Russian lady, nor had the
faintest reason, after hearing of the telegram
from nv EMPLOYERS, to doubt the simple
good faith of so pretty and altogether at
tractive young lady as Mademolselle Lee
noir Still there was one obvious precau-
ton that ought to take, and did take 1t;
for wish to make it absolutely clear that !
acted in all respects as the most prudent OF
men could have done.
.'Mademoiselle will permit me to ask"
said l, sssimply as a matter of business
form, if she has the written authority
s'Of Madame la Princesse? Assuredly,"
said she. with a bright smile. "It is good
to treat with monsieur of the prudence OF
monsieurw She handed me at once little
sealed note, perfumed and gracefully writ
ten that ran as follows:
''VILLA STEFANIA, January II.
Monsieur Alfred Morris, on the part of
Messrs. -, will have the goodness to ac-
company the bearer, Mademoiseille Lenor,
to the Villa Stefania, without any delay,
there to execute the commission with which
he is charged.
STEPHANIE DE MoURANov."
have that note still to remind me Of
But the end is not yet come. Suffice it that
doubt, under the circumstances, never en-
tered my head; nor, dare to swear, would
it have entered the readers, had he to judge
before the event, as / had to do.
| found Mademoiselle Lenoir an exceed
ingly pleasant companion on the way to Villa
Stefania, which fancifully named residence
-. M half
partly by rail and partly en- U0atatre. l sup
posed it some eccentricity on the part of the
Princesse that she did not, as she certainly
might have done, send carriage to convey
us the whole way Perhaps she was one of
those people who take pleasure in little
mysteries and pointless cons yiracies. Ma
demoiselle Lenoir talked the whole time
about all sorts of things and places, and l
found her sympathetic, intelligent and sim
gularly well informed, as well as charming
even began to fatter myself that had
made by no means unsatisfactory impress
sion upon mademoiselle.
Villa Stefania, where we arrived after
darkness had fallen, l could not very dis
tinctly see but made out that it was a
small house, probably not long built, stand
ing alone and apart from all other dwellings
in sort of shrubbery, and approached
through tiny court past The lodge OF the
concierge. we W6I6 db OuCc dumltbCu,
without any ringing or waiting. Mademol-
selle conducted me up staircase and along
passage, both scarcely half lighted, into
room so dark that could scarcely see where
l was, or anything at ALL
"Imbecilesp' cried Mademoiselle Lenoir.
| ssNot light in the salon, not even a candle!
| That is how one is served when one has
| twenty servants, monsieur, each with his
| duties; we must have a twenty-frst, to do
| nothing but see that the sconces shall not
| be empty in the sdLon-unless, perhaps, it
shall be some fancy of madame for nobody
| to know you are here. / will see. Monsieur
is a brave man? He is not afraid of be-
ing left alone in the dark till madame shall
arrive? 1t will be in moment, Monsieur.
Madame is anxious, very anxious, for the"
thought my being asked to wait in pitch
darkness little odd, but could only say,
cit is many years since believed in Bogy,
mademoiselle."
ssBien. 1t shall not be long, And she
| was gone, closing the door behind her, if my
| ears told truly.
Without believing in Bogy, it is not
| pleasant thing to be left alone in strange
| room in the dark, all the same-fancies will
come into ones head especially when the
seconds grow into minutes without count
| ing themselves on visible watchface, and
| when one has on ones person diamonds
worth many bQOuSduuS VI pOuHuo. Lively
thing was all right of course; and yet could
not help wishing that the Princess Mouran-
| ov had received me at Les Bosquets by the
| light of at least ole candle, if not of day.
And, though was but bridesmaids en-
ploye, common French courtesy should not
| have kept me quite SO long waiting for a
! light, even though fine lady might not be
| ready to see me the very instant l arrived.
| felt my way to a very comfortable sofa, on
which sat down, and waited on, waxing
| impatient, and feeling rather like prisoner
| condemned to the dark cell. Manners for
| babe me to doze or whistle, and
But Impotence was soon to change into
something more.
| Was that sound of voices in the room or
| no? If not in the room, close to the room
| it must have been; for heard them plainly
| sometimes darkness itself will plainly
| sharpen our ears, and there are certain
words which once heard sharpen them yet
more keenly.
| heard three voices. One was Mademoi-
| selle Lenoir's. One was strange womdn's.
| The third was mans.
ssNeatly trapped enongh," said the last, so
| slowly, in the German manner, that they
brought their whole significance home to my
| dull British ears.
ssBut for the rest" said Mademoiselle Lee
| noir, "what ought one to do? If he goes
| back to England"
HE must not go back to England" said
| the voice of the other woman-it was singu-
| larly cold, firm and clear. HE must not
leave France; he must not leave Paris till
we are safely gone. Those diamonds.
"If the worst comes to the worst" said
the man, "what then? We are man to man.
If he does not behave himself, he will have
to deal with me. These things are awk-
ward, because of the police. But"
ssHe will not resist" said Mademoiselle
Lenoir. 'And if he does"
thought heard sigh, so sharp had my
| ears grown. But from whom came the
| sigh? Whether from Mademoiselle Lenoir
| or that other woman | could not ell.
eff he does" said the man, 'be it on his
| own head, whatever comes. You under
| stand me, my friend. / do not like too
much blood; but if there be resistance there
| must be-what there must be. He must
not trace the diamonds, nor you.'
| 1t had all passed through my ears to my
sinking heart long ago. Fool that had
| been to listen to a woman's story, however
| plausible it might seeml Some plot, invent
| ed and carried out with fendish cunning,
| had brought me into den of robbery and
murder. I was to wait for death in that
| lonely house and that horrible dark cham
| Der!
What, in the name of Heaven, in the
name of desperate helplessness, was to do?
| The voices grew confused, then ceased alto
gether. / was alone. Nobody knew me in
Paris; nobody would miss me there. If
did not return, my employer would set me
down as having run off with the jewels; my
mother and sisters themselves would believe
me guilty and break their hearts and starve.
Could I escape from the house? Impossible
through unknown passages and locked
| door!
Instinctively felt for my revolver, use
| less as it must be in a dark room. The
murderer, or murderers, knowing the prem
| ises, could be upon me at any moment and
| have me down before | knew of their APP
proach; and one must have some faint light
| for an aim. had known that all sorts of
atrocities are even more common in Paris
| than in London but how could / dream
that such doom as this, all for believing in
the smooth tongue of a pretty servant,
would ever be mine2 say l felt for my re-
volver, though knowing all the while how
| vain toy it would be now. A knife for
| close quarters would have been ten times its
value; and that, too, would have been vain.
1 don't think myself less brave than other
men, yet could not help groan of despair
| at the thought that | as about to be MUIR