The Washington herald., 1911-02-21
CHAPTER VIl-Continued.

Fitzgerald let so. What was your
object?"
Mon dieu! what object?'
Fitzgerald lowered his voice. What
was your object in digging holes in yOn-
der chimney? Did you know what was
there? And what do you propose to do
now?'
NJ. Ferraud coolly took off his spec
tacles and polished the lenses. 1t needed
but moment to adjust them. What
are you talking about"
You are really NJ. Ferraud:" said the
young man. coldly.
The Frenchman produced a wallet and
took out letter. 1t was written by the
President of France, introducing NJ. Fer
raud to the ambassador at Washington.
Next. there was a passport, and far more
important than either Of these was the
Legion OF Honor. Yes; l am Anatole
Ferraud.''
THAT is all desire to know"
shall We return to the ladies'" asked
NJ. Ferraud, restoring his treasures.
Since there is nothing more to be said
at present. 1t seems strange to me that
foreign politics should find its way here"
Politics? l am only a butterfly hun
ter"
There are varieties. But you are the
man. l shall find OUT
Possibly" returned NJ Ferraud, think
ing hard.
81 give you fair warning that if any
thing is missing
"Oh, Mr.. Fitzgerald
81 shall know where to look for it."
with a smile which had no humor in il.
Why not dcnOUnCe me now?''
Would it serve your purpose
NO" with deeper gravity. 1T would
be a greater disaster; how great, l cannot
tell you"
Then I shall say nothing"
About what" dryly, even whimsically.
About your being a secret agent from
France"
This time NJ. Ferrauds glance proved
that he was truly startled. Only three
times in his career had his second life
been questioned or suspected. He eyed
his hands aCcusingly: they had betrayed
him. This young man was clever, clev-
erer than he had thought. He had been
too confident and had committed a blum
der. Should he trust him? With that
swift unerrinS instinct which makes the
perfect student of character. he said:
You will do me a great favor not to
impart this suspicion to any one else"
'Suspicion?''
1T is true: I am a secret AGENT and
he said it proudly.
You wish harm to none here?'
Mon dieu No. | am here for the
very purpose OF saving you all from
heartaches and misfortune and disiilu-
sion. And had ! set to work earlier
should have accomplished all this with
out single one of you knowing it. Now
the matter will have to go on to its end"
"Can you tell me anything?'
Not now. 1 trust you; will you trust
me?"
Fitzgerald hesitated for a space. Yes"
"For that. thanks" and NJ. Ferraud
put out a hand. ''It is clean. Mr.. Fitz-
gerald, for all that the skin is broken
"Of that have no doubt"
Before we reach Corsica you will
know"
And so temporarily that ended the mat
ter. But as Fitzgerald went over to the
chair just vacated by the secretary he
found that there was a double zest to
life now. This would be far more excit-
ing than lodging ice foes and freezing
ones toes.
Laura told him the news. Their guests
would arrive that evening in time for
dinner
1t was Breitmann's habit to come down
first He would thrum little on the
piano or take down some old volume.
Tonight it was Heine. He had not met
any OF the guests yet, WHICH ne cOHSlu-
cred a piece of good fortune. But God
only knew what would happen when she
saw him! He dreaded the moment, dread
ed il with anguish. She was a woman,
schooled in acting, but a time comes
when the best acting is not sufficient II
only in some way he might have warned
her; but no way had opened. She would
find him ready, however, ready with his
eyes, his lips, his nerves. What would
the others think or say il she lost her
presence Of mind? His teeth snapped.
He read on. The lamp threw the light
on the SCARED side of his face.
He heard some one enter, and his gaze
stole over the top of his book. This per-
son was a woman, and her eyes travelled
from object to object with curiosity
tinged with that incertitude which at
tacks US all when we enter an unfamiliar
room. She was dressed in black, show
ing the white arms and neck. Her hair
was like the ripe wheat after a rainstorm.
Oh, but he knew well the color OF her
eyes, blue as the Adriatic. She was
woman of perhaps thirty. matured,
graceful, handsome. The sight of her ex-
cited thrill in his veins, deny it how he
would
She scanned the long rows OF books,
the strange weapons, the heroic and sin
ister flags, the cases of butterflies. With
each inspection she stepped nearer and
nearer. till by reaching out his hand ne