



Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)









                           A Diplomatic Woman

                              By HUAN MEE


    HARPER & BROTHERS
    NEW YORK AND LONDON
    M D C C C C

    Copyright, 1900, by Sands & Co.

    _All rights reserved._




CONTENTS


THE RUSSIAN CIPHER

LE DIABLE

THE ABDUCTED AMBASSADOR

PRINCE FERDINAND'S ENTANGLEMENT

A DEAL WITH CHINA

MONSIEUR ROCHE'S DEFEAT




THE RUSSIAN CIPHER


"Saints defend us!" I pettishly exclaimed. "Is there no one in the world
with an atom of brains? I don't want to go as 'Night' or 'Morning,' nor
as 'Marguerite' or 'Pierrette,' or 'Madame la Pompadour'; I want
something original!" And I stamped my foot to give emphasis to the
remark.

"Shall it be as 'Carmen,' madame?"

I sank into a chair in dismay. "Carmen!" This was the creature's idea of
originality. It was too ludicrous for anger. I laughed, and then, as I
raised my eyes to Madame Virot's indignantly bewildered countenance, my
glance fell upon a dress in a wardrobe behind her, and I pointed to it
in a flutter of excitement.

"Some one has originality, after all," I cried. "What does that dress
represent?"

"An ice palace, madame."

"_Mon Dieu!_ It is superb."

"_Mais oui, madame, c'est magnifique, c'est un miracle_," and then,
carried away with enthusiasm, she brought it forth and dilated upon it.
A pale green dress, covered with a shimmering, sparkling net-work that
looked like frost itself.

"You see, madame, the head-dress forms the snowy pinnacle of the tower,
and the _eau de Nil_ embroidered skirt follows the frosted outlines of
the building, which is a _fac-simile_ of the ice palace raised last
winter upon the Neva. An emerald satin mask, with tiny crystal icicles
hanging from the edge, in place of the usual fringe of lace, completes
the costume."

"I must have it," I cried; "it is incomparable."

"It is sold, madame."

"I will pay double."

"Impossible!"

"Treble!"

"I would willingly give it to madame, as it pleases her fancy, but I
cannot; it was designed according to sketches sent to me."

"Tush!" I impatiently exclaimed; "make a duplicate."

"It is impossible, madame, for the dress is for the same _bal masque_
that you will attend."

"And for whom?" I superciliously queried, for I was beside myself with
vexation. "Some nobody who has secured a card by chance, and wishes to
be thought a princess in disguise, eh?"

"I make for no such people," Madame Virot exclaimed, with a reflection
of my own annoyance. "The dress is for the Countess Zarfine. If madame
will suggest something else--"

I turned my eyes from the dress that tormented me, and racked my brains
for something that should excel its splendor, but the idea came not, and
with a contemptuous glare I faced the inoffensive milliner, who had
tried to please me for years, and had never more than half succeeded.

"To be original nowadays," I said, indifferently, "is, after all, so
commonplace, that to be commonplace is to be original. I will go as
'Carmen.'"

The daintiness of my epigram pleased me so well that I was almost
content, yet as I drove towards Le Bois the desire for the costume came
upon me again, and I was disconsolate. For it was no ordinary _bal
masque_, where everything was to be pretence, from the characters
represented to the fable that the dancers knew not one another. It was
all to be real, and no dissimulation. There was to be no unmasking time,
but every one was to be _incognito_ from the beginning to the end. It
was rumored that even our host and hostess would drive up to their own
house and enter amid the throng. No one was to know any one, and yet
every one was to know every one; no master of the ceremonies, no host
and hostess, no introductions or formal presentations. The fact that one
was there was an official stamp upon one's passport of reputation. It
was a Bohemian idea worthy of her who had brought it to Paris--the
Countess Zarfine, wife of the Russian Ambassador, and since, perforce, I
must be masked, I would have dazzled by art instead of nature; yet it
was not to be, and I grew peevish as I nursed my discomfiture.

My landau pulled up as we entered the gates, and Monsieur Roche, the
Premier, from whom I had received in the past many diplomatic
commissions, raised his hat and extended his hand.

"Madame, the gods love me."

"Monsieur, you are too modest; you should have used the feminine."

"I wanted to see you more than any other woman in Paris," he answered,
"and therefore I repeat--'The gods love me.'"

"'Those whom the gods love,' monsieur--" and I smiled, for I would have
given worlds to quarrel with some one, and preferably my best of
friends.

"'Die young,' eh?" he chuckled. "Well, the danger for me is past." And
then, without waiting for an invitation, he calmly stepped into the
carriage and seated himself beside me.

Here was, indeed, candor too wonderful for words, and I gazed
reprovingly upon him.

"You must help me, _ma chere_," he said, gravely. "It is no pleasantry,
but a serious matter--one that touches my reputation nearly."

"Well, _mon ami_?"

"You know our relationship with Russia?"

"The pretty girl with inviting graces to a gallant who hesitates."

"Precisely," he answered, in a tone of appreciation at my simile; "but
the pretty girl's love-letters are being opened."

"Humiliating."

"More than that," he cried, impetuously; "detrimental to me. Three times
in the past month has the most secret cipher of the government been
changed, because identical with the receipt of our message by Russia its
import has become public property in the capitals of Europe."

"Then, ineffectually changed," I observed.

"Utterly. I have just left Count Zarfine, the Russian Ambassador, and he
has dared to imply, in almost undiplomatic language, that his government
suspects us of trifling. _Mon Dieu!_" Monsieur Roche cried in an
awe-stricken voice; "trifling with Russia!"

"Who holds this cipher?"

"Myself and Count Zarfine. When it is changed the new cipher is sent to
St. Petersburg by him direct to the Minister, and the documents by me,
through the diplomatic departments. We have varied the cipher three
times, we have sent different messengers each time, but the result has
always been the same. The world learned the message at once, and we are
fast becoming the laughing-stock of Europe, for the pretty girl is ready
to offer so much for alliance."

"And the Count could not help you, _mon ami_?"


"He was brusque almost to rudeness, but his wife--"

"Ah, monsieur, his wife, what of her?" I asked, with a smile, for I well
knew the fascinations of the Countess Zarfine.

"She knows, as I know," monsieur answered, "that, as in France, so in
Russia, there are powerful influences against this alliance."

He lowered his voice and continued impressively, "Influences so powerful
that it might be possible for them to obtain our secret papers, open
them, read them, and then reseal them and pass them on to their
destination."

"But that would be useless without the key to the cipher, _mon ami_."

"That is stolen in Paris."

"Ah! from whom?"

"The Count himself, and despatched at once to those awaiting it."

"Childlike in its simplicity," I murmured, with a world of satire.

"The Countess is a wonderful woman," he admitted, and then continued:
"You see how easy it is. These people can gain access to the documents
passing between France and Russia, but not to the key of the
cipher--that is stolen here."

"And, of course, the thief is known already," I cried, disdainfully.

"Almost," he replied, with the first flash of enthusiasm he had
manifested--"almost. On Wednesday we shall catch him in the very act. Of
one thing we are certain. He moves in diplomatic circles, and knows that
our final proposal will be made to Russia by the end of the week. On
Wednesday morning I hand the new cipher to the Count, at night he
despatches it, but in the hours that intervene the Countess will
discover the thief. She suspects one of her husband's secretaries."

"You have enlisted a new and powerful ally, monsieur," with a jealous
tremor in my voice.

"Tut, tut," he answered, mildly; "you are the ally I must have, for,
frankly, I do not believe a word the Countess says."

"Then the saints be praised," I ejaculated; "you are not the simpleton
that I feared you were. But you go too far, _mon ami_, for all is true
excepting one thing, the name of the spy, and that is--"

"Let us be diplomatic," he interrupted, "until we are sure. Take the
missing quantity X."

"Why not Z?" I replied, and then I own I started with slight surprise at
the coincidence, for the Countess herself cantered up to the side of the
carriage, and I took her proffered hand.

"I do not believe in Z," Monsieur Roche cried, raising his voice a
little. "Zero cannot win the race, notwithstanding her distance
allowance;" and then he looked up and bowed to the Countess Zarfine.

"I did not suspect diplomacy found recreation in horse-racing,
monsieur," she exclaimed, with an arch smile.

"Age has its follies as well as youth," he answered, and then leaned
anxiously towards her and whispered, "Any news?"

"What can there be until then?" she asked. "On the night of the day
chosen I shall know. At the _bal masque_ I will tell you his name."

Monsieur Roche looked the picture of despair, and then, with a gesture
as though the whole world had been lost to him, spoke in an undertone to
the Countess, said something that I judged by a dainty frown she did not
favor; but in an instant the cloud had passed, and she smiled again, and
answered, "As you will."

Yet to me it still seemed that she was being forced into some action she
would not have elected of her own free choice.

Then Monsieur Roche, still a little embarrassed, turned to me. "A
message--a written message--is to be conveyed to me at the _bal masque_;
I cannot be there, and"--how charmingly he was confused--"will you
receive it for me?"

"And take it at once to Le Quai d'Orsay," the Countess interjected.

"Bring it myself?" I cried, in simulated surprise.

"Yes," monsieur answered, and tactfully continued, "I am shamed at the
greatness of the favor I ask, but it is vital."

"Very well," I reluctantly consented. "If that be so I will do it;" and
he murmured his thanks.

"At midnight I shall pass the head of the staircase and slip a note into
your hand," the Countess exclaimed; "that will be the message."

"But we are all _incognito_," I observed, with my most ingenuous smile.

"You will easily recognize me--I shall represent the 'Franco-Russe
Alliance,'" she answered, with the ready lie of a Russian. "The National
emblems and the National colors--the Double Eagle and the
_fleur-de-lis_. And you?"

"The 'Lost Provinces,'" I replied, meeting lie with diplomatic evasion.

The look of annoyance still slumbered in the depths of her dark eyes,
and I thought, too, there was the glint of a dawning suspicion; but it
was swiftly chased away as she turned with a jest to Monsieur Roche, and
after the interchange of a few pleasantries, nodded gayly to us both and
rode off.

"You are well matched in one thing," Monsieur Roche suavely remarked, as
he watched her retreating figure, "your originality of costume."

"And in another," I replied; "the fact that neither will wear what she
has said she will."

The dear man's eyebrows shot upward in bewilderment.

"She will represent 'An Ice Palace' I, 'Carmen.'"

He looked at me for a moment in undisguised admiration, and then sank
back and whispered with contented appreciation, "_Mon Dieu!_ you are a
wonderful woman."

"And a fortunate one," I replied, "to win the approbation of so
accomplished a diplomat."

"_Ma chere_," he murmured, "men are diplomats by education, women by
intuition. It is civilization against nature."

"The dresses we have mentioned," I continued, "will probably be worn by
our maids, leaving the Countess Zarfine at liberty to carry out her
work, and me free to frustrate her; for I am certain now that it is she
who reveals the cipher. Had I not known the costume she really intends
to wear I should have devoted the night to watching the 'Franco-Russe
Alliance.' As it is, my maid, the 'Lost Provinces,' will do that for the
sake of diplomatic appearances, the Countess will be deceived, and I
shall be free. So I require another card for the carnival--get it
secretly for me."

"Success is assured," he cried, enthusiastically.

"Not so fast, _mon ami_. She already suspects me--I could see it in her
eyes--and therefore you must act with consummate tact; you must delay
the delivery of the key on some pretence until an hour before the ball,
and so render it impossible for it to be revealed to any one except at
the carnival. Then I know when it will be done--directly I have left."

"After you have left?" he cried, in bewilderment.

"After my maid has left with the Countess Zarfine's message for you."

"Ah," he sighed, and there was a world of admiration in the utterance of
that monosyllable, but a moment after, his face became grave again, as
he suggested, "Perhaps the key may be given in such a way that you
cannot prevent it--another note, for instance, skilfully passed from
hand to hand."

"I think not. She would not risk anything so liable to be discovered.
Besides, she suspects; and more," I continued, "does not the whole idea
of this _bal masque_ proclaim the lady's love for the theatrical? No,
_mon ami_, the cipher will be given in such a manner that if a man
watched her actions every minute of the night he would see nothing, but
a woman might see much."

Monsieur smiled again, complaisantly.

"Then, too, if I fail, it is not ruin," I said, "for the documents will
not be despatched until you have heard from me. If I succeed, the
evidence against her will be strong enough to give you all the proofs
you need."

"But--"

"No more suppositions, _mon ami_; you weary me."

"You're the cleverest woman in Paris," he said, with a glance of warm
admiration, as he alighted and stood by my carriage.

"And you, for one who has left youth behind, are the most gallant man in
France," I answered, with a glow of merriment, for I already counted my
mission as accomplished.

"Left youth behind," he murmured, despondingly.

"You said so,_ mon ami_."

"It was in an undiplomatic moment."

"Therefore true, and your tongue, at least, is still youthful. _Au
revoir_, monsieur."

       *       *       *       *       *

Therese created a sensation. There are women even among my chosen
acquaintances who insist upon their maids being stiff, and, if possible,
ugly. Perhaps they fear the comparison which I am too satisfied with
myself to be concerned about, and on that night I was thankful that my
choice had fallen upon a girl who could so admirably play the part I had
selected for her, one whom I need not fear, by some vulgar _gaucherie_,
would spoil my plans or endanger my success.

Therese created a sensation, and, as she entered, the audacity of her
costume drew all eyes towards her.

Her pretty auburn curls were surmounted by the "Cap of Liberty," draped
in crape; her skirt was of the palest yellow silk, with the outlines of
our "Lost Provinces" in black; while, symbolical of the day we prayed
for, the arms of France were more than half eclipsing those of Germany.

For a moment there was the silence of admiration as she entered, and
then a hum of applause burst into a shout as each loyal heart caught the
symbolical meaning of the fading colors of the German arms, almost
hidden by the simple sweetness of our own dear _fleur-de-lis_, and
patriotic voices cried, "_Vive belle Alsace! Vive, vive Lorraine!_"

And Therese bore the sensation as I would have done myself. I turned a
diamond half-hoop on my finger, reflecting it was the last time I could
do so, for to-morrow it should be hers.

Strictly obedient to my instructions, she danced but little, always
following, with some ostentation of persistence, the movements of a lady
who had attracted passing attention--the embodiment of the "Franco-Russe
Alliance." It was a quaint sport we favored--the maid watching the maid.

Midnight struck, and from a secluded corner I saw the note