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 Roché 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 masqué I will tell you his name."

Monsieur Roché 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 Roché, still a little embarrassed, turned to me. "A message—a written message—is to be conveyed to me at the bal masqué; 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 Roché, and after the interchange of a few pleasantries, nodded gayly to us both and rode off.

"You are well matched in one thing," Monsieur Roché 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 chère," 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 masqué 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