“Still, she has not forgotten.”

“But remind yourself that the chemistry of years is such that inevitably a sense of obligation in due course turns into a grudge.  It is true, Liane has not forgotten, but I am by no means sure she has forgiven me for saving her to life.”

“There may be something in that, seeing what she has made of her life.”

“Now there is where you can instruct me.  I have been long in exile.”

“But you know how Liane graduated from the chorus of the Varietes, became first a principal there, then the rage of all the music halls with her way of singing rhymed indecencies.”

“One has heard something of that.”

“On the peak of her success she retired, saying she had worked long enough, made enough money.  That, too, knows itself.  But Liane retired only from the stage...  You understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“She continued to make many dear friends, some of them among the greatest personages of Europe.  So that gradually she became what she is to-day,” Athenais Reneaux pronounced soberly:  “as I think, the most dangerous woman on the Continent.”

“How—­’dangerous’?”

“Covetous, grasping, utterly unscrupulous and corrupt, and weirdly powerful.  She has a strange influence in the highest places.”

“Blackmail?”

“God knows!  It was, at all events, strong enough to save her from being shot during the war.  I was assigned to watch her then.  There was a suspicion in England that she was in communication with the enemy.  I found it to be quite true.  She knew Bolo Pasha intimately, Caillaux, too.  Other women, many of them, fled the country, or went to St. Lazare for the duration of the war, or faced firing squads at dawn for doing infinitely less than she did to betray France and her Allies; but Liane Delorme got off scot-free.  I happen to know that England made the strongest representations to the French government about her.  I know personally of two young French officers who had been on friendly terms with Liane, and who shot themselves, one dramatically on her very doorstep.  And why did they do that, if not in remorse for betraying to her secrets which afterwards somehow found their way to the enemy?...  But nothing was ever done about it, she was never in the least molested, and nightly you might see her at Maxim’s or L’Abbaye, making love to officers, while at the Front men were being slaughtered by the hundreds, thanks to her treachery....  Ah, monsieur, I tell you I know that woman too well!”

The girl’s voice quavered with indignation.

“So that was how you came to know her,” Lanyard commented as if he had found nothing else of interest.  “I wondered...”

“Yes:  we were bosom friends—­almost—­for a time.  It wasn’t nice, but the job had to be done.  Then Liane grew suspicious, and our friendship cooled.  One night I had a narrow escape from some Apaches.  I recognised Liane’s hand in that.  She was afraid I knew something.  So I did.  But she didn’t dream how much I knew.  If she had there would have been a second attempt of that sort minus the escape.  Then the armistice came to cool our passions, and Liane found other things to think about ...  God knows what other mischief to do in time of peace!”