I had almost promised that, if he held his hand, I would give Raoul up; and never have I broken my word.  But if I wrote a letter to Godensky in the morning, saying I had changed my mind, that he could do his worst against Raoul du Laurier and against me, for nothing should part us two except death?  Then he would have fair warning that I did not intend to do the thing to which he had nearly forced me; and I would fight him, when he tried to take revenge.  But meanwhile, before he got that letter, I would—­I must—­find some way of putting the treaty back in its place at the Foreign Office.

It was too soon to dare to be happy, yet; for it was on the cards that, even when I had saved Raoul from the consequences of my political treachery, Godensky might still be able to ruin me with him.  Yet, the relief I felt after the all but hopeless anguish in which I had been drowning for the last few days gave to my spirit a wild exhilaration that night.  I encouraged Raoul with hints that I had news of the necklace, and said that, if he would let me come to him in his office as soon as it was open in the morning, I might be able to surprise him pleasantly.  Of course, he answered that it would give him the greatest joy to see me there, or anywhere; and we parted with an appointment for nine o’clock next day.

When he had gone, I wrote a note—­a very short note—­to Count Godensky.  I wanted to have it ready; but I did not mean to send it till the treaty was in the safe whence I had taken it.  Then, the letter should go at once, by messenger; and it would still be very early in the day, I hoped.

Usually, I have my cup of chocolate in bed at nine; but on the morning which followed I was dressed and ready to go out at half past eight.  I think that I had not slept at all, but that didn’t matter.  I felt strong and fresh, and my heart was full of courage.  I was leaving nothing to chance.  I had a plan, and knew how I meant to play the last hand in the game.  It might go against me.  But I held a high trump.  Again, as before, Raoul received me alone.

“Dearest,” he exclaimed, “I know your news must be good, for you look so bright and beautiful.  Tell me—­tell me!”

I laughed, teasingly, though Heaven knew I was in no mood for teasing.

“You’re too impatient,” I said.  “To punish you for asking about the wretched diamonds before you enquired how I slept, and whether I dreamed of you, I shall make you pay a penalty.”

“Any penalty you will,” he answered, laughing too, and entering into the joke—­for he was happy and hopeful now, seeing that I could joke.

“Let me sit down and write at your desk, on a bit of your paper,” I said.

He gave me pen and ink.  I scribbled off a few words, and folded the note into an envelope.

“Now, this is very precious,” I went on.  “It tells you all you want to know.  But—­I’m going to post it.”

“No, no!” he protested.  “I can’t wait for the post.”