“Shall it be the Elysee Palace?” asked Ivor.

“That will do very well,” replied the other, after reflecting for an instant.  And I could have clapped my hands, in what Ivor would call my “impish joy,” when it was settled; for the Elysee Palace is where Lord and Lady Mountstuart stop when they visit Paris, and they’d been talking of running over next day with Lord Robert West, to look at a wonderful new motor car for sale there—­one that a Rajah had ordered to be made for him, but died before it was finished.  Lady Mountstuart always has one new fad every six months at least, and her latest is to drive a motor car herself.  Lord Robert is a great expert—­can make a motor, I believe, or take it to pieces and put it together again; and he’d been insisting for days that she would be able to drive this Rajah car.  She’d promised, that if not too tired she’d cross to Paris the day after the ball, taking the afternoon train, via Boulogne, as she wouldn’t be equal to an early start.  Now, I thought, how splendid it would be if she should see Maxine at the hotel with Ivor!

The Foreign Secretary was advising Ivor to wire the Elysee Palace for rooms without any delay, as there must be no hitch about his meeting Maxine, once it was arranged for her to go there.  “Any misunderstanding would be fatal,” he went on, as solemnly as if the safety of Maxine’s head depended upon Ivor’s trip.  “I only wish I could have got you off to-night; and in that case you might have gone to her own house, early in the morning.  She is in a frightful state of mind, poor girl.  But it was only to-day that the contents of the packet reached me, and was shown to the Prime Minister.  Then, it was just before I hurried round here to see you that I received a cypher telegram from her, warning me that Count Godensky—­of whom you’ve probably heard—­an attache of the Russian embassy in Paris, somehow has come to suspect a—­er—­a game in high politics which she and I have been playing; her last, according to present intentions, as I told you.  I have an idea that this man, who’s well known in Paris society, proposed to Mademoiselle de Renzie, refused to take no for an answer, and bored her until she perhaps was goaded into giving him a severe snub.  Godensky is a vain man, and wouldn’t forgive a snub, especially if it had got talked about.  He’d be a bad enemy:  and Mademoiselle seems to think that he is a very bitter and determined enemy.  Apparently she doesn’t know how much he has found out, or whether he has actually found out anything at all, or merely guesses, and ‘bluffs.’  But one thing is unfortunately certain, I believe.  Every boat and every train between London and Paris will be watched more closely than usual for the next day or two.  Any known or suspected agent wouldn’t get through unchallenged.  But I can see no reason why you should not.”

“Nor I,” answered Ivor, laughing a little.  “I think I could make some trouble for anyone who tried to stop me.”