For the first time the Commissary of Police condescended to laugh.  “I suppose you want me to believe that the last occupant of this room tucked some valued possession down into a safe hiding place—­and then forgot all about it.  That is likely, is it not?  You shall have the pleasure, Mademoiselle—­and you, Monsieur—­of seeing with me what that careless person left behind him.”

He had laid the thing on the table, and now he tapped it, aggravatingly, with his hand.  But the strain was over for me.  I looked on with calmness, and was amazed when at last Maxine flew to him, no longer scornful, tragically indifferent in her manner, but imploring—­a weak, agonized woman.

“For the love of God, spare me, Monsieur,” she sobbed.  “You don’t understand.  I confess that what you have there, is mine.  I have held myself high, in my own eyes, and the eyes of the world, because I—­an actress—­never took a lover.  But now I am like the others.  This is my lover.  There’s the price I put on my love.  Now, Monsieur, I ask you on my womanhood to hold what is in that leather case sacred.”

I felt the blood rush to my face as if she had struck me across it with a whip.  My first thought, to my shame, was a selfish one.  What if this became known, this thing that she had said, and Diana should hear?  Then indeed all hope for me with the girl I loved would be over.  My second thought was for Maxine herself.  But she had sealed my lips.  Since she had chosen the way, I could only be silent.

“Mademoiselle, it is a grief to me that I must refuse such a prayer, from such a woman.  But duty before chivalry.  I must see the contents of that case,” said the Commissary of Police.

She caught his hand and rained tears upon it.  “No—­no!” she implored.  “If I were rich, I would offer you thousands to spare me.  I’ve been extravagant—­I haven’t saved, but all I have in the world is yours if—.”

“There can be no such ‘if,’ Mademoiselle,” the man broke in.  And wrenching his hand free, he opened the case before she could again prevent him.

Out fell a cascade of light, a diamond necklace.  It flashed to the floor, where it lay on one of the sofa cushions, sending up a spray of rainbow colours.

"Sacre bleu!" muttered the Frenchman, under his breath, for whatever he had expected, he had not expected that.  But Maxine spoke not a word.  Shorn of hope, as, in spite of her prayers and tears, the leather case was torn open, she was shorn of strength as well; and the beautiful, tall figure crumpling like a flower broken on its stalk, she would have fallen if I had not caught her, holding her up against my shoulder.  When the cataract of diamonds sprang out of the case, however, I felt her limp body straighten itself.  I felt her pulses leap.  I felt her begin to live.  She had drunk a draught of hope and life, and, fortified by it, was gathering all her scattered forces together for a new fight, if fight she must again.