It all sounded deliciously romantic.  A flavour of the past century—­before the endless war and abysmal poverty had killed all chivalry in us—­clung to this proposed transaction.  There was nothing of the roturier, nothing of a Jean Duval, in this polished man of the world who had thought out this subtle scheme for ingratiating himself in the eyes of his lady fair.

I murmured an appropriate phrase, placing my services entirely at M. le Marquis’s disposal, and once more he broke in on my polished diction with that brusquerie which betrayed the man accustomed to be silently obeyed.

“Mlle. Mars wears the bracelet,” he said, “during the third act of Le Reve.  At the end of the act she enters her dressing-room, and her maid helps her to change her dress.  During this entr’acte Mademoiselle with her own hands puts by all the jewellery which she has to wear during the more gorgeous scenes of the play.  In the last act—­the finale of the tragedy—­she appears in a plain stuff gown, whilst all her jewellery reposes in the small iron safe in her dressing-room.  It is while Mademoiselle is on the stage during the last act that I want you to enter her dressing-room and to extract the bracelet out of the safe for me.”

“I, M. le Marquis?” I stammered.  “I, to steal a—­”

“Firstly, M.—­er—­er—­Ratichon, or whatever your confounded name may be,” interposed my client with inimitable hauteur, “understand that my name is Jean Duval, and if you forget this again I shall be under the necessity of laying my cane across your shoulders and incidentally to take my business elsewhere.  Secondly, let me tell you that your affectations of outraged probity are lost on me, seeing that I know all about the stolen treaty which—­”

“Enough, M. Jean Duval,” I said with a dignity equal, if not greater, than his own; “do not, I pray you, misunderstand me.  I am ready to do you service.  But if you will deign to explain how I am to break open an iron safe inside a crowded building and extract therefrom a trinket, without being caught in the act and locked up for house-breaking and theft, I shall be eternally your debtor.”

“The extracting of the trinket is your affair,” he rejoined dryly.  “I will give you five hundred francs if you bring the bracelet to me within fourteen days.”

“But—­” I stammered again.

“Your task will not be such a difficult one after all.  I will give you the duplicate key of the safe.”

He dived into the breast pocket of his coat, and drew from it a somewhat large and clumsy key, which he placed upon my desk.

“I managed to get that easily enough,” he said nonchalantly, “a couple of nights ago, when I had the honour of visiting Mademoiselle in her dressing-room.  A piece of wax in my hand, Mademoiselle’s momentary absorption in her reflection while her maid was doing her hair, and the impression of the original key was in my possession.  But between taking a model of the key and the actual theft of the bracelet out of the safe there is a wide gulf which a gentleman cannot bridge over.  Therefore, I choose to employ you, M.—­er—­er—­Ratichon, to complete the transaction for me.”