“That is true,” sighed the countess; “I ought to be accustomed to parting with her.  Have not I trusted her to the care of a police spy? and all for my own advantage!  Oh, what a wretched profession I have chosen for myself and my child!”

“A profession that yields a handsome income, madame,” supplemented the marquis, a trifle sharply.  “You ought not to complain.  Surely the regime is not to blame that you married a roue, who squandered your fortune, and then was killed in a duel about a rope-dancer, leaving you a clever little daughter and a half-million of debts!  What else could you have done to have earned a living for yourself and child?”

“I might have sent the child to a foundling asylum, and sought employment for myself in the gobelin factory.  It would have been better had I done so!”

“I doubt it, countess.  The path of virtue is only for those women who—­have large feet!  You are too fairy-like, and would have found the way too rough.  It is much better, believe me, to serve the state.  What would you?  Is there not a comforting word due to the conscience of the soldier who has killed a fellow-being in the interest of his country?  Don’t you suppose his heart aches when he looks upon the death-struggles of the man he has killed without having a personal grudge against him?  We are all soldiers of the state.  When we assault an enemy, we do not inquire if we hurt him; we kill him! and the safety of our fatherland hallows the deed.”

“But that which we are doing is immoral,” interposed the countess.

“And that which our enemy is doing is not immoral, I presume?  Are not their beautiful women, their polished courtiers, acting as spies in our salons?  We are only using their own weapons against them.”

“That may be; but it was a repulsive thought that prompted the using of children as instruments in this deadly game.”

“Were not they the first to set us an example?  Was not it a repulsive thought which prompted them to hold over the heads of an entire people that hellish machine of torture in the shape of a smiling child?  No, madame; we need not be ashamed of what we are doing.  Our men are engaged in warfare against their men; our lovely women are engaged in warfare against their lovely women; and our little children are engaged in warfare against their little children.  Your little Amelie is a historical figure, and deserves a monument.”

The marquis, perceiving that his sophistry was not without its effect on the lovely woman, continued: 

“And then, madame, if you are weary of the role you and your little daughter are playing with such success, the opportunity is now offered to you to quit your present mode of life.  Your financial affairs are utterly ruined; you are only the nominal possessor of the estate you inherited from your ancestors.  If you succeed in the task which you are about to undertake, the entire sum of money, the interest of which you receive annually, becomes your own.  Five millions of francs deserve some sacrifice.  With this sum you can become an independent woman, and your daughter will never be reproached with having been, in her childhood, a member of Cythera’s Brigade.”