"
The Count de M---- was confidential secretary to the Foreign Minister,
and he had slipped her the bit of paper containing the key-word at a
ball, two evenings before she sailed on her present mission. He was not
aware that she was sailing, nor was she; the order came so suddenly that
she and her maid had barely time to fling a few things in a couple of
steamer trunks and catch the last train. She had fascinated the Count;
for a year he had been one of her most devoted, but most discreet,
admirers. He also was exceedingly serviceable. Hence she took pains to
hold him.
Languidly she reached for her little gold mesh bag--the one thing that
never left her--and from a secret pocket took several slips of paper.
"Why, where is it!" she exclaimed, looking again with greater care....
"The devil! I've lost it!"
However, after a moment of thought, she recalled the key-word, and the
rule that he whispered to her--also the squeeze he gave her hand, and
the kiss with the eyes. The Count had fine eyes--he could look much,
very much.... She smiled in retrospection.... Yet how did she drop that
bit of paper--and where?... Or did she drop it?... All the rest were
there. It was very peculiar.... She had referred to the De Neviers slip
on last Saturday--and she distinctly remembered that the Count's was
there at that time.
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