from the Spanish frontier; yet he had alwayslived in Paris, and from the days when he left college on his father'sdeath he had led the gay, irresponsible life of the modern Parisian ofmeans, was a member of the Jockey Club, and a well-known figure at theCafe Americain and at Maxim's.
As a young man about the French capital he gave frequent bachelorparties at his cosy flat in the Avenue Macmahon, and possessing a verywide circle of friends, he had been able to render the Italian Ministerof War several confidential services.
Two years ago, while in Rome, he had received an invitation to dine oneevening at His Excellency's splendid old palace--once the residence of aRoman prince--and from that time had been on terms of intimacy with thefamily and one of Mary's most ardent admirers. He spent a good deal ofhis time in the Eternal City, and had during the past season become afamiliar figure in society.
His Excellency, quick of observation, had, however, detected Borselli'santipathy towards the young man, even though it was so cleverlyconcealed. And he had wondered. As fellow-guests beneath his roof theyhad that evening chatted and laughed together across the dinner-table,had referred to each other by their Christian names, and had fraternisedas though they were the best friends in the world. Yet those wordsuttered by Angelo Borselli while awaiting the ladies had been full ofhidden meaning.
The Morinis were in ignorance of the truth--and Mary most of all.
Dubard was not a handsome man--for it is difficult to find a man of theweak, anaemic type of modern Parisian who can be called good-lookingfrom an English standpoint. He was thin-featured, lantern-jawed, with apale complexion, dark eyes, and a brown moustache. He wore his hairparted in the centre, and as an _elegant_ was proud of his white almostwaxen hands and carefully manicured finger-nails. His dress, too, oftenbetrayed those signs of effeminacy which in Paris just now areconsidered the height of good form in a man. His every movement seemedstudied, yet his stiff elegance was on the most approved model of theBois and the ballroom. He played frequently at his _cercle_, he worethe most hideous goggles and fur coat and drove his motor daily, and heindulged in _le sport_ in an impossible get-up, not because he likedtramping about those horrid muddy fields, but because it was the correctthing for a gentleman to do.
But his greatest success of all had, he told himself, been theattraction of Mary Morini. All through the past winter in Rome he haddanced with her, flirted with her, raised his hat to her as she haddriven on the Pincio, and had joined her in her mother's box at theConstanzi. To the Quirinale he had, of course, not been bidden, but helived in the hope of next season receiving the coveted royal command.
With Camillo Morini as his friend, everything in Italy was possible.
Yet Angelo Borselli's presence disturbed him that evening. He knew theman who had been given the post of Under-Secretary. They had met longbefore he had known Morini--under circumstances that in themselvesformed a strange and remarkable story--a story which he feared might oneday be made public.
And then?
Bah! Why anticipate such a terrible _contretemps_? he asked himself.Then he bit his under lip as he glanced at his enemy standing beneaththe light of the rose-shaded lamp talking with madame, and afterwardsturned again to laugh and chat with mademoiselle.
"I lunched at the Junior United Service Club to-day with a friend ofyours," he was saying; for she had risen from the piano and they hadgone out upon the moon-lit verandah together, where, obtaining herpermission, he lit a cigarette.
"A friend of mine?"
"Captain Houghton, the British naval attache at Rome. He is home for amonth's leave, and sent his compliments to you."
"Oh, Freddie Houghton?" she exclaimed. "He was longing to get home allthe winter, but couldn't get leave. He's engaged, they say, and ofcourse he wanted to see his enchantress. He's the best dancer in Rome."
Then suddenly lowering his voice, he asked abruptly--
"Why is Borselli here? I had no idea he was to be a guest!"
"Ah! I know you don't like the fellow," she remarked, glancing backinto the room. "Neither do I. He is my father's evil genius, Ibelieve."
"What makes you suspect that?" inquired the Frenchman, with considerableinterest.
"Several circumstances," was her vague response, as she twisted hercurious old snake bracelet, a genuine sixteenth-century ornament whichshe had bought one day in a shop on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence.
"You mistrust him--eh?"
"He poses as my father's friend, but I believe that all the time he isjealous of his position and is his bitterest enemy."
"But they are very old friends, are they not?"
"Oh yes. The general owes his present position entirely to my father;otherwise he would now be in garrison in some obscure country town."
"I only wish he were," declared Dubard fervently. "He is jealous of ourfriendship. Did you notice how he glared at me while you were singing?"
"And yet at table you were such good friends," she laughed.
"It is not polite to exhibit ill-feeling in a friend's house,mademoiselle," was his calm response. "Yet I admit that I entertain nogreater affection for the fellow than you do."
"But why should he object to our friendship?" she exclaimed. "If hewere unmarried, and in love with me, it would of course be different."
"No," he said. "He hates me."
"Why?"
Jules Dubard was silent, his dark eyes were fixed away across themoon-lit lawn.
"Why?" she repeated. "Tell me!"
"Well, he has cause to hate me--that's all," and he smiled mysteriously.
"But he's a dangerous man," she declared, with quick apprehension. "Youprobably don't know so much of him as I do. He would betray his ownfather if it suited his purpose."
"I know," laughed the man drily. "I've heard sufficient storiesconcerning him to be quite well aware of his unscrupulous character. Itis a thousand pities that he is an associate of your father's."
"Ah yes!" she sighed. "But how can it be avoided? They are in officein the same ministry, and are bound to be in constant touch with eachother. The only thing I fear is that he has, by some intrigue,contrived to get my father in his power," she said confidentially.
"How? What causes you to suspect such a thing?" he inquired quickly.
"Because once or twice of late I have noticed how when he has called inRome and in Florence my father has been disinclined to see him, and thatafter the fellow's departure he has seemed very thoughtful andpreoccupied. More than once, too, I've heard high words between themwhen they've been closeted together in the study in Rome. I once heardhim threaten my father," she added.
"Threaten him!" cried her companion quickly. "What did the man say?Tell me." All that the girl was telling him was confirming what, in hisheart, he already suspected.
"Well," she said, in a low voice of confidence, "it was early onemorning, after the last court ball, and he had driven home with us.Afterwards my father had taken him to the study, and I had saidgood-night, when, on going to my room half an hour later, I found mymaid very unwell. Therefore I went down again, intending to get fromthe study the key of the medicine cupboard, when I heard voices within,and naturally stopped to listen. I heard my father say distinctly, `Iwon't. I'll never be a party to such a piece of audacious robbery--why,it's treason--treason, do you hear? No, Angelo, not even you can induceme to betray my country!' Then in reply I heard the general say, `Verywell. I have told you the course I intend to adopt. Your refusalplaces me in a critical situation, and I shall therefore save myself.'`At my expense?' asked my father in a low, hoarse voice. `Yes,' the manreplied. `I shall certainly not fall without an effort to retain myplace, my liberty, depend upon it. And when the truth is out regardingthe Sazarac affair, this high moral standard that you are now adoptingwill avail you but little.' Then there was a silence. At last myfather asked in a tone of reproach, `You actually intend to betray me,Angelo?--you, who owe your rank, your position, everything to me! Tellme, you are surely jokin
g?' `No,' replied the fellow, `I am in earnest.You must act as I have suggested, or take the consequences'?"
"You are certain--quite certain--that Borselli mentioned the Sazaracaffair?" asked the Frenchman, in deep earnestness and surprise. "I meanthat you distinctly heard the name of Sazarac mentioned?"
"Distinctly. Why?"
But the Frenchman made no reply. How could he tell her? What she hadrelated revealed to him a strange and startling truth--a truth whichheld him amazed, aghast.
CHAPTER FOUR.
CONTAINS A MYSTERY.
In the rector's cosy little study at