"One of whom?" asked Lépine.
"One of those men. Behold, Aristide!"
Brisson took the card and looked at it.
"Sacred heart! But you are right, Gabrielle!"
"You are sure?" persisted Lépine.
"Sure! But of a certainty! I would swear to him!"
Lépine put the photograph in his pocket, and turned to the others. But there was no second recognition. Brisson and his wife went through them twice, until they had convinced themselves that their other guest was not among them. Finally Lépine gathered the photographs together.
"I must warn you again, Brisson, and you, Madame," he said, severely, "that of this not a single word must be breathed—to no one. Let it pass from your minds as though it had never been. It is an affair of high diplomacy; and you might suffer much were it known that you are concerned in it. In behalf of France, I thank you, and I shall have care that your so great service is brought to the attention of the proper persons. But remember—not a word!"
Monsieur and Madame were faithful—only in the seclusion of their bedroom, with the light extinguished, and in bated whispers, did they ever discuss it. And, as at this point they pass from this story, let it be added that, some months later, a parcel was delivered at their door, which, when opened, was found to contain a handsome vase of Sèvres. Inside the vase was a card, "To Monsieur and Madame Aristide Brisson, from Théophile Delcassé, as a slight recognition of their services to France."
It would be impossible to say which this worthy couple value most highly, the vase or the card. Certain it is that, if you are ever a guest at the du Nord, you will be shown both of them, the vase in a velvet-lined case against the wall and the card, neatly framed, just below it. And, in consideration of their increased importance, Monsieur and Madame have considered themselves justified in increasing their tariff ten per cent.