And because of this I refused to be satisfied with any of those zealous and most polite officials and secretaries, and ultimately, because I, too, am at times fascinating, found myself in the presence of one of the rulers of the State, whose name in France was as well known as those of our own politicians.
He received me graciously, and waited.
"At a reception in Paris," I said, after a moment, "I had the honor of meeting your Ambassador, Sir Edward Rivington; the greater honor of giving certain information, to him that was of service."
Monsieur seemed to freeze a little. Secret service is necessary, but its agents, be they even pretty women, do not command more than the coldest respect.
"There were further matters which he deemed it desirable I should obtain details of, and as he was leaving suddenly for London upon a special mission, I was instructed to follow him, and, insisting upon seeing you in person, obtain his address, as it was not general knowledge that he had left Paris."
Monsieur looked at me curiously. He seemed debating in his mind whether he should tell me.
"You are under a strange misapprehension," he said, at length, leaning back in his chair and interlacing his fingers.
"It is impossible that such can exist," I interrupted. "Those were my instructions from Sir Edward himself."
"Then he must have changed his plans," monsieur continued, blandly. "Assuredly he is not in London now, and, so far as I am aware, has not left Paris; certainly on no business that could bring him to the Foreign Office. We have our official messengers for such duties. Sir Edward would not come himself."
"I understood the matter was too secret—"