"I am afraid you have been deceived," he answered, with a quiet smile of amusement; "I can give you no address but the British Embassy, Paris, and that must be well known to you already."
The interview was ended, and as I left I carried with me the conviction that the conversation had been marked by such an absence of diplomacy on his part that it must be truthful, and Sir Edward Rivington had not come to England.
Yet I determined that I would stay in London, at all events until I had something more to show for my efforts—what, I knew not; and while I strolled, the gods came to my rescue.
My dearest friend, Gaspard Levivé, stood, hat in hand, before me.
"Madame, the fates are kinder to me than I deserve."
"Perhaps they have a better knowledge of your merit than you possess yourself," I responded, with an upward glance. "Are you staying in London?"
"Until this evening only. My friend, Sir Edward Rivington, has done me the honor to ask me to be his second. I have accepted, and return to Paris."
I stopped in bewilderment. "Sir Edward Rivington, the English Ambassador?" I said, hurriedly.
"Yes," he answered, with a smile. "It does not sound English, does it? But here is his letter: 'At le Duc d'Eautine's chateau to-morrow morning. I rely upon your honor to hold this secret, and, as you are in London, to deliver, yourself, the enclosed envelope at the Foreign Office.'"
"Mon Dieu!" I cried, excitedly. "Mon cher, you have not delivered it yet; you have it still?"