“Now won’t you please tell me, your Excellency, if you credit, no, if you believe, my story—and don’t be a diplomat for the telling.”
“My dear Madame Clephane, I do believe your tale—it bears the impress of truth in what you’ve not done, as well as in what you’ve done. Had you ever been in the service you would recognize my meaning. That the abductors did not triumph was due first to their carelessness, and second to chance, in the person of Monsieur Harleston. He plays the game; and is violating no rule of diplomacy by his course in the affair. Indeed he would be recreant to his country’s service were he to do otherwise. And France would infinitely prefer the United States to have the letter rather than Germany. It’s unfortunate, but it’s not as unfortunate as it might be.”
“You make me feel much, oh, so much better!” Mrs. Clephane replied. “I feared lest my blunder could never be forgiven nor forgotten; and that Madame Durrand would be held responsible and would never again be trusted.”
The Ambassador smiled and shook his head. “I think you need not worry,” he replied.
“And I’m perfectly sure, your Excellency, that if the United States is neither directly or indirectly concerned in the matter of the letter, and if you were to submit a translation of the letter to prove it, Mr. Harleston will deliver to you the original.”
“Did Monsieur Harleston tell you so?” the Marquis smiled.
“No, oh, no! I only thought that—”
“—in this one instance diplomats would trust each other?” he interjected. “Alas, no! Monsieur Harleston would only assume the translation to be false and given for the sole purpose of deception. I should assume exactly the same, were our positions reversed.”
“Couldn’t you prove your translation by giving him the key to the cipher?” she asked.
“My dear madame,” the Marquis smiled, “such a thing would be unprecedented—and would mean my instant dismissal from the service, and trial for treason.”