“And your intention is really to restore them to me?” she remarked, much puzzled at this unexpected turn of fortune.
“Yes, had I not found those letters among them, I quite admit that, by this time, the stones would have been in Amsterdam and re-cut out of all recognition,” he said, rather shamefacedly. Then, taking from his pocket the three letters addressed to her—letters which she had carried away from Treysa with her as souvenirs—he handed them to her, saying,—
“I beg of you to accept these back again. They are better in your Imperial Highness’s hands than my own.”
Her countenance went a trifle pale as she took them, and a sudden serious thought flashed through her mind.
“Your companions have, I presume, read what is contained in these?”
“No, Princess; they have not. I read them, and seeing to whom they were addressed, at once took possession of them. I only showed my companions the addresses.”
She breathed more freely.
“Then, Mr Bourne, I am still more deeply in your debt,” she declared; “you realised that those letters contained a woman’s secret, and you withheld it from the others. How can I sufficiently thank you?”
“By forgiving me,” he said. “Remember, I am a thief, and if you wished you could call the hotel manager and have me arrested.”
“I could hardly treat in that way a man who has acted so nobly and gallantly as you have,” she remarked, with perfect frankness. “If those letters had fallen into other hands they might, have found their way back to the Court, and to the King.”