saving him from his trouble. He'd do nothing to help, but everything to
hinder. There lies the mystery--in the return of the necklace instead of
the treaty. You have no knowledge of it, you tell me; yet you come to me
with it in your pocket--the necklace stolen from Raoul du Laurier, days
ago, in Amsterdam or on the way there."

"You're certain it's the same?"

"Certain as that you are you, and I am I. And I'm not out of my mind
yet--though I soon shall be, unless you somehow save me from this
horror."

"I'm going to try," I said. "Don't give up hope. I wish, though, that
you hadn't to act to-night."

"So do I. But there's no way out of it. And I must go now to the
theatre, or I shall be late: my make-up's a heavy one, and takes a long
time. I can't afford to have any talk about me and my affairs to-night,
whatever comes afterwards. Raoul will be in a box, and at the end of the
first act, he'll be at the door of my dressing-room. The agony of seeing
him, of hearing him praise my acting, and saying dear, trusting, loving
words that would make me almost too happy, if I hadn't betrayed him,
ruined his career for ever!"

"Maybe not," I said. "And anyhow, there's the necklace. That's
something."

"Yes, that's something."

"Will Godensky be in the audience, too?" I asked.