I shall
count up more carefully, if madame will--''
``No, four thousand will do.''
``I will send the money to madame at her hotel. The
Continental, is it not?''
``No, I must have it at once.''
The jeweler hesitated. Mildred, flushing scarlet with
shame--but he luckily thought it anger--took up the
bag and moved toward the door.
``Pardon, madame, but certainly. Do you wish
some gold or all notes?''
``Notes,'' answered she. ``Fifty and hundred-franc
notes.''
A moment later she was in the street with the notes
in a small bundle in the bosom of her wrap. She went
hurriedly up the street. As she was about to turn the
corner into the boulevard she on impulse glanced back.
An automobile had just drawn up at the jeweler's door
and General Siddall--top-hat, sable-lined overcoat,
waxed mustache and imperial, high-heeled boots, gold-
mounted cane--was descending. And she knew that
he had awakened to his one oversight, and was on his
way to repair it. But she did not know that the jeweler
--old and wise in human ways--would hastily vanish
with the bag and that an assistant would come forward
with assurances that madame had not been in the shop
and that, if she should come in, no business would be
negotiated without the general's express consent.
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