Then Peter, who was watching her closely, caught another gleam in her eyes, and he began to understand. He had seen it before amongst a certain type of her countrywomen--the greed of money. He looked at her jewels, and he remembered that, for an ambassador, her husband was reputed to be a poor man. The cloud of misgiving passed away from him; he settled down to the game. "If money could only buy the desire of one's heart!" he murmured. "Alas!" His eyes seemed to seek out Monsieur de Lamborne amongst the moving throngs. She laughed softly, and her hand brushed his. "Money and one other thing, Monsieur le Baron," she whispered in his ear, "can buy the jewels from a crown--can buy even the heart of a woman." A movement of approaching guests caught them up and parted them for a time. The Baroness de Grost was at home from ten till one, and her rooms were crowded. Peter found himself drawn on one side a few minutes later by Monsieur de Lamborne himself. "I have been looking for you, de Grost," the latter declared. "Where can we talk for a moment?" His host took the ambassador by the arm and led him into a retired corner. Monsieur de Lamborne was a tall, slight man, somewhat cadaverous-looking, with large features, hollow eyes, thin but carefully arranged grey hair, and a pointed grey beard. He wore a frilled shirt, and an eyeglass suspended by a broad, black ribbon hung down upon his chest. His face, as a rule, was imperturbable enough, but he had the air just now of a man greatly disturbed. "We cannot be overheard here," Peter remarked. "It must be an affair of a few words only, though." Monsieur de Lamborne wasted no time in preliminaries. "This afternoon," he said, "I received from my Government papers of immense importance, which I am to hand over to your Foreign Minister at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning." Peter nodded. "Well?" De Lamborne's thin fingers trembled as they played nervously with the ribbon of his eyeglass. "Listen," he continued, dropping his voice a little. "Bernadine has undertaken to send a copy of their contents to Berlin by to-morrow night's mail." "How do you know that?" The ambassador hesitated. "We, too, have spies at work," he remarked grimly. "Bernadine wrote and sent a messenger with the letter to Berlin. The man's body is drifting down the Channel, but the letter is in my pocket." "The letter from Bernadine?" "Yes." "What does he say?" "Simply that a verbatim copy of the document in question will be dispatched to Berlin to-morrow evening without fail," replied the ambassador. "There are no secrets between us," Peter declared, smoothly. "What is the special importance of this document?" De Lamborne shrugged his shoulders.