“It may be a little contrary to your wishes, my friend,” the latter proceeded, “to find yourself so far from the throb of our great struggle, yet in these days we serve best who obey. It is the wish of those who stand for France that you should take that packet and board that steamer.” Monsieur Pailleton began in some measure to recover himself. He was still, however, bewildered. “Monsieur,” he protested, “I do not understand. This mission to Brazil of which you speak--it can have no great importance. Cannot it be entrusted to some other messenger?” “Alas! No, my dear sir,” was the uncompromising reply. “It is you--Monsieur Pailleton--whom the President desires to travel to Brazil.” The light was breaking in upon Pailleton. He clenched his fists. “I am to be got out of the way!” he exclaimed. “The President fears me politically, he fears my following!” The ambassador drew himself a little more upright, a stiff unbending figure. His words seemed suddenly to become charged with more weight. “Monsieur Pailleton,” he said, “the only thing that France fears is treachery!” Pailleton gripped at the back of his chair. The room for a moment swam before his eyes. “Is this an insult, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur?” he demanded. “Take it as an insult if in your heart there is no shadow of treachery towards the France that is today, towards the cause of the Allies as it is to-day,” was the stern answer. “I refuse to accept this extraordinary mission,” Pailleton declared, rising to his feet. “You can send whom you will to Brazil. I have greater affairs before me.” The ambassador shrugged his shoulders. “I shall not press you,” he said. “I shall only put before you the alternative. You are at this present moment upon French soil. If you refuse this mission which has been offered to you, I shall detain you here until I have the means of sending you under escort to France.” “Detain me? On what charge?” Pailleton exclaimed angrily. “On the charge of treason,” was the quiet reply. “I shall have you stripped and searched in this room. I shall have your luggage and your room searched at the Milan Hotel. And now, Monsieur Pailleton?” Once more the man was bewildered. This time, however, it was bewilderment of a different sort. He thought for a moment steadfastly. Who was there who could have betrayed him? “What is the nature of this document, monsieur, which you expect to find amongst my belongings?” he demanded. “An authorised offer of peace from Germany to the French people,” the ambassador answered slowly. “It is the second attempt which has been made. The first was torn into fragments before the face of the person who had the effrontery to present it. The second, Monsieur Pailleton, is in your possession. You may keep it if you will. In Brazil you will find it of little use.” Monsieur Pailleton folded his arms. “I am a Frenchman,” he proclaimed. “What I may do, I do for France.” “You refuse my mission, then?” “I refuse it.”