Now her manner of calling the marshal Pancho was considerable of an argument, especially when, archly formal, she made it Don Pancho. What if this Confederate aid were to go to the Mexican rebels, as it surely would if the emissary at Tuxtla were shot? And, without either French or Confederates, the Empire would fall, the rebels would win; and then, she wanted to know, what would become of their beautiful home, of their high position? Moreover, the United States was threatening to drive the French from Mexico, and Madame la Marechale believed it a very good thing for the French to have at their side some of the very men who had held those Yankees back for four long years. Bazaine wavered. Then he smiled. This Mexican bride of his was Mexican all the time; and French, sometimes not at all. She had not the big trust in the pantalons rouges when it came to those Yankees. "But, Pancho mio," she went on softly, "now for the real reason, the one that holds you back. It is your Emperor Napoleon, verdad? You think that he does not want this offer to reach Maximilian. Bien, have you had any intimation of what he wants? Any orders? Of course you haven't. Then save this American. Look at me--Don Pancho, I say-if----" "Sapristi, call the girl in! No, first I must have----" When madame could free herself from what he must have, she opened the door and triumphantly called to Jacqueline's maid. A half-hour later, in one of the marshal's own carriages, Berthe returned to the castle of Chapultepec. At once she hastened to her mistress's apartments, and confessed what she had done. Still in the blue flowered calico, with the dust of their frantic ride still on her, Jacqueline was seated before a little desk. Her head was buried in her arms, and her loosened hair fell like a shower of copper over her shoulders. She did not move as Berthe entered, nor give any sign. But when in a word the story was told, she got to her feet and stared blankly at the girl. Berthe expected dismissal, but the next instant two arms were about her, and lips were pressed to hers, and hot tears, not her own, wetted her cheek. "Berthe, you little addle-pated goose! You--oh you little ninny, you, you----" Her phrases were broken by laughter, then by an uncontrollable peal that was near a shriek, "Little, little fool, dost thou know, thou hast this night lost to France fifteen thousand leagues of empire? Thou--thou----" Yet kisses were again the portion of the thief of fifteen thousand leagues. "But do you think they will be in time, Berthe? Yes, yes, you've answered that once. And Michel leads them, you say?" "Oui, madame, Monsieur Ney was most eager to go, above all when His Excellency gave him Frenchmen to command. They are the cuirassiers. They will surely save the American monsieur." "But will they be in time? Yes, yes, I think I've asked that already."