“Never! I’ll keep it until the day of my death.” “That’s likely to be pretty soon, yer honor, if wot ye say is true.” “I can’t help that. I wouldn’t give it to that lying hound to purchase my life. When I die I wish it buried with me.” And then I told him squarely what a scoundrel the Marquis was and how he had befooled me about Mademoiselle’s desires. “Wot are ye goin’ to do, ef I might ax yer honor?” “I’m going to du Trémigon and tell him I refuse to do his bidding and let him do his worst.” “Wot’ll he do?” “Clap me into prison, I suppose.” “Hadn’t we better cut an’ run fer it right now?” “I can’t. He has my word of honor that I would report the success or failure of my mission.” “I guess he ain’t troublin’ hisself about honor, is he?” “I suppose not.” “W’y should you, sir?” “That’s the disadvantage a gentleman labors under in dealing with a scoundrel.” “I see. Hev ye thought that ye’ll be sarched by the police an’——?” “By Jove!” I interrupted. “That’s so.” “An’ wot ye’ve got’ll be tuk from ye?” This was a new complication. I had no doubt in that case that the slipper would eventually fall into the hands of du Trémigon and my sacrifice would avail nothing. What was to be done? I could think of nothing. I had no friends in Paris whom I could trust except this humble sailor. Unless I gave the slipper to him I should have to throw it away. In truth I should never have taken it. It was a mad impulse that possessed the Countess to give it me. “Bucknall,” I said at last, “you are right. I cannot keep this slipper.” “I think not, sir.” “There is no one that I know in Paris to whom I can intrust it but you.” “I reckon not, sir.” “Here it is,” I said. I am not ashamed to say that I kissed it before I gave it to the sailor. It was dark and he could not see, but if it had been broad daylight I should not have cared. “Wot am I to do with it, sir?” “I want you to do it up carefully in a package. Put the best wrappings about it and tie it up shipshape. Leave it at the American minister’s for Dr. Franklin when he comes back, which should be tomorrow or next day. You can get someone there to address it to my father’s plantation.” I gave him the address and made him repeat it many times until he had it letter-perfect. “Now,” I said, “you must leave me and shift for yourself. Here”—I reached my hand in my pocket and took out the money that du Trémigon had given me. I might as well be hanged for an old sheep as a lamb, I reasoned, and I passed it all over to the faithful sailor. “You speak passable French,” I continued—he had picked up enough of the language in his Mediterranean cruises to make himself understood—“keep yourself close until you see the American minister. Tell him of my plight and perhaps he may be able to do something. At any rate see that he forwards the package. You need not say what’s in it.” “What about my hoss, sir?” “Give me the rein.”