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Updated: June 29, 2025
"He had excellent reasons. He's a secret agent, and has the idea that Breitmann wants to go into France and make an emperor of himself." "Do men dream of such things to-day, let alone try to enact them?" incredulously. "Breitmann's an example." "Are you taking his part?" "No, damn him! May I ask you a pertinent question?" "Yes." "Did he know Miss von Mitter very well in Munich?" "He did."
"Ah, bass!" murmured Cathewe from behind his journal. "By the way, Hewitt," said Fitzgerald, "have you ever heard of a chap called Karl Breitmann?" "Yes," answered Hewitt. "Never met him personally, though." "I have," joined in Cathewe quietly. He laid down the Times. "What do you know about him?" "Met him in Paris last year. Met him once before in Macedonia. Dined with me in Paris.
It took place on the road which runs from Ajaccio to the Cap de la Parata, not far from Iles Sanguinaires; not a main-traveled road. The sun had not yet crossed the mountains, but a crisp gray light lay over land and sea. They fired at the same time. The duke lowered his pistol, and through the smoke he saw Breitmann pitch headforemost into the thick white dust.
But he overreached himself. Breitmann whirled, and all the hate in his breast went into his arm as he struck. Fitzgerald threw up his guard, but not soon enough. The blow hit him full on the side of the head and toppled him over; and as the back of his head bumped the floor, the world came to an end.
Has not France always represented to them a purse into which they might thrust their dishonest hands to pay for their base pleasures? Oh, beware of the conspirator whose sole portion in life is that of pleasure! I wish that I could see this young man and tell him all I know. If I could only warn him." Breitmann brushed his sleeve. "I am really disappointed in your climax, Mr. Ferraud."
The morning found her still at her post. Breitmann awoke early, and appeared to take little interest in his surroundings. "Why do you waste your time?" his voice was colorless. "I am not wasting my time, Karl." His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside. Only two or three fishing-boats were visible. "When will the yacht sail?" Always that question! "Go to sleep.
There was always that trifling German accent, no matter what tongue he used, but it was perceptible only to the trained ear. And yet, to Fitzgerald's mind, the man was at times something Gallic in his liveliness. "You will never use your title, then?" Breitmann laughed. "No." "You have made a great mistake. You should have fired the first shot with it.
"Pardon!" said M. Ferraud, with a blithe laugh. "The butterfly I was describing was not so big." Breitmann freed himself amid general laughter. And with Laura's rising the little after-dinner party became disorganized. It was yet early; but perhaps she had some thought she wished to be alone with.
"The quicker we get back to the cellar the better," was the former's observation. And they returned at a clip, scrambling into the cellar as quickly and silently as they could, and made for the upper floors. "Come into my room," said Fitzgerald; "it's only midnight." Breitmann agreed. If he had any reluctance, he did not show it. Fitzgerald produced cigars.
That Breitmann was a secretary for hire drew no barrier in her mind. She had known many gentlemen of fine families who had served in like situations. There were no social distinctions. On the other hand, she never felt wholly comfortable with Breitmann. There was not the least mistrust in this feeling. It was rather because she instinctively felt that he was above his occupation.
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