The Mischief Maker

The Mischief Maker

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Title: The Mischief Maker
Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8878] [This file was first posted on August 19, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE MISCHIEF-MAKER
BY
E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
AUTHOR OF "THE LIGHTED WAY," "THE TEMPTING OF TAVERNAKE," "HAVOC," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HANSON BOOTH
1913

CONTENTS

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER
I SYMPATHY AND SELFISHNESS
II AN INDISCREET LETTER
III A RUINED CAREER
IV A BUNCH OF VIOLETS
V A SENTIMENTAL EPISODE
VI AT THE CAF�� L'ATH��N��E
VII COFFEE FOR THREE
VIII IN PARIS
IX MADAME CHRISTOPHOR
X BETTER ACQUAINTANCE
XI THE TOYMAKER FROM LEIPZIG
XII AT THE RAT MORT
XIII POLITICS AND PATRIOTISM
XIV THE MORNING AFTER
XV BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
XVI "HAVE YOU EVER LOVED?"
XVII KENDRICKS IS HOST
XVIII A MEETING OF SOCIALISTS
XIX AN OFFER
XX FALKENBERG ACTS

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER

I
THE FLIGHT OF LADY ANNE
II "TO OUR NEW SELVES"
III WORK FOR JULIEN
IV A STARTLING DISCLOSURE
V THE FIRST ARTICLE
VI FALKENBERG FAILS
VII LADY ANNE DECLINES
VIII A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE
IX FOOLHARDY JULIEN
X THE SECOND ATTEMPT
XI BY THE PRINCE'S ORDERS
XII DISTRESSING NEWS
XIII ESTERMEN'S DEATH WARRANT
XIV SANCTUARY
XV NEARING A CRISIS
XVI FALKENBERG'S LAST REPORT
XVII DEFEAT FOR FALKENBERG
XVIII THE ONE WAY OUT
XIX ALL ENDS WELL

ILLUSTRATIONS
"Really," he said, "I thought better of Herr Freudenberg"
"At least," she reminded him, "you are going to see Madame Christophor?"
"Splendid!" he muttered, rising to his feet. "If only I can do it!"
"Let me present to you Monsieur Bourgan of the French Detective Service"

BOOK ONE

CHAPTER I
SYMPATHY AND SELFISHNESS
The girl who was dying lay in an invalid chair piled up with cushions in a sheltered corner of the lawn. The woman who had come to visit her had deliberately turned away her head with a murmured word about the sunshine and the field of buttercups. Behind them was the little sanitarium, a gray stone villa built in the style of a chateau, overgrown with creepers, and with terraced lawns stretching down to the sunny corner to which the girl had been carried earlier in the day. There were flowers everywhere--beds of hyacinths, and borders of purple and yellow crocuses. A lilac tree was bursting into blossom, the breeze was soft and full of life. Below, beyond the yellow-starred field of which the woman had spoken, flowed the Seine, and in the distance one could see the outskirts of Paris.
"The doctor says I am better," the girl whispered plaintively. "This morning he was quite cheerful. I suppose he knows, but it is strange that I should feel so weak--weaker even day by day. And my cough--it tears me to pieces all the time."
The woman who was bending over her gulped something down in her throat and turned her head. Although older than the invalid whom she had come to visit, she was young and very beautiful. Her cheeks were a trifle pale, but even without the tears her eyes were almost the color of violets.
"The doctor must know, dear Lucie," she declared. "Our own feelings so often mean nothing at all."
The girl moved a little uneasily in her chair. She, also, had once been pretty. Her hair was still an exquisite shade of red-gold, but her cheeks were thin and pinched, her complexion had gone, her clothes fell about her. She seemed somehow shapeless.
"Yes," she agreed, "the doctor knows--he must know. I see it in his manner every time he comes to visit me. In his heart," she added, dropping her voice, "he must know that I am going to die."
Her eyes seemed to have stiffened in their sockets, to have become dilated. Her lips trembled, but her eyes remained steadfast.
"Oh! madame," she sobbed, "is it not cruel that one should die like this! I am so young. I have seen so little of life. It is not just, madame--it is not just!"
The woman who sat by her side was shaking. Her heart was torn with pity. Everywhere in the soft, sunlit air, wherever she looked, she seemed to read in letters of fire the history of this girl, the history of so many