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]
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Language: English

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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 CAFÉ L'ATHÉNÉE
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 château, 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