"Why, took my hand in both his, and bowed as though I indeed were queen, he a king."

"Then you got on well?"

"Truly; for he was wiser than his agent, Monsieur. He found answers by asking questions."

"Ah, you were kinder to him than to me?"

"Naturally."

"For instance, he asked--"

"What had been my ball gown that night--who was there--how I enjoyed myself! In a moment we were talking as though we had been friends for years. The Grand Vizier brought in two mugs of cider, in each a toasted apple. Monsieur, I have not seen diplomacy such as this. Naturally, I was helpless."

"Did he perhaps ask how you were induced to come at so impossible a time? My own vanity, naturally, leads me to ask so much as that."

"No, Mr. Calhoun confined himself to the essentials! Even had he asked me I could not have replied, because I do not know, save that it was to me a whim. But at least we talked, over our cider and toasted apples."

"You told him somewhat of yourself?"

"He did not allow me to do that, Monsieur."

"But he told you somewhat of this country?"

"Ah, yes, yes! So then I saw what held him up in his work, what kept him alive. I saw something I have not often seen--a purpose, a principle, in a public man. His love for his own land touched even me, how or why I scarcely know. Yes, we spoke of the poor, the oppressed, of the weary and the heavy laden."

"Did he ask you what you knew of Mexico and England?"

"Rather what I knew of the poor in Europe. I told him some things I knew of that hopeless land, that priest-ridden, king-ridden country--my own land. Then he went on to tell me of America and its hope of a free democracy of the people. Believe me, I listened to Mr. Calhoun. Never mind what we said of Mr. Van Zandt and Sir Richard Pakenham. At least, as you know, I paid off a little score with Sir Richard that next morning. What was strangest to me was the fact that I forgot Mr.

Calhoun's attire, forgot the strangeness of my errand thither. It was as though only our minds talked, one with the other. I was sorry when at last came the Grand Vizier James to take Mr. Calhoun's order for his own carriage, that brought me home--my second and more peaceful arrival there that night. The last I saw of Mr. Calhoun was with the Grand Vizier James putting a cloak about him and leading him by force from his study to his bed, as I presume. As for me, I slept no more that night.

Monsieur, I admit that I saw the purpose of a great man. Yes; and of a great country."

"Then I did not fail as messenger, after all! You told Mr. Calhoun what he desired to know?"

"In part at least. But come now, was I not bound in some sort of honor to my great and good friend, Sir Richard? Was it not treachery enough to rebuke him for his attentions to the Dona Lucrezia?"

"But you promised to tell Mr. Calhoun more at a later time?"

"On certain conditions I did," she a.s.sented.

"I do not know that I may ask those?"

"You would be surprised if I told you the truth? What I required of Mr.

Calhoun was permission and aid still further to study his extraordinary country, its extraordinary ways, its extraordinary ignorance of itself.

I have told you that I needed to travel, to study, to observe mankind--and those governments invented or tolerated by mankind."

"Since then, Madam," I concluded, stepping to a.s.sist her with her chair, as she signified her completion of our repast, "since you do not feel now inclined to be specific, I feel that I ought to make my adieux, for the time at least. It grows late. I shall remember this little evening all my life. I own my defeat. I do not know why you are here, or for whom."

"At what hotel do you stop?"

"The little place of Jacques Bertillon, a square or so beyond the Place d'Armes."

"In that case," said she, "believe me, it would be more discreet for you to remain unseen in Montreal. No matter which flag is mine, I may say that much for a friend and comrade in the service."

"But what else?"

She looked about her. "Be my guest to-night!" she said suddenly. "There is danger--"

"For me?" I laughed. "At my hotel? On the streets?"

"No, for me."

"Where?"

"Here."

"And of what, Madam?"

"Of a man; for the first time I am afraid, in spite of all."

I looked at her straight. "Are you not afraid of _me?_" I asked.

She looked at me fairly, her color coming. "With the fear which draws a woman to a man," she said.

"Whereas, mine is the fear which causes a man to flee from himself!"

"But you will remain for my protection? I should feel safer. Besides, in that case I should know the answer."

"How do you mean?"

"I should know whether or not you were married!"

CHAPTER XV

WITH MADAM THE BARONESS

It is not for good women that men have fought battles, given their lives and staked their souls.--_Mrs. W.K. Clifford_.

"But, Madam--" I began.

She answered me in her own way. "Monsieur hesitates--he is lost!" she said. "But see, I am weary. I have been much engaged to-day. I have made it my plan never to fatigue myself. It is my hour now for my bath, my exercise, my bed, if you please. I fear I must bid you good night, one way or the other. You will be welcome here none the less, if you care to remain. I trust you did not find our little repast to-night unpleasing?

Believe me, our breakfast shall be as good. Threlka is expert in omelets, and our coffee is such as perhaps you may not find general in these provinces."

Was there the slightest mocking sneer in her words? Did she despise me as a faint-heart? I could not tell, but did not like the thought.