So, then, she was woman after all, and curious! Her sudden speech came like a stab; but fortunately my dull nerves had not had time to change my face before a thought flashed into my mind. Could I not make merchandise of my sorrow? I pulled myself into control and looked her fair in the face.

"Madam," I said, "look at my face and read your own answer."

She looked, searching me, while every nerve of me tingled; but at last she shook her head. "No," she sighed. "I can not yet say." She did not see the sweat starting on my forehead.

I raised my kerchief over my head. "A truce, then, Madam! Let us leave the one question against the other for a time."

"Excellent! I shall get my answer first, in that case, and for nothing."

"How so?"

"I shall only watch you. As we are here now, I were a fool, worse than you, if I could not tell whether or not you are married. None the less, I commend you, I admire you, because you do not tell me. If you are _not_, you are disappointed. If you _are_, you are eager!"

"I am in any case delighted that I can interest Madam."

"Ah, but you do! I have not been interested, for so long! Ah, the great heavens, how fat was Mr. Pakenham, how thin was Mr. Calhoun! But you--come, Monsieur, the night is long. Tell me of yourself. I have never before known a savage."

"Value for value only, Madam! Will you tell me in turn of yourself?"

"All?" She looked at me curiously.

"Only so much as Madam wishes."

I saw her dark eyes study me once more. At last she spoke again. "At least," she said, "it would be rather vulgar if I did not explain some of the things which become your right to know when I ask you to come into this home, as into my other home in Washington."

"In Heaven's name, how many of these homes have you, then? Are they all alike?"

"Five only, now," she replied, in the most matter-of-fact manner in the world, "and, of course, all quite alike."

"Where else?"

"In Paris, in Vienna, in London," she answered. "You see this one, you see them all. 'Tis far cooler in Montreal than in Washington in the summer time. Do you not approve?"

"The arrangement could not be surpa.s.sed."

"Thank you. So I have thought. The mere charm of difference does not appeal to me. Certain things my judgment approves. They serve, they suffice. This little scheme it has pleased me to reproduce in some of the capitals of the world. It is at least as well chosen as the taste of the Prince of Orleans, son of Louis Philippe, could advise."

This with no change of expression. I drew a long breath.

She went on as though I had spoken. "My friend," she said, "do not despise me too early. There is abundant time. Before you judge, let the testimony be heard. I love men who can keep their own tongues and their own hands to themselves."

"I am not your judge, Madam, but it will be long before I shall think a harsh thought of you. Tell me what a woman may. Do not tell me what a secret agent may _not_. I ask no promises and make none. You are very beautiful. You have wealth. I call you 'Madam.' You are married?"

"I was married at fifteen."

"At fifteen! And your husband died?"

"He disappeared."

"Your own country was Austria?"

"Call me anything but Austrian! I left my country because I saw there only oppression and lack of hope. No, I am Hungarian."

"That I could have guessed. They say the most beautiful women of the world come from that country."

"Thank you. Is that all?"

"I should guess then perhaps you went to Paris?"

"Of course," she said, "of course! of course! In time reasons existed why I should not return to my home. I had some little fortune, some singular experiences, some ambitions of my own. What I did, I did. At least, I saw the best and worst of Europe."

She raised a hand as though to brush something from before her face.

"Allow me to give you wine. Well, then, Monsieur knows that when I left Paris I felt that part of my studies were complete. I had seen a little more of government, a little more of humanity, a little more of life, a little more of men. It was not men but mankind that I studied most. I had seen much of injustice and hopelessness and despair. These made the fate of mankind--in that world."

"I have heard vaguely of some such things, Madam," I said. "I know that in Europe they have still the fight which we sought to settle when we left that country for this one."

She nodded. "So then, at last," she went on, "still young, having learned something and having now those means of carrying on my studies which I required, I came to this last of the countries, America, where, if anywhere, hope for mankind remains. Washington has impressed me more than any capital of the world."

"How long have you been in Washington?" I asked.

"Now you begin to question--now you show at last curiosity! Well, then, I shall answer. For more than one year, perhaps more than two, perhaps more than three!"

"Impossible!" I shook my head. "A woman like you could not be concealed--not if she owned a hundred hidden places such as this."

"Oh, I was known," she said. "You have heard of me, you knew of me?"

I still shook my head. "No," said I, "I have been far in the West for several years, and have come to Washington but rarely. Bear me out, I had not been there my third day before I found you!"

We sat silent for some moments, fixedly regarding each other. I have said that a more beautiful face than hers I had never seen. There sat upon it now many things--youth, eagerness, ambition, a certain defiance; but, above all, a pleading pathos! I could not find it in my heart, eager as I was, to question her further. Apparently she valued this reticence.

"You condemn me?" she asked at length. "Because I live alone, because quiet rumor wags a tongue, you will judge me by your own creed and not by mine?"

I hesitated before I answered, and deliberated. "Madam, I have already told you that I would not. I say once more that I accredit you with living up to your own creed, whatever that may have been."

She drew a long breath in turn. "Monsieur, you have done yourself no ill turn in that."

"It was rumored in diplomatic circles, of course, that you were in touch with the ministry of England," I ventured. "I myself saw that much."

"Naturally. Of Mexico also! At least, as you saw in our little carriage race, Mexico was desirous enough to establish some sort of communication with my humble self!"

"Calhoun was right!" I exclaimed. "He was entirely right, Madam, in insisting that I should bring you to him that morning, whether or not you wished to go."

"Whim fits with whim sometimes. 'Twas his whim to see me, mine to go."

"I wonder what the Queen of Sheba would have said had Solomon met her thus!"

She chuckled at the memory. "You see, when you left me at Mr. Calhoun's door in care of the Grand Vizier James, I wondered somewhat at this strange country of America. The _entresol_ was dim and the Grand Vizier was slow with candles. I half fell into the room on the right. There was Mr. Calhoun bolt upright in his chair, both hands spread out on the arms. As you promised, he wore a red nightcap and long gown of wool. He was asleep, and ah! how weary he seemed. Never have I seen a face so sad as his, asleep. He was gray and thin, his hair was gray and thin, his eyes were sunken, the veins were corded at his temples, his hands were transparent. He was, as you promised me, old. Yet when I saw him I did not smile. He heard me stir as I would have withdrawn, and when he arose to his feet he was wide-awake. Monsieur, he is a great man; because, even so clad he made no more apology than you do, showed no more curiosity; and he welcomed me quite as a gentleman unashamed--as a king, if you please."

"How did he receive you, Madam?" I asked. "I never knew."