ve known none. Yet
you are learning life. You are learning the meaning of the only human
idea of the world, that of a democracy of endeavor, where all are equal
in their chances and in their hopes. That, Madam, is the only diplomacy
which will live. If you have passed on that torch of principle of which
you spoke--if I can do as much--then all will be well. We shall have
served."

She dropped now into a chair near by a little table, where the light of
the tall candles, guttering in their enameled sconces, fell full upon
her face. She looked at me fixedly, her eyes dark and mournful in spite
of their eagerness.

"Ah, it is easy for you to speak, easy for you who have so rich and full
a life--who have all! But I--my hands are empty!" She spread out her
curved fingers, looking at them, dropping her hands, pathetically
drooping her shoulders.

"All, Madam? What do you mean? You see me almost in rags. Beyond the
rifle at my cabin, the pistol at my tent, I have scarce more in wealth
than what I wear, while you have what you like."

"All but everything!" she murmured; "all but home!"

"Nor have I a home."

"All, except that my couch is empty save for myself and my memories!"

"Not more than mine, nor with sadder memories, Madam."

"Why, what do you mean?" she asked me suddenly. "What do you _mean?_"
She repeated it again, as though half in horror.

"Only that we are equal and alike. That we are here on the same errand.
That our view of life should be the same."

"What do you mean about home? But tell me, _were you not then married?_"

"No, I am alone, Madam. I never shall be married."

There may have been some slight motion of a hand which beckoned me to a
seat at the opposite side of the table. As I sat, I saw her search my
face carefully, slowly, with eyes I could not read. At last she spoke,
after her frequent fashion, half to herself.

"It succeeded, then!" said she. "Yet I am not happy! Yet I have failed!"

"I pause, Madam," said I, smiling. "I await your pleasure."

"Ah, God! Ah, God!" she sighed. "What have I done?" She staggered to her
feet and stood beating her hands together, as was her way when
perturbed. "What have I _done_!"

"Threlka!" I heard her call, half chokingly. The old servant came
hurriedly.

"Wine, tea, anything, Threlka!" She dropped down again opposite me,
panting, and looking at me with wide eyes.

"Tell me, do you know what you have said?" she began.

"No, Madam. I grieve if