rds these two, I saw Mr. Calhoun
himself approach, tall, gray and thin.

He was very pale that night; and I knew well enough what effort it cost
him to attend any of these functions. Yet he bowed with the grace of a
younger man and offered the baroness an arm. Then, methinks, all
Washington gasped a bit. Not all Washington knew what had gone forward
between these two. Not all Washington knew what that couple meant as
they marched in the grand procession that night--what they meant for
America. Of all those who saw, I alone understood.

So they danced; he with the dignity of his years, she with the grace
which was the perfection of dancing, the perfection of courtesy and of
dignity also, as though she knew and valued to the full what was offered
to her now by John Calhoun. Grave, sweet and sad Helena von Ritz seemed
to me that night. She was wholly unconscious of those who looked and
whispered. Her face was pale and rapt as that of some devotee.

Mr. Polk himself stood apart, and plainly enough saw this little matter
go forward. When Mr. Calhoun approached with the Baroness von Ritz upon
his arm, Mr. Polk was too much politician to hesitate or to inquire. He
knew that it was safe to follow where John Calhoun led! These two
conversed for a few moments. Thus, I fancy, Helena von Ritz had her
first and last acquaintance with one of our politicians to whom fate
gave far more than his deserts. It was the fortune of Mr. Polk to gain
for this country Texas, California and Oregon--not one of them by desert
of his own! My heart has often been bitter when I have recalled that
little scene. Politics so unscrupulous can not always have a John
Calhoun, a Helena von Ritz, to correct, guard and guide.

After this the card of Helena von Ritz might well enough indeed been
full had she cared further to dance. She excused herself gracefully,
saying that after the honor which had been done her she could not ask
more. Still, Washington buzzed; somewhat of Europe as well. That might
have been called the triumph of Helena von Ritz. She felt it not. But I
could see that she gloried in some other thing.

I approached her as soon as possible. "I am about to go," she said. "Say
good-by to me, now, here! We shall not meet again. Say good-by to me,
now, quickly! My father and I are going to leave. The treaty for Oregon
is prepared. Now I am done. Yes. Tell me good-by."

"I will not say it," said I. "I can not."

She smiled at me. Others might