, who had waited on the Secretary's silence, said at last, "I
judge, sir, that you have no more to say."

"No. I am sorry that nothing you have told me changes this very painful
situation."

"Then I beg to resign my position. I have many friends and time will do
me justice."

The Secretary would have preferred the young vicomte to have accepted
his offer. He was not assured that Carteaux's story was correct; but
what else could he do? "Are you not hasty?" he said.

"No. You believe me to have lied, and my sole witness, Mr. Schmidt, is
in Germany. It is he who is slandered as well as I. I shall come here no
more. Here is my report on the condition of the frontier counties."

"No, Vicomte. I did not doubt your word, but only your power to prove
your truth for others who do not know you."

"It amounts to the same thing," said De Courval, coldly. "Good morning."

He went to his own office, and stood a moment in the small, whitewashed
room, reflecting with indignant anger on the sudden ending of a career
he had enjoyed. Then he gathered his personal belongings and calling the
old negro caretaker, bade him carry them to Mrs. Swanwick's.

As for the last time he went down the steps, he said to himself: "So I
am thrown to the wolves of party! I knew I should be, and I said so,"
which was hardly just to the man he left, who would have been pleased if
his compromise had been accepted. Little could Randolph have imagined
that the remote agency of the man he had thus thrown over would result
for himself in a situation not unlike that which he had created for his
subordinate.

"I am ruined," murmured De Courval. "Who will believe me? and Margaret!
My God! that is at an end! And my mother!"

He walked slowly homeward, avoiding people and choosing the alley
by-ways so numerous in Penn's city.

The hall door was usually open in the afternoon to let the breeze pass
through. He went into Schmidt's room, and then into the garden, seeing
only Nanny and black Cicero, with whom he was a favorite. No one was in
but madame, his mother. Mr. Girard had been to ask for him and Mr.
Bingham and Mr. Wynne, and others. So it was to be the mother first.

He was used to the quiet, unemotional welcome. He kissed her hand and
her forehead, saying, "You look well, mother, despite the heat."

"Yes, I am well. Tell me of your journey. Ah, but I am glad to see you!
I have had but one letter. You should have written more often." The
charm of hi