u will wake Monsieur le Baron, and tell him that Madame la
Vicomtesse d'Ivry-le-Tour has something of importance to say to him."

Madame had the air, and a title carried with a Spanish soldier in New
Orleans in those days. The orderly fairly swept the ground and led us
through a court where the sun drew bewildering hot odors from the fruits
and flowers, into a darkened room which was the Baron's cabinet. I
remember it vaguely, for my head was hot and throbbing from my exertions
in such a climate. It was a new room,--the hotel being newly
built,--with white walls, a picture of his Catholic Majesty and the
royal arms of Spain, a map of Louisiana, another of New Orleans
fortified, some walnut chairs, a desk with ink and sand and a seal, and a
window, the closed lattice shutters of which showed streaks of light
green light. These doubtless opened on the Royal Road and looked across
the levee esplanade on the waters of the Mississippi. Madame la
Vicomtesse seated herself, and with a gesture which was an order bade me
do likewise.

"He will be angry, the dear Baron," she said. "He is harassed to death
with republics. No offence, Mr. Ritchie. He is up at dawn looking to
the forts and palisades to guard against such foolish enterprises as this
of Mr. Temple's. And to be waked out of a well-earned siesta--to save a
gentleman who has come here to make things unpleasant for him--is
carrying a joke a little far. Mais--que voulez-vous?"

She gave a little shrug to her slim shoulders as she smiled at me, and
she seemed not a whit disturbed concerning the conversation with his
Excellency. I wondered whether this were birth, or training, or both, or
a natural ability to cope with affairs. The women of her order had long
been used to intercede with sovereigns, to play a part in matters of
state. Suddenly I became aware that she was looking at me.

"What are you thinking of?" she demanded, and continued without waiting
for a reply, "you strange man."

"I was thinking how odd it was," I replied, "that I should have known you
all these years by a portrait, that we should finally be thrown together,
and that you should be so exactly like the person I had supposed you to
be."

She lowered her eyes, but she did not seem to take offence. I meant
none.

"And you," she answered, "are continually reminding me of an Englishman I
knew when I was a girl. He was a very queer person to be attached to the
Embassy,--not a courtier, but a serious