longer a series of modest homes, but a boudoir which might have been
the gilded cage of some favorite of an ancient court. The breath and
flavor of this suspicion floated in every drapery, swam in the faint
perfume which filled the place. My first impression was that of
surprise; my second, as I have said, a feeling of resentment at the
presumption which installed all this in our capital of Washington.

I presume my thought may have been reflected in some manner in my face.
I heard a gentle laugh, and turned about. She sat there in a great
carved chair, smiling, her white arms stretched out on the rails, the
fingers just gently curving. There was no apology for her situation, no
trace of alarm or shame or unreadiness. It was quite obvious she was
merely amused. I was in no way ready to ratify the rumors I had heard
regarding her.

She had thrown back over the rail of the chair the rich cloak which
covered her in the carriage, and sat now in the full light, in the
splendor of satin and lace and gems, her arms bare, her throat and
shoulders white and bare, her figure recognized graciously by every line
of a superb gowning such as we had not yet learned on this side of the
sea. Never had I seen, and never since have I seen, a more splendid
instance of what beauty of woman may be.

She did not speak at first, but sat and smiled, studying, I presume, to
find what stuff I was made of. Seeing this, I pulled myself together
and proceeded briskly to my business.

"My employer will find me late, I fear, my dear baroness," I began.

"Better late than wholly unsuccessful," she rejoined, still smiling.