“You got them cheap, I suppose?” said I.

“Yes,” he replied, “I averaged them at about seventy-five cents the five-dollar share.”

“And what do you hold now, nominally?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars,” said he shortly.

“I understand your interest in the matter.  But you, signorina?”

The signorina appeared a little embarrassed.  But at last she broke out: 

“I don’t care if I do tell you.  When I agreed to stay here, he [we knew whom she meant] gave me one hundred thousand dollars.  And I had fifty thousand, or thereabouts, of my own that I had—­”

“Saved out of your salary as a prima donna,” put in the colonel.

“What does it matter?” said she, flushing; “I had it.  Well, then, what did he do?  He persuaded me to put it all—­the whole one hundred and fifty thousand—­into his horrid debt.  Oh! wasn’t it mean, Mr. Martin?”

The President had certainly combined business and pleasure in this matter.

“Disgraceful!” I remarked.

“And if that goes, I am penniless—­penniless.  And there’s poor aunt.  What will she do?”

“Never mind your aunt,” said the colonel, rather rudely.  “Well,” he went on, “you see we’re in the same boat with you, Martin.”

“Yes; and we shall soon be in the same deep water,” said I.

“Not at all!” said the colonel.

“Not at all!” echoed the signorina.

“Why, what on earth are you going to do?”

“Financial probity is the backbone of a country,” said the colonel.  “Are we to stand by and see Aureataland enter on the shameful path of repudiation?”

“Never!” cried the signorina, leaping up with sparkling eyes.  “Never!”

She looked enchanting.  But business is business; and I said again: 

“What are you going to do?”

“We are going, with your help, Martin, to prevent this national disgrace.  We are going—­” he lowered his voice, uselessly, for the signorina struck in, in a high, merry tone, waving her gloves over head and dancing a little pas seul on the floor before me, with these remarkable words: 

“Hurrah for the Revolution!  Hip! hip! hurrah!”

She looked like a Goddess of Freedom in her high spirits and a Paris bonnet.  I lost my mental balance.  Leaping up, I grasped her round the waist, and we twirled madly about the office, the signorina breaking forth into the “Marseillaise.”

“For God’s sake, be quiet!” said McGregor, in a hoarse whisper, making a clutch at me as I sped past him.  “If they hear you!  Stop, I tell you, Christina!”

The signorina stopped.

“Do you mean me, Colonel McGregor?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “and that fool Martin, too.”

“Even in times of revolution, colonel,” said I, “nothing is lost by politeness.  But in substance you are right.  Let us be sober.”

We sat down again, panting, the signorina between her gasps still faintly humming the psalm of liberty.