“Now you ask questions whose answers lie entirely beyond my power,” he replied easily.  “You must remember that I am not of this party, let alone this administration.  My own day in politics has past, and I must seek seclusion, modestly.  I own that the mission to Europe, to examine in a wholly non-partisan way, the working out there of this revolutionary idea—­the testing on the soil of monarchies of the principle of democratic government—­has a great appeal to me; and I fancied it would offer appeal also to yourself.  But if—­”

“All life is chance, is it not?  But in your belief, does the right man always win?”

He rose, smiling, inscrutable once more, astute and suave politician again, and passing about the table he bowed over her hand to kiss it.

“My dear Countess,” he said, “my dear girl, all I can say is that in the very limited experience I can claim in such matters, the victor usually is the right man.  But I find you here, alone, intent on visionary plans which never can be carried out, undertaking a labor naturally foreign to a woman’s methods of life, alien to her usual ideas of happiness.  So, my dear, my dear, I fear you yourself have not played out the game—­you have not fulfilled its issue!  The stakes are not yet given over!  I can not say as to the right man, but I can say with all my heart that he who wins such prize is fortunate indeed, and should cherish it for ever.  See, I am not after all devoid of wit or courage, my dear young girl!  Because, I know, though you do not tell me, that there is some game at which you play, yourself, and that you will not stop that game to participate in my smaller enterprise of visiting Kossuth and the lands of Europe!  I accept defeat myself, once more, in a game where a woman is at stake.  Again, I lose!”

There was more truth than she knew in his words, for what was in his mind and in the minds of others there in Washington, regarding her, were matters not then within her knowledge.  But she was guided once more, as many a woman has been, by her unerring instinct, her sixth sense of womanhood, her scent for things of danger.  Now, though she stood with face grave, pensive, almost melancholy, to give him curtsy as he passed, there was not weakness nor faltering in her mien or speech.

“But he would have to win!” she said, as though following out some train of thought.  “He would first need to win in the larger game.  Ah!  What woman would be taken, except by the man who really had won in the real game of life.”

“You would demand that, my dear?” smiled the pleasant gentleman who now was bowing himself toward the door.

“I would demand it!”

By the time he had opportunity to rally his senses, assailed as they were by the sight of her, by the splendor of her apparel, by the music of her voice, the fragrance which clung about her, the charm of her smiles,—­by the time, in short, which he required to turn half about, she was gone.  He heard her light step at the stair.