“It was Hulsemann!” ejaculated the dark man, as to himself.  “Austria’s man here!”

She went on:  “If I am not welcome in this country, whither shall I go?  I am an exile as I stand before you.  I am a widow.  I have no living kin.  Moreover, I am an exile, impoverished, as I stand.  My fortune has been dissipated—­honestly so, gentlemen; but since it is gone, my powers are at an end.  If I have displeased you, I shall do so no longer.  Here are my proofs.”

She placed her papers in the hand of her escort, the nearest of these grave and silent men.  A nod from the leader at the head of the table caused this tall and dark gentleman to rise and seek a place closer to the window in order that he might find better light for reading.  His glasses upon his nose, he scanned the papers gravely.  A sudden smile broke out upon his face, so that he passed a hand across his face to force it back into its usual lines of gravity.

“Gentlemen,” said he, at length, solemnly, “this lady has been kind to come to meet us, and you all are witness that her dealings have been perfectly frank and sincere.  I confess, however, I am somewhat puzzled over this document which she has given me.  I presume we may well mark it ‘Exhibit A.’  If you do not mind, I will read it to you.”

Slowly, deliberately, employing all the tones of his deep and sonorous voice, which before then had thrilled audiences of thousands in every portion of his country, he read; his face studiously turned away that he might not see the dismayed gestures of the woman who had handed him these papers: 

  “MY DEAR MADAME: 

“I take in hand my pen to tell you how life goes with us in this locality.  The business of Hector is improved one half this year.  We have green blinds on all sides of the house, and a vine that grows also.  The mother of Hector is kind to me.  We have abundance and peace at this place.  But, Madame, that which it is which I write you, there is come but now the baby of Hector and myself Jeanne.  In all this locality there is no baby like this.  Madame, we have said to name it for yourself, Josephine St. Auban Jeanne Marie Fournier.  Moreover, Madame, it is advise that for a baby so remarkable a godmother is necessary.  I take my pen in hand to inquire of madame whether in the kindness of her heart madame could come to see us and be present at this christening of this child most extraordinary.  I have the assurance also of Hector that the remarkable qualities of this baby will warrant the presence of madame.  A reply poste restante, address on St. Genevieve in Missouri, will arrive to your faithful and obedient servant,

    “JEANNE.”

Before this singular document had been half concluded there were sounds of shifting chairs, bursts of stifled laughter.  The tall grave man nevertheless went on, solemnly finishing this communication.  As for Josephine, she had shrunk back in her chair, knowing not which way to turn.