waters of the harbor and hurling itself with fury against the
front of the building made the timbers crack and groan as if in
paroxysms of pain. A driving rain fell in sheets on the roof and
drops of water which leaked through the shingles fell on the
editorial table, swelled into little rivulets, and, leaping to the
floor, chased each other over the room, making existence therein
uncomfortably damp. As I wrote away in spite of these obstacles I was
made aware by a shadow that fell across my table of the presence of
someone in the doorway. I raised my eyes and there stood a female--a
rare object in those days, when women and children were as scarce as
hen's teeth, and were hardly ever met upon the streets, much less in
an editorial sanctum. I rose to my feet at once, and removing my hat
awaited results. In the brief space of time that elapsed before the
lady spoke I took her all in. She was a woman of scarcely forty, I
thought; of medium height, a brunette, with large coal-black eyes, a
pretty mouth--a perfect Cupid's bow--and olive-hued cheeks. She was
richly dressed in bright colors with heavy broad stripes and
space-encircling hoops after the fashion of the day. When she spoke
it was in a rich, well-rounded tone--not with the nasal drawl which
we hear so much when across the line, and which some Victoria
school-girls and boys seem to delight in imitating in spite of the
efforts of their teachers. Taken all in all I sized the lady up as a
very presentable person.

Having explained to her, in response to an inquiry, that the editor
was ill, she said that she would call again and went away after
leaving her card. Two days later, on the 24th of December, the lady
came again.

"Is the editor still ill?" she asked.

"Yes; but he will be here in the course of a day or two."

"Ah! well, that is too bad," she said. "My business is of importance
and cannot bear delay. But I am told that you will do as well."

I assured the lady that I should be glad to assist her in any way.
Thanking me, she began:

"My name is Madame Fabre; my husband, who was French, is dead--died
in California. I am a Russian. In Russia I am a princess. (She paused
as if to watch the impression her announcement had made.) Here I am a
mere nobody--only Madame Fabre. I married my husband in France. We
came to California. We had much money and my husband went into quartz
mining at Grass Valley. He did not understand the business at all. We
lost everyth