pose, of an ideal of triumphant democracy, why should not I also
serve in a cause so splendid?

I was, indeed, young--Nicholas Trist, of Maryland; six feet tall, thin,
lean, always hungry, perhaps a trifle freckled, a little sandy of hair,
blue I suppose of eye, although I am not sure; good rider and good
marcher, I know; something of an expert with the weapons of my time and
people; fond of a horse and a dog and a rifle--yes, and a glass and a
girl, if truth be told. I was not yet thirty, in spite of my western
travels. At that age the rustle of silk or dimity, the suspicion of
adventure, tempts the worst or the best of us, I fear. Woman!--the very
sound of the word made my blood leap then. I went forward rather
blithely, as I now blush to confess. "If there are maps to be made
to-night," said I, "the Baroness Helena shall do her share in writing on
my chief's old mahogany desk, and not on her own dressing case."

That was an idle boast, though made but to myself. I had not yet met the
woman.

CHAPTER IV

THE BARONESS HELENA

Woman is seldom merciful to the man who is timid.
--_Edward Bulwer Lytton_.

There was one of our dim street lights at a central corner on old
Pennsylvania Avenue, and under it, after a long walk, I paused for a
glance at the inscription on my sealed document. I had not looked at it
before in the confusion of my somewhat hurried mental processes. In
addition to the name and street number, in Calhoun's writing, I read
this memorandum: "Knock at the third door in the second block beyond M
Street"

I recalled the nearest cross street; but I must confess the direction
still seemed somewhat cryptic. Puzzled, I stood under the lamp,
shielding the face of the note under my cloak to keep off the rain, as I
studied it.

The sound of wheels behind me on the muddy pavement called my attention,
and I looked about. A carriage came swinging up to the curb where I
stood. It was driven rapidly, and as it approached the door swung open.
I heard a quick word, and the driver pulled up his horses. I saw the
light shine through the door on a glimpse of white satin. I looked
again. Yes, it was a beckoning hand! The negro driver looked at me
inquiringly.

Ah, well, I suppose diplomacy under the stars runs much the same in all
ages. I have said that I loved Elisabeth, but also said I was not yet
thirty. Moreover, I was a gentleman, and here might be a lady in need of
help.