"I do not know that I may ask those?"
"You would be surprised if I told you the truth? What I required of Mr. Calhoun was permission and aid still further to study his extraordinary country, its extraordinary ways, its extraordinary ignorance of itself. I have told you that I needed to travel, to study, to observe mankind—and those governments invented or tolerated by mankind."
"Since then, Madam," I concluded, stepping to assist her with her chair, as she signified her completion of our repast, "since you do not feel now inclined to be specific, I feel that I ought to make my adieux, for the time at least. It grows late. I shall remember this little evening all my life. I own my defeat. I do not know why you are here, or for whom."
"At what hotel do you stop?"
"The little place of Jacques Bertillon, a square or so beyond the Place d'Armes."
"In that case," said she, "believe me, it would be more discreet for you to remain unseen in Montreal. No matter which flag is mine, I may say that much for a friend and comrade in the service."
"But what else?"
She looked about her. "Be my guest to-night!" she said suddenly. "There is danger—"
"For me?" I laughed. "At my hotel? On the streets?"
"No, for me."