She nodded. "Certainly. Mr. Van Zandt had almost no other opportunity to meet me or get word to me."
"Van Zandt! Madam, are you indeed in the camp of all these different interests? So, what Pakenham said was true! Van Zandt is the attaché of Texas. Van Zandt is pleading with Mr. Calhoun that he shall take up the secretaryship. Van Zandt promises us the friendship of Texas if we will stand out for the annexation of Texas. Van Zandt promises us every effort in his power against England. Van Zandt promises us the sternest of fronts against treacherous Mexico. Van Zandt is known to be interested in this fair Doña Lucrezia, just as Polk is. Now, then, comes Van Zandt with his secret message slipped into the hand of Madam at the Ambassador's ball—Madam, the friend of England! The attaché of Mexico is curious—furious—to know what Texas is saying to England! And that message must be concealed! And Madam conceals it in—"
She smiled at me brilliantly. "You come on," she said. "Should your head be opened and analyzed, yes, I think a trace of brain might be discovered by good chemistry."
I resumed impatiently. "You put his message in your slipper?"
She nodded. "Yes," she said, "in the toe of it. There was barely chance to do that. You see, our skirts are full and wide; there are curtains in the East Room; there was wine by this time; there was music; so I effected that much. But when you took the slipper, you took Van Zandt's note! You had it. It was true, what I told Pakenham before the president—I did not then have that note! You had it. At least, I thought you had it, till I found it crumpled on the table the next day! It must have fallen there from the shoe when we made our little exchange that night. Ah, you hurried me. I scarce knew whether I was clad or shod, until the next afternoon—after I left you at the White House grounds. So you hastily departed—to your wedding?"
"So small a shoe could not have held an extended epistle, Madam," I said, ignoring her question.
"No, but the little roll of paper caused me anguish. After I had danced I was on the point of fainting. I hastened to the cover of the nearest curtain, where I might not be noticed. Señor Yturrio of Mexico was somewhat vigilant. He wished to know what Texas planned with England. He has long made love to me—by threats, and jewels. As I stood behind the curtain I saw his face, I fled; but one shoe—the empty one—was not well fastened, and it fell. I could not walk. I reached down, removed the other shoe with its note, hid it in my handkerchief—thank Providence for the fashion of so much lace—and so, not in wine, Monsieur, as you may believe, and somewhat anxious, as you may also believe, expecting to hear at once of an encounter between Van Zandt and the Mexican minister, Señor Almonte, or his attaché Yturrio, or between one of them and some one else, I made my adieux—I will warrant the only woman in her stocking feet who bowed for Mr. Tyler at the ball that night!"
"Yes, so far as I know, Madam, you are the only lady who ever left the East Room precisely so clad. And so you got into your own carriage—alone—after a while? And so, when you were there you put on the shoe which was left? And so Yturrio of Mexico got the other one—and found nothing in it! And so, he wanted this one!"
"You come on," she said. "You have something more than a trace of brain."
"And that other shoe, which I got that night?"