"You know this lady?" inquired the judge.
Mr. Tourneysee bowed.
The porter threw open the great gate, and the carriage rolled along a lovely shaded avenue, up before the white marble facade of the palace, where it stopped.
"If you please, I will send your cards in with my own. As I am known to the senora, it may insure you a speedier audience."
"We thank you very much," said Ishmael, placing his own and the judge's cards in the hands of the consul, who alighted, went up the marble steps to the front door, and rang.
A footman opened the door, took in the cards, and after a few moments returned.
"The countess will see the senors," was the message that the consul smilingly brought back to his friends in the carriage.
Then all alighted and went into the house.
The same footman, a jet black young negro, in gorgeous livery of purple and gold, led them into a small, elegantly furnished reception room, where, seated on a sofa, and toying with a fan, was one of the loveliest little dark-eyed Creoles that ever was seen.
She did not rise, but extended her hand with a graceful gesture and gracious smile to welcome her visitors.