Janice sighed. She, like Marty, began to wonder at the universal cry for la patria from those of such conflicting opinions.
"No," said Madam. They were now sitting in a compartment of the Pullman that was evidently Madam's boudoir. "I am of blood Bohemian—with a strain of the greatest nation of all time," and she smiled.
"The Hebrew?"
"But yes. I have lived everywhere—on both continents," with a sweeping gesture. "Under my own name—first made known to the world in Vienna—I sing. I am of the opera."
"Oh, Madam! I guessed that," Janice declared with clasped hands.
"Yes? Well, it iss soh," said the lady sibilantly. "I hear in New York where I am singing at the Metropolitan that my hoosban' is advance. I pack and start for Mexico immediate. Contr-r-racts are nothing at such time, yes? I hasten across the continent to greet and applaud him. After I join him at San Cristoval I hear of things, and remember things that you say, my dear, that make me to understand you must be bound for this same place, too. It is sad you should not have come wit' me."
"My father!" gasped Janice. "Do you know if he is better?"
"I know that he is as yet holding out against the rebels," Madam said. "He, with a few desperate compadres, are guarding his mine buildings, yes-s!"
"Then he is not seriously wounded?" cried the girl gladly.
"I believe not. We get some information to and from the mine. Señor General De Soto Palo declare he will shell the rebels into the hills to-day, my dear. You have come in season."