'Yes, I have thought of that,' Ericson said meditatively; 'but then he signs himself in an odd sort of way.'
'Eh, how is that?' Sarrasin asked. 'It is his name, surely, is it not—Hamilton?'
'Yes, but I had got into a way years ago of always calling him "the Boy," and he got into a way of signing himself "Boy" in all our confidential communications, and I haven't for years got a telegram from him that wasn't signed "Boy."'
Mrs. Sarrasin sent a flash of her eyes that was like a danger signal to her husband. He at once understood, and sent another signal to her.
'Of course I must go,' Ericson said. 'Whatever Hamilton does, he has good reason for doing. One can always trust him in that.'
Captain Sarrasin was about to interpose something in the way of caution, but his wife flashed another signal at him, and he shut up.
'And so I must go,' the Dictator said, 'and I am sorry. I have had a very happy evening; but you will ask me again, and I shall come, and we shall be good friends. Shall we not, Mrs. Sarrasin?'
'I hope so,' said the lady gravely. 'We are devoted to your Excellency, and may perhaps have a chance of proving it one day.'
The Dictator had a little brougham from Paulo's waiting for him. He took a kindly leave of his host and hostess. He lifted Mrs. Sarrasin's long, strong, slender hand in his, and bent over it, and put it to his lips. He felt drawn towards the pair in a curious way, and he felt as if they belonged to a different age from ours—as if Sarrasin ought to have been another Götz of Berlichingen, about whom it would have been right to say, 'So much the worse for the age that misprizes thee'; as if she were the mail-clad wife of Count Robert of Paris.
When he had gone, up rose Mrs. Sarrasin and spake:—