He had made memorandum of the number, and handed it over to the lady who commissioned him, receiving in return a golden coin, for which no change was required.
“That will do,” muttered Julia to her cousin, as they sallied forth upon the street, and took their way toward the unpretentious building that over the door showed the lettering, “U.S. LEGATION.”
There, as everywhere else, they found excitement—even terror. They had to pass through a crowd mostly composed of their own countrymen.
But these, proverbially gallant towards women, readily gave way to them. Who would not to women such as they?
A Secretary came forth to receive them. He regretted that the Minister was engaged.
But the proud Julia Girdwood would take no denial. It was a matter of moment—perhaps of life and death. She must see the representative of her country, and on the instant!
There is no influence stronger than woman’s beauty. Perhaps none so strong. The Secretary of Legation succumbed to it; and, disregarding the orders he had received, opened a side door, and admitted the intercessors to an interview with the Ambassador.
Their story was soon told. A man who had borne the banner of the Stars and Stripes through the hailstorm of more than one battle—who had carried it up the steep of Chapultepec, till it fell from his arm paralysed by the enemy’s shot—that man was now in Paris—prisoner to drunken Zouave soldiers—in peril of his life!
Such was the appeal made to the American Minister.
It needed not such beautiful appellants. Above the conservatism of the man—after all only social—rose the purer pride of his country’s honour.