Amid all the din and babble of that motley throng
I heard the word, low as it was. I have never
heard a voice like Elisabeth’s.
An instant later, I knew not quite how, her hand was
away from my arm, in that of Aunt Betty, and they
were passing toward the main door, leaving me standing
with joy and doubt mingled in my mind.
MR. CALHOUN ACCEPTS
A woman’s tongue is her
sword, that she never lets rust.
—Madam
Necker.
I struggled among three courses. The impulses
of my heart, joined to some prescience of trouble,
bade me to follow Elisabeth. My duty ordered
me to hasten to Mr. Calhoun. My interest demanded
that I should tarry, for I was sure that the Baroness
von Ritz would make no merely idle request in these
circumstances. Hesitating thus, I lost sight of
her in the throng. So I concluded I would obey
the mandate of duty, and turned toward the great doors.
Indeed, I was well toward the steps which led out
into the grounds, when all at once two elements of
my problem resolved themselves into one. I saw
the tall figure of Mr. Calhoun himself coming up the
walk toward me.
“Ah,” said he briefly, “then my
message found you?”
“I was starting for you this moment, sir”
I replied.
“Wait for a moment. I counted on finding
you here. Matters have changed.”
I turned with him and we entered again the East Room,
where Mr. Tyler still prolonged the official greeting
of the curious, the obsequious, or the banal persons
who passed. Mr. Calhoun stood apart for a time,
watching the progress of this purely American function.
It was some time ere the groups thinned. This
latter fact usually would have ended the reception,
since it is not etiquette to suppose that the president
can lack an audience; but to-day Mr. Tyler lingered.
As last through the thinning throng he caught sight
of the distinctive figure of Mr. Calhoun. For
the first time his own face assumed a natural expression.
He stopped the line for an instant, and with a raised
hand beckoned to my chief.
At this we dropped in at the tail of the line, Mr.
Calhoun in passing grasping almost as many hands as
Mr. Tyler. When at length we reached the president’s
position, the latter greeted him and added a whispered
word. An instant later he turned abruptly, ending
the reception with a deep bow, and retired into the
room from which he had earlier emerged.
Mr. Calhoun turned now to me with a request to follow
him, and we passed through the door where the president
had vanished. Directed by attendants, we were
presently ushered into yet another room, which at
that time served the president as his cabinet room,
a place for meeting persons of distinction who called
upon business.
As we entered I saw that it was already occupied.
Mr. Tyler was grasping the hand of a portly personage,
whom I knew to be none other than Mr. Pakenham.
So much might have been expected. What was not
to have been expected was the presence of another—none
less than the Baroness von Ritz! For this latter
there was no precedent, no conceivable explanation
save some exigent emergency.
