“But how could the winner be sure?  How could the—­how did she—­I would say—­”

“Dear girl, let us not be too cold in our philosophy, nor too wise.  I can not say how or why these things go as they do.  All I know is that the right man won in that case, and that he proved it later, by each act of kindness he gave her, all her life.  This, my dear, is an odd world, when it comes to all that.”

“Was he—­did he have anybody else in the world who—­”

“Oh, only a wife, I believe, that was all!”

“Did she die, soon?  Was there ever—­”

“How you question!  What do you plan for yourself?  My word!  You are putting me through a strange initiation on our first acquaintance, my dear Countess!  Let us not pursue such matters further, or I shall begin to think your own interest in these questions is that of the original Eve!”

“To the victor does not always belong the spoils,” she said slowly.  “Not till he has won—­earned them—­in war, in conquest!  Perhaps conquest of himself.”

[Illustration:  “To the victor does not always belong the spoils.”]

“You speak in enigmas for me, my dear Countess.”

She shook her head slowly, from side to side.  “That poor girl!  Did she ever feel she had been won in the real game, I wonder?  To whom would belong herself—­if she felt that she had something in her own life to forget, some great thing to be done, in penance perhaps, in eagerness perhaps, some step to take, up—­something to put her into a higher plane in the scheme of life?  To do something, for some one else—­not just to be selfish—­suppose that was in her heart; after that game?”

“Why, you read her story as though you saw it!  That was her life, absolutely.  Never lived a woman more respected there, more loved.  She disarmed even the women, old and young—­yes, even the single ones!”

“It is an odd world,” she said slowly.  “But”—­drawing back—­“I do not think I will go back to Europe.  It would delight me to meet again my friend, the patriot Kossuth.  But here I have many ideas which I must work out.”

“My dear Countess, you oppress me with a sense of failure!  I had so much hoped that you would lend your aid in this mission of my own abroad.  You would be valuable.  You are so much prized in the opinions of the administration, I am sure, that—­”

“What do you mean?  Does the administration know of me? Why should it know?  What have I done?”

But the old statesman before her was no such fool as to waste time in a lost cause.  This one was lost, he knew, and it booted little for him to become involved where, even at the best issue, there was risk enough for him.  He reflected that risk must have existed even had this young lady been a shade more dull of mind, of less brilliant faculty in leaping to conclusions and resolutions.  She was a firebrand, that was sure.  Let others handle such, but not that task for him!