“I never meant it!  I never intended it!  It was done wholly without my knowledge!  I am sorry!  I am sorry!”

“You need not be sorry.  It is only one of the consequences of following one’s faith.  Anyhow, I’m just a little less inconsistent than Mr. Benton, who had always been opposed to slavery, although he still owns slaves.  The same is true of Mr. Clay.  They both have been prominent politically.  Well, set them free of their slaves, and they and I would be about even, wouldn’t we?  It comes to being pretty much on foot, I must confess.”

“I can understand that,” said she.  “For that matter, we are both ruined; and for the same reason.”

“What do you mean?  And, tell me, once more, who are you?  You certainly have stirred things up!”

“As to the latter, it makes little difference,” said she.  “I will confess to being a revolutionist and a visionary reformer; and an absolute failure.  I will confess that I have undertaken things which I thought were within my power, but which were entirely beyond me.  Well, it has ruined me also in a material way.”

“How, do you mean?”

“This colonization work was carried on by my own funds.  It is not long ago that I got a letter, saying that my funds were at an end.  I had some small estates in the old country.  They are gone,—­confiscated.  My last rents were not collected.”

She, in turn, smiled, spreading out her hands.  “You see me here in St. Genevieve, perhaps on my way to St. Louis.  Tell me, is there demand for persons of foreign experience, who understand a little French, a little English, perhaps a little music?  Or could there perhaps be a place for an interpreter in Hungarian, French or English?”

[Illustration:  She turned, spreading out her hands.]

It was his turn to show consternation.  “Is it indeed true?” he said.  “Now it is time for me to say I am sorry.  I do not understand all about it.  Of course I could see all along that an immense amount of money was being paid into this colonization folly.  And it was your money, and you are ruined,—­for the same hopeless cause!  I am sorry, sorry!  It’s a shame, a shame!”

“I am not sorry,” said she.  “I am glad!  It is victory!”

“I will not say that!” he burst out.  “I will not admit it, not confess it.  It is all right for me, because I’m a man.  I can stand it.  But you—­you ought to have ease, luxury, all your life.  Now look what you have done!”

There came a sudden knock at the door, and without much pause.  Hector entered, somewhat excited.

“Monsieur,—­Madame!” he exclaimed.  “One comes!”

“Who is it?” demanded Dunwody, frowning.

“Mon pere!  He is come but now from Tallwoods, Monsieur.”

“What is wrong out there?  Tell him to come in.”

“I go.”