Two days later I dined at one of the great Bonapartist houses. I was
late, and as the guests were about to go to dinner, our hostess said,
"Let me present you to a fellow countrywoman, M. Greville of the
American Legation--Mme. Bellegarde." I was so taken aback that I could
hardly find words to speak to her until we sat down together at
dinner. She, too, was equally agitated. I talked awhile to my
left-hand neighbor, but presently her adjoining table companion spoke
to her and being thus set free, I said to Mme. Bellegarde in English,
speaking low:
"You are my countrywoman, and are, as I know, in trouble. What is it?
After we met I learned your name, but I have been prudent enough to
refrain from calling."
She said: "Yes; you are right. I am in trouble, and of my own making.
In my distress that awful night I did not want to give my name to a
stranger, and now to recognize in my companion one of our own legation
is really a piece of great good fortune. We cannot talk here. I may be
able to be of service to the legation--to my country, but we dare not
talk here. What I have to say is long. You must not call on me, but we
must meet. Come to the masked ball at the palace to-morrow--no, not
you. Some one who is not of the legation--some one you can trust. It
is a masquerade as you must know. I shall wear a mask--a black domino
with a red rose on one sleeve, a white one on the other. Let your
friend say, 'Lincoln.' I shall answer, 'America.' But do let him be
careful."