Part 44 (2/2)
”Yes,” resumed Calhoun, ”I was just speaking with this lady over some matters concerned with this Little slipper.” He smiled as he held it up gingerly between thumb and finger. ”Do you recognize it, Madam Baroness?”
”Ah, my little shoe!” she exclaimed. ”But see, it has not been well cared for.”
”It traveled in my war bag from Oregon to Was.h.i.+ngton,” said I. ”Perhaps bullet molds and powder flasks may have damaged it.”
”It still would serve as a little post-office, perhaps,” laughed the baroness. ”But I think its days are done on such errands.”
”I will explain something of these errands to the Senora Yturrio,” said Calhoun. ”I wish you personally to say to that lady, if you will, that Senor Yturrio regarded this little receptacle rather as official than personal post.”
For one moment these two women looked at each other, with that on their faces which would be hard to describe. At last the baroness spoke:
”It is not wholly my fault, Senora Yturrio, if your husband gave you cause to think there was more than diplomacy between us. At least, I can say to you that it was the sport of it alone, the intrigue, if you please, which interested me. I trust you will not accuse me beyond this.”
A stifled exclamation came from the Dona Lucrezia. I have never seen more sadness nor yet more hatred on a human face than hers displayed. I have said that she was not thoroughbred. She arose now, proud as ever, it is true, but vicious. She declined Helena von Ritz's outstretched hand, and swept us a curtsey. ”_Adios!_” said she. ”I go!”
Mr. Calhoun gravely offered her an arm; and so with a rustle of her silks there pa.s.sed from our lives one unhappy lady who helped make our map for us.
The baroness herself turned. ”I ought not to remain,” she hesitated.
”Madam,” said Mr. Calhoun, ”we can not spare you yet.”
She flashed upon him a keen look. ”It is a young country,” said she, ”but it raises statesmen. You foolish, dear Americans! One could have loved you all.”
”Eh, what?” said Doctor Ward, turning to her. ”My dear lady, two of us are too old for that; and as for the other--”
He did not know how hard this chance remark might smite, but as usual Helena von Ritz was brave and smiling.
”You are men,” said she, ”such as we do not have in our courts of Europe. Men and women--that is what this country produces.”
”Madam,” said Calhoun, ”I myself am a very poor sort of man. I am old, and I fail from month to month. I can not live long, at best. What you see in me is simply a purpose--a purpose to accomplish something for my country--a purpose which my country itself does not desire to see fulfilled. Republics do not reward us. What _you_ say shall be our chief reward. I have asked you here also to accept the thanks of all of us who know the intricacies of the events which have gone forward. Madam, we owe you Texas! 'Twas not yonder lady, but yourself, who first advised of the danger that threatened us. Hers was, after all, a simpler task than yours, because she only matched faiths with Van Zandt, representative of Texas, who had faith in neither men, women nor nations. Had all gone well, we might perhaps have owed you yet more, for Oregon.”
”Would you like Oregon?” she asked, looking at him with the full glance of her dark eyes.
”More than my life! More than the life of myself and all my friends and family! More than all my fortune!” His voice rang clear and keen as that of youth.
”All of Oregon?” she asked.
”All? We do not own all! Perhaps we do not deserve it. Surely we could not expect it. Why, if we got one-half of what that fellow Polk is claiming, we should do well enough--that is more than we deserve or could expect. With our army already at war on the Southwest, England, as we all know, is planning to take advantage of our helplessness in Oregon.”
Without further answer, she held out to him a doc.u.ment whose appearance I, at least, recognized.
”I am but a woman,” she said, ”but it chances that I have been able to do this country perhaps something of a favor. Your a.s.sistant, Mr. Trist, has done me in his turn a favor. This much I will ask permission to do for him.”
Calhoun's long and trembling fingers were nervously opening the doc.u.ment. He turned to her with eyes blazing with eagerness. ”_It is Oregon!_” He dropped back into his chair.
”Yes,” said Helena von Ritz slowly. ”It is Oregon. It is bought and paid for. It is yours!”
So now they all went over that doc.u.ment, signed by none less than Pakenham himself, minister plenipotentiary for Great Britain. That doc.u.ment exists to-day somewhere in our archives, but I do not feel empowered to make known its full text. I would I had never need to set down, as I have, the cost of it. These others never knew that cost; and now they never can know, for long years since both Calhoun and Doctor Ward have been dead and gone. I turned aside as they examined the doc.u.ment which within the next few weeks was to become public property.
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