"But you were not there--you did not see me? I never saw you in my life until this very moment--how, then, do you know me? Speak! At once!" Her satins rustled. I knew she was tapping a foot on the carriage floor. "Madam," I answered, laughing at her; "by this amber purple shadow, with flecks of scarlet and pink; by this perfume which weaves webs for me here in this carriage, I know you. The light is poor, but it is good enough to show one who can be no one else but the Baroness von Ritz." I was in the mood to spice an adventure which had gone thus far. Of course she thought me crazed, and drew back again in the shadow; but when I turned and smiled, she smiled in answer--herself somewhat puzzled. "The Baroness von Ritz can not be disguised," I said; "not even if she wore her domino." She looked down at the little mask which hung from the silken cord, and flung it from her. "Oh, then, very well!" she said. "If you know who I am, who are _you_, and why do you talk in this absurd way with me, a stranger?" "And why, Madam, do you take me up, a stranger, in this absurd way, at midnight, on the streets of Washington?--I, who am engaged on business for my chief?" She tapped again with her foot on the carriage floor. "Tell me who you are!" she said. "Once a young planter from Maryland yonder; sometime would-be lawyer here in Washington. It is my misfortune not to be so distinguished in fame or beauty that my name is known by all; so I need not tell you my name perhaps, only assuring you that I am at your service if I may be useful." "Your name!" she again demanded. I told her the first one that came to my lips--I do not remember what. It did not deceive her for a moment. "Of course that is not your name," she said; "because it does not fit you. You have me still at disadvantage." "And me, Madam? You are taking me miles out of my way. How can I help you? Do you perhaps wish to hunt mushrooms in the Georgetown woods when morning comes? I wish that I might join you, but I fear--" "You mock me," she retorted. "Very good. Let me tell you it was not your personal charm which attracted me when I saw you on the pavement! `Twas because you were the only man in sight." I bowed my thanks. For a moment nothing was heard save the steady patter of hoofs on the ragged pavement. At length she went on. "I am alone. I have been followed. I was followed when I called to you--by another carriage. I asked help of the first gentleman I saw, having heard that Americans all are gentlemen." "True," said I; "I do not blame you. Neither do I blame the occupant of the other carriage for following you." "I pray you, leave aside such chatter!" she exclaimed. "Very well, then, Madam. Perhaps the best way is for us to be more straightforward. If I can not be of service I beg you to let me descend, for I have business which I must execute to-night."