XXIV
The widow allowed no one to care for Schmidt's library except herdaughter or herself. It contained little of value except books, but eventhose Indian arrow-heads he found on Tinicum Island and the strangebones from near Valley Forge were dusted with care and regarded with themore curiosity because, even to the German, they spoke no language theworld as yet could read.
As she turned from her task and Margaret entered, she saw in her facethe signal of something to be told. It needed not the words, "Oh,mother," as she closed the door behind her--"oh, mother, I am afraid Ihave done a wrong thing; but I met Rene de Courval,--I mean, he metme,--and--and he asked me to marry him--and I will; no one shall stopme." There was a note of anticipative defiance in the young voice as shespoke.
"Sit down, dear child."
The girl sunk on a cushion at her feet, her head in the mother's lap. "Icould not help it," she murmured, sobbing.
"I saw this would come to thee, long ago," said the mother. "I had hopedthou wouldst be so guided as not to let thy heart get the better of thyhead."
"It is my head has got me into this--this sweet trouble. Thou knowestthat I have had others, and some who had thy favor; but, mother, herefor two years I have lived day by day in the house with Rene, and haveseen him so living as to win esteem and honor, a tender son to hismother, and so respectful to thee, who, for her, art only the keeper ofa boarding-house. Thou knowest what Friend Schmidt says of him. I heardhim tell Friend Hamilton. He said--he said he was a gallant gentleman,and he wished he were his son. You see, mother, it was first respect andthen--love. Oh, mother, that duel! I knew as I saw him carried in that Iloved him." She spoke rapidly, with little breaks in her voice, and nowwas silent.
"It is bad, very bad, my child. I see no end of trouble--oh, it is bad,bad, for thee and for him!"
"It is good, good, mother, for me and for him. He has waited long. Therehas been something, I do not know what, kept him from speaking sooner.It is over now."
"I do not see what there could have been, unless it were his mother. Itmay well be that. Does she know?"
"When he comes back he will tell her."
"I do not like it, and I dislike needless mysteries. From a worldlypoint of view,--and I at least, who have drunk deep of poverty, mustsomewhat think for thee. Here are two people without competent means--"
"But I love him."
"And his mother?"
"But I love him." She had no other logic. "Oh, I wish Mr. Schmidt werehere! Rene says he will like it."
"That, at least, is a good thing." Both were silent a little while. Mrs.Swanwick had been long used to defer to the German's opinions, butlooking far past love's limited horizon, the widow thought of thecertain anger of the mother, of the trap she in her pride would thinkset for her son by designing people, her prejudices intensified by themere fact of the poverty which left her nothing but exaggeratedestimates of her son and what he was entitled to demand of the woman heshould some day marry. And too, Rene had often spoken of a return toFrance. She said at last: "We will leave the matter now, and speak of itto no one; but I should say to thee, my dear, that apart from what forthy sake I should consider, and the one sad thing of his willingness toavenge a hasty word by possibly killing a fellow-man,--howterrible!--apart from these things, there is no one I had been morewilling to give thee to than Rene de Courval."
"Thank thee, mother." The evil hour when the vicomtesse must hear was atleast remote, and something akin to anger rose in the widow's mind asshe thought of it.
Rene came in to supper. Mrs. Swanwick was as usual quiet, askingquestions in regard to Margaret's errand of charity, but of a mind towin time for reflection, and unwilling as yet to open the subject withRene.
When, late in the evening, he came out of the study where he had beenbusy with the instructions left by Schmidt, he was annoyed to learnthat Margaret had gone up-stairs. There was still before him the task ofspeaking to his mother of what he was sure was often in her mind,Carteaux. She had learned from the gossip of guests that a Frenchman hadbeen set upon near Bristol and had been robbed and wounded. Incuriousand self-centered, the affairs of the outer world had for her but littlereal interest. Now she must have her mind set at ease, for Rene wellknew that she had not expected him to rest contented or to be satisfiedwith the result of his unfortunate duel. Her puritan creed was powerlesshere as against her social training, and her sense of what so hideous awrong as her husband's murder should exact from his son.
"I have something to tell you, _maman_," he said; "and before I go, itis well that I should tell you."
"Well, what is it?" she said coldly, and then, as before, uneasilyanxious.
"On the twenty-ninth of November I learned that Carteaux had started forNew York an hour before I heard of it, on his way to France. I hadwaited long--undecided, fearing that again some evil chance might leaveyou alone in a strange land."
"You did wrong, Rene. There are duties which ought to permit of no suchindecision. You should not have considered me for a moment. Go on."
"How could I help it, thinking of you, mother? I followed, and overtookthis man near Bristol. I meant no chance with the sword this time. Hewas unarmed. I gave him the choice of my pistols, bade him pace thedistance, and give the word. He walked away some six feet, half thedistance, and, turning suddenly, fired, grazing my shoulder. I shothim--ah, a terrible wound in arm and shoulder. Schmidt had found a noteI left for him, and, missing his pistols, inquired at the Frenchlegation, and came up in time to see it all and to prevent me fromkilling the man."
"Pre--vent you! How did he dare!"
"Yes, mother; and it was well. Schmidt found, when binding up his wound,that he was carrying despatches from the Republican Minister Fauchet togo by the corvette _Jean Bart_, waiting in New York Harbor."
"What difference did that make?"
"Why, mother, I am in the State Department. To have killed a member ofthe French legation, or stopped his journey, would have been ruin to meand a weapon in the hands of these mock Jacobins."
"But you did stop him."
"Yes; but I delivered the despatch myself to the corvette."
"Yes, you were right; but what next? He must have spoken."
"No. The threat from Schmidt that he would tell the whole story ofAvignon and his treachery to me has made him lie and say he had been setupon by unknown persons and robbed of his papers. He has wisely held histongue. He is crippled for life and has suffered horribly. Now he goesto France a broken, miserable man, punished as death's release could notpunish."
"I do not know that. I have faith in the vengeance of God. You shouldhave killed him. You did not. And so I suppose there is an end of it fora time. Is that all, Rene?"
"Yes, that is all. The loss of the despatch remains a mystery, and theDemocrats are foolish enough to believe we have it in the foreignoffice. No one of them but Carteaux knows and he dare not speak. Thedespatch will never come back here, or if it does, Carteaux will havegone. People have ceased to talk about it, and now, mother, I am goingaway with an easy mind. Do not worry over this matter. Good night."
"Worry?" she cried. "Ah, I would have killed the Jacobin dog!"
"I meant to," he said, and left her.
At dawn he was up and had his breakfast and there was Pearl in the halland her hands on his two shoulders. "Kiss me," she said. "God bless andguard thee, Rene!"
The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington Page 26
