The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  XXVI

  Mr. Hamilton's reply came in five days. He would come at once. DeCourval's friends, Bingham and Wynne, had heard his story, and thoughthe did well to resign, while Wynne advised him to come to Merion for aweek or two. His other adviser would not have even the appearance offlight.

  "Above all," said Margaret, "go about as usual. Thou must not avoidpeople, and after Mr. Hamilton comes and is gone, think of Merion if itso please thee, or I can let thee go. Aunt Gainor was here in one of herfine tempers yesterday. I am jealous of her, Monsieur de Courval. Andshe has her suspicions."

  He took her advice, and saw too easily that he was the observed of many;for in the city he had long been a familiar personality, with hisclean-shaven, handsome face and the erect figure, which showed thesoldier's training. He was, moreover, a favorite, especially with theolder men and women, so that not all the looks he met were either fromhostile, cockaded Jacobins or from the merely curious.

  Mr. Thomas Cadwalader stopped him, and said that at need he was at hisservice, if he desired to call out the minister or the Secretary. Mrs.Byrd, both curious and kind, would have him to come and tell her allabout it, which he was little inclined to do.

  He took Margaret's wholesome advice, and swam and rode, and was in acalmer state of mind, and even happy at the greetings of those in thefencing school, where were some whom, out of his slender means, he hadhelped. They told him gleefully how de Malerive had given up theice-cream business for a morning to quiet for a few weeks an IrishDemocrat who had said of the vicomte unpleasant things; and would he notfence! "Yes, now," he said smiling, and would use the pistol no more.

  Mr. Hamilton came as he had promised. "I must return to New York," hesaid, "to-morrow. I have heard from Schmidt. He may not come very soon;but I wrote him fully, on hearing from you. He will be sure to come soonor late, but meanwhile I have asked General Washington to see you withme. It may, indeed, be of small present use, but I want him to hearyou--your own account of this affair. So far he has had only what Mr.Randolph has been pleased to tell him. I made it a personal favor. Letus go. The cabinet meeting will be over."

  Rene thanked him and not altogether assured that any good would resultfrom this visit, walked away with Hamilton, the two men attracting someattention. The President at this time lived on High Street, in theformer house of Robert Morris, near to Sixth Street. They were showninto the office room on the right, which De Courval knew well, andwhere Genet, the Jacobin minister, had been insulted by the medallionsof the hapless king and queen.

  In a few minutes the President entered. He bowed formally, and said,"Pray be seated, Vicomte. I have been asked, sir, by Mr. Hamilton tohear you. As you are not now in the service, I am pleased to allowmyself the pleasure to do so, although I have thought it well to adviseMr. Randolph of my intention. Your case has been before the cabinet, butas yours was a position solely in the gift of the Secretary of State,I--or we, have felt that his appointments should lie wholly within hiscontrol."

  "And of disappointments, also, I suppose," said Hamilton, smiling, aprivileged person.

  Little open to appreciation of humor, no smile came upon the worn faceof the President. He turned to Hamilton as he spoke, and then went onaddressing De Courval, and speaking, as was his way, with deliberateslowness. "I have given this matter some personal consideration because,although Mr. Secretary Randolph has acted as to him seemed best, youhave friends who, to be frank with you, feel desirous that I should beinformed by you in person of what took place. I am willing to obligethem. You are, it seems, unfortunate. There are two serious charges, anassault and--pardon me--the seizure of a despatch. May I be allowed toask you certain questions?"

  "I shall be highly honored, sir."

  "This, I am given to understand, was a personal quarrel."

  "Yes, your Excellency."

  "What the law may say of the matter, I do not know. What concerns usmost is the despatch. In what I say I desire, sir, to be considered opento correction. When, as I am told, you followed Mr. Carteaux, intendinga very irregular duel, did you know that he carried a despatch?"

  "I did not until Mr. Schmidt found it. Then the man was cared for, and Idelivered his papers to their destination."

  "I regret, sir, to hear that of this you have no proof. Here your wordsuffices. Outside of these walls it has been questioned."

  "I have no proof,--none of any value,--nor can I ever hope to prove thatI did what my own honor and my duty to the administration required."

  Hamilton listened intently while the aging, tired face of the Presidentfor a moment seemed lost in reflection. Then the large, blue eyes werelifted as he said, "At present this matter seems hopeless, sir, but timeanswers many questions." Upon this he turned to Hamilton. "There are twopersons involved. Who, sir, is this Mr. Schmidt? I am told that he hasleft the country; in fact, has fled."

  For a moment Hamilton was embarrassed. "I can vouch for him as myfriend. He was called to Germany on a matter of moment. At present I amnot at liberty to reply to you more fully. He is sure to return, andthen I may,--indeed, I am sure, will be more free to answer youfrankly.

  "But if so, what value will his evidence have? None, I conceive, asaffecting the loss of the despatch. If that charge were disproved, thepolitical aspect of the matter would become unimportant. The affair, sofar as the duel is concerned, would become less serious."

  "It seems so to me," said Hamilton. "The Democrats are making the mostof it, and the English Federalists are doing harm by praising my youngfriend for what he did not do and never would have done. They were madenough in New York to propose a dinner to the vicomte."

  The President rose. "I do not think it advisable, Mr. Hamilton, topursue this matter further at present; nor, sir, do I apprehend that anygood can result for this gentleman from my willingness to gratify yourwish that I should see him."

  "We shall detain your Excellency no longer."

  The President was never fully at ease when speaking, and owing to acertain deliberateness in speech, was thought to be dull when in companyand, perhaps through consciousness of a difficulty in expression, wasgiven to silence, a disposition fostered, no doubt, by the statesman'slong disciplined need for reticence.

  After Hamilton had accepted the President's rising as a signal of theiraudience being over, Rene, seeing that the general did not at once movetoward the door, waited for Hamilton. The ex-Secretary, however, knewwell the ways of his friend and stood still, aware that the Presidentwas slowly considering what further he desired to say.

  The pause was strange to De Courval as he stood intently watching thetall figure in black velvet, and the large features on which years ofwar and uneasy peace had left their mark.

  Then with more than his usual animation, the President came nearer to DeCourval: "I have myself, sir, often had to bide on time for fulljustification of my actions. While you are in pursuit of means to dealwith the suspicions arising, permit me to say, from your own imprudenceyou will have to bear in silence what men say of you. I regret, toconclude, that I cannot interfere in this matter. I discover it to bemore agreeable to say to you that personally I entirely believe you. Butthis you must consider as spoken 'under the rose'"--a favoriteexpression. De Courval flushed with joy, and could say no more than: "Ithank you. You have helped me to wait."

  The general bowed, and at the door, as they were passing out, said: "Ishall hope to see you again in the service, and you must not think ofretiring permanently from the work which you have done so well. I remindmyself that I have not yet thanked you for your report. It has greatlyrelieved my mind." On this he put out his hand, over which Rene bowed insilent gratitude, and with a last look at the weary face of the manwhose life had been one long sacrifice to duty, he went away, feelingthe strengthening influence of a great example.

  As they reached the street, Rene said, "How just he is, and how clear!"

  "Yes. A slowly acting mind, but sure--and in battle, in danger, swift,decisive, and reckless of peril. Are you satisfied?"
>
  "Yes, I am. I shall be, even though this matter is never cleared up."

  "It will be. He said so, and I have long since learned to trust hisforesight. In all my long experience of the man, I have scarcely everheard him speak at such length. You may live to see many men in highplaces; you will never see a greater than George Washington. I know himas few know him."

  He was silent for a moment, and then added, "When I was young and hasty,and thought more of Alexander Hamilton than I do to-day, he forgave mean outburst of youthful impertinence which would have made a vainer mandesire to see no more of me." De Courval, a less quick-temperedcharacter, wondered that any one should have taken a liberty with theman they had just left.

  "But now I must leave you," said Hamilton. "If Schmidt returns, he willland in New York, and I shall come hither with him. Have you seen thenew paper, the 'Aurora'? Mr. Bache has taken up the task Freneaudropped--of abusing the President."

  "No, I have not seen it. I suppose now it is the English treaty. It willinterest me no longer."

  "Oh, for a time, for a time. Between us, the President has sent it tothe Senate. It will leak out. He will sign it with a reservation asconcerns the English claim to seize provisions meant for French ports.Do not speak of it. Randolph is striving to strengthen the President'sscruples with regard to a not altogether satisfactory treaty, but, onthe whole, the best we can get. It will be signed and will be of greatservice. Keep this to yourself, and good-by. Randolph is too French forme. I may have said to you once that if we had a navy, it is not peacethat the President would desire."

  De Courval hastened home to pour into the ear of Margaret so much of hisinterview as he felt free to speak of.

  "My mother," she said, "would speak to thee of me, Rene." But he askedthat she would wait, and his sense of satisfaction soon gave place, aswas natural, to a return of depression, which for a time left him onlywhen in the company of Margaret. Her mother, usually so calm, did mostuneasily wait while the days went by, but made no effort to interferewith the lovers.

  On the 9th of August, at evening, Margaret and Rene were seated in thegarden when of a sudden Rene leaped up with a cry of joyous welcome, ashe saw Schmidt, large, bronzed and laughing, on the porch.

  "_Du Guter Himmel!_" he cried, "but I am content to be here. I have goodnews for you. _Ach_, let me sit down. Now listen. But first, is it allright, children!"

  "May I tell him in my way, Rene?"

  "Yes, of course; but what is your way?"

  "This is my way," said Margaret, and bending over, as the German sat onthe grass at her feet, she kissed him, saying, "as yet no one knows."

  "I am answered, Pearl, and now listen. This morning I met Mr. Randolphand Mr. Hamilton with the President. That was best before seeing you.Mr. Randolph was silent while I told the general plainly the story ofyour duel. _Ach_, but he has the trick of silence! A good one, too. WhenI had ended, he said, 'I am to be pardoned, sir, if I ask who in turnwill vouch for you as a witness?'"

  "Then I said, 'With my apologies to these gentlemen, may I be allowed abrief interview alone with your Excellency, or, rather, may I ask alsofor Mr. Hamilton to be present?' 'With your permission, Mr. Randolph,'the President said, and showed us into a small side room. There I toldhim."

  "Told him what?" asked Margaret.

  "Your husband may tell you, my dear, when you are married. I may as wellpermit it, whether I like it or not. You would get it out of him."

  "I should," she said; "but--it is dreadful to have to wait."

  "On our return, his Excellency said, 'Mr. Randolph, I am satisfied asregards the correctness of the Vicomte de Courval's account of Mr.Carteaux's treachery and of the vicomte's ignorance of his errand. Mr.Gouverneur sends me by Mr. Schmidt a letter concerning the despatch.'

  "Then Randolph asked quietly: 'Did he see it, sir?'

  "'He knows that the vicomte delivered a packet of papers to the _JeanBart_.'

  "'And without receipt for them or other evidence?'

  "'Yes. It so seems.'

  "'Then I regret to say that all we have heard appears to me, sir, toleave the matter where it was.'

  "'Not quite. Mr. Fauchet is out of office and about to go home.Carteaux, as Mr. Hamilton can tell you, refused to be questioned, andhas sailed for France. Adet, the new minister, will not urge the matter.You must pardon me, but, as it appears to me, an injustice has beendone.'

  "Randolph said testily: 'It is by no means clear to me, and until wehear of that despatch, it never will be.'

  "This smileless old man said, 'I am not free to speak of what Mr.Schmidt has confided to me, but it satisfies me fully.' Then he waitedto hear what Randolph would say."

  "And he?" said Rene, impatient.

  "Oh, naturally enough he was puzzled and I thought annoyed, but said, 'Ipresume, Mr. President, it is meant that I ought to offer this young manthe position he forfeited?'

  "'That, sir,' said the President, 'is for you to decide.'

  "Then Mr. Hamilton, who can be as foxy as Jefferson, said in a carelessway, 'I think I should wait a little.'

  "The moment he said that, I knew what would happen. Randolph said,'Pardon me, Mr. Hamilton, I prefer to conduct the affairs of mydepartment without aid.' They love not one another, these two. 'I am ofthe President's opinion. I shall write to the Vicomte de Courval.'

  "Mr. Hamilton did seem to me to amuse himself. He smiled a little andsaid: 'A pity to be in such a hurry. Time will make it all clearer.'Randolph made no reply. You will hear from him to-morrow."

  "I shall not accept," said Rene.

  "Yes, you must. It is a full answer to all criticism, and after what thePresident has said, you cannot refuse."

  "Mr. Schmidt is right, Rene," said Margaret. "Thou must take the place."

  "Good, wise little counselor!" said the German. "He will write you acourteous note, Rene. He has had, as Hamilton says, enough differenceswith the chief to make him willing to oblige him in a minor matter. Youmust take it."

  At last, it being so agreed, Schmidt went in to see Mrs. Swanwick and torelieve her as concerned a part, at least, of her troubles. The rest hewould talk about later.

  Even the vicomtesse was so good as to be pleased, and the evening mealwas more gay than usual.

  The next morning Rene received the following note:

  DEAR SIR: My opinion in regard to the matter under discussion of late having been modified somewhat, and the President favoring my action, it gives me pleasure to offer you the chance to return to the office.

  I have the honor to be,

  Your obedient friend and servant,

  EDMUND RANDOLPH.

  Schmidt laughed as he read it. "He does not like it. The dose is bitter.He thinks you will say no. But you will write simply, and accept withpleasure."

  "Yes, I see. I shall do as you say." He sent a simple note ofacceptance. A visit to the office of state settled the matter, and onthe day but one after receipt of the letter, Rene was well pleased to beonce more at his desk and busy.

  Meanwhile Schmidt had been occupied with long letters to Germany and hisaffairs in the city, but in the evening of the 12th of August, theyfound time for one of their old talks.

  "This matter of yours, and in fact of mine, Rene, does not fully satisfyme. I still hear much about it, and always of that infernal despatch."

  "It does not satisfy me, sir."

  "Well, it seems to me that it will have to. Long ago that despatch mustbe in Paris; but Mr. Monroe, our minister, could learn nothing about it.And so you two young folks have arranged your affairs. I can tell youthat Miss Gainor will be sorry to have had no hand in this business, andUncle Josiah, too."

  "That is droll enough. I am glad to have pleased somebody. We havethought it better not as yet to speak of it."

  "Have you told your mother, Rene? You may be sure that she will know, orguess at the truth, and resent being left in the dark."

  "That is true; but you may very well imagine tha
t I dread what she willsay of Margaret. We have never had a serious difference, and now it isto come. I shall talk to her to-morrow."

  "No, now. Get it over, sir. Get it over. I must go home again soon, andI want to see you married. Go now at once and get it over."

  "I suppose that will be as well."

  He went slowly up the winding staircase which was so remarkable afeature of the finer Georgian houses. Suddenly he was aware in thedarkness of Margaret on the landing above him.

  "Don't stop me," she said.

  "What is wrong!" he asked.

  "Everything. I told thee thy mother would know. She sent for me. I went.She was cruel--cruel--hard."

  "What, dear, did she say?"

  "I shall not tell thee. She insulted me and my mother. Ah, but shesaid--no, I shall not tell thee, nor mother. She sent for me, and Iwent. I had to tell her. Oh, I said that--that--I told her--I do notknow what I told her." She was on the edge of her first almostuncontrollable loss of self-government. It alarmed her pride, and atonce becoming calm, she added, "I told her that it was useless to talkto me, to say that it must end, that thou wouldst obey her. I--I justlaughed; yes, I did. And I told her she did not yet know her ownson--and--that some day she would regret what she had said to me, and,Rene, of my mother. I do not care--"

  "But I care, Margaret. I was this moment on my way to tell her."

  "Let me pass. I hope thou art worth what I have endured for thy sake.Let me pass." He went by her, troubled and aware that he too needed tokeep himself in hand. When he entered his mother's room he found herseated by the feeble candle-light, a rose of the never-finishedembroidery growing under her thin, skilful fingers.

  For her a disagreeable matter had been decisively dealt with and putaside; no trace of emotion betrayed her self-satisfaction at havingfinally settled an unpleasant but necessary business.

  In the sweet, low voice which seemed so out of relation to her severityof aspect, she said: "Sit down. I have been left to learn from the youngwoman of this entanglement. I should have heard it from you, or neverhave had to hear it at all."

  "Mother, I have been in very great trouble of late. That my disaster didtrouble you so little has been painful to me. But this is far worse. Iwaited to feel at ease about the other affair before I spoke to you ofmy intention to marry Miss Swanwick. I was on my way just now when I mether on the stair. I desire to say, mother--"

  She broke in: "It is useless to discuss this absurd business. It isover. I have said so to the young woman. That ends it. Now kiss me. Iwish to go to bed."

  "No," he said; "this does not end it."

  "Indeed, we shall see--a quite ordinary Quaker girl and a designingmother. It is all clear enough. Neither of you with any means, not alouis of dot--a nice wife to take home. Oh, I have expressed myselffully, and it was needed. She presumed to contradict me. _Ciel!_ I hadto be plain."

  "So it seems; but as I count for something, I beg leave to say,_maman_, that I mean to marry Margaret Swanwick."

  "You, the Vicomte de Courval!"

  He laughed bitterly. "What are titles here, or in France, to-day? Thereare a dozen starving nobles in this city, exiles and homeless. As tomoney, I have charge of Mr. Schmidt's affairs, and shall have. I am notwithout business capacity."

  "Business!" she exclaimed.

  "Well, no matter, mother. I pray you to be reasonable, and to rememberwhat these people have done for us: in health no end of kindness; insickness--mother, I owe to them my life."

  "They were paid, I presume."

  "_Mon Dieu_, mother! how can you say such things? It is incredible."

  "Rene, do you really mean to disobey me?"

  "I hope not to have to do so."

  "If you persist, you will have to. I shall never consent, never."

  "Then, mother,--and you force me to say it,--whether you agree to it ornot, I marry Margaret. You were hard to her and cruel."

  "No; I was only just and wise."

  "I do not see it; but rest assured that neither man nor woman shall partus. Oh, I have too much of you in me to be controlled in a matter whereboth love and honor are concerned."

  "Then you mean to make this _mesalliance_ against my will."

  "I mean, and that soon, to marry the woman I think worthy of any man'slove and respect."

  "She is as bad as you--two obstinate fools! I am sorry for yourchildren."

  "Mother!"

  "Well, and what now?"

  "It is useless to resist. It will do no good. It only hurts me. Did yourpeople want you to marry Jean de Courval, my father?"

  "No."

  "You did. Was it a _mesalliance?_"

  "They said so."

  "You set me a good example. I shall do as you did, if, after this, herpride does not come in the way."

  "Her pride, indeed! Will it be to-morrow, the marriage?"

  "Ah, dear mother, why will you hurt me so?"

  "I know you as if it were myself. I take the lesser of two evils." Andto his amazement, she said, "Send the girl up to me."

  "If she will come."

  "Come? Of course she will come." He shook his head and left her, butbefore he was out of the room, her busy hands were again on theembroidery-frame.

  "No, I will not go," said Margaret when he delivered his message.

  "For my sake, dear," said Rene, and at last, reluctant and still angry,Margaret went up-stairs.

  "Come in," said madame; "you have kept me waiting." The girl stood stillat the open door.

  "Do not stand there, child. Come here and sit down."

  "No," said Margaret, "I shall stand."

  "As you please, Mademoiselle. My son has made up his mind to an act offolly. I yield because I must. He is obstinate, as you will some daydiscover to your cost. I cannot say I am satisfied, but as you are to bemy daughter, I shall say no more. You may kiss me. I shall feel betterabout it in a few years, perhaps."

  Never, I suppose, was Margaret's power of self-command more sorelytried. She bent over, lifted the hand of the vicomtesse from theembroidery, and kissed it, saying, "Thou art Rene's mother, Madame,"and, turning, left the room.

  Rene was impatiently walking in the hall when Margaret came down thestair from this brief interview. She was flushed and still had in hereyes the light of battle. "I have done as you desired. I cannot talk anymore. I have had all I can stand. No, I shall not kiss thee. My kissesare spoilt for to-night." Then she laughed as she went up the broadstairway, and, leaning over the rail, cried: "There will be two forto-morrow. They will keep. Good night."

  The vicomtesse she left was no better pleased, and knew that she had hadthe worst of the skirmish.

  "I hate it. I hate it," she said, "but that was well done of the maid.Where did she get her fine ways?" She was aware, as Rene had said insome wrath, that she could not insult these kind people and continue toeat their bread. The dark lady with the wan, ascetic face, as of a saintof many fasts, could abide poverty and accept bad diet, but neverthelessdid like very well the things which make life pleasant, and had beenmore than comfortable amid the good fare and faultless cleanliness ofthe Quaker house.

  She quite well understood that the matter could not remain in theposition in which she had left it. She had given up too easily; but nowshe must take the consequences. Therefore it was that the next day afterbreakfast she said to Margaret, "I desire to talk to you a little."

  "Certainly, Madame. Will the withdrawing-room answer?"

  "Yes, here or there." Margaret closed the door as she followed thevicomtesse, and after the manner of her day stood while the elder womansat very upright in the high-backed chair prophetically designed for herfigure and the occasion.

  "Pray be seated," she said. "I have had a white night, Mademoiselle, ifyou know what that is. I have been sleepless." If this filled Margaretwith pity, I much doubt. "I have had to elect whether I quarrel with myson or with myself. I choose the latter, and shall say no more thanthis--I am too straightforward to avoid meeting face to face thehardships of life."


  "Bless me, am I the hardship?" thought Margaret, her attitude of defiantpride somewhat modified by assistant sense of the comic.

  "I shall say only this: I have always liked you. Whether I shall everlove you or not, I do not know. I have never had room in my heart formore than one love. God has so made me," which the young woman thoughtdid comfortably and oddly shift responsibility, and thus further aidedto restore her good humor.

  "We shall be friends, Margaret." She rose as she spoke, and setting herhands on Margaret's shoulders as she too stood, said: "You arebeautiful, child, and you have very good manners. There are things to bedesired, the want of which I much regret; otherwise--" She felt as ifshe had gone far enough. "Were these otherwise, I should have beensatisfied." Then she kissed her coldly on the forehead.

  Margaret said, "I shall try, Madame, to be a good daughter," and,falling back, courtesied, and left the tall woman to her meditations.

  Madame de Courval and Mary Swanwick knew that soon or late what theirchildren had settled they too must discuss. Neither woman desired it,the vicomtesse aware that she might say more than she meant to say, theQuaker matron in equal dread lest things might be said which would makethe future difficult. Mary Swanwick usually went with high courage tomeet the calamities of life, and just at present it is to be feared thatshe thus classified the stern puritan dame. But now she would wait nolonger, and having so decided on Saturday, she chose Sunday morning,when--and she smiled--the vicomtesse having been to Gloria Dei and sheherself to Friends' meeting, both should be in a frame of mind for whatshe felt might prove a trial of good temper.

  Accordingly, having heard the gentle Friend Howell discourse, and bentin silent prayer for patience and charity, she came home and waiteduntil from the window of Schmidt's room she saw the tall, black figureapproach.

  She went out to the hall and let in Madame de Courval, saying: "I havewaited for thee. Wilt thou come into the withdrawing-room? I have thatto say which may no longer be delayed."

  "I myself had meant to talk with you of this unfortunate matter. It isas well to have it over." So saying she followed her hostess. Both womensat upright in the high-backed chairs, the neat, gray-clad Quaker lady,tranquil and rosy; the black figure of the Huguenot dame, sallow, withgrave, unmoved features, a strange contrast.

  "I shall be pleased to hear you, Madame Swanwick."

  "It is simple. I have long seen that there was a growth of attachmentbetween our children. I did not--I do not approve it."

  "Indeed," said Madame de Courval, haughtily. What was this woman to sitin judgment on the Vicomte de Courval?

  "I have done my best to keep them apart. I spoke to Margaret, and senther away again and again as thou knowest. It has been in vain, and nowhaving learned that thou hast accepted a condition of things we doneither of us like, I have thought it well to have speech of thee."

  "I do not like it, and I never shall. I have, however, yielded areluctant consent. I cannot quarrel with my only child; but I shallnever like it--never."

  "Never is a long day."

  "I am not of those who change. There is no fitness in it, none. My sonis of a class far above her. They are both poor." A sharp reply to thereference to social distinctions was on Mary Swanwick's tongue. Sheresisted the temptation, and said quietly:

  "Margaret will not always be without means; my uncle will give her, onhis death, all he has; and as to class, Madame, the good Master to whomwe prayed this morning, must--"

  "It is not a matter for discussion," broke in the elder woman.

  "No; I agree with thee. It is not, but--were it not as well that twoChristian gentlewomen should accept the inevitable without reserve andnot make their children unhappy?"

  "Gentlewomen!"

  Mary Swanwick reddened. "I said so. We, too, are not without the prideof race you value. A poor business, but,"--and she looked straight atthe vicomtesse, unable to resist the temptation to retort--"we are notgiven to making much of it in speech."

  Madame de Courval had at times entertained Margaret with some of thegrim annals of her father's people. Now, feeling the thrust, and notliking it, or that she had lost her temper, she shifted her ground, andbeing at heart what her hostess described as a gentlewoman, saidstiffly: "I beg pardon; I spoke without thought." At this momentMargaret entered, and seeing the signals of discomposure on both faces,said: "Oh, you two dear people whom I love and want to love more andmore, you are talking of me and of Rene. Shall I give him up, Madame,and send him about his business."

  "Do, dear," laughed her mother, relieved.

  There was no mirth to be had out of it for Yvonne de Courval.

  "It is not a matter for jesting," she said. "He is quite too like me tobe other than obstinate, and this, like what else of the trials God hasseen fit to send, is to be endured. He is too like me to change."

  "Then," said Margaret, gaily, "thou must be like him."

  "I suppose so," said the vicomtesse, with a note of melancholy in hertones.

  "Then if thou art like him, thou wilt have to love me," cried Margaret.The mother smiled at this pretty logic, but the Huguenot dame sat up onher chair, resentful of the affectionate familiarity of the girl'sgaiety.

  "Your mother and I have talked, and what use is it? I shall try to carefor you, and love may come. But I could have wished--"

  "Oh, no!" cried Margaret. "Please to say no more. Thou will only hurtme."

  "I remain of the same opinion; I am not of a nature which allows me tochange without reason."

  "And as for me," said Mrs. Swanwick, smiling as she rose, "I yield whenI must."

  "I, too," said the dark lady; "but to yield outwardly is not to give upmy opinions, nor is it easy or agreeable to do so. We will speak of itanother time, Madame Swanwick." But they never did, and so thisinterview ended with no very good result, except to make both women feelthat further talk would be of no use, and that the matter was settled.

  As the two mothers rose, Miss Gainor entered, large, smiling, fresh fromChrist Church. Quick to observe, she saw that something unusual hadoccurred, and hesitated between curiosity and the reserve which goodmanners exacted.

  "Good morning," she said. "I heard that Mr. Schmidt had come back, andso I came at once from church to get all the news from Europe for thePenns, where I go to dine."

  "Europe is unimportant," cried Margaret, disregarding a warning lookfrom her mother. "I am engaged to be married to Monsieur deCourval--and--everybody--is pleased. Dear Aunt Gainor, I like itmyself."

  "I at least am to be excepted," said the vicomtesse, "as Mademoiselleknows. I beg at present to be saved further discussion. May I beexcused--"

  "It seems, Madame," returned Miss Wynne, smiling, "to have got past theneed for discussion. I congratulate you with all my heart."

  "_Mon Dieu!_" exclaimed the vicomtesse, forgetful of her Huguenottraining, and swept by Miss Gainor's most formal courtesy and was gone.

  "Dear child," cried Mistress Wynne, as she caught Margaret in her arms,"I am glad as never before. The vicomte has gone back to the serviceand--you are to marry--oh, the man of my choice. The poor vicomtesse,alas! Where is the vicomte?"

  "He is out just now. We did mean to tell thee this evening."

  "Ah! I am glad it came earlier, this good news. May I tell them at thegovernor's?"

  "I may as well say yes," cried Margaret. "Thou wouldst be sure to tell."

  "I should," said Gainor.