Part 13 (1/2)

In a moment the German knew that he was crossing blades with a master of the small sword. Margaret and De Courval looked on merrily exchanging gay glances.

”Dead,” cried De Forest, as he struck fair over the German's heart, ”and a d.a.m.n good hit!”

”Well played!” cried Schmidt--”the jest and the rapier. Another bout--no!” To his surprise he saw the Quaker gentleman's face change as he hastily put on his coat.

”Thank thee,” he said to De Courval as the young man handed him his hat, and without other words than ”I bid thee good day. I shall not bide this afternoon,” went into the hall and out of the farther door, pa.s.sing with bowed head and without a word a gentleman who entered.

Schmidt showed little of the astonishment easily read on De Courval's face, who, however, said nothing, having been taught to be chary of comments on his elders; and now taking up his foil again, fell on guard.

”A man haunted by his past,” said Schmidt, as was in fact explained at breakfast next day, when Mrs. Swanwick, being questioned, said: ”Yes. He was a colonel in the war, and of reckless courage. Later he returned to Friends, and now and then has lapses in his language and his ways, and is filled with remorse.”

”The call of the sword was too much for him,” said Schmidt. ”I can comprehend that. But he had a minute of the joy of battle.”

”And then,” said the Pearl, ”he had a war with himself.”

”The maid is beginning to think,” said Schmidt to himself. But this was all on the next day.

As the tall man came out on the porch, Margaret said: ”My mother is occupied. Friend Schmidt, thou knowest Friend Jefferson; and this is our new lodger,” and she said boldly, ”the Vicomte de Courval.”

”Ah,” exclaimed Jefferson, ”we have met before. And madame is well, I trust?”

”Yes; but at this hour she rests. We owe you, sir, our thanks for the good chance of finding what has been to us most truly a home.”

Margaret looked up pleased, she did not fully know why. And so he did really like them and their quiet home?

Presently Schmidt said to Jefferson: ”There is sad news from France, Mr.

Secretary.”

”Good news, Citizen; altogether good. What if men die that a people may live? Men die in war. What is the difference? t.i.tles will go, a king be swept on to the dust-heap of history.” A hot answer was on the lips of the young n.o.ble. He turned, vexed at the loss of his chance as Alexander Hamilton and Mrs. Swanwick joined them. Jefferson ceased to speak to Schmidt, and the two statesmen met with the formal courtesy of bitter hatred. Jefferson could see no good in the brilliant finance of the man who now talked with courteous ease to one or another. The new-comer was slight of figure, bright-eyed, with the deep line so rarely seen where the nose meets the forehead, and above all graceful, as few men are. The face was less mobile than that of Jefferson, who resembled to a strange degree the great actor of his name, a resemblance only to be explained by some common English ancestry in an untraceable past. He had been to a bad school in France as minister, and perhaps had by this time forgotten the day when he desired his agent in London to find for him a coat of arms.

Presently, after a talk with Mrs. Swanwick, Jefferson, ill-pleased to meet Hamilton, was of a mind to go. Quite aware that he meant to leave a little sting, he said: ”I must be gone. Good-by”; and to Hamilton: ”You have heard, no doubt, the good news from France--Citizen?”

”I have heard of needless murder and of a weak, ill-served, kindly king insulted by a mob of ruffians.”

Jefferson's thin face grew yet more somber; but what reply the secretary might have made was put aside by the cheerful coming of a man in plain, but not Quaker clothes, a republican Jacobin of the maddest, as was seen by his interchange of ”Citizen” with Jefferson, and the warm welcome he received. Thus reinforced, Jefferson lingered where Mrs. Swanwick and Margaret were busy with the hot chocolate, which Hamilton, from youthful habit, liked. At a word from their hostess, De Courval took a basket, and presently brought from the garden slope peaches such as any back yard among us grew in my childhood--yellow clingstones and open hearts.

The widow ministered to the other statesman, who liked peaches and was not to be neglected even for her favorite Hamilton, now busily discussing with Schmidt the news sent by Gouverneur Morris.

The new-comer had paid no least attention to his hostess, but sat down at the table and fingered the jumbles, apees, and cake known as ”lovers'-knots” of Nanny's make, until he discovered one to his fancy.

Mrs. Swanwick gave no obvious sign of annoyance, but smilingly stirred the chocolate, while Margaret quietly removed the dish of cakes and gave the guest a slice of sweetened bread known as ”Dutch loaf.”

”There are fewer currants in the cake than there were last week,”

remarked the astronomer, for, as Schmidt said in an aside to De Courval and Hamilton, as they watched the great eat like lesser folk: ”This is the famous astronomer, David Rittenhouse. He divides his thoughts between the heavens and his diet; and what else there is of him is Jacobin.”

”I wish,” said Hamilton, ”that heaven equally engaged the rest of his party. May not I have my chocolate, Mrs. Swanwick?”

”Certainly; and might I be noticed a little?” said Mrs. Swanwick to Rittenhouse. The absent-minded philosopher looked up and said:

”I forgot. Pardon me, Citess.”

Hamilton laughed merrily. ”Is that the last invention?”