Part 55 (1/2)

”Well, Rene,” said Schmidt, behind him, ”which are to be preferred, those underneath or those above ground?”

”I do not know. You startled me. To-day, for me, those above ground.”

”When a man has had both experiences he may be able to answer--or not. I once told you I liked to come here. This is my last call upon these dead, some of whom I loved. What fetched you hither?”

”Oh, I was lightly wandering with good news,” and he told him of the lost Despatch No. 10, and that it was to be for the time a secret.

”At last!” said Schmidt. ”I knew it would come. The world may congratulate you. I am not altogether grieved that you have been through this trial. I, too, have my news. Edmund Randolph has resigned within an hour or so. Mr. Wolcott has just heard it from the President. Oh, the wild confusion of things! If you had not sent that despatch on its way, Randolph would not have fallen. A fatal paper. Let us go home, Rene.”

”But how, sir, does it concern Mr. Randolph?”

”Pickering has talked of it to Bingham, whom I have seen just now, and I am under the impression that Fauchet's despatch charged Randolph with asking for money. It was rather vague, as I heard it.”

”I do not believe it,” said Rene.

”A queer story,” said Schmidt. ”A wild Jacobin's despatch ruins his Secretary for life, disgraces for a time an _emigre_ n.o.ble, turns out a cabinet minister--what fancy could have invented a stranger tale? Come, let us leave these untroubled dead.”

Not until December of that year, 1795, did Randolph's pamphlet, known as his ”Vindication,” appear. This miserable business concerns us here solely as it affected the lives of my characters. It has excited much controversy, and even to this day, despite Fauchet's explanations to Randolph and the knowledge we now have of the papers mentioned as No. 3 and No. 6, it remains in a condition to puzzle the most astute historian. Certainly few things in diplomatic annals are more interesting than the adventures of Despatch No. 10. The verdict of ”not proven” has been the conclusion reached by some writers, while despite Randolph's failure to deny the charges at once, as he did later, it is possible that Fauchet misunderstood him or lied, although why he should have done so is difficult to comprehend.

The despatch, as we have seen, affected more persons than the unfortunate Secretary. Dr. Chovet left the city in haste when he heard of Schmidt's return, and Aunt Gainor lamented as among the not minor consequences the demise of her two G.o.ds and the blue china mandarin. She was in some degree comforted by the difficult business of Margaret's marriage outfit, for Schmidt, overjoyed at the complete justification of De Courval, insisted that there must be no delay, since he himself was obliged to return to Germany in October.

Mrs. Swanwick would as usual accept no money help, and the preparations should be simple, she said, nor was it a day of vulgar extravagance in bridal presents. Margaret, willing enough to delay, and happy in the present, was slowly making her way to what heart there was in the Huguenot dame. Margaret at her joyous best was hard to resist, and now made love to the vicomtesse, and, ingenuously ready to serve, wooed her well and wisely in the interest of peace.

What Madame de Courval most liked about Margaret was a voice as low and as melodious in its changes as her own, so that, as Schmidt said, ”It is music, and what it says is of the lesser moment.” Thus one day at evening as they sat on the porch, Margaret murmured in the ear of the dark lady: ”I am to be married in a few days; wilt not thou make me a little wedding gift?”

”My dear Margaret,” cried Rene, laughing, ”the jewels all went in England, and except a son of small value, what can my mother give you?”

”But, him I have already,” cried Margaret. ”What I want, madame has--oh, and to spare.”

”Well, and what is it I am to give?” said madame, coldly.

”A little love,” she whispered.

”Ah, do you say such things to Rene?”

”No, never. It is he who says them to me. Oh, I am waiting. A lapful I want of thee,” and she held up her skirts to receive the gift.

”How saucy thou art,” said Mrs. Swanwick.

”It is no affair of thine, Friend Swanwick,” cried the Pearl. ”I wait, Madame.”

”I must borrow of my son,” said the vicomtesse. ”It shall be ready at thy wedding. Thou wilt have to wait.”

”Ah,” said Rene, ”we can wait. Come, let us gather some peaches, Margaret,” and as they went down the garden, he added: ”My mother said 'thou' to you. Did you hear?”

”Yes, I heard. She was giving me what I asked, and would not say so.”

”Yes, it was not like her,” said the vicomte, well pleased.

The September days went by, and to all outward appearance Madame de Courval accepted with no further protest what it was out of her power to control. Uncle Josiah insisted on settling upon Margaret a modest income, and found it the harder to do so because, except Mistress Gainor Wynne, no one was disposed to differ with him. That lady told him it was shabby. To which he replied that there would be the more when he died.

”Get a permanent ground-rent on your grave,” said Gainor, ”or never will you lie at rest.”