"And who is Monsieur de St. Aulaire?" inquired Calvert.

"A most charming man and consummate villain," says Beaufort, with a gloomy smile. "The _fine fleur_ of our aristocracy, a maker of tender rhymes, a singer of tender songs, a good swordsman, a brilliant wit, a perfect courtier, a lucky gambler--in a word, just that fortunate combination of n.o.ble and ign.o.ble qualities most likely to fascinate Madame de St. Andre," and a shadow settled for a moment on the debonair face of Monsieur de Beaufort.

It did not need that shadow or that effort at light raillery to inform Calvert that Beaufort himself was an unsuccessful unit in the "score of gentlemen who dangled after" Madame de St. Andre, and he would have essayed to offer his friend some comfort had he known how. But the truth was that Calvert, never having experienced the anguish and delights of love, felt a natural hesitation in proffering either sympathy or advice to one so much wiser than himself.

While he was revolving some expression of interest (it was always his way to think well before speaking and to keep silent if his thoughts were not to his entire satisfaction), a sudden murmur, which rapidly developed into a deep roar as it drew nearer, was heard outside, and at the Cafe de l'ecole the shouting ceased and one man's voice, harsh, incisive, agitated, could be heard above all the others. Looking through the wide gla.s.s doors Calvert and Beaufort saw in the gathering dusk the possessor of that voice being raised hurriedly upon the shoulders of those who stood nearest him in the throng, and in that precarious position he remained for a few minutes haranguing the turbulent ma.s.s of people. Suddenly he sprang down, and, elbowing his way through the crowd, he entered the Cafe de l'ecole, followed by as many as could squeeze themselves into the already crowded room.

"What is it?" Beaufort demanded, languidly, of Bertrand. The man, by tiptoeing, was trying to see over the heads of the smokers and drinkers, who had risen to their feet and were applauding the orator who had just entered.

"It is Monsieur Danton who is come in. He is making his way to the caisse, doubtless to speak with Madame, his wife. Evidently Monsieur has just addressed a throng in the Gardens."

"Ah! then 'tis certainly time that we go, since Monsieur Danton invades the place. 'Tis a poverty-stricken young lawyer from Arcis-sur-Aube, my dear Calvert," said Beaufort, disdainfully, "who has but lately come to Paris and who, having no briefs to occupy his time, fills it to good advantage by wooing and marrying the pretty Charpentier. The pretty Charpentier has a pretty dot. I can't show you the dot, but come with me and I will show you the beauty."

He got up from the table followed by Calvert and, with his hand laid lightly on his silver dress sword, made his way easily through the surly crowd, who, seemingly impelled by some irresistible power and against their wish, opened a pa.s.sage for him and the young stranger. As they drew near the comptoir, Calvert perceived for the first time, leaning against it, the man who had created such an excitement by his words and sudden entrance. He was a big, burly figure, with a head and face that had something of the bull in them. Indeed, they had come by that resemblance honestly, for a bull had tossed him, goring the lips and flattening the nose, and the marks were never to be effaced. Smallpox, too, had left its sign in the deeply scarred skin. Only the eyes remained to show one what might have been the original beauty of the face. They shone, brilliant and keen, from beneath great tufted eyebrows, above which waved a very lion's mane of rough, dark hair.

"A face to be remembered, this Monsieur Danton's," said Calvert to himself. And, indeed, it was. Years afterward, when he saw it again and for the last time, every detail of that rugged countenance was as fresh in his memory as it was at that moment in the Cafe de l'ecole. As for Danton, all unconscious of the young American's scrutiny, his gaze was bent upon the pretty, vivacious little beauty who sat behind the caisse, and had so lately become Madame Danton. As he looked, the harsh features softened and a sentimental expression came into the keen eyes. "'Tis the same conquered, slavish look the painter hath put into the lion's face when Ariadne is by," mused Calvert to himself.

Beaufort was counting out silver pieces slowly, and slowly dropping them on the caissiere's desk. He looked at Calvert and nodded appreciatively, coolly toward Madame Danton.

"Quelle charmante tete," he said, lightly, nonchalantly.

The burly figure leaning on the comptoir straightened up as if stung into action; the softened eyes kindled with speechless wrath and flamed into the imperturbable, debonair face of Monsieur de Beaufort. One of the silver pieces rolled upon the floor. Calvert stooped quickly for it.

"Madame will permit me," he said, courteously, and, lifting his hat, placed the coin upon the desk. Without another look or word he turned and, followed leisurely by Beaufort, made his way to the door.

"An insolent," said Danton, savagely, to Madame, and gazing after Beaufort's retreating back.

"Yes," returned Madame, grinding her pretty teeth with rage--"Monsieur le Vicomte de Beaufort is an insolent--and not for the first time."

"I shall remember Monsieur le Vicomte de Beaufort's insolence as well as I shall remember the Englishman's politeness."

Bertrand edged nearer the herculean Monsieur Danton. "Pardon, M'sieur,"

he commenced, nervously, "it is not an Englishman--it is an American--a young American officer--Monsieur Calvert--aide-decamp to Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette, before Yorktown. A patriot of patriots, Messieurs," he went on, turning to the listening throng about him; "a lover of freedom, a compa.s.sionate heart. He saved me from death, Messieurs, he gave me money, he sent me clothing, he saw that I was fed and cared for, Messieurs." He told his story with many gesticulations and much emphasis, interrupted now and then by huzzas for the young American.

Calvert would have been vastly astonished to know that the lifting of his hat and his courteous tone had contrived to make a popular hero of him; as much astonished, perhaps, as Beaufort to know that his careless, impertinent compliment to Madame Danton's charming head had sealed the fate of his own. But 'tis in this hap-hazard fashion that the destiny of mortals is decided. We are but the victims of chance or mischance. Of all vainglorious philosophies, that of predestination is the vainest.

Outside, the night had fallen, and the shops, arcades, and gardens of the Palais Royal were ablaze with innumerable candles and illuminated Chinese lanterns. Before the entrance Monsieur de Beaufort's groom was walking his half-frozen and restless horses up and down the icy street.

Beaufort laid his hand on Calvert's arm. "Come," he said, gloomily, "the place is become insufferable. Let me take you back to the Legation."

Springing in he turned his horses' heads once more toward the Place Louis XV. and the Champs Elysees, and, while he guided them through the crowded and badly lighted thoroughfare, Calvert had leisure to think upon the events of the last hour. It was with resentment and shame he reflected upon his friend's airy insolence to the pretty caissiere of the Cafe de l'ecole. That it should have been offered in her husband's presence was a gratuitous aggravation of the offence. That it should have been offered her with such disdainful contempt for any objection on her part or her husband's, with such easy a.s.surance that there could be no objections on their part, was another gratuitous aggravation of the offence. In that n.o.ble insolence Calvert read a sign of the times more legible than the clearest writing in the pamphlets flooding the book-stalls of the Palais Royal.

CHAPTER V

THE PRIVATE SECRETARY

They drove in silence almost to the rue Neuve de Berry, Calvert musing on the strange glimpse he had had of life in Paris, Beaufort busy with his restless horses. At the grille of the Legation Calvert alighted and Beaufort bade him good-by, still with the gloomy, foreboding look on his handsome face.

When Calvert had mounted the great stairway, with the carved salamanders on the bal.u.s.trade ever crawling their way up and down, he found Mr.

Jefferson sitting alone before the bright fire in his library. As soon as he heard the young man's step he looked up eagerly.

"At last!" he cried. "I was wishing that you would come in. Mr. Morris has just been despatched in my carriage to the rue Richelieu, and I was beginning to wonder what that wild Beaufort had done with you to keep you so late."

"We are but just returned from a sight of the Palais Royal," said Calvert, throwing off his great-coat and sitting down beside Mr.

Jefferson, who rang for candles and a box of his Virginia tobacco. "And a strange enough sight it was--a turbulent crowd, and much political speaking from hoa.r.s.e-throated giants held aloft on their friends'

shoulders." "A strange enough place, indeed," said Mr. Jefferson, shaking his head and smiling a little at Calvert's wholesale description of it. "'Tis the political centre of Paris, in fact, and though the crowds may be turbulent and the orators windy, yet 'tis there that the fruitful seed of the political harvest, which this great country will reap with such profit, is being sown. 'Despise not the day of small things,'" he went on, cheerfully. "These rude, vehement orators, with their narrow, often erroneous, ideas, are nevertheless doing a good work. They are opening the minds of the ignorant, clearing a way for broader, higher ideals to lodge therein; they are the pioneers, in this. .h.i.therto undiscovered country for France, of civil liberty, and of freedom of thought and action."

"And these vehement orators, with their often erroneous ideas--will they do no harm? Will these pioneers not lead their fellows astray in that undiscovered country?" suggested Calvert, not without a blush to think that he had the temerity to question the soundness of Mr. Jefferson's views.

"Were we not inexperienced, hot-headed men who gathered in the Apollo room at the Raleigh to protest against the proceedings in Ma.s.sachusetts?

Were we not rash, windy orators in the House of Burgesses--nay, in Congress itself? Yet did we not accomplish great things--great good?" He laid his hand affectionately on the shoulder of the young man who remained silent, revolving many things, Aeneas-like, but too modest to oppose himself further to Mr. Jefferson.

"No, no, my boy," continued Mr. Jefferson, after an instant's silence, "do not believe that the awakening which made of us a great nation will not be equally glorious for France! And with such leaders as are hers, will she not march proudly and triumphantly forward to her day of glory?

Will not a Lafayette do even more for his own country than ever he did for America? Even I have been able to help somewhat. 'Tis true, as Minister from the United States of America, I cannot use my official influence, but surely as a patriot, as an American citizen who is profoundly, overwhelmingly grateful for the aid, the generosity, the friendship of this great country, I can give counsel, the results of our experience, a word of encouragement, of good cheer."

He paused, his n.o.ble face alight with enthusiasm and emotion. Of all the fine traits of that fine character none was more strongly marked than that of grat.i.tude. Never ashamed to show it, his only fear was that he might not prove grateful enough. Other Americans, of as great talents and colder hearts, could find it easy to believe that France had extended her aid to us for diplomatic purposes--to guard her own interests and humble her adversary, England--could look on with neutral eyes at her awful struggles, could keep America calmly aloof from all her entanglements. Not so Mr. Jefferson. Such a return for her services seemed to him but the acme of selfishness and ingrat.i.tude. It was not bad statesmanship that made him bear so long with the blunders, the impertinences, the fatuity of Monsieur Genet; it was the remembrance of all the benefits showered upon us by the country which that charlatan represented. Perhaps 'tis well that those who hold the welfare of a nation in their hands should, like the G.o.ds, feel neither fear, nor anger, nor love, nor hatred, nor grat.i.tude--in a word, should be unmoved by forces that sway the common mortal, so that, free from all earthly claims, that nation soars away to dizzying heights of prosperity and power. _Pro bono publico_ is a wellnigh irresistible plea. But there are statesmen in whose code of morals national virtues are identical with personal virtues, national crimes with personal crimes. Such a one was Mr. Jefferson.

"No, no," he went on, musingly, filling his long pipe with the mild, fragrant Virginia tobacco which had been shipped to him in the packet of two months back, "we must not forget our obligations. Would that we could pay some of the moneyed ones! The finances of this country are in a deplorable state and there are millions of indebtedness on account of our war. But if we cannot do that, we can, at least, give our moral aid to those who are trying to bring about great reforms in this kingdom--reforms which, I hope, will be carried through at the forthcoming States-General to be held in May. Already the elections are preparing, and some of our friends will undoubtedly represent their orders. D'Azay and Lafayette will a.s.suredly be nominated from the n.o.blesse."

"General de Lafayette and d'Azay!" said Calvert. "I should like to see them again. The last time was at Monticello."

"Yes, yes," returned Mr. Jefferson, smiling at the pleasant recollection of that last evening in Virginia. "Lafayette is still in Auvergne, I believe, busy with his elections, so that I fear he will not be here tomorrow, the evening of the weekly Legation reception. But d'Azay will doubtless present himself, since Monsieur de Beaufort tells us he returns tomorrow. Indeed, he and his aunt, Madame la d.u.c.h.esse d'Azay, and his sister, the lovely Madame de St. Andre, are among my stanchest friends in this great city and nearly always do me the honor to be my guests at the receptions and dinners I find it both so agreeable and necessary to give. I have already engaged Mr. Morris's company for the evening. It will give me great pleasure to introduce two such Americans to the world of Paris," and he laid his hand affectionately, in his customary fashion, on the young man's shoulder.

As Mr. Jefferson had said, he entertained frequently, and 'twas a very brilliant society that gathered at least once a week in the salon of the minister from the young Republic, drawn thither by policy, curiosity, respect and admiration for Mr. Jefferson, a desire to consult him on the important topics of the hour, and a certain freedom from constraint--a feeling as of being on neutral ground. For already the salons of Paris were divided against themselves. No longer simply the gatherings of fashionable, of charming, of frivolous men and women, they had grown somewhat serious with the seriousness of the time. In the salon of Madame Necker gathered the solid supporters of the King, and, above all, the solid supporters of Monsieur Necker, who was at the height of his power and complacently ready to play the role of saviour to his country. At the Palais Royal crowded the queer followers of Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans, the enemies of the King. At the house of the beautiful Theroigne de Mericourt were to be found the men of the most advanced, the most revolutionary, ideas, the future murderers and despoilers of France. In the salon of the exquisite Madame de Sabran flocked all those young aristocrats, wits, sprigs of n.o.bility, who believed in nothing in Heaven or earth save in the Old Order. There was the serious circle around Madame de Tesse, where new ideas were advanced and discussed, and there was the gay circle of Madame de Beauharnais, whose chief attractions were her delightful dinners, and who, the wits declared, had "intended to found a salon, but had only succeeded in starting a restaurant." Besides these, there were a dozen other important centres representing as many different shades of political faith. But in the salon of the American Legation gathered the best of every following, for, although Mr. Jefferson's democratic principles were, of course, well and widely known, yet was he so respected, his moderation and fairness so recognized, that all considered it an honor to be his friend and his presence a guarantee of amicable discussion and good-fellowship.

"I shall be very glad to meet your new friends, sir," said Calvert, smiling back at Mr. Jefferson as that gentleman arose and stood with his back to the fire, his tall, thin figure silhouetted by the firelight on the wall (the candles were still unlit), his hands clasped lightly behind his back, as was his wont. "I had the pleasure of meeting an old one this afternoon."

"Indeed," said Mr. Jefferson, "and who was that?"

"A poor French private named Bertrand, who served in a company under General de Lafayette's orders in the attack on Yorktown, and whom I had the occasion to know rather well. I fancy," he went on, smiling a little at the recollection of Beaufort's haughtiness, "that Beaufort was somewhat amazed at the cordiality of our meeting."

"Beaufort!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Jefferson, and a slight frown gathered on his forehead. "I fancy that Beaufort and his ilk will be amazed at many things shortly. Ned, I warn you to beware of him. He has changed greatly since the days when he fought so gallantly under Rochambeau in our great War of Independence. He has become an aristocrat of aristocrats, a popinjay, a silken dandy, like most of the young n.o.bles at this court.

He is high in the King's favor and devoted to his cause. Though your friendships and opinions can have no official weight, as you are my private secretary, still 'twere well to be careful, to be as neutral as possible, to occasion no offence. And, indeed, Mr. Secretary," he went on, shaking off his serious air and speaking in a lighter tone, "I should be instructing you in your duties, explaining the diplomatic situation to you, instead of discussing foolish young n.o.blemen like Monsieur de Beaufort."

"I shall remember your advice, Mr. Jefferson," said Calvert, quietly, "and I am ready for any instructions and duties."

"After all, 'twill be unwise to begin them this evening," returned Mr.

Jefferson, shaking his head. "You are doubtless wearied with your journey, and we had better postpone your induction into office until to-morrow, when we can take the whole day for business. You can have no idea, my dear Ned, of the numberless affairs put into our hands," he went on, with a note of anxiety in his voice, "or with what difficulty many of them are arranged. The constant change of ministers is most disconcerting among the many disconcerting factors of official existence here, and just now I am hara.s.sed by my non-success in getting from Congress an appropriation to pay bills for medals and for the redemption of our captives. It seems that the interest on the Dutch loans until 1790 must be paid before other claims, which leaves but a small chance for those bills to be liquidated. By the way, to-morrow you must write me a letter to Monsieur de Villedeuil a propos of a Mr. Nesbit and his debts--an affair lately put into our care. But there! no business this evening. 'Tis but a short while before dinner, which you and I will take quite alone this evening, Ned, and you must tell me of yourself and what you have been doing all these years at the College of Princeton."

Mr. Jefferson looked at the young man before him with such affectionate interest that Calvert, though he was the least talkative or egotistic of mortals, found himself telling of his college life, the vacations at Strath.o.r.e, and his visits to Philadelphia and New York.

Now and then one sees a person in the _mezzo cammin_ of his years so happily const.i.tuted by nature as to attract and be attracted by youth.

He seems to hold some fortunate, ever-youthful principle of life denied to the rest of us. It was so with Mr. Jefferson. Statesman, philosopher, scientist himself, he yet numbered the young and inexperienced among his many friends, and not one of them held so warm a place in his affections as young Calvert of Strath.o.r.e. He had received from Dr. Witherspoon the accounts of his career at college, where, although never greatly popular, he had won his way by his quiet self-reliance, entire sincerity, and the accuracy and solidity of his mind rather than by any brilliancy of intellect. These sterling gifts had first attracted Mr.

Jefferson's notice and excited his admiration and affection. The lonely condition of the young man, too, though borne by him in that uncomplaining fashion characteristic of him, touched Mr. Jefferson, the more, perhaps, for the very silence and stoicism with which 'twas supported. He was, therefore, greatly surprised when he heard Calvert allude to it for the first time on that winter's afternoon. The young man had taken Mr. Jefferson's place before the open fire and now stood leaning against the chimney-piece as he talked, while Mr. Jefferson, sitting beside the reading-table, drew deep whiffs of the fragrant tobacco from his long pipe and listened interestedly to what Calvert had to say, smiling now and then appreciatively. After a little the young man ceased to speak and stood gazing meditatively into the glowing logs.

"A word more, Mr. Jefferson," he said, at length, still gazing into the gleaming embers. As he stood so, looking down into the fire, the flickering light leaped up and played upon his quiet face, upon the clean-cut lips, the firm jaw, the aquiline nose, the broad, smooth brow, from which the dark-brown hair, unpowdered, waved back, tied at the neck with a black ribbon whose ends fell down upon the broad young shoulders.