she added, gently despotic.

As Miss Wynne pa.s.sed by, the girl saw her courtesy, and, closing the door, said to herself, "I think I could do it," and fell to courtesying on the broad landing. "I should like to do that for Friend Nicholas Waln," and gaily laughing, she went out and down the garden to deliver her message to the young vicomte.

Neither man, woman nor the French tongue dismayed Mistress Wynne.

"_C'etait un long calembourg_, my son," the vicomtesse said later--"a long conundrum, a long charade of words to represent _le bon Dieu_ knows what. Ah, a tonic, truly. I was amused as I am not often." In fact, she was rarely receptively humorous and never productively so. Now she spoke slowly, in order to be understood, comprehending the big woman and knowing her at once for a lady of her own world with no provincial drawbacks, a woman at her ease, and serenely unconscious of, or indifferent to, the quality of the astounding tongue in which she spoke.

She talked of London and of the French emigrant n.o.bles in Philadelphia, of the Marquis de la Garde, who taught dancing; of the Comte du Vallon, who gave lessons in fencing; of De Malerive, who made ice-cream. Madame, interested, questioned her until they got upon unhappy France, when she shifted the talk and spoke of the kindness of Mr. Wynne.

"It will soon be too hot here," said Gainor, "and then I shall have you at the Hill--Chestnut Hill, and in a week I shall come for you to ride in my landau,"--there were only four in the city,--"and the vicomte shall drive with you next Sat.u.r.day. You may not know that my niece Mrs.

Wynne was of French Quakers from the Midi, and this is why her son loves your people and has more praise for your son than he himself is like to hear from my nephew. For my part, when I hate, I let it out, and when I love or like, I am frank," which was true.

Just then came the old black servant man Cicero, once a slave of James Logan the first, and so named by the master, folks said, because of pride in his fine translation of the "De Senectute" of Cicero, which Franklin printed.

"Cicero will carry thee out," said Mrs. Swanwick.

"Will he, indeed?" said Gainor, seeing a shadow of annoyance come over the grave face of the sick woman as she said, "I can walk," and rose unsteadily. The pelisse was off, and before the amazed vicomtesse could speak, she was in Gainor's strong arms and laid gently down on a lounge in the outer air.

"_Mon Dieu!_" was all she could say, "but you are as a man for strength.

Thank you."

The roses were below her. The cool air came over them from the river, and the violet of the eastward sky reflected the glow of the setting sun. A ship with the tricolor moved up with the flood, a _bonnet rouge_ at the masthead, as was common.

"What flag is that?" asked the vicomtesse. "And that red thing? I do not see well."

"I do not know," said Gainor, calmly fibbing; and seeing her G.o.ddaughter about to speak, she put a finger on her lips and thrust a hand ignorant of its strength in the ribs of the hostess as madame, looking down among the trees on the farther slope, said: "Who is that? How merry they are!"

"Adam and Eve--in the garden," replied Gainor.

"For shame!" murmured Mary Swanwick in English. "It is well she did not understand thee." Then she added to the vicomtesse: "It is Margaret, madame, and thy son."

Again gay laughter came up from the distance; the vicomtesse became thoughtful.

"I have left you lettuce and some fruit," said Miss Wynne, "and may I be pardoned for taking the place of Cicero?"

"Ah, madame, kindness in any form is easy to pardon." Then Gainor went away, while Mrs. Swanwick sat down, saying: "Now no more talk. Let me fan thee a little."

The next day being the first Sunday in July, Schmidt said after breakfast: "De Courval, you said last night that you would like to go to church. It shall be Christ Church, if you like--Episcopal they call it."

They set out early, and on Delaware Second Street saw the fine old church Dr. Kearsley planned, like the best of Christopher Wren's work, as De Courval at once knew.

"I shall go in. I may not stay," said Schmidt. "I do not like churches.

They seem all too small for me. Men should pray to G.o.d out of doors.

Well, it has a certain stately becomingness. It will suit you; but the Druids knew best."

They found seats near the chancel. Just before the service began, a black servant in livery entered by a side door. A large man, tall and erect, in full black velvet, followed. The servant opened a pew; the tall man sat down, and knelt in prayer; the servant went back to the door, and seated himself on the floor upon a cushion.

Schmidt whispered, "That is George Washington."

The young man, it is to be feared, paid small attention to the service or to good Bishop White's sermon. The grave, moveless, ruddy face held him with the interest of its history. The reverent attention of the great leader pleased him, with his Huguenot training. At the close the congregation remained standing until Washington had gone out.

"Come," said Schmidt, and crossing the church they waited at the south gate until the President pa.s.sed. He raised his hand in soldierly salute, and bowing, took off his beaver as he met Mrs. Chew and the Chief-Justice.

The two men walked away, silent for a time. Then the German said: "You have seen a great man, a great soldier,--says our Frederick, who ought to know,--a statesman, too, and baited now by Jefferson's creature Freneau. It must have pleased the Almighty to have decreed the making of a man like George Washington."

That the G.o.d of Calvin should have pleasure in things made had never occurred to the young Huguenot, who was already getting lessons which in days to come would freely modify the effect of the stern tenets which through habit and education he accepted with small cost of thought. His mind, however, was of serious type, and inquiry was in the whole world's atmosphere of his time.

He said, "Herr Schmidt, can a man conceive of G.o.d as having enjoyment?"

"If you were G.o.d, the all-creative, the eternal power, the inconceivable master, would you not make for yourself pleasure, when you could make or mar all things? Does it shock you? Or has the thought of your church the clipped wings of an eagle that must ever stumble on the earth and yearn for the free flight of the heavens? Terrible shears are creeds."

De Courval was new to such comments. He felt hindered by all the child home-rule of habit, and the discipline of limiting beliefs held the more stringently for the hostile surroundings of neighbors and kinfolks of the Church of Rome.

The German was of no mind to perplex him. He had some clearly defined ideas as to what as a gentleman he could or could not do. As to much else he had no ruling conscience, but a certain kindliness which made him desire to like and be liked of men, and so now, with something akin to affection, he was learning to love the grave young n.o.ble to whom he owed a life endowed by nature with great power of varied enjoyment.

"We will talk of these things again," he said. "Once I was speaking of the making of men, and I said, 'If the father of Shakspere had married another woman, or his wife a year later, would "Hamlet" ever have been written?'"

De Courval laughed. "I do not know 'Hamlet.'"

The German looked around at him thoughtfully and said: "Is that indeed so? It is a sermon on the conduct of life. When once I spoke of this and how at birth we are fortuned, the king said to me, I think--" and he broke off his sentence. "You must not take me too seriously, De Courval.

This is mere gossip of the imagination. I have lived too much in France with the philosophers, who are like Paul's men of Athens."

"I like it," said De Courval, pleased, puzzled, flattered, and immensely curious concerning the man at his side; but decent manners forbidding personal questions, he accepted the German's diversion of the talk and asked, "Who is that across the street?"

"A good soldier, General Wayne, and with him the Secretary of War, Knox.

It is said he is one of the few whom Washington loves. He is a lonely man, the President, as are the kings of men, on thrones or elsewhere."

"To be loved of that man would be worth while," said his companion. He was to see him again in an hour of distress for himself and of trouble and grief for the hara.s.sed statesman.

When at home he told his mother he had seen Washington.

"What was he like?"

"I can not say--tall, straight, ruddy, a big nose."

She smiled at his description. "Your father, Rene, once told me of a letter Marquis La Fayette had of him the day after he last parted with Washington. It was something like this: 'When our carriages separated, I said, I shall never see him again. My heart said Yes. My head said No; but these things happen. At least I have had my day.' That is not like a man, Rene. He must have strong affections."

"Men say not, mother."

VII

The years which followed our long struggle for freedom were busy years for the mind of man. The philosophers in France were teaching men strange doctrines, and fashion, ever eager for change, reveled in the new political philosophy. The stir of unrest was in the air, among the people, in the talk of the salons.

The Bastille had long since fallen, and already in the provinces murder and pillage had begun. The terrible example set by Jourdan late in '91 was received in Paris with other than reprobation. He was to return to Avignon and, strange irony of fate, to be condemned as a moderate and to die by the guillotine amid the rejoicing of the children of his victims; but this was to be far away in '94.

The ma.s.sacres of August, '92, when the king left the Swiss to their fate, all the lightning and thunder of the gathering storm of war without and frenzied murder within the tottering kingdom, had not as yet in this midsummer been heard of in America.