XII
An express-rider from Chester had ridden through the night to carry toMr. Wynne at Merion the news of his ships' return and a brief note fromthe captain to say that all had gone well.
Though weaker than he was willing to believe, De Courval was able withsome help to get on deck and was welcomed by Wynne, who saw with suddenanxiety the young man's pallor; for although neither wound was serious,he had lost blood enough to satisfy even the great Dr. Rush, and limpeduneasily as he went to the rail to meet the ship-owner.
"Are you hurt?" asked Wynne.
"Not badly. We had a little bout with a British corvette. Captain Biddlewill tell you, sir. St. Denis! but it was fun while it lasted; and thecutting out, too."
"I envy you," said Wynne, with swift remembrance of the market-place inGermantown, the glow of battle in his gray Welsh eyes.
De Courval's face lighted up at the thought of it. "But now," hesaid--"now I must see my mother--oh, at once."
"The tide is at full flood. A boat shall drop you at the foot of thegarden. Can you walk up from the shore, or shall I send you a chaise?"
"I can walk, sir." He was too eager to consider his weakness, andstrong hands helping him into and out of the boat, in a few minutes, forthe distance was small, he was set ashore at the foot of the garden, nowbare and leafless. He dismissed the men with thanks, and declared herequired no further help. With much-needed care he limped up the slope,too aware of pain and of an increase of weakness that surprised him, butnevertheless with a sense of exhilaration at the thought of cominghome--yes, home--after having done what he well knew would please hismother. No other thought was in his mind.
Of a sudden he heard voices, and, looking up, saw Mrs. Swanwick andMargaret. Gay, excited, and happy, he stumbled forward as they came, thegirl crying out: "The vicomte, mother!"
"Ah, but it is good to see you!" he said as he took the widow's hand andkissed it, and then the girl's, who flushed hot as he rose unsteadily.Seeing her confusion, he said: "Pardon me. It is our way at home, and Iam so, so very glad to get back to you all!"
"But--thou art lame!" cried the widow, troubled.
"And his face--he is hurt, mother!"
"Yes, yes; but it is of no moment. We had a one-sided battle at sea."Then he reeled, recovering himself with effort. "My mother is well?"
"Yes. Lean on me. Put a hand on my arm," said Mrs. Swanwick. "Ah, butthe mother will be glad!" And thus, the Pearl walking behind, they wentinto the house. "Tell madame he is here, Margaret." The young woman wentby them and up-stairs to the vicomtesse's bedroom, breathless as sheentered in haste.
The vicomtesse said sharply: "Always knock, child."
"I forgot. He is come. He is here. I--we are so glad for thee."
"My son?" She rose.
"Yes, yes." Margaret fled away. It was not for other eyes; she knewthat. The vicomtesse met him on the landing, caught him in her arms,kissed him, held him off at arm's-length, and cried. "Are you ill,Rene?"
"No, no; a little hurt, not badly. I have lost blood," and then,tottering, added faintly, "a wound, a wound," and sank to the floor. Shecalled loudly in alarm, and Schmidt, coming in haste from his room andlifting him, carried him to his bedchamber. He had overestimated hisstrength and his power of endurance.
Mother and hostess took possession of him. Nanny hurried with thewarming-pan for the bed; and reviving, he laughed as they came and went,acknowledged the welcome comfort of lavender-scented sheets and drankeagerly the milk-punch they brought.
Within an hour Schmidt had the little French surgeon at his bedside, andsoon Rene's face and torn thigh were fitly dressed. There was to bequiet, and only madame or Mrs. Swanwick, and a little laudanum and nostarvation. They guarded him well, and, as he said, "fiercely," and,yes, in a week he might see people. "Not Mistress Wynne," said thedoctor; "a tornado, that woman: but Mr. Schmidt and Mr. Wynne." He wasimpatient enough as he lay abed and ate greedily wonderful dishes fromDarthea Wynne; and there, from the only greenhouse in the town, wereflowers, with Mrs. Robert Morris's compliments, and books, the latest,from Mistress Gainor, "for the hero, please," for by now the town wasastir with Captain Biddle's story. The German wrote for him notes ofthanks, but as yet would not talk. He could wait to hear of his voyage.
He was on a settle one morning alone with Schmidt. There came a discreetknock at the door. "Come in," called Schmidt, and Margaret entered,saying: "These are the first. I gathered them myself at Uncle Josiah's,"from which it may be understood that Josiah had made his peace.
"I found them on the Wissahickon. Smell of them," she said as she sether bowl of fragrant trailing-arbutus before him, coloring a little, andadding: "Mother said I must not stay. We are glad thou art better."
"Oh, thank you, thank you," said the young man. The air of spring, theyouth of the year, was in the room. As the door closed behind Margaret,Schmidt asked: "Rene, did you ever see the Quaker lady?--the flower, Imean."
"Yes, once. And now again. How she grows!"
"Yes, she does grow," said Schmidt. "I have noticed that at her ageyoung women grow." While he spoke, Mr. Wynne came in, a grave, reserved,sturdy man, in whom some of the unemotional serenity of his Quakerancestry became more notable as he went on into middle life.
Schmidt excused himself, and Wynne sat down, saying: "You seem quiteyourself, Vicomte. I have heard the whole story from Captain Biddle. Youhave made one more friend, and a good one. You will be amused to learnthat the French party is overjoyed because of your having victualed thestarving Jacobins. The Federals are as well pleased, and all theship-owners at the baffling of the corvette. No, don't speak; let mefinish. The merchants at the coffee-house have voted both of youtankards, and five hundred dollars for the crew, and what the women willsay or do the Lord knows. You will have need to keep your head coolamong them all."
"Ah, Mr. Wynne, if my head was not turned by what you said to me when weparted, it is safe enough."
"My opinion has been fully justified; but now for business. Both shipsare in. You have made an unlooked-for gain for me. Your share--oh, Ishall take care of the captain, too--your share will be two thousanddollars. It is now in the bank with what is left of your deposit withme. I can take you again as my clerk or Stephen Girard will send you assupercargo to China. For the present I have said my say."
"I thank you, sir. It is too much, far too much. I shall go back to mywork with you."
"And I shall be glad to have you. But I fear it may not be for life--asI should wish."
"No, Mr. Wynne. Some day this confusion in France must end, and then orbefore, though no Jacobin, I would be in the army."
"I thought as much," said Wynne. "Come back now to me, and in the fallor sooner something better may turn up; but for a month or two take aholiday. Your wages will go on. Now, do not protest. You need the rest,and you have earned it." With this he added: "And come out to Merion. Mywife wants to thank you; and madame must come, too. Have you heard thatwe are to have a new French minister in April?"
"Indeed? I suppose he will have a great welcome from the Republicans."
"Very likely," said Wynne.
It was more from loss of blood that Rene had suffered than from thegravity of the wound. His recovery was rapid, and he was soon releasedfrom the tyranny which woman loves to establish about thesickness-fettered man. The vicomtesse had some vague regret when heasserted his independence, for again he had been a child, and her careof him a novel interest in a life of stringent beliefs, some prejudices,and very few positive sources of pleasure. The son at this time came toknow her limitations better and to recognize with clearer vision hownarrow must always have been a life of small occupations behind whichlay, as yet unassailed, the pride of race and the more personal creed ofthe obligations of a caste which no one, except Mistress Wynne, venturedto describe to Schmidt as needing social spectacles. "A provinciallady," she said; "a lady, but of the provinces." The German smiled,which was often his only comment upon her shrewd insight and unguardedtalk.
&n
bsp; The vicomtesse settled down again to her life of books, church, andrefusals to go anywhere except to Darthea at Merion, where she relaxedand grew tender among the children. She would have her son go amonggayer people, and being free for a time he went as bidden, and was mademuch of at the town houses of the gay set. But as he would not play loofor money, and grew weary at last of the role of Othello and ofrelating, much against his will, his adventures to a variety ofattentive Desdemonas who asked questions about his life in France, ofwhich he had no mind to speak, he soon returned to the more wholesomecompany of Schmidt and the tranquil society of the widow's house.
Schmidt, with increasing attachment and growing intimacy of relation,began again the daily bouts with the foils, the long pulls on the river,and the talks at night when the house was quiet in sleep.
The grave young Huguenot was rather tired of being made to pass as ahero, and sternly refused the dinners of the Jacobin clubs, declining toclaim for himself the credit of relieving the Jacobin vicomte, hiskinsman.
The more certain news of war between France and Great Britain had longsince reached Philadelphia, and when, one afternoon in April, Mr.Alexander Hamilton, just come from a visit to New York, appeared at thewidow's, he said to Schmidt that Citizen Genet, the French minister, hadreached Charleston in the _Ambuscade_, a frigate. He had broughtcommissions for privateers, and had already sent out two, the _CitizenGenet_ and the _Sans Culottes_, to wage war on English commerce. TheSecretary of State, Jefferson, had protested against the French consul'scondemning prizes, but the republican Jacobins, gone mad with joy, tooksides against their leader, and mocked at the President's proclamationof neutrality. Such was his news. Mr. Hamilton was depressed and hadlost his usual gaiety. It was all bad, very bad. The man's heart achedfor the difficulties of his friend, the harassed President.
Meanwhile imitative folly set the Jacobin fashions of long pantaloonsand high boots for good republicans. The young men took to growingmustachios. Tricolor cockades appeared in the streets, while the red capon barbers' poles and over tavern signs served, with news of themassacres in France, to keep in De Courval's mind the thought of hisfather's fate. In the meantime, amid feasts and clamorous acclaim, Genetcame slowly north with his staff of secretaries.
Schmidt saw at this time how depressed his young friend had become andfelt that in part at least it was due to want of steady occupation.Trying to distract him one evening, he said: "Let us go to the fencingschool of the Comte du Vallon. I have long meant to ask you. It is late,but the _emigres_ go thither on a Friday. It will amuse you, and youwant something I cannot teach. Your defense is slow, your attack toounguarded."
"But," said De Courval, "I cannot afford lessons at a dollar. It is verywell for Morris and Lloyd."
Schmidt laughed. "I let the comte have the rooms free. The house ismine. Yes, I know, you avoid the _emigres_; but why? Oh, yes, I know youhave been busy, and they are not all to your taste, nor to mine; but youwill meet our bookseller De Mery and De Noailles, whom you know, and youwill like Du Vallon."
It was nine o'clock when, hearing foils ringing and laughter, they wentup-stairs in an old warehouse on the north side of Dunker's Court, andentered presently a large room amid a dozen of what were plainly Frenchgentlemen, who were fencing in pairs and as merry as if no heads offriends and kindred were day by day falling on the guillotine. Schmidtknew them all and had helped many. They welcomed him warmly.
"_Bonjour, monsieur._ We amuse ourselves well, and forget a little,"said Du Vallon. "Ah, the Vicomte de Courval! Enchanted to see you here.Allow me to present Monsieur de Malerive. He is making a fortune withthe ice-cream, but he condescends to give us a lesson now and then.Gentlemen, the Vicomte de Courval." The foils were lowered and menbowed. Scarce any knew him, but several came forward and said pleasantthings, while, as they left to return to their fencing, Schmidt made hisbrief comments. "That is the Chevalier Pontgibaud, Rene,--the slightman,--a good soldier in the American war. The Vicomte de Noailles is apartner of Bingham."
"Indeed!" said Rene. "He is in trade, as I am--a Noailles!"
"Yes; may you be as lucky. He has made a fortune, they say."
"Take a turn with the marquis," said Du Vallon. The marquis taughtfencing. De Courval replied, "With pleasure," and the clatter of foilsbegan again, while Du Vallon and Schmidt fell apart into quiet talk.
"The young man is a clerk and I hear has won credit and money. _Bonchien, bonne chasse._ Do you know his story? Ah, my sad Avignon! LaRochefoucauld told me they killed his father; but of course you know allabout it."
"No, I have heard but little," said Schmidt. "I know only that hisfather was murdered. Des Aguilliers told me that; but as De Courval hasnot, does not, speak of it, I presume him to have his reasons. Pray letus leave it here."
"As you please, _mon ami_." But Du Vallon thought the German strangelylacking in curiosity.
The time passed pleasantly. De Courval did better with Tiernay, whotaught French to the young women and was in the shabby splendor ofclothes which, like their owner, had seen better days.
They went away late. Yes, he was to have lessons from Du Vallon, who hadcourteously criticized his defense as weak. But the remedy had answeredthe German's purpose. Here was something to learn which as yet the youngman did badly. The lessons went on, and Schmidt at times carried himaway into the country with fowling-pieces, and they came home loadedwith wood pigeons; and once, to De Courval's joy, from the Welsh hillswith a bear on the back of their chaise and rattles for Pearl from whatDe Courval called the _serpent a sonnettes_--"a nice Jacobin snake,_Mademoiselle_." And so the quiet life went on in the Quaker house withbooks, walks, and the round of simple duties, while the young manregained his former vigor.
The spring came in with flowers and blossoms in the garden, and, on the21st of May, Citizen Genet was to arrive in this year of '93. The Frenchfrigate _Ambuscade_, lying in the river and hearing from Chester in dueseason, was to warn the republicans with her guns of the coming of theminister.
"Come," said Schmidt, as the casements shook with the signal of threecannon. "Pearl said she would like to see it, and the farce will begood. We are going to be amused; and why not?"
"Will Friend de Courval go with us?" asked Margaret. Walks with theyoung woman were somehow of late not so easily had. Her mother hadconstantly for her some interfering duties. He was glad to go.
At the signal-guns, thousands of patriots gathered in front of the StateHouse, and in what then was called the Mall, to the south of it. Schmidtand the young people paused on the skirts of the noisy crowd, where weremany full of liquor and singing the "Marseillaise" with drunkenvariations of the tune. "A sight to please the devil of laughter," saidSchmidt. "There are saints for the virtues, why not devils for men'sfollies? The mischief mill for the grinding out of French Jacobins fromYankee grain will not run long. Let us go on around the Mall and getbefore these foolish folk. Ah, to insult this perfect day of May withdrunkenness! Is there not enough of gladness in the upspring of thingsthat men must crave the flattery of drink?" He was in one of those moodswhen he was not always, as he said, understandable, and when his Englishtook on queer ways.
Pausing before the gray jail at the corner of Delaware, Sixth Street,and Walnut, they saw the poor debtors within thrust out between the barsof the windows long rods with bags at the end to solicit alms. Schmidtemptied his pockets of shillings, and they went on, the girl in horrorat the blasphemies of those who got no coin. Said Schmidt: "Our friendWynne lay there in the war for months. Ask Madam Darthea for the tale,De Courval. 'T is pretty, and worth the ear of attention. When I rulethe world there will be no prisons. I knew them once too well."
So rare were these glimpses of a life they knew not of that both youngpeople, surprised, turned to look at him.
"Wert thou in jail, sir?" said the Pearl.
"Did I say so? Life is a jail, my good Margaret; we are all prisoners."The girl understood, and asked no more. Crossing the Potter's Field, nowWashington Square, they leaped over the
brook that ran through it fromthe northwest.
"Here below us lie the dead prisoners of your war, Pearl. The jail wassafe, but now they are free. God rest their souls! There's room formore." Scarcely was there room in that summer of '93. Passing theBettering House on Spruce Street Road, and so on and out to theSchuylkill, they crossed the floating bridge, and from the deep cuttingwhere Gray's Lane descended to the river, climbed the slope, and satdown and waited.
Very soon across the river thousands of men gathered and a few women.The bridge was lined with people and some collected on the bank and inthe lane below them, on the west side of the stream.
Hauterive, the French consul at New York, and Mr. Duponceau andAlexander Dallas of the Democratic Club, stood near the water on thewest end of the bridge, waiting to welcome Genet. "I like it very well,"said Schmidt; "but the play will not run long."
"Oh, they are coming!" cried Margaret. This was interesting. She wascurious, excited and with her bonnet off, as De Courval saw,bright-eyed, eager, and with isles of color mysteriously passing overher face, like rose clouds at evening.
A group of horsemen appeared on the top of the hill above them, one infront. "Genet, I suppose," said De Courval. A good-looking man, florid,smiling, the tricolor on the hat in his hand, he bowed to right andleft, and honored with a special salute mademoiselle, near-by on thebank. He had the triumphant air of a very self-conscious conqueror.Cheers greeted him. "_Vive la republique!_ D----George Washington!Hurrah for Citizen Genet!" with waving of French flags. He stopped belowthem in the lane. A boy in the long pantaloons of protest, with the redcap of the republic on his head, was lifted up to present a bouquet ofthree colors made of paper flowers. Citizen Genet gave him thefraternal kiss of liberty, and again the crowd cheered. "Are thesepeople crazy?" asked the Quaker maiden, used to Friends' control ofemotion.
"Mad? Yes, a little." Genet had paused at the bridge. Mr. Dallas wasmaking him welcome to the capital. David Rittenhouse stood by, silent inadoration, his attention divided between Genet and a big bun, for he hadmissed his dinner.
"It is all real," said the German. "The bun doth equally well convince.Oh, David, didst thou but dream how comic thou art!" Meanwhile DeCourval by turns considered the fair face and the crowd, too tragicallyreminded to be, like Schmidt, altogether amused.
But surely here indeed was comedy, and for many of this carelessmultitude a sad ending of politics in the near summer months.
The crowd at the water's-edge closed around Genet, while the group offour or five men on horseback who followed him came to a halt on theroadway just below where were seated Schmidt and his companions. Theriders looked around them, laughing. Then one spoke to a youngsecretary, and the man thus addressed, turning, took off his hat andbowed low to the Quaker maid.
"_Mon Dieu!_" cried De Courval, springing up as the attaches moved on."_C'est Carteaux!_ It is he!"
Schmidt heard him; the girl to the left of Schmidt less plainly. "Whatis it?" she cried to De Courval. His face as she saw it was of a suddenwhite, the eyes wide open, staring, the jaw set, the hands half-open,the figure as of a wild creature about to leap on its prey. "Take care!"said Schmidt. "Take care! Keep quiet!" He laid a strong hand on DeCourval's shoulder. "Come away! People are looking at you."
"Yes, yes." He straightened, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Art thou ill?" asked Margaret.
"No, no. I am glad--glad as never before. Let us go. It will keep. Itwill keep." She looked at him with wonder. They climbed the bank andwent up the hill across the Woodlands, Andrew Hamilton's estate, andhomeward by the middle ferry at High Street, no one speaking.
The girl, troubled and apprehensive, walked on, getting now and thenfrom the bonnet's seclusion a quick side glance at a face a littleflushed and wearing a look of unwonted satisfaction. Schmidt was assilent as his companions. Comedy again, he thought, and as ever behindit the shadow tragedy. "If I were that man, I should be afraid--asecretary of this accursed envoy. I must know more. Ah, here is theother man behind the every-day De Courval."
De Courval went in and up-stairs to his room and at the five-o'clocksupper showed no sign of the storm which had swept over him. After themeal he followed his mother, and as usual read aloud to her a chapter ofthe French Bible. Then at dusk he pulled out on the river, and, findingrefreshment in a cold plunge, rowed to shore, returning in full controlof the power to consider with Schmidt, as now he knew he must do, asituation not so simple as it seemed when he set eyes on his enemy.
"I have been waiting for you, Rene. I guess enough to know this for avery grave matter. You will want to tell me."
"I have often wanted to talk to you, but, as you may or may not know, itwas also too painful to discuss until the need came; but now it hascome."
"You will talk to me, Rene, or not, as seems the better to you."
"I shall speak, and frankly; but, sir, wait a little."
Without replying further, the German took up a book and read. The youngman let fall his head on his hands, his elbows on a table. He had triedto forget, but now again with closed eyes and, with that doubtful giftof visual recall already mentioned he saw the great, dimly lighted hallat Avignon, the blood-stained murderers, the face of his father, hisvain appeal. The tears rained through his fingers. He seemed to hearagain: "Yvonne! Yvonne!" and at last to see, with definiteness sharpenedby the morning's scene, the sudden look of ferocity in a young man'sface--a man not much older than himself. He had thought to hear from ita plea for mercy. Ah, and to-day he had seen it gay with laughter. Oneday it would not laugh. He wiped away tears as he rose. The Germangentleman caught him to his broad breast. "What is it, my son? Ah, Iwould that you were my son! Let us have it out--all of it. I, too, havehad my share of sorrow. Let me hear, and tell it quietly. Then we cantalk."
Thus it came about that with a sense of relief Rene told his story offailing fortunes, of their chateau in ruins, and of how, on his returnfrom Avignon, he had found his mother in a friendly farm refuge. Hetold, too, with entire self-command of the tragedy in the papal city,his vain pursuit of Carteaux, their flight to England, and how on thevoyage his mother had wrung from him the whole account of his father'sdeath.
"Does she know his name?" asked Schmidt.
"Carteaux? Yes. I should not have told it, but I did. She would have metell it."
"And that is all." For a little while the German, lighting his pipe,walked up and down the room without a word. Then at last, sitting down,he said: "Rene, what do you mean to do?"
"Kill him."
"Yes, of course," said Schmidt, coolly; "but--let us think a little. Doyou mean to shoot him as one would a mad dog?"
"Certainly; and why not?"
"You ask 'Why not?' Suppose you succeed? Of course you would have tofly, leave your mother alone; or, to be honest with you, if you werearrested, the death of this dog would be, as men would look at it, themurder of an official of the French legation. You know the intensity ofparty feeling here. You would be as sure to die by the gallows as anycommon criminal; and--there again is the mother to make a man hesitate."
"That is all true; but what can I do, sir? Must I sit down and wait?"
"For the present, yes. Opinion will change. Time is the magician ofopportunities. The man will be here long. Wait. Go back to your work.Say nothing. There are, of course, the ordinary ways--a quarrel, aduel--"
"Yes, yes; anything--something--"
"Anything--something, yes; but what thing? You must not act rashly.Leave it to me to think over; and promise me to do nothing rash--to donothing in fact just yet."
De Courval saw only too clearly that his friend was wiser than he. Aftera moment of silence he said: "I give you my word, sir. And how can Ithank you?"
"By not thanking me, not a rare form of thanks. Now go to bed."
When alone, Schmidt said to himself: "Some day he will lose his head,and then the tiger will leap. It was clear from what I saw, and whocould sit quiet and give it up? Not I. A duel? If this man I havelearn
ed to love had Du Vallon's wrist of steel or mine, it would be easyto know what to do. Ah, if one could know that rascal's fence--or ifI--no; the boy would never forgive me; and to cheat a man out of a justvengeance were as bad as to cheat him of a woman's love." As for killinga man with whom he had no personal quarrel, the German, unreproached byconscience, considered the matter entirely in his relation to DeCourval. And here, as he sat in thought, even a duel troubled him, andit was sure to come; for soon or late, in the limited society of thecity, these two men would meet. He was deeply disturbed. An accident toDe Courval was possible; well, perhaps his death. He foresaw even thisas possible, since duels in that time were not the serio-comicencounters of the French duel of to-day.
As Schmidt sat in self-counsel as to what was advisable he felt withcurious joy that his affection for the young noble was disturbing hisjudgment of what as a gentleman he would have advised. The situationwas, as he saw, of terrible significance. A large experience of men andevents failed to assist him to see his way.
No less bewildered and even more deeply troubled, De Courval lay awake,and, as the hours went by, thought and thought the thing over from everypoint of view. Had he met Carteaux that morning alone, away from men, heknew that he would have throttled the slighter man with his strong younghands, glad of the joy of brute contact and of personal infliction ofthe death penalty with no more merciful weapon than his own strength. Hethrilled at the idea; but Schmidt, coldly reasonable, had brought himdown to the level of common-sense appreciation of unregardeddifficulties. His mother! He knew her now far better than ever. Hismother would say, "Go, my son." She would send him out to take hischances with this man, as for centuries the women of her race had senttheir men to battle. He was more tender for her than she would be forherself. His indecision, the product of a larger duty to her lonely,helpless life, increased by what Schmidt had urged, left him without ahelpful thought, while ever and ever in the darkness he felt, as hisfriend had felt, that in some moment of opportune chance he should losefor her and himself all thought of consequences.
Perhaps of those who saw the episode of sudden passionate anger inGray's Lane none was more puzzled and none more curious than MargaretSwanwick. Anything as abrupt and violent as De Courval's irritation wasrare in her life of tranquil experiences, and nothing she had seen ofhim prepared her for this outbreak. Of late, it is to be confessed, DeCourval had been a frequent guest of her thoughts, and what concernedhim began greatly to concern her. Something forbade her to ask ofSchmidt an explanation of what she had seen. Usually she was more frankwith him than with any one else, and why now, she thought, should shenot question him? But then, as if relieved by the decision, sheconcluded that it was not her business, and put aside the curiosity, butnot completely the anxiety which lay behind it.
If she told her mother and asked of her what De Courval's behavior mighthave meant, she was sure that her eagerness would be reproved by aphrase which Mrs. Swanwick used on fitting occasions--"Thou shalt notcovet thy neighbor's secrets." Many things were to happen before thegirl would come to understand why, in the quiet of a May morning, arather reserved gentleman had of a sudden looked like a wild animal.
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