XXIII
In few days Margaret was able to be afoot, although still lame; but Renehad no chance to see her. She was not to be caught alone, and would goon a long-promised visit to Merion. Thus February passed, and March, andApril came, when personal and political matters abruptly broke up for atime their peaceful household.
Margaret had been long at home again, but still with a woman's wit sheavoided her lover. Aunt Gainor, ever busy, came and went, always with adozen things to do.
Her attentions to Madame de Courval lessened when that lady no longerneeded her kindness and, as soon happened, ceased to be interesting. Shewould not gamble, and the two women had little in common. Miss Gainor'sregard for Rene was more lasting. He was well-built and handsome, andall her life she had had a fancy for good looks in men. He had, too, thevirile qualities she liked and a certain steadiness of purpose whichtook small account of obstacles and reminded her of her nephew HughWynne. Above all, he had been successful, and she despised people whofailed and too often regarded success as a proof of the right tosucceed, even when the means employed were less creditable than thoseby which Rene had made his way. Moreover, had he not told her once thather French was wonderful? Miss Gainor changed her favorites often, butRene kept in her good graces and was blamed only because he did not giveher as much of his time as she desired; for after she heard his historyfrom Schmidt, he won a place in her esteem which few men had ever held.She had set her heart at last on his winning Margaret, and the lifelonggame of gambling with other folks' fortunes and an honest idolatry forthe heroic, inclined her to forgive a lack of attention due in a measureto his increasing occupations.
To keep her eager hands off this promising bit of match-making had beenrather a trial, but Schmidt was one of the few people of whom she hadany fear, and she had promised not to meddle. At present she had begunto think that the two human pawns in the game she loved were becomingindifferent, and to let things alone was something to which she hadnever been inclined. Had she become aware of the German's mild treacherythat night on the ice, she would in all likelihood have been angry atfirst and then pleased or annoyed not to have had a hand in the matter.
Mistress Wynne, even in the great war, rarely allowed her violentpolitics to interfere with piquet, and now Mr. Dallas had asked leave tobring Fauchet, the new French minister, to call upon her. He was gay,amusing, talked no politics, played piquet nearly as well as she, andwas enchanted, as he assured her, to hear French spoken without accent.If to De la Foret, the consul-general, he made merry concerning histravels in China, as he called her drawing-room, saying it wasperilously over-populous with strange gods, she did not hear it, norwould she have cared so long as she won the money of the Frenchrepublic.
One evening in early April, after a long series of games, he said: "Iwish I could have brought here my secretary Carteaux. He did play toperfection, but now, poor devil, the wound he received has palsied hisright arm, and he will never hold cards again--or, what he thinks worse,a foil. It was a strange attack."
"Does he suffer? I have heard about him."
"Horribly. He is soon going home to see if our surgeons can find thebullet; but he is plainly failing."
"Oh, he is going home?"
"Yes; very soon."
"How did it all happen? It has been much talked about, but one neverknows what to believe."
"I sent him to New York with despatches for our foreign office, but the_Jean Bart_ must have sailed without them; for he was waylaid, shot, androbbed of the papers, but lost no valuables."
"Then it was not highwaymen?"
"No; I can only conjecture who were concerned. It was plainly a robberyin the interest of the Federalists. I do not think Mr. Randolph couldhave these despatches, or if he has, they will never be heard of." Uponthis he smiled.
"Then they are lost?"
"Yes. At least to our foreign office. I think Mr. Wolcott of theTreasury would have liked to see them."
"But why? Why Mr. Wolcott?" She showed her curiosity quite too plainly.
"Ah, that is politics, and Madame forbids them."
"Yes--usually; but this affair of Monsieur Carteaux cannot be political.It seems to me an incredible explanation."
"Certainly a most unfortunate business," said the minister.
He had said too much and was on his guard. He had, however, set thespinster to thinking, and remembering what Schmidt had told her of DeCourval, her reflections were fertile. "Shall we have another game?"
A month before the day on which they played, the _Jean Bart_, sinceNovember of 1794 at sea, after seizing an English merchantman wasoverhauled in the channel by the British frigate _Cerberus_ andcompelled to surrender. The captain threw overboard his lead-weightedsignal-book and the packet of Fauchet's despatches. A sailor of themerchant ship, seeing it float, jumped overboard from a boat and rescuedit. Upon discovering its value, Captain Drew of the _Cerberus_ forwardedthe despatches to Lord Grenville in London, who in turn sent them asvaluable weapons to Mr. Hammond, the English minister in Philadelphia.There was that in them which might discredit one earnest enemy of theEnglish treaty, but months went by before the papers reached America.
Miss Gainor, suspecting her favorite's share in this much-talked-ofaffair, made haste to tell Schmidt of the intention of Carteaux to sail,to the relief of the German gentleman, who frankly confided to her thewhole story. He spoke also once more of De Courval and urged her forevery reason to leave the young people to settle their own affairs.Meanwhile Josiah was in bed with well-earned gout.
On the afternoon of the 14th of April, Rene came home from the Stateoffice and said to Schmidt: "I have had paid me a great compliment, butwhether I entirely like it or not, I do not know. As usual, I turn toyou for advice."
"Well, what is it!"
"The President wants some one he can trust to go to the western countiesof this State and report on the continued disturbance about the excisetax. I thought the thing was at an end. Mr. Hamilton, who seems to havethe ear of the President, advised him that as a thoroughly neutral man Icould be trusted. Mr. Randolph thinks it a needless errand."
"No. It is by no means needless. I have lands near Pittsburg, as youknow, and I hear of much disaffection. The old fox, Jefferson, atMonticello talks about the excise tax as 'infernal,' and what with thenew treaty and Congress and other things the Democrats are makingtrouble enough for a weak cabinet and a strong President. I advise youto accept. You can serve me, too. Take it. You are fretting here formore reasons than one. I hear that Carteaux is out of bed, a crippledwreck, and Fauchet says is soon to go to France. In August the ministerhimself will leave and one Adet take his place. I think you may go withan easy mind. We are to be rid of the whole pestilent lot."
"Then I shall accept and go as soon as I receive my instructions. But Ido dread to leave town. I shall go, but am at ease only since you willbe here."
"But I shall not be, Rene. I have hesitated to tell you. I am calledhome to Germany, and shall sail from New York for England on to-day aweek. I shall return, I think; but I am not sure, nor if then I canremain. It is an imperative call. I am, it seems, pardoned, and myfather is urgent, and my elder brother is dead. If you have learned toknow me, you will feel for me the pain with which I leave this simplerlife for one which has never held for me any charm. Since Carteaux issoon to sail, and I hear it is certain, I feel less troubled. I hope tobe here again in August or later. You may, I think, count on my return."
"Have you told Mrs. Swanwick, sir?"
"Yes, and the Pearl. Ah, my son, the one thing in life I have craved isaffection; and now--"
"No one will miss you as I shall--no one--" He could say no more.
"You will of course have charge of my affairs, and Mr. Wilson has mypower of attorney, and there is Hamilton at need. Ah, but I have had ascene with these most dear people!"
The time passed quickly for De Courval. He himself was to be gone atleast two months. There was a week to go, as he must, on horseback, andas much to return. There
were wide spaces of country to cover and muchbusiness to settle for Schmidt. His stay was uncertain and not withoutrisks.
Over three weeks went by before he could be spared from the thinlyofficered department. Schmidt had long since gone, and Rene sat alone inthe library at night and missed the large mind and a temperament gayerthan his own. His mother had asked no questions concerning Carteaux, andas long as there was doubt in regard to his course, he had beenunwilling to mention him; but now he felt that he should speak freelyand set his mother's mind at rest before he went away.
Neither, despite what he was sure would be the stern opposition he wouldhave to encounter from his mother, could he go without a word toMargaret--a word that would settle his fate and hers. The Carteauxbusiness was at an end. He felt free to act. Fortune for once favoredhim. Since he had spoken to his mother of his journey and the lessenedhousehold knew of it, Pearl had even more sedulously avoided thepleasant talks in the garden and the rides, now rare, with Aunt Gainorand himself. The mother, more and more uneasy, had spoken to herdaughter very decidedly, and Madame grew less familiarly kind to thegirl; while she herself, with a mind as yet in doubt, had also her shareof pride and believed that the young vicomte had ceased to care for her,else would he not have created an opportunity to say what long ago thatnight on the ice seemed to make a matter of honor? She was puzzled byhis silence, a little vexed and not quite sure of herself.
He put off to the last moment his talk with his mother and watched invain for a chance to speak to Margaret. His instructions were ready, hislast visits made. He had had an unforgettable half-hour with thePresident and a talk with Hamilton, now on a visit from New York. Theex-secretary asked him why he did not cast in his lot frankly with thenew land, as he himself had done. He would have to give notice in courtand renounce his allegiance to his sovereign, so ran the new law.
"I have no sovereign," he replied, "and worthless as it now seems, Iwill not renounce my title, as your law requires."
"Nor would I," said Hamilton. "You will go home some day. The chaos inFrance will find a master. The people are weary of change and willaccept any permanent rule."
"Yes, I hope to return. Such is my intention," and they fell into talkof Schmidt.
De Courval's last day in the city had come. Schmidt had left him thefree use of his horses, and he would try one lately bought to see how itwould answer for his long journey.
About eleven of a sunny June morning he mounted and rode westward upChestnut Street. At Fifth and Chestnut streets, Congress having justadjourned, the members were coming out of the brick building which stillstands at the corner. He knew many, and bowed to Gallatin and FisherAmes. Mr. Madison stopped him to say a word about the distastefulEnglish treaty. Then at a walk he rode on toward the Schuylkill, deep inthought.
Beyond Seventh there was as yet open country, with few houses. It wastwo years since, a stranger, he had fallen among friends in the RedCity, made for himself a sufficient income and an honorable name and wonthe esteem of men. Schmidt, Margaret, the Wynnes; his encounters withCarteaux, the yellow plague, passed through his mind. God had indeeddealt kindly with the exiles. As he came near to the river and rode intothe thinned forest known as the Governor's Woods, he saw Nanny seated atthe roadside.
"What are you doing here, Nanny?" he asked.
"The missus sent me with Miss Margaret to carry a basket of stuff tohelp some no-account colored people lives up that road. I has to wait."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, and, dismounting, tied his horse. "At last," hesaid, and went away up the wood road. Far in the open forest he saw hercoming, her Quaker bonnet swinging on her arm.
"Oh, Miss Margaret!" he cried. "I am glad to have found you. You know Iam going away to-morrow for two months at least. It is a hard journey,not without some risk, and I cannot go without a word with you. Why haveyou avoided me as you have done?"
"Have I?" she replied.
"Yes; and you know it."
"I thought--I thought--oh, let me go home!"
"No; not till you hear me. Can you let me leave in this way without aword? I do not mean that it shall be. Sit down here on this log andlisten to me." He caught her hand.
"Please, I must go."
"No; not yet. Sit down here. I shall not keep you long--a woman whowants none of me. But I have much to say--explanations, ah, much tosay." She sat down.
"I will hear thee, but--"
"Oh, you will hear me? Yes, because you must? Go, if you will. It willbe my answer."
"I think the time and the place ill chosen,"--she spoke with simpledignity,--"but I will hear thee."
"I have had no chance but this. You must pardon me." She looked down andlistened. "It is a simple matter. I have loved you long. No other lovehas ever troubled my life. Save my mother, I have no one. What mighthave been the loves for brothers and sisters are all yours, a lovebeyond all other loves, the love of a lonely man. Whether or not youpermit me to be something more, I shall still owe you a debt the yearscan never make me forget--the remembrance of what my life beside you inyour home has given me."
The intent face, the hands clasped in her lap, might have shown him howdeeply she was moved; for now at last that she had heard him she knewsurely that she loved him. The long discipline of Friends in controllingat least the outward expression of emotion came to her aid as oftenbefore. She felt how easy it would have been to give him the answer helonged for; but there were others to think about, and from her childhoodshe had been taught the lesson of consideration for her elders. She setherself to reply to him with stern repression of feeling not veryreadily governed.
"How can I answer thee? What would thy mother say?" He knew then whather answer might have been. She, too, had her pride, and he liked herthe more for that.
"Thou art a French noble. I am a plain Quaker girl without means. Therewould be reason in the opposition thy mother would make."
"A French noble!" he laughed. "A banished exile, landless and poor--apretty match I am. But, Pearl, the future is mine. I have succeededhere, where my countrymen starve. I have won honor, respect, and trust.I would add love."
"I know, I know; but--"
"It is vain to put me off with talk of others. I think you do care forme. My mother will summon all her prejudices and in the end will yield.It is very simple, Pearl. I ask only a word. If you say yes, whatevermay then come, we will meet with courage and respect. Do you love me,Pearl?"
She said faintly, "Yes."
He sat silent a moment, and then said, "I thank God!" and, lifting herhand, kissed it.
"Oh, Rene," she cried, "what have I done?" and she burst into tears. "Idid not mean to."
"Is it so hard, dear Pearl? I have made you cry."
"No, it is not hard; but it is that I am ashamed to think that I lovedthee long--long before thou didst care for me. Love thee, Rene! Thoudost not dream how--how I love thee."
"'I know, I know, but--'"]
Her reticence, her trained reserve, were lost in this passion oflong-restrained love. Ah, here was Schmidt's Quaker Juliet!
He drew her to him and kissed her wet cheek. "You will never, neverregret," he said. "All else is of no moment. We love each other. That isall now. I have so far never failed in anything, and I shall not now."
He had waited long, he said, and for good reasons. Some day, but not nowin an hour of joy, he would tell her the story of his life, a sad one,and of why he had been what men call brutal to Carteaux and why theirfriend Schmidt, who knew of his love, had urged him to wait. She musttrust him yet a little while longer.
"And have I not trusted thee?"
"Yes, Pearl."
"We knew, mother and I, knowing thee as we did, that there must be morecause for that dreadful duel than we could see."
"More? Yes, dear, and more beyond it; but it is all over now. The man Iwould have killed is going to France."
"Oh, Rene--killed!"
"Yes, and gladly. The man goes back to France and my skies are clear forlove to grow."
; He would kill! A strange sense of surprise arose in her mind, and thethought of how little even now she knew of the man she loved andtrusted. "I can wait, Rene," she said, "and oh, I am so glad; butmother--I have never had a secret from her, never."
"Tell her," he said; "but then let it rest between us until I comeback."
"That would be best, and now I must go."
"Yes, but a moment, Pearl. Long ago, the day after we landed, a sad andfriendless man, I walked out to the river and washed away my cares inthe blessed waters. On my return, I sat on this very log, and talked tosome woodmen, and asked the name of a modest flower. They said, 'We callit the Quaker lady.' And to think that just here I should find again, myQuaker lady."
"But I am not a Quaker lady. I am a naughty 'Separatist,' as Friendscall it. Come, I must go, Rene. I shall say good-by to thee to-night.Thou wilt be off early, I do suppose. And oh, it will be a weary timewhile thou art away!"
"I shall be gone by six in the morning."
"And I sound asleep," she returned, smiling. He left her at the roadsidewith Nanny, and, mounting, rode away.
The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington Page 25