The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  XXV

  While Schmidt was far on his homeward way, De Courval rode through theGerman settlements of Pennsylvania and into the thinly settledScotch-Irish clearings beyond the Alleghanies, a long and tediousjourney, with much need to spare his horse.

  His letters to government officers in the village of Pittsburg greatlyaided him in his more remote rides. He settled some of Schmidt's landbusiness, and rode with a young soldier's interest over Braddock's fatalfield, thinking of the great career of the youthful colonel who was oneof the few who kept either his head or his scalp on that day ofdisaster.

  He found time also to prepare for his superiors a reassuring report, andon July 18 set out on his return. He had heard nothing from his motheror from any one else. The mails were irregular and slow,--perhaps one aweek,--and very often a flood or an overturned coach accounted forletters never heard of again. There would be much to hear at home.

  On July Fourth of 1795, while the bells were ringing in memory of thenation's birthday, Fauchet sat in his office at Oeller's Hotel. He hadbeen recalled and was for various reasons greatly troubled. Thereaction in France against the Jacobins had set in, and they, in turnwere suffering from the violence of the returning royalists and theoutbreaks of the Catholic peasantry in the south. Marat's bust had beenthrown into the gutter and the Jacobin clubs closed. The minister hadbeen able to do nothing of value to stop the Jay treaty. The despatch onwhich he had relied to give such information as might enable hissuperiors to direct him and assure them of his efforts to stop thetreaty had disappeared eight months ago, as he believed by a boldrobbery in the interest of the English party, possibly favored by thecabinet, which, as he had to confess, was less likely. He was angry ashe thought of it and uneasy as concerned his future in distractedFrance. He had questioned Carteaux again and again but had never beenquite satisfied. The theft of the despatch had for a time served hispurpose, but had been of no practical value. The treaty with Englandwould go to the senate and he return home, a discredited diplomaticfailure. Meanwhile, in the trying heat of summer, as during all the longwinter months, Carteaux lay for the most part abed, in such misery asmight have moved to pity even the man whose bullet had punished him sosavagely. At last he was able to sit up for a time every day and toarrange with the captain of a French frigate, then in port, for hisreturn to France.

  Late in June he had dismissed Chovet with only a promise to pay what wasin fact hard-earned money. Dr. Glentworth, Washington's surgeon, hadreplaced him, and talked of an amputation, upon which, cursing doctorsin general, Carteaux swore that he would prefer to die.

  Chovet, who dosed his sick folk with gossip when other means failed,left with this ungrateful patient one piece of news which excitedCarteaux's interest. Schmidt, he was told, had gone to Europe, and then,inaccurate as usual, Chovet declared that it was like enough he wouldnever return, a fact which acquired interest for the doctor himself assoon as it became improbable that Carteaux would pay his bill. When afew days later Carteaux learned from De la Foret that his enemy DeCourval was to be absent for several weeks, and perhaps beyond the timeset for his own departure, he began with vengeful hope to reconsider asituation which had so far seemed without resource.

  Resolved at last to make for De Courval all the mischief possible beforehis own departure, with such thought as his sad state allowed he hadslowly matured in his mind a statement which seemed to himsatisfactorily malignant. Accordingly on this Fourth of July he sent hisblack servant to ask the minister to come to his chamber.

  Fauchet, somewhat curious, sat down by the bedside and parting thechintz curtains, said, "I trust you are better."

  The voice which came from the shadowed space within was weak and hoarse."I am not better--I never shall be, and I have little hope of reachinghome alive."

  "I hoped it not as bad as that."

  "And still it is as I say. I do not want to die without confessing toyou the truth about that affair in which I was shot and my despatchstolen."

  Men who had lived through the years of the French Revolution were notreadily astonished, but at this statement the Minister sat up andexclaimed: "_Mon Dieu!_ What is this?"

  "I am in damnable pain; I must be brief. I was waylaid near Bristol bySchmidt and De Courval, and when I would not stop, was shot by DeCourval. They stole the despatch, and made me swear on threat of deaththat I had been attacked by men I did not know."

  Fauchet was silent for a while, and then said: "That is a singularstory--and that you kept the promise, still more singular."

  "I did keep it. I had good reason to keep it." He realized, as he toldthe tale, how improbable it sounded, how entirely Fauchet disbelievedhim. If he had not been dulled by opiates and racked past power ofcritical thought, he was far too able a man to have put forth sochildish a tale. He knew at once that he was not believed.

  "You do not believe me, Citizen."

  "I do not. Why did you not tell me the truth at first?"

  "It was not the threat to kill me which stopped me. I was of thetribunal at Avignon which condemned the _ci-devant_ vicomte, the youngman's father. To have had it known here would have been a serious thingto our party and for me ruin. I was ill, feeble, in their hands, and Ipromised Schmidt that I would put it all on some unknown person."

  Fauchet listened. He entirely distrusted him. "Is that all? Do youexpect any reasonable man to believe such a story?"

  "Yes, I do. If I had told you at the time, you would have used mystatement at once and I should have suffered. Now that both these cursedvillains are gone, I can speak."

  "Indeed," said Fauchet, very desirous of a look at the face secure fromobservation within the curtained bed, "but why do you speak now! It islate. Why speak at all?"

  "For revenge, Monsieur. I am in hell."

  Fauchet hesitated. "That is a good reason; but there is more in thismatter than you are willing to tell."

  "That is my business. I have told you enough to satisfy my purpose andyours."

  "Rather late for mine. But let us understand each other. This man, then,this De Courval, had a double motive--to avenge his father's death andto serve his masters, the Federalists. That is your opinion?"

  "Yes, his desire for revenge made him an easy tool. I cannot talk anymore. What shall you do about it?"

  "I must think. I do not know. You are either a great fool or a coward orboth. I only half trust you."

  "Ah, were I well, Monsieur, no man should talk to me as you are doing."

  "Luckily for me you are not well; but will you swear to this, to awritten statement?"

  "I will." Whether it was to be a truthful statement or not concerned theminister but little if he could make use of it. Upon this, theconsul-general and a secretary, Le Blanc, being called in, to theiramazement Carteaux dictated a plain statement and signed it with hisleft hand, the two officials acting as witnesses.

  The minister read it aloud:

  OELLER'S HOTEL, July 4, 1795.

  I, George Carteaux, being _in extremis_, declare that on the 29th of November, about 5 P.M., near Bristol, I was set upon and shot and a despatch taken from me by one Schmidt and a Frenchman by name De Courval. No valuables were taken. By whom they were set on or paid I do not know.

  GEORGE CARTEAUX.

  _Witnesses_:

  LOUIS LE BLANC, JEAN DE LA FORET.

  The two members of the legation silently followed the minister out ofthe room.

  "That is a belated story," said De la Foret. "Do you credit it?"

  "It is not all, you may be sure; a rather lean tale," replied Le Blanc,whose career in the police of Paris had taught him to distrust men. "Helied both times, but this time it is a serviceable lie."

  "A little late, as you say," remarked Fauchet. "Once it might havehelped us."

  "Ah, if," said the consul-general, "he could tell who has yourdespatch!"

  "Not Mr. Randolph," said Le Blanc.

 
"No," returned Fauchet; "or if he has, it will never be seen by any oneelse."

  "Why?" asked Le Blanc.

  The minister, smiling, shook his head. "If ever it turns up in otherhands, you will know why, and Mr. Randolph, too."

  The minister later in the day assured Carteaux that he would make suchuse of the deposition as would force the administration to rid itself ofa guilty clerk. He was in no haste to fulfil his pledge. Two or threemonths earlier, when the general opposition to the English treatypromised to delay or prevent it, this damaging paper would have had somevalue. Apart, however, from any small practical utility the confessionmight still possess, it promised Fauchet another form of satisfaction.Being a man of great vanity, he felt injured and insulted by thecoolness of his diplomatic reception and by the complete absence ofpleasant social recognition in the homes of the great Federalistmerchants. He would give Carteaux's statement to the Secretary of Stateand demand that De Courval be dismissed and punished. He felt that hecould thus annoy and embarrass the administration; but still,distrusting Carteaux, he waited. His delay was ended by the gossip whichbegan to be rumored about in regard to the attack on Carteaux, andconcerning the mysterious loss of Despatch No. 10.

  Chovet had been abruptly dismissed, unpaid, and the German having goneaway in some haste with no thought of his promise to pay, none knew whenhe would return. The little doctor was furious. His habit of imprudentgossip had been controlled by Schmidt's threats and still more surely byhis pledge of payment. By and by, in his exasperation, he let drophints, and soon the matter grew. He had been cheated by Carteaux, and ifpeople only knew the truth of that story, and so on, while he wonself-importance from holding what he half believed to be a state secret.

  At last, increasingly uneasy about his fee, it occurred to him to askMiss Wynne if it were certain that Schmidt would not return. If not--ah,there was the young man who must pay, or the whole story should be told.

  That Miss Gainor kept him waiting for half an hour he felt as a slightand regarded it as an addition to the many wrongs he had suffered at thehands of a woman who had learned from time and experience no lessons inprudence.

  Increasingly vexed at her delay, when she came in he was walking aboutwith reckless disregard of the priceless china with which she delightedto crowd her drawing-room. As she entered he looked at his watch, butMistress Gainor was to-day in high good humor, having won at piquet ofMrs. Bingham the night before enough to make her feel comfortablypleased with Gainor Wynne.

  "Bonjour, Monsieur," she said in her fluent anglicized French. "I begpardon for keeping you waiting; I was dressing." Chovet had rarely beenable to sacrifice his liking to annoy to the practical interests of themoment, and now, disbelieving her, he said, "If you will speak English,I may be able to understand you." This was a little worse than usual.

  "Sir," she said, with dignity, "your manners are bad. Never do I permitsuch things to be said to me. I might say something such as you havesaid to me in regard to your English and there would be an end of ourconversation," upon which she laughed outright. "What makes you socross, Doctor, and to what do I owe the honor of a visit?"

  Then he broke out. "I have been cheated by Mr. Carteaux. He has not paidme a cent. He has got another doctor."

  "Wise man, Mr. Carteaux; but what on earth have I to do with thatJacobin?"

  In his anger the doctor had quite lost sight for the moment of theobject of his visit, which was to know if Schmidt had gone never toreturn, as was freely reported. Now he remembered.

  "I desire to know if Mr. Schmidt will come back. He promised to pay ifCarteaux did not. Oh, it is a fine story--of him and De Courval. Adespatch has been stolen--every one knows that. I am not to be trifledwith, Madame. I can tell a nice tale."

  "Can you, indeed? I advise you to be careful what you say. Mr. Schmidtwill return and then you will get some unusual interest on your money.Have you no sense of honor that you must talk as you have done?"

  "I do never talk," he said, becoming uneasy.

  Miss Gainor rose, having heard all she wished to hear. "Lord! man, talk!You do nothing else. You have been chattering about this matter to Mrs.Byrd. If I were you, I should be a bit afraid. How much money is owingyou?"

  "Three hundred dollars, and--I have lost patients, too. I have--"

  "Sit down," she said. "Don't behave like a child." She went to her desk,wrote a check and gave it to him. "May I trouble you for a receipt?" Hegave it, surprised and pleased. "And now do hold your tongue if you can,or if Mr. Schmidt does not beat you when he comes home, I will. You haveno more decency than you have hair."

  This set him off again. "Ah you think it is only money, money. You, awoman, can say things. I am insult," he cried. "I will have revenge ofSchmidt, if he do come. I will have blood."

  "Blood, I would," she said. "Get your lancet ready." She broke intolaughter at the idea of a contest with the German. "I will hear no more.These are my friends." When in one of her fits of wrath, now rare, shewas not choice of her words. Both were now standing. "A flea and a bear,you and Schmidt! Lord, but he will be scared--poor man!"

  He too was in a fine rage, such as he never allowed himself with men."Oh, I am paid, am I? That will not be all of it." He rose on tiptoe,gesticulating wildly, and threw his hands out, shaking them. There was asudden clatter of broken china.

  "Great heavens!" cried Gainor. "Two of my gods gone, and my bluemandarin!"

  For a moment he stood appalled amid the wreck of precious porcelain,looking now at Miss Wynne and now at the broken deities.

  The owner of the gods towered over the little doctor. Wrath and anoverwhelming sense of the comic contended for expression. "Two gods,man! Where now do you expect to go when you die--"

  "Nowhere," he said.

  "I agree with you. Neither place would have you. You are not good enoughfor one and not bad enough for the other." She began to enjoy thesituation. "I have half a mind to take away that check. It would notpay, but still--"

  "I regret--I apologize." He began to fear lest this terrible old womanmight have a whole mind in regard to the check.

  "Oh," she laughed, "keep it. But I swear to you by all my other godsthat if you lie any more about my friends, I shall tell the story Dr.Abernethy told me. In your greed and distrust of men whose simple wordis as sure as their bond, you threaten to tell a tale. Well, I willexchange stories with you. I shall improve mine, too."

  "Ah," he cried, "you do promise, and keep no word. You have told alreadySchmidt of me."

  "I did--and one other; but now the whole town shall hear. You wereingenious, but the poor highwayman was too well hanged."

  Chovet grew pale. "Oh, Madame, you would not. I should be ruined."

  "Then be careful and--go away. I sometimes lose my temper, but never mymemory. Remember."

  He looked up at the big woman as she stood flushed with anger, andexclaiming under his breath, "_Quelle diablesse!_" went out scared anduneasy.

  Looking from the window, she saw him walk away. His hands hung limp athis sides, his head was dropped on his breast; not even Ca Ira lookedmore dejected.

  "Good heavens! the man ought to have a bearing-rein. I much fear themischief is done. The little brute! He is both mean and treacherous."

  She turned to look down at the wreckage of her household Lares and rangthe bell.

  Caesar appeared. "Sweep up my gods, and take them away. Good heavens! Iought to have flattered the man. I promised the blue mandarin to DartheaWynne because he always nodded yes to her when she wanted advice to herliking. Well, well, I am a blundering old idiot." She had indeed mademischief, and repentance, as usual with her, came late. She had,however, only added to the mischief. Chovet had already said enough, andthe loss of the despatch and the attack on Carteaux by a clerk of theDepartment of State aroused anew the Democrats and fed the gossip of thecard-tables, while Rene rode on his homeward way with a mind at ease.Nothing had so disturbed the social life of the city for many a day.Before long the matter came to the ear of the Secretary o
f State, whosaw at once its bearing upon his department and the weapon it would bein the hands of party. It was, however, he said to Mr. Bingham, too wilda story for ready credence, and De Courval would soon be at home.

  A day later, Fauchet presented to the amazed and angry Secretary ofState Carteaux's formal statement, but made no explanation of its delayexcept the illness of his attache. The man was near to death. He himselfbelieved his statement, the words of a man about to die. Randolph stoodstill in thought. "Your charge, sir," he said, and he spoke French well,"is that my clerk, the Vicomte de Courval, has stolen your despatch andperhaps fatally wounded the gentleman commissioned to deliver it."

  "You state it correctly. I am not surprised."

  The tone was so insolent that Randolph said sharply: "You are notsurprised? Am I to presume that you consider me a party to the matter?"

  "I have not said so, but subordinates are sometimes too zealous and--"

  "And what, sir?"

  "It is idle to suppose that the theft had no motive. There was somemotive, but what it was perhaps the English party may be able toexplain. My despatch is lost. Your secretary took it with the help ofone Schmidt. The loss is irreparable and of great moment. I insist, sir,that the one man who has not fled be dealt with by you, and by the law."

  "I shall wait, sir, until I hear the vicomte's story. He is a gentlemanof irreproachable character, a man of honor who has served us here mostfaithfully. I shall wait to hear from him. Your secretary seems to havelied at first and waited long to tell this amazing story."

  The minister did not explain, but said sharply:

  "It will be well if that despatch can be found. It was meant only forthe Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

  "I do not understand you."

  Fauchet laughed. "I trust that you may never have occasion to understandme better." He was angry, and lost both his prudence and what littlemanners he ever possessed. "It is desirable, or at least it is to behoped that the thief destroyed it."

  "The gentleman you condemn, sir, is not yet on trial, and this has gonefar enough and too far. I shall lay the matter in due time before thePresident." Upon which he bowed out the Republican envoy.

  Greatly annoyed, Mr. Randolph put the matter before the members of thecabinet, who agreed that in justice they must wait for De Courval'sreturn.

  Meanwhile Chovet's gossip had done its work, and there were a dozenversions which amused many, made others angry, and fed the strife ofparties; for now Fauchet spoke of it everywhere with the utmost freedom.

  "It is incredible," said Governor Penn; and the women, too, were all onthe side of De Courval, while Mr. Wynne, in great anxiety, thought fitto call at Mrs. Swanwick's for news of the vicomte.

  He saw in a moment that the widow had heard some of the stories sofreely talked about. She had found to her relief some one to whom shecould speak. "What is all this," she asked, "I hear about Friend deCourval? My Uncle Josiah has been to tell me and I could make nothing ofit?"

  "I know, Mary, only the wildest tales. But when De Courval returns, Idesire to see him at once."

  "His mother heard from him to-day and we look for him possiblyto-morrow. Gainor Wynne has been here, in a fine rage. The young manhas very warm friends, Hugh. I cannot believe a word of it."

  "Nor I, what I hear. But let him see me at once." The widow wasdistressed. "Something there must have been. Alas, my poor Margaret!"

  Her life had been for many years a constant struggle with poverty, madeharder by remembrance of early days of ease and luxury. She bore it allwith high-hearted courage and the pride which for some inexplicablereason will accept any gift except money. It became an easier life whenSchmidt took of her his two rooms and became by degrees their friend,while the fact that the daughter, inheriting her beauty, was likeherself of Friends, did in a measure keep their lives simple and freefrom the need for many luxuries she saw in the homes of their cousins.Mrs. Swanwick thought, too, of these strangers whom she had nursed,of the vicomtesse, at times a little trying with her sense of whatwas due to her; of her son, kindly, grave, thoughtful of others,religious,--that was singular,--and twice, as it was said, engaged inbloody quarrels. How could one understand that?

  She knew what her bountiful nature had given these exiles. Now she wasagain to be a reproach among Friends and to feel that these people hadbrought into her quiet home for her child only misfortune and sorrow. IfSchmidt were but here! Margaret was at home, busy and joyful, knowingnothing of what lay before her or of this sinister story of attemptedmurder and robbery. Resolutely setting it all aside, Mrs. Swanwick wentout to provide for the wants of the day.

  A half hour later De Courval crossed the city, riding along High StreetA pleasant comrade--Joy--went with him as he turned down Front Street,past widely separated houses and gardens gay with flowers. Once they hadbeen country homes, but now the city was slowly crowding in on them withneed for docks. He left his horse at the stable and walked swiftlyhomeward.

  Mrs. Swanwick's house was still remote enough to be secure from thegreed of commerce. The dusty, gray road before him, dry with the intenseheat of August, ran southward. No one was in sight. There was somethingmysteriously depressing in the long highway without sign of life, areminder of that terrible summer when day by day he had come out of thehouse and seen no one.

  As he drew near Mrs. Swanwick's door, he met Captain Biddle. "Oh, byGeorge!" said the sailor, "so you are come at last, and none too soon. Ihave been here thrice."

  "What is the matter, Captain? Is any one ill?"

  "No; but there is a lot of lies about you. There is neither decency norcharity ashore. Have you been at the State Department or seen any one?"

  "No. I am this moment come back. But, for God's sake, Captain, tell mewhat it is."

  "A fellow named Carteaux has charged you with half killing him andstealing his despatches. That is all I know."

  "Is that all? _Diable!_ I am sorry I did not wholly kill him. I knewthis would come out soon or late. Of course he is lying; but I did shoothim."

  "There is a malignant article in the 'Aurora' to-day--there, I markedit."

  Rene looked it over as he stood. "So I am the thief, I am the agent ofthe cabinet or the Federal party, and _mon Dieu_, Schmidt--"

  "It is serious," said the captain. "A horsewhip is the weapon neededhere, but I am at your service in every way."

  "Thank you; but first of all, I must see Mr. Randolph; and, oh, worst ofall, Schmidt is absent!" He felt that he could not meet Margaret untilhe had put an end to this slander. He foresaw also that to meet withsuccess would, in Schmidt's absence, be difficult. Thanking his sailorfriend, he made haste to see his official superior.

  "Ah," said Randolph, "I am both glad and sorry to see you. Sit down.Have you heard of the charges against you made by Mr. Fauchet for hissecretary, Carteaux?"

  "Nothing very clear, sir; but enough to bring me here instantly to havethe thing explained to me."

  "Pray read this statement."

  De Courval read Carteaux's deposition and, flushing with sudden anger hethrew the paper on the table. "So it seems I deliberately waylaid andshot the secretary of an envoy in order to steal his despatches."

  "That is the charge, made by a man who I am assured is dying. You canhave no objection to my asking you a few questions."

  "None. I shall like it."

  "Did you shoot this man?"

  "I did. He was of the mock court which murdered my father at Avignon.Any French gentleman here can tell you--Du Vallon for one, and DeNoailles. Of the direct personal part this man took in causing myfather's death I have not talked. Twice he has had the equal chance Iwould have given a gentleman. Yes, I meant to kill him."

  "But, Vicomte--"

  "Pardon me." And he told briefly the story of Carteaux's treacherousshot and of why for a while it seemed well to Schmidt to silence theman.

  "It was unwise. A strange and sad affair," said the secretary, "but,Monsieur, it is only this recent matter which concerns me, and the fact,the
unfortunate fact, that your enemy was a bearer of despatches. Whocan substantiate your statement as against that of a man said to bedying? Who can I call upon?"

  "No one. Mr. Schmidt saw it. He is in Europe. The man lies. It is hisword or mine. He says here nothing of its being only a personal quarrel;and why did he wait? Ah, clearly until Schmidt, who saw it all, had goneto Europe and I was absent."

  "Why he waited I cannot say. The rest concerns me greatly. Did youdestroy his despatches?"

  "_Mon Dieu!_ I? No. Mr. Schmidt, in cutting open his clothes to get athis wound, found those papers, and then seeing what I had done, and howthe department might be credited with it, or at least the English party,I myself carried the despatch to its address, the captain of the _JeanBart_."

  "Did you get a receipt?"

  "I asked for it. It was refused. The captain was angry at what he saidhad been dangerous delay, and refused unless I would come on board andtalk to him. I of course declined to do so. I would certainly have beencarried to France."

  "She has sailed, the _Jean Bart?_"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then what proof have you as against the deposition of a man _inextremis?_"

  "None but my word, that I gave to an officer of the corvette a packageof papers."

  "The minister was insolent enough to hint that this was a robbery in theinterest of my service and a plot of the Federalist Englishsympathizers. In fact, he implied even more. I am asked to dismiss youas proof that we at least are in no way a party to the matter."

  "One moment, Mr. Secretary--would that be proof?"

  "No, sir. Pardon me. This affair has been twice before the cabinet,where, to be frank, some difference of opinion existed. ThePresident--but no matter. You admit the fact of the assault and, well,the taking of the paper. You do not deny either. You have no evidence infavor of your explanation,--none."

  "Pardon me; I have said De Noailles could assure you that I had causefor a personal quarrel."

  "Admit the personal motive, it does not help you. The Republicans areusing this scandal freely, and we have quite enough complications, asyou know. If these people urge it, the law may be appealed to. Toconclude, this is not a cabinet matter, and it was so decided. Itaffects the honor of my own department."

  "Sir, the honor!" De Courval rose as he spoke. "You have said what Icould permit no one but my official superior to say."

  "I regret to have been so unpleasant, but having duly considered thematter, I must reluctantly ask you not to return to the office until youcan clear yourself by other evidence than your own. I deeply regret it."

  "You are plain enough, sir, and I most unfortunate. It does seem to methat my life here might at least give my word value as against that ofthis lying Jacobin."

  The Secretary made no reply. Randolph, although a kindly man andcourteous, had nothing more to say to the young clerk. He was but one ofmany _emigre_ nobles cast on our shores, and his relations with theSecretary had been simply official, although, as the latter would haveadmitted, the service rendered had been of the best.

  Still standing, Rene waited a moment after his personal appeal forjustice, but, as I have said, the Secretary did not see fit to answer.To have bluntly refused Fauchet's demand would have been his desire anddecision; but as a matter of policy he must do something to disarm partycriticism. With this in mind he had offered the young man a compromise;and not quite sure that he should not have dismissed him, he seemed tohimself, considering all things, to have acted with moderation.

  "'Then I beg to resign my position'"]

  De Courval, who had waited on the Secretary's silence, said at last, "Ijudge, sir, that you have no more to say."

  "No. I am sorry that nothing you have told me changes this very painfulsituation."

  "Then I beg to resign my position. I have many friends and time will dome justice."

  The Secretary would have preferred the young vicomte to have acceptedhis offer. He was not assured that Carteaux's story was correct; butwhat else could he do? "Are you not hasty?" he said.

  "No. You believe me to have lied, and my sole witness, Mr. Schmidt, isin Germany. It is he who is slandered as well as I. I shall come here nomore. Here is my report on the condition of the frontier counties."

  "No, Vicomte. I did not doubt your word, but only your power to proveyour truth for others who do not know you."

  "It amounts to the same thing," said De Courval, coldly. "Good morning."

  He went to his own office, and stood a moment in the small, whitewashedroom, reflecting with indignant anger on the sudden ending of a careerhe had enjoyed. Then he gathered his personal belongings and calling theold negro caretaker, bade him carry them to Mrs. Swanwick's.

  As for the last time he went down the steps, he said to himself: "So Iam thrown to the wolves of party! I knew I should be, and I said so,"which was hardly just to the man he left, who would have been pleased ifhis compromise had been accepted. Little could Randolph have imaginedthat the remote agency of the man he had thus thrown over would resultfor himself in a situation not unlike that which he had created for hissubordinate.

  "I am ruined," murmured De Courval. "Who will believe me? and Margaret!My God! that is at an end! And my mother!"

  He walked slowly homeward, avoiding people and choosing the alleyby-ways so numerous in Penn's city.

  The hall door was usually open in the afternoon to let the breeze passthrough. He went into Schmidt's room, and then into the garden, seeingonly Nanny and black Cicero, with whom he was a favorite. No one was inbut madame, his mother. Mr. Girard had been to ask for him and Mr.Bingham and Mr. Wynne, and others. So it was to be the mother first.

  He was used to the quiet, unemotional welcome. He kissed her hand andher forehead, saying, "You look well, mother, despite the heat."

  "Yes, I am well. Tell me of your journey. Ah, but I am glad to see you!I have had but one letter. You should have written more often." Thecharm of his mother's voice, always her most gracious quality, just nowaffected him almost to tears.

  "I did write, mother, several times. The journey may wait. I have badnews for you."

  "None is possible for me while you live, my son."

  "Yes, yes," he said. "The man Carteaux, having heard of Schmidt'sabsence and mine, has formally charged me with shooting him withoutwarning in order to steal his despatches."

  "Ah, you should have killed him. I said so."

  "Yes, perhaps. The charge is clearly made on paper, attested bywitnesses. He is said to be dying."

  "Thank God."

  "I have only my word." He told quietly of the weakness of his position,of the political aspect of the affair, of his interview and hisresignation.

  "Did you ask Mr. Randolph to apologize, Rene?"

  "Oh, mother, one cannot do that with a cabinet minister."

  "Why not? And is this all? You resign a little clerkship. I am surprisedthat it troubles you."

  "Mother, it is ruin."

  "Nonsense! What is there to make you talk of ruin?"

  "The good word of men lost; the belief in my honor. Oh, mother, do younot see it? And it is a case where there is nothing to be done, nothing.If Randolph, after my long service, does not believe me, who will?"

  She was very little moved by anything he said. She lived outside of theworld of men, one of those island lives on which the ocean waves ofexterior existence beat in vain. The want of sympathy painfully affectedhim. She had said it was of no moment, and had no helpful advice togive. The constantly recurring thought of Margaret came and went as theytalked, and added to his pain. He tried to make her see both the shameand even the legal peril of his position. It was quite useless. He wasfor her the Vicomte de Courval, and these only common people whom arevolution had set in high places. Never before had he fully realizedthe quality of his mother's unassailable pride. It was a foretaste ofwhat he might have to expect when she should learn of his engagement toMargaret; but now that, too, must end. He went away, exhausted as from abodily struggle.

&nb
sp; In the hall he met Margaret just come in, the joy of time-nurtured loveon her face. "Oh, Rene!" she cried. "How I have longed for thee! Comeout into the garden. The servants hear everything in the house."

  They went out and sat down under the trees, she talking gaily, hesilent.

  "What is the matter?" she inquired at last, of a sudden anxious.

  "Pearl," he said, "I am a disgraced and ruined man."

  "Rene, what dost thou mean? Disgraced, ruined!"

  He poured out this oft-repeated story of Avignon, the scene on theBristol road, the despatch, and last, his talk with Randolph and hisresignation.

  "And this," she said, "was what some day I was to hear. It is terrible,but--ruined--oh, that thou art not. Think of the many who love thee! Anddisgraced? Thou art Rene de Courval."

  "Yes; but, Pearl, dear Pearl, this ends my joy. How can I ask you tomarry a man in my position?"

  For a moment she said no word. Then she kissed him. "There is my answer,Rene."

  "No, no. It is over. I cannot. As a gentleman, I cannot."

  Again the wholesome discipline of Friends came to her assistance. It wasa serious young face she saw. He it was who was weak, and she strong.

  "Trouble comes to all of us in life, Rene. I could not expect always toescape. It has come to us in the morning of our love. Let us meet ittogether. It is a terrible story, this. How can I, an inexperiencedgirl, know how to regard it? I am sure thou hast done what was right inthine own eyes. My mother will say thou shouldst have left it to God'sjustice. I do not know. I am not sure. I suppose it is because I so lovethee that I do not know. We shall never speak of it again, never. It isthe consequences we--yes, we--have to deal with."

  "There is no way to deal with them." He was in resourceless despair.

  "No, no. Friend Schmidt will return. He is sure to come, and this willall be set right. Dost thou remember how the blessed waters washed awaythy care? Is not love as surely good?"

  "Oh, yes; but this is different. That was a trifle."

  "No; it is the waiting here for Friend Schmidt that troubles me. What isthere but to wait? Thou art eager to do something; that is the man'sway, and the other is the woman's way. Take thy daily swim, ride, sail;the body will help the soul. It will all come right; but not marry me!Then, Rene de Courval, I shall marry thee."

  A divine hopefulness was in her words, and for the first time he knewwhat a firm and noble nature had been given the woman at his side, whatpower to trust, what tenderness, what common sense, and, too, whatinsight; for he knew she was right. The contrast to his mother wasstrange, and in a way distressing.

  "I must think it over," he said.

  "Thou wilt do no such thing. Thou, indeed! As if it were thy businessalone! I am a partner thou wilt please to remember. Thou must see thyfriends, and, above all, write to Mr. Hamilton at once, and do as I havesaid. I shall speak to my mother. Hast thou--of course thou hast seenthy mother?"

  "I have; and she takes it all as a matter of no moment, really of notthe least importance."

  "Indeed, and so must we. Now, I am to be kissed--oh, once, for the goodof thy soul--I said once. Mr. Bingham has been here. See him and Mr.Wynne, and swim to-night, Rene, and be careful, too, of my property,thy--dear self."

  Even in this hour of mortification, and with the memory of Randolph'sdoubt in mind, Rene had some delightful sense of being taken in hand anddisciplined. He had not said again that the tie which bound themtogether must be broken. He had tacitly accepted the joy of defeat, alittle ashamed, perhaps.

  Every minute of this talk had been a revelation to the man who had livednear Margaret for years. An older man could have told him that no lengthof life will reveal to the most observant love all the possibilities ofthought or action in the woman who may for years have been his wife.There will always remain surprises of word and deed.

  Although Rene listened and said that he could do none of the things sheurged, the woman knew that he would do all of them.

  At last she started up, saying: "Why, Rene, thou hast not had thydinner, and now, as we did not look for thee, it is long over. Come inat once."

  "Dear Pearl," he said, "I am better let alone. I do not need anything."He wished to be left by himself to brood over the cruel wrong of themorning, and with any one but Pearl he would have shown some sense ofirritation at her persistence.

  The wild creatures are tamed by starvation, the animal man by goodfeeding. This fact is the sure possession of every kindly woman; and soit was that De Courval went meekly to the house and was fed,--as wasindeed needed,--and having been fed, with the girl watching him, wasbetter in body and happier in mind.

  He went at once into Schmidt's study and wrote to Hamilton, whileMargaret, sitting in her room at the eastward window, cried a little andsmiled between the tears and wondered at the ways of men.

  What she said to her mother may be easily guessed. The vicomtesse was asusual at the evening meal, where Rene exerted himself to talk of hisjourney to Mrs. Swanwick, less interested than was her way.

  The day drew to a close. The shadows came with coolness in the air. Theendless embroidery went on, the knitting needles clicked, and a littlelater in the dusk, Margaret smiled as Rene went down the garden to theriver, a towel on his arm.

  "I did him good," she murmured proudly.

  Later in the evening they were of one mind that it was well to keeptheir engagement secret, above all, not to confide it to their relativesor to Miss Wynne until there was some satisfactory outcome of theserious charge which had caused Randolph to act as he had done.