LOUIS RENe DE COURVAL.

"That will do," said Schmidt. "He shall have it to-night. You will have a week to spend with Du Vallon. No prudent man would meet you in the condition in which you left him."

"I suppose not. I can wait. I have waited long. I regret the delay chiefly because in this city everything is known and talked about, and before we can end the matter it will be heard of here."

"Very probably; but no one will speak of it before your mother, and you may be sure that these good people will ask no questions, and only wonder and not realize what must come out of it."

"Perhaps, perhaps." He was not so sure and wished to end it at once.

It had been in his power to have made the social life of the better republicans impossible for his father's murderer; but this might have driven Carteaux away and was not what he desired. The constant thought of his mother had kept him as undecided as Hamlet, but now a sudden burst of anger had opened the way to what he longed for. He was glad.

When, that night, Jean Carteaux sat up in bed and read by dim candlelight De Courval's letter, he, too, saw again the great hall at Avignon and recalled the blood madness. His Jacobin alliances had closed to him in Philadelphia the houses of the English party and the Federalists, and in the society he frequented, at the official dinners of the cabinet officers, he had never seen De Courval, nor, indeed, heard of him, or, if at all casually, without his t.i.tle and as one of the many _emigres_ n.o.bles with whom he had no social acquaintance. It was the resurrection of a ghost of revenge. He had helped to send to the guillotine others as innocent as Jean de Courval, and then, at last, not without fear of his own fate, had welcomed the appointment of commissioner to San Domingo and, on his return to France, had secured the place of secretary to Genet's legation. The mockery of French sentiment in the clubs of the American cities, the c.o.c.kades, and red bonnets, amused him. It recoiled from personal violence, and saying wild things, did nothing of serious moment. The good sense and the trust of the great ma.s.s of the people throughout the country in one man promised little of value to France, as Carteaux saw full well when the recall of Genet was demanded. He felt the chill of failure in this cooler air, but was of no mind to return to his own country. He was intelligent, and, having some means, meant that his handsome face should secure for him an American wife, and with her a comfortable dowry; for who knew of his obscure life in Paris? And now here was that affair at Avignon and the ruin of his plans. He would at least close one mouth and deny what it might have uttered. There was no other way, and for the rest--well, a French _emigre_ had heard him speak rashly and had been brutal. The Jacobin clubs would believe and stand by him. De la Foret must arrange the affair, and so far this insolent _ci-devant_ could have said nothing else of moment.

De la Foret called early the next day, and was referred to Schmidt as Rene left the room. No pacific settlement was discussed or even mentioned. The consul, well pleased, accepted the sword as the weapon, and this being Sunday, on Thursday at 7 A.M. there would be light enough, and they would cross on the ice to New Jersey; for this year one could sleigh from the city to the capes, and from New York to Cape Cod--or so it was said.

Meanwhile the Jacobin clubs rang with the insult to a French secretary, and soon it was the talk in the well-pleased coffee-houses and at the tables of the great merchants. Rene said nothing, refusing to gratify those who questioned him.

"A pity," said Mrs. Chew to Penn, the Governor, as men still called him.

"And why was it? The young man is so serious and so quiet and, as I hear, religious. I have seen him often at Christ Church with his mother, or at Gloria Dei."

"One can get a good deal of religion into a blow," remarked Hamilton, "or history lies. The man insulted him, I am told, and the vicomte struck him." Even Hamilton knew no more than this.

"Still, there are milder ways of calling a man to account," said young Thomas Cadwalader, while Hamilton smiled, remembering that savage duel in which John Cadwalader, the father, had punished the slanderer, General Conway.

"Will there be a fight?" said Mrs. Byrd.

"Probably," said Penn, and opinion among the Federals was all for the vicomte. Meanwhile no one spoke of the matter at the widow's quiet house, where just now the severe winter made social visits rare.

As for De Courval he fenced daily with Du Vallon, who was taken into their confidence and shared Schmidt's increasing anxiety.

XVII

On Thursday, at the dawn of a gloomy winter morning, the two sleighs crossed over a mile of ice to the Jersey sh.o.r.e. Large flakes of snow were falling as Schmidt drove, the little doctor, Chovet, beside him, De Courval silent on the back seat. Nothing could keep Chovet quiet very long. "I was in the duel of Laurens, the President of the Congress. Oh, it was to be on Christmas Day and near to Seven Street. Mr. Penn--oh, not the fat governor but the senator from Georgia--he slipped in the mud on the way, and Laurens he help him with a hand, and they make up all at once and no further go, and I am disappoint." It was an endless chatter.

"And there was the Conway duel, too. Ah, that was good business!"

Schmidt, out of patience, said at last, "If you talk any more, I will throw you out of the sleigh."

"Oh, _le diable!_ and who then will heal these which go to stick one the other? Ha! I ask of you that?"

"The danger will be so much the less," said Schmidt. Chovet was silenced.

On the sh.o.r.e they met De la Foret and Carteaux, and presently found in the woods an open s.p.a.ce with little snow. The two men stripped to the shirt, and were handed the dueling-swords, Schmidt whispering: "Be cool; no temper here. Wait to attack."

"And now," said the consul, as the seconds fell back, "on guard, Messieurs!"

Instantly the two blades rang sharp notes of meeting steel as they crossed and clashed in the cold morning air. "He is lost!" murmured Schmidt. The slighter man attacked furiously, shifting his ground, at first imprudently sure of his foe. A p.r.i.c.k in the chest warned him. Then there was a mad interchange of quick thrusts and more or less competent defense, when De Courval, staggering, let fall his rapier and dropped, while Carteaux, panting, stood still.

Schmidt knelt down. It was a deep chest wound and bled but little outwardly. De Courval, coughing up foamy blood, gasped, "It is over for a time--over." Chovet saw no more to do than to get his man home, and so strangely does a.s.sociative memory play her tricks that Schmidt, as he rose in dismay, recalled the words of the dying _Mercutio_. Then, with apparent ease, he lifted Rene, and, carrying him to the sleigh, wrapped him in furs, and drove swiftly over the ice to the foot of the garden.

"Fasten the horse, Doctor," he said, "and follow me." Rene smiled as the German carried him. "The second time of home-coming wounded. How strange! Don't be troubled, sir. I do not mean to die. Tell my mother yourself."

"If you die," murmured Schmidt, "he shall follow you. Do not speak, Rene."

He met Margaret on the porch. "What is it?" she cried, as he went by her with his burden. "What is the matter?"

"A duel. He is wounded. Call your mother." Not waiting to say more, he went carefully up-stairs, and with Chovet's help Rene was soon in his bed. It was quietly done, Mrs. Swanwick, distressed, but simply obeying directions, asked no questions and Margaret, below-stairs, outwardly calm, her Quaker training serving her well, was bidding Nanny to cease crying and to get what was needed.

Once in bed, Rene said only, "My mother--tell her, at once." She had heard at last the quick haste of unwonted stir and met Schmidt at her chamber door.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Certainly, Monsieur. Something has happened to Rene. Is he dead?"

"No; but, he is hurt--wounded."

"Then tell me the worst at once. I am not of those to whom you must break ill news gently. Sit down." He obeyed her.

"Rene has had a duel. He is badly wounded in the lung. You cannot see him now. The doctor insists on quiet."

"And who will stop me?" she said.

"I, Madame," and he stood between her and the door. "Just now you can only do him harm. I beg of you to wait--oh, patiently--for days, perhaps. If he is worse, you shall know it at once."

For a moment she hesitated. "I will do as you say. Who was the man?"

"Carteaux, Madame."

"Carteaux here! _Mon Dieu!_ Does he live?"

"Yes. He was not hurt."

"And men say there is a G.o.d! Christ help me; what is it I have said? How came he here, this man?"

He told her the whole story, she listening with moveless, pale, ascetic face. Then she rose: "I am sorry I did not know of this beforehand. I should have prayed for my son that he might kill him. I thank you, Monsieur. I believe you love my Rene."

"As if he were my son, Madame."

Days went by, darkened with despair or brightened with faint hope. Alas!

who has not known them? The days grew to weeks. There were no longer guests, only anxious inquirers and a pale, drooping young woman and two mothers variously troubled.

But if here there were watching friendship and love and service and a man to die to-day or to-morrow to live, in the darkened room were spirits twain ever whispering love or hate. Outside of the house where De Courval lay, the Jacobin clubs rejoiced and feasted Carteaux, who burned De Courval's note and held his tongue, while Fauchet complained of the insult to his secretary, and Mr. Randolph neither would nor could do anything.

The February of 1794 pa.s.sed, and March and April, while Glentworth, Washington's physician, came, and afterward Dr. Rush, to Chovet's disgust. Meanwhile the young man lay in bed wasting away with grim doubts of phthisis in the doctors' minds until in May there was a gain, and, as once before, he was allowed a settle, and soon was in the air on the upper porch, and could see visitors.

Schmidt, more gaunt than ever, kissed the hand of the vicomtesse in his German fashion, as for the first time through all the long vigils they had shared with Mary Swanwick she thanked him for positive a.s.surance of recovery.