"Soon thou wilt see Josiah Langstroth, uncle of Mrs. Swanwick. Ah, there's a man that mocks conjecture; for, being a Quaker by pride of ancestral d.a.m.nation, he goes to meeting twice a year, swears a little to ease his soul, toasts George the Third of Sundays, and will surely tell you how, driven out of the country, he went to London and was presented to the king and triumphantly kept his hat on his head. He is rich and would provide for his niece, who will take help from no one. He does at times offer money, but is ever well pleased when she refuses. As for Hugh Wynne, I will go with you to see him, a Welsh squire to this day, like the best of them here. I shall leave you to make him out. He is a far-away cousin of Margaret's mother.

"It is a fine menagerie. Very soon you will hear of Aunt Gainor Wynne,--every one calls her aunt; I should not dare to do so,--a st.u.r.dy Federalist lady, with a pa.s.sion for old china, horses, and matchmaking, the G.o.dmother of Mrs. Swanwick. Take care; she will hate or love you at sight, and as great a maker of mischief as ever perplexed good sense; as tender an old woman at times as ever lacked need of onions to fetch tears; a fine lady when she chooses.

"There, I have done you a service and saved your wits industry. You listen well. There is a savor of grace in that. It is a virtue of the smoker. Question me if you like."

Nothing could better have pleased the young man.

"I would know more of this town, sir," and he told of his quest of a tavern. The German laughed.

"A good lesson--Federalists and ape democrats--wild politics of a nation in its childhood. Three great men,--Washington, Hamilton, James Wilson, and perhaps John Adams; well--great merchants, Willings, Bingham, and Girard; and besides these, Quakers, many of them n.o.bler for a creed unworkable in a naughty world, with offshoots of 'world's people,' which saved some fortunes in the war; and, ah, a sect that will die away,--Free Quakers, high-minded gentlemen who made up for a century of peace when they elected to draw the sword. I fear I have been tedious."

"No, not at all; you are most kind, sir, and most interesting. I am sure to like it all. I hope my mother will be contented. We have never of late years been used to luxuries."

"She can hardly fail to be satisfied; but it is a simple life. There are only two servants, Cicero, and Nanny, once a slave, now, as Mrs.

Swanwick says, a servant friend--ah, and a stiff Episcopal. She has never ceased to wonder why her mistress ever became a Quaker. I am much of her way of thinking. Are you of a mind to walk and see a little of the city? Later we will call upon Mr. Wynne." As they rose, he added: "I did not speak of the wrecks of French n.o.bles cast on these sh.o.r.es--only a few as yet. You will see them by and by. They are various--but in general perplexed by inheritance of helplessness. Once for all you are to understand that my room is always and equally yours. Of course you use the foils. Yes; well, we shall fence in the garden. And now come; let us go out."

"I forgot, sir. My mother bade me thank you for the roses. She has as yet no English, or would herself have thanked you."

"But I myself speak French--of a kind. It will serve to amuse madame; but never will you hear French at its best until Miss Wynne does talk it."

IV

As they went northward on Front Street, with the broad Delaware to the right, for as yet no Water Street narrowed the river frontage, the German said: "I left out of my portrait gallery one Schmidt, but you will come to know him in time. He has a talent for intimacy. Come, now; you have known him five years. What do you think of him?"

More and more strange seemed this gentleman to his young companion. He glanced aside at the tall, strongly built man, with the merry blue eyes, and, a little embarra.s.sed and somewhat amused, replied with habitual caution, "I hardly know as yet, but I think I shall like him."

"I like the answer. You will like him, but we may leave him and time to beget opinion. How dignified these Georgian fronts are, and the stoops!

Once folks sat on them at evening, and gossiped of the miseries of war.

Now there are changed ways and more luxury and a new day--less simpleness; but not among the good people we have left. No. They are of the best, and aristocrats, too, though you may not suspect it. The habit of hospitality in a new land remains. A lady with small means loses no social place because, like our hostess, she receives guests who pay.

Here will come rich kinsfolk and friends, visitors on even terms--Whartons, Morrises, Cadwaladers, Logans,--the old, proud Welsh, grandsons of Welsh, with at times Quaker people and the men in office, for madame is clever and well liked. I tell her she has a Quaker salon, which is not my wit, but true."

"I had supposed Friends too rigid for this."

"Oh, there are Quakers and Quakers, and sometimes the overseers feel called upon to remonstrate; and then there is an unpleasantness, and our hostess is all of a sudden moved by the spirit to say things, and has her claws out. And my rose, my rose Pearl, can be p.r.i.c.kly, too."

"She does not look like it, sir."

"No? When does a young woman look like what she is or may be? She is a good girl--as good as G.o.d makes them; her wits as yet a bit muzzled by the custom of Friends. A fair bud--prophetic of what the rose will be."

They wandered on to Arch Street and then westward. "Here," said Schmidt, as they turned into the open entrance of a graveyard--"here I come at evening sometimes. Read that. There are sermons in these stones, and history."

De Courval saw on a gray slab, "Benjamin Franklin and Deborah, his wife." He took off his hat, saying as he stood: "My father knew him. He came to Normandy once to see the model farms of our cousin, Rochefoucauld Liancourt."

"Indeed. I never knew the philosopher, but the duke--I knew the duke well,--in Paris,--oh, very well, long ago; a high-minded n.o.ble. We will come here again and talk of this great man, under the marble, quiet as never in life. You must not be late for Wynne. He will not like that."

Turning southward and walking quickly, they came in half an hour to the busy s.p.a.ce in front of Wynne's warehouse. He met them at the door, where Schmidt, leaving them, said, "I leave you a man, Colonel Wynne."

Wynne said, smiling: "I am no longer a colonel, Vicomte, but a plain merchant. Have the kindness to follow me, Vicomte," and so pa.s.sed on through a room where clerks were busy and into a small, neatly kept office.

"Sit down, Vicomte. We must have a long talk and come quickly to know one another. You speak English, I observe, and well, too. And, now, you have a letter of exchange on me for five thousand livres, or, rather, two hundred pounds. Better to leave it with me. I can give you interest at six per cent., and you may draw on me at need. Have you any present want?"

"No, sir; none--just yet none."

"I am told that you left France for England and have had, pardon me, much to lament."

"Yes, we have suffered like many others." He was indisposed to be frank where there was no need to say more.

"What do you purpose to do? A few thousand livres will not go far."

"I do not know. Anything which will help us to live."

"Anything? You may teach French like De Laisne, or fencing like Du Vallon, or dancing like the Marquis de Beau Castel. I offered him a clerkship."

"Offer me one," said De Courval. "I write a good hand. I speak and write English. I can learn, and I will."

Wynne took stock, as he would have said, of the rather serious face, of the eyes of gray which met his look, of a certain eagerness in the young man's prompt seizure of a novel opportunity.

"Can you serve under a plain man like my head clerk, run errands, obey without question--in a word, accept a master?"

"I have had two bitter ones, sir, poverty and misfortune."

"Can you come at eight thirty, sweep out the office, make the fires at need in winter, with an hour off, at noon, and work till six? Such is our way here."

The young man flushed. "Is that required?"

"I did it for a year, Vicomte, and used the sword for five years, and came back to prosper."

De Courval smiled. "I accept, sir; we have never been rich, and I ought to say that we are not of the greater n.o.blesse. When our fortunes fell away, I worked with our peasants in the field. I have no false pride, and my sword is in a box in Mrs. Swanwick's attic. I fancy, sir, that I shall have no use for it here. Why gentlemen should prefer to teach French or dancing to good steady work I cannot understand."

"Nor I," said Wynne, beginning to like this grave and decisive young n.o.ble. "Think it over," he said.

"I have done so."

"Very good. You will receive thirty dollars a month--to be increased, I trust. When will you come?"

"To-morrow--at eight and a half, you said."

"Yes; but to-morrow a little earlier. The junior clerk you replace will tell you what you are to do, and for the rest Mr. Potts will give you your orders. A word more: you had better drop your t.i.tle and be plain Mr. de Courval. When, as will chance, you go among our friends, it would be an affectation. Well, then, to-morrow; but,--and you will pardon me,--to-day we are two gentlemen, equals; to-morrow, here at least, you are a simple clerk among exact and industrious people, and I the master.

Let us be clear as to this. That is all."

"I think I understand. And now may I ask how I may find the French minister? There is a letter my mother would send to her cousin, and I am at a loss, for I fear there are no mails I can trust."

"Jean de Ternant is the French minister, but he will hardly be likely to oblige a _ci-devant_ vicomte. They talk of a new one. Give it to me; I will see that it goes by safe hands." With this he rose and added: "Mrs.

Wynne will have the honor to call on the vicomtesse, and we shall be at her service."