den, and sweat out
too much Madeira. Come, there is still light enough."

VIII

Through the quiet of a Sunday morning, De Courval rode slowly up Fifth
Street, and into a land of farms and woodland, to spend a quiet day
alone with his mother, Miss Wynne, not altogether to the young man's
regret, having to remain in town over Monday. As he came to the scenes
where Schmidt, in their walks of Sundays, had explained to him
Washington's well-laid plan of the Germantown battle, he began at last
to escape for a time the too sad reflection which haunted his hours of
leisure in the renewed interest of a young soldier who had known only
the army life, but never actual war. He bent low in the saddle, hat off
to a group on the lawn at Cliveden, the once war-battered home of the
Chews, and was soon after kissing his mother on the porch of the Hill
farm.

There was disquieting news to tell of France, and he soon learned that
despite the heat and mosquitos she preferred the tranquillity of the
widow's home to the luxury of Miss Wynne's house. She was as usual
calmly decided, and he did not urge her to stay longer. She would return
to the city on Thursday. They talked of money matters, with reticence on
his part in regard to Schmidt's kindness and good counsels, and
concerning the satisfaction Mr. Wynne had expressed with regard to his
secretary.

"It may be good training for thee, my son," she said and then, after a
pause, "I begin to comprehend these people," and, pleased with her
progress, made little ventures in English to let him see how well she
was learning to speak. An habitual respect made him refrain from
critical corrections, but he looked up in open astonishment when she
said rather abruptly: "The girl in her gray gowns is on the way to
become one of the women about whom men go wild. Neither are you very
ugly, my son. Have a care; but a word from me should suffice."

"Oh, mother," he exclaimed, "do not misunderstand me!"

"My son, I know you are not as some of the light-minded cousins we knew
in France; but a word of warning does no harm, even if it be not
needed."

"I think you may be at ease, _maman_. You amaze me when you call her
beautiful. A pleasant little maid she seems to me, and not always the
same, and at times gay,--oh, when away from her mother,--and
intelligent, too. But beautiful--oh, hardly. _Soyez tranquille, maman._"

"I did not say she was beautiful. I said she was good-looking; or that
a