ure
even for busy statesmen. Hither came Aaron Burr--the woman-hawk, Aunt
Gainor called him, with his dark, fateful face; Pickering, in after days
of the War Department; Wolcott, to be the scarce adequate successor of
Hamilton; Logan, and gay cousins--not often more than one or two at a
time--with, rarely, the Master of the Rolls and Robert Morris, and Mr.
Justice Chew--in fact, what was best in the social life of the city.

Mr. Hamilton was shut up with Mrs. Swanwick in the withdrawing-room,
busy. It was now too late to expect visitors--five o'clock of a summer
afternoon. The vicomtesse avoided this interesting society, and at last
Rene ceased to urge her to share what he himself found so agreeable.
Margaret sat entranced in the "Castle of Otranto," hardly hearing the
_click, click_, of the fencing-foils on the grass plot not far away.
Birds were in the air; a woodpecker was busy on a dead tree; bees, head
down, were accumulating honey for the hive at the foot of the garden;
and a breeze from the river was blowing through the hall and out at the
hospitably open front door--a peaceful scene, with still the ring and
clash of the foils and De Courval's merry laughter.

"A hit, a palpable hit!" said a voice behind Margaret as she rose.

"Thou art dead for a ducat--dead, Friend de Courval."

"Ah," said Schmidt, "a critic. Does it look easy, Mr. de Forest?"

[Illustration: "'Well played!' cried Schmidt--'the jest and the
rapier'"]

"I am a man of peace, how shouldst I know? but the game looks easy." He
threw up his head and stretched out his hand. "Let me look at the
thing."

"Then take off your coat and put on a mask. But I shall not hurt you;
there is no need for the mask."

He was quietly amused, and if only Nicholas Waln would come; for now the
Quaker gentleman had put aside hat and coat, and in plainest gray
homespun faced him, a stalwart, soldierly figure.

"How does thee hold it, Friend Schmidt? Ah, so?"

In a moment the German knew that he was crossing blades with a master of
the small sword. Margaret and De Courval looked on merrily exchanging
gay glances.

"Dead," cried De Forest, as he struck fair over the German's heart, "and
a damn good hit!"

"Well played!" cried Schmidt--"the jest and the rapier. Another
bout--no!" To his surprise he saw the Quaker gentleman's face change as
he hastily put on his coat.

"Thank thee," he said to De Courval as the young man handed him his hat,
and without other