it?" His errand took him past the house of the
Vice-President, John Adams. Servants and friends were carrying in
muskets. A noisy mob hooted and drifted away to Oeller's. There had been
threats of destroying the house, and Adams meant to be ready. The young
man went on deep in thought. In front of the Senate House he bowed to
Edmund Randolph, an occasional visitor at the Quaker salon and now
Attorney-General at the age of thirty-eight.

Returning, De Courval met Stephen Girard, who stopped him. Short,
sallow, a little bald, and still slight of build, he was watching with a
look of amusement the noisy mob in front of the hotel. "_Ah, bonjour,
monsieur._ And you would not go as my supercargo. It is open for the
asking." He spoke French of course. "These yonder are children, but they
are not as serious as they think themselves. Come this afternoon to my
farm on the neck and eat of my strawberries. There will be the French
consul-general and the secretary Carteaux. No politics, mind you. My
heart is with the revolutionary government at home, but my politics in
America are here," and he struck his breeches' pocket. "I am not for
war, _monsieur_."

De Courval excused himself, and went away murmuring: "Again, again! It
must end. I must make it end. Ah, mother, mother!"

Schmidt, troubled by the young man's gloom and loss of spirits, did all
he could, but characteristically made no effort to reopen a subject on
which he had as yet reached no other decision than the counsel of delay.

The mother questioned her son. It was nothing. He was not quite well,
and the heat of July was great. The German was yet more disturbed when
one evening after the fencing lesson Du Vallon said: "I had here to-day
two of the staff of that _sacre_ Citizen Genet. There is already talk of
his recall for insolence to the President. _Le bon Dieu_ be praised!"

"Why, Marquis, do you permit these cattle to come here?"

"One must live, Monsieur Schmidt."

"Perhaps."

"One of them is a pleasure to fence with--a Monsieur Carteaux, a meager
Jacobin. I could not touch him."

"I should like to, with the buttons off the foils," said Schmidt.

"I also. That does make a difference."

Schmidt went away thoughtful. The next afternoon, feeling the moist
heat, the vicomtesse went to Darthea at Merion. The two men fenced as
usual, while mother and daughter sat in shadow on the porch, and a
faint, cool air came up from the river.

"_Ach, du lieber Himmel!_