in creed, and who had seen the fortunes of his house
melt away, and at last had aged suddenly into gravity beyond his years
when he beat his way heartsick out of the grim tragedy of Avignon.

His father's people were of the noblesse of the robe, country gentles;
his mother a cousin of the two dukes Rochefoucauld. He drew qualities
from a long line of that remarkable judicature which through all changes
kept sacred and spotless the ermine of the magistrate. From the mother's
race he had spirit, courage, and a reserve of violent passions, the
inheritance of a line of warlike nobles unused to recognize any law but
their own will.

The quiet life of a lesser country gentleman, the absence from court
which pride and lessening means alike enforced, and the puritan training
of a house which held tenaciously to the creed of Calvin, combined to
fit him better to earn his living in a new land than was the case with
the greater nobles who had come to seek what contented their
ambitions--some means of living until they should regain their lost
estates. They drew their hopes from a ruined past. De Courval looked
forward with hope fed by youth, energy, and the simpler life.

It was four o'clock when the captain set them ashore with their boxes on
the slip in front of the warehouse of Mr. Wynne, the ship's owner. He
was absent at Merion, but his porters would care for their baggage, and
a junior clerk would find for them an inn until they could look for a
permanent home. When the captain landed them on the slip, the old clerk,
Mr. Potts, made them welcome, and would have had madam wait in the
warehouse until their affairs had been duly ordered. When her son
translated the invitation, she said: "I like it here. I shall wait for
you. The sun is pleasant." While he was gone, she stood alone, looking
about her at the busy wharf, the many vessels, the floating windmills
anchored on the river, and the long line of red brick warehouses along
the river front.

On his return, De Courval, much troubled, explained that there was not a
hackney-coach to be had, and that she had better wait in the
counting-house until a chaise could be found. Seeing her son's distress,
and learning that an inn could be reached near by, she declared it would
be pleasant to walk and that every minute made her better.

There being no help for it, they set out with the clerk, who had but a
mild interest in this addition to the French who were beginning to fly
fro