ange
joy of senses freshened and keener than in health, as if he were reborn
to a new heritage of tastes and odors, the priceless gift of wholesome
convalescence.

He asked no questions concerning Carteaux or what men said of the duel;
but as Schmidt, musing, saw him at times gentle, pleased, merry, or
again serious, he thought how all men have in them a brute ancestor
ready with a club. "Just now the devil is asleep." He alone, and the
mother, fore-looking, knew; and so the time ran on, and every one wanted
him. The women came with flowers and strawberries, and made much of him,
the gray mother not ill-pleased.

In June he was up, allowed to walk out or to lie in the boat while
Schmidt caught white perch or crabs and talked of the many lands he had
seen. Then at last, to Rene's joy, he might ride.

"Here," said Schmidt, "is a note from Mistress Gainor. We are asked to
dine and stay the night. No, not you. You are not yet fit for dinners
and gay women. These doctors are cruel. There will be, she writes, Mr.
Jefferson, here for a week; Mr. Langstroth, and a woman or two; and
Wolcott of the Treasury, 'if Hamilton will let him come,' she says." For
perhaps wisely the new official followed the ex-Secretary's counsels, to
the saving of much needless thinking. "A queer party that!" said
Schmidt. "What new mischief are she and the ex-Quaker Josiah devising?"
He would be there at three, he wrote, the groom having waited a reply.

"Have you any message for Miss Margaret, Rene?" he asked next day.

"Tell her that all that is left of me remembers her mother's kindness."
And, laughing, he added: "That there is more of me every day."

"And is that all?"

"Yes; that is all. Is there any news?"

"None of moment. Oh, yes, I meant to tell you. The heathen imagine a
vain thing--a fine republican mob collected in front of the Harp and
Crown yesterday. There was a picture set up over the door in the war--a
picture of the Queen of France. A painter was made to paint a ring of
blood around the neck and daub the clothes with red. If there is a fool
devil, he must grin at that."

"_Canaille!_" said Rene. "Poor queen! We of the religion did not love
her; but to insult the dead! Ah, a week in Paris now, and these cowards
would fly in fear."

"Yes; it is a feeble sham." And so he left Rene to his book and rode
away with change of garments in his saddle-bags.

XVIII

Miss Gainor being busy at her toilette, Schmidt was receiv