ly Carteaux, entering, bowed. De Courval did not return the
salute, and, finishing his business without haste, went out.

He felt the strain of self-control the situation had demanded, but, as
he wiped the sweat from his forehead, knew with satisfaction that the
stern trials of the years had won for him the priceless power to be or
to seem to be what he was not.

"The _ci-devant_ has had his little lesson," said Le Blanc. "It will be
long before he insults another good Jacobin."

Carteaux, more intelligent, read otherwise the set jaw and grave face of
the Huguenot gentleman. He would be on his guard.

The news of the death of Robespierre, in July, 1794, had unsettled
Fauchet, and his subordinate, sharing his uneasiness, meant to return
to France if the minister were recalled and the Terror at an end, or to
find a home in New York, and perhaps, like Genet, a wife. For the time
he dismissed De Courval from his mind, although not altogether
self-assured concerning the future.

XX

"And now about this matter of dress," said Miss Gainor.

"Thou art very good, Godmother, to come and consult me," said Mrs.
Swanwick. "I have given it some thought, and I do not see the wisdom of
going half-way. The good preacher White has been talking to Margaret,
and I see no reason why, if I changed, she also should not be free to do
as seems best to her."

"You are very moderate, Mary, as you always are."

"I try to be; but I wish that it were altogether a matter of conscience
with Margaret. It is not. Friends were concerned in regard to that sad
duel and considered me unwise to keep in my house one guilty of the
wickedness of desiring to shed another's blood, Margaret happened to be
with me when Friend Howell opened the subject, and thou knowest how
gentle he is."

"Yes. I know. What happened, Mary?"

"He said that Friends were advised that to keep in my house a young man
guilty of bloodshed was, as it did appear to them, undesirable. Then, to
my surprise, Margaret said: 'But he was not guilty of bloodshed.' Friend
Howell was rather amazed, as thou canst imagine; but before he could
say a word more, Miss Impudence jumped up, very red in the face, and
said: 'Why not talk to him instead of troubling mother? I wish he had
shed more blood than his own.'"

"Ah, the dear minx! I should like to have been there," said Gainor.

"He was very near to anger--as near as is possible for Arthur Howell;
but out goes my young woman in