en.

A glance to right and left showed on one side a bare, whitewashed front
room, without pictures or mirrors, some colonial chairs with shells
carved on feet and knees, and on a small table a china bowl of roses.
The room to right he guessed at once to be used as a sitting-room by
Schmidt.

The furniture was much as in the other room, but there were shining
brass fire-dogs, silver candlesticks on the mantel, and over it a pair
of foils, two silver-mounted pistols, and a rapier with a gold-inlaid
handle. Under a window was a large secretary with many papers. There
were books in abundance on the chairs and in a corner case. The
claw-toed tables showed pipes, tobacco-jars, wire masks, and a pair of
fencing-gloves. On one side of the hall a tall clock reminded him that
he was some ten minutes late.

The little party was about to sit down at table when he entered. "This
is Friend de Courval," said the widow.

"We have met in the garden," returned Schmidt, quietly.

"Indeed. Thou wilt sit by me, Friend de Courval, and presently thy
mother on my right." As she spoke, Madame de Courval paused at the door
while the hostess and her daughter bent in the silent grace of Friends.
The new-comer took her place with a pleasant word of morning greeting in
her pretty French; an old black woman brought in the breakfast. A
tranquil courtesy prevailed.

"Will thy mother take this or that? Here are eggs my uncle sent from the
country, and shad, which we have fresh from the river, a fish we
esteem."

There was now for a somewhat short time little other talk. The girl of
over sixteen shyly examined the new-comers. The young man approved the
virginal curves of neck and figure, the rebellious profusion of dark
chestnut-tinted hair, the eyes that could hardly have learned their busy
attentiveness in the meeting-house. The gray dress and light gray silk
kerchief seemed devised to set off the roses which came out in wandering
isles of color on her cheeks. Madame's ignorance of English kept her
silent, but she took note of the simple attire of her hostess, the
exquisite neatness of the green apron, then common among Friends, and
the high cap. The habit of the house was to speak only when there was
need. There was no gossip even of the mildest.

"June was out all night," said Mrs. Swanwick. "That is our cat," she
explained to De Courval.

"But she brought in a dead mouse," said the girl, "to excuse herself, I
suppose." Schmidt smiled at