"Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord, Bishop of Autun, who, I understand, is in danger of losing his place in the affections of Madame on account of Monsieur Morris," returned the Duchess, hurriedly, and glancing mischievously, though keenly, at Mr. Morris's face, which, however, preserved its expression of impassivity.

"Ah! place aux eveques!" murmured Mr. Morris, quietly.

Salutations and the presentation of Mr. Morris and Mr. Calvert having been made, the Bishop of Autun turned to the Duchess.

"Your Highness," he said, "I have come to beg a dinner."

"And we have brought our bread with us, that we may be sure of our welcome!" cried out Madame de Flahaut, with a little laugh. And indeed they had, for wheat was so scarce in Paris that it was the fashion for ladies and gentlemen to send their servants with bread when dining out.

"Monsieur l'eveque knows he is always welcome," said the Duchess, gently, and smiling at Madame de Flahaut. "Once our guest, always our guest."

In a little while the tutor of the young princes came in and took away his charges, and the company sat down to supper. It was one of Her Highness's little soupers intimes, which she gave each Thursday, and upon which Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans and his wild companions never intruded. Though the company was small it was very gay, and it would have been hard to say who contributed most to the wit and sparkle of the talk which went on ceaselessly—Mr. Morris, Monsieur le Vicomte de Segur, or Monsieur de Boufflers, who, as usual, was present in the train of the beautiful Madame de Sabran. As for Mr. Morris, he was in the highest spirits and devoted himself with gallant courtesy to Madame la Duchesse d'Orleans, on whose left he sat, much to the evident pique of Madame de Flahaut. With that wonderful adaptability which made him at ease in any society in which he found himself, he adjusted himself to the company of the evening, and, being perfectly master of the French language, could not only understand the light talk and persiflage, but even led in the conversation.

As for Mr. Calvert, having none of that adaptability possessed in so large a share by Mr. Morris, he felt himself out of his element, uninterested and therefore uninteresting, and he listened with inward irritation to the loose anecdotes, the piquant allusions, the coarse gossip, so freely bandied about. It was with something akin to a feeling of relief that he heard his name spoken and turned to find the keen, restless eyes of Monsieur de Talleyrand, beside whom he was seated, fixed upon him.

"Monsieur is not interested in the conversation?" he asked, and, though there was a mocking smile on the thin lips, there was also a kindly look in the brilliant eyes.

Calvert blushed hotly at being so easily found out by this worldly looking prelate. Monsieur de Talleyrand shrugged his shoulders. "'Tis a good sign, I think," and he looked still more kindly at Calvert. "You have been brought up amid simpler, purer surroundings, Mr. Calvert," he said, suddenly leaning over toward the young man and speaking in tones so low as to be drowned in the noisy conversation. "I envy you your good fortune," he went on. "I envy you your inability to fit yourself into any niche, to adjust yourself to any surroundings, as your friend Monsieur Morris, for example, seems to have the faculty of doing. See, he is even making verses to Madame la Duchesse!"

Calvert looked over at Mr. Morris and saw him tear from his table-book a leaf upon which he had been writing and, with a bow, offer it to the Duchess.

"Are we not to hear Monsieur's verses?" demands Monsieur de Talleyrand, languidly, after a moment's silence, during which Her Highness had regarded the lines with a puzzled air, and smiling faintly.

"These are in English—I shall have to get Madame de Chastellux to translate them for me some day," and she folded the paper as if to put it away, but there arose such exclamations of disappointment, such gentle entreaties not to be denied the pleasure of hearing the verses, that she yielded to the clamor and signalled Madame de Chastellux her permission to have them read aloud. Amid a discreet silence, broken only by little murmurs of appreciation and perfumed applause, the lady of honor read the lines, translating them as she read:

"If Beauty so sweet in all gentleness drest, In loveliness, virtue arrayed; By the graces adorned, by the muses carest, By lofty ambition obeyed;

Ah! who shall escape from the gold-painted dart, When Orleans touches the bow? Who the softness resist of that sensible heart Where love and benevolence glow?

Thus we dream of the Gods who with bounty supreme Our humble petitions accord, Our love they excite, and command our esteem Tho' only at distance adored."

There was a ripple of applause, somewhat languid and perfunctory on the part of the gentlemen, vivacious and prolonged on the part of the ladies, as Madame de Chastellux finished. To Mr. Calvert the scene was a little ridiculous, the interest of the company, like the sentiment of the verses, somewhat artificial, and Mr. Morris's role of versifier to Madame la Duchesse decidedly beneath that gentleman's talents.

Monsieur de Talleyrand laughed softly. "'Other places—other customs,'" he said, and again reading Calvert's thoughts so accurately that that young gentleman scarce knew whether to be most astonished or indignant. It would most likely have been the latter had not a certain friendliness in the Bishop's glance disarmed his anger. "Mr. Morris is fortunate," he went on, quietly. "See—he has pleased everyone except Madame de Flahaut."

'Twas indeed as he had said, and, amid the applause and compliments, only Madame de Flahaut sat silent and evidently piqued, her pretty face wearing an expression of bored indifference. But even while Monsieur de Talleyrand spoke, Mr. Morris, bending toward her, addressed some remark to her and in an instant she was all animation and charm, exerting for his benefit every fascination of which she was mistress, and showing him by glance and voice how greatly she prized his attentions. For a moment Mr. Calvert sat silent, contemplating the little play going on before his eyes, when, suddenly remembering the words of the Duchesse d'Orleans, he turned and looked at Monsieur de Talleyrand. Such a softening change had come over the cynical, impassive countenance, so wistful a look into the keen, dark eyes bent upon Madame de Flahaut, as caused a feeling of pity in the young man's heart for this brilliant, unhappy, unrighteous servant of the Church.

"So Mr. Calvert has read my secret, as I read his," said Monsieur de Talleyrand, slowly, and returning the gaze which Calvert had absently fastened upon him while revolving these thoughts. Suddenly he began speaking rapidly, as if impelled thereto by some inward force, and, in a low but passionately intense voice, heard only by Mr. Calvert:

"We are the sport of fate in this country more than in any other, I think," he said. "I might have been a young man like yourself, as noble, good, and true as yourself—oh, do not look astonished! 'Tis one of my acknowledged talents—the reading of character—I, like yourself, might have fought and loved with honor but that I am lame, and why was I lame?" he went on, bitterly. "Because I never knew a mother's love or care, because, when a baby, being sent from my home—and under that roof I have never spent a night since—I fell and injured my foot, and the woman in whose charge I had been put, being afraid to tell my parents of my mishap, the hurt was allowed to go uncorrected until 'twas too late. And so, being lame and unfit for a soldier's career, I was thrust into the Church, nolens volens. Monsieur Calvert," he said, smiling seriously, "when you hear Mr. Jefferson criticising the Bishop of Autun—for I know he thinks but slightingly of the ecclesiastic—recollect that 'twas the disappointed ambition and the unrelenting commands of Charles Maurice Talleyrand's parents which made him what he is! We are all like that," he went on, moodily. "Look at de Ligne—he was married by his father at twenty to a young girl whom he had never seen until a week before the wedding. And Madame de Flahaut—at fifteen she was sacrificed to a man of fifty-five, who scarcely notices her existence!" He glanced across the table and again the power of love touched and softened his face for an instant. He rose—for the supper was finished and the company beginning to move—and laid his hand for an instant on Calvert's broad young shoulder. "Mr. Calvert," he said, half-mockingly, half-seriously, "do not be too hard upon us! There are some excuses to be made. In your country all things are new—your laws, your habits, your civilization are yet plastic. See that you mould them well! 'Tis too late here—we are as the generations have made us. 'Other places—other customs!'" and he went off limping.

To his dying day Mr. Calvert never forgot the fascination, the open frankness of Monsieur de Talleyrand's manner on that occasion, nor the look of sadness and suffering in his eyes. When he heard him in after years accused of shameless veniality, of trickery, lying, duplicity, even murder, he always remembered that impulsive revelation—never repeated—of a warped, unhappy childhood, of a perverted destiny.

Mr. Morris came to him later as he stood leaning against the wall behind the chair of Madame de Chastellux.

"How goes it, Ned?" he asked, half-laughing and stifling a yawn. "As for myself, I am getting confoundedly bored. I can't think of any more verses, so the ladies find me insipid, and they are beginning to talk politics, of which they know nothing, so I find them ridiculous. They are already deep in the discussion of the Abbe Sieyes's brochure, 'Qu'est-ce que le Tiers Etat,' and Madame de Flahaut declares that his writings and opinions will form a new epoch in politics as those of Newton in physics! Can fatuity go farther? And yet she is the cleverest woman I have met in France. The men are as ignorant as the women, except that scoundrel of a bishop, who, like myself, is bored by the incessant talk of politics and has just assured me that no one has an idea of the charm of life who has not lived before this year of 1789. I can easily believe it. But perhaps he told you the same thing—I saw you two talking together at supper."

"Yes," said Calvert, "we were talking, but not of politics or the charm of life. He was very interesting and unexpectedly friendly," he added, with some emotion, for he was still under Monsieur de Talleyrand's spell.

"I would have thought him the last man to interest you, my young Bayard," returned Mr. Morris, with some surprise. "He appears to me to be a sly, cunning, ambitious man. I know not why conclusions so disadvantageous to him are formed in my mind, but so it is. I cannot help it."

Mr. Calvert could not repress a smile, for it occurred to him that it was more than possible that Monsieur de Talleyrand's well-known devotion to Madame de Flahaut (whom it was evident Mr. Morris admired greatly, though he so stoutly denied it) might have prejudiced his opinion of the Bishop. Mr. Morris was quick to note the smile and to divine its cause.

"No, no, my dear Ned," he said, laughing, "'tis not Monsieur de Talleyrand's connection with Madame de Flahaut which makes me speak of him after this fashion. Indeed, there is but a Platonic friendship between the fair lady and myself," and, still laughing, Mr. Morris turned away from Calvert and stumped his way back to the side of the lady of his Platonic affections, where he remained until the company broke up.

As for Mr. Calvert, in spite of Mr. Morris's predilections, he was of the opinion that of the two—the unchurchly bishop and the pretty intrigante—Monsieur de Talleyrand was the more admirable character. Indeed, he had disliked and distrusted Madame de Flahaut from the first time of meeting her, and, to do the lady justice, she had disliked Mr. Calvert just as heartily and could never be got to believe that he was anything but a most unintelligent and uninteresting young man, convinced that his taciturnity and unruffled serenity before her charms were the signs of crass stupidity.

If Mr. Calvert found the pretty and vivacious Comtesse de Flahaut little to his taste, the society of which she was a type offended him still more. It had taken him but a short time to realize what shams, what hollowness, what corruption existed beneath the brilliant and gay surface. Amiability, charm, wit, grace were to be found everywhere in their perfection, but nowhere was truth, or sincerity, or real pleasure. All things were perverted. Constancy was only to be found in inconstancy. Gossip and rumor left no frailty undiscovered, no reputation unsmirched. Religion was scoffed at, love was caricatured. All about him Calvert saw young nobles, each the slave of some particular goddess, bowing down and doing duty like the humblest menial, now caressed, now ill-treated, but always at beck and call, always obedient. It was the fashion, and no courtier resented this treatment, which served both to reduce the men to the rank of puppets and to render incredibly capricious the beauties who found themselves so powerful. All the virility of Calvert's nature, all his new-world independence and his sense of honor, was revolted by such a state of things. As he looked around the company, there was not a man or woman to be seen of whom he had not already heard some risque story or covert insinuation, and, though he was no strait-laced Puritan, a sort of disdain for these effeminate courtiers and a horror of these beautiful women took possession of him.

"Decidedly," he thought to himself, "I am not fitted for this society," and so, somewhat out of conceit with his surroundings, and the Duchess having withdrawn, he bade good-night to the company without waiting for Mr. Morris, and took himself and his disturbed thoughts back to the Legation.



CHAPTER IX

IN WHICH MR. CALVERT'S GOOD INTENTIONS MISCARRY

It was in the midst of such society that Calvert encountered Madame de St. Andre repeatedly during the remainder of the winter and early spring. And though she was as imperious and capricious as possible, followed about by a dozen admirers (of whom poor Beaufort was one of the most constant); though she was as thoughtless, as pleasure-loving as any of that thoughtless, pleasure-loving society in which she moved; though she had a hundred faults easy to be seen, yet, in Calvert's opinion, there was still a saving grace about her, a fragrant youthfulness, a purity and splendor that coarsened and cheapened all who were brought into comparison with her. When she sat beside the old Duchesse d'Azay at the Opera or Comedie, he had no eyes for la Saint-Huberti or Contat, and thought that she outshone all the beauties both on the stage and in the brilliant audience. Usually, however, he was content to admire her at a distance and rarely left the box which he occupied with Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris to pay his respects to her and Madame d'Azay. For while Adrienne attracted him, he was yet conscious that it was best for him not to be drawn into the circle of her fascinations, and, although he made a thousand excuses for her caprice and coquetry, he had no intention of becoming the victim of either. Indeed, he had already experienced somewhat of her caprice and had found it little to his liking. Since the afternoon on which they had skated together she had never again treated him in so unaffected and friendly a fashion. A hundred times had she passed him at the opera or the play or in the salons which they both frequented, with scarcely a nod or smile, and Mr. Calvert was both offended and amused by such cavalier treatment and haughty manners.

"She has the air of a princess royal and treats me as the meanest of her subjects. 'Tis a good thing we Americans have cast off the yoke of royalty," he thought to himself, with a smile. "And as for beauty—there are a dozen belles in Virginia alone almost her equal in loveliness and surely far sweeter, simpler, less spoiled. And yet—and yet—" and the young man would find himself wondering what was that special charm by virtue of which she triumphed over all others. He did not himself yet know why it was that he excused her follies, found her the most beautiful of all women, or fell into a sort of rage at seeing her in the loose society of the day, with such men as St. Aulaire and a dozen others of his kind in her train. But though unable to analyze her charm he was yet vaguely conscious of its danger, and had it depended upon himself he would have seen but little of her. This, however, was an impossibility, as Mr. Jefferson was a constant visitor at the hotel of Madame d'Azay, who, true to her word, seemed to take the liveliest interest in Mr. Calvert and commanded his presence in her salon frequently. Indeed, the old Duchess was pleased to profess herself charmed with the young American, and would have been delighted, apparently, to see him at any and all hours, had his duties permitted him so much leisure. Besides the cordial invitations of the dowager Duchess to the hotel in the rue St. Honore, there were others as pressing from d'Azay himself, who, having secured his election in Touraine, had returned to Paris. The young nobleman was frequently at the American Legation in consultation with the Minister, whose opinions and character excited his greatest admiration, and it was one of his chiefest delights, when business was concluded, to carry Mr. Jefferson and Calvert back to his aunt's drawing-room with him for a dish of tea and an hour's conversation.

It was on one of those occasions that, having accompanied Mr. Jefferson and d'Azay to the rue St. Honore in the latter's coach (Mr. Morris promising to look in later), Mr. Calvert had the opportunity of speaking at length with Madame de St. Andre for the first time since the afternoon on the ice. When the three gentlemen entered the drawing-room a numerous company was already assembled, the older members of which were busy with quinze and lansquenet in a card-room that opened out of the salon, the younger ones standing or sitting about in groups and listening to a song which Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who was at the harpsichord, had just begun. It was Blondel's song from Gretry's "Richard Coeur de Lion," about which all Paris was crazy and which Garat sang nightly with a prodigious success at the Opera. This aria Monsieur de St. Aulaire essayed in faithful imitation of the great tenor's manner and in a voice which showed traces of having once been beautiful, but which age and excesses had now broken and rendered harsh and forced.

As Calvert saluted Adrienne, when the perfunctory applause which this performance called forth had died away, he thought he had never seen her look so lovely. She wore a dress of some soft water-green fabric shot with threads of silver that fell away from her rounded throat and arms, bringing the creamy fairness of her complexion (which, for the first time, he saw enhanced by black patches) and the dusky brown of her hair to a very perfection of beauty. She was standing by the harpsichord when the gentlemen entered, but, on catching sight of Mr. Jefferson, she went forward graciously, extending her hand, over which he bowed low in admiration of that young beauty which, in his eyes, had no equal in Paris.

There was another pair of eyes upon her which saw as Mr. Jefferson's kindly ones did, but to them the young girl paid little attention, only giving Mr. Calvert a brief courtesy as she went to salute her brother.

"Will you not make Mr. Jefferson a dish of tea, Adrienne?" asked d'Azay, kissing her on both her fair cheeks. "And if we are to have music I beg you will ask Calvert to sing for us, for he has the sweetest voice in the world."

"What!" exclaimed the young girl, a little disdainfully. "Mr. Calvert is a very prodigy of accomplishments!"

"Far from it!" returned Mr. Calvert, good-naturedly. "'Tis but a jest of Henri's. Indeed, Madame, I am nothing of a musician."

"He may not be a musician, but he has a voice as beautiful as Garat's, though I know 'tis heresy to compare anyone with that idol of Paris," said Beaufort, joining the group at that instant. "Dost thou remember that pretty ballad that thou sangst at Monticello, Ned?" he asked, turning to Calvert. "Indeed, Madame, I think 'twas of you he sang," he added, smiling mischievously at Madame de St. Andre.

"What is this?" demanded Adrienne, imperiously. "Is this another jest? But I must hear this song," she went on, impatiently, and with a touch of curiosity.

"'Twas my favorite 'Lass with the Delicate Air,'" said Mr. Jefferson, smiling. "You must sing it for us, Ned, and I will play for you as I used to do." He took from its case a violin lying upon the harpsichord and, leaning over it, he began softly the quaint accompaniment that sustains so perfectly the whimsical melodies and surprising cadences of Dr. Arne's ballad.

Though few of Mr. Calvert's audience could understand the sentiment of his song, all listened with admiration to the voice, which still retained much of its boyish sweetness and thrilling pathos. Amid the applause which followed the conclusion of the song, Madame d'Azay left the lansquenet table and appeared at the door of the salon.

"Charming," she cried. "But I don't know your English, so sing us something in French, Monsieur, that I may applaud the sentiment as well as the voice."

Mr. Calvert bowed with as good grace as he could, being secretly much dissatisfied at having to thus exploit his small talent for the benefit of the company, and, seating himself at the harpsichord, began a plaintive little air in a minor key, to which he had fitted the words of a song he had but lately read and greatly admired. Being, as he had said, nothing of a musician, the delicate accompaniment of the song was quite beyond him, but having a true ear for accord and a firm, light touch, he improvised a not unpleasing melody that fitted perfectly the poem. 'Twas the "Consolation" of Malherbe, and, as Calvert sang, the tenderness and melancholy beauty of both words and music struck the whole company into silence:

"'Mais elle etait du monde ou les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin, Et, rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses— L'espace d'un matin.

"La mort a des rigueurs a nulle autre pareilles, On a beau la prier, La cruelle qu'elle est se bouche les oreilles, Et nous laisse crier.

"Le pauvre en sa cabane, ou le chaume le couvre, Est sujet a ses lois, Et le garde qui veille aux barrieres du Louvre N'en defend pas nos rois.'"

"'Tis a gloomy song," whispered Beaufort to the young Vicomte de Noailles, Lafayette's kinsman, and then, turning to Monsieur de St. Aulaire, sulkily looking on at the scene and whom he hated both for his devotion to Adrienne and because he was of the Orleans party, he said, with languid maliciousness, "My dear Baron, a thousand pities that you have taken no care of your voice! I can remember when it was such a one as Monsieur Calvert's."

"You were ever a sad flatterer, my dear Beaufort," returned St. Aulaire, one hand on the hilt of his silver dress sword, the other holding his chapeau de bras. He regarded Beaufort for an instant with a sour smile, and then turned and made his way to Calvert.

"Ah, Monsieur," he said, and his voice was suave, though there was a mocking light in his eyes, "I see I have made a mistake. I had thought you a past master in the art of skating, now I see that your true role is that of the stage hero. You would become as spoilt a favorite as Garat himself. The ladies all commit a thousand follies for him."

"Sir," returned Mr. Calvert, quietly, though he was white with unaccustomed anger, "I see that you are one destined to make mistakes. I am neither skating nor singing-master, nor clown nor coward. I am an American gentleman, and, should anyone be inclined to doubt that fact, I will convince him of it at the point of my sword—or with pistols, since English customs are the mode here."

As Calvert looked at the handsome, dissipated face of the nobleman before him a sudden gust of passion shook him that so insolent a scoundrel should dare to speak to him in such fashion. And though he retained all his self-control and outward composure, so strange a smile played about his lip and so meaning an expression came into his eye as caused no little surprise to St. Aulaire, who had entirely underestimated the spirit that lay beneath so calm and boyish an exterior. As he was about to reply to Calvert, Madame de St. Andre approached. Making a low bow, and without a word, Monsieur de St. Aulaire retired, leaving Calvert with the young girl.

"Come with me, sir," she said, smiling imperiously on the young man and speaking rapidly. "I have many questions to ask you! You are full of surprises, Monsieur, and I must have my curiosity satisfied. We have many arrears of conversation to make up. Did you not promise to tell me of General Washington, of America, of your young Scotch poet? But, first of all, I must have a list of your accomplishments," and she laughed musically. Calvert thought it was like seeing the sun break through the clouds on a stormy day to see this sudden change to girlish gayety and naturalness from her grand air of princess royal, and which, after all, he reflected, she had something of a right to assume. Indeed, she bore the name of one who had been a most distinguished officer of the King and who had died in his service, and she was herself the descendant of a long line of nobles who, if they had not all been benefactors of their race, had, at least, never shirked the brunt of battle nor any service in the royal cause. On her father's side she was sprung from that great warrior, Jacques d'Azay, who fought side by side with Lafayette's ancestor in the battle of Beauge, when the brother of Harry of England was defeated and slain. On her mother's side she came of the race of the wise and powerful Duc de Sully, Henry of Navarre's able minister. One of her great uncles had been a Grand Almoner of France, and another had commanded one of the victorious battalions at Fontenoy under the Marechal Saxe. The portraits of some of these great gentlemen and of many another of her illustrious ancestors hung upon the walls of the salons and galleries of this mansion in the rue St. Honore. The very house bespoke the pride of race and generations of affluence, and was only equalled in magnificence by the Noailles hotel near by. As Mr. Calvert looked about him at the splendor of this mansion, which had been in the d'Azay family for near two centuries and a half; at the spacious apartment with its shining marquetry floor, its marble columns separating it from the great entrance hall; at the lofty ceiling, decorated by the famous Lagrenee with a scene from Virgil ('twas the meeting of Dido and Aeneas); at the brilliant company gathered together—as Mr. Calvert looked at all this, he felt a thousand miles removed from her in circumstance and sentiment, and thought to himself that it was not strange that she, who had been accustomed to this splendor since her birth, should treat an unassuming, untitled gentleman from an almost unknown country, without fortune or distinction, with supercilious indifference. Indeed, in his heart Mr. Calvert was of the opinion that this dazzling creature's beauty alone was enough to place her above princesses, and (thinking of the fresco on the ceiling) that had Aeneas but met her instead of Queen Dido he had never abandoned her as he did the Carthagenian.

Perhaps something of the ardor of his thoughts was reflected in his expression, for it was with a somewhat embarrassed look that Adrienne pointed to a low gilt chair beside her own.

"Will you be seated, sir? And now for your confession! But even before that I must know why you come to see us so seldom. Were you provoked because I rebelled at being taken to task that afternoon on the ice? But see! Am I not good now?" and she threw him a demure glance of mock humility that seemed to make her face more charming than ever.

"You are very beautiful," said Mr. Calvert, quietly.

"Tiens! You will be a courtier yet if you are not careful," returned Adrienne, smiling divinely at the young man from beneath her dark lashes.

"Tis no compliment, Madame, but the very truth."

"The truth," murmured the young girl, in some embarrassment at Calvert's sincere, if detached, manner. "One hears it so seldom these days that 'tis difficult to recognize it! But if it was the truth I fear it was not the whole truth, sir. I am sure I detected an uncomplimentary arriere pensee in your speech!" and she laughed mockingly at the young man, whose turn it was to be embarrassed. "I am very beautiful, but—what, sir?"

"But you would be even more so without those patches, which may be successful enhancements for lesser beauties but are beneath the uses of Madame de St. Andre," returned Calvert, bravely, and joining in the laugh which the young girl could not repress.

"Pshaw, sir! What an idea!" said Adrienne. "Am I then so amiable that you dare take advantage of it to call me to account again? I am beginning to think, sir, that I, who have been assured by so many gentlemen to be perfection itself, must, after all, be a most faulty creature since you find reason to reprove me constantly," and she threw Calvert so bewildering a glance that that young gentleman found himself unable to reply to her badinage.

"Besides, Monsieur," she went on, "you do not do justice to these patches. Is it possible that there exists a gentleman so ignorant of women and fashion as not to know the origin and uses of the mouche? Come, sir, attend closely while I give you a lesson in beauty and gallantry! These patches which you so disdain were once tiny plasters stretched upon black velvet or silk for the cure of headache, and, though no one was ever known to be so cured, 'twas easy for the illest beauty to perceive that they made her complexion appear more brilliant by contrast. The poets declared that Venus herself must have used them and that they spoke the language of love; thus one on the lip meant the 'coquette,' on the nose the 'impertinent,' on the cheek the 'gallant,' on the neck the 'scornful,' near the eye 'passionate,' on the forehead, such as this one I wear, sir, the 'majestic.'" As she spoke, so rapidly and archly did her mobile features express in their changes her varying thought that Calvert sat entranced at her piquancy and daring. "And now, Monsieur, have you no apology to make to these maligned patches?" and she touched the tiny plaster upon her brow.

"A thousand, Madame," said Calvert, politely, "if you will still let me be of my opinion that your beauty needs no such aid."

"So you would prevent my wearing so innocent a beautifier? You are more of a Quaker than Dr. Franklin himself, whom I remember seeing here often," said Adrienne, with a little laugh and a shrug. "I think he liked all the ladies and would have continued to like them had they worn rings in their noses! But as for you—'tis impossible to please you. No wonder you Americans broke with the English! You are most difficile. But I am sure that Mr. Jefferson or the witty Mr. Morris could have found a handsomer reply than yours, Monsieur! Ah, here he is now," and she rose as Mr. Morris entered the room and made his way to her side.

"At last I have the pleasure of saluting Madame de St. Andre!" he said, very gallantly.

"You are late, sir. We had about given over seeing you this evening. Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Calvert have been with us an hour."

"I envy them their good fortune, Madame! But—I have been detained."

"What a lame and insufficient excuse!" cried Adrienne, laughing. "'Tis no better than one of Monsieur Calvert's compliments!"

"Ah, Madame," said Mr. Morris, recovering himself, "you must forgive us and remember that you complete our mental overthrow already begun by the dazzling brilliancy of the gayest capital in the world and the multitude of attractions it offers. A man in your Paris, Madame, lives in a sort of whirlwind which turns him around so fast that he can see nothing. 'Tis no wonder that the people of this metropolis are under the necessity of pronouncing their definitive judgment from the first glance, and, being thus habituated to shoot flying, they have what sportsmen call a quick sight. They know a wit by his snuff-box, a man of taste by his bow, and a statesman by the cut of his coat." As he finished speaking there was a general movement at the card-tables, and Madame d'Azay, accompanied by Mr. Jefferson, who had been looking on at the game (for he never played), and followed by the company, entered the drawing-room.

"Ah, Monsieur Morris!" she said, catching sight of that gentleman. "You have a talent for being always a propos, Monsieur! We have just finished our game and are ready to listen to the latest gossip, which, I am sure, you have heard from that charming friend of yours, Madame de Flahaut."

"The Duchess has just won prodigiously at quinze from the Abbe Delille, who hates damnably to lose," whispered Segur to Calvert, "and, having won, she stopped the game in the best of humors."

"Alas, Madame!" said Mr. Morris, in answer to the Duchess, "I have not had the pleasure of seeing Madame de Flahaut, but am just from the Club de Valois. As you can imagine to yourself, I heard nothing but politics at the Club."

"Unfortunately, one does not have to go to the club to hear politics," replied Madame d'Azay, dryly. "It has required all my authority to restrain these gentlemen this evening from discussing such subjects. Indeed, I think Monsieur Jefferson and Monsieur de Lafayette, in spite of my defense, which I now remove, have had a political debate," and she snapped her bright eyes and nodded her withered old head severely at the two gentlemen.

"Peccavi!" said the Marquis, bowing low. "I am the culprit, but surely, Madame, you would not have me fail to listen to Mr. Jefferson's counsels when I am so fortunate as to be offered them! He advises me," continued Monsieur de Lafayette, turning to Mr. Morris, "to burn my instructions from the noblesse, which engage me absolutely to favor the vote by orders and not by persons, and, should this produce an irrevocable rupture with my electors, boldly to take my stand with the tiers etat. I have seen Necker to-day and he is as far as ever from a solution of this great and first question which must come up before the States-General. Indeed, there is but one rational solution, and I must disregard my instructions in an endeavor to bring it about."

"I would advise you to resign your seat!" said Mr. Morris, bluntly. "You have been elected by an order in whose principles you no longer believe. Should you continue their representative your conscience will be continually at war with your duty. Should you break away from your constituency you will offer an example of insubordination and lawlessness which may have the most deplorable results."

"I cannot agree with you, Mr. Morris," broke in Mr. Jefferson, warmly. "In the desperate pass to which affairs are already come in this nation, desperate remedies must be employed. Shall Monsieur de Lafayette deprive the tiers etat of his enthusiasm, his earnest convictions, his talents, when, by an act of courage, entirely in accord with his conscience, he can become one of them and can lead them to victory and to that fusion with the other orders which is so vital to the usefulness, nay, to the very life of the States-General?"

"In my opinion there is less need that Monsieur de Lafayette should lead the tiers etat—they will travel fast enough, I think," says Mr. Morris, dryly—"than that he should stick to his own order, strengthening in every way in his power this conservative element, which is the safeguard of the nation. This annihilation of the distinctions of orders which you speak of seems to me to be the last thing to be desired. Should the nobles abandon their order and give over their privileges, what will act as a check on the demands and encroachments of the commons? How far such ultra-democratic tendencies may be right respecting mankind in general is, I think, extremely problematical. With respect to this nation I am sure it is wrong. I am frank but I am sincere when I say that I believe you, Monsieur de Lafayette, and you, Monsieur d'Azay, to be too republican for the genius of this country."

"Or, Monsieur Morris, trop aristocrate," said the Marquis, with a bitter smile on his disturbed countenance, for his vanity, which was becoming inordinate, could not brook unfriendly criticism.

"'Tis strange," said the Vicomte d'Azay, "to hear an American arguing against those principles which have won for him so lately his freedom and his glory! As for me, I think with Mr. Jefferson and the Marquis, and, thinking so, I have sided with the people, which is, after all, the nation."

"Yes," broke in Mr. Jefferson with animation and speaking to d'Azay, "you have found the vital truth. 'Tis no king, but the sovereign people, which is the state. It has been my firm belief that with a great people, set in the path of civil and religious liberty, freedom and power in their grasp, let the executive be as limited as may be, that nation will still prosper. A strong people and a weak government make a great nation."

"But who shall say that the French are a strong people?" demands Mr. Morris, impetuously, and turning to the company. "You are lively, imaginative, witty, charming, talented, but not substantial or persevering. Inconstancy is mingled in your blood, marrow, and very essence. Constancy is the phenomenon. The great mass of the common people have no religion but their priests, no law but their superiors, no morals but their interests. And how shall we expect a people to suddenly become wise and self-governing who are ignorant of statecraft, who have existed for centuries under a despotism? Never having felt the results of a weak executive, they do not know the dangers of unlimited power. No man is more republican in sentiment than I am, but I think it no less than a crime to foist a republic upon a people in no way fitted for it, and all those who abandon the King in this hour of danger, who do not uphold his authority to the fullest extent, are participants in that crime and are helping to bring on those events which I fear will shortly convulse this country."

"Mr. Morris is no optimist either in regard to French character or the progress of public affairs," said Lafayette, bitingly. "But I can assure him that if the French are inconstant, ignorant, and immoral, they are also energetic, lively, and easily aroused by noble examples. Moreover, the public mind has been instructed lately to an astonishing point by the political pamphlets issued in such numbers, and 'tis my opinion that these facts will bring us, after no great lapse of time, to an adequate representation and participation in public affairs, and that without the convulsion which Mr. Morris so acutely dreads."

The company listened in silence with the intensest interest to this animated conversation, the women following with as close attention as the men (the Duchess nodding her approval of Mr. Morris's opinions from time to time), and 'twas but a sample of the almost incredibly frank political discussion taking place daily in all the notable salons of Paris. As for Calvert, although he loved and honored Mr. Jefferson before all men and held him as all but infallible, he could not but agree with Mr. Morris's views as being the soundest and most practical. Indeed, from that day Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris differed more and more widely in their political faiths, but the nobility of Mr. Jefferson's nature, the admirable tact of Mr. Morris, and, as much as anything, the common affection they felt for Calvert, who would have been inexpressibly pained by any breach between them, kept them upon friendly terms.

Mr. Morris, conscious that he had spoken impetuously and perhaps with too much warmth, made no reply to Monsieur de Lafayette's last words, spoken with some animus, and in a few minutes made his way to Calvert.

"Come away, my boy," he said, in a low tone. "Come away! Lafayette, who can still believe that mighty changes will take place in this kingdom without a revolution, does not even know of this day's fearful business in the rue St. Antoine. I had it from Boursac, who arrived at the Club two hours ago with both windows of his carriage broken, the panels splintered, and his coachman with a bloody cheek. He had tried to pass through the faubourg, where two hundred of the rabble have been killed by Besenval's Swiss Guards at the house of a paper merchant, Reveillon. The villains have broke into his factory, demolished everything, drunk his wines, and, accidentally, some poisonous acid used in his laboratory, of which they have died a horrible death, and all because the unfortunate merchant dared in the electoral assembly of Ste. Marguerite to advocate reducing the wages of his men. I ordered my coachman to drive by the faubourg, hoping to see for myself if the affair had not been greatly exaggerated, but I was turned back by some troops proceeding thither with two small cannon. 'Twas this which detained me. Boursac says 'tis known for certain that the whole affair has been instigated by the Duc d'Orleans. He passed in his coach among the rioters, urging them on in their villany, and 'tis even said by some that he was seen giving money to the mob. And this is the man whom the King hesitates to banish! Perhaps, after all, boy, I did wrong to counsel Lafayette and d'Azay to stand by a King who is weakness itself and who knows not how to defend himself or his throne!"



CHAPTER X

AT VERSAILLES

It was just a week after Mr. Calvert's visit to the hotel d'Azay and the affair of the rue St. Antoine, that the day arrived for the consummation of that great event toward which all France, nay, all Europe, had been looking for months past.

With a sudden burst and glory of sunshine and warm air the long, hard winter had given way to the spring of that year of 1789. By the end of April the green grass and flowering shrubs looked as if summer had come, and the cruel cold of but a few weeks back was all but forgotten. And with the quickening pulse of nature the agitation and restless activity among all classes had increased. The whole kingdom of France was astir with the excitement of the rapidly approaching convocation of the States-General. Paris read daily in the columns of the Moniteur the names of the newly elected deputies, and by the 1st of May those deputies were thronging her streets.

D'Azay, Lafayette, Necker, Duport, Lameth, and many others, who saw their ardent wishes materializing, were quite beside themselves with delight, and prophesied the happiest things for France. Madame d'Azay, being of the court party, held widely differing views from those of her nephew, and was out of all conceit with this political ferment, while as for Adrienne, she looked upon the opening of the States-General and the grand reception of the King on the 2d of May as splendid pageants merely, to which she would be glad to lend her presence and the lustre of her beauty. Indeed, it is safe to say that for nearly every individual in that restless kingdom of France the States-General held a different meaning, a different hope, a different fear. Fortunate it was for all alike, that none could see the ending of that terrible business about to be set afoot.

In all the brilliant weather of that spring of 1789, no fairer day dawned than that great day of Monday, the 4th of May. By earliest morning the whole world of Paris seemed to be taking its way to Versailles. Mr. Jefferson, having presented Calvert with the billet reserved for Mr. Short (the secretary being absent at The Hague), and Mr. Morris being provided for through the courtesy of the Duchesse d'Orleans, the three gentlemen left the Legation at six in the morning in Mr. Jefferson's coach. The grand route to Versailles was thronged with carriages and vehicles of every description, and the dust, heat, and confusion were indescribable. On their arrival, which was about eight o'clock, being hungry and thirsty, the gentlemen repaired to a cafe, where they had an indifferent breakfast at a table d'hote, about which were seated several gloomy-looking members of the tiers. After the hasty meal they made their way as quickly as possible to the hotel of Madame de Tesse in the rue Dauphine, where they were awaited.

Madame de Tesse, Monsieur de Lafayette's aunt, was, as Mr. Morris laughingly styled her, "a republican of the first feather," and it was with the most enthusiastic pleasure that she welcomed the Ambassador from the United States and his two friends on that day which she believed held such happy auguries for the future of her country. A numerous company had already assembled at her invitation and were viewing the ever-increasing crowds in the streets from the great stone balcony draped with silken banners and rich velvet hangings. The British Ambassador and the Ambassadress, Lady Sutherland (whom Calvert had the honor of meeting for the first time), were there, as was Madame de Montmorin, Madame de Stael, and Madame de St. Andre, looking radiant in the brilliant morning sunshine. As Mr. Calvert bent over her hand he thought to himself that she might have sat for a portrait of Aurora's self, so fresh and beautiful did she look. The sun struck her dark hair (over which she wore no covering) to burnished brightness, the violet eyes sparkled with animation, and her complexion had the freshness and delicacy of some exquisite flower.

"I am glad you are here, Monsieur l'Americain, on this great day for France, one of the most momentous, one of the happiest in all her history. You see I have not forgotten your fondness for history!" and she shot him an amused glance.

"I am glad, too, Madame," replied Calvert, seating himself beside her. "'Tis one of the most momentous days in France's history, as you say, but one of the happiest?—I don't know," and he looked dubiously at the thronged streets, for he was of Mr. Morris's way of thinking, and, try as he might, he could not bring himself to look upon the course of affairs with the optimism Mr. Jefferson felt.

"Are you going to be gloomy on this beautiful day?" demanded Adrienne, impatiently. "Aren't the very heavens giving us a sign that they approve of this event? Mr. Jefferson is the only one of you who appreciates this great occasion—even Mr. Morris, who is usually so agreeable, seems to be out of spirits," and she glanced toward that gentleman where he sat between Madame de Montmorin and Madame de Flahaut, who had just arrived with Beaufort. Mr. Morris, hearing his name spoken, arose and went over to Madame de St. Andre.

"Are you saying evil things about me to Mr. Calvert, my dear young lady?" he asked, bowing with that charming show of deference which he always paid a pretty woman and which in part atoned for the cynical expression in his keen eyes.

"But yes," returned Adrienne, laughing. "I was saying that you wore a displeased air almost as if you envied France her good fortune of to-day!"

"You mistake me," said Mr. Morris, warmly. "I have France's interest and happiness greatly at heart. The generous wish which a free people must form to disseminate freedom, the grateful emotion which rejoices in the happiness of a benefactor, and a strong personal interest as well in the liberty as in the power of this country, all conspire to make us far from indifferent spectators," and he glanced at Calvert as though certain of having expressed the young man's sentiments as well as his own. "The leaders here are our friends, many of them have imbibed their principles in America, and all have been fired by our example. If I wear an anxious air 'tis because I am not sure that that example can be safely imitated in this country, that those principles can be safely inculcated here, that this people, once having thrown off the yoke of absolute dependence on and obedience to kingly power, will not confound license with liberty. But enough of this," he said, smiling. "May I ask why the Duchess is not of the company?"

"Because she is even more pessimistic about the results of to-day's work than yourself, Mr. Morris, and has shut herself up in Paris, refusing to be present at the opening of the States-General even as a spectator. She portends all sorts of disasters to France, but for the life of me I can't see what can happen without the King's authority, and surely so good a king will let no harm happen to his country. As for myself, I could bless the States-General for having furnished so gala an occasion! Paris has been deadly stupid for months with all this talk of politics and elections and constitutions going on. I am glad it is all over and we have reached the beginning of the end. Is it not a magnificent spectacle?" she asked.

"'Tis so, truly," assented Mr. Morris, with a curious smile, and leaning over the balustrade to get a better view of the street.

Versailles was indeed resplendent on that beautiful morning of the 4th of May, in honor of the procession and religious services to be held as a sort of prelude to the formal opening of the States-General the following day. From the Church of Our Lady to the Church of Saint Louis, where M. de la Farre, Archeveque of Nancy, was to celebrate mass, the streets through which the procession was to pass were one mass of silken banners and the richest stuffs depending from every window, every balcony. Crown tapestries lined the way in double row, and flowers in profusion were strewn along the streets. Vast throngs surged backward and forward, held in check by the soldiers of the splendid Maison du Roi and the Swiss troops, while every balcony, every window, every roof-top, every possible place of vantage was filled to overflowing with eager spectators. As the morning sun struck upon the magnificent decorations, on the ladies and cavaliers, as brilliantly arrayed as though for the opera or ball, on the gorgeous uniforms of the Guards, the scene was one of indescribable splendor and color.

A sudden silence fell upon the vast concourse of people as Mr. Morris leaned over the balcony, and in an instant the head of the procession came into view. In front were borne the banners of the Church of Our, Lady and Saint Louis, followed by the parish clergy, and then in two close ranks walked the five hundred deputies of the tiers etat in their sombre black garments and three-cornered hats. The silence which had so suddenly descended upon the great company was as suddenly broken at sight of the tiers, and a deafening shout saluted them. This, in turn, was quelled, and a curious quiet reigned again as the deputies from the nobles made their appearance in their rich dress, with cloak gold-faced, white silk stockings, and beplumed hat.

"You would have to walk with the tiers were you of the procession, Monsieur Calvert," said Madame de St. Andre, mischievously, glancing from the young man's sober habit to the brilliant dress of the nobles as they filed past.

"Surely! I would be a very raven among those splendid birds of paradise," said the young man, a trifle scornfully.

"They are very great gentlemen," returned Adrienne, tossing her head. "See, there is Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans himself leading the noblesse," and she courtesied low, as did the rest of the company, when he looked toward the balcony and bowed.

So that was Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans, the King's cousin, the King's enemy, as many already knew, the wildest, the most dissolute of all the wild, dissolute youth of Paris, the boon companion of the Duke of York, the destroyer of the unfortunate Prince de Lamballes, the hero of a thousand chroniques scandaleuses of the day! As for Calvert, he thought that in spite of the splendid appearance of the royal personage he had never seen a human countenance so repulsive and so depraved. The brutal, languid eye looked out at him from a face whose unwholesome complexion, heavy jaw, and sensual mouth sent a thrill of sickening disgust through him. As he gazed at the retreating figure of the Duke, which, in ifs heaviness and lethargy, bore the mark of excesses as unmistakably as did the coarsened face, all the disgraceful stories, the rumors, the anecdotes which he had ever heard concerning this dissipated young prince—for his reputation was only too well known even in America—flashed through his mind.

"And this is one of your great gentlemen?" asked Calvert, looking, not without some sadness, at the haughty beauty beside him, still flushed and smiling at the notice bestowed upon her by Monsieur d'Orleans.

"His Highness the Duc d'Orleans is one of the greatest personages in the kingdom, sir! Tis said, perhaps, that he has been guilty of some indiscretions"—she hesitated, biting her lip, and coloring slightly beneath Calvert's calm gaze—"but surely something must be pardoned to one of his exalted rank; to one who is incapable of any cowardice, of any baseness."

"Since he is of such exalted rank, it seems strange, Madame, that he should walk so far ahead of his order as almost to seem to mingle with the tiers," replied Calvert, quietly. "But I am glad to have such a good report of the Duke, as there are those who have been mistaken enough to doubt his bravery at Ouessant, and, merely to look at him, I confess that I saw many a humble deputy of the tiers who looked, even in his plebeian dress, more the nobleman than he."

"Ah, Monsieur," returned Madame de St. Andre, contemptuously, "I see that you are indeed a republican enrage and hate us for our fine feathers and rank of birth as cordially as these people who applaud the tiers and remain silent before the deputies of the nobles."

"Indeed, you misjudge me, Madame," says Calvert, who could scarce restrain a smile at the lofty manner of the beautiful girl, "as you misjudge the crowd, for 'tis applauding someone among the noblesse now," and he stood up and looked over the balcony rail to better see the cause of the shout which had suddenly gone up. "'Tis for Monsieur de Lafayette, I think. See, he is walking yonder, with d'Azay on one side of him and Noailles on the other."

Adrienne leaned over the balustrade, and looked down at her brother and Monsieur de Lafayette, who saw her at the same instant. Smiling and bowing, she flung a handful of roses, which she had carried all morning, at the gentlemen, who uncovered and waved her their thanks. As they did so, a sudden blare of trumpets and strains of martial music burst forth, and the black-robed deputies of the clergy appeared, separated into two files by the band of royal musicians.

"'Tis like a play, n'est ce pas?" said Adrienne, gayly, to Mr. Morris, who had again come up, having been dismissed by Madame de Flahaut on the arrival of Monsieur de Curt.

"No, 'tis but the prologue," corrected Mr. Morris, "and the play itself is like enough to be a tragedy, I think," he added, in a low voice, to Calvert.

"And here are the King and Queen at last," cried Madame de St. Andre, as a great cheering went up. Every eye in that vast throng was riveted upon the King, who now appeared, preceded by the Archbishop of Paris carrying the Holy Sacrament under a great canopy, the four corners of which were held by the Dukes of Angouleme and Berry and the King's two brothers, Monsieur and the Comte d'Artois. Near the Holy Sacrament marched the cardinals, bishops, and archbishops elected to the States-General, and in the throng Calvert quickly and easily detected by his halting step his acquaintance, the Bishop of Autun. About His Majesty walked the high officers of the crown, and the enthusiasm of Madame de Stael, which had been on the increase every instant, reached a climax when she recognized Monsieur Necker, conspicuous by his size and bearing, among the entourage of Louis, and, when she courtesied, the obeisance seemed intended more for her father than her King.

"You are wrong to rejoice so greatly," said Madame de Montmorin, laying a timid hand on Madame de Stael's arm, which trembled with excitement. She had scarce said a word the whole morning and had sat staring with troubled face at the magnificent pageant as it passed. "I feel sure that great disasters to France will follow this day's business."

Madame de Stael impatiently shook off the detaining hand. "'Tis the day of days," she cried, enthusiastically, "the day for which my father has labored so long, the day on which will be written the brightest page of French history."

"I verily believe she thinks the States-General are come together to the sole honor and glorification of Monsieur, Necker," whispered Mr. Morris, in an amused undertone, to Calvert. "But look yonder, to the right of the King! There go our friends of the Palais Royal, the young Duc de Chartres and Monsieur de Beaujolais! Tis strange the Duc d'Orleans is not near the King. He curries favor with the multitude by abandoning his sovereign on this crucial day and putting himself forward as an elected deputy of the States-General! And there to the left of His Majesty is the Queen with the princesses. Is she not beautiful, Ned?—though Beaufort tells me she has lost much of the brilliancy of her beauty in the last year. Indeed, she has an almost melancholy air,-but I think it is becoming, for otherwise she would be too haughty-looking."

"She has reason to look melancholy, Monsieur," said Madame de Montmorin, in a low tone, and with a glance of deep sympathy at the Queen, who sat rigid, palely smiling in her golden coach. "Did you not know that the Dauphin is very ill? 'Tis little talked about at court, for the Queen will not have the subject mentioned, but he has been ailing for a year past."

As she spoke, the carriage of the Queen passed close under the balcony, and at that instant a woman in the crowd, looking Her Majesty full in the face, cried out, shrilly, "Long live d'Orleans!" The pallid Queen sank back, as though struck, into the arms of the Princess de Lamballes, who rode beside her. But in an instant she was herself again, and sat haughtily erect, with a bitter smile curving her beautiful lips.

"A cruel blow!" said Mr. Morris, under his breath, to Calvert. "Her unhappiness was complete enough without that. Arrayed in those rich stuffs, with the flowers in her hair and bosom and with that inscrutable and melancholy expression on her beautiful face, she looks as might have looked some Athenian maiden decked for sacrifice. Indeed, all the noblesse have a curious air of fatality about them, or so it seems to me, and somehow look as if they were going to their doom. Take a good look at this splendid pageant, Ned! 'Tis the first time you have seen royalty, the first time you have seen the nobility in all the magnificence of ceremony. It may be the last."

Mr. Jefferson got up from his place beside Madame de Tesse and came over to where Calvert and Mr. Morris were standing.

"What do you think of the King and Queen?" he asked, in a low voice, laying his hand, in his customary affectionate manner, on Calvert's shoulder. "The King has a benevolent, open countenance, do you not think so?—but the Queen has a haughty, wayward look, and the imperious, unyielding spirit of her Austrian mother."

"She will need all the spirit of her whole family," broke in Mr. Morris, warmly, "if she is to bear up beneath such wanton insults as that just offered her."

"I fear that the hand of Heaven will weigh heavily on that selfish, proud, capricious sovereign, and that she will have to suffer many humiliations," replied Mr. Jefferson, coldly, for he disliked and distrusted Marie Antoinette profoundly, and always believed that she was largely responsible for the terrible disasters which overtook France, and that had Louis been free of her influence and machinations, he had been able to disentangle himself and his kingdom from the fatal coil into which they were drawn.

"As for myself, I can think only that she is a woman and in distress," said Mr. Morris, looking after the Queen's coach, which rolled slowly through the crowded street, making a glittering track of light where the noonday sun (for 'twas past twelve o'clock by that time) struck the golden panels. It was followed on one side by a long line of carriages containing the princesses of the blood royal and the ladies-in-waiting to Her Majesty, on the other by the procession of princes, dukes, and gentlemen of the King's household. It was close on one o'clock when the last gilded coach, the last splendid rider, followed by the rabble, who closed in and pushed on behind to the Church of Saint Louis, had passed beneath Madame de Tesse's balcony. Some of her guests, having billets for the church reserved for them, entered their carriages and drove thither; the others, being weary with the long wait and excitement of the morning, accepted their hostess's invitation to breakfast, content to hear later of the celebration of mass in the Church of Saint Louis. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Morris, and Calvert were of this party, and, after having promised to be at Versailles early the next morning and to stay for the night at Madame de Tesse's so as to accompany the ladies to the King's reception, they set off for Paris toward four o'clock in the afternoon. As they were about leaving, Beaufort, who had attended mass, came in, tired and gloomy-looking, and told them that Monseigneur de la Farre had preached a political sermon which the deputies had the bad taste and hardihood to applaud in church and in the presence of His Majesty.

"How dare they so insult the King?" said Madame de St. Andre, pale with anger, to Calvert, who had come up to bid her adieu. "By the way, Mr. Jefferson tells me he is to present you to their Majesties to-morrow evening," she went on, recovering her composure and smiling somewhat. "I should like to see how an American salutes a king."

"Madame," said Mr. Calvert, quietly, "you forget that I have made my bow to General Washington."

It was not much past six o'clock the next morning when Mr. Calvert and Mr. Jefferson called, in the latter's carriage, for Mr. Morris in the rue de Richelieu, and once more set out for Versailles. As on the preceding day, the road was thronged with coaches, all making their way to the temporary capital. Madame de Flahaut (to whom Mr. Morris bowed very low, though he looked a little piqued when he saw Monsieur de Curt beside her) flashed by in her carriage as they neared Versailles, and a little later Madame de St. Andre, accompanied by Madame de Chastellux and Beaufort passed them, bowing and waving to the three gentlemen.

"If it were possible, I should say she looks more beautiful to-day than yesterday, eh, Ned?" said Mr. Morris, looking after Madame de St. Andre, and then giving Calvert a quizzical glance, under which the young man blushed hotly.

"By the way, I overheard your parting conversation yesterday, and I think you rather got the best of the haughty beauty," he went on, laughing. "I am not sure but that the unruffled serenity of your manner before the ladies advances you more in their estimation than does Mr. Jefferson's evident devotion to them all or my impartial compliments and gallantry. But beware! Madame de St. Andre is no woman if she does not try to retaliate for that retort of yours."

After stopping in the rue Dauphine for the billets, which Madame de Tesse had again been able to obtain for Mr. Morris through the interest of the Duchesse d'Orleans, the three gentlemen drove straight to the Salle des Menus Plaisirs, and, by nine o'clock, were seated in the great gallery reserved for visitors. They were fortunate enough to find themselves placed immediately behind Madame de Chastellux, Madame de St. Andre, and Madame de Flahaut, who had entered together and who were kind enough to point out for the benefit of Mr. Morris and Calvert many of the celebrities in the glittering assemblage. For, early as the hour was, the great balcony was already crowded, while the floor was slowly filling with the deputies ushered in one after the other by Monsieur de Breze with the greatest ceremony. No more brilliant throng had ever come together in that spacious Salle des Menus Plaisirs, and assuredly on no more momentous occasion. As Mr. Calvert looked about him at the splendid scene, at the great semicircular hall, with its Ionic columns, at the balcony crowded with thousands of magnificently dressed courtiers and beautiful women, upon whose fair, painted faces and powdered hair the morning sun shone discreetly, its bright rays sifted through a silken awning covering the dome of the great room, at the throng of deputies sharply differentiated by positron and costume, at the empty throne set high above the tribune upon its dais of purple velvet strewn with the golden lilies of the Bourbons; as Mr. Calvert looked at all this—especially as he looked at the empty throne—a curious presentiment of the awful import of the occasion struck in upon him forcibly. Mr. Jefferson, who sat beside him, seemed to read his thought.

"I think this is like to live as one of the most famous scenes in history," he said. "We three are fortunate to be here to see it. Tis the birth-hour of a new nation, if I mistake not. For the first time in two centuries the King meets the three orders of his subjects. Who can foresee what will be the result?"

"I think it is safe to say that the King does not foresee the result, or there would be no meeting," said Mr. Morris, dryly.

"As pessimistic as ever, my dear sir!" retorted Mr. Jefferson, somewhat testily. "Ah, here comes Monsieur Necker."

As the Minister of Finance made his way in, preceded by Monsieur de Breze, a loud cheer went up from every part of the hall. Even the sombre mass of the tiers roused themselves to enthusiasm, which was redoubled when Monsieur le Duc d'Orleans made his appearance with the clerical deputy from Crepy-en-Valois, who, he insisted, should enter before him.

"Tis like His Highness," whispered Mr. Morris to Calvert. "He is as thirsty for popularity as Lafayette himself."

Though he spoke in a low tone and in English, Madame de St. Andre overheard and understood him.

"You and Mr. Calvert seem to be in a conspiracy to malign His Royal Highness," she said, turning around.

"No, no. If there is a conspirator in the case 'tis Monsieur d'Orleans himself," replied Mr. Morris, meaningly. To this Madame de St. Andre deigned no reply, and, shrugging her beautiful shoulders, turned her back once more to the gentlemen and her attention to the assemblage. Mr. Calvert, who sat directly behind her, could only see the pink ear and outline of the fair, displeased face thus turned away, but he thought she looked more imperiously lovely and more distant than the painted goddesses of the Olympian hierarchy who disported themselves, after the artist's fancy, upon the great dome of the hall.

"Madame," he said, leaning over the back of Madame de Chastellux's chair, "can you tell me who is that deputy of the tiers just making his way in? 'Tis the strangest and most terrible face I have ever seen," and he looked hard at the seamed, scarred visage, at the gloomy eyes, shining darkly in their great sockets, at the immense, burly figure of the man who was forcing his way contemptuously past the gallant Monsieur de Breze to a seat among the commoners. As he looked, he was reminded in some fashion of the man Danton whom he had seen in the Cafe de l'Ecole the afternoon he had gone thither with Beaufort.

"It is Monsieur de Mirabeau," said Madame de Chastellux. "There is something terrible in his face, as you say, but there is genius, also, I think," she added.

"He has many talents and every vice, Madame," said Mr. Jefferson, coldly. "A genius if you will, but a man without honor, without probity, erratic, unscrupulous, mercenary, passionate. Cupidus alieni prodigus sui. Great as are his parts, he will never be able to serve his country, for no dependence can be placed in him. He cannot even further his own interests, for he is his own worst enemy. No association with such a character can be either profitable or permanent. Listen! he is being hissed!" It was true. A faint but perfectly audible murmur of disapprobation went up as Mirabeau took his place among the deputies. As the sound struck on his ear, he turned upon the throng like a lion at bay and glanced about him with eyes which literally seemed to shoot fire and before which all sounds of hatred trembled back into silence.

With conversation, with speculations as to whether the great question of voting par ordre or par tete would be settled by Monsieur Necker in his speech, what policy the King would follow, and with promenades in the great semicircular corridor running around the balcony, did the vast crowd while away the seemingly interminable wait before the court appeared. It was one o'clock when the heralds-at-arms, amid a profound silence, announced the approach of the King and Queen. As His Majesty made his appearance at the door, the silence was broken by tumultuous cries of "Long live the King!" Remembering that day and those prolonged demonstrations of loyalty and affection to His Majesty, Mr. Calvert always considered it the wonderfullest change his life ever saw when, six months later, he was a witness to the sullen animosity and insolence of the crowd toward its sovereign.

When the King had ascended the throne and seated himself (the princes of the blood royal who followed His Majesty being ranged upon the steps of the dais to his right and his ministers below and in front), there was another call from the heralds-at-arms, and Marie Antoinette, beautiful, pallid, and haughty-looking, appeared at the entrance, accompanied by the Princess Royal and the members of her immediate household. Amid a silence unbroken by a single acclamation the Queen took her seat on the King's left and two steps below him.

"Is there no Frenchman here who will raise his voice in greeting to his Queen?" said Mr. Morris, very audibly. But though many hear him, not a sound is made, and at the cruel silence the Queen, her haughtiness giving way for a moment, as it had the day before, wept.

"I could never bear to see beauty in distress. If I were a subject of the Queen she should have one loyal servitor, at least, to wish her well," said Mr. Morris, warmly, to Calvert.

The scene which, before the entrance of the royal party, had lacked its crowning touch, was now brilliant beyond description. To the right of the throne were ranged the princes of the Church, hardly less resplendent in their robes than the secular nobles facing them, while between, forming a perfect foil for this glowing mass of color and jewels, a sombre spot in the brilliant assemblage, the tiers sat facing their sovereign. It was ominous—or so it seemed to Mr. Calvert—that the tiers should thus divide the two orders naturally most closely allied, and should sit as if in opposition or menace over against their King. And it was to them that the King seemed to speak or rather to read his address, which had been carefully prepared for him and was intentionally so vague that it aroused but little enthusiasm; to them that Monsieur le Garde des Sceaux appealed without great effect; and it was, above all, to the tiers that Monsieur Necker, rising, addressed himself, receiving in turn their warmest plaudits.

So long and so frequently interrupted by applause was Necker's report that it was after four o'clock when the King rose to dismiss the Assembly. As he descended the steps the Queen came forward to his side, and, for the first time, a faint "Vive la Reine!" was heard. At the sound a quick blush of pleasure showed in her pallid cheeks and she courtesied low to the throng with such divine grace that the acclamations redoubled. To this the Queen courtesied yet lower, and, amid a very thunder of applause, the royal party left the hall, followed by the deputies and the struggling throng of visitors.

Fatigued by the long seance, the excitement, and the tediousness of Monsieur Necker's report, Mr. Jefferson hurried Mr. Calvert—Mr. Morris had been carried off by Madame de Flahaut, to the great discomfiture of Monsieur de Curt—into his coach and drove directly to Madame de Tesse's, where they found apartments ready for them for the night and where they could get some repose before dressing for dinner and the King's levee, at which Mr. Jefferson intended to present both Mr. Morris and Mr. Calvert to their Majesties.



CHAPTER XI

MR. CALVERT ATTENDS THE KING'S LEVEE

It had been the intention of the court to give but one levee—that to the deputies on the Saturday preceding the opening of the States-General, but so widespread and so profound had been the dissatisfaction among the tiers at the treatment they had received on that occasion at the hands of Monsieur de Breze, that the King had hastily decided to hold another levee on the evening of the 5th of May, to which all the deputies were again invited and at which much of the formal and displeasing ceremony of the first reception was to be banished. At the first levee His Majesty had remained in state in the Salle d'Hercule, to which the deputies were admitted according to their rank, the noblesse and higher clergy passing in through the great state apartments, the tiers being introduced one after the other by a side entrance. The King now rightly determined to receive all in the great Salle des Glaces with as little formality as possible. But with that unhappy fatality which seemed to attend his every action, this resolution, which would have been productive of such good results at first, now seemed but a tardy and inefficient apology for courtly hauteur.

So fatigued was Madame de Tesse and her guests by the day's proceedings, that it was late when they set off from the rue Dauphine for the palace. Mr. Morris had the honor of driving alone with Madame de Tesse (Lafayette and d'Azay declining to attend this levee, having paid their respects to the King on Saturday), while Mr. Jefferson, whose coach had remained at Versailles, begged the pleasure of Madame de St. Andre's company for himself and Mr. Calvert. She came down the marble steps in her laces and gaze d'or, her dark hair unpowdered and unadorned save for a white rose, half-opened, held in the coil by a diamond buckle, and she looked so lovely and so much the grand princess that Mr. Jefferson could not forbear complimenting her as he handed her into the coach. As for Mr. Calvert, he stood by in silence, quite dazzled by her beauty. She took Mr. Jefferson's compliments and Calvert's silent admiration complacently and as though they were no more than her just due, and talked gayly and graciously enough with the minister, though she had scarce a word for the younger man, whom she treated in a fashion even more than usually imperious, and to which he submitted with his unvarying composure and good-nature.

In the Place d'Armes the crush of coaches was so great that the American Minister's carriage could move but slowly from that point into the Cour Royale, and 'twas with much difficulty that Mr. Jefferson and Calvert, finally alighting, forced a passage through the crowd for Madame de St. Andre. At the foot of the great Escalier des Ambassadeurs they found Madame de Tesse and Mr. Morris, who had just arrived. Mounting together, they passed through the state apartments of the King, upon the ceilings and panellings of which Mr. Calvert noted the ever recurring sun-disk, emblem of the Roi Soleil whose sun had set so ingloriously long before; through the Salle de la Guerre, from whose dome that same Sun-King, vanquished so easily by Death, hurled thunder-bolts of wrath before which Spain and Holland cowered in fear; until they at length came into the Galerie des Glaces, where their Majesties were to receive.

Not even the splendor of the Salle des Menus could rival for an instant the beauty of the vast hall, brilliantly lighted by great golden lustres set in double row up and down its length, in which Mr. Calvert now found himself. These lights burned themselves out in endless reflections in the seventeen great mirrors set between columns on one side of the hall. Opposite each of these mirrors was a window of equal proportions giving upon the magnificent gardens and terraces. The vaulted ceiling of this great gallery was dedicated, in a series of paintings by Lebrun, to the glorification of Louis XIV, from the moment when, on the death of Mazarin, in 1661, he took up the reins of government ('twas the theme of the great central fresco, Le Roi gouverne par lui-meme, wherein, according to the fashion of the day, the very Olympian deities were subject to the princes of France, and Mercury announced this kingly resolve to the other powers of Europe) to the peace of Nymwegen, which closed that unjust and inglorious war with Holland. Lebrun, being a courtier as well as an artist, had made these military operations under Turenne and Conde resemble prodigious success, and from The Passage of the Rhine to The Capture of Ghent, Louis was always the conqueror over the young Stadtholder, William of Orange.

These and many other details Mr. Calvert had time to note as he made a tour of the princely apartment in the train of Madame de St. Andre and Madame de Tesse. Their progress was necessarily slow, as the gallery was thronged with the deputies of the noblesse, the higher clergy, and the invited guests. But the members of the tiers, whose presence had been especially desired by His Majesty, were conspicuous by their absence. Here and there one saw a commoner in black coat and simple white tie, but he seemed to be separated from the rest of the splendid company by some invisible barrier, constrained, uneasy. Indeed, there was over the whole scene that same feeling of constraint, a sense of danger, and an air of apathy, too, that killed all gayety.

"If this is a fair sample, court balls must be but dreary affairs," said Mr. Morris to Calvert, in a low tone, as they moved slowly about. And yet, in spite of this indefinite but sensible pall over everything, the company was both numerous and brilliant. The ladies of the Queen's household and many others of the highest nobility were present, dazzling in jewels, powder, feathers, and richest court dresses. As for the gentlemen, they were as resplendent as the women in their satins and glittering orders and silver dress swords. Mr. Morris alone of all the company was without the dress sword, this concession having been granted him on account of his lameness and through the application of Mr. Jefferson.

"It is a grim jest to give a man an extra arm when he needs a leg, Mr. Jefferson. Can't you see to it that I am spared being made a monstrosity of?" Mr. Morris had said, whimsically. "I can hear Segur or Beaufort now making some damned joke about the unequal distribution of my members," and Mr. Jefferson had made a formal request to the master of ceremonies to allow Mr. Morris to be presented to His Majesty without a sword. With that exception, however, he was in full court costume and stumped his way about the Galerie des Glaces with his accustomed savoir faire, attracting almost as much attention and interest as Mr. Jefferson. That gentleman, in his gray cloth, with some fine Mechlin lace at throat and wrists, and wearing only his order of the Cincinnati, overtopped all the other ambassadors in stately bearing, and looked more noble than did most of the marquises and counts and dukes in their brocades and powdered perukes and glittering decorations—or, at least, so thought Calvert, who was himself very good to look at in his white broadcloth and flowered satin waistcoat.

The slow progress of the party around the room was not entirely to Mr. Calvert's liking, for at each step Madame de St. Andre was forced to stop and speak to some eager courtier who presented himself, and, by the time they were half-way through the tour and opposite the Oeil de Beef, such a retinue was following the beauty that he found himself quite in the rear and completely separated from her.

"I feel like the remnant of a beleaguered army cut off from the base of supplies," said Mr. Morris, smiling at the young man. He and Mr. Jefferson had dropped behind, having given way to younger and more pressing claimants for Madame de St. Andre's favor. "Shall we make a masterly retreat while there is time?"

While he was yet speaking a sudden silence fell upon the company, and Monsieur de Breze, throwing open the doors leading into the Gallery of Mirrors from Louis's council chamber, announced the King and Queen. Their Majesties entered immediately, attended at a respectful distance by a small retinue of gentlemen, among whom Calvert recognized the Duc de Broglie, Monsieur de la Luzerne, and Monsieur de Montmorin. At this near sight of the King—for he found himself directly opposite the door by which their Majesties entered—Mr. Calvert felt a shock of surprise. Surrounded by all the pomp and circumstance of a most imposing ceremonial and seen across the vast Salle des Menus, Louis XVI. had appeared to the young American kingly enough. But this large, awkward, good-natured-looking man who now made his way quietly and with a shambling gait into the brilliant room, crowded with the most splendid courtiers of Europe, had no trace of majesty about him, unless it was a certain look of benignity and kindliness that shone in the light-blue eyes. His dress of unexpected simplicity and the unaffected style of his whole deportment were unlocked for by Calvert. Indeed, but for the splendid decorations he wore and the humility of his courtiers, the young gentleman would have found it hard to believe himself in such exalted company, and thought privately that General Washington or Mr. Jefferson or many another great American whom he had known had a more commanding presence and a more noble countenance than this descendant of kings.

But if Louis XVI was awkward and unprepossessing he had the kindest manners in the world, and when Mr. Jefferson presented Mr. Calvert to His Majesty as "son jeune et bien-aime secretaire, qui avait servi dans la guerre de l'independence sous le drapeau de la France, commande par Monsieur de Lafayette, pour qu'il avait un respect le plus profond et une amitie la plus vive," the young man was quite overcome by the graciousness of his reception and retained for the rest of his life a very lively impression of the King's kind treatment of him. He never had speech with that unhappy, but well-intentioned, ruler but once afterward, and very possibly 'twas as much the memory of the courtesy shown him as the wish to see justice done and royalty in distress succored that made him, on the occasion of his second interview, offer himself so ardently in the dangerous service of the King.

Perhaps it was the presence at his side of his beautiful consort that accentuated all of Louis's awkwardness. As Mr. Calvert bowed low before the Queen, Marie Antoinette, he thought to himself that surely there was no other princess in all Europe to compare with her, and but one beauty. Certain it was that she bore herself with a pride of race, a majesty, a divine grace that were peerless. It must have been some such queen as this who first inspired the artists with the idea of representing the princes of this earth as Olympic deities, for assuredly no goddess was ever more beautiful. Though care and grief and humiliation had already touched her, though there were fine lines around the proudly curving lips and an anxious shadow in the large eyes, her complexion was still transcendently brilliant, her figure still youthful and marvellously graceful, and there was that in her carriage and glance that attracted all eyes. She was dressed in a silver gauze embroidered in laurier roses so cunningly wrought that they looked as if fresh plucked and scattered over the lacy fabric. Her hair, which was worn simply—she had set the fashion for less extravagance in the style of head-dress—was piled up in lightly powdered coils, ornamented only with a feather and a star of brilliants.