Calvert's second morning at the Legation was even busier than the first had been, so that there was no time for disquieting thoughts or the memory of troubled dreams. Indeed, the young man had very good nerves and such power of concentration and so conscientious a regard for whatever he might have on hand to do as always kept him absorbed in his work. The packet by which he and Mr. Morris had arrived being ready to start on the return voyage, it was necessary to make up the American mail, which Calvert found to be no light task. Mr. Jefferson's large private correspondence always necessitated the writing of a dozen or more letters for every packet, several copies of the more important having to be made, owing to the unreliability of the vessels themselves and the danger of all communications being opened and possibly destroyed by the French agents before they could even be sent on their way. Besides these private letters there were also many communications concerning official business to be written. The most important one was a letter to the Secretary of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Jay, concerning the recall of Monsieur le Comte de Moustier, whose conduct had become most offensive to the American Congress, and the possible appointment of Colonel Ternant to his office. This officer had won a great European reputation as Generalissimo of one of the United Provinces, and it was even hinted that, had he been put at the head of affairs instead of the pusillanimous Rhinegrave of Salm, the cause might have been saved. All this and other details had to be communicated to Mr. Jay, and so delicate was the business that Calvert was instructed to put the letter in cipher lest it be opened and the French Government prematurely informed of the dissatisfaction felt with its representative in America.
It was well on toward three in the afternoon before all the business was disposed of and Calvert had leisure to recall his engagement. When Mr. Jefferson heard of it he declared his intention of going, too, for it was ever one of his greatest pleasures to watch young people at their amusements. The carriage was ordered, and, after stopping in the rue de Richelieu for Mr. Morris, Mr. Jefferson ordered the coachman to drive to the terrace of the Jardin des Tuileries, near the Pont Royal, which particular place the fashionable world had chosen for a rendezvous from which to watch the skating upon the Seine.
It was a beautiful and unusual sight that met Calvert's eyes for the first time on that brilliant winter's afternoon as he alighted from Mr. Jefferson's carriage. The river, which was solidly frozen over at this point, and which was kept smooth and free of soft ice by attendants from the Palais Royal, was thronged. Officers of the splendid Maison du Roi and the Royale Cravate, in magnificent uniforms, glided about; nobles in their rich dress, the sunlight catching their small swords and burnishing them to glittering brightness, skated hither and thither; now and then in the crowd was seen some beautiful woman on skates or more frequently wrapped in furs and being pushed luxuriously about in a chair-sleigh by lackeys and attended by a retinue of admirers. On the terrace of the garden overlooking the river a throng of the most notable people of the court and society, drawn hither by the novelty of the pastime and comfortably installed in chairs brought by their servants, with chaufferettes and furs to keep them protected from the intense cold, looked on at the shifting, swiftly moving pageant before them. For the time being the Parisian world was mad about skating, both because of its popularity as an English sport and because of the rarity with which it could be enjoyed in France.
Joining the throng of spectators, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris quickly found themselves surrounded by friends and acquaintances, and Calvert left them talking with Madame d'Azay, Madame de Flahaut, and the Maréchal de Ségur, while he put on his skates. The young man was no great proficient in the art of skating as he was in that of swimming and riding (indeed, he was a most perfect equestrian, seeming to have some secret understanding and entente cordiale with every animal he ever bestrode), but with that facile acquirement of any physical accomplishment which ever distinguished him, he was soon perfectly at ease on the ice.
It was while opposite the Place du Carrousel and almost out of sight of the crowd of onlookers, that Calvert suddenly came upon Madame de St. André. She had ventured upon the ice on skates, and was talking to St. Aulaire, who skated slowly beside her. Even in the bright sunshine the Baron de St. Aulaire did not show his age, and moved and bore himself with incomparable grace on the ice. Indeed, in his rich dress and splendid decorations he made a dazzling appearance, and quite eclipsed Mr. Calvert in his sober garments and unpowdered hair. Calvert would have passed by or retreated without intruding himself upon Madame de St. André, but before he could do either she had caught sight of him, and he saw, or fancied he saw, a look of relief pass over her face and a welcome dawn in her eyes. Thinking so, he skated slowly toward her, wishing to be sure that he was wanted, and, as he did so, the gentleman, perceiving his approach, ceased speaking and looked most obviously annoyed at the young man's arrival.
Madame de St. André waved her hand lightly. "Au revoir, Monsieur de St. Aulaire!" she cried. "Here is Monsieur Calvert, who will take me back over the ice, so I shall not have to trouble you," and she laughed in a relieved, if somewhat agitated, fashion as St. Aulaire, doffing his hat and scowling fiercely at Calvert, skated rapidly away. As Calvert looked at the retreating figure, Beaufort's words of two days before flashed through his mind again, and it was with a sort of horror that he thought of this dissolute nobleman having even spoken with Madame de St. André. Was this beautiful girl born under some unlucky star that she should have to know and associate with such creatures? Calvert had only met her the night before, and already he had seen her twice with a man whose very presence was contaminating. 'Twas almost with the fear of finding some visible sign of that debasing influence upon the fair face beside him that he turned and looked at Madame de St. André. It would have been impossible for anyone to have looked more innocently charming. The court beauty was in eclipse, and in her place was a radiant, gracious young girl. Perhaps it was the short, fur-trimmed dress she wore and the small cap with its tuft of heron plumes, a fashion lately set by the Princess de Lamballe, which gave her that childish air. Or, more possibly, it was the unaccustomed look of embarrassment upon her face and a half-laughing petulance as of a naughty child caught in mischief.
"Good-day, Monsieur l'Americain," she said, gayly, smiling into the serious face Calvert turned toward her. "Will you forgive me for pressing you into service in so offhand a manner?—but perhaps you were looking for me?"
"No, Madame," returned Calvert, calmly, as they skated slowly toward the
Quai des Tuileries, "but 'tis a pleasure to be of service to you."
A cloud gathered on Madame de St. André's brow at this honest and somewhat uncomplimentary reply, but suddenly the humor of the situation seemed to strike her and she burst out laughing.
"Are you always so truthful, Monsieur Calvert, and do American ladies absolve you from making pretty speeches? If so, I warn you you must change or you will not succeed with the ladies of Louis's court."
"Ah, Madame! I am no courtier—nor, indeed, do I care to be," said
Calvert, quietly.
"Worse and worse!" cried Madame de St. André, still laughing. "But even though you disclaim all effort to find me, or wish to be agreeable when found, yet I will still confess that you arrived most opportunely. Monsieur de St. Aulaire grows fatiguing," she went on, with a pettish shrug of her shoulders. "He is as prodigal of compliments as you are chary of them."
Calvert looked at the young girl beside him.
"He dares to compliment you! A compliment from Monsieur de St. Aulaire can be nothing less than an insult," he said, gravely.
Madame de St. André lifted her eyes quickly to Calvert's face and, noting the ill-concealed disgust and quiet scorn written there, blushed scarlet and regarded him haughtily.
"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire is one of the greatest gentlemen in Europe—and—and anyone whom he distinguishes by his attentions must feel honored."
"Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire is one of the greatest roués in Europe," corrected Calvert, calmly, "and anyone whom he distinguishes by his attentions ought to feel disgraced."
Madame de St. André was speechless in sheer amazement and indignation. Though she had been annoyed, even frightened by the nobleman's ardent manner and words, she was now eager to defend him from Calvert's attack. She knew him to be in the right, and the rising admiration for his quiet dignity and courage, which she could not repress, only added to her petulance and desire to be revenged on him. It is so with all women—they hate to be put in the wrong, even when the doing so means protection to themselves. And so it was wellnigh intolerable to the spoiled beauty, who had never been used to the lightest contradiction, that this calm young American should so openly show his disapproval of her.
"I will pass by your reproof of myself, Monsieur," she said at length, haughtily; her eyes flashing and a deep blush mantling her brow, "but I cannot consent to listen in silence to your condemnation of a personage whose talents and rank should protect him from your sarcasms."
"Rank, Madame!" burst out Mr. Calvert at these words. "I never knew before that morality or immorality, loyalty or treason, honor or dishonor had aught to do with rank! In our country 'tis not so. A king's word can make of the meanest scoundrel a duke, a marquis, but an honest man holds his rank by a power greater than any king's." He bent upon her such a compelling gaze that she was forced to turn and look at him. Before Calvert's flashing eyes and manly, honest indignation her own anger died out and an unwilling admiration took its place. She blushed again deeply and bit her lips. This young American, with his noble face, his simplicity of manner and democratic scorn of her rank and pretensions, had not only accused, but silenced her. At any rate he should not see that he had impressed her! She laughed lightly.
"What a noble sentiment, Monsieur! Did you find it in one of Monsieur
Rousseau's books?"
"No, Madame, it was not in the works of the famous Monsieur Rousseau that I found the expression of that sentiment," replied Calvert, hesitating slightly. "'Tis the theme of a little song by a young man named Robert Burns, who writes the sweetest poetry in the world, I think. He is a friend and protege of Dr. Witherspoon, of the College of Princeton, who never tires of reading his verses to us. I wish I could give you some idea of the beauty and power of the poem," and he began to translate "For a' that, and a' that" into the best French at his command, smiling every now and then at the strange substitutes for Burns's Scotch which he was forced to employ and at the curious metamorphosis of the poem into French prose. But he managed to infuse the spirit and sentiment of the original into his offhand translation, and Madame de St. André listened attentively.
"I would like to hear more of your poet," she said, gently, when Calvert had finished speaking. "I do not remember to have heard Monsieur Chenier speak of him or the Abbé Délille, either. The Abbé is often good enough to read poetry to us in my aunt's drawing-room, but 'tis usually his own," and she laughed mischievously. "The poor gentleman makes a great fuss about it, too. He must have his dish of tea at his elbow and the shades all drawn, with only the firelight or a single candle to read by, and when we are all quaking with fear at the darkness and solemn silence, he begins to recite, and imagines that 'tis his verses which have so moved us!" and she laughed merrily again. "You shall come and read to us from your young Scotch poet and snatch the Abbé's laurels from him! Indeed, my aunt has already conceived a great liking for you, Monsieur, so she told me last night on her way from Madame Necker's, and intends to urge upon Mr. Jefferson to bring you to see her immediately." She smiled at Calvert so graciously and with such unaffected good-humor that he looked at her with delight and wonder at the change come over her. Once more the mask was down. All the haughtiness and capricious anger had faded away, and Calvert thought he had never beheld a creature so charming and so beautiful. Her dark eyes shone like stars in a wintry sky, and, though the air was frosty, the roses bloomed in her cheeks. As he looked at her there was a troubled smile on his lips and he felt a sudden quickening of his pulse. A curious sense of remoteness from her impressed itself upon him. He looked around at the unfamiliar scene, at the towering palace walls on his right, at the crowds of spectators on the river's edge, at the brilliant throng of skaters, at the great stone bridge spanning the frozen river over which people were forever passing to and fro, some hurriedly, some with leisure to lean over the parapet for a moment to watch the unaccustomed revelry below. And as he looked, another scene, which he had so lately left, rose before him. In fancy he could see the broad and shining Potomac, on its banks the stately old colonial house with its colonnaded wings, something after the fashion of General Washington's mansion at near-by Mount Vernon, the green lawns stretching away from the portico and the fragrant depths of the woods beyond. A voice recalled him from his abstraction. It was that of Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who, as they neared the crowded terrace of the Tuileries gardens, emerged from a group of skaters and, approaching Calvert and Madame de St. André, made a profound bow before the latter.
"Is Madame de St. André to show favor to none but Monsieur Calvert?" he asks, in a low voice that had an accent of mockery in it as he bent over the young girl's hand.
"'Tis no favor that I show Monsieur Calvert," she replied, smiling.
"'Tis a privilege to skate with so perfect a master of the art."
"I shall be most happy to take a lesson from Monsieur later in the afternoon," returned St. Aulaire, courteously, but with a disagreeable smile playing about his mouth. "In the meantime, if Monsieur will but resign you for a time—" He stopped and shrugged his shoulders slightly. Calvert moved from his place beside Madame de St. André.
As he made his way toward the shore, intending to remove his skates and find Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Morris, d'Azay and Beaufort came up and urged upon him to join them. Both were good skaters, but the young American excelled them in a certain lightness and grace, and the three friends, as they circled about, trying a dozen difficult and showy manoeuvres on the ice, attracted much attention. It was after half an hour of the vigorous exercise and as Mr. Calvert stopped for an instant to take breath and pay his respects to Madame de Flahaut, who had ventured upon the ice in a chair-sleigh surrounded by her admirers, that Monsieur de St. Aulaire again presented himself before him.
"I have come for my lesson, Monsieur," he said to Calvert, bowing after his incomparably graceful fashion, which Calvert (who had never before wasted thought upon such things) suddenly found himself envying, and with the disagreeable smile still upon his lips.
"I am no skating-master, Monsieur," returned the young man, quietly, and with as good grace as he was master of, "but I shall be happy to have a turn upon the ice with you," and with that he moved off, leaving St. Aulaire to stay or follow as he chose. He chose to follow and skated rapidly after Calvert with no very benevolent look on his handsome, dissipated face. Although he was by far the best skater among the French gentlemen who thronged the ice, and although it was little short of a marvel that he should be so active at his age, he was scarcely a match for the younger man either in lightness or quickness of movement. And although his splendid dress and jewels so overshadowed Mr. Calvert's quiet appearance, he was conscious of being excelled before the crowd of spectators by the agility and sure young strength of the American. Piqued and disgusted at the thought, the habitual half-mocking good-humor of his manner gave way to sullen, repressed irritation. Knowing his world so well, he was sure of the interest and curiosity Calvert's performance would arouse, and longed to convert his little triumph into a defeat. Being accustomed to doing everything he undertook a little better, a little more gracefully, with a little more éclat than anyone else, he suddenly began to hate this young man who had beaten him at his own game and for whom he had felt an aversion from the first moment of seeing him.
He tried to bethink himself of some plan of lowering his enemy's colors. In his younger days he had been a notable athlete, excelling in vaulting and jumping, and suddenly an idea occurred to him which he thought would result in mortification to Mr. Calvert and success to himself. So great was the interest in the skating of the two gentlemen that the greater part of the crowd had retired beyond a little ledge of roughened ice and snow which cut the improvised arena into two nearly equal parts from where they could conveniently see Monsieur de St. Aulaire and Mr. Calvert as they skated about. This rift in the smoothness of the ice was some fifteen feet wide and extended far out from the shore, so that those wishing to pass beyond it had to skate out around its end and so get to the other side. Monsieur de St. Aulaire came up close to it, and, as he did so, he suddenly called out to Calvert:
"Let us try the other side, Monsieur, and, as it is too far to go around this, suppose we jump it," and he laughed as he noted Calvert's look of surprise at his proposition.
"As you wish, Monsieur," assented Calvert, though somewhat dubiously, as he noted the breadth of the roughened surface, and mentally calculated that to miss the clear jump by a hair's-breadth would ensure a hard, perhaps dangerous, fall. 'Twas no easy jump under ordinary circumstances; weighted down by skates the difficulty would be vastly increased.
"Tis too wide for a standing jump, Monsieur," said St. Aulaire, looking alternately at Calvert and the rift of broken, jagged ice, and laughing recklessly. "We will have to run for it!" And without more words the two gentlemen skated rapidly back for twenty yards and then came forward with tremendous velocity, pari passu, and, both jumping at the same instant, landed on the far side of the ledge, scattering the applauding spectators right and left as they drove in among them, unable for an instant to stop the swiftness of their progress.
"Well done, Monsieur!" called out St. Aulaire, as he wheeled beside Calvert, who had succeeded in checking his impetus. He was smiling, but there was a dark look in his eyes. "Well done, but 'twas too easy—a very school-boy's trick! We must try something a little more difficult to test our agility upon the ice—unless, indeed, Monsieur has had enough?" and he looked at Calvert insultingly full in the face. "The eyes of the world are upon us—" and he waved his hand mockingly toward the throng of spectators on the terrace where the ladies were applauding with gloved hands and the men tapping the frozen ground with canes and swords. From where he stood Calvert could see Mr. Jefferson looking at him and Mr. Morris sitting beside Madame de Flahaut and Madame de St. André, who had left the ice and joined the onlookers.
"It has never been my custom or my desire, Monsieur, to furnish amusement for the crowd," said Calvert, returning St. Aulaire's insolent look, "but I should be very sorry to stand in the way of your doing so by declining to act as a foil to your prowess. If there is anything else I can do for you—?" and he bowed and smiled tranquilly at Monsieur de St. Aulaire, who blushed darkly with vexation at the way in which the young man had turned his attack.
"Monsieur is too modest," he said, suavely, controlling himself, and then, calling one of the attendants who was busy near-by sweeping the snow cut by the skates from the ice, he instructed the fellow to bring one of the chairs which had been taken from the palace to the terrace for the convenience of those who had not had their servants bring them. In a few moments the man returned with a large chair whose deep seat and long arms just suited the purposes of Monsieur de St. Aulaire. Under his direction the man placed it sidewise upon the stratum of broken, irregular ice and snow, the crowd looking on with curiosity at the unusual proceedings.
"By the example and with the approbation of Monsieur le Duc d'Orléans, Monsieur," said St. Aulaire, turning gravely to Calvert, "we do all things a l'Anglaise—for the moment. You, who, after all, are English, will doubtless recognize many of your customs, manners, and sports among us—always supposing Paris is fortunate enough to keep you," and here he smiled deprecatingly and shook his head as if afraid such good fortune could not be true. "I have just conceived the idea of having a steeple-chase on the ice. 'Tis but a poor little hurdle," and he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, "but 'twill have to do. We will take fifty yards start, Monsieur, and clear the fauteuil, rough ice and all!"
He broke out again in his mocking laugh, and, sculling rapidly backward, soon put the distance between him and the improvised barrier. Calvert turned and followed, not without some inward disgust at the trap laid for him, although outwardly he wore the quiet air habitual to him, and, in spite of his disgust, he could not help but admire the reckless courage and activity which would dare such a thing, for 'twas evident now that the jump had not only to be dangerously long but high also, and any failure to clear the chair and broken ice would inevitably result in a ludicrous, probably serious mishap.
"'Tis evident that we cannot both jump at the same time," says Monsieur de St. Aulaire, courteously. "Shall we try for the honor?" and he drew a coin from his pocket and lightly tossed it upward. 'Twas the fashion in Paris to decide everything by the fall of a coin. "C'est à vous, Monsieur," he says, looking at the gold piece as it lay face upward in his palm, and he laughed lightly again as if not displeased with his luck. As for Calvert, he was no less pleased, for he suddenly felt impatient and eager for the trial. He gave a glance at the fastenings of his skates and then, sweeping around to the starting-place, he skated slowly at first but with ever-increasing speed. As he reached the gilt chair he paused for the infinitesimal part of a second as a horse does at a hurdle, and then, with one clean spring, was over safely. As he slid along the smooth ice, unable to check his impetus, he could hear the applause of the spectators on the shore and the exclamations and laughter of the ladies. Suddenly he bethought him of St. Aulaire. He turned quickly and was just in time to see St. Aulaire start off. There was a gallant recklessness in his bearing, but Calvert noted that his movements seemed heavy, though his pace accelerated greatly as he neared the improvised hurdle. Indeed, he was coming too fast, and, as he reached the unlucky fauteuil, he was going with such speed that he could neither calculate the length of the jump nor raise himself sufficiently for it, and it was with a little cry of horror that Calvert and the onlookers saw the Baron essay it and fall short, catching his skates in the arm of the chair and crashing down heavily upon the ice. In an instant Calvert had reached him. Monsieur de St. Aulaire was lying quite still and unconscious, with a thin stream of blood trickling from a scalp wound on the temple, which had struck a splinter of ice. In a few minutes, after much chafing of his hands and head, he opened his eyes, and Calvert and the crowd who had quickly surrounded the two were relieved to see that the injury had not been serious. A dozen fine handkerchiefs were torn up, and Calvert bound the wounded temple and helped him, still half-stunned, to rise. The fresh air revived him somewhat, and, Madame de Segur's coachman running up at this moment to tell him that his mistress's carriage was at his disposal, he was helped to it, and, amid the sympathetic murmurs of the crowd, was sent off to his apartments in the Palais Royal.
"A thousand pardons for causing you so much trouble, Monsieur," he said, turning to Calvert, with one foot on the step of the carriage. "I shall not forget this afternoon," and he bowed with his accustomed grace, looking incomparably handsome in spite of his pallor and weakness and the bandage about his forehead, and Calvert could not help but admire the courtly ease of his manner, though he saw, too, the evil smile on his lips and the ugly look in his eye. As he turned away he caught sight of Madame de St. André, who stood looking after the carriage with an expression of anxiety on her face, which Calvert noticed had lost its rosy color and was now quite pale. He would have gone to her to reassure her concerning Monsieur de St. Aulaire's safety, but when he went toward her she pretended not to see him, and quickly joined Madame d'Azay and the Maréchal de Segur.
The company broke up soon after the accident to Monsieur de St. Aulaire, and in a few minutes Mr. Jefferson, Mr. Morris, and Calvert were in their carriage on the way to the Legation, where Mr. Morris was engaged to dine that evening.
"I thought you had told me that Mr. Calvert was quite indifferent to the fair sex," says Mr. Morris, laughing, and speaking to Mr. Jefferson, but with a side glance at the young man. "If so, he takes a strange way of proving it. He will be the most-talked-of, and therefore the most envied, man in Paris to-morrow," and he began to laugh again.
"Was jumping in the curriculum at the College of Princeton?" asks Mr.
Jefferson, laughing, too.
"But beware of St. Aulaire," said Mr. Morris, suddenly becoming grave and laying a kindly hand on Calvert's shoulder. "I misjudge him if he will take even a fair defeat at sport in the right spirit. Look out for him, Ned—he will not play fair and he will not forget a grudge, or I am greatly deceived in him."
But it was not of Monsieur le Baron's possible revenge or even of his cracked head that Mr. Calvert thought, but of his unrivalled gallantry of bearing and his splendid appearance. And that night when he retired to his own room he practised St. Aulaire's graceful bow before the long cheval glass, though with most indifferent success, it must be confessed.
"'Tis no use," he said at length to the sober reflection in the glass, and he threw himself into a chair and burst out laughing at his own folly. "I am only a simple American gentleman, and Monsieur de St. Aulaire's manners are too elaborate for such. Perhaps 'tis his splendid dress and decorations which give such éclat to his every movement. At any rate I see that I shall have to content myself with my own quiet fashions. And why, indeed, am I suddenly dissatisfied with them?—why wish to change them?"
But though he sat for some time staring into the fire he did not attempt to answer his own queries, and, after a little, he blew out the candles and resolutely addressed himself to sleep.