There is a marked difference between the General and the Marquis; the former tall, powerful, indomitable—the type American; the latter nervous, optimistic, full of romantic heroisms—the type French. The General is speaking; his manner a model of the courteous and the suave. For the young Marquis is a peer of France, the head of a party, and may be held as carrying at his heels a third of French sentiment and French influence. It is not what he brings, but what he leaves behind him, that makes the young Marquis important.
The talk between the General and the Marquis is running on Captain Paul Jones.
“It surprises me,” the General is saying, “it surprises me, my dear Marquis, to learn that you know Captain Jones.”
“We meet—Captaine Jones and I,” responds Lafayette, in a choppy, fervent fashion of English, that carries something more than a mere flavor of Paris, “we meet, my dear General, in Alexandria by the Potomac, when I come North from the Carolina, where I disbark. Captaine Jones he assist in Alexandria to find horses to bring me here.”
“And you believe, as does he, that a best use that can be made of him is to give him a ship, and send him to Europe?”
“Certaine, General, certaine! Give him a good ship, and let him hawk at England with it. It should be a quick, smart ship, that they may not catch him. Give him such a vessel, General, and he will keep five hundred English boats at home to guard the British coasts.”
“You think, Marquis, that he would make a good impression in France?”
“The best, General; the best! Captaine Jones has—what you call?—the aplomb, yes, and the grace, the charm, the dash to captivate the fancy of my countrymen—ever brave, the French, they love a brave man like Captaine Jones! More, General, he speaks the French language, and that is most important.”
General Washington stalks up and down the polished, hardwood floor, wearing a thoughtful face. As he turns to speak, he is interrupted by an obsequious black attendant—one of those body slaves brought from Mount Vernon.
“Pardon, Gin’ral,” says the grizzled old darky, as he pokes his grinning head in at the door; “Cap’n Jones presents his comp’ments, sare; an’ can he come up?”