The good doctor goes over, and becomes polite to Mrs. Adams; for the enlightenment of that lady of reserve and dignity, he expands on France and the French character. Suddenly the door is thrown open, and all unannounced a queer figure rushes in. She is clad in rumpled muslin and soiled lutestring. Her hair is frizzed, her face painted, her cap awry, and she is fair and fat and of middle years. This remarkable apparition embraces Doctor Franklin, kisses him resoundingly, first on the left cheek then on the right, crying:
“My flame!—my love!—my Franklin!”
The seasoned doctor receives this caressing broadside steadily, while the desolated Mrs. Adams sits round-eyed and stony.
“It is the eccentric Madame Helvetius,” explains Madame Brillon in a low tone to Mrs. Adams. “They call her the ‘Rich Widow of Passy.’ She and the good doctor are dearest friends.”
“Eccentric!” Mrs. Adams perceives as much, and says so.
Doctor Franklin returns to Mrs. Adams, whom he suspects of being hungry for an explanation, while the buoyant Madame Helvetius, as one sure of her impregnable position, wanders confidently about the room.
“You should become acquainted with Madame Helvetius,” submits the doctor pleasantly. “Wise, generous, afire for our cause—you would dote on her.”
Mrs. Adams icily fears not.
“Believe me; you would!” insists the doctor. “True! her manners are of her people and her region. They are not those of Puritan New England.”
Mrs. Adams interrupts to say that she has never before heard so much said in favor of Puritan New England.