The strident, unmollified tones of Mr. Adams get possession of the field. He is condemning the French press.
“They declare, sir,” he is saying, “that I am not the celebrated Mr. Adams; that I am a cipher, a fanatic and a bigot.”
Doctor Franklin laughs. “What harm is there in the French papers, sir?” he returns. “Give them no heed, sir, give them no heed!”
Madame Brillon makes preparations to depart; Madame Houdetot, Mrs. Adams and the rest adopt her example. And still the girl-Duchess holds Captain Paul Jones to herself:
“I am to have one evening—one before you go?” she pleads; and her tones are a woman’s tones and deeply wistful; and are not in any respect the tones of a Bourbon.
“One evening? You shall have every evening—ay! and every day.”
“Remember!” and as she makes ready to go the girl-Duchess takes firmer command of her manner and her voice; “remember! You have promised to lay an English frigate at my feet.”
“That I shall do; or lay my bones away in the Atlantic!”
The girl-Duchess shivers at this picture, and as though for reassurance steals her slim hand into his.
“Not that!” she pleads. His strong brown fingers close courageously on the slender ones. “I cannot bear the thought! In victory or defeat, come back!” Then, sighing rather than saying: “Come back to me—my untitled knight of the sea!”