“I will think of these things, my good friend of the honest heart. I do think of them now. I will entrust you, a stranger, with a secret. Will you never tell it until the day that makes it clear arrives?”
“Never, never, never—oh, my heart dances when I hear good things of the cause of these people struggling so mightily for their liberties—no, no, the tail goes with the kite; I will never tell.”
“I am now writing to the court of France. If I get good news, I will ask for the French mountaineers whose banner is Auvergne sans tache!”
“May the heavens all take off their hats to ye and the evil one never get ye. I can see them coming now, a kind o’ vision, with their banners flying. I have second sight, and see good things. Why do not people see good things now, like the prophets of old, and not witches and ghosts? To Dennis O’Hay the passing clouds are angels’ chariots. Oh, I will never forget you, and I would deem it an honor above honors if you will not forget Dennis O’Hay.”
“One thing more, good Dennis, I have to say to you before we part. If a French ship should come to Norwich from Lyons, you may learn more about Auvergne, which is the Connecticut of France.”
“Then you must be like the Governor, who is so all wrapped up in the cause that he has forgotten to grow old.”
The young French officer drew his cloak about him, and touched his hat and went to the marquee.
Dennis laid down to rest among some wasted men of the army by a fire of fagots. He dreamed, and he saw French ships sailing in the air. He had read the success of the cause amid all these miseries in the heart of young Lafayette.
“That boy general has the vision of it all,” said he.