Immediately the officers leaped to their feet.
“Cheers!” said the Colonel. “Cheers for Madam Faith—may she soon wear the cloak—after the war!”
The soldiers of Auvergne sans tache were chivalrous, and they swung their arms in wheel-like circles and cheered for the wife of the self-forgetful Governor.
In the midst of this enthusiastic outpouring of feeling the Governor himself appeared in the reception-room of the forest inn with madam, smiling and stately, on his arm.
“You came at a happy moment, Governor,” said Rochambeau. “I am showing my men this scarlet cloak.”
“It is a fine garment,” said the Governor. “It were worthy of a field-marshal of France.”
“Would it be worthy of the wife of a marshal of a regiment of Auvergne sans tache?” asked the courtly Frenchman.
“It would,” said the Governor in a New England tone.
“Then it would be worthy of your wife, Governor.”
Rochambeau approached Madam Faith. “Will you allow me, madam, to honor you, if it be an honor, with the scarlet cloak? I wish you to wear it in memory of the soldiers of Auvergne, and of your humble servant, until you shall find some one who is more worthy of it—and I do not believe, madam, if you will allow me to say it, that any heart truer than yours to the principles of liberty and to all mankind beats in these provinces.”