"Never did rulers have better subjects," said the general.
"Never did subjects have better rulers," said Waubeno, almost repeating the scene of Dick Whittington, thrice Lord Mayor of London, by virtue of his wonderful cat, to King Henry.
The Indians withdrew amid the gay strains of national music, the stately minuet haunting Waubeno and ringing in his ears.
He tried to hum the rhythms of the beautiful air of the courts. Jasper saw how the music had affected him, and that he was happy and susceptible, and said:
"Waubeno, you have met a man to-night who would forget his own position and pleasure to do honor to the Indian girl."
"Yes, I am sure of that."
"You are your best self to-night—in your best mood; the music has awakened your better soul. You remember your promise?"
"Yes, but, Brother Jasper—"
"What, Waubeno?"
"Lafayette is a Frenchman, and—a gentleman. The Indians and French do not spill each other's blood. Why?"