“Keep your passion for Lafayette. He was at least brave and disinterested, but don’t waste much feeling on the government that backed him. Vergennes, the minister of France at that time, prepared a map in which the United States figured as the same old colonial strip between the Alleghenies and the sea. They had no idea of helping United States to become a great nation.”
“Yes, I remember reading a letter from Jay in which he said: ‘This court is interested in separating us from Great Britain, but it is not their interest that we should become a great and formidable people.’ But I feel deeply grateful to France for all she did,” said Kent.
“Me, too!” cried Jim Castleman. “And I mean to do all I can to pay it back.”
“Ah! My American Lafayette!” cried the Marquise. “A toast, a toast, to my American Lafayette!” And they stood up and drank a toast to the blushing young giant.
“I didn’t dream any one could have such a good time at her own wedding,” said Judy when the last vestige of cake had disappeared. It was a wonderful cake with a tiny white sugar bride and a chocolate groom perched on top. There had been much holding of hands under the table. Every other person seemed to be eating with his or her left hand, and Cousin Sally complained that she had no hand to eat with at all, as Philippe held one of her hands and the American Lafayette held the other.
The Marquis could not come, much to the regret of all the company, for his regiment expected to be called to the front any day and no leaves could be granted.
Judy put up a brave front when adieux were in order, but her heart was very sad. How many terrible things might happen to these kind friends she was leaving! The Tricots, good souls, might be bereft at any moment. Dear Cousin Sally, with two in the war, might be doubly visited by the hand of death. Polly and Jo Perkins were to part after this brief time of happiness, holding hands under the Tricots’ hospitable board, one to return to his office of caring for the wounded, the other to her office of keeping the German ambulance drivers busy. The young Kentucky giant, Jim Castleman, was to join his regiment on the following day. His glee at having a chance to swat the Prussians was intense. He didn’t look like a person who could ever die, but one bit of shrapnel might in the twinkling of an eye destroy that virile youth.
“Come to see me when you can, my American Lafayette,” begged the Marquise, “and if you get so much as a tiny little wound, let me nurse you if you can get to me.”
Jim had delighted the little party by translating into his execrable French football terms to describe his idea of how the war should be conducted. His left tackle was frankly: “gauche palan,” and his centre rush was: “cintre jonc.”
He and Kent were not very demonstrative in their parting, but both of them felt it deeply.