Hearing the name of the gentleman who thus replied, the young vicomte said:
"May I ask, sir, if you are Mr. Hugh Wynne?"
"Yes, I am; and, if I am not mistaken, you are the Vicomte de Courval, and this, your mother. Ah, madame," he said in French, far other than that of the secretary, "I missed you at Oeller's, and I am now at your service. What can I do for you?"
The vicomtesse replied that they had been guided hither by Mr. Jefferson to find a list of lodging-houses.
"Then let us go and see about it."
"This way, Vicomte," said Jefferson. "It is up-stairs, madame." Ah, where now were the plain manners of democracy and the scorn of titles? A low, sweet voice had bewitched him, the charm of perfect French at its best.
The United States bank was on the first floor, and the clerks looked up with interest at the secretary and his companions as they passed the open door. De Courval lingered to talk with Wynne, both in their way silently amused at the capture by the vicomtesse of the gentleman with Jacobin principles.
The room up-stairs was surrounded with well-filled book-shelves. Midway, at a table, sat Zachariah Poulson, librarian, who was at once introduced, and who received them with the quiet good manners of his sect. A gentleman standing near the desk looked up from the book in his hand. While Mr. Poulson went in search of the desired list, Mr. Wynne said: "Good morning, James. I thought, Mr. Secretary, you knew Mr. Logan. Permit me to add agreeably to your acquaintance." The two gentlemen bowed, and Wynne added: "By the way, do you chance to know, Mr. Secretary, that Mr. Logan is hereditary librarian of the Loganian Library, and every Logan in turn if he pleases—our only inherited title."
"Not a very alarming title," said the Quaker gentleman, demurely.
"We can stand that much," said Jefferson, smiling as he turned to Madame de Courval, while her son, a little aside, waited for the list and surveyed with interest the Quakers, the statesman, and the merchant who seemed so friendly.