"Yes, it was not like her," said the vicomte, well pleased.
The September days went by, and to all outward appearance Madame de Courval accepted with no further protest what it was out of her power to control. Uncle Josiah insisted on settling upon Margaret a modest income, and found it the harder to do so because, except Mistress Gainor Wynne, no one was disposed to differ with him. That lady told him it was shabby. To which he replied that there would be the more when he died.
"Get a permanent ground-rent on your grave," said Gainor, "or never will you lie at rest."
"It is our last ride," said Schmidt, on October the first, of this, the last year of my story. They rode out through the busy Red City and up the Ridge Road, along which General Green led the left wing of the army to the fight at Germantown, and so to the Wissahickon Creek, where, leaving their horses at an inn, they walked up the stream.
"Ach, lieber Himmel, this is well," said Schmidt as they sat down on a bed of moss above the water. "Tell me," he said, "more about the President. Oh, more; you were too brief." He insisted eagerly. "I like him with the little ones. And, ah, that tragedy of fallen ambition and all the while the violin music and the dance. It is said that sometimes he is pleased to walk a minuet with one of these small maids, and then will kiss the fortunate little partner."
"He did not that day; he told them he could not. He was sad about Randolph."
"When they are old, they will tell of it, René." And, indeed, two of these children lived to be great-grandmothers, and kissing their grandchildren's children, two of whom live to-day in the Red City, bade them remember that the lips which kissed them had often been kissed by Washington.
"It is a good sign of a man to love these little ones," said Schmidt. "What think you, René? Was Randolph guilty?"
"I do not think so, sir. Fauchet was a quite irresponsible person; but what that silent old man, Washington, finally believed, I should like to know. I fear that he thought Randolph had been anything but loyal to his chief."
For a little while the German seemed lost in thought. Then he said: "You will have my horses and books and the pistols and my rapier. My life will, I hope, need them no more. I mean the weapons; but who can be sure of that? Your own life will find a use for them, if I be not mistaken. When I am gone, Mr. Justice Wilson will call on you, and do not let the Pearl refuse what I shall leave for her. I have lived two lives. One of my lives ends here in this free land. Mr. Wilson has, as it were, my will. In Germany I shall have far more than I shall ever need. Keep my secret. There are, there were, good reasons for it."