He evinced great bravery, and his career would doubtless have been brilliant had it not been for his unfortunate rencontre with M. de Palissandre, which, by rendering him a deserter, made him amenable at any time to the requisition of the Provost of Paris.
The American war terminated; the major found himself tolerably indebted to some generous friends who had divined his uncomfortable position. This circumstance recalled the missing carriage, money, and chevalier to his memory, and he accordingly wrote to the Havana for precise information. But the reply was that no one could be found answering the description of M. de Palissandre, and it was therefore probable he had died on the voyage out. The major almost resolved to hang himself.
On the other side, the payments from his farm had not reached him for some months, and the new aspect of affairs in 1789 did not inspire him with the desire of going in person to receive his arrears and to learn the cause of their non arrival, he could indeed nearly guess it.
His situation could not be more embarrassing, all things conspired to overwhelm him. “Is there not something incredible,” said he, one evening when seated on the Battery at New York, and in his excitement unconsciously speaking aloud, “is there not something incredible in my being the sport of such a destiny: that I should have been gallanting Mademoiselle Guimard, when the coquette dropped her handkerchief, and cost me a hundred thousand pounds, without mentioning my scrape with the government at Paris, and my debts that I cannot pay? Oh Fate! who can avert thy blows!”
At this moment some one tapped him on the shoulder.
——
CHAPTER III.
“Friend,” said the new comer, “you appear overwhelmed with trouble. What can I do for you?”
“I will tell you, sir, what you can do,” said the major, haughtily drawing himself up; “you can take off your hat when you address me.”
“You are right,” replied the unknown, with a calm smile, removing his hat, “an honest man respects misfortune.”