The Duke and Duchess de Chartres give a grand banquet in honor of Commodore Paul Jones. The Duchess asks Doctor Franklin, whom she esteems, and calls “Monsieur le Sage” for his wisdom. Also, to please the worthy doctor, she has Madame de Houdetot, and the rest of his Passy friends, including the vivacious Madame Helvetius.

“Only,” says the Duchess, who has weaknesses that favor washtubs—“only I trust that our ‘Rich Widow of Passy’ will wear a fresh frock, if only to give us something to, talk about.”

The good Marsan and Aimee are among the guests. Indeed, it is to see Aimee and Commodore Paul Jones together that has caused the Duchess de Chartres to order the fête. She will bring the pair beneath her eyes—the young Aimee, and the “Commodore,” who has become formal. She will then know the best and worst of their hearts.

The Duchess is right in this assumption; for you may no more hide love than smoke. With half-watchfulness, she readily surprises their secret. Still she is gay and light; for her heart is the heart of a Bourbon, and the heart of your Bourbon is never a breakable.

She seats Commodore Paul Jones on her right, which is the thing expected. Aimee is on his other hand; which last excites his suspicions—having that guilty feeling—while attracting the attention of nobody else. Over across is the wise Franklin, who finds himself vastly at home between the Houdetot and the rosy Helvetius, who is a marvel of tidiness.

The Duchess pays a deal of polite attention to Commodore Paul Jones.

“I cannot think, my dear Commodore,” she cries, “how, with your ship on fire, and sinking under your feet, you had courage to continue the fight.”

“Your royal highness forgets. To surrender would have meant a postponement of the bliss of meeting you.”

“Now, Bayard himself,” returns the Duchess, “could have said nothing so knightly!”

Aimee glows at this. In the face of her fears, she still likes to hear her lover-hero praised.

“There is a promise!” exclaims the Duchess.

Commodore Paul Jones reddens through the tan. What is coming! There is much of royal recklessness in the Duchess’ royal blood; she will now and then say a bold thing.

“You promised,” she goes on, “to lay an English frigate at my feet.”

Commodore Paul Jones is relieved. More, he is pleased, since the Duchess gives him a chance to be dramatic. He sends for his servant, who brings him a slim morocco case.

“Your royal highness,” he says, unbuckling the morocco case; “I shall be better than my word. I lay at your feet, not a frigate truly, but a forty-four gun ship of two decks. Here is the token of it—the sword of as brave a sailor as ever sailed.”

Commodore Paul Jones presents the Duchess with the vanquished sword of Captain Pearson, which he has taken from the morocco case. The Duchess, who has not foreseen this return to her sally, is deeply stirred. She receives the sword, and presses the gold scabbard to her lips.

“It is dear to me as the sword of a conquered Englishman!” she cries, turning with swimming eyes upon the company. “It is doubly dear when it comes from my Achilles of the ocean!”

There is a buzz of admiration about the tables. Aimee herself is in a dream of happiness; for she has alarms but no jealousies, and the glory of her lover is her glory.

Before the guests break up for departure, Doctor Franklin and Commodore Paul Jones have a word together.

“I have asked for it,” says the Doctor, “and de Sartine leads me to think that, as soon as the ship is refitted, the king will give you the Serapis.”

Commodore Paul Jones brightens to a sparkle.

“I could do wonders with so stout a ship,” he replies.

“I think you may count on it,” goes on the Doctor. “Indeed, when I remember in what manner the French came by the Serapis, I cannot see how the king is to refuse.”

“Should I get it............