August was a dreary month in Paris. With the last days of July the heat became intense, and that, with the constant alarms and ever recurring outbreaks, caused such an exodus from the city as soon made Paris a deserted place. Mr. Morris's departure was followed shortly by that of the old Duchesse d'Azay and Madame de St. André, who went down to Azay-le-Roi, so that in Calvert's estimation the gayest capital in the world was but a lonely, uninteresting city. Toward the close of August Mr. Jefferson received from Congress that permission to return home which he had solicited for so long, and, without loss of time, he prepared to leave France for, as he supposed, an absence of a few months, at most. Among the multitude of public and private affairs to be arranged before his departure, his friends were not forgotten, and he made many farewell visits to Versailles, Marly-le-Roi, and St. Germain. He had not thought it possible, however, to see his friends at Azay-le-Roi, but the middle of September found his affairs so nearly settled, and, his passage not being taken until the 26th of the month, he one day proposed to Calvert that they should make the journey into Touraine.
"Tis the most beautiful part of France," he said to the young man, "and I have a fancy to show you the country for the first time and to say farewell to our friends, Madame d'Azay and Madame de St. André."
To this proposition the young man assented, suddenly determining that he would see Adrienne and put his fortune to the touch. 'Twas intolerable to remain longer in such a state of uncertainty and feverish unhappiness, he decided. Any fate—the cruellest—would be preferable to the doubt which he suffered. And surely he was right, and uncertainty the greatest suffering the heart can know.
"At the worst she can hurt me no more cruelly than she has already," he said to himself. "She shall know that I love her, even though that means I shall never see her again."
His determination once taken, he was as eager as possible to be off, and, by the 16th, all was in readiness for their departure. Passports were obtained from Lafayette and places reserved in the public diligence. They took only one servant with them—the man Bertrand, whom Galvert had been at pains to ferret out and take into his employ, thinking to prevent him from mingling again with the ruffians and cutthroats of the Palais Royal and faubourgs. Such was the fellow's devotion to Calvert that he abandoned his revolutionary and bloody comrades and took service joyfully with the young man, delighted to be near and of use to him.
The journey into Touraine was a very short and a very pleasant one to Mr. Jefferson and Calvert. The diligence left Paris by the Ivry gate, stopping for the night at Orléans. The next morning at dawn they were again upon their way and bowling swiftly along the great highway that led down into the valley of the Loire, past Amboise and Blois and Vouvray to the old town of Tours, lying snugly between the Loire and the Cher. They came into the rue Royale just as the sun was flinging a splendor over everything—on the gray cathedral spires and the square tower of Charlemagne and the gloomy Tour de Guise, and as they crossed the great stone bridge to the old quarter of St. Symphorien, the Loire flowed away beneath them like some fabled stream of molten gold.
The diligence put them down at La Boule d'Or, a clean and well-kept inn, overlooking the river and from the windows of which could be seen the white fa?ade of the H?tel de Ville and the numberless towers rising here and there above the old town. After a night of refreshing sleep to Mr. Jefferson, but one full of misgivings and broken dreams to Calvert, the two gentlemen set forth in the morning on horseback, followed shortly after by Bertrand with light baggage, for Mr. Jefferson's affairs would not permit him to remain more than twenty-four hours at Azay-le-Roi. They rode slowly, at first, through the early sweetness of that September morning, scarcely disturbing the fine, white dust upon the broad road. The level land stretched away before them like some tranquil, inland sea, and against the horizon tall, stately poplars showed like the slender masts of ships against the blue of sky and ocean.
"It is as though a whole world separated this peaceful valley from the agitation and uproar of Paris," said Mr. Jefferson to Calvert.
"Yet even here revolt has already left its mark," returned Calvert, pointing to the half-burnt ruins of a chateau just visible through an avenue of trees to the left.
In the early afternoon they came to Azay, and, passing quickly through the little village and out into the country again, they were soon at the entrance of the great park surrounding Azay-le-Roi. Calvert never forgot the look of the great avenue of rustling poplars and the exquisite grace of the chateau as he and Mr. Jefferson rode up to it on that September afternoon. A sunny stillness brooded over it; long shadows from the pointed turrets lay upon the fine white sand of the driveway and dipped along the gray walls of the chateau, which the hand of man had fretted with lace-like sculpture. In an angle of the courtyard two idle lackeys in scarlet liveries and powdered hair played with a little terrier. As Mr. Jefferson and Calvert approached, they ran forward, one taking the horses and the other opening the great entrance door for the two gentlemen and ushering them into the salon where a large company was amusing itself with cards, books, and music. The old Duchess and d'Azay, who was down from Versailles for a few days, could not welcome the gentlemen warmly enough, and even Adrienne seemed so pleased to see them again that, for the first time since beginning the journey, Calvert felt some of his misgivings quieted and dared to hope that his embassy might not be unsuccessful. He would have spoken to her that very evening, she was so gracious to him, but that the numerous company prevented any conversation alone. Not only did guests arrive for dinner, but there were several families from the neighboring chateaux staying at Azay-le-Roi, frightened thither by rumors of outbreaks among the peasantry and the approach of brigands.
"They cannot frighten me from Azay-le-Roi," says the Duchess, stoutly, to Mr. Jefferson. "If they burn my house, 'twill be over my head, and as for the brigands, I believe in them no more than in the alleged plot of the Queen to blow up the Assembly."
The talk was all of the tumults in Paris, the hasty decrees of the Assembly, and the agitation spreading over the provinces, and the evening would have passed gloomily enough had it not been for the intrepid old Duchess, who scouted all vague alarms, and for Adrienne, who turned them into ridicule, and who had never appeared to Calvert more sparkling and charming. It was not until the next morning that he could get a word with her alone. He found her walking slowly up and down an allée of elms, through the leaves of which the bright September sunshine sifted down. She nodded coolly to the young man who joined her. All her animation and gracious air of the evening before had disappeared, and Calvert could have cursed himself that he had come upon her in this capricious mood. But he would not put off saying what he had come so far to say, for all her changed manner, and, moreover, there would be no better time, for they were to set out for Tours again by noon.
"Madame," he said, after an instant's silence, during which they had paced slowly up and down together, "as you know, this is no farewell visit I have come to pay, since I do not leave France with Mr. Jefferson. I have come because I dared to love you," he went on, bluntly, and meeting the look of surprise, which Adrienne shot at him, squarely and steadily. They both stopped in their walk and regarded each other, the young girl blushing slightly as she looked at Calvert's pale face and met his steady gaze.
"I can make you no fine phrases. Indeed, I know no words either in your tongue or mine that can express the love I feel for you," he said, a little sadly.
"'Tis the first time I have ever known Mr. Calvert to be at a loss for French phrases," returned Adrienne, recovering from her momentary confusion and smiling mockingly at the young man. "You should have taken a lesson from Monsieur de Beaufort or Monsieur de St. Aulaire."
"No doubt they have had much experience which I have missed, and could teach me much. But I fear Beaufort could only teach me how to fail, and as for Monsieur de St. Aulaire, I have no time to go to England to find that gentleman in the retreat which he has so suddenly seen fit to seek." Madame de St. André blushed and bit her lip. "'Tis the first time I have ever told a woman I loved her," said Calvert, "and I would rather tell her in my own blunt fashion. If she loves me, she will know the things my heart tells her, but which my lips are too unskilled to translate."
"Ah, we women are too wise to try to divine unspoken things; we scarce dare believe what we are told," and the young girl laughed lightly.
"Yet I think you once paid me the compliment of saying that you believed me sincere," said poor Calvert.
"'Tis true—there is something about you which compels belief—'tis your eyes, I think," and then, throwing off the seriousness with which she had spoken, she added, jestingly: "But in truth, sir, it is too much to ask of me to believe that I am the first woman you have ever loved."
"It is nevertheless true," said Calvert, quietly.
"And you told me you could make no fine phrases!" cried the young girl, with a gesture of pretended disappointment, and glancing with eyes full of amusement at Calvert.
"I pray you to still that spirit of mockery and listen to me," said the young man, turning to her with passion. As Adrienne looked at his white face and heard the sternness in his voice, the laughter............