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"Sir," answered the Frenchman stiffly, but with an inner vision of Monticello cheer, "I would not vote for you " Rand laughed. "I bear no malice, Mr. Pincornet. Opinion's but opinion. I'll cut no traveller's throat because he likes another road than mine! Come, come! Fish from the river, cakes and coffee, Mr. Pincornet and afterwards wine on the terrace!" The road climbed on.
Rand stood with his hands upon the balustrade, then walked down the terrace and paused before the dancing master. "Before he hurt his hand Mr. Jefferson played the violin beautifully," he said. "When I was younger, in the days when I tried to do everything that he did, I tried to learn it too. But I have no music in me." "It is a solace," answered Mr. Pincornet. "I learned long ago, in the South."
Pincornet?" "Not to-day, sir. I have a dancing class at Red Fields." Mr. Pincornet still stared. "I would say, sir, that the chase had been long and hard." Rand laughed. "Am I so torn and breathless? No, no; it was short but rough a few minutes and perhaps half a mile! Well, I will rejoin my negro and we'll make for town before the storm breaks." "Wait here and your negro will come to you."
His vote's as good as any man's and rather better, I may remark, than that of some men!" He looked pointedly at Mocket. Lewis Rand gave his henchman a second guiding glance. "It is merely," said Mocket promptly, "a question of that Alien Law of which the 'Well-born' are so proud. Show your papers, Mr. Pincornet. If you are a citizen of the United States, you have papers to show for it."
A figure, half buried in the settle by the fire, folded a month-old journal and, rising, displayed in the light from the hickory logs the faded silk stockings, the velvet short-clothes, brocaded coat, and curled wig of M. Achille Pincornet, who taught dancing each winter in Richmond, as in summer he taught it in Albemarle. Mr.
He had a vision of a great space of polished floor reflecting candlelight, and of himself crossing that trackless desert beneath the eyes of goddesses and men. The colour came into his face. There were twenty things he might have asked Mr. Pincornet that night at Monticello.
"I like the harp," announced Rand abruptly. "It is a becoming instrument to a woman," replied Mr. Pincornet, and in a somewhat ghostly fashion became vivacious. "Ah, a rounded arm, a white hand, the rise and fall of a bosom behind the gold wires and the notes like water dropping, sweet, sweet! Ah, I, too, like the harp!"
You women adore victory, but let me tell you, a vanquished Federalist is still the conqueror of any ranting Republican!" "Did I tell you," asked Jacqueline, "that Mr. Pincornet holds the dancing class at Fontenoy this week?" "The dancing class be damned! Ludwell Cary is a man and a gentleman, Jacqueline " "Yes," said Jacqueline. The Major threw away his sprig of box.
Pincornet, have any scruple when you took vengeance, near Mauléon?" "None, sir! I served justice. Soldiers are not levied to murder at once their faith and their officers. No more scruple than is yours in hunting down the wild beast that killed your brother! You have my wishes there for a good hunting!"
Pincornet, sat Adam Gaudylock, easy and tawny, dressed as usual in his fringed hunting-frock, with his coonskin cap in his hand, and his gun at his feet. Beside him sat Vinie Mocket, dressed in her best. Vinie's eyes were downcast, and her hands clasped in her lap.
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