That made, the suggestion more tempting still to Davenant.
"There's something in what you say, Excellency," he said. In the tone of his voice Peabody could hear the grudging underlying admission — unconvinced, of course — that for a Frenchman the Marquis was showing extraordinary intelligence.
"I'll promise if you will," said Peabody, cutting the Gordian knot. He was weary of fencing, and his matter-of-fact mind saw the essentials clearly enough despite the unusualness of it all.
"But any moment I might get other orders," said Davenant in a sudden wave of caution.
"That can be allowed for," said the Marquis. "An armistice can always be denounced on giving notice."
"That's so," admitted Davenant.
"Then perhaps you two gentlemen will promise that for a week neither of you will make any attempt to leave the harbor. This promise will be subject to the condition that it can be terminated on — shall we say — twelve hours' notice on either side?"
The two captains nodded.
"Then let me hear you promise," said the Marquis.
Davenant's expression revealed a fresh struggle within him as he looked at Peabody. Davenant knew the worth of his own promise, he knew he would never do anything that would bring dishonor to the British Navy; but for a moment he knew doubt as to Peabody's promise. He found it hard to believe that a new nation and an upstart Navy could be trusted. It was quite a plunge that he was taking; but at length he took it.
"I promise," he said.
"So do I," said Peabody.
"That's good," said the Marquis; and then, abruptly changing the distasteful subject: "I hope we shall be seeing a good deal of you two gentlemen at my house during this coming week — I am speaking not only on my own account but for my sister and daughter."
Chapter XV
CAPTAIN JOSIAH PEABODY was conversant with the usages of good society; at Malta during the Mediterranean campaign he had served a hard apprenticeship, and it was then, when national rivalries culminated in a series of duels between American and British officers, that he had learned that the stricter the regard for the conventions the easier it was to avoid trouble. Those weeks at Malta had actually rubbed the lesson in more effectively than years of living in cramped and crowded quarters on board a ship.
So that in the afternoon, after he had set one watch to work upon the ship, and made arrangements for shore leave for the other watch, he had Washington get out his second-best uniform coat; and he ordered his gig and went ashore to pay his "digestion" call upon the Governor, as good manners dictated. Always as soon as possible after a dinner party or a ball one paid a personal call or at least left cards upon one's host, and in view of the fact that he would be representing all the five officers of his ship he decided it would be more fitting to call in person. That was what he himself honestly believed; it did not cross his conscious mind that he might be at all influenced by the desire to see Mademoiselle Anne de Villebois again.
It might be pleaded for him that his usual keenness of mind was blunted by the fact that he had had no sleep for two nights, and that he had gone through a good deal of emotional strain during the past forty-eight hours. It was only yesterday morning that he had turned with the intention of fighting his last fight against the British squadron; it was only last night that he had kissed Anne; and since then there had been the two attempts to break out of the harbor. Adventures had come in a flood, as they always did at sea. And the heat of the bay was sticky and stupefying, and the light was blinding in its intensity; Peabody, as he was rowed ashore, knew that he felt dazed and not as clearheaded as usual.
He landed at the quay and walked up into the town; the two hundred liberty men of the Delaware seemed to fill every corner of the place. They were to be seen at all the out-of-doors drinking places, sitting at the little tables roaring remarks to each other, pawing the colored girls who waited on them. Half of them would be quietly drunk and some of them — who would be unfortunate — would be noisily drunk when they came on board again. Shore leave to them meant rum and women and subsequent punishment one way or another. Sailors were like that; Peabody knew it and made allowances for them. He had conquered drink himself and had never allowed lust to overmaster him, but he knew that others had not been as fortunate as himself. The only lack of sympathy he displayed was with regard to their drinking publicly at tables on the street — he simply could not understand that. To him it appeared axiomatic that drinking should be done privately, and as little public attention as possible called to it. He knew that if ever he started drinking again — although he never would — it would be secretly, with hurried intoxicating nips out of a private bottle which no one would ever know about.
The sentry outside the Governor's house saluted him smartly as he passed, and he raised his hat in acknowledgment. At the front door the colored butler recognized him and smiled. What the butler said, in reply to his inquiry as to whether the Governor were at home, he did not understand in the least. He was aware that the butler changed from Martinique French to Martinique English, but it did not make him more intelligible. But the butler was certainly ushering Peabody inside, and so he followed. The transition from the dazzling sunlight outside to the cool darkness within quite blinded him. He stumbled over something in his path, trod on a mat which slipped treacherously under his foot on the polished floor, retained his balance with difficulty, and heard as if in a dream Anne's voice saying "Good afternoon, Captain Peabody."
His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, and the sudden mist which befogged them cleared away. There was Anne, in cool white, sitting gracefully in an armchair. He bowed and he mumbled; certainly his wits were not as clear as they should be. Something in Anne's attitude called his attention to another part of the room, and there was Davenant, newly risen from another armchair, and standing stiffly with his hat under his arm, and — possibly — feeling a little awkward, although there was no certainty about it. This meeting of one's country's enemies on neutral ground was embarrassing. But the suspicion that Davenant was not quite at ease was reassuring. Peabody was able to smile politely and bow formally in consequence.
"Very warm for this time of year," said Peabody, utterly determined not to be discountenanced.
"Yes," said Davenant. The way he pronounced it was more like "yas."
"But not as warm as it was last week," said Anne.
"No," said Peabody.
"No," said Davenant, and conversation wilted. Peabody was momentarily distracted by the queer thought that if he met Davenant anywhere except on neutral soil it would be his duty to pull out his sword and fall upon him; that he would be liable to court-martial and to the severest penalties if he did not do his best to kill him as speedily as possible. He forced himself to abandon that line of thought.
"I have called to thank His Excellency on behalf of my officers and myself for the extremely pleasant evening we enjoyed yesterday," he said.
"I'm glad to hear you enjoyed it," said Anne, composedly, but as she said it her eyes met Peabody's and the next moment there was red color flooding her cheeks and neck.
"Nice evenin'," said Davenant. "There were some pretty women, by George. None of 'em a patch on you and Madame your aunt, though."
"You are very kind, Sir Hubert."
As if the mention of her had brought her in, the Countess entered on the words.
"Good afternoon, Sir Hubert. Good afternoon, Captain Peabody. I hope my niece has been entertaining you."
"Delightfully, I assure you, ma'am," said Davenant.