“The impertinence is not supposable, Carlita. What are you thinking of? Such remarks are enough to make any man lose his temper.”
“Very likely, but if you lose your present temper, Gerardus, do not look for it; it is not worth finding. Do you really wish to separate Sappha and Leonard, after all that has been said and granted?”
“I do not say that. Cannot a man grumble a little to his wife? And must she take every fretful word at its full value? People complain of bonds they would never break. As the Dutch proverb has it, ‘The tooth often bites the tongue, but yet they keep together.’”
“Dear husband, all will come right in the long run. Leonard is in a very hard position. He desires to please so much that he exceeds, and so offends. He loves Sappha with all his heart; that should excuse many faults.”
“I do not see it in that way. It is not a favour to love Sapphira, nor yet a hard thing to do. What are you talking about?”
“I am saying that we both need sleep. We are tired out now. In the morning things will look so different.”
Such little frets, however, hardly ruffled the full stream of the life of that day. There were plenty of real worries for those who wished to complain; and for those inclined to take the fervour and faith, the courage and self-denial of the time, there were plenty of occasions for happiness and hope. And so the winter grew to spring, and the spring waxed to summer, and June brought roses and the most astonishing news.
It came to the Bloommaert’s one morning as they were sitting at the breakfast table. The meal was over, but they lingered together discussing a dinner party which Annette was to give that day, and their order of going to it. It was a special dinner, to which only relatives of the family were invited, and was given in honour of Annette’s little daughter, then six weeks old. Madame was present, and took an eager interest in the affair, for the child had been called by her name; and she had with her the deed of a house in Cedar Street, which she was going to put into the little Jonaca’s hand.
Leonard had promised to call for Sappha at twelve o’clock, but the judge was advising them to go early, when the parlour door was thrown open with some impetuosity, and Leonard stood looking at the group with a face full of conflicting emotions. In a moment every one had divined that he had important news, and the judge rose to his feet and asked impatiently:
“What is it, Leonard?”
“Two hundred thousand French troops are prisoners of war. Paris is in possession of the allies. Napoleon has been exiled. The Bourbons are again on the throne of France.”
“My God! Is all this true, Leonard?”
“There is not a doubt of it.”
“Then I must go and see Gouverneur Morris at once. Tell Annette I will be on time for dinner.” And he hurried away with these words, and left Leonard to discuss the news and the dinner with the three excited women.
There was now no unnecessary delay, for the streets were already in a state of commotion, the news having spread like wildfire. Nor could they escape the influence of the fervid atmosphere through which they passed; the glowing sunshine was not more ardent than the passionate rejoicing and the passionate hatred that challenged each other at every step of their progress. Even the shadowy stillness of the Semple gardens and the large, cool rooms of the house were full of the same restless antagonising spirit. Annette’s cousins, the Verplancks and the Van Burens, and her aunt, Joanna de Vries, speedily followed them, but it was only the women of the families that entered the house; the men hastened back to Broadway and the Battery to hear and to discuss the news. And it was hard for Annette to keep a smiling face over her angry heart. Who were the Bourbons that they should interfere with her affairs? Indeed, she complained to her grandmother bitterly of Achille’s strange conduct. He had left her in the midst of their breakfast, left her as soon as he heard the news, without one thought as to the family duties devolving on him that day. And madame had not been too sympathetic. “You have been crying, Annette,” she said. “I am afraid you have a discontented temper. For the dinner, your husband will return.”
“I know not, grandmother. When that pastry cook flung open our parlour door and cried out ‘_Achille! Achille! Napoleon is in exile! The Bourbons are on the throne of France again!_’ Achille flung himself into the man’s arms, and they kissed each other. Grandmother, they kissed each other, and then went off together as if they were out of their senses.”
“But to you also, Achille spoke? Of the dinner he spoke; I know it.”
“He said he would return in time for dinner; but he will forget--he was beside himself----”
“Come, come, let not Joanna de Vries see that you are vexed at any thing. Too much she will have to say. Here comes Madame Rutgers! Shall we go to them?”
Then Annette went to welcome her guests, and, with longer or shorter delays, the company gathered. Every one had something strange to add to the general excitement, but it was only the women that chattered and quarrelled until near two o’clock. Then the judge and Leonard came in together, and were soon followed by the young Verplanks, Commissioner Van Buren and his two sons, and Cornelius Bogart, Annette’s favourite cousin.
But Achille at two o’clock had not arrived, and the dinner was ready, and the company waiting--the men very impatiently, for at “high ’Change” they had taken their usual nooning of a piece of raw salt codfish and a glass of punch, and they knew that the ordinary at the Tontine Coffee House, in Wall Street, would have at three o’clock a dinner very much more to their mind, considering the news of the day and the disturbance and the agitation it had caused. Annette, under these conditions, had nothing to offer as attractive. The women, fair and otherwise, were the women of their own family connections; and relations must be taken as found; there is no choice, as in friends. Which of us has not relations that would never be on our list of friends?
So there was an uncomfortable hour of waiting, and as Achille came not Madame Bloommaert proposed to serve dinner without his presence. “For one laggard,” she said, “to keep twenty-eight people waiting is not right, Annette. At once, now, the dinner ought to be served.”
Annette agreed to this, but it was hard for her to smile, and to keep back tears. However, just as Judge Bloommaert was going to take Achille’s place the laggard entered. And he was in such a radiant mood that he passed over as insignificant his delay. “He was a little late--he had forgotten--but then it was remarkable that he should have remembered at all. Such news! Such glorious news? Oh, it had been a wonderful morning!”
In further conversation he said his friend Monsieur de Singeron had presented his business to a poor French family. “He is going home! He is beside himself with joy!” he continued. “He will be restored to his rank, and to his command in the royal guards! Ah! it is enough to have lived to see this day. It atones, it atones for all!” And Achille, who could neither eat nor drink, sat smiling at every one. He was sure all reasonable people must feel as he did.
“I suppose,” said Judge Bloommaert, “most of the French exiles will return, as soon as they can, to their native country.”
“They will make no delays,” answered Achille. “It was a good sight to watch them on the ship and the river bank. They were unhappy, uncertain, until they saw with their own eyes the frigate that had brought the glad news, and her captain understood. He permitted the crowd to tread her deck. He flew over them the lilies of France. He spoke to them in their own tongue. Ah, my friends, you will sympathise with these sad exiles; you will not wonder that they knelt down and wept tears of joy!”
Indeed, Achille was so transported with his own sympathies that he failed to perceive the atmosphere of dissent among his guests. True, the judge’s fellow feeling was evident, also that of the Verplanks, but the De Vries family and the Van Burens were in hot opposition to anything, or any one, whom the Federalists favoured. So the element of the room was not conducive to domestic rejoicing; and the dinner was virtually a failure. The men of the party were all anxious to return to their clubs or gathering-places; and the women, left to themselves, soon exhausted their admiration for the little Jonaca, and remembered their own homes and household affairs. And as the day waned, the thick trees surrounding the Semple house filled the rooms with shadows, and Annette--a little dismayed by Achille’s conduct--could not lift her flagging spirits to the proper pitch of hospitality. Then Joanna de Vries opened the way for an early retreat. She spoke of the restless streets, and of her father’s great age and loneliness, and immediately every one recollected duties equally as important. And as madame intended to remain with Annette, Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha also took their departure.