'In February of 'Ninety-four - No, March it must have been, because a new Ambassador called Faucher had come from France, with no more manners than Genet the old one - in March, Red Jacket came in from the Reservation bringing news of all kind friends there. I showed him round the city, and we saw General Washington riding through a crowd of folk that shouted for war with England. They gave him quite rough music, but he looked 'twixt his horse's ears and made out not to notice. His stirrup brished Red Jacket's elbow, and Red Jacket whispered up, "My brother knows it is not easy to be a chief." Big Hand shot just one look at him and nodded. Then there was a scuffle behind us over some one who wasn't hooting at Washington loud enough to please the people. We went away to be out of the fight. Indians won't risk being hit.'
'What do they do if they are?' Dan asked.
'Kill, of course. That's why they have such proper manners.
Well, then, coming home by Drinker's Alley to get a new shirt which a French Vicomte's lady was washing to take the stiff out of (I'm always choice in my body-linen) a lame Frenchman pushes a paper of buttons at us. He hadn't long landed in the United States, and please would we buy. He sure-ly was a pitiful scrattel - his coat half torn off, his face cut, but his hands steady; so I knew it wasn't drink. He said his name was Peringuey, and he'd been knocked about in the crowd round the Stadt - Independence Hall.
One thing leading to another we took him up to Toby's rooms, same as Red Jacket had taken me the year before. The compliments he paid to Toby's Madeira wine fairly conquered the old man, for he opened a second bottle and he told this Monsieur Peringuey all about our great stove dispute in the church. I remember Pastor Meder and Brother Adam Goos dropped 'in, and although they and Toby were direct opposite sides regarding stoves, yet this Monsieur Peringuey he made 'em feel as if he thought each one was in the right of it. He said he had been a clergyman before he had to leave France. He admired at Toby's fiddling, and he asked if Red Jacket, sitting by the spinet, was a simple Huron. Senecas aren't Hurons, they're Iroquois, of course, and Toby told him so. Well, then, in due time he arose and left in a style which made us feel he'd been favouring us, instead of us feeding him. I've never seen that so strong before - in a man. We all talked him over but couldn't make head or tail of him, and Red Jacket come out to walk with me to the French quarter where I was due to fiddle at a party. Passing Drinker's Alley again we saw a naked window with a light in it, and there sat our button-selling Monsieur Peringuey throwing dice all alone, right hand against left.
'Says Red Jacket, keeping back in the dark, "Look at his face!"
'I was looking. I protest to you I wasn't frightened like I was when Big Hand talked to his gentlemen. I - I only looked, and I wondered that even those dead dumb dice 'ud dare to fall different from what that face wished. It - it was a face!
'"He is bad," says Red Jacket. "But he is a great chief. The French have sent away a great chief. I thought so when he told us his lies. Now I know."
'i had to go on to the party, so I asked him to call round for me afterwards and we'd have hymn-singing at Toby's as usual.
"No," he says. "Tell Toby I am not Christian tonight. All Indian." He had those fits sometimes. I wanted to know more about Monsieur Peringuey, and the emigre party was the very place to find out. It's neither here nor there, of course, but those French emigre parties they almost make you cry. The men that you bought fruit of in Market Street, the hairdressers and fencing-masters and French teachers, they turn back again by candlelight to what they used to be at home, and you catch their real names.
There wasn't much room in the washhouse, so I sat on top of the copper and played 'em the tunes they called for - "Si le Roi m'avait donne," and such nursery stuff. They cried sometimes. It hurt me to take their money afterwards, indeed it did. And there I found out about Monsieur Peringuey. He was a proper rogue too! None of 'em had a good word for him except the Marquise that kept the French boarding-house on Fourth Street. I made out that his real name was the Count Talleyrand de Perigord - a priest right enough, but sorely come down in the world. He'd been King Louis' Ambassador to England a year or two back, before the French had cut off King Louis' head; and, by what I heard, that head wasn't hardly more than hanging loose before he'd run back to Paris and prevailed on Danton, the very man which did the murder, to send him back to England again as Ambassador of the French Republic! That was too much for the English, so they kicked him out by Act of Parliament, and he'd fled to the Americas without money or friends or prospects. I'm telling you the talk in the washhouse. Some of 'em was laughing over it. Says the French Marquise, "My friends, you laugh too soon. That man 'll be on the winning side before any of us."
'"I did not know you were so fond of priests, Marquise," says the Vicomte. His lady did my washing, as I've told you.
'"I have my reasons," says the Marquise. "He sent my uncle and my two brothers to Heaven by the little door," - that was one of the emigre names for the guillotine. "He will be on the winning side if it costs him the blood of every friend he has in the world."
'"Then what does he want here?" says one of 'em. "We have all lost our game."
'"My faith!" says the Marquise. "He will find out, if any one can, whether this canaille of a Washington means to help us to fight England. Genet" (that was my Ambassador in the Embuscade)
"has failed and gone off disgraced; Faucher" (he was the new man)
"hasn't done any better, but our Abbe will find out, and he will make his profit out of the news. Such a man does not fall."
'"He begins unluckily," says the Vicomte. "He was set upon today in the street for not hooting your Washington." They all laughed again, and one remarks, "How does the poor devil keep himself?"
