assurance vanished. Compared with their Olympian serenity my
Person seemed fussy and servile. Even so, I mused, must Mr.
Franklin have looked when baited in Parliament by the Tory pack.
The reflection gave me the cue. Presently I caught from their
conversation the word "Washington," and the truth flashed upon
me. I was in the presence of four of Mr. Franklin's countrymen.
Having never seen an American in the flesh, I rejoiced at the
chance of enlarging my acquaintance.

They brought me into the circle by a polite question as to the
length of road to Verona. Soon introductions followed. My name
intrigued them, and they were eager to learn of my kinship to
Uncle Charles. The eldest of the four, it appeared, was Mr.
Galloway out of Maryland. Then came two brothers, Sylvester by
name, of Pennsylvania, and last Mr. Fish, a lawyer of New York.
All four had campaigned in the late war, and all four were
members of the Convention, or whatever they call their
rough-and-ready parliament. They were modest in their behaviour,
much disinclined to speak of their past, as great men might be
whose reputation was world-wide. Somehow the names stuck in my
memory. I was certain that I had heard them linked with some
stalwart fight or some moving civil deed or some defiant
manifesto. The making of history was in their steadfast eye and
the grave lines of the mouth. Our friendship flourished mightily
in a brief hour, and brought me the invitation, willingly
accepted, to sit with them at dinner.

There was no sign of the Duchess or Cristine or Oliphant.
Whatever had happened, that household to-day required all hands
on deck, and I was left alone with the Americans. In my day I