“Alas, no, Madame!  We have exchanged but a dozen words.  ’Tis almost five years since we last talked together.  That was at Monticello, where, indeed, I had the pleasure of making your acquaintance—­in miniature!” He bowed and smiled as he noted her look of surprise.  “And where—–­”

“And where,” interrupted Beaufort, who at that instant joined them and who had overheard Calvert’s last words, “d’Azay promised to introduce Mr. Calvert to you as an American savage!”

“Indeed, my brother spoke to me on the subject,” returned Madame de St. Andre, laughing outright at the recollection (and if each word she spoke was like the sound of a silver bell, her laugh was like a whole chime of them).  “I had looked for something quite different,” she went on, in a mock-disappointed tone, and with an amused glance at Beaufort.  “Perhaps paint and feathers and a—­a—­what is the name, Monsieur? a—­tomahawk to kill with!  Ah!  Monsieur”—­here she sighed in a delightfully droll way and swept Calvert a courtesy—­“as an American you are a great disappointment!”

“I am inexpressibly grieved to be the cause of any disappointment to you, Madame,” replied Calvert, calmly.  “But as for paint and feathers, surely they can be no novelties to you,” and here he looked meaningly around at the bedaubed, bedecked ladies of fashion (though ’tis but fair to say that the young beauty before him disdained the use of furbelows or cosmetics, as well she might with such a brilliant complexion); “and as for tomahawks—­the ladies of this country need no more deadly weapons than their own bright glances.  But truly, Madame, did you expect to see a young savage?”

“I was hoping to,” she said, demurely. “’Twould have been more interesting than—­than—­” And here she stopped as if in seeming embarrassment and loss for words.  “Is not America full of them?” she asked, innocently.

“Assuredly, Madame, as you must know, since they have so often been your allies!”

As Calvert spoke, all the amusement and good-nature died out of Madame de St. Andre’s face, and she resumed her mask, becoming again the haughty and distant young beauty.

“But ’tis not an uncivilized land by any means,” went on Calvert, who was young and ardent enough to espouse warmly the cause of his country from even the badinage of a spoilt young girl.  “There is much learning and the most gracious manners to be found there, as you must also know, since we have been able to spare two such shining examples of both to this court—­Dr. Franklin and Mr. Jefferson.”

“Monsieur does not mean to compare the civilization of his own country to that of ours?” contemptuously demanded St. Aulaire, who, up to that time, had stood superciliously by, taking no part in the conversation.

“Indeed, no!” returned Calvert, with suspicious promptness.  “In my mind there can be no comparison, and surely you will acknowledge that a country which has produced the greatest man of the age is not one to be despised.”