He caught up his hat and went out into the air.  The solace of Mrs. Croix in his blacker moods occurred to him; and he walked down Chestnut Street as rapidly as he could, in the crowd, lifting his hat now and again to cool his head in the frosty air.  It was a brilliant winter’s day; drifts of snow hid the dead animals and the garbage in the streets; and all the world was out for Christmas shopping.  As it was one of the seasons for display, everybody was in his best.  The women wore bright-coloured taffetas or velvets, over hoops flattened before and behind, muskmelon bonnets or towering hats.  They whisked their gowns about, that their satin petticoats be not overlooked.  The men wore the cocked hat, heavily laced, and a long coat, usually of light-coloured cloth, with a diminutive cape, the silver buttons engraved with initials or crest.  Their small clothes were very short, but heavy striped stockings protected their legs; on their feet were pointed shoes, with immense silver buckles.  Hamilton was dressed with his usual exquisite care, his cuffs carefully leaded.  But his appearance interested him little to-day.  For the moment, however, he forgot his private annoyance in the portent on every side of him.  Few of the seekers after gifts had entered the shops.  They blocked the pavements, even the street, talking excitedly of the news of the day before.  Fully half the throng sported the tri-coloured cockade, the air hissed with “Citizen,” “Citess,” or rang with a volley of “Ca ira!  Ca ira!”

Hamilton set his teeth.  “It is the next nightmare,” he thought.  “The Cabinet is quiet at present—­Jefferson, mortified and beaten, is coaxing back his courage for a final spring.  When the time comes to determine our attitude there will be Hell, nothing less.”  But his nostrils quivered.  He might rebel at poisoned arrows, but he revelled in the fight that involved the triumph of a policy.

His mind was abstracted, the blood was still in his brain as he entered Mrs. Croix’s drawing-room.  For a moment he had a confused idea that he had blundered into a shop.  The chairs, the sofas, the floor, were covered with garments and stuffs of every hue.  Hats and bonnets were perched on every point.  Never had he seen so much gorgeous raiment in one space before.  There were brocades, taffetas, satins, lutestrings, laces, feathers, fans, underwear like mist.  While he was staring about him in bewilderment, Mrs. Croix came running in from her bedroom.  Her hair was down and tangled, her dressing sacque half off, her face flushed, her eyes sparkling.  She looked half wanton, half like a giddy girl darting about among her first trunks.

“Hamilton!” she cried.  “Hamilton!” She flew at him much as his children did when excited.  “Look!  Look!  Look!  Is this not magnificent?  This is the happiest day of my life!”

“Indeed?  Are you about to set up a shop?”