“That was a pretty air, Mr. Pincornet,” said Rand.  “Why are you on the Monticello road?  Your next dancing class is at Fontenoy.”

“And how did you know that, sir?” demanded the Frenchman in his high, thin voice.  As he spoke, he restored his fiddle to its case with great care, then as carefully brushed all leaf and mould from his faded silken clothes.

“I know—­I know,” replied Rand.  He regarded the figure in dusty finery with a certain envy of any one who was going to Fontenoy, even as dancing master, even as a man no longer young.  Mr. Pincornet looked, in the twilight, very pinched, very grey, very hungry.  “Come on with me to Monticello,” said the young man.  “Burwell will give us supper, and find us a couple of bottles to boot.”

“Sir,” answered the Frenchman stiffly, but with an inner vision of Monticello cheer, “I would not vote for you—­”

Rand laughed.  “I bear no malice, Mr. Pincornet.  Opinion’s but opinion.  I’ll cut no traveller’s throat because he likes another road than mine!  Come, come!  Fish from the river, cakes and coffee, Mr. Pincornet—­and afterwards wine on the terrace!”

The road climbed on.  Between the stems of the tall trees, feathered with the green of mid-spring, the dogwood displayed its stars, and the fringe tree rose like a fountain.  Everywhere was the sound of wind in the leaves.  When the riders and the dancing master, who was afoot, reached the crest of the little mountain, shaven and planed by the hand of man into a fair plateau, the moon was shining brightly.  In the silver light, across the dim lawns, classically simple, grave, and fair, rose the house that Jefferson had built.  The gate clanged behind the party from Charlottesville, a dog barked, a light flared, voices of negroes were heard, and hurrying feet from the house quarter.  Upon the lawn to the right and left of the mansion were two toy houses, tiny brick offices used by Jefferson for various matters.  The door of one of these now opened, and Mr. Bacon, the overseer, hastening across the wet grass, greeted Rand and Gaudylock as they dismounted before the white portico.

“Evening, evening, Mr. Rand!  I knew you’d be coming up, so I hurried on afore ye.  Caesar and Joab, you take the horses round!  Glad to see you, Adam; you too, Mr. Pincornet!  Well, Mr. Rand, you spoiled the Egyptians this day!  I never saw a finer election!  Me and Mr. Fagg were talking of you.  ‘His father was a fighter before him,’ says Mr. Fagg, says he, ’and he’s a fighter, too, damn him!’ says he, ’and we’ll send him higher yet.  Damn the Federalists!’ says he.  ‘He’s a taller man than Ludwell Cary!’”

“I’m a mighty hungry man, Mr. Bacon,” said Rand.  “And so is Adam, and so is Mr. Pincornet!  You’ll take supper with us, I hope?  We’ll make Adam Gaudylock tell us stories of Louisiana.”