"My brother, Midshipman Peabody," said Peabody, gratefully.
"Your servant, sir," said Dupont. He turned to the group of officers behind him, and the two brothers were engulfed in a wave of introductions. Everyone was bowing and scraping and making legs on the instant, and there was an immense amount of broken English being spoken. Peabody had yet to meet the naval officer of any nation who did not possess at least a few words of English, but these officers all had more than that even though their syntax was doubtful and their accents marked. As the flurry died down Dupont said: —
"Would you please come and be presented to my passengers?"
The whole business of bowing and scraping began again the moment Dupont began to lead them away; it left Peabody a trifle dazed — as a young man he had always been a little amused during Captain Truxtun's careful lessons in the deportment of a gentleman and a naval officer, finding it hard to believe that grown men really did these things.
Across the deck, beside the taffrail, stood a little group of three people, including the two women whom Peabody had noticed some time back. The third member of the group was a man.
"Your Excellency," said Dupont, "may I present Captain Josiah Peabody of the United States Navy? — His Excellency the Marquis de St. Amant de Boixe, Governor of His Most Christian Majesty's possessions in the Lesser Antilles."
Peabody put his hand with his hat on his heart and moved his feet into the first position, but his bow was cut short by the Marquis stepping forward and offering his hand. His grip was hearty and firm. Peabody, a little more dazed still, had the impression of a strong face, extraordinarily handsome, with piercing blue eyes. The Marquis was a man in his early forties, with his hair clubbed at the back in a fashion a trifle old-fashioned across his gold-laced blue coat he wore the broad ribbon of some order of nobility, of a vivid blue which complemented the blue of his eyes.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain," he said, without a trace of accent, "and you, too, Mr. Peabody. It would be a further pleasure to present you to my sister, Madame la Comtesse d'Ernee, and my daughter Mademoiselle de Villebois."
Everything contributed to Peabody's bedazement; perhaps the fact that he had just shaken hands when he was preparing to bow had thrown him off his balance at the start. The two women had put back their veils, and revealed faces which both strongly resembled the Marquis's. The sister was the older, and there was a line or two on her face and something in the set of her features which made for hardness. But the daughter — Peabody's wits drowned in those blue eyes. He had already bowed to the Countess and was preparing to bow again when he met their glance, but the bow was cut short while he stared. He was conscious of no other details about her; the Countess was speaking to him, but Peabody's ears registered the words as a flat series of meaningless sounds. She was going down in a curtsey to him, her eyes still on him, and it was only with an effort that he managed to push his foot forward and complete his bow. . . . He tore his glance away from the young woman to make himself listen to the Countess.
"Confess, Captain," she was saying. "You did not recognize our flag when you saw it."
Peabody, until he could find words, looked up to where the golden lilies — visible enough from here — flapped on the white flag at the peak.
"I have been at sea twenty years, ma'am," he said, "but this is the first time I have seen it."
"Fie," said the Countess. "The flag of Lafayette, of de Grasse, which freed you from King George; and yet you fire on it!"
"Louise," said the Marquis. "The captain did no such thing. I have Captain Dupont's word for it that not a shot has been fired this morning."
Peabody looked at him gratefully, and caught at his cue.
"No indeed, sir," he said, and then tried to correct himself — "Your Excellency."
These cursed titles of honor! He looked away and met those blue eyes again. There was a friendly twinkle in them which made his heart miss a beat. He wanted to wipe his face with his handkerchief, but he knew that would be inelegant. He was hot under the skin, and the burning sun was calling forth the sweat on his forehead. It may have been on account of his embarrassment that the Marquis brought the conversation round to business, so as to give him a chance to recover.
"The incident is forgotten," he said. "It is my intention, as soon as I reach Martinique, to maintain the strictest neutrality."
"It will be a strange experience," said the Countess, "for French people to be neutral while there is a war on."
"Yes," said Peabody. His mind was already at work upon the problems set him by the defeat of France. "Martinique is to be French again?"
"Martinique, Guadeloupe, and their dependencies."
This was of lively interest. Up to this moment the British had conquered and ruled all the West Indies save for Haiti and the Spanish possessions; the former was not strong enough to defend her neutrality, and Spain, as an ally of Great Britain, although not at war with the United States, would hardly be likely to afford a safe refuge in her colonies to the Delaware should she need it. Until now there had been no neutrals worth mentioning in this war which had involved the whole world, and he was already wondering how he could put the new situation to use. A fresh consideration struck him, and he turned to include Dupont as well as the Marquis in his inquiry.
"You won't inform the British of my position or course, sir?" he said.
"That would be unneutral," said the Marquis, quickly, before the captain could reply.
"Thank you," said Peabody, and then, remembering again, "Your Excellency."
Once again there was that twinkle in the girl's blue eyes.
"I hope you are planning to visit us at Fort-de-France, Captain Peabody," she said.
"Anne!" exclaimed the Countess, a little scandalized.
"My daughter has said exactly what was in my mind," interposed the Marquis. "It would give me the greatest pleasure to be able to return some of the hospitality which my daughter and I owe to America."
Peabody looked his inquiries.
"I was born in your country, Captain Peabody," said the girl — Anne was her name, apparently.
"How's that again?" asked Peabody.
"Anne was born in Philadelphia," explained the Marquis; and then, after a moment's hesitation: "My wife is buried there. We were in America during the Terror. Anne was born the day they guillotined Robespierre."
"We all thought then," said the Countess, sadly, "when the news came, that the world would soon be at peace again. And that is twenty years ago, and some of us are still at war."
"But you haven't been living in America for the last twenty years?" said Peabody to Anne. As far as he was concerned there was practically no one else on deck.
Anne shook her head and twinkled again.
"I left when I was four," she said. "I have no memory of it, and I am sure that is a pity."
"I acted as envoy from my King to your President," explained the Marquis. "After four years I was transferred to Europe. For the last five, we have been living in London."
Conversation died away at that. Peabody had too much to think about to be able to say anything while he digested the two remarkable facts that Napoleon had fallen and that Anne was American-born. He shook himself back into politeness.
"This has been a delightful visit," he said, racking his mind for the right words. "I must thank you very much."
The ladies went down in curtseys as he bowed; the Marquis shook hands, and Dupont prepared to accompany him to the ship's side.
"Don't forget you've promised to visit us!" said the Countess.
This time there were formalities, pipes twittering and Marines presenting arms as his boatswain's chair swung him off the deck, and then the boat danced back to the Delaware.