"Very well." I smiled. "Does the government never subdue your town? Do they not think this association dangerous?"

"There is always danger everywhere." She smiled.

I said, "But your town meeting is an old practice? You have never clashed with the central government?"

"Our fathers founded the town before the state. There were Wethersfield town meetings before there was a United States."

"Then I have a question. It may be impertinent."

"Oh please do be impertinent." She laid a hand again upon my arm. "No one is ever impertinent in Wethersfield."

"Was it a town meeting that tried and convicted your witches?" This was what Blacqueville would have called a blurter. I said it only because it had been much on my mind. "I am sorry. I have been ill-mannered."

"On the contrary," she said kindly. "I have been too light and frivolous. Those women were murdered by a theocracy. There was no democracy involved. It was a terror, but not an American terror."

If she had been briefly cool, then she was cool no longer. Her eyes were bright and liquid. I thought, Good heavens, here she is.

She said, "Who could not be moved by the fate of your dear grandfather?"

Not for the first time was I taken aback by the lucky boldness with which these American girls could steer their thoughts through the reefs of lively conversation.

"Of course," she said, "we are not grand or cultivated. We must seem very provincial to you."

I thought, What does she feel?

"A little provincialism is very much to be desired," I said, then saw her blush. "In France," I insisted, "we have suffered from centralism: the Revolution, Bonaparte, you see."

"You will have what you desire," she said, and abruptly turned. Good God what did she mean? I watched her slender back as she led me along the river. Beside us a cormorant, blue sky mirrored in its glistening back. Here: a fir tree. She ducked low, and I followed into a dark and spiky little wood, my heart racing very hard. We emerged in a considerable field, its extent being some thirty acres, curtained by forest, no human being in sight. I held out my hand to her and she took it quite definitely and together we walked toward the center of the field. I was on the other side of the earth, invisible to that fierce eye.

I thought, Might I live here? In this town?

"But what of envy?" I asked her. "If the majority is to rule, what of its desire to level?"

She listened, but only to that part of a conversation that cannot be detected by the ear, and she heard me very well indeed and when I opened my arms she came slowly to me, her chin lifted, her eyes narrowed. Her lip.

Who would not envy me? I thought. Dear Lord, I thought, as I breathed the mad warm air directly from her nose.

THE DARK HORSE was lurking on the stairs. Good Jesus, did servant ever suffer such surprise? I pretended not to see him but I don't know why I bothered. He had no shame.

Bonjour, called he as he retired.

Bon-bloody-jour indeed. It was not long past dawn and his stockings were wet up to the knees.

"Bonjour," said I and returned to my plain white room and sat upon the bed.

He with his dachshund eyes, I thought. A stallion after all.

I would have happily waited for his orders and it was only the fear of missing breakfast that drew me eventually down the stairs, and then-in the library-blow me down if it was not the sneaky French commissioner, and sitting in my place was the lovely Miss Godefroy, her white muslin alive with sun, ready with her quill to take dictation or, should I say, my job.

I laughed. I smiled, but I knew not what I thought: You dog, for one part. But also: She should be careful with that ink.

I asked my employer would he be needing me this morning.

"No," he said.

"What shall I do?"

He raised his brows in such a way as to make Miss Godefroy laugh. Why would I let myself be offended? It was a lovely day and the pale blue sky was feathery and pretty as a mother's china. My time was all my own so I set off for Wethersfield, but I had not walked two miles when my other master-that is, my stomach-issued loud orders to return.

At the midday meal I once more inquired would his lordship be needing me. He answered no.

In the afternoon I observed him return to the library in the company of Miss Godefroy. This time her father sat attendance. Had negotiations begun already? Who can imagine what was said?

At the evening meal, I asked would sir need me on the morrow.

But tomorrow was the Sabbath. Christ, it turned out to be an awful thing. The lady of the house had been, until this morning, distinguished by her relentless busyness, but now all that was extinguished and when she sat at table I had a chance to see her, in the flesh, as the saying is. Even in the unforgiving light which streamed through the eastern windows, it was clear that Mrs. Godefroy had once been a raving beauty. But something had frightened or disappointed her, or perhaps the rigors of being a God-botherer had turned her bottom into stone.

His lordship, on the other hand, was very perky and I observed how adoringly Miss Godefroy looked at him. She had snagged an aristocrat, and she was pleased about it. He was talking on and on, as always, leaning forward, cocking his head, mispronouncing every English word he knew. Miss Godefroy thought him perfect. Did the Indians have a religion, he wished to know, or was it what they would call a cult?

The mother then replied. "I am afraid the French commissioner will find us heavy and stupid."

"On the contrary, madame." He smiled, showing off his noble manners.

"This is our day of rest," said Mrs. Godefroy bluntly. "A very different day, I am certain, from what you have in your own country."

She meant he was a Mick and she would burn him if she could.

"I shall do very well, madame," my master answered, smiling at each and every one of us in turn. "I like work better than Sunday amusements."

At this I found it necessary to kick his shin.

"Just so," said he, understanding me perfectly, biting his lip in the most thoughtful manner. "Everybody to church."

"Some go to church, but most to chapel. I am not quite sure Wethersfield has anything in the French style," said Mrs. Godefroy.

Miss Godefroy was blushing, furious, staring at her plate.

"I am a Christian." His lordship smiled, applying a Catholic amount of butter to his Protestant bread. "I can join all Christians, no matter of what denomination, as brethren in their devotions."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Godefroy. "Then I would say your doctrine is rather broad."

The family, quite clearly, had scuffled at these crossroads more than once before and now Miss Godefroy, very bright of face, addressed her mother. "Of course you will worship at Mr. Farrar's?"

"And you will come with us?" the mother asked.

I understood nothing except there were preachers named Poole and Farrar and they were on opposing teams.

"I will go to hear Mr. Poole," the daughter said. "And if the gentleman," she added, with a slight bow across the table to Olivier de Garmont who sat showing his clean teeth to one and all, "will keep me company, I shall be most happy to show him the way."

"Mr. Poole is a worthy divine. I have said so before."

"Oh dear," said Mr. Godefroy, looking from wife to daughter as a mood descended on him like a Dartmoor mist.

"Yes dear Mr. Godefroy," said his wife. "Mr. Poole is a grander man in the pulpit than Mr. Farrar. But alas he is almost Unitarian."

"That is, a reasoning being," said Mr. Godefroy, smiling.

I did not get the joke, but I was chuckling sociably when Mrs. Godefroy swooped on me, "And you, Mr. Larrit, where to?"