the duchess kisses aimee, and the good marsan drives back to her palace with the blissful ones through the black midnight paris streets. commodore paul jones is in a trance of happiness. aimee creeps into his arms and whispers “mon paul,” and the surrender of the serapis is forgotten, as a thing trivial and transient, in the surrender of this girl with the glorious red-gold hair.

summer runs away into autumn, and the brown tints of october show in the trees. the honeymoon has been one of secrecies and subterfuges, and perhaps the tenderer and sweeter because sub rosa. commodore paul jones tears himself now and again from aimee’s arms to urge the business of the serapis. he is seconded by aimee, to whom his glory is as dear as his love.

doctor franklin tells the king that he should give commodore paul jones the ship, and is referred to de sartine. the oily minister slips away from the proposal, and the king sends commodore paul jones a “sword of honor” and the title of “chevalier.” the impatient sailor bites his lip, and gives the plaything sword to aimee.

“i asked for a ship, not a sword,” says he. “as for ‘chevalier,’ since i’m already a commodore, it looks like promotion down-hill.”

“the king,” explains doctor franklin, “does not, i fear, forgive your refusal of his captain’s commission when you lay at the texel.”

“and i,” he returns, “continue to regard that offer of a commission as a piece of royal impertinence.”

commodore paul jones determines to bring the king to a decision. he walks in the royal gardens with his ally, genet, and comes upon the king feeding his interminable squirrels. the king—for democracy is becoming a fashion—greets commodore paul jones with outstretched hands.

“but do not tell me,” concludes the king, “that you come for a ship.”

“it is to ask for the serapis, sire.”

the poor king rubs his head, his vague lip twitches, while the unlocked jaw multiplies the feebleness of his weak face.

“chevalier, i cannot,” he returns. in a tone of pathos, he continues: “congratulate yourself, my friend, that you are not a king. you would be compelled to have ministers, and they would make a slave of you—as they have of me.”

“it is over,” says commodore paul jones, to doctor franklin. “there is no hope of the serapis.”

“take the ariel, then, and return to philadelphia,” replies the doctor. “there is the america, seventy-four guns, building on the portsmouth stocks. i’ve written the marine committee to give you that.”

commodore paul jones holds aimee close. he kisses her dear lips. “in the spring i shall return, my love,” he promises. “three little months, and you are in my arms again.”

aimee whispers something, and then buries her face in his breast. the blush she is trying to hide spreads and spreads until it covers the back of the fair neck, and the red of it is lost in the roots of the red-gold hair.

“good!” he cries in a burst of joy, holding her closer. “good! now i shall have something to dream of and return to.”

it is a raw, flawy february day when commodore paul jones lands in philadelphia. arthur lee, with his poisonous mendacities, has preceded him. he is called before the marine committee, to reply to a list of questions, that in miserable effect amount to charges. anger eating his heart like fire, he answers the questions, and is then voted a resolution of thanks and confidence.

knowing no other way, he seeks a quarrel with arthur lee, the fiery, faithful cadwalader at his elbow. mad anthony wayne, acting for him, meets arthur lee informally. the latter does not like the outlook.

“who is he?” exclaims arthur lee, inventing a defensive sneer. “either the son of a scotch peasant or worse, and a man who has changed his name. by what right does such a person demand satisfaction of a gentleman!”

“permit me to suggest,” returns mad anthony, beginning to bristle, “that i shall regard a refusal to fight, based on the ground you state, as a personal affront to myself. more; let me tell you, sir, that he who shall seek to bar paul jones from his plain rights, on an argument aimed at his gentility, will get nothing by his pains but the name of coward.”

“you think so!” responds arthur lee, his sneer somewhat in eclipse at the stark directness of mad anthony.

“i know so, sir. when you speak of paul jones, you speak of the conqueror of the drake and the serapis. also, when you deal with me, you deal with one who is the equal of any lee of your family, sir.”

mad anthony blows through his warlike nose ferociously, and arthur lee is silent. meanwhile, the excellent cadwalader, ever painstaking in matters of bloodshed, prepares a challenge, which he intends shall be a model for succeeding ages, when studying the literature of the duello.

it is at this pinch that the peace-loving morris, helpless and a bit desperate, brings the weight of general washington to bear upon the combative one. the “father of his country” succeeds where mr. morris has failed, and silences all talk of a duel. as a reward for that gentleman’s eleventh-hour docility, he prevails upon congress to give commodore paul jones command of the half-built america, in accord with the request of doctor franklin, already in its dilatory hands.

commodore paul jones goes to portsmouth to oversee the launching and the equipment of his new seventy-four. disappointment dogs him; for lord cornwallis surrenders, and congress, in a fit of foolish generosity, presents the america to france, as a slight expression of its thanks for the part she played in the capture of that english nobleman. commodore paul jones sees his just-completed seventy-four, over which he has toiled like a poet over his verse, and wherein he was to presently sail away to conquer fresh honors for himself and his aimee, hoist the french flag and receive a french captain on its quarter-deck. steadying himself under the blow, with a grim philosophy which he has begun to cultivate, he goes back to philadelphia. he finds letters from france awaiting him; one is from his aimee, written in a tremulous, wavering hand. it must have borne wonderful news, for in his reply he says:

“present my compliments to your sister. tell her to exert her tenderest care toward you and her sweet little godson. also cover him with kisses from me.”