" He had thrown off his look of gloom and spoke
carelessly, though with an effort, as he struck the horses, which
started again down the great avenue.
Calvert looked for an instant at Beaufort. "'Tis unlike you to speak
so," he said, at length. Indeed, ever since the young man had come into
the breakfast-room at the Legation, Calvert had been puzzled by some
strange difference in his former friend. It was not that the young
Frenchman was so much more elaborately and exquisitely dressed than in
the days when Calvert had known him in America, or that he was older or
of more assurance of manner. There was some subtle change in his very
nature, in the whole impression he gave out, or so it seemed to Calvert.
There was an air of flippancy, of careless gayety, about Beaufort now
very unlike the ingenuous candor, the boyish simplicity, of the
Beaufort who had served as a volunteer under Rochambeau in the war of
American independence.
"What will you have?" he asked again, nonchalantly. "Wait until you have
been in Paris awhile and you will better understand our manner of
speech. 'Tis a strange enough jargon, God knows," he said, laughing in a
disquieted fashion.
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