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By Root 1415 0

his peaceful routine obliterated. But worse, through all the inconvenience to his time and energy he was tormented by Vergennes’ warnings. Franklin was not so concerned about the danger to himself. The congress would certainly find among its number many men who would be capable of playing the diplomatic game. But each day, he would watch his grandsons depart the safety of the hotel to go about their routines, Temple running Franklin’s essential errands, Benny attending school. Such worries began to assault his sleep, any noise from the street jolting him awake. Within a few days, the dilemma turned to decision. They could not stay in Paris. To the dismay of his admirers in the street, and the neighbors who called him their friend, Franklin and his grandsons boarded a carriage, trailed by another that held the effects of his growing office. The journey was not far, down winding roads, up a wide pleasant hill a short way beyond the city, a small village called Passy.

The owner of the Hotel Valentinois had made himself known as an admirer of both the American cause and Franklin himself. Franklin was furnished a suite of rooms that opened onto a large garden, and despite his protest, the owner would accept no payment of rent.

They settled with ease into the very different atmosphere of the pleasant village. Benny was immediately enrolled in a boarding school nearby, which would keep the boy occupied six days a week. Temple had seemed unsure if the new residence would take him too far from the Parisian girls. The ballrooms were always open to the grandson of the great man, but even the impatience of a seventeen-year-old was not tested by the short ride to the city.

Franklin’s new routine was enhanced by the luxurious grounds of the hotel, and he walked often past the bare patches of black dirt, already raked clean by a host of gardeners, who eyed the calendar for the start of the season, the first warm days that would allow for the first seeding.

He set up his office with a new energy, had invited Deane to do the same, enough space provided so that both men could have their privacy but still share the convenience of close communication.

Packages were coming to him from America, the routes safe enough for American ships to reach French ports without difficulty. He knew the English were still protesting, but the packages he was receiving were harmless, came mostly from Philadelphia, wrapped by the hand of his daughter Sally.

He sifted through the careful wrappings, mostly clothing for his grandsons, his daughter certain that Franklin would never understand what a small boy required. He would never protest, could not tell her that the ladies of the village had taken both boys into their care with the same charmed enthusiasm as the women in the city. Anything Benny required, whether pencils for school or stockings to match the fashion of the village were amply provided.

He searched the bottom of the crate, ran his hands through the packing cloth, felt a lump, retrieved a small wooden box. It was not from Sally, the writing formal, his name printed in simple black letters. He slid open the top, saw two small bottles of liquid, one dark, the other nearly clear, saw a note curled around them. He held up one of the bottles, thought, Ink, certainly. Not likely that American ink is so much superior to what I can find here. He unfolded the note now, read slowly, the letter from John Jay, the congressman from New York.

My Dear Doctor,

I am most trusting that you will find good use for the enclosed. It is the invention of my brother, James. A like shipment has been sent to Mr. Deane as well. If you find its use to be of benefit, a larger supply can be secured for you. I regret that the formula is contained in the mind of my brother alone.

There was another small piece of paper with instructions, and Franklin thought, So, one bottle is for writing, another for reading. How very strange.

He pulled a pen and paper out of the drawer of his desk, wiped the tip of the pen clean with his handkerchief. Now he opened the darker bottle,