The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [171]
His voice was shaking, and Temple put a hand on his shoulder now, said, “Grandfather . . . ?”
Franklin touched the young man’s hand, nodded slowly, said quietly, “It’s all right.”
Vergennes was watching him intently, and Franklin saw concern on the man’s face.
“I apologize for my impudence, Your Excellency.”
Vergennes started to speak, stopped, seemed to weigh his words.
“Doctor, I do not fault you for your passion. If we have witnessed one remarkable result of your conflict, it is the passion of your people for your cause. Do not be concerned. There is no offense taken in this room. But, Doctor, these words will remain in this room. His Majesty is very clear. France will not start a war by allying herself with a cause that is already drowning in defeat. If your cause can be achieved, France will gladly become your ally. We will do more than offer you arms and gold. But no nation will respect your independence until you demonstrate that your independence can be achieved.”
“Your Excellency is saying that France will assist us when we prove we no longer require your assistance.”
He stood slowly, Temple reacting quickly, helping him up. He steadied himself against the table, saw a sad resignation on Vergennes’ face.
“Doctor, I must serve my king.”
The meeting was over, and Franklin felt Temple holding him, guiding him to the door. The escort was waiting for them outside, and Franklin began to find his strength again, his legs more steady. He tapped his grandson’s arm, said quietly, “It’s all right. I can walk.”
They moved into the grand hall, and Franklin felt the lush carpet under his sore feet, was grateful for the one bit of luxury. The soldiers led them out slowly, the walk much longer than he remembered. They moved past the artwork, the porcelain and silk, and he ignored it all, focused on the floor in front of him, the slow march of the men who would lead him outside. His mind was already drifting toward Passy, to the gardens, the quiet, the solitude of his office. It is where a man goes to retire, he thought. Perhaps I will stay here, after all. I may not have the strength to go home, another difficult voyage. He thought of his sister now, fragile Jane, a woman of enormous sadness, relying so on her famous brother for survival. I hope you are safe, my dear. And Sally. At least my grandsons are with me, out of harm’s way.
Then he could see the sunlight, blue sky, the soldiers standing aside. He searched for his carriage, tried to pick out the one from a long row of carriages, thought, So many visitors, all the business of government, all those who preen and fawn before their king.
Temple was out ahead of him, the young man saying something to a driver. Franklin blinked against the brightness of the sun, thought, His eyes are sharper than mine. Good to have him along. I should tell him that. He started to say something to the young man, realized that Temple was farther away, directing the carriage out of the line, and he thought, I suppose it can wait. I had so hoped this would be a good experience for him, that his grandfather could show off a bit, perhaps impress this boy with all my vast skills at diplomacy. Instead, he will recall that I groveled to them. Begged. I should be ashamed.
The carriage was close, and Temple was beside him again, helping him as he climbed slowly up. Temple was in quickly, and Franklin felt the young man’s hand tugging at his coat, sealing him against the cold. He wanted to apologize, try to ease Temple’s disappointment, tried to put the words together, and Temple said, “I wish I could tell them . . . the congress, I mean. I wish I could tell them how you stood up to the French. The whole country should know.”
DECEMBER 4, 1777
The ship came from Boston, had escaped the dangerous net the British navy had spread throughout the North Atlantic. Though the passengers were few, one man disembarked with serious purpose, and found the fastest means to reach Paris. His name was Jonathan Loring Austin,