“I already do.” After all, I had long harbored admiration for the commander of the ragtag army of the colonies, but real gratitude stole over me at the changes he had brought about in Gilbert, including a confidence he had never had before. It wasn’t only a father figure Lafayette had found in America—he had found new brothers-at-arms too. He harbored the greatest fraternal love for all Washington’s aides-de-camp, including the loquacious firebrand Alexander Hamilton and the intrepid South Carolinian John Laurens. Gilbert told me too of the dimple-chinned Hero of Trenton, James Monroe, who had nursed him after the Battle of the Brandywine. These were enterprising young people fighting for the right to rule themselves, and yet now he dropped his face into his hands. “The truth is, Adrienne, we are losing. The situation is dire. The conditions of the American soldiers—nearly naked, without blankets, without food, without shoes—make me feel guilty to be here, warm in this feather bed.”
I rose to find paper and quill, and said, “Tell me what we can do.”
Smiling at my ready willingness to be of service, Gilbert explained, “The Americans need everything. We must commission uniforms, purchase weapons, equip ships . . . even if it must come from my own fortune.”
I did not balk. I had already helped him draw heavily upon his accounts in the past two years. But then, what price could one put upon fragile lives?
So great was my husband’s glory that I could keep no one away. Maman, who had prayed for my husband and kept up my spirits, kissed him with joy. My adoring sisters gave him tearful embraces. Marc and de Ségur—the faithful friends who had defended him—clapped him on the back, eager to join him on campaign. Even Grand-mère waved her feathered pen and said affectionately, “My dear boy, you have caused quite a sensation!”
It was my father’s greeting that meant the most, though the duc d’Ayen merely gave my husband a respectful nod. “I mistook you, Gilbert. It will not happen again.” Then, unexpectedly, my father laid a hand upon my shoulder—the most affectionate gesture he ever bestowed upon me—and said, “I mistook my daughter too. Adrienne is like her mother. Prove to her she is wrong, and she submits as meekly as a child. Yet, if she believes she is right, she will never give in.”
He said this with what seemed like . . . pride . . . and my tears overflowed.
All was forgiven, and this grace within our family circle filled me with joy. However, we were not the only ones to rejoice at Lafayette’s return. Calling cards arrived from foreign officials, American envoys, and French noblemen. Ladies left perfumed kerchiefs, and I felt my first real pangs of jealousy. I consoled myself in the knowledge that Gilbert had confided in my brother-in-law, who confided in my sister Louise, who in turn confided in me that my husband had no taste for harlots, and had taken no mistress in America either. Perhaps it was because Gilbert so worshipped the Americans, for whom marital infidelity was still a scandal . . .
One evening during his ten days of house arrest, we heard a commotion outside on the Rue Saint-Honoré; we opened the draperies to see a gathering of peasants, fruit sellers, florists, and butchers. Ordinary people in aprons, clogs, and wool caps chanted, “Lafayette! Lafayette! Lafayette!”
“Come,” Gilbert said, clasping me with one arm, holding Anastasie in the other. Together we went to the Juliet balcony to receive applause. How my husband blossomed in the warmth of public praise. I too felt proud that the common people of Paris understood that we were all brothers and sisters in the same struggle for justice, and that my husband wished to be our champion.
When he had served out his term of house arrest, he was invited to Versailles for a ball to be hosted by the queen, with my husband as the guest of honor. Once I had been the little girl the queen wanted to pick up and put in her réticule, and Gilbert was the stumbling dancer she had laughed at.
How different it was now . . .
For this occasion, I wore a robe à la fran?aise of cerulean blue floral brocade so brightly colored it scarcely needed ornamentation. Nevertheless, all the women of Noailles wore diamonds, because we were again ascendant. Lafayette led our entourage into the opera hall, where thousands of candles glittered and musicians took up a march composed for my husband. And the queen, all in ivory satin, tall plumed wig, and dazzling jewels, welcomed us with a smile. “My dear Lafayette. I should like to send a gift to General Washington, and desire your advice.” Thereupon, she listed gifts she had made to other European sovereigns, including figurines, furniture, tapestries, and perfumes.