"May the devil get the lot of them!" he said.
It was Saturday, and he found Hamilton on his back under a tree, the
last number of the _Moniteur_ close to his hand, his wife and Angelica
looking down upon him from a rustic seat. Both the women were in
mourning, and Betsey's piquant charming face was aging; her sister Peggy
and her mother had followed her son.
Hamilton had never recovered his health, and he paid for the prolonged
strains upon his delicate system with a languor to which at times he was
forced to yield. To-day, although he greeted the welcome visitor gaily,
he did not rise, and Troup sat down on the ground with his back to the
tree. As he looked very solemn, Mrs. Hamilton and Angelica inferred they
were not wanted, and retired.
"Well?" said Hamilton, laughing. "What is it? What have I done now?"
"Put another nail into your coffin, we are all afraid. The story of the
paper you read before the Federalist Conference in Albany is common
talk; and if Burr is defeated, it will be owing to your influence,
whether you hold yourself aloof from this election or not.
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