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New York 14609 USA — - ("6) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^S (^'6) 288- 5989 -Fax PS .LHZ .1 \ * .^ 1/ 11 y. ^ s ^ L Sv '%ify Hartlt-eU Cathcri 3d With illnstratipHi tfy Hfuite Casta fgne M'LroO ,v- .\M.|,.\- TOKON'TO I I «'i t> i» '■> X-, .- 8r "Vj; '. ,7t-vv)-i-- \\\ ■:.J^ ■••.-,'C.-'- L <^zarre Sy ^n ^ell Cathertvood yq*?^ 225380 a ^A^ARRE^ PRELUDE ST. BAT'S ' / / 5.-1- LAZARRE '' IVT^ "^""^ '' ^^^'^'" '^^^ *^« ""Je girl. ±\X The boy said nothing "My name is Eagle," she repeated. "Eagle dc Ferner. What is your name.?" Still the boy said nothing. She looked at him surprised, but checked her dis- pleasure. He was about nine years old, w.ile she was less than seven. By the dim light which sifted through tue top of St. Bat's church he did not appear sullen. He sat on the flagstones as if dazed and stupefied, facing a blacksmith's forge, which for many generations had occupied the north transept A smith and some apprentices hammered measures that echoed with multiplied volume from the Nor- man roof; and the crimson fire made a spot vivid as blood A low stone arch, half walled up, and black- ened by smoke, framed the top of the smithy, and through this frame could be seen a bit of St Bat's close outside, upon which the doors stood open Now an .apprentice would seize the bellows-handle and blow up flame which briefly sprang and disappeared. 3 i 4 LAZARRE The aproned figures, Saxon and brawny, tnade a fas- cinating show in the dark shop. Though the boy was dressed like a plain French citizen of that year, 1795, and his knee breeches betrayed shrunken calves, and his sleeves, wrists that were swollen as with tumors. Eagle accepted him as her equal. His fine wavy hair was of a chest- nut color, and his hands and feet were small. His features were perfect as her own. But while life played unceasingly in vivid expression across her face, his muscles never movea. The hazel eyes, bluish around their iris rims, took cognizance of nothing. His left eyebrow had been parted by a cut now healed and forming its permanent scar. "You understand m^ don't you?" Eagle talked to him. "But you could not understand Sally Blake. She is an English girl. We live at her house until our ship sails, and I hope it will sail soon. Poor boy ! Did the wicked rob in Paris hurt your arms ?" She soothed and patted his wrists, and he neither shrank in pain nor resented the endearment with male shyness. Eagle edged closer to him on the stone pavement. She was amused by the blacksmith's arch, and inter- ested in all the unusual life around her, and she leaned forward to find some response in his eyes. He was unconscious of his strange environment. The ancient church of St. Bartholomew the Great, or St. Bat's as it was called, in the heart of London, had long be-n a hived village. Not only were houses clusterea thickly around its outside walls and the .^-' ST. BAT'S 5 space of ground named its close; but the insic'^ degraded from its first use, was parceled out to own- ers and householders. The nave only had been retained as a church bounded by massive pillars, which did not prevent Londoners from using it as a thoroughfare. Children of resident dissenters could and did hoot when it pleased them, during service, from an overhanging window in the choir. The La y Chapel was a fringe-maker's shop. The smithy in the north transept had descended from father to son. The south transept, walled up to make a respectable dwelling, showed through its open door the ghastly marble tomb of a crusader which the thrifty London housewife had turned into a parlor table. His crossed feet and hands and up- ward staring countenance protruded from the rc.'dst of knick-knacks. Light fell through the venerable clerestory on upper arcades. Some of these were walled shut, but others retained their arched openings into the church, and formed balconies from which upstairs dwellers could look down at what was passing be- low. Two women leaned out of the Norman arcades, separated only by a pillar, watching across the nave those little figures seated in front of the black- smith's window. An atmosphere of comfort and thrift filled St. Bat's. It was the abode of labor and humble prosperity, not an asylum '^f poverty. Great worthies, indeed, such as John Milton, and nearer our own day, Washington Irving, did not disdain to ^ LA.ZARRB live in St. Bartholomew's close. The two British matrons, therefore, spoke the prejudice of the better rather than the baser class. "The little devils!" said one woman. "They look innocent." remarked the other. "But these French do make my back crawl !" "How long are they going to stay in St. Bat's'" "The two men with the little girl and the servant mtend to sail for America next week. The lad and the man that brought him in-as dangerous looking a foreigner as ever I saw!-are like to j.rowl out any time. I saw them go into the smithy, and I went over to ask the smith's wife about them. She let two upper chambers to the creatures this morning " "VVhat ails the lad ? He has the look of an idiot." Well, then, God knows what ails any of the crazy French ! H they all broke out with boils like the heathen of scripture, it wo:,ld not surprise a christian. As it is. they keep on beheading one another, day after day and month after month : and the time must come when none of them will be left— and a satisfaction that will be to respectable folks i" First the king, and then the queen," mused one speaker. "And now news comes that the little prince has died of bad treatment in his prison. Fng- land will not go into mourning for him as it did for his father. King Louis. What a pretty sight it was, to see every decent body in a bit of black, and the houses draped, they say. in every town I A comfort It must have been to the queen of France when she heard of such Christian respect I" ST. BAT'S t The women's faces, hard in texture and rubicund as beef and good ale could make them, leaned silent a moment high above the dim pavement. St. Bat's little bell struck the three quarters before ten; lightly, delicately, with always a promise of the' great booming which should follow on the stroke of the hour. Its perfection of sound contrasted with the smithy clangor of metal in process of welding. A butcher's boy made his way through the front entrance toward a staircase, his feet echoing on the flags, carrying exposed a joint of beef on the board upon his head. "And how do your foi signers behave themselves, Mrs. Blake?" inquired the neighbor. "Like French emmy-grays, to be sure. I told Blake when he would have them to lodge in the house, that we are a respectable family. But he is master, and their lordships has monev in their purses." "French lordships!" exclaimed the neighbor. Whether they calls themselves counts or markises, what's their nobility worth? Nothing!" "The Markis de Ferrier," retorted iMrs. Blake nettled by a liberty taken with her lodgers which' she reserved for herself, "is a gentleman if he is an emmy-gray, and French. Blake may be master in his own house, but he knows landed gentry from tmkers-whether they ever comes to their land again or not." ^ "Well, then." soothed her gossip, "I was only thmkmg of them French that comes over, glad to • LAZARREi teach their better*, or even to work with their hf ii for a crust." "Still," said Mrs. Blake, again giving rein to her prcjutiiccs, "I shall be glad to see all French papists out of St. Bat's. For vhat docs scripture say?— Touch not the unclean thing!' And that servant- body, instead of lool - afte her little missus, gal- loping out of the close on some bloody errand I" "You ought to be thankful, Mrs. Blake, to have her out of the way, instead of around our children, poisoning their hinfant minds! Thank God they are playing in the church lane like little Christians, safe frtm even that lad and lass yonder!" \ yell of fighting from th'' little Christians min- gled with their hoots at chr.ir boys gathering for the ten o'clock service in St. Bat's. When Mrs. Blake and her friend saw this prep iration, they withdrew their dissenting l-.-ads from tl e arcades in order not to countenance what might go on below. Minute follow /ed minute, an 1 the little bell struck the four quarters. Ther the great bell boomed out ten ;— the bell which had give-i signal for lighting the funeral piles of many a martyr, on Smithfield, directly opposite the church. Organ music pealed ; choir boys appeared from their robing-room beside the entrance, pacing two and two as they chanted. The celebrant stood in his place at the altar, and antiphonal music rol'sd among the arches: pierced by the dagger voice of a woman in the arcades, who called after the retreating butcher's boy to look sharp, and bring her the joint she ordered. ST. BAT'S 9 Eagle sprang up and dragged the arm of the un- inoving boy in the north transept. There was a weeping tomb in the chancel which she wished to sh, w him,— lettered with a threat to shed tears for a beautiful memory if passers-by did not contribute their share; a threat the marble duly executed on account of the dampness of the church and the hard- ness of men's hearts. But it was impossible to dis- turb a religious service. So she coaxed the boy, dragging behind her, down the ambulatory beside the oasis of chapel, where the singers, sitting side- wise, in rows facing each other, chanted the Venite. A few worshipers from the close, all of them women, pattered in to take part in this daily office. The smithy hammers rang under organ measures, and an odor of cooking sifted down from the arcades. Outside the church big fat-bellied pigeons were cooing about the tower or strutting and pecking on the ground. To kill one was a grave offense. The worst boy playing in the lane durst not lift a hand against them. Very different game were Eagle and the other alien whom she led past the red faced English chil- dren. "Good day," she spoke pleasantly, feeling their antagonism. They answered her with a titter. "Sally Blake is the only one I know," she ex- plained in French, to her companion who moved fee- bly and stiffly behind her dancing step. "I cannot talk English to them, and besides, their manners arc not good, for they are not like our peasants," lO L AZ A R RE Sally Blake and a bare kneed lad began to amble behind the foreigners, he taking his cue smartlv and lolling out his tongue. The whole crowd set up a shout, and Eagle looked back. She wheeled and slapped the St. Bat's girl in the *ace. That silent being whom she had taken under her care recoiled from the blow which the bare kneed boy instantly gave him, and without defending him- self or her, shrank down in an attitude of entreaty. She screamed with pain at this sight, which hurt worse than the hair-pulling of the mob around her. She fought like a panther in front of him. Two men in the long narrow lane leading from Smithfield, interfered, and scattered her assailants. You may pass up a step into the graveyard, which is separated by a wall from the lane. And though nobody followed, the two men hurried Eagle and the boy into the graveyard and closed the gate. It was not a large enclosure, and thread-like paths, grassy and ungraveled. wound among crowded graves. There was a very high outside wall : and the place insured such privacy as could not be had in St. Bat's church. Some crusted stones lay broad as gray doors on ancient graves ; but the most stood up in irregular oblongs, white and lichened. A cat call from the lane was the last she* of the battle. Eagle valiantly sleeked her disarrayed uc'^r, the breast under her bodice still heaving and sob- bing. The June sun illuminated a determined child of the gray eyed type between white and brown, ST. BAT'S II flushed with fullness of blood, quivering with her intensity of feeling. "Who would say this was Mademoiselle de Fer- ner!" observed the younger of the two men. Both were past middle age. The one whose queue showed the most gray took Eagle reproachfully by her hands ; but the other stood laughing. "My little daughter !" "I did strike the English girl-and I would do it again, father !" "She would do it again, monsieur the marquis " repeated the laugher. "Were the children rude to you ?" "They mocked him, father." She pulled the boy from behind a grave-stone where he crouched un- moving as a rabbit, and showed him to her guar- dians. "See how weak he is ! Regard him— how he walks in a dream! Look at his swollen wrists-he cannot fight. And if you wish to mai e these Eng- lish respect you you have got to fight them !" "Where is Ernestine? She should not have left you alone." "Ernestine went to the shops to obey your orders father." The boy's dense inertia was undisturbed by what had so agonized the girl. He stood in the English sunshine gazing stupidly at her guardians. "Who is this boy, Eagle?" exclaimed the younger man. "He does not talk. He does not tell his name." la L AZ A RRE The younger man seized the elder's arm and whis- pered to him. "No, Phih-ppe, no !" the elder man answered. But they both approached the boy with a deference which surprised Eagle, and examined his scarred eyebrow and his wrists. Suddenly the marquis dropped upon his knees and stripped the stockings down those meager legs. He kissed them, and the swollen ankles, sobbing like a woman. The boy seemed unconscious of this homage. Such exagger- ation of her own tenderness made her ask, "What ails my father. Cousin Philippe?" Her Cousin Philippe glanced around the hirfi waiis and spoke cautiously "Sally Blake." "What would Sally Blake do if she saw the little kmg of France and Navarre ride into the church lane, filhng it with his retinue, and heard the royal salute of twenty-one guns fired for him?" "She would be afraid of him." "Btit when he comes afoot, with that idiotic face givmg her such a good chance to bait him-how can she resist baiting him? Sally Blake is human " Cousm Philippe, this is not our dauphin? Our dai^hin is dead ! Both my father and you told me he died m the Temple prison nearly two weeks ago r _ The Marquis de Ferrier replaced the boy's stock- ings reverently, and rose, backing away from him. There is your king, Eagle," the old courtier an- ST. BAT'S «3 nounced to his child. "Louis XVII, the son of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, survives in this wreck. How he escaped from prison we do not know. Why he is here unrecognized in England, where his claim to the throne was duly acknowl- edged on the death of his father, we do not know. But we who have often seen the royal child cannot fail to identify him ; brutalized as he is by the past horrible year of his L- 3." The boy stood unwinking before his three expa- triated s ects. Two of them noted the traits of his house, even to his ears, which were full at top, and without any indentation at the bottom where they met the sweep of the jaw. The dauphin of France had been the most tor- tured victim of his country's Revolution. By a jailer who cut his eyebrow open with a blow, and knocked him down on the slightest pretext, the child had been forced to drown memory in fiery liquor, month after month. During six worse months, which might have been bettered by even such a jailer, hid from the light in an airless dungeon, covered with rags which were never changed, and with filth and ver- min which daily accumulated, having his food passed to ujm through a slit in the door, hearing no human voice, seeing no human face, his joints swell- ing with poisoned blood, he had died in everything except physical vitality, and was taken out at last merely a breathing corpse. Then it was proclaimed that this corpse had ceased to breathe. The heir of a long line of kings was coffined and buried. While the elder De Ferrier shed nervous tears, the younger looked on with eyes which had seen the drollery of tlie French Revolution. "I wish I knew the man who has played this clever tnck and whether honest men or the rabble are behmd it. "Let us find Hm and embrace him !" "I would rather embrace his prospects when the house of Bourbon comes again to the throne of France. Who is that fellow at the gate? He looks as It he had some business here." _ The man came on among the tombstones, show- ing a full presence and prosperous air, suggesting Smithfield alehouse. Instead of being smooth shaven, he wore a verj- long mustache which dropped its ends below his chin. A court painter, attached to his patrons, ought to have fallen into straits during the Revolution. Phi- lippe exclaimed with astonishment— "Why, it's Bellenger ! Look at him '" Bellenger took off his cap and made a deep rev- erence. ^ "^y«ncle is weeping over the dead English Bcl- enger," said Philippe. "It always moves him to tears to see how few of them die." "We can make no such complaint against French- men ,n these days, monsieur," the court painter answered. "I see you have my young charge here enjoying the gravestones with you;-a pleasing ST. BAT'S IS change after the unmarked trenches of France, With your permission I will take him away." "Have I the honor, Monsieur Bellenger, of salut- ing the man who brought the king out of prison?" the old man inquired. Again Bellenger made the marquis a deep rever- ence, which modestly disclaimed any exploit. "When was this done ?— Who were your helpers ? Where are you taking him?" Bellenger lifted his eyebrows at the fanatical roy- alist. "I wish I had had a hand in it I" spoke Philippe de Ferrier. "I am taking this boy to America, monsieur the marquis," the painter quietly answered. "But why not to one of his royal uncles?" "His royal uncles," repeated Bellenger. "Pardon, monsieur the marquis, but did I say he had any royal uncles?" "Come!" spoke Philippe de Ferrier. "No jokes with us, Bellenger. Honest men of every degree should stand together in these times." Eagle sat down on a flat gravestone, and looked at the boy who seemed to be an object of dispute between the men of her family and the other man. He neither saw nor heard what passed. She said to herself — "It would make no diflference to me! It is the same, whether he is the king or not." Bellenger's eyes half closed their lids as if for protection from the sun. i i6 Iv AZ A RRE "Monsieur de Ferrier may rest assured that I am not at present occupied with jokes. T will again ask permission to take my charge away." "You may not go until you have answered some questions." "That I will do as far as I am permitted." "Do Monsieur and his brother know that the king is here?" inquired the elder De Ferrier, taking the lead. "What reason have you to believe," responded Bellenger, "that the Count de Provence and the Count d'Artois have any interest in this boy ?' Philippe laughed, and kicked the turf. "We have seen him many a time at Versailles, my friend. You are very mysterious." "Have his enemies, or his fr nds set him free?" demanded the old Frenchman. "That," said Bellenger, "I may not tell." "Does Monsieur know that you are going to take him to America ?" "That I may not tell." "When do you sail, and in what vessel ?" "These matters, also, I may not tell." "This man is a kidnapper!" the old noble cried, bnnging out his sword with a hiss. But Philippe held his arm. "Among things permitted to you," said Philippe, "perhaps you will take oath the boy is not a Bour- bon ?" Bellenger shrugged, and waved his hands, "You admit that he is.?" '^^"5l^^ •• 1 will agan. ask permission to take m v charge away ' ST. BAT'S 17 "I admit nothing, monsieur. These are days in which we save our heads as well as we can, and admit nothing." "If we had never seen the dauphin we should infer that this is no common child you are carrying away so secretly, bound by so many pledges. A man like you, trusted with an important mission, natu- rally magnifies it. You refuse to let us know any- thing about this affair ?" "I am simply obeying orders, monsieur," said Bellenger humbly. "It is not my affair." "You are better dressed, more at ease with the world than any other refugee I have seen since v e came out of France. Somebody who has money is paying to have the child placed in safety. Very well. Any country but his own is a good country for him now. My uncle and I will not interfere. We do not understand. But liberty of any kind is better than imprisonment and death. You can of course evade us, but I give you notice I shall look for this boy in America, and if you take him else- where I shall probably find it out." "America is a large country," said Bellenger, smiling. He took the boy by the hand, and made his adieus. The old De Ferrier deeply saluted the boy and slightly saluted his guardian. The other De Ferrier nodded. "We are making a mistake, Philippe !" said the uncle. "Let him go," said the nephew. "He will probably i8 LAZ ARRE II slip away at once out of St. Bartholomew's. We can do nothing until we are certain of the powers behind him. Endless disaster to the child himself m-ght result from our interference. If France were ready now to take back her king, would she accept an imbecile?" The old De Ferrier groaned aloud. "Bellenger is not a bad man," added Philippe. Eagle watched her playmate until the closing gate hid him from sight. She remembered having once implored her nurse for a small plaster image dis- played in a shop. It could not -cak, nor move nor love her in return. But she cri.J secretly all night to have it in her arms, ashamed of the unreasonable desire, but conscious that she could not be appeased by anything else. That plar^er image denied to her symbolized the strongest passion of her life. The pigeons wheeled around St. Bat's tower or strutted burnished on the wp' . The bell, which she had forgotten since sitting s the boy in front of the blacksmith shop, again b ned out its record of time; though it seemed to Eagle that a long, lonesome period like eternity had begun. BOOK I AWAKING c I REMEMBER poisinjj naked upon a rock, ready to dive into Lake (icorge. This memory stands at the end of a diminishing vista; the extreme pomt of coherent recollection. My body and mus- cular limbs reflected in tlie water filled me with savage prido. I knew, as the beast knows its herd, that my mother Marianne was hanging the pot over the fire pit in the center of our lodge; the children were playing with other papooses ; and mv father was hunting down the lake. The hunting and fi.shing were ^ood, and we had plenty of meat. Skenedonl. whom I considered a person belonging to myself, was stripping more slowly on the rock behind me.' We were heated with wood ranging. Aboriginal life, primeval and vigor-giving, lay behind me when I plunged expecting to strike out under the delicious forest shadow. When I came up the sun had vanished, the woods and their shadow were gone. So were the Indian children playing on the shore, and the shore with them. My mother Marianne might still be hanging her pot in the lodge. But all the hunting lodges of our people were as completely lost as if I had en- tered another world. My head was bandaged, as I discovered when I turned it to look around. The walls were not the 21 aa L A Z A RR j© I log walls of our lodge, chinked with moss and topped by a bark roof. On the contrary they were grander than the ins.de of St. Regis church where I took my first communion, though that was built of stone These walls were paneled, as I learned afterward to call that noble finishing, and ornamented with pictures, and crystal sockets for candles. The use of the crystal sockets was evident, for one shaded wax hght burned near me. The ceiling was not composed of wooden beams like some Canadian houses but divided itself into panels also, reflecting the hght with a dark rosy shining. Lace work finer than a priest's white garments fluttered at the win- dows. I had dived early in the afternoon, and it was night. Instead of finding myself still stripped for swimmmg, I had a loose robe around me, and a cov- erlet drawn up to my armpits. The couch under me was by no means of hemlock twigs and skins, like our bunks at home : but soft and rich. I wondered if I had died and gone to heaven ; and just then the Virgm moved past my head and stood lookinf- down at me. I started to jump out of a window, but felt so httle power to move that I only twitched. and pre- tended to be asleep, and watched her as we si-dited game, with eyes nearly shut. She had a popp'et of a child on one arm that sat up instead of leaning agamst her shoulder, and looked at me, too The poppet had a cap on its head, and was dressed in lace and she wore a white dress that let her neck and arms out, but covered her to the ground. This was A W A KI NO »3 and arms, and wore .heir petticoats s r,,.. i ^onl I «e th,s nnage breathe, whieh was a marvc, a,,;. " e color moving under her white skin. Her " ^eet^ed to go through you and search all the veins sendtng a shiver of pleasure down vour hack Aow I knew after the first start that she was a liv- homas U tlhan.s, appeared at the " "No, Mohawk." "Why, man, his body is like milk! He is no son of yours." The chief marched toward me. "Let him alone! If you try to dra, .ut of the manor I will appeal to the authority of Le Rav de Chaumont." My father spoke to me with sharp authority— "Lazarre !" "What do you call him?" the little man it quired ambhng beside the chief. "Eleazer Williams is his name. But in the lodges, at St. Regis, everywhere, it is Lazarre." "How old is he ?" "About eighteen years." "Well, Thomas Williams," said my fretful guar- dian, his antagonism melting to patronage, "I will tell you who I am. and then you can feel no anxiety I am Doctor Chantry, physician to the Count de Chaumont. The lad cut his head open on a rock, a6 L AZ A RRE diving in the lake, and has remained unconscious ever suice. This is partly due to an opiate I have administered to insure complete quiet; and he will not awake for several hours yet. He received the best surgery as soon as he was brought here and placed in my hands by the educated Oneida. Skene- donk. "I was not near the lodge." said my father "I was down the lake, fishing." "I have bled him once, and shall bleed him again • though the rock did that pretty effectually. *" But these strapping young creatures need frequent blood-letting." ^ The chief gave him no thanks, and I myself resolved to knock the little doctor down, if he came near me with a knife. "In the absence of Count de Chaumont. Thomas " he proceeded. "I may direct you to go and knock on the cook s door, and ask for something to eat before you go home." "I stay here," responded my father. "There is not the slightest need of anvbody's watching beside the lad to-night. I uas about to retire when you were permitted to enter He is sleeping like an infant." "He belongs to me," the chief said. Doctor Chantry jumped at the chief in rage "For God's sake, shut up and go about your busi> ness !" It was like one of the little dogs in our camp cnap, ping at the patriarch of them all, and recoiling from A W AKI NO 37 knffr'h . f ' ''''"'^ '^"' "^^ °" ^'^ hunting kmfe bu he grunted and said nothing. Doctor Chant, himself withdrew from the room and ll the Indian ,n possession. Weak as I was I felt mv ms>des quake with laugluer. My very first obser- V t.on of tijc whimsical being tickled me with a kmd o foreknowledge of all his weak fretfulness My father sat down on the floor at the foot of my couch, where the wax light threw his shadow exaggeratmg its unn.oving profile. I noticed one of atinf '",,'"'""'' '' "^^^"^= ^'^-^h when ea tng or dnnkmg with white men he sat at table w«th then. The chair I saw was one that I faintly recogmzed, as furniture of some previous expe^ nence shm legged, c^racefully curved, and brocaded Brocaded was the word. I stuc'ied it until I fell asleep. The sun. shining through the protected windows, instead 01^.. ring into our lodge door, showed my father s.ttmg in the same position v^hen I woke, and Skenedonk at my side. I liked the educated Iro- quois. He was about ten years my senior. He had been taken to France when a stripling, .nd was much bound to the whites, though living with his own tnbe. Skenedonk had the mildest brown eyes I ever saw outside a deer's head. He was a bald Indian with one small scalp lock. But the just and perfect dome to which his close lying ears were attached needed no hair to adorn it. You felt glad that nothing shaded the benevolence of his all-over lorehead. By contrast he emphasized the sullennes* i'' 28 L A2 AR RE^ * of my father; yet when occasion had pressed there never was a readier hand than Skencc'onk's to kill I tossed the cover back to spring out of bed with a whoop. But a woman in a high cap witli ribbons hangmg down to her heels, and a dress short enough to show her shoes, stepped into the room and made a coi,rtesy. Her face fell easily into creases when she talked, and gave you the feeling that it was too soft of flesh. Indeed, her eyes were cushioned all around. She spoke and Skenedonk answered her in French. The meaning of every word broke through my mmd as fire breaks through paper. "Madame de Ferrier sent me to inquire how the young gentleman is." Skenedonk lessened the rims around his eyes. Uy father grunted. "Did Madame de Ferrier say 'the young gentle- man ? Skenedonk inquired. "I was told to inquire. I am her servant Ernest- me," said the woman, her face creased with the anxiety of responding to questions. "Tell Madame de Ferrier that the young gentle- man IS much better, and will go home to the lodges to-day." ^ "She said I was to wait upon him, and give him his breakfast under the doctor's direction." "Say with thanks to Madame de Ferrier that I wait upon him." Ernestine again courtesied, and made wav for Doctor Chantry. He came in quite good natured and greeted all of u.s. his inferiors, with a humility I A WAKING a9 then thought touching, but learned afterwards to chstrust. My head already felt the healing blood, and I was ravenous for food. He bound it with fresh l^ndages, and opened a box full of gmtering knives, taking out a small sheath. From this he made a pomt of steel spring like lightning. "We will bring the wholesome lancet again into play, my lad," said Doctor Chantry. I vvaited n uncertamty with my feet on the floor and my hands on he side of the couch, wh.le he carefullv removed coat and waistcoat and turned up his sle'eves. Ernestme, bring the basin," he commanded. M3^ father may have thought the doctor was about to inflict a vicarious puncture on himself. Skene- donk. with respect for civilized surgery, waited. I t, H "':f • "^'^ °P"^^°^ ""'^'^ '"^ *° the elbow and showed a piece of plaster already sticking on my arm. Tho conviction of being outraged in mv person came upon me mightily, and snatching the wholesome lancet I turned its spring upon the doc- tor. He yelled. I leaped through the door like a deer, and ran barefooted, the loose robe curdling above my knees. I had the fleetest foot among th! Indian racers, and was going to throw the garment aw.y or the pure joy of feeling the air slfde past my naked body, when I saw the girl and poppet baby who had looked at me during my first conscrusness They were sitting on a blanket under the trees of De Chaumont s park, which deepened into wilder- ness. The baby put tip a lip, and the girl surrounded it 30 L A Z A R R E with her arm, tlividing her sympathy with me. I must have been a charming ohjcct. Though raven- ous for food and broken-lieaded, I forgot my state, and turned off tlie road of escape to stare at her like a tame deer. She lowered her eyes wisely, and I got near enough without taking fright to see a book spread open on the blanket, showing two illuminated pages. Something parted in me. I saw my mother, as I had seen her in some past life:— not Marianne the Mohawk, wife of Thomas Williams, but a fair oval- faced mother with arched brows. I saw even her pointed waist and puffed skirts, and the lace around her open neck. She held the book in her hands and read to me from it. I dropped on my knees and stretched my arms above my head, crying aloud as women cry with gasps and chokings in sudden bereavement. Nebu- lous memories twisted all around me and I could grasp nothing. I raged for what had been mine— for some high estate out of which I had fallen into degradation. I clawed the ground in what must have seemed convulsions to the girl. Her poppet cried and she hushed it. "Give me my mother's book !" I strangled out of the depths of my throat ; and repeated, as if torn by a devil— "Give me my mother's book!" She blanched so white that her lips looked seared, and instead of disputing my claim, or inquiring about my mother, or telling me to begone, she was up on her feet. Taking her dress in her finger tips AWAKING 31 and settling back almost to the ground in the most beautiful obeisance I ever saw, she said— "Sire!" Neither in Iroquois nor in lroc,uoKs-I.>cnch had such a name been given to me before. I had a long title signifying Tree-Cutter, which belonged to every chief of our family. But that vvord-"Sire'"__ and her deep reverence seemed to atone in some for w at I had lost. I sat up. quieting myself, nil moved as water heaves. She put the missal on the lap of my single garment, and drew back a step, formally standing. My scarred ankles at wh.ch the Indian children used to point, were ex posed to her gaze, for I never would sil on them after the manner of the tribe. There was no restraining the tears that ran down mv face She might have mocked me. but she remain;d white and unu tered speech. Looking back now 1 can see what passionate necessity shook me with throbs to be the equal of her who had received me as a superior. * avf„'u.°""m''' '"""°' ^°""'- """S => "inding a enue, could be seen £rom,where we were. I, was of stone, buil, ,0 enclose a court on three sides in .he for™ that I afterwards recognized as .ha. ^f French paiaces There were a great many flowers u he court, and vines covered the ends of the wings fh a. had"' ' ""™'"^"' ""'"""^ ^-»- .hat I had spent on Lake George were not without sonte knowledge. The chimneys and roofs of U 3a L AZ A R R EJ Ray de Chaumont's manor often looked at me i'rough trees as I steered my boat among the is- ands He was a great land owner, having more than three hundred thousand acres of wilderness. And he was friendly with both Indians and Ameri- cans. His figure did not mean much to me when I saw ,t being merely a type of wealth, and wealth extends little power into the wilderness. The poppet of n child climbed up and held to the girl s dress. She scooped over and kissed it. saving. S.t down. Paul.- The toy human being seemed full of intelligence, and after the first protest exam- ined me fearlessly, with enchanting sm. , about the mouth and eyes. I noticed even then an upward curling of the mouth corners and a kind of magic in the liquid blue gaze, of which Paul might never be conscious, but which would work on every be- holder. That a child should be the appendage of such a very young creature as the girl, surprised me no more than if it had been a fawn or a dog. In the viv.d moments of my first rousing to life I had seen her with Paul in her arms; and he remained part of her. *^ We heard a rush of horses up the avenue, and out of the woods came Le Ray de Chaumont and his groom, the wealthy land owner equipped in gentle- man's riding dress from his spurs to his hat He made a fine show, whip hand on his hip and back erect as a pine tree. He was a man in middle life but be reined up and dismounted with the swift AWAKING 33 agility of a youtli, ami sent his horse away with the groom, as socn as he saw the girl riu, across the grass to meet him. Taking her hand he bowed over U and k.ssed it with pleasing cerenionv. of which I approved. An Iroc-uois chief in fnll council had not better manners than Le Ray de Chaumont. Paul and I waited to see what was going to hap- pen, for the two came toward us, the girl talking rapidly to the man. I saw my father and Skenedonk and the docto. also coming from the house, and they readily spied me sitting tame as a rabbit near the baby. You never can perceive yourself what figure you are making in the world : for when you think vou are the admired of all eyes you mav be displaving a fool; and when life seems prostrated in you it may be that you show as a monument on the heights But I could not k aken in De Chaumonfs opin- ion of me. He pointed his whip handle at me. ex- claiming — "What .'—that scarecrow, niadame ?" r' II 66T)UT T look at him," she urged. recognize first." said De Chaumont as lie sauntered, "an old robe of my own." "His mother was reduced to coarse serge, I have been told." "You speak of an august lady, mv dear Eagle. But this is Chief Williams' boy. He has been at the huntuig lodges every summer since I came into the wilderness. There you see his father, the half- breed Mohawk." "I saw the dauphin in London, count. I was a little child, but his scarred ankles and wrists and forehead are not easi!\ forgotten." "The dauphin tlied in the Temple, Eagle." "My father and Philippe never believed that." "Your father and I'hilippe were very mad royal- ists." ^ "And you have gone over to Bonaparte. They said that boy had all the traits of the Bourbons, even to the shaping of his ear." "A Bourbon ear hears nothing but Bonaparte in these days," said De Chaumont. "How do you know this is the same boy you saw in London ?" "Last night while he was lying unconscious, after Doctor Chantry had bandaged his head and bled him, I went in to see if I might be of use. He wa« 34 A \\' A K I N (3 35 like some one I ha,I seen. l!nt I ,11,1 not know him t.nt,l a moment .1^0. He ran out of tl.e I.ouse like a wild Indian. Then he saw us sitiin^' here, and eame and ell down on his knees at .sight ..f that missal. I saw h.s scars. He claimed the book as his mother's —and you know, count, it was his mother's!" "My dear chihl. whenever an Indian wants a pres- ent he dreams that you give it to him. or he claims ;t. Chief \\ dliams' hoy wanted your valuable illum- inated book. I only won.ler he had the taste The nngs on your hands are more to an In.lian's lik- mg." "But he is not an Indian, count. He is as white as we are." "That signifies nothing. Plenty of white children have been brought up among the tribes. Chief Wil- liams' grandmother, I have heard, was a Yankee woman." Not one word of their rapid talk escaped an ear tramcd to famtest noises in the woods. I fdt like a tree, well set up and sound, but rooted and voiceless m my ignorant helplessness before the two so frankly considering me. My father stopped when he saw Madame de Fer- ner, and called to me in Iroquois. It was plain that he and Doctor Chantry disagreed. Skenedonk put out of countenance by my behavior, and the s'tub- bornness of the chief, looked ready to lay his hand upon his mouth in sign of being confounded before white men; for his learning had altered none of his inherited instincts. 36 L A2 AR re: ru^\frr' ""'' ^ ^'' '' ^' Chaumont had said, Chief Wilhams' boy, faint from blood letting and twenty-four hours' fasting; and the father's com- mand reminded me of the mother's dinner pot I stood up erect and drew the flowered silk robe around me. It would have been easier to walk on burnmg coals, but I felt obliged to return the book to Madame de Ferrier. She would not take it I closed her grasp upon it. and stooping, saluted her hand with courtesy as De Chaumont had done If he had roared I must have done this devoir. But all he did was to widen his eyes and strike his leg with his riding whip. My father and I seldom talked. An Indian boy who lives in water and forest all summer and on snowshoes all winter, finds talk enough in the nat- ural world without falling back upon his family Dignified manners were not lacking among my eld- ers but speech had seemed of little account to me before this day. The chief paddled and I sat naked in our canoe •- for we left the flowered robe with a horse-boy 'at the stables ;-the sun warm upon my skin, the lake's blue glamour affecting me like enchantment. Neither love nor aversion was associated with my father. I took my head between my hands and tried to remember a face that was associated with aver- sion. "Father," I inquired, "was anybody ever verv cruel to me ?" ^ He looked startled, but spoke harshly. AWAKING 37 "What have you got in your head? These white people have been making a fool of you." "I remember better to-day than I ever remembered before. I am different. I was a child : but to-day manhood has come. Father, what is a dauphin?" The chief made no answer. St." Rett ^" "" ''"'^^'* ^' '' ' '^"''^' "^' °"" ^* "Ask the priest." "Do you know what Bourbon is, father,~particu- iarly a Bourbon ear?" "Nothing that concerns you." "But how could I have a Bourbon ear if "t didn't concern me?" "Who said you had such an ear?" "Madame de Ferrier." The chief grunted. "At Jeast she told De Chaumont." I repeated ex- actly, I was the boy she saw in London, that her .^ L:;d::'?"'' ^" ''^ ^^'^ °^ '^^ ^°"^^-- ^^-e The chief paddled without replying. Finding him so Ignorant on all points of the conversation, or so determmed to put me down, I gazed awhile at our shadow gliding in the water, and then began again. _ i-ather, do you happen to know who Bonaparte This time he answered. "Bonaparte is a great soldier." "Is he a white man or an Indian ?" "He is a Frenchman." 38 L AZ ARRE # i II I meditated on the Frpnrhm«„ r a- , bered about St Rel '"'''""'" ^ ^""'>' '•^"'<^m- Inwc ^ ^^^y '''^'■^ undersized fel- "L"?' 'i:^r'' "^"" ^^-'^ -°t-ns were stirred. I could whip them all. "Did he ever come to St. Regis ?" The chief again grunted. "Does France come to St. Regis .>" he retorted with an impatient question. "^ "What is France, father?" "A country." "Shall we ever go there to hunt?" 'jShall u. ever go the other side of the sunrise TalUo the " ". ''' °''" "'^ "^ ^^^ «"""-• laiK to the squaws. Thougl, rebuked, I determined to do it if am- .nfo™at,o„ conld be got out of them. The des". fcelmg of one who waked to eonsciousness late ir The eamp seemed strange, as if I had been gone ma„y^.ears, but every object was so wonderful^ My mother Marianne fed me, and when I lay down dizzy m the bunk, eovered me. The famHv must ave thought it was natural sleep. But ™ a amtmg collapse, which took me more than olce afte wards as suddenly as a blow on the head, wh« caused by the ph,ng:e upon the rock or the dim life from winch I had emerged, I do not know. 0„e n.oment r saw the children, and mother., from the (^ A W A K I N Q 39 neighboring lodges, more interested than my own mother: our smoky rafters, and the fire pit in the kett e A f ; '"' "^" ^ '°^ ^^^^^ ^^^ "- - the kettle And then, as it had been the night before I waked after many hours. By that time the family breathing sawed the air -thm the walls and a fine starlight Lwed throVgh the open door, for we had no window. Outside the oak trees were pattering their leaves like rain re- mmdmg me of our cool spring in the woods. My bandaged head was very hot. in that dark lair of him .f r''^°"'' ^'"^ ^''" '^''' ^ ^'^"^^ have asked h m to bnng me water, with confidence in his nat- ural service. The chief's family was a large one but not one of my brothers and sisters seemed as' near to me as Skenedonk. The apathy of fraternal trl "I Z"7 ''"''^ "^^ ^"^ P^'"- The whole tribe was held dear. bandages, and put on „y do.hes, for .here were bramb es along the path. The lodges and the dogs were st„ , ,„, j „,p, „,^ ^ ,_^,__^^^ ogs avcd wak,ng ,hem. Our village was an frre^ll" camp each house standing where its owner had Pleased , b„,M it on the lake shore. Behind it the blackness of wooded wilderness seemed to stretch to the end of the world. Th« spring made a distinct tinkle in the msh of 40 L A2 AR RK low sounc througl. the forest. A rank night sweet- ness of mints and other lush plants mixed its spirit with the body of leaf earth. I felt hapi:y in being a part of all this, and the woods were to me as safe as the bed-chamber of a mother. It was fine to wallow damming the span of escaping water with mv fevered head. Physical relief and delicious shud- aermg coolness ran through me. From that wet pillow I looked up and thought agam of what had happened that day, and particu- larly of the girl whom De Chaumont had called Madame de Ferrier and Eagle. Every word that she had spoken passed aga -^ before my mind Pos- sibilities that I had ncve^ .aagined rayed out from my recumbent body as from the hub of a vast wheel I was white. I was not an Indian. I had a Bourbon She believed I was a dauphin. What was a ear. --""i^iiiii. vvnai: was i dauphm. that she should make such a deep obeis- ance to it ? My father the chief, recommending me to the squaws, had appeared to know nothing about All that she believed De Chaumont denied. The rich book which stirred such torment in me-"you know It was )us mother's!" she said-De Chaumont thought I merely coveted. I can see now that the crude half-savage boy wallowing in the spring stream, set that woman as high as the highest star above his head, and made her the hope and symbol of his possible best. A woman's long cry, like the appeal of that one on whom he meditated, echoed through the woods and startled him out of his wallow. Ill T SAT up with the water triekling down my back. X 1 he cry was repeated, out of the west I knew the woods, but night alters the most famAar plaees It was so dark i„ vaults and tunnels ,h ' I \ '"'"" "'=" ' ™Sl't have burrowed .h ough the ground almost as easily as thresh a path. The mdhon scarcely audible noises that fill a forest surrounded me, and twigs no, broken bv me cracked or shook. Still I made directly toward the Oman, vo,ce which guided me more plainly; bu left off runmng as my ear detected that she was o y .n perplexity She called at intervals, impeTa- fvely but not ,n continuous screams. .She was a whtte woman; for no squaw would publish he dist comfor . A squaw i, lost would camp sensibly on a bed of leaves, and find her way back to the village m he mornmg. The wilderness was full of dangers bu when you are elder brother to the bear and Ihe -Idea, you learn their habits, and avoid or outli; Climbing over rocks and windfalls I came against a sohd log wall and heard the woman talkingTa very pretty chatter the other side of it She onlv '\°f'='^'"«'-a»forhelp,andlefto?:al5 for help ,0 , cold and laugh again. There was a Z .mprtsoned w.th her, and they were speaking Eng- ft 4a L AZ AR RE I .1 f5"'^' ^ ^'^ "°' ^^^" understand. But h.fJ'.T.'''^ *° ^'^^'^ ''^' ^^O' plain. They had wandered ,nto a pen built by hunters to trap bears, and could not find the bush-masked and wind ing opening, but were traveling around the walls It was lucky for them that a bear had not arrived first though ,n that case their horses must have smelled h.m. I heard the beasts shaking their br" I found my way to the opening, and whistled. At once the woman ceased her chatter and drew in her breath and they both asked me a question tha[ needed no mterpretation. I told them where thev were and the woman began talking at once in mv own tongue and spoke it as ell as I could mvsel n a bear pen ? George, he says we are in a bear pen ! Take us out. dear chief, before the bear family arnve home from their ball. I don't know whether you are a chief or not, but most Indians are Mv nurse was a chief's daughter. Where are you' I can t see anything but chunks of blackness " eot both tf T' '' '•'' '"'^^ ^"' '^^ ^"•-' ^"^ - got both the nders outside. They had no tinder, and h w. ' / ' '"' ^" ''' "^ ^-°P^^ ^- the way bv wh,ch they had come to the bear pen. The vo^m^ man spurred his horse in every direction, and t^" d back unable to get through. bot?^h^^ 7 '°"'^ "°* ''' °"^ ^"^^h^-- r '^■"ew that both the adventurers were young, and that they expected to be called to severe account for the law^ less act they were committing. The girl, talking U_ A W A K I N Q 43 English,or French, or Mohawk almost in one breath took the blame itpon herself and made light of the boy s self-reproaches. She laughed and said-"AIy father thinks I am with M.SS Chantry, and Miss Chantry thinks I am with my father. He will blame her for letting me nde with George Croghan to meet him, and lose the way and so get into the bear pen. And she will blame my father, and your dearest Annabel will let the Count de Chaumont and Miss Chantry fight it out. It ,s not an affair for youth to meddle with, George. ' Having her for interpreter the bov and I con- sulted. I might have led him back to our hunting camp, but it was a hard road for a woman and an impossible one for horses. There was no inhabited house nearer than De Chaumont's own. He decided they must return to the road by which they had come into the bear pen, and gladly accepted my offer to go wUh h.m ; dismounting and leading Annabel de Chaumont s horse while I led his. We passed over rotten logs and through black tangles, the girl bend- ing to her saddle bow, unwearied and full of laugh- ter It was plain that he could not find any outlet and fallmg behind with the cumbered horse he let me guide the party. I do not know by what instinct I felt mv way con- scious of slipping between the wild citizens of that vast town of trees ; but we finally reached a clearing and saw across the open space a lighted cabin. Its sashless wmdows and defective chinks were gilded 44 L A2 A RRE dearth''' ^'"°'' "^^* *^'* '°'"'' ^'°"' " ^'°^^'"g "I know this place!" exclaimed Annabel. "It is where the Saint-Michels used to live before they went to my father's settlement at Le Rayville. Look at the house! Nobody lives there. It mr t be full of witches." Violin music testified that the witches were merry ^^e halted, and the horses neighed and were an- swered by others of their kind. "George Croghan's grandmother was struck by a witch ball. And here her grandson stands, too n-ed to run. But perhaps there aren't any witches "1 the house. I don't believe wicked things would be allowed to enter it. The Saint-Michels were so pious, and ugly, and resigned to the poverty of refu- gees. Their society was so good for me, my mother when she was alive, made me venerate them until I hated them. Holy Sophie died and went to heaven I shall never see her again. She was, indeed, excel- lent This can t be a nest of witches. George, why don t you go and knock on the door ?" It was not necessary, for the door opened and a man appeared, holding his violin by the neck He stepped out to look around the cabin at some horses fastened there, and saw and hailed us. I was not sorry to be allowed to enter, for I was tired to exhaustion, and sat down on the floor away from the fire. The man looked at me suspiciously though he was ruddy and good natured. But he bent quite over before De Chaumont's daughter ^*^.. A \\- A KING 45 >nd mad. a flourish with hi, hand in receiving young Croghan, There were in the cabin ZZ servant hlrs' were shrewd and good natured. I liked him the loment I saw him. Younger in years than I he was older in wit and manly carriage. While he looked on it was hard to have Madame Tank seize my head in her bauds and examine my eyebrow She next took n-y wrists, and not satisfied, stripped up the right sleeve and exposed a crescent-shaped scar, one of the rare vaccination marks of those days I did not know what it was. Her animated dark eyes drew the brows together so that a pncker came between them. I looked at Croghan. and wanted to exclaim-"Help yourself! Anybody may handle me ! ''Ursule Grignon !" she said sharply, and Madame Grignon answc.ed, "Eh, what, Katarina?" 1:?^ h 48 LAZARRE "This is the boy." "But what hoy?" "The hoy I saw on the ship." "The one who was sent to America— " Madame Tank ptit up her hand, and the other stopped. "Rut that was a child." Madame Grignon then objected. "Nine years ago. He wo;dd be about eigliteen now." "How old are you ?" they both put to me. Remembering what my f .lier had told Doctor Chantry. I was obliged t , own that I was about eighteen. Annabel dc Ciiaumont sat on the lowest log of the chimney with her feet on a bench, and her chin in her hand, interested to the point of silence. Something in her eyes made it very gall- ing to be overhauled and have my blemishes enu- inerated before her and Croghan. What had uplifted me to Madame de Ferrier's recognition now mocked, and I found it hard to submit. It would not go well with the next stranger who declared he knew me by my scars. "What do they call you in this country?" inquired Madame Tanl.. I said my name was Lazarre Williams. "It is not !" she said in an undertone, shakino- h'^r head. ** I made bold to ask with some warmth what my name was then, and she whispered— "Poor child I" It seemed that I was to be pitied in any case. In f I IL A \\' A K I N o 49 dim scIf-knoNvlcdffc I saw that the core of mv resent^ nK-..t was her treating me with commi^Tation. Madame de Ferricr had not treated me so. "Vou Uve among the Indians?" iMadame Tank resumed. TIic fact was evident. "Have tliey been kind to you?" I said they had. Madame Tank's young daugliter edged near her and mquired in a whisper, "Who is he, mother?" "Hush!" answered Madame Tank. The head of the party laid down his viohn and bow, and explained to us : "Madame Tank was maid of honor to the queen of Holland, before reverses overtook her. She knows court secrets." "But she might at least tell us." coaxed Annabel, if this Mohawk is a Dutchman." Madame Tank said nothing. "What could happen in the court of Holland ' The Dutch are slow coaches. I saw the Van Rensselaers once, near Albany, riding in a wagon with straw under their feet, on common chairs, the old Patroon himself driving. This boy is some ofT-scouring." "He outranks you, mademoiselle," retorteffMa- dame Tank. "That's what I wanted to find out," said Anna- Del. 1 kept half an eye on Croghan to see what he thought of all this woman talk. For you cannot help ?BB^%?%:^^f&Lo'i spend nothing upon him." "What has he needed?" said my father He needs much now. He needs American clothe. t^ucrsinc'^ ,'" 1''' ^' ^ '^°'- ^°^ ''- — ^^ ^1- touch smce he plunged in the water " _'You would make a fool of hin,." said my father He was gone from the lodge this morning. You taiight h.m an evil path when you carried iL off " oun. I stayed and talked with De Chaumont, and zarre mto Ins house, and have him taught all that a whue boy should know. You will pa' the cost If you don't. De Chaumont will look into tWs ar-^mty of which you give no account " I have never been asked to give account. Could him^R ^rT/"' ''"^- ^'- P"-^ has sat over hm. He had food and clothing like mv own." letl^m":,""-""'^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "The strange boy may go." said my mother. "But none of my own children shall leave us to be edu- T I ^°?^ ^""^ ''''"' '"^^ '^^ ^^hin. All three knew I had heard, and they waited in silence while I ZTdcrs'' T,' "'""' '"' P"^ "^ ^^^-^^ - her shoulucrs. There was no tenderness between us ,^8 54 L A Z A R R K but she had fostered me. The small dark eyes in her copper face, and her shapeless body, were associated with wmters and summers stretching to a vanishing pomt, ® son r°'^'''" ^ '^'^' '"'' '' *'"' '^''' ^ ^"^ "°' y°"' She made no answer. "Is it true that the chief is not my father?" She made no answer. "Who sends money to be spent on me every year ?" Still she made no answer. "If I am not your son, whose son am I ?" In the silence I turned to Skenedonk. "Isn't my name Lazarre Williams, Skenedonk?" You are called Lazarre Williams." "A woman told i.e last night that it was not my name. Everyone denies me. No one owns me and tells whose child I am. Wasn't I born at St. Regis ?" "If you were, there is no record of vour birth on the register. The chief's other children have their births recordc'l." I turned to my father. The desolation of being cut off and left with nothing but the guesses of strangers overcame me. I sobbed so the hoarse choke echoed in the cabin. Skenedonk opened his arms, and my father and mother let me lean on the Oneida's shoulder. I have thought since that they resented with stoical pain his taking their white son from them They both stood severely reserved, passively loosening the nlial bond. AWAKING 55 th."^" ^^l ^"u'""' °^ "^' ^"^ suspended, as when there IS death m the lodge. Skenedonk and I sat down together on a bunk. educ^ard'^' '" ""' ^"'''"" "^^"' "^^ ^°" ^^"' '^ ^« The things we pine for in this world are often thrust upon us in a way to choke us. I had tramped miles, stornn-ng for the privileges that had made George Croghan what he was. Fate instantly picked me up from unendurable conditions to set me down tIeThock° ^'°''' '""^ ^ '^"'""'^ ^^'^^ ^^^°" ^'^"^ I felt crowded over the edge of a cliff and about to drop into a valley of rainbows. "Do you want to live in De Chaumont's house and learn his ways ?" My father and mother had been silent when I questioned them. It was my turn to be silent. Ur would you rather stay as you are ?" "No, father," I answered, "I want to go " The camp had never been dearer. I walked among the Indian children when the evening fires were hghted and the children looked ->t me curiously as t'hem ^^''^'^^' "'^' ^'°P^' ''"^ '"' "^^ °ff ^'•^'^ T .l?f ^ ''^'■" ^ '"" '°"^^ ^^^'^' ^"^ teach vou," I told the young men and women of my own age. They laughed. ^ "You are a fool, Lazarre. There is a good home for you at St. Regis. If you fall sick in De Chau- mont s house who will care ?" S6 LAZ AR RK "Skenedonk is my friend," I answered •'Skenedonk would not stay where he is tvin^you. AA hen the lake freezes you will be mad for snow- shoes and a sight of the St. Lawrence." 'Terhaps so. But wc are not made alike. Do not forget me." They gave me belts and garters, and I distributed among them all my Indian property. Then, as if to work a charm which should keep ,ne from breaking through the circle, they joined hands and danced around me. I went to every cabin, half ashamed o my desertion, yet unspeakably craving a blessing. The old people variously commented on the measure their wise eyes seeing the change in one who had been a child rather than a young man among them If the wrench from the village was hard, the mduction into the manor was harder. Skenedonk ook me in his boat, skirting the long strip of moun- tainous shore which separated us from De Chau- mont. He told me De Chaumont would permit my father to pay no more than my exact reckoning. "Do you know who sends the money?" I in- quired. The Oneida did not know. It came through an agent in New York. "You are ten years older than I am. You must remember very well when I was born." "How can that be?" answered Skenedonk. "No- body in the tribe knows when you were born." AWAKING 57 cur« r ^'"".Tr "'" ^'" ^°""^ °^ ^^J^^'- crea- tures? Where did I come fruin-^" j'You came to tl)e tribe with a man, and Chief Wilhams adopted you." "Did you see the man ?" "Who saw him ?" If v™?r ."' °"'' "?"'"■ ''"' " '■" -""^ "■•^l' known. If >o., had noticed any.lnng you would have heard the story long ago." What Skenedonk said was true. I asked him ^--f^^^r..l-.^^yUy j,l I never notice anything.^" ' 1 he Oneida tapped his bald head. "When I saw you first you were not the big fel- low with speaking eyes that you are to-day. You would sit from sunrise to sunset, looking straight ahead of you and never moving except when iL ,7 put >n your hand. As you grew older the chil- dren dragged you among them to play. You learned to fish and hunt, and swim; and knew us, and began to talk our language. Now at last you are fully roused, and are going to learn the knowledge there is in books." ^ I asked Skenedonk how he himself had liked books and he shook his head, smiling. They were good for white men, very good. An Indian had imie use for them. He could read and write and cast accounts. When he made his great journey to the far country, what interested him most was the Deiiavior of the people. HI 58 LAZ ARRE5 outffVC^"'™ "'""'■'«"'= '<»fc«'« spring. Skenedonk assured me (hat Doctor Chantrv a.rMntottlTs''™'"'''''''^ <>"•>"• He knew - s«„ed. He .I'Td n,X"t I^orit shook ., hand and wished me weU, before p^ddHn," ,I,f,l*^'"T"''! ''™'' "^^ '"» >' > Wve around the three s.des of its flowered court. A ball waTfa prepar^fon, and all the guests had arrived Avoid- ■ng these gentry we mounted stairs toward the r^f and came mto a burst of splendor. As far as A. eye CM .trough s,uare east and westt 'ndow, unbroken forests stretched .0 the end of the world or Lake George wound, sown thick with islands «ng,ng ,n s,ze from mere rocks supporting a ,r« to wooded acres. ' wal « Te". ""t T"'" "^ '""" "'""P-' «f« was at the top of the central building. L.octor Chantry shuffled over the clean oak floor and in " duced me to my appointments. There were cur- ta^s hke frost work, which could be pushed back from the square panes. A, one end of the hug. AWAKING S9 apartmcm was „,,■ huge bed, formidable with hang, •ngs. .Near „ s.ood a uMe for the toilet He nto the , , ' "■'■"' ''^ <^''="'"^°"' «'»t came without ,ts ,v,„Bs, he thought it well to have a secret wa, out, as his chateau in the old cZtr; ••The tunnel is damp," said Doctor Chantry "I never venture iuto it, though all the corner room nifnr. T I, , ^' ^^''-' '■<^nia'"dcr of mv fur- I asked Doctor Chantry, "Was all Ms mad. ready for me bcf .re I n-as sure of con.ing :,™i;''' When the count decides that a thiL will be done, ,,„,,, ,„,,^.. ^^.^ ^^J^^^^^^^^^ A. Madame de Ferricr .as very active in ,0. v\arc the preparation.s." The ,oy of youth in tl,c unknown uas before n,c Myoldcampliferecedclbehhulme Madame de Ferrier's missal-book lav on the tabl-^ -d when I stopped before it ton,^^^^^^^^^^^^ Lhantry said I was to keep it "She ffives it to you. it wa^ treasured in her fam- «o L A2 A R R 12 ^ o„ ...cccm of pcr,„„,| a„„cl,„u.n, ,„ ,he river !,„.•• ' ' l^"""-! can't renieni- •My .naslcT lookc.l a, tho ,„i.«al. an,l sai.l i, wa, a fine sp«-,„u.„ of inu,„i„„,i„„. I, is „«„„.. oli^.l l.loo,l nwl ,1 " ■''■"'' ' '""' I'Mlthy l.on TlK. „„k ecu. „, ,1,, lip „f |,i, „„,^ a « .„„„eal ..in a. l,o hear,! n.v a„„l.^v It .s no, often vo„ will n,ake ll,e nieUkine man take li.s own remedy, mv lad." We ,1,,,., hepan our relation with the l,es, feeling P^t.on ,„ the house. an,l dabbled with poetr v T ."« antong books. De Chaumout was one o 't osj large men who gather i„ the weak. Hi" 1" -rvant.s bad eon.e to .America with his fa, Ir It were as .jttached as kindred. A „a,„ral paras^^ 1 ■ Doe,or Cban,ry ,ook ,o De Chaumon, as mel of suppor, : and i, was pleasing ,o bo,h of (he^ -My ,nas,er asked me when I wanted to bog^n mv ud-, and .said, "X„w." We sat down^a","' table, and I learned ,hc English alphabet, some AWAKING d ''"»^- In ,l,a. I H 'r '^"V" .™"' '" '•■'"'•• "" ••" wa. frclfn f" r ,f " 7 ""«""'■ ^''^^ ■'«^'"' task. " ""'■'" "-^'"'^^ >« ■•"« from our asked nic lu „nil in -, r "'>■ "°^"'' <-''anlry -.c'c.u,,;;;:;,;:,;::r -"'■-«•'"'= I'-a,.. 7 "" ,""f '^'"P*' »s a lan>b docs in sprinc-time any.h,Vo„!-Don-,K„offr o ''°'"^," '"•«■" oiiick I l^( "It go OB ! ci|jen my door for nic nv~^ r' ""^''"'^ ''^"^ "^O"'" tato the l,all!" VV „ch door i,i,r I asked. She slJe.J m '-:^iT:;ferh\:::'s:;= '•-'---- c J::or :cakie s!^;:?^^^^^^^^^^ way— Quick !•• ^ "Pui— any- % good fortune I had strength enough in nn- ^l-lder to set the door wide off its spring, and 2 11 I illlN / ' 6a L AZ AR RE; I' flew .0 .he ™Me of .1,0 room s,a,„„,i„g i. i„ „, Jitnes, and „„fi,„o.« roq-Hrd nicer discrin.i.a- «l.cn r .aw IKT ,„ the b»ll^ruo,„ .slu- lu,l very litllc •ore on ,l,un when I saw her i„ ,he hall an I at >">k ch,n« .igh, around her ,i,.„re. Ve. .i, ' 1 j fjuitc unconcerned. After wc had eaten supper Doctor Chantry and I M u . h h..s s,ster where we could see the dancing on a landnig of tlie stairwav De Gnnmnnf c ^'°" housp «n. ,r • I , «-"aumonts generous ousc ua. d.vKled across the middle by a wide hall that made an excellent hall-room. The side J r paneled, hke the walls of the room in which I fir si cameo. . uses. Candles in sconces were r^^^^ dlers had been budt at one end. Festoons of green v^ere carr.ed fron. a cluster of lights i„ the cent^-r of 1- ce.hng. to the corners, making a bower or ca ^py under which the dancers moved. It is strange to think that not one stone remains upon another and scarcely a trace is left of th rnanor. When De Chaumont deternnned to romov^ to h.s seat at Le Rayville. in what was then called Cos o„a„d, u. had his first hold pulled down M.SS Chantry wa. a blunt woman. Her consid- eration for me rested on my being her brother's Pupd. She spoke more readily than he did. From our^cove we looked over the railing at an active "Madame Eagle is a picture," remarked Miss ^^ A W A K I NO «3 Clmmry. ■• E,glcl WIm a nam. for civilized ,x.pc..osi..ad,ri^^^^^^^^ and a > „,„d„ . ,„rpH,, ,„, ^ ,„,,, ,,„^.,, ,„^.^ ; ."rldrit'n?'""'"" """'""■" '"^ "-- ->■ ■•Tim Annabel de Chanmom." his sistc, vigor- oml, dedar.,1, -has „ei.h„ conscience nor ,Z- yonrh r'Tr'"""'"^'^-"""^'- T'->-viir.at you hcs, and throw ,on away «itl, a langh " My master and I watchcl the brilliant fignrcs dresses revealed taper forms. Madame de Fer- n r s garments may have been white or bine or vel- v, J remember only her satin anns and neck.thc rosy color of her face. an,l the p„w,,er on her 1, a r n.akn,g ,t wlnte as down. Where this assembly was collected from I did no. know, but it ace" o,Z sptrtu and wen. like volatile essence to the brain! Phenghl exclaimed .Miss Chantry, "how the French smell I" ' 1 asked her why, if she detested them so, she lived .n a French family, and she rephed that Conn, de Chaumont was an exception, being almost English n h,s tastes. He had lived ont of France since his fadter came over with La Fayette to help the reb ! lious Americans. I did not know who the rebellious Americans 64 L A2 A RRE were, but inferred that they were people of whom Miss Chantry thought almost as little as she did of the French. Croghan looked quite a boy among so many ex- perienced gallants, but well appointed in his dress and stepping through the figures fcatly. He was Miss Chantry said, a student of William and Mary College. "This company of gentry will be widely scat- tered when it disperses home," she told us. "There is at least one man from over-seas." I thought of the Grignon and Tank families, who were -.obably on the road to Albany. Miss Chan- try bespoke her brother's attention "There he is." "Who ?" the doctor inquired. "His highness," she incisively responded, "Prince Jerome Bonaparte " I remembered my father had said that Bonaparte was a great soldier in a far off countrv, and directly asked Miss Chantry if the great soldier uas in the ball-room. ^^ She breathed a snort and turned upon my master. "Pray, are you teaching this lad to call that impostor the great soldier?" Doctor Chantry denied the charge and cast a weak-eyed look of surprise at me. I said my father told me Bonaparte was a great soldier, and begged to know if lie had been de- ceived. "Oh !" Miss Chantry responded in a tone which A W A KI N Q 65 slighted Thomas Williams. "Well! I will tell you facts. Napoleon Bonaparte is one of the worst and most dangerous men that ever lived. He sets the world by the ears, and carries war into every coun- try of Europe. That is his youngest brother yonder —that superfine gallant, in the long-tailed white silk coat down to his heels.and white small-clothes, with diamond buckles in his shoes, and grand lace stock and ruffles. Jerome Bonaparte spent last winter in Baltimore; and they say he is traveling in the north now to forget a charming American that Napoleon will not let him marry. He has got his name in the newspapers of the day, and so has the young lady. The French consul warned her officially. For Jerome Bonaparte may be made a little king, with other relations of your great soldier." The young man who might be made a little king was not as large as I was myself, and had a delicate and womanish cut of countenance. I said he was not fit for a king, and Miss Chantry retorted that neither was Napoleon Bonaparte fit for an em- peror. "What is an emperor?" I inquired. ^^ "A chief over kings," Doctor Chantry pjt in. "Bonaparte is a conqueror and can set kings over the countries he has conquered." I said that was the proper thing to do. Miss Chantry glared at me. She had weak hair like her brother, but her eyes were a piercing blue, and the angles of her jaws were sharply marked. Jlli 66 I^A^Z A. R RB I . i ■ Meditating on things outside of my experience I desired to know what the white silk man had done. -Nothing. "Because he is ,^he emperor's brother." "But he ought to do something himself," I in- sisted. "It is not enough to accept a chiefs place He cannot hold it if he is not fit." "So the poor Bourbons found. But they were not rTstoTed " ' '"^' "''■ ^ ^'°^' ^ ''''" ""' '° ''' '^^"^ T ^vl If' ^"°'^"" °PP°'-t""'ty to inform myself. I asked Miss Chantry who the Bourbons were .They are the rightful kings of France." Why do they let Bonaparte and his brothers take their place?" " ^mers Doctor Chantry turned from the promenaders below and, with slow and careful speech, gave me my first lesson in history. "There was a great civil war in France called the Revdution. when part of the people ran mad to kill the other part. They cut off the heads of the king and queen, and shut up the two royal children in prison. The dauphin died." "What is a dauphin.'" "The heir to the throne of France was called the dauphin. "Was he the king's son ?" "The king's eldest son." "If he had brothers were they dauphins too?" .^■'"'mim'^ AWAKING 67 "No. He alone was the dauphin. The last dau- phin of France had no living brothers. He had only a sister." •' "You said the dauphin died." "In a prison called the Temple, in Paris." "Was the Temple a prison >" "Yes." Madame de Ferrier had said her father and some other person did not believe the dauphin died in the Temple. 'Suppose he was alive?" T hazarded. "Suppose who was alive.?" said Miss Chantry "The dauphin." ^' "He isn't." "Did all the people believe he was dead ?" "They didn't care whether he was dead or not. They went on killing one another until this man Bonaparte put himself at tho head of the army and got the upper hand of thoni. The French are all fire and t.nv. and the man who can stamp on them is their idol." "You said you hoped yr^.t would live to see the Bourbons restored. Dead people cannot be restored." "Oh, the Bourbons are not all dead. The king of France had brothers. The elder one of these would iH> k,ng now if the Bourlx^ns came back to the throne." "But h* would not be king .f the dauphin lived?" "No," said Miss Cliantry, leaning back indiffer- ently. 68 LAZARRE ach" of^hl'"' T'"''"' '""'""■"^ ""^ "-= dun on L' X"'' "•"""'" "' '"""« -^ *- made one of ,,5 pauses. Annabel de Chaumon ooked np a. us, allowing the gentleman in °1k Iong-ta,led silk coa. to lead her toward the staL A/r ISS CHANTRY exclaimed, and her face XVX stiffened with an expression which I have since learned to know as the fear of dignitaries- expcnenced even by people who profess to despise' he dignuanes. Mademoiselle do Chaumont shook fmzes around her face, and lifted the scant dress from her satm shod feet as she mounted tl,e stairs. Without approaching us she sat down on the top ,tep of the la. dmg with voung Bonaparte, and beckoned to mc. I went at her bidding and stood by the rail. I'rince Jerome Honaparte wants to see you I have told him about the bear pen, and Madame 1 ank. and the mysterious marks on you, and wnat sne said about your rank." I must have frowned, for the young gentleman made a laughing sign to me that he did not take Annabel seriously. He had an amiable face and accepted me as one of the oddities of the countrv. What fun," said Annabel, "to introduce a pr'ince of the empire to a prince of the woods'" nVhat do you think of your brother.?" I in- quired. He looked astonished and raised his eyebrows. I suppose you mean the emperor?" I told him I did. 69 TO l^AZ ARRE If you want my candid opinion," his eves twmk ed. and he h'nked his hands around his white satm knees. "I think my brother rules his family with a rod of iron." ^ "What will you do." r continued, "when your tamily are turned out ?" "My faith !" said Annabel, "this in a house favor- able to the Empire !" "A very natural question." said Jerome. "I have often asked myself the same thing." "The king of France," I argued, "and all the Bourbons were turned out. Why shouldn't the Bonapartes be.'" ^ ''Why shouldn't they, indeed !" responded Jerome AI)- mother insists they will be. But I wouldn't be the man who undertakes to turn out the em- peror." "What is he like?" "Impossible to describe him ' "Is he no larger than you ?" Annabel gurgled aloud. "He is not js large." "Yet he is a great soldier?" "A great soldier. And he is adored by the French." "The French." I quoted, "are all fire and tow." "Thank you!" said Annabel, pulling out her light frizzes, "You seem interested in the political situation," remarked Prince Jerome. I did not know what he meant by the political AWAKING 7t "Where have you lived?" he la„gh«l, i, !l, ^ T " ''""■' ™«'" "here people lived- Who": „ .Se'l':'' ]■" - <•' '-^ P-pTe T ,, u ; ^ *° understand," said feromp be an 1 "' '^^"'"*"^^ °^'^'- "^e; you will DC an American citizen." "Haven't I that doleful advantage mvs.lf?" mourned Annabel "A Roif myself? I- I ""duei. A irJaitimore convent an T7„« lisb governess-a father that mo ^" to France <" ^ ""^^ """^'" &^^ '^^^k p'^o;^ o;Je::r- °!. --^ - ^o tippmg the interview with a rnm,.i- the Zr^r^^^"]^' ^-^ ^f ^ ^ed back to bowed to me. ' "^^'^^ forefinger, and '•You have suggested some interesting thoughts monsieur pnnce of the woods Perh.o yet take you. turn on the hro„e of F^ce'^ wT' would you do in that case .=>" ' °' ^'^""^- ^^^^^ ^ *;i uouldrnake the people behave themselves if T —^ ty gfina ii :-m to powder." ' * ilJ I ti 73 L A Z A R R E) "Now there spoke old Louis XIV!" laughed young Jerome Bonaparte. We both bowed, and he passed down with Annabel into the hall. I did not know what made Madame de Ferrier watch me from her distant place witi; widened eyes. Miss Chantry spoke shrilly to her brother behind me. "You will never be able to do anything with a lad who thrusts himself forward like that ! He has no sense of fitness .'-standing there and facing down the brother of a crowned head !-bad as the head is. Of course Mademoiselle Annabel set him on; she loves to make people ridiculous!" thljT"^ ^°wnstairs after Prince Jerome, threaded a way among gazing dancers, and left the nail, stung in my pride. We do strangely expand and contract in vital force and reach of vision. I wanted to put the lake -the world itself-between me and that glittering company. The edge of a ball-room and the society of men m silks and satins, and of bewitching women were not intended for me. Homesickness like physical pain came over me for my old haunts. They were newly recognized as beloved. I had raged against them when comparing myself to Croghan. But now I thought of the even- " ing camp fire, and hunting stories, of the very dogs that hcked my hand ; of St. Regis, and my loft bed of snowshoes, and the blue northern river, longing for them as the young Mohawks said I shot,Id long AWAKING 73 .Urted ,0 go I,o„,c (as.or than I had con.c a,vay. T c ^own.« of a boat's progress, pusi.ed by ,h. 3. 1> mo.,o„ of oars, wind, hav. no, ,bo nice dis- cn™,j.r.ofapadd..<„,pr.s„,..as,,:,t When the can.p ligh, shone through (rees i, „„,s, .shed ,he.r eelebrat.on of the corn dance. An odor of swee, roaseed ears dragge,! „„, of ,,„, ^ busy to nose n,e out. I sh.nk as close as I darey own : to have love from somebody f Collapsed and dejected. I crept down the tree and back to the life that was now forced upon me whe her I wished to continue it or not. BebngiTg of bLTs! '""''"'^'*^' "^y ^^^"^^ '" the new world Lying stretched in the boat with oars shipped, dnftmg and turning on the crooked lake. I took exact stock of my position in the world, and marked out my future. These things were known : I was not an Indian. Hals ^"^ ^^^" ^'^°^*^'' '"^"^ ^''^ ^*"'''y °^ ^^'^^ W"- Money was sent through an agent in New York tor my support and education. eyelrow. ""' ^" °" "^ "™'^' """"■ ''™ """ m,„d and Madame Tank's n,i„d as a person from the Other side of the worl'. I had formerly bet i deadened in mind. I was now keenly alive. These things were not known: Who I was. Who sent money for my support and education, now 1 became scarred. What man had placed me among the Indian,. For the future I bound myself with three law,- 1 o leave alone the puzzle of my past. AWAKING 7$ To study with all my might and strength. When I was grown and educated, to come back to my adopted people, the Iroquois, draw them to some place where they could thrive, and by training and education make them an empire, and myself their leader. The pale-skin's loathing of the red race had not then entered my imagination. I said in conclusion • Indians have taken care of me ; they shall be my brothers." -^ sm-'Ju^tmL 'i;-4ffifi MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) IM i^ 3.2 II" 3.6 4.0 m i '-^ _J' APPLIED IIVMGE Inc ^^ 1655 East Main Street S^^Z Rochester. New York 14609 USA '-^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^S (''6) 288 - 5989 - Fax VI THE zigzag track of the boat represented a rift widening between me and my past. I sat up and took the oars, feeling older and stronger. It was primitive man, riding between the high- lands, uncumbered, free to grasp what was before him. De Chaumont did not believe in and was indiflFer- ent to the waif whom his position of great seigneur obliged him to protect. What did I care? I had been hidden among the Indians by kindred or guardians humane enough not to leave me destitute. They should not trouble my thoughts, and neither — I told myself like an Indian— should the imagin- ings of women. A boy minds no labor in following his caprices. The long starlit pull I reckoned as nothing; and slipped to my room when daylight was beginning to surprise the dancers. It was so easy to avoid people in the spaciousness of De Chaumont's manor that I did not again see the young Bonaparte nor any of the guests except Croghan. They slept all the following day, and the third day separated. Croghan found my room be- fore leaving with his party, and we talked as well as we could, and ohook hands at parting. The impressions of that first year stay in my mind as I have heard the impressions of childhood remain. 76 m AWAKINO Tj It was perhaps a kind of brief childhood, swift in its changes, and running parallel with the develop- ment of youth. My measure being sent to New York by De Chau- mont, I had a complete new outfit in clothes ; coat, waistcoat, and small-clothes, neckwear, ruffles, and shirts, buckle shoes, stockings of mild yarn for cold weather, and thread stockings. Like most of the things for which we yearn, when I got them I did not like them as well as the Indian garments they obliged me to shed. Skenedonk came to see me nearly every day, and sat still as long as he could while I toiled at books. I did not tell him how nearly I had disgraced us both by running secretly away to camp. So I was able to go back and pay visits with dignity and be taken seriously, instead of encountering the ridicule that falls upon retreat. My father was neither pleased nor displeased. He paid my accounts exactly, before the camp broke up for the winter, making Skenedonk his agent. My mother Marianne offered me food as she would have offered it to Count de Chaumont; and I ate it, sitting on a mat as a guest. Our children, par- ticularly the elder ones, looked me over with gravity, and refrained from saying anything about my clothes. Our Iroquois went north before snow flew, and the cabins stood empty, leaves drifting through fire- holes in the bark thatch. There have been students greedy of knowledge. ;8 I^ AZ ARREJ I seemed hollow with the fasting of a lifetime Mv master at first tried to bind me to times; he had never encountered so boundless an appetite As soon as I woke in the morning I reached for a book, and as days became darker, for tinder to light a candle. I studied incessantly, dashing out at fnter- vals to lake or woods, and returning after wild activity w,th increased zest to the printed world. My mmd appeared to resume a faculty it had sus- pended, and to resume with incredible power Mag- netized oy books, T cared for nothing else. That first winter I gained hold on English and Latin, hLn t ''''''"^' "mathematics, geography, and hi tory. My master was an Oxford man, and when roused from dawdling, a scholar. He grew fool- ishly proud and fond of what he called my prodig- lous advance. ^ De Chaumont's library was a luscious field, and Doctor Chantry was permitted to turn me loose in It, so that the books were almost like my own I carried them around hid in my breast; my coat- skirts were weighted with books. There were Plut- arch s Lives in the old French of Amyot, over which .bored; a French translation of Homer; Corneilles tragedies; Rochefouc-^id; Montaigne's essaj-s, in ten volumes; Thon.:.'s poems, and Chesterfield's letters, in English; the life of Petrarch; three volumes of Montesquieu's works; and a Bible; which I found greatly to my taste. It was a wide and catholic taste. De Chaumont spent nearly all that autumn and AWAKINQ 7^) winter in Castorland, where he was building his new manor and founding his settlement called Le Rayville. As soon as I became a member of his household his patriarchal kindness was extended to me, though he regarded me simply as an ambitious half-breed. The strong place which he had built for his first holding in the wilderness thus grew into a cloistered school for me. It has vanished from the spot where it stood, but I shall .orever see it between .ke and forest. Annabel de Chaumont openly hated the isolation of the place, and was happy only when she could fill It with guests. But Madame de Ferrier evidently loved it, remaining there with Paul and Ernestine. Sometimes I did not see her for days together. But Mademoiselle de Chaumont, before her departure to her Baltimore convent for the winter, amused herself with my education. She brought me an old book of etiquette in which young gentlemen were admonished not to lick their fingers or crack bones with their teeth at table. Nobody else being at hand she befooled with Doctor Chantry and me, and I saw for the first time, with surprise, an old man's infatuation with a poppet. It was this foolishness of her brother's which Miss Chantry could not forgive De Chaumont's daughter. She was incessant in her condemnation, yet unmistakably fond in her English wa> of the creature she condemned. Annabel loved to drag my poor master in flowery chains before his relative. 8o LAZ ARRB She wou d make wreaths of crimson leaves for his bald head, and exhibit him grinning like a weak- eyed Bacchus. Once he sat doting beside he at S f neaTh' T'' °' ''' ^''' ^^"^^^ ^^^^^ ^^ ^ster, near by, kept guard over their talk. I passed them, commg back from my tramp, with a glowing branch m my hand. For having set my feeth in the scarlet tart udder of a sumach, all frosted with dehcate fretwork, I could not resist bringing away some of Its color. ^ ^ "Did you get that for me?" called Annabel. I mount d the steps to give it to her. and she said Thank you. Lazarre Williams. Everv dav you learn some pretty new trick. Doctor Chantry has not brought me anything from the woods in a'lon^ Doctor Chantry stirred his gouty feet and looked hopelessly out at the landscape. "Sit here by your dearest Annabel," said Made- moiselle de Chaumont. Her governess breathed the usual sigh of disgust I sat by my dearest Annabel, anxious to light my candle and open my books. She shook the frizz el around her cheeks and buried her hands unde tl e scarlet branch in her lap. ^^Do you know, Lazarre Williams, I have to leave I said I was sorry to hear it. Jr^M- ^ ^ru' *° ^"^ ^"^ '° "'^ ^°"^^"*' ^"d drag poor M,ss Chantry with me, though she is a heretic and hates the forms of our religion. But she has A W A K I N Q 8l to submit, and so do I, because my father will have nobody but an English governess." "Mademoiselle," spoke iMiss Ch^itry, "1 would suggest that you sit on a chair by yourself." "What, on one of those little crowded chairs?" said Annabel. She reached out her sly hand for mine and drew it under cover of the sumach branch. "I have been thinking about your rank a great deal, Lazarre Williams, and wondering what it is." "If you thought more about your own it would be better," said Miss Chantry. "We are Americans here," said Annabel. "All are equal, and some are free. • I am only equal. Must your dearest Annabel obey you about the chair, Miss Chantry ?" "I said I would suggest that you sit on a chair by yourself." "I will, dear. You know I always follow your suggestions." I felt the hand that held mine tighten its grip in a despairing squeeze. Annabel suddenly raised the branch high above her head with both arms, and displayed Doctor Chantry's hand and mine clasped tenderly in her lap. She laughed until even Miss Chantry was infected, and the doctor tittered and wiped his eyes. "Watch your brother, Miss Chantry— don't watch me ! You thought he was squeezing my hand— and he thought so too! Lazarre Williams is just out of 83 L AZ A R RB :<4i tlic woods and doesn't know anv better. But doctor Chantr)-l,c is older than my father!" "\Vc wished to obhgc you, mademoiselle," I said r>ut the poor English gentleman tittered on in help-' less admiration. He told me privately-"! never saw another girl like her. So full of' spirits, and so frsnk ! Doctor Chantry did not wear his disfiguring horn spe>nacles when Arnabel was near. He wrote a great deal of poetry while the blow of parting from her ^^as hanging over him, and read it to me of niornmgs, deprecating my voiceless cmtempt I would hear him quarreling with a servant in the hall; for the slightest variation in his comfort en- gendered rages in him that were laughable. Then I'e entered, red-nosed, rcd-oyed, and bloodlessly shivenng, with a piece of paper covered by innu- merable si all characters. "Good morning, my lad," he would sav "Good morning, Doctor Chantry," I answered. Here are a few little stanzas which I have just set down. If you have no objection I will read them. I must have listened like a trapped bear, sitting up and longing to get at him, for he usuallv fin- ished humbly, folding his paper and putting it 'away .n his breast. There was reason to believe that he spent valuable hours copying all these verses for Annabel de Chai:mont. But there is no evidence tha she carried them with her when she and her governess departed in a great coach all gilt and A W A K I NO 83 padding. Servants and a wagon load of baggage and supplies accompanied Dc Chaunionfs daughter on the long journey to her Baltimore convent Shaking in every nerve and pale as a sheet, my poor master watched her out of sight. He said he should not see his sister again until spring; and added that he was a fool, I-.t when a creature of light came across his path he could not choose hut worship. His affections had been blighted by a dis- appointment in youth, but he had thought he might at least bask in passing sunshine, though fated to unhappiness. I was ashamed to look at him. or to give any sign of overhearing his weakness, and exulted mightily in my youth, despising the enchant- ments of a woman. Madame ,le I-\>rrier watched the departure from another side of the gallery, .id did not witness my pcKir master's breakdown She came and talked to him, and took more notice of him than I had ever seen l.er take before. In a day or two he was quite himself, plodding at the lessons, suddenly furious at the servants, and giving me fretful histories of his wrongs when bran- dy and water were not put by his bedside at night, or a warming-pan was no^ massed between his sheets. About this time I began to know without being taught and withr at expressing it in words, that there is a natural law of environment uhich makes us grow like the company- we keep. Durin^ th^ first six months of my st-^y i„ De Chaumonfs house Doctor Chantry was my sole companion. I looked 84 L A Z A K R B anx ousi, ^,^3, „„ n,y dro.ss.nff-tahlc, dread- "^ to see a c-ricction of his pefMness. I saw a face u.th argefea: s. eager in expression. The .ves were ha^e , ano hh.ish around the iris nnis. the nose ten pla. The ha.r was stmny and wavv. not dark mo her. There would be always a scar across my eyebrow I noticed that tie lobe of n,v oar wa n" t < oeply dn.ded fro. .y head, but fa.Uoned clole ^o It ,n triangular snugness, though I could not have sa.d so. Regular hfe and abundant food anc ooi'cln i"r"' ^'''' '^^^"^^'"^^ ^" -^ - hooin Philippe went to see if ue could re- c-vr any part of then,. Count de Chaumont tl'ought ,t a favorable time. lU.t he was too old for M.ch a journey; and .'.c disa,)poi„tn,ents at the end "Old! Was he , madame.'" "Almost as old as my father." "iliit you arc very young." "I wns only thirteen when my father on his death- bod ,narr.ed mc to Cousin I'hilippe. We were the last of our family. x\ow Cousin Philippe is d and Paul and I are orphans !" She feit her loss as Paul might have felt his. Ik was gnrgling at Ernestine's knee in the next room I want advice." she said; and I stood ready to g' 't as a man always is; the more positively be- ca. I knew nothing of the world -Cousin Philippe said I must go to France, for aul s sake, and appeal myself to the empress, who has great influence over the emperor. His com- mand was to go at once." "Madame, you cannot go in midwinter " _*Must I go at all?" she cried out passionately. Why don t you tell me a De Ferrier shall not cravvl he earth before a Bonaparte! You-<,f all men' We are poor and exiles because we were rovalists -are royansts_we always shall be royalists! I would rather make a wood-chopper of Paul than a serf to this Napoleon !" She checked herself, and motioned to a chair :l ri LAZ ARRB Pardon me that I have "Sit down, monsieur, kept you standing." I placed the chair for her. but she declined it, and we contmued to face each other "Madame," I said, "you seem to blame me for somethmg. What have I done?" "Nothing, monsieur." "I will now ask your advice. What do you want me to do that I have not done?" "Monsieur, you are doing exactly what I want you to do." 'Then you are not displeased with me?" "I am more pleased with you every time I see you Your advice is good. I cannot go in midwinter." * Are you sure your cousin wanted you to make this journey.?" "The notary says so in this letter. Philippe died m the farm-house of one of our peasants, and the new masters could not refuse him burial in the church where De Ferriers have lain for hundreds ot years. He was more fortunate than my father " This interview with Madame de Ferrier in which 1 cut so poor a figure, singularly influenced me It made me restless, as if something had entered my blood. In January the real spring begins, for hen sap starts, and the lichens seem to quicken. I felt I was young, and rose up against lessons all day long and part of the night. I rushed in haste to the woods or the frozen lake, and wanted to do mighty deeds without knowing what to undertake. More than anything else I wanted friends of my A WAKINQ 89 h.Z° ?»"T" "'" ""■•^ •■"'" '"^ «id wl,en he ard of Madame de Farrier's widowhood. She "'" "''" ^ "Wiged .0 sue to the Bonapartes T L count .s as fond of her as he is of his da ,g,„I " -ill: rr:;-^- -—•■-". -=-::xtJi'— r„:7 aslefu . She and her poppet wore coranlcte hv themselves. Wedding her ,0 anv one was casting indignity upon her. ' casting am?d"e f' '" '"""'"°"' ™^ = ^"""'^^ -" Mad- ame de Ferrier was a marquise. These name, r understood, meant that they were ladies ,1 be " r ved and proteeted. De Chaumonfs daughter w e ed and proteeted and as far as he was fllowed to b so iu::"mar''"'^""*=^-^'''"-«--o: .."!"' "'! r'"^" °' ™'S'^^'" °°"°'- CLantry said was an old story in the De Chaumont household There were some Saint-Michels w-ho lived in a cabin strictly on their own means, refusing the count's help, ye. they had followed him .0 ij^ V.1I. m Castortand. Madame de Ferrier lived wh^re 90 L AZ AR RB her husband had placed her, in a wing of De Chau- mont's house, refusing to be waited on by anybody but Ernestine, paying what her keeping cost; when she was a welcome guest." My master hobbled to see her. And I began to think about her day and night, as I had thought about my books ; an isolated little girl in her early teens, mother and widow, facing a future like a dead wall, with daily narrowing fortunes. The se- clusion in which she lived made her sacred like a religious person. I did not know what love was, and I never intended to dote, like my poor master! Before the end of January, however, such a change worked in me that I was as fierce for the vital world as I had been for the world of books. I • l5M-•? and laying slaughtered game at their door. But it was a doubtful way of pleasing, and the bears hi- bernated, and the deer were perhaps a day's journey in the white wastes. I used to sing in the clear sharp air when I took to the frozen lake and saw those heights around me. I look back upon that winter, across what befell me afterwards, as a time of perfect peace ; before virgin snows melted, when the world was a white expanse of innocence. Our weather-besieged manor was the center of it. Vaguely I knew there was life on the other side of great seas, and that New York, Boston, Philadel- phia, Baltimore and New Orleans were cities in which men moved and had their being. My country, the United States, had bought from Napoleon Bona- parte a large western tract called Louisiana, which belonged to France. A new state named Ohio was the last added to the roll of commonwealths. News- papers, which the Indian runner once or twice brought us from Albany, chronicled the doings of Aaron Burr, Vice-President of the United States, who had recently drawn much condemnation on himself by a brutal duel. "Aaron Burr was here once," said my master. "What is he like?" I inquired. "A lady-killer." "But he is next in dignity to the President." Doctor Chantry sniffed. "What is even the President of a federation like this, certain to fall to pieces some fine day I" AWAKING 93 I felt offended; for my instinct was to weld peo- ple together and hold them so welded. ^^ "If I were a president or a kin.,?, ' J told him. and men conspired to break the state, instead of parleymg I would hang them up like dotrs " •'Would you?" Despising the country in which he found himself my master took no trouble to learn its politics. But' since history had rubbed against us in the person of Jerome Bonaparte, I wanted to know what the world was doing. "Colonel Burr had a pleasant gentleman with him at the manor." Doctor Chantry added. "His name was Harmon Blennerhassett; a man of good En- lish stock, though having a wild Irish strain, whiSi IS deplorable." The best days of that swift winter were Sundays when my master left off snapping, and stood up reverently in our dining-room to read his church service. Madame de Ferrier and Paul and Ernes, tine came from their apartment to join in the Protes- tant ritual ; and I sat beside them so constantly that the Catholic priest who arrived at Easter to 'dress itp the souls of the household, found me in a state of heresy. I have always thought .. woman needs a dark capping of hair, whatever her complexion, to em- phasize her beauty. For light locks seem to fray out to nothing, and waste to air instead of fitly bmding a lovely countenance. Madame de l^er- ner's hair was of exactly the right color. Her eye- i) If m 94 L A2 A RR e: brows were distinct dark lines, and the lashos were so dense that you noticed the curling rim they mad- around her gray eyes. Whether the gift of looking to your core is beauty or not, I can only say she had »t. And I could not be sworn what her features were; such life and expression played over and changed them every Moment. As to her figure, it was just in its roundness and suppleness, and had a lightness of carriage that I have never seen equaled. There was charm in look- ing at without approaching her that might have satisfied me indefinitely, if De Chaumont had not come home. Erriestine heiself made the first breach in that sacred reserve. The old woman met me in tlie hall courtesied, and passed as usual. I turned behind the broad ribbons which hung down her back from cap to heels, and said : "Oh, by the way, Ernestine, how is Madame de Ferrier? I was going to knock " And Ernestine courtesied again, and opened the door, standing aside for me to enter. Madame de Ferrier sat on a bearskin before the •learth with Paul, who climbed over her and gave her juicy kisses. There was a deep wood fire, up- held by very tall andirons having cups in their tops which afterwards I learned were called posset cups' She was laughing so that her white teeth showed and she made me welcome like a plavmate- re- maming on the rug, and bidding Ernestine set a chair for me near the fire. A W A K 1 N a 95 "It is very kind of you to spare me sonic ti.ne, tnons.eur said Madame de Ferrier. She admon- ished Paul-"Don't choke your httle mother." I told her boldly that nothing but the dread of chsturbmg her kept me from knocking every dav. We had always walked into the lodges without knocking, and I dwelt on this as one of my new accomplishments. "I am not studying night and day," she answered. Sophie Saint-Michel and her mother were my teachers, and they are gone now, one to heaven and the other to Castorland." Remembering what Annabel de Chaumont said about holy Sophie I inquired if she had been religious. 'The Saint-Michels were better than religious; both n^other and daughter were eternally patient with the poor count, whose troubles unsettled his reason They had no dear old Ernestine, and were reduced to the hardest labor. I was a little child when we came to A erica, yet even then the spirit of the Saint-Michel. s.emed to me divine " chil'd.'^''^ ^ '""''^"^ '■""''"^''' ^^''^'" ^ '''' ^ ''"le "Can you not recall anything?" "I have a dim knowledge of objects." "What objects?" "St. Regis church, and my taking first commu- nion; and the hunting, the woods and water boTts -owshoes, the kind of food I liked; SkLCk' 96 Iv AZ ARRE and all my friends-but I scarcely knew them as persons until I awoke." "What is your first distinct recollection?" "Your face." "Mine?" "Yes. yours, madame. I saw it above me when you came mto the room at night." She looked past me and said : "You have forumately missed some of the most terrible events that ever happened in the world tnonsieur. My mother and father, my two brothers' Cousin Philippe and I, were in prison together' My mother and brothers were taken, and we were left. I understood that she spoke of the Terror, about which I was eager to know every then unwritten detail. Doctor Chantry had told me many things It fascinated me far more than ancient history which my master was inclined to press upon me. "How can you go back to France, madame?" "That's what I ask myself every day. That life was like a strange nightmare. Yet there was our chateau. Mont-Louis, two or three days' journey east from Paris. The park was so beautiful I think of it, and of Paul." "And what about this country, madame? Is there nothing beautiful here ?" "The fact has been impressed on me, monsieur that It does not belong to me. I am an emigre In city or country my father and Cousin Philippe kept me with them. I have seen nothing of young peo- ple, except at balls. .We had no intimate friends. AWAKING 97 We were always going back. I am still waiting to go back, monsieur— and refusing to go if I nmst." It was plain that her life had been as restricted as mine, though the bonds were different She was herded with old people, made a wife and mother while yet a child, nursed in shadow insfcad of in the hot sunshine which produced Annabel de Chau- mont. After that we met each other as comrades meet, and both of us changed Lke the face of nature, when the snow went and warm winds came. This looking at her without really approaching was going on iimocently when one day Count dc Chaumont rode up to the manor, his horse and his attendant servants and horses covered with mud, filling the place with a rush of life. He always carried himself as if he felt extremely welcome in this world. And though a mar. ought to be welcome in his own house, especially when he has made it a comfortable refuge for outsiders, I met him with the secret resentment we bear an interloper. He looked me over from head to foot with more interest than he had ever before shown. "We are getting on, we are getting onl Is it Doctor Chantry, or the little madame, or the winter housing? Our white blood is very much in evi- dence. When Chief Williams comes back to the summer hunting he will not know his boy." "The savage is inside yet, monsieur," I told him. "Scratch me and see." kii 98 L A Z A R R E "Not I," he laughed. "It is late for thanks. hi,t I will now thank you tor taking nic into your house." ''He has learned gratitude for little favors! That IS Madame dc Terrier's work." "I liope I may be able to do something that will square our accounts." "That's Doctor Chantry's work. He is full of be- nevolent intentions-and never empties himself. VV hen you have learned all your master knows, what are you going to do with it ?" "I am going to teacl our Indians." "Good. Von have a full day's work before vou. Foundmg an estate in the wilderness is nothing compared to that. You have more courage than De Chaumont." Whether the spring or the return of Dc Chau- mont drove me out. I could no longer stav indc>ors. but rowed all day long on ^he lake or' trod the quickenmg woods. Before old Pierre could get au- dience with his house accoimts, Dc Chaumont was m Madame de Ferrier's rooms, inspecting the wafer blotched etter. He did not appear as depressed as he should have been by the death of his old friend "These French have no hearts," I told Doctor Chantry. He took off his horn spectacles and wiped his eyes, responding: "But they find the way to ours !" Slipping between islands in water paths that wound as a meadow stream winds through land, I A W A K 1 N a 99 uneasy pain which tried to lose myself from thi followed me everywhere. There may be people who look over the scheme of their lives with entire complacence. Mine has been the outcome of such strange misfortunes as to fur- nish evidence that there is another fate than the fate we make ourselves. In that early day I felt the unseen lines tighten around me. I was nothing but a young student of unknown family, able to read and write, to talk a little Engil^h, with some knowl- edge of history, geography, mathematics, and Latin. Strength and scope came by atoms. I did not know then as I know now that I am a slow grower, c en when making gigantic cflfort. A n oak does not accumulate rings with more deliberation than I change and build myself. My master told me a few days later that the count decreed Madame de Ferricr must go back to France. He intended to go with her and push her claim; and his daughter and his daughter's gov- erness would bear them company. Doctor Chantry and I contemplated each other, glaring in mutual solemnity. His eyes were red and watery, and the nose sharpened its cone. "When are they s,oing?" T inquired. "As soon as arrangements for comfortable sailing can be made. I wish I were going back to England. I shall have to save twenty-five years before I can go, but the fund is started." If I saved a hundred and twenty-five years I could not go anywhere ; for I had nothing to save. lOO ly AZ ARRE f ; I II The \vort!ilcs!:n»'88 of civilization ruslicd over me. When I was an IncUan the boundless world was mine. I could build a shelter, and take fon■ 102 L A2 A R re: eye.always grows near her like a protecting servant. The poor cousin rustles and fusses. But my calm lady stands m perfect beauty, among pines straight as candles, never tremulous, never trivial. All ala baster and ebony, she glows from a distance- as thmkmg of her, I saw another figure glow through the loop-holes of the woods. It was Madame de Ferrier. iL. 1 VIII A LEAP of the heart and dizziness shot through me and blurred my sight. The reality of Madame de Ferrier's coming to seek me surpassed all imaginings. She walked with quick accustomed step, parting the second growth in her way, having tracked me from the boat. Seeing my lodge in the ravine she paused, her face changing as the lake changes; and caught her breath. I stood exultant and ashamed down to the ground. "Monsieur, what are you doing here?" Madame de Ferrier cried out. "Living, madame," I responded. "Living? Do you mean you have returned to your old habits?" "I have returned to the woods, madame." "You do not intend to stay here ?" "Perhaps." "You must not do it!" "What must I do?" "Come back to the house. You have given us m.uch anxiety." I liked the word "us" until I remembered it in- cluded Count de Chaumont. "Why did you come out here and hide your- self?" ^ 103 104 L A 2 A R RE My conduct appeared contemptible. I looked mutely at her. ^^ "What offended you ?" "Nothing, madame." ''Did you want Doctor Chantry to lame himself hobbhng arotmd in search of you. and the count to send people out in every direction?" "No, madame." "What explanation will you make to the counts >-one, madame." I raised r head. "I may go out m the woods without asking leave of Count de Chaumont." "He says you ha- orsaken your books and gone back to be an Indian." I showed her the Latin book in my hand. She glanced slightly at it, and continued to make her gray eyes pass through my marrow. Shifting like a culprit, I inquired: "How did you know I was here?" K '?^V^''^?°' ^''^ '° ^"^ y°^ ^^ter I saw the. boat. This island is not large." "But who rowed you across the lake, madame?" I came by myself, and nobody except Ernestine knows It. I can row a boat. I slipped through the tunnel, and ventured." "Madame, I am a great fool. I am not worth your venturing." ''You are worth any danger I might encounter, iiut you should at least go back for me." "I will do anything for you. madame. But why should I go back?_you will not long be there " '***>»llia' 1 A W AKI KQ 105 "What does that matter? The important thing is that you should not lapse again into the Indian." "Is any life but the life of an Indian open to me, madame ?" She struck her hands together with a scream. "Louis! Sire!" Startled, I dropped the book and it sprawled at her feet like the open missal. She had returned so unexpectedly to the spirit of our first meeting. "O, if you knew what you are ! During my whole life your name has been cherished by my family. We believed you would sometime come to your own. Believe in yourself I" I seemed almost to remember and perceive what I was— as you see in mirage one inverted boat poised on another, and are not quite sure, and the strange thing is gone. Perhaps I was less sure of the past because I was so sure of the present. A wisp of brown mist set- llii g among the trees spread cloud behind her. What I wanted was this woman, to hide in the woods for my own. I could feed and clothe her, deck her with neckhces of garnets from the rocks, and wreaths of the delicate sand-wort flower. She said she would rather make Paul a woodchopper than a suppliant, taking the constitutional oath. I could make him a hunter and a fisherman. Game, bass, trout, pickerel, grew for us in abundance. I saw this vision with a single eye; it looked so pos- sible I All the crude imaginings of youth colored io6 L AZ ARRE the spring woods with vivid beauty. My face be- trayed me, and she spoke to me coldly. "Is that your house, monsieur?" I said it was. "And you slept there last night ?" "I can build a much better one." "What did you have for dinner?" "Nothing." "What did you have for breakfast?" "Nothing." Evidently the '-"^^e I proposed to myself to offer her would not suit my lady ! She took a lacquered box from the cover of her wrappings, and moved down the slope a few steps. "Come here to your mother and get your sup- per." I felt tears rush to my eyes. She sat down, spread a square of clean fringed linen upon the ground, and laid out crusty rounds of buttered bread that were fragrant in the springing fragrance of the woods, firm slices of cold meat, and a cunning pastry which instantly maddened me. I was ashamed to be such a wolf. We sat with our forest table between us and ate together. "I am hungry myself," she said. A glorified veil descended on the world. If even- ing had paused while that meal was in progress it would not have surprised me. There are half hours that dilate to the importance of centuries. But when she had encouraged me to eat everything to the last 'i«4jl_> A W A KI NO 107 crumb, she shook the fringed napkin, gathered up the lacquered box, and said she must be gone. "Monsieur, I have overstepped the bounds of be- havior in coming after you. The case was too urgent for consideration of myself. I must hurry back, for the count's people would not understand my secret errand through the tunnel. Will you show yourself at the house as soon as possible?" I told her humbly that I would. "But let me put you in the boat, madame." She shook- her head. "You may follow, after I am out of sight. If you fail to follow"— she turned in the act of departing and 10 through. I told her I would not fail. When Madame de Ferrier disappeared beyond the bushes I sat down and waited with my head between my hands, still seeing upon closed eyelids her figure, the scant frock drawn around it, her cap of dark hair under a hood, her face moving from change to change. And whether I sat a year or a minute, clouds had descended when I looked, as they often did in that lake gorge. So I waited no longer, but followed her. The fog was brown, and capped the evening like a solid dome, pressing down to the earth, and twist- ing smoke fashion around my feet. It threw sinu- ous arms in front of me as a thing endowed with life and capable of molding itself; and when I reached my boat and pushed off on the water, a vast mass received and enveloped me. More penetrating than its clamminess was the io8 'L^A.Z A. R RE •1^ thought that Madame de Ferrier was out in it alone. 1 tried one of the long calls we sometimes used in hunting. She might hear, and understand that I was near to help her. But it was shouting against many walls. No effort pierced the muffling sub- stance which rolled thickly against the lungs. Re- membering it was possible to override smaller craft, I pulled with caution, and so bumped lightly against the boat that by lucky chance hovered in my track. "Is it you, madame ?" I asked. She hesitated. "Is it you, monsieur?" "Yes." "I think I am lost. There is no shore. The fog closed around me so soon. I was waiting for it to lift a little." "It may not lift until morning, madame. Let me tie your boat to mine." "Do you know the way?" "There is no way. We shall have to feel for the shore. But Lake George is narrow, and I know it well." "I want to keep near you." "Come into my boat, and let me tie the other one astern." She hesitated again, but decided, "That would be best." I drew the frail shells together— they seemed very frail above such depths— and helped her cross the edges. We were probably the only people on Lake AWAKING 109 George. Tinder Ughtca in one boat would scarcely have shown us the other, though in the sky an oval moon began to make itself seen amidst rags of fog. The dense eclipse around us and the changing light overhead were very weird. Madame de Ferrier's hands chilled mine, and she shook in her thin cape and hood. Our garments were saturated. I felt moisture trickling down my hair and dropping on my shoulders. She was full of vital courage, resisting the deadly chill. This was not a summer fog, lightly to be traversed. It went dank through the bones.' When I had helped her to a bench, remembering there was nothing dry to wrap around her, I slipped off my coat and forcibly added its thickness to her shoul- ders. "Do you think I will let you do that, monsieur?" My teeth chattered and shocked together so it was impossible to keep from laughing, as I told her I always preferred to be coatlcss when I rowed a boat. We could see each other by the high light that sometimes gilded the face, and sometimes was tar- nished almost to eclipse. ]\Iadame de Ferrier crept forward, and before I knew her intention, cast my garment again around me. I helped the boat shift its balance so she would have to grasp at me for support; the chilled round shape of her arm in my hand sent waves of fire through me. With brazen cunning, moreover, that surprised myself, instead of pleading, I dictated. Tirr no L A2: A R RE "Sit beside me on the rower's bench, madame, and the coat will stretch around both of us." Like a child she obeyed. We were indeed reduced to saving the warmth of our bodies. I shipped my oars and took one for a paddle, bidding Madame de Feirier to hold the covering in place while T felt for the shore. She did so, her arm crossing my breast, her soft body touching mine. She was cold and stdl as the cloud in which we moved ; but I was a god, riding triumphantly high above the world, satisfied to float through celestial regions foiever, bearing in my breast an unquenchable coal of fire. The moon played tricks, for now she was astern, and now straight ahead, in that confusing wilderness of vapor. "Madame," I said to my companion, "why have you been persuaded to go back to France ?" She drew a deep breath. "I have not been persuaded. I have been forced by circumstances. Paul's future is everything." "You said you would rather make him a wood- chopper than a suppliant to the Bonapartes." "I would. But his rights are to be considered first. He has some small chance of regaining his inheritance through the influence of Count de Chaumont now. Hereafter th^re may be no chance. You know the fortunes and lands of all emigres were forfeited to the state. Ours have finally reached the hands of one of Napoleon's officers. I > not know what will be done. I only know that Jt'aul must never have cause to reproach me." AWAKING III Mi I was obliged to do my duty in my place as she was doing her duty in hers ; but I wished the boat would sink, and so end all journeys to France. It touched shore, on the contrary, and I grasped a rock which jutted toward us. It might be the point of an island, it might be the eastern land, as I was inclined to believe, for the moon was over our right shoulders. Probing along with the oar I found a cove and a shallow bottom, and there I beached our craft with a great shove. "How good the earth feels underfoot!" said Ma- dame de Ferricr. We were both stiff. I drew the boats where they could not be floated away, and we turned our faces to the unknown. I took her unre- sisting arm to guide her, and she depended upon me. This day I look back at those young figures grop- ing through cloud as at disembodied and blessed spirits. The man's intensest tenderness, restrained by his virginhood and his awe of the supple delicate sliape at his side, was put forth only in her service. They walked against bushes. He broke a stick, and with it probed every yard of the ascent which they were obliged to make. Helping his companion from bush to log, from seam to seam of the riven slope, from ledge to ledge, he brought her to a level of high forest where the fog was thinner, and brandies interlaced across iheir faces. The climb made Madame de Ferrier draw her breath quickly. She laughed when we ended it. 112 LA Z A R R K Though I knew the shores as well as a hunter, it was impossible to recognize any landmark. The trees, the moss, and forest sponge under our feet, the very rocks, were changed by that weird medium. And when the fog opened and we walked as through an endless tunnel of gray revolving stone, it was into a world that never existed before and would never exist aj^ain. There was no path. Creeping under and climbit.^ over obstacles, sometimes enclosed by the white- ness of steam, sometimes walking briskly across lighted spaces, we reached a gorge smoking as the lake smoked in the chill cf early mornings. Vapor played all its freaks on that brink. The edge had been sharply defined. But the fog shut around us like a curtain, and we dared not stir. Below, a medallion shaped rift widened out, and showed us a scene as I have since beheld such things appear upon the stage. Within the round changing frame of wispy vapor two men sat by a fire of logs and branches. We could smell wood smoke, and hear the branches crackle, convincing us the vision was real. Behind them stood a cabin almost as rude as my shelter on the island. One man was a grand fellow, not at all of the common order, though he was more plainly clothed than De Chaumont. His face was so familiar that I almost grasped recognition— but missed it. The whole cast was full and aquiline, and the lobe of his ear, as I noticed when light fell on his profiie, sat close to his head like mine. V^ ^ ^ A W A K 1 N O "3 I i i The other man worked his feet upon the treadle of a small wheel, which revolved like a circular tabic in front of him, and on this he deftly touched some- thing which appeared to be an earthenware vessel. His thin fingers moved with spider swiftness, and shaped it with a kind of magic. He was a mad looking person, with an air of being tremendously driven by inner force. He wore mustaches the like of which I had never seen, carried back over his ears; and these hairy devices seemed to split his countenance in two crosswise. Some broken pottery lay on the ground, and a few vessels, colored and lustrous so they shone in the firelight, stood on a stump near him. The hollow was not a deep one, but if the men had been talking, their voices did not reach us until the curtain parted. "You are a great fool or a great rascal, or both, Bellcngcr," the superior man said. "Most people are, your highness," responded the one at the wheel. He kept it going, as if his earth- enware was of more importance than the talk. "Yon are living a miserable life, roving about." "Many other Frenchmen are no better off than I am, my prince." "True enough. I've roved al>out myself." "Did you turn schoolmaster in Switzerland, prince ?" "I did. My family are in Switzerlaml now." "Some of the nobles were pillaged by their peas- II 114 L A Z A R R E ants as well as by the goveninicnt. But yrur house should not have lost everything." "You are mistaken about our losses. The Or- leans Bourbons have little or no revenue left. Mon- sieur and Artois were the Bourbons able to maintain a court about them in exile. So you have to turn potter, to help support the idiot and yourself?" "Is your highness interested in art ?" "What have I to do with art?'* "But your highness can understand how an idea will haunt a man. It is true I live a wretched lifo. but I amuse myself trying to produce a perfect vase. I have broken thousands. If a shape answers my expectations, that very shape is certain to crack iti the burning or run in the glaze." 'Thv.i you don't make things to sell ?" "Oh, yes. I make noggins and crockery to sell in the towns. There is a kind of clay in these hills that suits me." "The wonderful vase," said the other yawninj;. "might perhaps interest mo more if some facts were not pressing for discussion. T am a man of benevo- lent disposition, Bellenger." "Your royal highness " "Stop! I have been a revolutionist, like my poor father, whose memory you were al)out to touch— and I forbid it. But I am a man whose will it is to do good. It is impossible I should search you out in America to harm my royal cousin. Now I want to know the truth about him." li^''^ i AWAKING "5 Madame ilc Forrior had forgotten her breath. We hotli stood fastened on that scene in another world, guihiess of eavesdropping. The potter shifted his eyes from side to side, seeming to follow the burr of his vessel upon the wheel. "I find you with a creature I cannot recognize as tny royal cousin. If this is he, sunk far lower than when he left France in your charge, why are two-thirds of his pension sent out from New York to another person, while you receive for his main- tenance only one-third ?'* The potter bounded from his wheel, letting the vessel spin off to destruction, and danced, stretch- ing his long mustaches abroad in both hands as the ancients must have rent their clothes. He cried that he had been cheatetl. stripped, starved. "I thought they were straitened in Monsieur's court," he raged, "and they have been maintaining a false dauphin!" "As I said, Bellenger," remarked his superior, "you are either a fool or the greatest rascal I ever saw." He looked at bellenger attentively. "Yet why should you want to mix clues — and be rewarded with evident misery ? And how could you lose him out of yn-r hand and remain unconscious of it? He was bvut to the ends of the earth for safety— poor shattered child !— and if he is safe else- where, why should you be pensioned to maintain another child? They say that a Bourbon never u6 L A2 A RRE^ well what he does know. I fed sure my n^ le .ntends no arm to the disabled heir. Who s ,„ U^ of th.s double dealing,? I confess I don't understand Now whether by our long and silent stare we drew "s regard, or chance cast his eye upward, the no te ^at mstant saw us standing in the cloud Ibo fh . He d opped by his n.otionless wheel, all turned to clay h,n,self. The eyeballs stuck from his face He opened h,s mouth and screeched as if he had" been started and could not leave off- "The king!_the kingj-the king!-the king*" V^^ ^ IX I THE fool's outcry startled me less than Ma- dame de Ferricr. She fell against me and sank downward, so that T was obliged to hold her up in my arms. I had never seen a woman swoon. I thought she was dying, and shouted to them below to come and help me. The potter sat sprawling on the ground, and did not bestir himself to do anything. As soon as my hands and mind were free I took him by the scruff of the neck and kicked him behind with a good will. J\ly rage at him for disregarding her state was the savage rage of an Iroquois. The other man laughed until the woods rang. Aladame de Ferrier sat up in what seemed to me a miraculous manner. We bathed her temples with brandy, and put her on a cushion of leaves raked up and dried to make a seat by the fire. The other man, who helped me car- ry her into the ravine, stood with his hat off, as was her due. She thanked him and thanked me, half shrouding her face with her hood, abashed at finding herself lost among strangers in the night; which was my fault. I told him I had been a bad guide for a lady who had missed her way; and he said we were fortunate to reach a camp instead of stum- bling into some danger. He was much older than I, at least fourteen years, "7 ii8 LA2 A R REJ I learned afterwar.ls, but it was like meeting Skene- donk again, or some friend frum whom I had only been parted. The heartening warmth of the fire made steam go up from our clotlies ; and seeing Madame de Ferner alive once more, and the potter the other side of his wheel taking stock of his hurt I felt Iiappy. We could hear in the cabin behind us a whining like that uttered by a fretful babe. My rage at the potter ending in good nature, I moved to make some amends for my haste; but he backed off. "You startled us," said the other man, "standing up in the clouds like ghosts. And your resem^ ' ^ > to one who has been dead many years is very ing, monsieur," I said I was sorry if I had kicked the potter with- out warrant, brtt it seemed to me a base act to hesi- tate when help was asked for a woman "Yet I know little of what is right among men monsieur," I owned. "I have been learning with a' master in Count de Chaumonfs manor house less than a year. Before that my life was spent in the woods with the Indians, and they found me so dull that I was considered witless until my mind awoke " You are a fine fellow," the man said. laying his hands on my shoulders. "My heart goes out to vou You may call me Louis Philippe. And what may I call you ? ^ "Lazarre." AWAKING iig He had a smiling good face, square, but well curved and firm. Now that I saw him fronting me I could trace his clear eyebrows, high forehead, and the laughter lines down his cheeks. He was long between the eyes and mouth, and he had a full and resolute chin. "You are not fat, Lazarre," said Philippe, "your forehead is wide rather than receding, and you have not a double chin. Otherwise you are the image of one— Who are you?" "I don't know." "Don't know who you arc?" "No. We heard all that you and the potter were saying down here, and I wondered how many boys there are in America that are provided for through an agent in New York, without knowing their par- ents. Now that is my case." "Do you say you have lived among the Indians?" "Yes: among the Iroquois." "Who placed you there?" "No one could tell me except my Indian father ; and he would not tell." "Do you remember nothing of your childhood ?" "Nothing." "Did you ever see Bellenger before ?" "I never saw him before to-night." "But I saw him," said Madame de Ferrier, "in London, when I was about seven years old. It made a stronger impression on me than anything else that ever happened in my life, except"— she stopped. fdt> L A ii A R R Ei The „.an who told me to call him Louis Philippe tarncd toward her, with attention as careful as hi! avcdance when she wished to he unobservc S -s^, and came around the fire, makin, a deep cour- "My family may not be unknown to his royal torn l" "'^ °' '^'""^- '''' -^ ^^ ^-'^- of^Mo^ -Lou.s; em>gres now. like nnnv oth^r. " ^lada-ie. I knew your family welk 'They were loyal to their kinj^." -^ ^^^^ "Afy father died here in America. Before we Bailed we saw this man in London." "And with him — " "A boy." "Do you remember the bov well ?" "I remember him perfectly." The wailing in u.e cabin became louder and turned tomsistent animal howls. Instead of a ba the .mpnsoned creature was evidently a do<. wondered that the potter did not let'hLoSt to warm his hide at the fire. ''' "Did you ever see the boy again V' cZfl "r\ """ ^™ ^g^^'"'"ntil he w^as brougfu to Zu ^';,^""^^'^ '^°"^e last summer." Why to De Chaumont> LeRpvH.ru and he takes '„s name from the estate. I have heaM he IS in favor with Bonaparte." ^ A W A 1^ 1 N G 131 "Even we of the old nobility, prince, may be re- duced to seek favor of Bonaparte." "Heaven lorbid, madamc. I say nothing against him ; though I could say much." "Say nothing against Count de Chaumont. Count de Chaumont befriends all emigres." "I have nothing to say against Count de Chau- mont. He is not of our party; he is of the new. Fools ! If we princes had stood by each other as the friends of the Empire stand by their emperor, we could have killed the Terror." The animal in the cabin by thic iime was making such doleful cries I said to the potter, "Let him out. It is dreadful to be shut in by walls." The potter, stooping half over and rolling stiffly from foot to foot in his walk, filled me with com- punction at having been brutal to so pitiful a crea- ture, and I hurried to open the door for him. The animal clawed vigorously inside, and the instant I pushed back the ill-fitted slabs, it strained through and rushed on all fours to the fire. Madame de Fer- rier fled backward, for what I liberated could hardly be seen without dread. It was a human being. Its features were a boy's, and the tousled hair had a natural wave. While it crouched for warmth I felt the shock of seeing a creature about my own age grinning back at me, ^shy eyed and black mouthed. 'There I" Bellenger said, straightening up in his 111 122 LA2 ARRE5 > I b™ D%" "^'"^ '"" ^" '°"^^- "That is the Doy jour De Ferners saw in London " about'ua'r' ''" '°^ ''^'^"^ T^"'^ h^d told about. Whether myself or this less fortunate crea- ure was the boy my heart went very pitiful toward h m. Madame de Ferrier stooped and examined mou'th ^ ^"''^ "°''' °^ ^^"^^^ ^^th ^^« sie'J"'\'' " M 'V°^ ^'°" ^'^ ^" L^"^°"' ™0«. sieur, she said to Bellenger. The potter waved his hands and shrugged 'You believe, madame, that Lazarre is the boy you saw in London?" said Louis Philippe. I am certain of it." "What proofs have you ?" "The evidence of my eyes," "Tell that to Monsieur!" exclaimed the potter. Who is Monsieur?" I asked. "The eldest brother of the king of France is called Monsieur. The Count de Provence will be called Monsieur until he succeeds Louis XVII and is crowned Louis XVIII-if that time ever comes. He cannot be called Louis XVII"-the man who told me to call him Louis Philippe took mv arm, and I found myself walking back and forth with him as in a dream while he carefully formed sentence after sentence. "Because the dauphin who died in the Temple prison was Louis XVII. But there are a few who say he did not die : that a dying child was substituted for him: that he was smuggled out Tnd carried to America. Bellenger was the agent em- ^ -^^i AW A KINO 123 ployed. The dauphin's sister is married to her cousin, the nephew of Monsieur. She herself be- lieves these things ; and it is certain a sum of money is sent out to America every year for his mainte- nance. He was reduced to imbecility when removed from the Temple. It is not known whether he will ever be fit to reign if the kingdom returns to him. No communication has been held with him. He was nine years old when removed from the Temple : he would now be in his nineteenth year. When 1 last saw him he was a smiling little prince with waving hair and hazel eyes, holding to his mother's hand"— "Stop!" The frenzy of half recollection came on me, and that which 1 had put away from my mind and sworn to let alone, seized and convulsed me. Dreams, and sensations, and instincts massed and fell upon me in an avalanche of conviction. I was that uncrowned outcast, the king of France ! 1 BOOK II WANDERING a •s 3 3 I A PRIMROSE dawn of spring touched the mountains as Madame de Ferritr and I stepped into the tunnel's mouth. The wind that goes like a besom before sunrise, swept off the fog to corners of the sky, except a few spirals which still unwound from the lake. The underground path to De Chaumont's manor descended by ter- races of steps and entered blackness. A rank odor of earth filled it ; and I never passed that way without hearkening for the insect-like song of the rattlesnake. . he ground was slippery, and thick darkness seemed to press the soul out of the body. Yet I liked it; for when w-e reached the staircase of rock that entered the house, she would vanish. And so it was. She did say — "Good-night — and good-morning." And I answered, "Good-morning and good- night." We were both physically exhausted. My head swarmed as with sparkles, and a thousand emotions tore me, for I was at the age when we risk all on chances. I sat alone on the steps, unmindful of that penetrating chill of stone which increases rather than decreases, the longer you sit upon it, and 127 138 L A Z A R R E thought of all that liad been said by my new friend at the camp-fire, while the mcMin went lower and lower, the potter turned his wheel, and the idiot slept. The mixed and oblique motives of human nature —the boy's will— worked like yigantic passions. She had said very little to me in the boat, and I had said very little to her; not realizing' that the camp talk, in which she took no part, scparateil us in a new way. Sitting alone on the steps I held this imaginary conversation with her. "I am going to France !" "You, monsieur ?" "Yes, I !" "How are you going?" "I don't know ; but I am going!" "The Duke of Orleans did not mention such a thing." "Bother the Duke of Orleans!" "When are you going?" "Now !" "But it may not be best to go at this time." "It is always best to go where you arc !" "Monsieur, do not throw away your future on an unconsidered move." "Madame, I will throw away my eternity !" Then I went back through the tunnel to the beach, stripped and took a plunge to clear my head and warm my blood, rubbing oflf with my shirt. On reaching my room the first thing I did was to W A N 1) K R I N O 129 make ■ burl' lie of everything I considered necessary and desirable. There was no reason f<^r doiiii; tliis before lying down ; but witli an cas-icr mind I closeil my eyes : and opened theni to find sunss t shining through the windows, antl Doctor Cliantry keeping guard in an arni-cliair at my side. "Nature has taken iier revenge on yon. my lad," said he. "And now I am going to take mine." "I have slept all day!" "Renegades who roam the wooils all night nmst expect to sleep all day." "How do you know I have been in the woods all night?" "I heard you slipping up the (uimel stairs without any shoes on at daylight. I have imt been able to sleep two nights on account of you." "Then why don't you go to bed yourself, my dear master?" "Because I am not going to let yon give me the slip another time. I am responsible for you : and you will have me on your back when you go prowl- ing abroad again." "Again?" I questioned innocently. "Yes, again, young sir! I have been through your luggage, and find that yon have packed changes of clothing and things necessary and unnec- essary to a journey, — even book.s." "1 hope you put them neatly together" — "Nothing of the kind. I .scattered them." "Do you want me to go bare into the world?" I laughed. i i!ii i 130 L AZ A RRE Lazarre," said my master, "you were a good lad, studious and zealous beyond anything I ever saw." "And now I am bad and lazy." "You have dropped your books and taken to wild ways." "There is one thing, dear master, I haven't done: I haven't written poetry." He blinked and smiled, and felt in his breast pocket, but thought better of it, and forebore to draw the paper out. There was no escaping his tenacious grip. He sat by and exercised me in Latin declen- sions while I dressed. We had our supper together I saw no member of the household except the men Pierre and Jean. Doctor Chantry ordered a mat- tress put in my room and returned there with me. We talked long on the approaching departure of the count and Madame de Ferrier. He told me the latest details of preparation, and tremulously ex- plained how he must feel the loss of his sister. "I have nothing left but you, Lazarre." "My dear master," I said, patting one of his shriv- eled hands between mine, "I am going to be open with you." I sat on the side of my bed facing his arm-chair and the dressing-glass reflected his bald head and my young head drawn near together. "Did you ever feel as if you were a prince ?" Doctor Chantry wagged a pathetic negative. "Haven't you ever been ready to dare anything and everything, because something in you said— I must i" 1 WANDBRINQ 131 I Again Doctor Chantry wagged a negative. "Now I have to break bounds — I have to leave the manor and tcy my fortune! I can't wait for times and seasons — to be certain of this — to be cer- tain of that! — I am going to leave the house to- night — and I am going to France !" "My God!" cried Doctor Chantry, springing up. "He is going to France! — Rouse the servants! — Call De Chaumont!" He struck his gouty foot against the chair and sat down nursing it in both hands. I restrained him and added my sympathy to his groans. "Have you as much as a Spanish real of your own, my lad ?" he catechised me, when the foot was easy. I acknowledged that I had not. "It costs dear to travel about the world. It is not like coming down the trail from St. Regis to Lake George. How are you to travel without money ?" I laughed at the very uncertainty, and answered that money would be iuund. "Found! It isn't found, I tell you! It is inher- ited by the idle, or gathered by the unscrupulous, or sweated and toiled for ! It costs days and years, and comes in drops. You might as well expect to find a kingdom, lad !" "Maybe I shall find a kingdom, master !" "Oh, what a thing it is to be young!" sighed Doctor Chantry. I felt it myself, and hugged my youth. , m rr { 132 L AZ AR RE "Do you know how to reach the sea-port?" he continued. I said anybody could follow the Hudson to New York. "You're bitten, my poor lad ! It's plain what ails you. You might as well try to swim the Atlantic. De Chaumont intends her for himself. And in the unjust distribution of this world, your rival has the power and you have the feelings. Sta> where you are. You'll never forget it, but it will hurt less as years go by." "Master," I said to him, "good sense is on your side. But if I knew I should perish, I would have to go!" And I added from fullness of conviction "I would rather undertake to do something, and perish, than live a thousand years as I am." Doctor Chantry struck the chair arm with his clenched fist. "My lad, so would I— so would I !— I wish I had been dowered with your spirit!— I'm going with you !" As soon as he had made this embarrassing reso- lution my master blew his nose and set his British jaws firmly together. I felt my own jaw drop. "Have you as much as a Spanish real of your own ?" I quoted. "That I have, young sir, and some American notes, such as they are, and good English pounds, beside." WANDERING 133 "And do you know how to reach the sea- port?" "Since I came that way I can return that way. You have youth, my lad, but I have brains and expe- rience." "It's plain what ails you, Doctor Chantry, And you might as well try to swim the Atlantic." My poor master dropped his head on his breast, and I was ashamed of baiting him and began to ar- gue tenderly. I told him he could not bear hard- ships; he was used to the soft life in De Chaumont's house; while my flesh had been made iron in tiie wilderness. I intended to take a boat from those hidden at our summer camp, to reach the head of Lake George. But from that point to the Hudson river — where the town of Luzerne now stands — it was necessary to follow a trail. I could carry the light canoe over the trail, but he could not even walk it. The more I reasoned with him the more obstinate he became. There was a wonderful spring called Saratoga, which he had visited with De Chaumont a few years before as they came into the wilder- ness; he was convinced th£.t the water would set him on foot for the rest of the journey. "It is twenty-nine miles above Albany. We could soon reach it," he urged. "I have heard of it," I answered. "Skenedonk has been there. But he says you leave the river and go into the woods." "I know the way," he testily insisted. "And there 134 L AZ AR RE used to be near the river a man who kept horses and carried visitors to the spring." The spirit of reckless adventure, breaking through years of extreme prudence, outran youth. "What will you do in France?" I put to him. He knew no more than I what I should do. And there was Count de Chaumont to be consid- ered. How would he regard such a leave-tak- ing? Doctor Chantry was as insensible to De Chau- mont as I myself. Still he agreed to write a note to his protector while I prepared my quill to write one to Madame de Ferrier. With the spirit of the true parasite he laid all the blame on me, and said he was constrained by duty to follow and watch over me since it was impossible to curb a nature hke mine. And he left a loop-hole open for a future return to De Chaumont's easy service, when the hardships which he willingly faced brought him his reward. This paper he brazenly showed me while I was struggling to beg xMadame de Ferrier's pardon, and to let her know that I aimed at something definite whether I ever reached port or not. I reflected with satisfaction that he would proba- bly turn back at Saratoga. We descended together to his room and brought away the things he needed. In bulk they were twice as large as the load I had made for myself. He also wrote out strict orders to Pierre to seal up his room until his return. The ina- WANDBRINQ 135 bility of an old man to tear himself from his accus- tomed environment cheered my heart. We then went back to bed, and like the two bad boys we were, slept prepared for flight. ; 4* II 66T^HIS is fine!" said Doctor Chantry, when X we descended from the rough stage which had brought us across a corduroy trail, and found ourselves at the entrance of a spacious wooden tavern. "When I passed Saratoga before there were only three log houses, and the inn had two rooms below and one above. It was lighted by pine torches stuck in the chinks of the wall-and see how candles shine through these windows !" The tavern stood in a cleared place with miles of forest around it, and a marsh stretching near by Dusk could not prevent our seeing a few log hab- itations, one of them decorated with a merchant's sign. We entered among swarming crowds, a little world dropped into the backwoods. This was more surprising because we had just left behind us a sense of wild things gathering to their night haunts, and low savage cries, and visions of moose and deer through far-off arches. A man who appeared to be the host met us his sprightly interest in our welfare being tempered by the consciousness of having many guests; and told lis the house was full, but he would do what he could for us. "Why is the house iulir fretted Doctor Chantry 136 WANDERINO 137 "What right have you, my dear sir, to crowd your house and so insure our discomfort?" "None at all, sir," answered the host good na- turedly. "If you think you can do better, try for lodgings at the store-keeper's." "The store-keeper's!" Doctor Chantry's hys- terical cry turned some attention to us. "I shall do nothing of the kind. I demand the best you have, sir." "The best I can give you," amended our host. "You see we are very full of politicians from W?sh- ington. They crowd to the spring." My master turned his nose like the inflamed horn of a unicorn against the politicians from Washing- ton, and trotted to the fireplace where blazing knots cheered a great tap-room set with many tables and benches. And there rested Skenedonk in silent gravity, toasting his moccasins. The Troquois had long made Saratoga a gathering place, but I thought of this Oneida as abiding in St. Regis village; for our people did not come to the summer hunting in May. Forgetting that I was a runaway I met him heart- ily, and the fawn eyes in his bald head beamed their accustomed luster upon me. I asked him where my father and mother and the rest of the tribe were, and he said they had not left St. Regis. "And why are you so early?" I inquired. He had been at Montreal, and had undertaken to guid^ a Frenchman as far as Saratoga, It is aot rt r 138 L AZ ARR B easy to surprise an Indian. But I wondered that Skenedonk accepted my presence without a question, quite as if he had himself made the appointment. However, the sights to be seen put him out of my head. Besides the tap-room crowded with men there was a parlor in which women of fashion walked about, contrasting with the place. They had all been to a sprmg to drink water; for only one spring was greatly used then ; and they talked about the medici- nal eflFects. Some men left the stronger waters which could be had at a glittering portcullised bar opposite the fireplace in the tap-room, to chat with these short-waisted beauties. I saw one stately creature in a white silk ball costume, his stockings road *° *^^ ^"^" ""'^^ """"^ ^'■°'" *^^ corduroy But the person who distinguished himself from everybody else by some nameless attraction, was a man perhaps forty years old. who sat in a high- backed settle at a table near the fire. He was erect and thm as a lath, long faced, square browed and pale. His sandy hair stood up like the bristles of a brush. Carefully dressed, with a sword at his side- as many of the other men had-he filled my idea of a soldier ; and I was not surprised to hear his friends sitting opposite call him General Jackson An inkstand, a quill and some paper were placed before him. but he pushed them aside with his glass of toddy to lift one long fore-finger and emphasize nis talk. He had a resonant, impressive voice with a manner gentle and persuasive, like a woman's : and He pushed them aside with his glass of toddy to lift one long fore-finger and emphasi^e his talk 1: WANDERING 139 he was speaking of Aaron nurr, the man whose duel had made such a noise in the newspapers. "I disagree with you, Mr. Campbell. You are prejudiced against Mr. Burr on account of his late unfortunate affair. Even in that case I maintain every man has a right to honor and satisfaction. But he loves the Spanish on our southwestern bor- ders no better than I do, — and you know how I love the Spanish !" The other man laughed, lounging against the table. "You can't believe anything ill of Aaron Burr, General." I might have given attention to what they were saying, since here were men from Washington, the very fountain of government, if Doctor Chantry had not made me uneasy. He chose the table at which they were sitting and placed himself in the seat nearest the fire, with the utmost nicety about his own comfort. He wiped his horn spectacles, and produced his own ink and quill and memor- andum from a breast pocket. I had begged the doctor to keep strict account between us, that I might pay back from my pension whatever he spent on me, and with fine spider-like characters he was proceeding to debit me with the stage fare, when another quill barred his entrance to his ink-horn. He took off his spectacles and glared pink-eyed at the genial gentleman with sandy upright hair. "Sir !" he cried, "that is my ink !" General Jackson, absorbed in talk, did not notice I40 LAZ A RRE I I ":i Doctor Chantry, who half arose and sliouted direct- ly at his ear, "Sir, that is my ink !" lie knocked the interloping quill in the direction of its owner. The genial sandy gentleman changed countenance in a way to astonish beholders. "Have I disputed it, sir?" "Xo, sir, hut you have dipped into it without ask- ing leave." "By God, sir, what is a fip'ny-bit's worth of ink?" "But it's mine, sir!" "I see. sir ; you're a Yankee, sir !" "I'm not, sir; I'm English— the finest race in the world !" General Jackson looked him up and down as they rose fronting each other, and filled the air with daz- zling words. "I should judge so. sir, by the specimen I see before me !" Doctor Chantry was like a fighting-cock, and it was plainly his age which kept the other from striking him. He was beginning our journey well, but I felt bound to intercept whatever fell upon him, and stood between them. The other men at the table rose with General Jackson. "Gentlemen," I pleaded with the best words I could command in the language, "do not forget your dignity, and disturb the peace of this house for a bottle of ink I" The quarrel was ridiculous, and the Southerners WANDKRINO 141 ■3 laughi'd. r.ciKial Jackson himself again changctl coufjtonancc, and ^avc nic. I do not know why, a smile that must have been reflected from the face of a woman he adored. lUu my j>our master showed the bull-dot,' ; and taking him by the arm and the collar I toddled him away from that table to a dark entry, where I held him without any admonition save a sustamed grip. He became like a chiUl, weep- ing and trembling, and declaring that c verybody was in league against him. Argument is wasted on peo- ple having such infirmity of temper. When he was well cooled I put him in an arm-chair by a fire in the laier 1 did see one. i)o\vever. the shiftinc^ of its eyes !.r< nght back the memory of Doctor Chantry when I had him at bay by the fire. "You are not going t ^ get away from me," he responded. "If you are tin d of it, so am I. Other- wise, we proceed." "If you pick quarrels with soldiers and duelists at every step, what arc we to do?" "I picked no quarrel. It is my luck. Everyone is against me !" H<» hun^ h^ = head in such a dejected manner that I felt asliamed 1 f bringing his tempera- 142 Iv AZ A RRE It t ! ment to account : and told him I was certain no harm V (jL'ld come of it. 'I am not genial," Doctor Chantry owned; "I wish I were. Now you are genial, Lazarre. People take to you. You attract them. But whatever I am, you are obliged to have my company : you can- not get along without me. You have no experi- ence, and no money. I have experience, — and a few pounds: — not enough to retire into the coun- try upon, in England; but enough to buy a little food for the present." I thought I could get along better wit'iout the experience and even the few pounds, than with him as an encumbrance ; though I could not bring myself to the cruelty of telling him so. For there is in me a fatal softness which no man can have and over- bear others in this world. It constrains me to make the other man's cause my own, though he be at war with my own interests. Therefore I was at the mercy of Skenedonk, also. The Indian appeared in the doorway and watched me. I knew he thought there was to be trouble with the gentleman from Washington, and I went to him to ease his mind. Skenedonk had nothing to say, however, and made me a sign to follow him. As we passed through the tap-room. General Jackson gave me another pleasant look. He had resumed his con- versation and his own ink-bottle as if he had never been interrupted. i f ■ « If ' 1 WANUHRINQ 143 The Indian led me upstairs to one of the cham- bers, and opened the door. In the room was Louis PhiHppe, and when we were shut alone together, he embraced me and kissed me as I did not know men embraced and kissed. "Do you know Skenedonk?" I exclaimed. "If you mean the Indian who brought you at my order, he was my guide from Montreal." "But he was not with you at the potter's camp." "Yes, he was in the hut, wrapped in his blanket, and after you drove the door in he heard all that was said. Lazarre" — Louis Philippe took my face in his hands — "make a clean breast of it." We sat down, and I told him without being ques- tioned what I was going to do. He gravely con- sidered. "I saw you enter the house, and had a suspicion of your undertaking. It is the worst venture you could possibly make at this time. We will begin with my family. Any belief in you into which I may have been betrayed is no guaranty of Monsieur's belief. You understand," said Louis Philippe, "that Monsieur stands next to the throne if there is no dauphin, or an idiot dauphin ?" I said I understood. "Monsieur is not a bad man. But Bellenger. who took charge of the dauphin, has in some manner and for some reason, provided himself with a sub- stitute, and he utterly denies you. Further : suppos- ing that you are the heir of France, restored to your family and proclaimed — of what use is it to present ^ 144 L AZ ARRE yourself before the French people now? They are besotted with this Napoleon. The Empire seems to them a far greater thing than any legitimate mon- archy. Of what use, do I say? It would be a posi- tive danger for you to appear in France at this time ! Napoleon has proscribed every Bourbon. Any prince caught alive in France will be put to death. Do you know what he did last year to the Duke d'Enghien? He sent into Germany for the duke, who had never harmed him, never conspired against him— had done nothing, in fact, except live an inno- cent life away from the seat of Napoleon's power. The duke was brought to Paris under guard and put in the dungeons of Vincennes. He demanded to see Bonaparte. Bonaparte would not see him. He was tried by night, his grave being already dug in the castle ditch. That lovely young fellow— he was scarcely above thirty— was taken out to the ditch and shot like a dog!" I stood up wUh my hands clenched. "Sit down," said Louis Philippe. "There is no room in the world at this time for anybody but that jealous monster." "He shall not tie me here," I said. "You intend to go?" "I intend to go." "This Bonaparte," said Louis Philippe, "has his troubles. His brother Jerome has married an American in Baltimore. A fine explosion that will make when it reaches liis ears. Whore are you going to land, Lazarre?" ^Wi; ihQhm WANDERINQ 145 ■3 - I said that must depend on the ship I took. "And what are you going to do when you land?" I said I would think that out later. Then the spirit being upon me, I burst bounds and told him impetuously that I was going to learn what the world held for me. Without means, with- out friends, or power or prospects, or certainty of any good results — impudent — reckless — utterly rash— "I am going," I cried, "becr.use I must go!" "There is something about you which inspires love, my boy," said Louis Philippe; and I heard him with astonishment. "Perhaps it comes from the mother; she was a witcher of all mankind." "I cannot understand why any one should love so ignorant a creature, but God grant there be others that love me, too; for I have lived a life stinted of all affection. And, indeed, I did not know I wanted it until last year. When we talked late the other night, and you told me the history of all my family, the crudest part of my lot seemed the separation from those that belonged to me. Separation from what is our own ought not to be imposed upon us even by God Himself!" "What!" said Louis Philippe, "is he following a woman!" My face burned, and probably went white, for I felt the blood go back on my heart. He took my hand and stroked it. "Don't chain yourself behind that ^ harlot. Wait a little while for your good star to rise. J wish I had money. I wish I could be of use to you in 146 l^AZ A RRE^ France. I wish I stood nearer to Monsieur, for your sake. Every one must love this bold pure face. It bears some resemblance to Madame Royal. The sister of the dauphin is a good girl, not many years your senior. Much dominated by her uncles, but a royal duchess. It is the fashion now io laugh at chivalry. You are the most foolish example of it I ever saw! It is like seeing a knight without horse, armor, or purse, set out to win an equipment before he pursues his quest! Yet I love you for it, my boy!" "It would be well for me if I had more friends like you." "Why, I can be of no use! I cannot go back to France at this time, and if I could, what is my influ- ence there? I must wander around in foreign parts, a private gentleman eking out my living by some kind of industry. What are you going to do with the fretful old fellow you have with you?" I groaned and laughed. "Carry him on my back. There is no getting rid of him. He is following me to France. He Is my lesson-master." "How will you support him?" "He is supporting me at present. But I would rather take my chances alone." "You have another follower," said Louis Phi- lippe. "Your Indian has been in France, and after hearing our talk at the camp, he foresaw vou might be moved to this folly, and told me he intended to guide you there, or wherever you go!" "And Skenedonk, too!" i^*,^ WANDERINQ 147 i I shook with laughter. It was so Hke Skenedonk to draw his conclusions and determine on the next step. "What shall I do with them ?" "The old master can be your secretary, and as for the Indian, you can take him for your ser- vant." "A secretary and a servant, for an outcast with- out a penny to his pouch!" "You see the powers that order us are beginning well with you. Starting with a secretary and a servant, you may end with a full household and a court! I ought to add my poor item of tribute, and this I can do. There is a ship-master taking cargo this month in New York bay, who is a de- voted royalist; a Breton sailor. For a letter from me he will carry you and your suite to the other side of the world; but vou will have to land in his port." "And what will the charges be?" "Nothing, except gratitude, if I put the case as strongly to him as I itend to do. God knows I may be casting a fc lot for you. His ship is staunch, rigged like the Italian salt ships. But it is dirty work crossing the sea; and there is always danger of falling into the hands of pirates. Are you determined?" I looked him in the eyes, anci said I was; thank- ing him for all his goodness to one who had so little expectation of requiting him. The sweet heartiness of an older man so far beyond myself in princely 148 LAZ ARRE :--J I -f attainments and world knowledge, who could stoop to such a raw savage, took me by storm. I asked him if he had any idea who the idiot was that we had seen in Bellenger's camp. He shook his head, replying that idiots were plentiful, and the people who had them were sometimes glad to get rid of them. "The dauphin clue has been very cleverly man- aged by— Bellenger, let us say," Louis Philippe re- marked. "If you had not appeared, I should not now believe there is a dauphin." I wanted to tell him all the thoughts tossing in my mind; but silence is sometimes better than open speech. Facing adventure, I remembered that I had never known the want of food for any length of time during my conscious life. And I had a sus- picion the soft life at De Chaumont's had unstrung me for what was before me. But it lasted scarce a year, and I was built for hardship. He turned to his table to write the ship-master's letter. Behold, there lay a book I knew so well that I exclaimed — "Where did you get my missal?" "Your missal, Lazarre? This is mine." I turned the leaves, and looked at the back. It was a continuation of the prayers of the church. There were blank leaves for the inscribing of pray- ers, and one was written out in a good bold hand. "His Iilajesty Louis XVI composed and wrote that prayer himself," said Louis Philippe. "The WANDERINQ 149 comfort-loving priests had a fashion of dividing the missal into three or four parts, that a volume might not be so heavy to carry about in their pock- ets. This is the second volume. It was picked up in the Tuileries after that palace was sacked." I told him mine must be the preceding volume, because I did not know there was any continuation. The prayers of the church had not been my study. "Where did you get yours, Lazarre?" "Madame de Ferrier gave it to me. When I saw it I remembered, as if my head were split open to show the picture, that my mother had read from that very book to me. i cannot explain it, but so it was." "I am not surprised s'^'' believes, against Bellen- ger's evidence, that you are Louis of France." "I will bring my book and show it to you." We compared the volumes after supper, and one was the mate of the other. The inn dining-room had one long table stretched down its entire length, heaped with wild meats and honey and pastries and fish in abun- dance. General Jackson sat at one end, and at 'ae other sat the landlord, explaining to all his gue ls what each dish was, and urging good appetite, i sat by Louis Philippe, whose quality was known only to myself, with Doctor Chantry on the other side fretting for the attendance to which Jean had used him. 150 L A2 A RREj My master was so tired that I put him oarlv to bed; and then sat talking nearly all night with the gracious gentleman to whom I felt bound by grati- tude and by blood. J' k " Ill 1 DIEPPE, high and glaring white above the water, will always symbolize to me the gate of France. The nobility of that view remained in my thoughts when half the distance to Paris was traversed. I cottld shut my eyes and see it as I lay on the straw in a post-house stable. A square hole in the front of the grenicr gave upon the landscape. Even respectable houses in that part of the country were then built with few or no windows; but delicious masses of grayness they were, roofed with thick and overhanging thatch. "The stables of France are nothing but covered dunghills," Doctor Chantry grumbled; so when I crept with the Indian to lodgings over the cattle, one of the beds in the house was hired for the gouty master. Even at inns there were two or three beds in a room where they set us to dine. "An English inn-keeper would throw their furni- ture into the fire!" he cried in a language fortu- nately not understood. "But we have two good rooms on the ground floor, and another for Skenedonk," I sometimes remonstrated with him, "at three shillings and six- pence a day, in your money." "You would not see any man, let his rank be 153 L AZ A R R E what .t may. Doctor Chantry retorted, "dining in his bedroom, in England. And look at these walls •- papered with two or three kinds of paper, the bare spots hung with tapestry moth-eaten and filled with spi.lers! And what have we for table?-a board laid on cross-bars! And the oaken chairs arc rush-bottomed, and so straight the backs arc a persecution! The door hinges creak in these inns, tlic wind blows through—" So his complaints went on. for there never was a man who got so much out of small miseries. Sken- edonk and I must have failed to see all in our trav- els that he put before us. For we were full of enjoyment and wonder: at the country people wooden shod, the women's caps and long cloaks! at the quiet fair roads which multiplied themselves until we often paused enchanted in a fairy world of sameness; at market-towns, where fountains in the squares were often older than America, the country out of which we arrived. Skcnedonk hoard without shifting a muscle all Doctor Chantry's grievances; and I told him we ought to cherish them, for they were view . of life we could not take ourselves. Few people are made so delicately that they lose color and rail at the sight of raw tripe brought in by a proud hostess to show her resources for dinner; or at a chicken coming upon the table with its head tucked beneath its wing. "We are fed with poulct, poulet, nothing but WANDERING i5i poulct," said Doctor Chantry, "until the poulets themselves arc ashamed to look us in the face!" We fared well, indeed, and the wine was good, and my master said he must sustain himself on it though it proved his death. lie could not march as Skenedonk and I regularly marched. We hired a cart to lift him :\nd our knapsacks from villajjc to village, with a driver who knew the road to Paris. When the distances were long we sometimes mounted beside him. I noticed that the soil of this country had not the chalk look of other lands which I afterwards saw to the east and north; but Napo- leon was already making good the ancient thor- oughfares. When my master was on shipboard he enjoyed the sea even less than the free air of these broad stretches; for while he could cast an eye about and approve of something under the sky — perhaps a church steeple, or the color of a thatch which filled me with joy — he could not approve of any- thing aboard a ship. Indeed, it was pity to have no delight in cleaving the water, and in the far-oflF spouting of whales, tu say nothing of a living world that rides in undulations. For my part, I loved even the creaking of a ship and the uncertainty of ever coming fo port, and the anxiety lest a black flag should sht-vv above every sail we passed. The slow progress of man from point to point in his experience, while it sometimes enrages, on the whole interests me ; and the monotony of a vovage has a sweetness like the monotony of daily bread. V, »54 LA 2 A RRE i .f I:. I ■ r looked out of the grcnicr window upon the high road, and upon the June sun in the aci of settinf for we had supped anv.th joy m the smell of the earth at sunset, and the lookmg forward to seeing Madame de Ferrier agam. T wrapped myself every night in the con- v.c.on that I should see her, and mL freel than I had ever seen her in America exJir, ^V ""'' "' '°"^^ S^""P*"S' ^"1 the expected noble count arrived; being no other than De Chaumont with his post coaches. He stepped out of the first, and Ernestine stepped otitolthe second, carrymg Paul. She took him to his mother. Ihe door flew open, and the woman I adored re- ceived her child and walked back and forth with h.m. Annabel leaned out while the horses were changed. I saw Miss Chantry, and nn- heart mis- gave me. remembering her brother's' prolonged lament at separation from her .Iv ?!; ^ T'"^' '^'''^y '^''' '"^^ -^"^ of those pubhc beds which are like cupboards; for the day had begun for us at three of the morning. But if he chose to show himself, and fall upon Dc Chau- mont for luxurious conveyance to Paris, I was deternnned that Skenedonk and I should not ap- ' A^ A M D t: R 1 N O «55 pear. I wronprd my poor master, who tolrl me afterwards h iched through a crack of the cup- board bed with his heart in his mouth The pause was a very short one, for horses arc j.oon changed. Madame dc Ferrier threw a scarclt- ing eye over the landscape. It was a nicr^v she did not sec the hole in the grenier. throiigli which I devoured her, daring for the first time to call her secrct'y— Hac;lc— tlie name that Dc Chaumont used with common freedom ! Now how strange is this— th.it otn- woman should be to a man the sum of tluiigs! And what was her charm I could not tell, for I began to understand there were many beau- tiful women in the world, of all favors, an.l shapely perlmps as the one of my lov<\ Only her I found !V ■ :\ I'- nd none of the like pictures. 3un, and it was = nd he would u.'.U drawing the soul out of my others did more than pK> i<;e t^ The carriages were <: jnc vi no wonder all fell gr ;;<■,.. /; De Chaumont had . m?' ^ ix. be in Paris long before r. I had first felt some uov ; being arrested on our journc, captain— who was a man of gold that I would travel far to see this day, if I could, even beneath the At- lantic, where he and his ship now float— obtained for us at Dieppe, on his own pledge, a kind of sub- stitute for passports. We were a marked party, by reason of the doctor's lameness and Skencdonk's appearance. The Oneida, during his former su- journ in France, had been encouraged to preserve dread of liough our Breton 111 ji 156 L AZ AR RK * I , the novelty of his Indian dress. As I had nothing to give him in its place it did not become me to find fault. And he would have been more conspicuous with a cocked hat on his bare red scalp, and knee breeches instead of buckskins. Peasants ran out to look at him, and in return we looked at them with a good will. We reached the very barriers of Paris, however, without falling into trouble. And in the streets' were so many men of so many nations that Skene- donk's attire seemed no more bizarre than the tur- bans of the east or the white burnous of the Arab. It was here that Skenedonk took his role as guide, and stalked through narrow crooked streets, which by comparison made New York, my first experience of a city, appear a plain and open vil- lage. I do not pretend to know anything about Paris. Some spots in the mystic labyrinth stand out to memory, such as that open space where the guillo- tine had done its work, the site of the Bastille, and a long street leading from the place of the Bastille, parallel with the river; and this I have good reason to remember. It is called Rue S^ Antoine. I learned well, also, a certain prison, and a part of the ancient city called Faubourg St. Germain. One who can strike obscure trails in the wilderness of nature, may blunt his fine instincts on the wilder- ness of man. This did not befall the Indian. He took a bee line upon his old tracks, and when the place was sighted WANDBRINO 157 we threaded what seemed to be a rivulet between cliffs, for a moist depressed street-center kept us straddling something like a gutter, while with out- stretched hands we could brace the opposite walls. We entered a small court where a gruff man, called a concierge, having a dirty kerchief around his head, received us doubtfully. He was not the concierge of Skencdonk's day. We showed him coin; and Doctor Chantry sat down in his chair and looked at him with such contempt that his respect increased. The house was clean, and all the stairs we climbed to the roof were well scoured. From the mansard there was a beautiful view of Paris, with forest growth drawing close to the heart of the city. For on that side of the world men dare not murder trees, but are obliged to respect and cherish them. My poor master stretched himself on a bed by the stooping wall, and in disgust of life and great pain of feet, begged us to order a pan of charcoal and let him die the true Parisian death when that is not met on the scaffold. Skenedonk said to mc in Iro- quois that Doctor Chantry was a sick old woman who ought to be hidden some place to die, and it was his opinion that the blessing of the church would absolve us. We could then make use of the pouch of coin to carry on my plans. My plans were mor< ridiculous than Skencdonk's. His at least took sober shape, while mine were still the wild emotions of a young man's mind. Many 158 L A2 A R RB an hour I had spent on the ship, watching the foam speed past her side, trying to foresee my course hke hers in a trackless world. But it seemed I must wait alertly for what destiny was making mme. * We paid for our lodgings, three commodious rooms, though in the mansard; my secretary drag- gmg himself to sit erect with groans and record the mcreasing debt of myself and my servant. "Come, Skenedonk," I then said. "Let us go down to the earth and buy something that Doctor Chantry can eat." That benevolent Indian was quite as ready to go to market as to abate human nuisances. And Doctor Chantry said he could almost see English beef and ale across the channel; but translated into French they would, of course, be nothing but poulet and sour wine. I pillowed his feet with a bag of down which he had kicked off liis bed. and Skene- donk and I lingered along the paving as we had many -^ tim<- lingered througli the v oods. Tiicic were book stalls a few feet square where a man seemed smothered in his own volumes; and victual shops where you could almost feed vourself fur two or three sous; and people s.uir.g oiudoors drinking wine, as if at a general festival. I thou-lit Paris had conUort and prosperity -with iieredilar kmgs overthrown and an upstart in their pjact-. Yet the streets were dircy, with a snicll of anoient- ness that sickened me. We got a loaf of bread a^ long as a siaflf, a pat WANUKRINQ 159 of butter in a leaf, and a bottle of wine. My ser- vant, though unused to squaw labor, took on him- self the porterage of our goods, and I pushed from strcef to street, keenly pleased with the novelty, which held somewhere in its volatile ether the per- son of Madame de Ferrier, Skenedonk blazed our track with his observant eye, and we told ourselves we were searching for Doctor Chantry's beef. Being the unburdened hunter I undertook to scan cross places, and so came unexpectedly upon the Rue St. Antoinc, as a man told me it was callcil, and a great hurrahing that filled the mouths of a crowd blocking the thor- oughfare. "Long live the emperor!" they shouted. The man who told me the name of the street, a baker all in white, with his tray upon his head, objected contemptuously. "The emperor is not in Paris: he is in Bou- logne.'' "You never know where he is — he is here there— everywhere!" declared another workman, in a long dark garment like a hunting-shirt on the outside of his small clothes. "Long live the emperor!— long live the em- peror!" I pushed forward as two or three heavy coaches checked their headlong speed, and officers parted the crowd. "There he is!" admitted the baker behind me. Something struck me in ihe side, and there was t i6o L A Z A R R E Bellenger the potter, a man I thought beyond the seas in America. His head as I saw it that moment put the emperor's head out of my mind. He had a knife, and though he had used the handle, I fool- ishly caught it and took it from him. With all his strength he then pushed me so that I staggered against the wheel of a coach. "Assassin!" he screamed; and then Paris fell around my ears. If anybody had seen his act nobody refrained from joining in the cry. "Assassin! Assassin! To the lamp post with him !" I stood stupefied and astonished as an owl blink- ing in the sunshine, and two guards held my collar. The coaches lashed away, carrying the man of des- tiny—as I have since been told he called himself— as rapidly as possible, leaving the victim of destiny to be bayed at by that many-headed dog, the mon- grel populace of Paris. — 4. .. ^- A"* 4 IV THE idiot boy somewhere upon the hills of Lake George, always in a world of fog which could not be discovered again, had often conic to my mind during my jou/neys, like a self that I had shed and left behind. But Bellengcr was a cipher. I forgot him even at the campfire. Now here was this poor crazy potter on my track with vindictive intelligence, the day I set foot in Paris, Time was not granted even to set the lodg- ing in order. He must have crossed the ocean with as good speed as Doctor Chantry and Skenedonk and I. He may have spied upon us from the port, through the barriers, and even to our mansard. At any rate he had found mc in a crowd, and made use of me to my downfall: and I could have knocked my stupid head on the curb as I was haled av.ay. One glimpse of Skenedonk I caught while v;e marched along Rue St. Antoine, the gendarmes protecting me from the crowd. Ho thougln T w.is going to ■he scaffold, where many a strappmg fel- low had gone in the Paris of his youth, .ind fought to reach me, laying about him with his loaf of bread. Skenedonk would certainly trail me, and find a way to be of use, unless he broke into trouble as rcadilv as I had done. My guards crossed the river in the neighborhood i6i 1 62 l^A.Z A. R RB of palaces, and came by many windings to a huge pile rearing its back near a garden place, and there I was turned over to jailers and darkness. The entrance was unwholesome. A man at a table opened a tome which might have contained all the names in Taris. He dipped his quill and wrote by candlelight. "Political offender or common criminal?" he inquired. "Political oflfendcr," the officer answered. "What is he charged with?" "Trying to assassinate the emperor in his post- chaise." "La, la, la!" the recorder grunted. "Another attempt! And guni)ow(Icr put in the street to blow the emperor up only last week. Good luck attends him:— only a few windows broken and some com- mon people killed. Taken in the act, was this fel- low?" "With the knife in his hand." "What name?" the recorder inquired. I had thought on the answer, and told him merely that my name was Williams. "Eh, hien, Monsieur \'ecleeum. Take him to the east side among the political offenders," said the master-jailer to an assistant or turnkey. "Rut It's full," responded the turnkey. "Shove him in some place." They searched mc, and the turnkey lighted an- other candle. The meagerness of my output was WANDKRINO l«>3 beneath remark. When he had led nic up a flight of stone steps he paused and inquired, "Have you any money?" "No." "So much the worse for you." "What is the name of this prison?" I asked. "Ste. Pelagic," he answered. "If you have no money, and expect to eat here, you better give me some trinket to sell for you." "I have no trinkets to give you." He laughed. "Your shirt or breeches will do." "Are men shut up here to starve?"' The jailer shrugged. "The bread is very bad. and the beans too hard to eat. ^Ve do not furnish the rations; it is not our fault. The rule here is nothing buys nothing. But sleep in your breeches while you can. You will soon be ready enough to eat them." I was ready enough to eat them then, but for- bore to let him know it. The whole place was damp and foul. We passed along a corridor less than four feet wide, and he unlocked a cell from which a revolting odor came. There was no light except what strained through a loo[)hoIe under the ceiling. He turned the key upon me, and I held my nose. Oh, for a deep draught of the wilderness! There seemed to be an iron bc»i at one side, with a heap of rags on top. I resolved to stand up all night before trusting myself to tliat couch. The cell was soon explored. Two strides in each direc 164 L A Z A R R E J: f tion measured it. The stone walls were marked or cut with names I could dimly see, I braced my hack against the door and watched tlic loophole where a gray hint of daylight told that the sun nnist he still shining. This faded to a blotch in the thick stone, and became obliterated. Tired by the day's march, and with a taste of clean outdoor air still in my lungs, I chose one of the two corners not occupied by the ill olution in hand, moved toward the bed, determined to know what housed with me. The jug of water stood in the way, and I Hftcd it with instinctive answer to th.e groan. The creature heard the splash, and I knew by its mutter what it wanted. Groping darkly, to poise tho jug for an unseen mouth, I realizcuL" if he ever knew that a hand gave him „at.r. His eyes were meaningless, and he was so gauii that ^n- body scarcely made a ridge on the bt '1 Some beans and mouldy bread were put in r,/ my rations. The turnkey asked me how I ni;onded to wash myself without basin or cwli- oi- vcac's, i66 LA Z A R R E I and inquired further if he could be of service in disposing of my shirt or breeches. "What ails this man?" He shrugpe.I and said the prisoner had been wastmg with fever. "You get fever in Stc. Pelagic," he ad.led. "espe- cally when you eat the prison food. This man ought to be sent to the inHrmary. but the infirmary IS overflowmg now." "Who is he?" "A journalist, or poet, or some miserable canaille of that sort. He will soon be out of vour wav " Uur guard craned over to look at him. ''OHZ-da' He Ks a dying man! A priest must be sent to him soon. I remember he den,andei. 'on^BiiLKjazf mnuQ :: mi iii ii^iiii ii ii i i ' tst: MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ■ 50 l""^M ■M 13.2 116 1^ 1.8 ^ APPLIED INA^GE Ir ^E". '653 EosI Main Street ^^S Rochester. New York U609 USA "-^ (716) 482 - OMO - Phone ^S (716) 288 - 5989 - Fox i 1 i68 L AZ A RRE ■s ' : Looking at my cell-mate I could have rent the walls. "We are robbed," f told his deaf ears. "The light poured freely all over the city, the light that be- longs to you and me as much as to anybody, would save you! I wish I could pick you up and carry you out where the sun would shine through your bones! But let us be glad, you and I, that there is a woman wno IS not buried like a whitening sprout under this weight of stone! She is free, to walk around and take the light in her gray eyes and the wind in her brown hair. I swear to God if I ever come out of this I will never pass so much as a little plant prostrate in darkness, without helping it to the It was night by the loophole when our turnkey threw the door open. I heard the priest and his sacnstan joking in the corridor before they entered carrying their sacred parcels. The priest was a dod- dermg old fellow, almost deaf, for the turnkey shouted at his ear, and dim of sight, for he stooped close to look at the dying man, who was beyond confession. "Bring us something for a temporary altar," he commanded the turnkey, who stood candle in hand. The turnkey gave his light to the sacristan, and takmg care to lock us in, hurried to obey. I measured the lank, ill-stning assistant, more an overgrown boy than a man of brawn, but ex- panded around his upper part by the fullness of a ^ki.iiJi*- WANDERINO 169 le It. d u i! n r i 1 » t short white surplice. He had a face cheerful to silliness. The turnkey brought a board supported by cross- pieces; and withdrew, taking his own candle, as soon as the church's tapers were lighted. The sacristan placed the temporary altar beside the foot of the bed, arrayed it, and recited the Con- fiteor. Then the priest mumbled the Misereatur and In- dulgentiam. I had seen extreme unction administered as T had seen many another office of the church in my dim days, with scarcely any attention. Now the words were terribly living. I knew every one before it rolled ofif the celebrant's lips. Yet under that vivid surface know^ledge I carried on as vivid a sequence of thought. The priest elevated the ciborium, repeating, "Ecce Agnus Dei." Then three times — "Domine, non sum dignus." I heard and saw with exquisite keenness, yet I was thinking, "If I do not get out of here he will have to say those words over me." He put the host in the parted mouth of the dying, and spoke — "Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vetam aeternam." I thought how easy it would be to strip the loose surplice over the sacristan's head. There was a gwift clip of the arm around your opponent's neck !;? ' 11 - t 170 ^AZA RRE which I had learned in wrestling, that cut the breath off and dropped him as limp as a cloth. It wa, an Indian tnck I said .0 myself it would be impossi- cln h rV f '"* °" '"= ^""^'^" » "^ left the hurt htr en, T' °" """'• ' "" -' -« '0 have If I did not squeeze it The priest took out of a silver case a vessel o( 0.1, and a branch. He sprinkled holy water with .he branch, upon the bed, the wall.,, the sacristan and me, repeating, ••Asperges me, Dominc, hyssopo, et mundabor- «?u', T' " '"P" "'""'" dealbabor." WhUe I bent my head to the drops, I knew it was .^possible to choke down the sacri'stan, sTr ^ Ti^ h. surphce, mvest myself with it and get out o^ th! cell before pnest or turnkey looked back. The sac! oufo'f 1" " '""' "°""' '^^^ ^" '"e strength The priest said the Exaudi ncs, exhorted the in- .ens, e ,ig„,e, then recited the Credo and the Lh- an>, the sacristan responding. Silence followed. as COM I'fh '"■' *? Wroaching. My hands were as cold as the nerveless one which would soon re- ceive the candle. I told myself I should be a fool dred. I should not squeeze hard enough The man would yell. If r were swift as lightening and silent as force, they would take me in the act. It Mmmm WANDKRING 171 was impossible. But people who cannot do impos- sible things have to perish. The priest dipped his thumb in oil, and with it crossed the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and hands of him who was leaving the use of these five senses and instruments of evil. Then he placed a lighted candle in the stiffened fingers, and ended with — "Accipe lampadem ardentem custodi unctionem tuam." I said to myself — "I cannot do it! Nobody could! It is impossible!" The sacristan now began to strip th altar and pack all the sacred implements into their cases; pre- paring his load in the center of the room. The man v^'as dead. The sacristan's last office was to fix the two lighted altar candles on the head and foot railing of the bed. They showed the corpse in its appalling stillness, and stood like two angels, wuh the pit between them. The sacristan rapped upon the door to let the turnkey know it was time to unlock. I drew '^e thick air to my lung depths. The man who wou.a. breathe no more was not as rigid as I stood. But there was no use in attempting such a thing! The turnkey opened a gap of doorway through which he could see the candles and the bed. He opened no wider than the breadth of the priest, who IT* 'LA.ZA. RRE stepped out as the .cristan bent for the porta- bles. There was lightning in my arm as it took the sacristan around the neck and let him limp upon the stones. The tail of the priest's cassock was scarcely through the door. "Eh bien ! sacristan," called the turnkey. "Make haste with your load. I have this death to report. He is not so pretty that you must stand gazing at him all night!" I had the surplice over the sacristan's head and over mine, and backed out with my load, facing the room. If my jailer had thrust his candle at me, if the priest had turned to speak, if the man in the cell had got his breath before the bolt was turned, if my white surplice had not appeared the principal part of me in that black place — . It was impossible! — but I had done it ii -f THE turnkey's candle made a star-point in the corridor. He walked ahead of the priest and I walked behind. We descended to the entrance where the man with the bi-^- book sat tak- ing stock of another wretch between officers. I saw as I shaded my face with the load, that his inattentive eye dwelt on my surplice, which would have passed me anywhere in France. "Good-right, monsieur the cure," said the turn- key, letting us through the outer door. "Good-night, good-night," the priest responded. "And to you, sacristan." "Good-night," I muttered, and he came a step after me. The candle was yet in his hand, showing him my bulk, and perhaps the small clothes he had longed to vend. I expected hue and cry, but walked on after the priest, and heard the heavy doors jar, and breathed again. Hearkening behind and in front, on the right and the left, I followed him in the direction of what I have since learned to call the Jardin des Plantes. It is near Ste. 'elagie. The priest, wearied by his long office, spoke only once about the darkness ; for it was a cloudy night ; and aid not attend to my muttered response. I do not know what sympathy the excellent old man 173 m L A Z A R R E I might have shown to an escaped prisoner who had choked his sacristan, and I ha,ve not yet seen all the marble slabs vacant." "You receive the bodies of the drowned?" "And place them where they may be seen and claimed." "How lonp do you keep them?" "That depends. Sometimes their frienos seek them at once. We have kept a body three months in the winter season, though he turned very green." 'Are all in your present collection gathering verdure?" "No, monsieur. We have a very fresh one, just brought in; a big stahvar* fellow, wiilNO 187 d, was not forgotten. He sent tne of the money that he was obliged to receive in charity!" "It is easy to dole out charity money; you are squeezing other people's purses, not your own. What I most object to in the Count of Provence, is that assumption of kingly airs, providing the story is true which leaked secretly among the emigres. The story which I heard was that the dauphin had not died, but was an idiot in America. An idiot cannot reign. But the throne of France is not clamoring so loud for a Bourbon at present that the idiot's substitute must be proclaimed and hold a beggar's court. There are mad loyalists who swear by this eighteenth Louis. I am not one of them. In fact, Lazarre, I was rather out of tune with your house!" "Not you!" I said. "I do not fit in these times. I ought to have p'one with my king and my friends under the kni: n I am ashamed of myself for slipping away. iiat I iQa LJLZARRB 1 j 1 ''■■< . - . tv h ) *- ; ■ J- • -• i ■' 3 ' i -■ i i -, ; 1 • ■■ ■ fSiiif i ii A J' should live to see disgustir fools in the streets of Paris, after the Terror \ , over!— young men affecting the Greek and Roman manner— greeting one another by wagging of the head! iiicy wore gray coats with black collars, <;rdy or green cra- vats, carried cudgels, and decreed that all men s 'Id h ve the hair plaited, powdered, and fas- tened "p with a «onib, like themselves! The wearei of a queue was likely to be knocked on the head. These creatures used to congregate at the old Feydeau theater, or meet around the entrance of the Louvre, to talk classical jargon, and wag!" The Marquis du Plessy drew himself together with a st-ong shudder. I had the desire to Jtand betwecii him and the shocks of an alien world. Yet there was about him a tenacious masculine strength, an adroitness of self-protection which needed nc champion. "Did the Indian tell yoH aboat a man named Bellenger " I inquired. 'Tellenger is part of the old story about the dauphin's removal. I heard of him first at Cob- lenz. And I understand now that he is following you with another dauphin, and objecting te you in various delicate ways. Napoleon Boaaparte is master of France, and in the way to be master of Europe, because he has a nice sense of the values ci men, and the best head for detail that vw.s ever formed in human shape. There is something almost supernatural in his grasp of afTairs. He lets nothing escape him. The only mis- WANDEKINO 193 5 "S take he ever made wa« butchering the young Duke d'Enghien — the courage and clearness of the man wavered that one instant; and by the way, he borrowed my name for the duke's incog- nito during the journey under arrest! England, Russia, Austria and Sweden are combining against Napoleon. He will beat thcin. For while other men sleep, or amuse themselves, or let circum- stance drive them, he is planning success and providing for all possible contingencies. Take a leaf out of the general's book, my boy. No enemy is contemptible. If you want to force the iiand of fortune — scheme! — scheme! — all the time! — out- scheme the other fellow!" The marquis rose from the table. "I am longer winded," he said, "than a man named De Chaumont, who has been importmiing Bonaparte, in season and out of season, to reinstate an American emigre, a Madame de Ferrier." "Will Bonaparte restore her lands?" I asked, feeling my voice like a rope in my throat. "Do you know her family?" "I knew Madame de Ferrier in America." "Their estate lies next to mine. And what is the little De Ferrier like since she is grown?" "A beautiful woman." "Ah — ah! Bonaparte's plan will then be easy of execution. You may see her this evening here in the Faubourg St. Germain. I believe she is to ap- pear at Madame de Permon's, where Bonaparte may look in." 194 L AZ A R RE I f 1 My host bolted the doors of his private cabinet, and took from the secret part of a wall cupboard the queen's jcwcl-case. We opened it between us. The first thing I noticed was a gold snuflbox, set with portraits of the king, the queen, and their two children. How I knew them I cannot tell. Their pictured faces had never been put before my conscious eyes until that moment. Other portraits might have been there. I had no doubt, no hesitation. I was on my knees before the face I had seen in spasms of remembrance— with oval cheeks, and fair hair rolled high— and open neck— my royal mother! Next I looked at the king, heavier of feature, honest and straight gazing, his chin held upward; at the little sister, a smaller miniature of the queen; at the softly molded curves of the child that was myself! The marquis turned his back. Before I could speak I rose and put my arms around him. lie wheeled, took my hand, stood at a little distance, and kissed it. We said not one word about the portraits, but sat dovv-n with the jewel-cc o again between us. "These stones and coins are also my sister's, monsieur the marquis?" He lifted his eyebrows. "I had ample opportunity, my dear boy, to turn them into the exchequer of the Count of Provence. Before his quarrel with the late czar of Russia he WANDERING 195 a '€ * maintained a dozen gentlemen-in-waiting, and per- haps as many ladies, to say nothing of priests, ser- vants, attendants of attendants, and guards. This treasure might last him two years. If the king of Spain and his majesty of Russia got wind of it, and shut off their pensions, it would not last so long. I am too thrifty a Frenchman to dissipate the hoards of the state in foreign parts! Yet, if you question my taste — I will not say my honesty, Lazarre " "I question nothing, monsieur! I ask advice." "Eh, bien! Then do not be quite as punctilious as the gentleman who got turned out of the debtor side of Ste. Pelagie into an alley. 'This will not do,' says he. So around he posts to the entrance, and asks for admittance again!" "Catch me knocking at Ste. Pelagie for admit- tance again!" "Then my advice is to pay your tailor, if he has done his work acceptably." "He has done it marvelously, especially in the fitting." "A Parisian workman finds it no miracle to fit a man from his old clothes. I took the liberty of sending your orders. Having heard my little story, you understand that you owe me nothing but your society; and a careful inventory of this trust." We were a long time examining the contents of the case. There were six bags of coin, all gold louis; many unset gems; rings for the hand; and clusters of various sorts which I knew not how to r 196 L AZ ARRB It I li ri- name, that blazed with a kind of white fire very dazzling. The half-way crown was crusted thick with colored stones the like of which I could not have imagined in my dreams. Their names, the marquis told me, were sapphires, emeralds, rubies; and large clear diamonds, like beads of rain. When everything was carefully returned to place, he asked : "Shall I still act as your banker?" I begged him to hide the jewel box again, and he concealed it in the wall. "We go to the Rue Ste. Croix, Lazarre, which is an impossible place for your friend Bellenger at this time. Do you dance a gavotte?" I told him I could dance the Indian corn dance, and he advised me to reserve this accomplishment. "Bonaparte's police are keen on any scent, espe- cially the scent of a prince. His practical mind would reject the Temple story, if he ever heard it; and there are enough live Bourbons for him to watch." "But there is the Count de Chaumont," I sug- gested. "He is not a man that would put faith in the Temple story, either, and I understand he is kindly disposed towards you." "I lived in his house nearly a year." "He is not a bad fellow for th« new sort. I feel certain of him. He is coaxing my friendship be- cause of ancient amity between the houses of Du Plessy and De Ferri«r." I AV AN DERI N G 197 1 ;f "Did you say, monsieur, that Bonaparte intends to restore Madame de Ferrier's lands?" "They have been given to one of his rising offi- cers." "Then he will not restore them?" "Oh, yes, with interest! His plan is to give her the officer for a husband." VII I i EVEN in those days of falling upon adven- ture and taking hold of life with the ar- rogance of young manhood, I knew the value of money, though it has always been my fault to give it little consideration. Experience taught me that poverty goes afoot and sleeps with strange bed-fellows. But I never minded going afoot or sharing the straw with cattle. However, my secre- tary more than once took a high hand with me because he bore the bag; and I did mind debt chasing my heels like a rising tide. Our Iroquois had their cottages in St. Regis and their hunting cabins on Lake George. They went to church when not drunk and quarrelsome, paid the priest his dues, labored easily, and cared noth- ing for hoarding. But every step of my new life called for coin. As I look back on that hour the dominating thought rises clearly. To see men admitting that you are what you believe yourself to be, is one of the triumphs of existence. The jewel-case stamped identification upon me. I felt like one who had communicated with the past and received a benediction. There was special provision in the way it came to me; 198 WANDERING 199 for man loves to believe that God watches over and mothers him. Forgetting— if I had ever heard— how the ancients dreaded the powers above when they had been too fortunate, I went with the marquis in high spirits to the Rue Ste. Croix. There were pots of incense sending little wavers of smoke through the rooms, and the people might have peopled a dream. The men were indeed all smooth and trim ; but the women had given rein to their fancies. Our hostess was a fair and gracious woman, of Greek ancestry, as Bonaparte himself was, and her daughter had been married to his favorite general, the marquis told me. I notice only the unusual in clothing; the scan- tiness of ladies' apparel that clung like the skin, and lay upon the oak floor in ridges, among which a man must shove his way, was unusual to me. I saw, in space kept cleared around her chair, one beauty with nothing but sandals on her feet, though these were white as milk, silky skinned like a hand, and ringed with jewels around the toes. Bonaparte's youngest sister stood receiving court. She was attired like a Bacchante, with bands of fur in her hair, topped by bunches of gold grapes. Her robe and tunic of muslin fine as air, woven in India, had bands of gold, clasped with cameos, un- der the bosom and on the arms. Each woman seemed to have planned outdoing the others in conceits which marked her own fairness. I looked an sly down th ^:)acious room with- I I 200 L AZ A RRE ?! H out seeing Madame de Ferrier. The simplicity, which made for beauty of houses in France, struck me, in the white and gold paneling, and the chim- ney, which lifted its mass of design to the ceiling. I must have been staring at this and thinking of Madame de Ferrier when my name was called in a lilting and excited fashion: "Lazarre!" There was Mademoiselle de Chaumont in the midst of gallants, and better prepared to dance a gavotte than any other charmer in the room. For her gauze dress, fastened on the shoulders so that it fell not quite off her bosom, reached only to the middle of the calf. This may have been for the pro- tection of rosebuds with which ribbons drawn lengthwise through the skirt, were fringed; but it also showed her child-like feet and ankles, and made her appear tiptoe like a fairy, and more re- markable than any other figure except the bare- footed dame. She held a crook massed with rib- bons and rosebuds in her hand, rallying the men to her standard by the lively chatter which they like better than wisdom. Mademoiselle Annabel gave me her hand to kiss, and made room for the Marquis du Plessy and me in her circle. I felt abashed by the looks these courtiers gave me, but the marquis put them readily in the background, and delighted in the poppet, taking her quite to himself. "We hear such wonderful stories about you, Lazarre! Besides, Doctor Chantry came to see us ^•.*_i. WAN D B R 1 N G 201 m ■f and told us all he knew. Remember, Lazarrc he- longed to us before you discovered him, monsieur the Marquis du Plessy! He and I arc Americans!" Some women near us commented, as seemed to be the fashion in that society, with a frankness which Indians would have restrained. "See that girl! The emperor may now imagine what his brother Jerome has done! Her father has brought her over from America to marry her, and it will need all his money to accomplish that!" Annabel shook the rain of misty hair at the sides of her rose pink face, and laughed a joyful retort. "No wonder poor Prince Jerome had to go to America for a wife! Did you ever see such hairy faced frights as these Parisians of the Empire! Lazarre fell ill looking at them. He pretends he doesn't see women, monsieur, and goes about with his coat skirts loaded with books. I used to be almost as much afraid of him as I am of you!" "Ah, mademoiselle, I dread to enter paradise." "Why, monsieur?" "The angels are afraid of me!" "Not when you smile." "Teach me that adorable smile of yours!" "Oh, how improving you will be to Lazarre, monsieur! He never paid me a compliment in his life. He never said anything but the truth." "The lucky dog! What pretty things he had to say!" Annabel laughed and shook her mist in great enjoyment. I liked to watch her, yet I wondered I I 202 L AZ A R RE fi where Madame de Ferrier was, and could not bring myself to inquire. "These horrible incense pots choke me," said Annabel. "I like them," said the marquis. "Do you? So do I." she instantly agreed with him. "Though we get enough incense in church." "I should think so! Do you like mass?" "I was brought up on my knees. But I never acquired the real devotee's back." "Sit on your heels," imparted Annabel in strict confidence. "Try it," "I will. Ah, mademoiselle, any one who could bring such comfort into religion might make even wedlock endurable!" Madame de Ferrier appeared between the cur- tains of a deep window. She was talking with Count de Chaumont and an officer in uniform. Her face pulsed a rosiness like that quiver in win- ter skies which we call northern lights. The clothes she wore, being always subdued by her head and shoulders, were not noticeable like other women's clothes. But I knew as soon as her eyes rested on me that she found me changed. De Chaumont came a step to meet me, and I felt miraculously equal to him, with some power which was not in mc before. "You scoundrel, you have fallen into luck!" he said heartily. i WAN DERI NO 203 3e -i 3 J 1 •a i # i- -^ i «« One of • proverbs is, 'A blind pig will find an acorn once in a while.' " "There isn't a better acorn in the woods, or one harder to shake down. How did you do it?" I gave him a wise smile and held my tongue; knowing well that if I had remained in Ste. Pelagic and the fact ever came to De Chaumont's ears, like other human beings he would have reprehended my plunging into the world. "We are getting on tremendously, Lazarre! When your inheritance falls in, come back with me to Castorland. We will found a wilderness em- pire!" I did not inquire what he meant by my inheri- tance falling in. The marquis pressed behind me, and when I had spoken to Madame de Ferrier I knew it was his right to take the hand of the woman who had been his little neighbor. "You don't remember me, madame ?" "Oh, yes, I do. Monsieur du Plessy; and your wall fruit, too!" "The rogue! Permit me to tell you those pears are hastening to be ready for you once more." "And Bichette, monsieur— is dear old Bichette alive?"' "She is alive, and draws the chair as well as ever. I hear you have a little son. He may love the old pony and chair as you used to love them." "Seeing you, monsieur, is like coming again to my home!" "I trust you may come soon." n I i \ : 3 5 204 VXZ A R R E5 They spoke of fruit and cattle. Neither dared mention the name of any human companion asso- ciated with the past. I took opportunity to ask Count de Chaumont if her lands were rcrovercd. A baffled look troubled his face. "The emperor will see her to-night," he an- swered. "It is impossible to say what can be done until the emperor sees her." "Is there any truth in the story that he will marry her to the officer who holds her estate?" The count frowned. "No-i. ! That's impossible." "Will the officer sell his rights if Madame de Ferrier's are not acknowledged?" "I have thought of that. And I want to consult the marquis." When he had a chance to draw the marquis aside, I could speak to Madame de Ferrier without being overhr.rd; though my time might be short. She stood L L een the curtains, and the man in uniform had left iiu place to me. "Well, I am here," I said. "And I am glad," she answered. "I am here because I love you." She held a fold of the curtain in her hand and looked down at it; then up at me. "You must not say that again." "Why?" "You know why." "I do not." U^*^ WANDKWING 205 i "Remember who you arc." "I am your lover." She looked quickly around the buzzing drawing- room, and leaned cautiously nearer. "You are my sovereign." "I believe that, Eagle. But it does not follow that I shall ever reign." "Are you safe here? Napoleon Bonaparte has spies." "But he has regard also for old aristocrats like tho Marquis du Plessy." "Yet remember what he did to the Duke d'En- ghien. A Bourbon prince is not allowed in Franco." "How many people consider me a Bourbon prince? I told you why I am here. Fortune has wonderfully helped me since I came to France. Lazarre, the dauphin from the Indian camps, bra- zenly asks you to marry him, Eagle!" Her face blanched white, but she laughed. "No De Ferrier ever took a base advantage of royal favor. Don't you think this is a strange con- versation in a drawing-room of the Empire? I hated myself for being here — until you came in." "Eagle, have you forgotten our supper on the island?" "Yes, sire." She scarcely breathed the word. "My unanointed title is Lazarre. And I suppose you have forgotten the fog and the mountain, too?" "Yes." Wf! I 9 if 306 I^ A Z A. H R K "Lararre!" "Yes, Lazarre." "You love me! You shall love me!" "As a De Ferricr should; no farther!" Iler lifted chin expressed a strength I could not combat. The slight, dark-haired girl, younger than myself, mastered and drew me as if my spirit was a stream, and she the ocean into which it must flow. Darkness like that of Ste. I'elagie dropped over the brilliant room. I was nothing after all but a palpitating boy, venturing because he must venture. Light seemed to strike through her blood, however, endowing her with a splendid pallor. "I am goi.ig," I determined that moment, "to Mittau." The adorable curve of her eyelids, unlike any other eyelids I ever saw, was lost to me, for her eyes flew wide open. "To " She looked around and hesitated to pronounce the name of the Count of Provence. "Yes. I am going to find some one who belongs to me." "You have the marquis for a friend." "And I have also Skenedonk, and our tribe, for my friends. But there is no one who understands that a man must have some love." "Consult Marquis du Plessy about going to Mit- tau. It may not be wise. And war is threatened on the frontier." "I will consult him, of course. But I am going." WANDERING ao7 'to fa 2 S "Lazarrc. ihcrc were ladies ov. the ship who cursed and swore, and men who were drunk the greater part of th; voyage. I was brought up in the old-fashioned way by the Saint-Michels, so I know nothing of present customs. lUu it seems to me our times are rude and wicked. And you. just awake to the world, have yet the innocence of that little boy who sank into the strange and long stupor. If you clianged I think I could not bear it!" "I will not change." A stir which must have been widening through the house as a ripple widens on a lake, struck us, and turned our faces with all others to a man who stood in front of the chimney. He was not large in person, but as an individual his presence wai massive— was penetrating. I could have topped him by hcarl and shoulders; yet .vithout mastery. He took snutt a* iie slightly bowed in «;vt>ry iiitc- tion, shut the lid with a snap, and fidgeted as if impatient to be gone. He had a mouth of wonder- ful beauty and expression, and his eyes were more alive than the eyes of any other man in the assem- bly. I felt his gigantic force as his head dipped forward and he glanced about under his brows. "There is the emperor," Dc Chaiimont told Eagle; and I thought he made indecent haste to return and hale her away before Xapolcon. The greatest soldier in Europe passed from one person to another with the air of doing his duty and getting rid of it. Presently he raised his voice, ;! i I I f 208 L AZ A R R E :n speaking to Madame de Ferrier so that. all in the room might hear. "Madame, I am pleased to see that you wear leno. I do not like those English muslins, sold at tiie price of their weight in gold, and which do not look half as well as beautiful white leno. Wear leno, cambric, or silk, ladies, and then my manu- factures will flourish," I wondered if he would remember the face of the man pushed against his wheel and called an assas- sin, when the Marquis du Plessy named me to him as the citizen Lazarre. "You are a lucky man. Citizen Lazarre, to gain the marquis for yo.ir friend. I have beentrying a number of years to make him mine." "All Frenchmen are the friends of Napoleon," the marquis said to me. I spoke directly to the sovereign, thereby vio- lating etiquette, my friend told me afterwards, laughing; and Bonaparte was a stickler for prece- dent. "But all Frenchmen," I could not help reminding the man in power, "are not faithful friends." He gave me a sharp look as he passed on, and repeated what I afterward learned was one of his favorite maxims: "A faithful friend is the true image." '^-wi:*««yu. VIII 1? 66"\ T UST you go to Alittau?" the Marquis XV JL tlu Plessy said when I told him what I intended to do. "It is a long, expensive post journey ; and part of the way you may not be able to post. Riga, on the gulf beyond Mittau, is a fine old town of pointed gables and high stone houses. But when I was in Aliitau I found it a mere winter camp of Russian nobles. The houses are low, one-story structures. There is but one castle, and in that his Royal Highness the Count of Provence holds mimic court." We were riding to \'ersailles, and our horses almost touched sides as my friend put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't go, Lazarre. You will not be welcome there." "I must go, whether I am welcome or not." "P)Ut I may not last until you come back." "You will last two months. Can't I post to Mit- tau and back in two months?" "God knows." I looked at him drooping forward in the saddle, and said: "If you need me I will stay, and think no more about seeing those of my own blood." "I do need you; but you shall not stay. You 309 H 2IO Iv A Z ARRE shall go to Mittau in my own post-carriage. It will bring you back sooner." But his post-carriage I could not accept. The venture to Mittau, its wear and tear and waste, were my own; and I promised to return with all speed. I could have undertaken the road afoot, driven by the necessity I felt. "The Duchess of Angouleme is a good girl," said the marquis, following the line f f my thoughts. "She has devoted herself to her uncle and her hus- band. When the late czar withdrew his pension, and turned the whole mimic court out of Mittau, she went with her uncle, and even waded the snow with him when they fell into straits. Diamonds given to her by her grandmother, the Empress Maria Theresa, she sold for his support. But the new czar reinstated them; and though they live less pretentiously at Mittau in these days, they still have their priest and almoner, the Duke of Guiche, and other courtiers hanging upon them. My boy, can you make a court bow and walk backwards? You must practice before going into Russia." "Wouldn't it be better," I said, "for those who know how, to practice the accomplishment before me 5" "Imagine the Count of Provence stepping down from playing royalty to do that!" my friend laughed. "I don't know vi'hy he shouldn't, since he knows I am alive. He has sent money every year for my support." W^ NDERING 211 1 i n a :3 1 "An established custom, Lazarre, gains strength every day it is continued. You see how hard it is to overturn an existing system, because men have to Uh lo the work they have been doing perhaps for a thousand years. Time gives enormous sta- bility. Monsieur the Count of Provence has been practicing royalty since word went out that his nephew had died in the Temple. It will be no easy matter to convince him you are fit to play king in his stead." This did not disturb me, however. I thought more of my sister. And I thought of vast stretches across the center of Europe. The Indian stirred in me, as it always did stir, when the woman I wanted was withdrawn from me. I could not tell mv friend, or anv man, about Madame de Ferric- ' his story of my life is not to be printed unti; ■ i gone from the world. Otherwise the thing? .-.et down so freely would re- main buried in myself. Some beggars started from hovels, running like dogs, holding diseased and crooked-eyed children up for alms, and pleading 'or God's sake that we would have pity on them. When they disappeared with their coin I asked the marquis if there had always been wretchedness in France. "There is always wretchedness everywhere," he answered. "Napoleon can turn the world upside down, but he cannot cure the disease of hereditary poverty. I never rode to Versailles without en- countering these people." I - « ■ i ■' I 1. 1 . 1 i i" : ^ j i - 4 i i ■'. '■ .■ ', * 212 L AZ A RRB When wc entered the Place d'Armes fronting the pnlace, desolation worse than that of the beg- gars faced us. That vast noble pile, untenanted and sacked, symbolized the vanished monarchy of France. Doors stood wicfc. The court was strewn with litter and filth; and grass started rank be- twixt the stones where tl:e proudest courtiers in the world had trod. I tried to enter the queen's rooms, but sat on the steps leading to them, hold- ing my head in my hands. It was as impossible as it had been to enter the Temple. The fountains which once made a concert of mist around their lake basin, satisfying like music, the marquis said, were dried, and the figures broken. Millions had been spent upon this domain of kings, and nothing but the summer's natural verdure was left to unmown stretches. The foot shrank from sending echoes through empty palace apartments, and from treading the weedy margins of canal and lake. "I should not have brought you here, Lazarre," said my friend. "I had to come, monsieur." We walked through meadow and park to the little palaces called Grand and Petit Trianon, where the intimate life of the last royal family had been lived. I looked well at their outer guise, but could not explore them. The groom held our horses in the street that leads up to the Place d'Armes, and as we sauntered :t !! I : n WAND BRING 213 1 1 I back, I kicked old leaves which had fallen autumn after autumn and banked the path. It rushed over me again! I felt my arms go above my head as they did when I sank into the deplhs of recollection. "Lazarre! Arc you in a fit?" The Marquis du Plessy seized me. "I remember! I remember! I was kicking: the leaves— I was walking with my father and mother — somewhere — somewhere — and something threat- ened us!" "It was in ihe garden of the Tuileries," said the Marqu's du Plessy sternly. "The mob threatened you, and you were going before the National Assembly! I A'alked behind. I was there to help defend the king." We stood still until the paroxysmal rending in my head ceased. Then I sat on the grassy road- side trying to smile at the marquis, and shrugging an apology for my weakness. The beauty of the arched trees disappeared, and when next I rec- ognized the world we were moving slowly toward Paris in a heavy carriage, and I was smitten with the conviction thet my friend had not eaten the dinner he ordered in the town of Versailles. I felt ashamed of the weakness which came like an eclipse, and withdrew leaving me in my strength. It ceased to visit me within that year, and has never troubled me at all in later days. Yet, inconsistently, I look back as to the glamour of youth; and 214 L AZ A R RE 11 ft * though it worked nic hurt and shame, I half regret that it is gone. The more I saw of the Marquis du Plessy the more my slow tenacious heart took hold on him. We went about everywhere together. I think it was his hope to wed me to his company and to Paris, and shove the Mittau venture into an indefi- nite future; yet he spared no pains in obtaining for me my passports to Courland. At this time, with cautious, half reluctant hand, he raised the veil from a phase of life which aston- ished and revolted me. I loved a woman. The painted semblances of women who inhabited a world of sensation had no effect upon me. "You are wonderfully fresh, Lazarre," the mar- quis said. "If you were not so big and male I would call you mademoiselle! Did they never sin in the American backwoods?" Then he took me in his arms like a mother, and kissed me, saying, "Dear son and sire, I am worse than your great-grandfather!" Yet my zest for the gaiety of the old city grew as much as he desired. The golden dome of the Invalides became my bubble of Paris, floating un- der a sunny sky. Whenever I went to the hotel which De Chau- mont had hired near the Tuileries, Madame de Fer- rier received me kindly; having always with her Mademoiselle de Chaumont or Miss Chantry, so that w^e never had a word in private. I thought she might have shown a little feeling in her rebuff. i- 1 ' WANDERIXQ 215 and pondered on her point of view regarding my secret rank. De Chauinont, on the other hand, was beneath her in everything but wealth. TIow might she regard stooping to him? Miss Chantry was divided between enforced def- erence and a Saxon necessity to tell me I would rot last. I saw she considered me one of the upstarts of the Empire, singularly favored above her brother, but under my finery the same French savage she had known in America. Eagle brought Paul to me, and he toddled across the floor, looked at me wisely, and then climbed my knee. Doctor Chantry had been living in Paris a life above his dreams of luxury. When occasionally I met my secretary he was about to drive out; or he was returning from De Chaumont's hotel. And there I caught my poor master reciting poems to Annabel, who laughed and yawned, and made faces behind her fan. I am afraid he drew on the marquis' oldest wines, finding indulgence in the house; and he sent extravagant bills 10 me for gloves and lawn cravats. It was fortunate that De Chaumont took him during my absence. He moved his belongings with positive rapture. The marquis and I both thought it prudent not to publish my journey. Doctor Chantry went simpering, and abasing himself before the French noble with the complete subservience of a Saxon when a Saxon does be- come subservient. "The fool is laughable," said the Marquis du ! H ill ( IT. •!; !( i-'h if: ■ ' I i ■ %■ ■ i ll •J Iv A Z A R R E ricssy. "Get rid of liim, Lazarrc. He is fit for notliing but liangitjg upon some one who will feed him." "lie is my master," I answered. "I am a fool myself." "You will come back from Mittau convinced of that, my boy. The wise course is to join yourself to events, and let them draw your chariot. My dislikcrs say I have temporized with fate. It is true I am not so righteous as to smell to heaven. But two or three facts have been deeply impressed on me. There is nothing more aggressive than the virtue of an ugly, untempted woman; or the determination of a young man to set every wrong thing in the world right. He cannot wait, and take mellow interest in what goes on around him, but must leap into the ring. You could live here with me indefinitely, while the nation has Bonaparte like the measles. When the disease has run its course — we may be able to bring evidence which will make it unnecessary for the Count of Provence to hasten here that France may have a king," "I want to sec my sister, monsieur." "And lose her and your own cause forever." But he helped me to hire a strong traveling chaise, and stock it with such comforts as it would bear. He also turned my property over to me, rec- ommending that I should not take it into Russia. Half the jewels, at least, I considered the property of the princess in Mittau; but his precaution in- fluenced me to leave three bags of coin in Doctor WANDERINO ai7 Chantry's care : for Doctor Ciiantry was the soul of ♦'irift with his own ; and to send Skencdonk with the jewel-case to the marquis' bank. The cautious Oneida took counsel of himself and hid it in the chaise. He told me when wc were three days out. It is as true that you are driven to do some tilings as that you can never c.itirely free yourself from any life you have lived. That sunny existence in the Faubourg St. Germain, the morning and even- ing talks with a man who bound me to him as no other man has since bound me, were too tlear to leave even briefly without wrenching pain. I dreamed nightly of robbers and disaster, of being ignominiously thrust out of Mittau, of seeing a woman whose face was a blur an.l who moved backward from me when I called her my sister; of troops marching across and trampling me into the earth as straw. I groaned in spirit. Yet to Mittau I was spurred by the kind of force that seems to press from unseen distances, and is as fatal as temperament. When I paid my last visit at De Chaumont's hotel, and said I was going into the country. Eagle looked concerned, as a De Ferrier should; but she did not turn her head to follow my departure. The game of man and woman was in its most blindfold state between us. There was one, however, who watched me out of sight. The marquis was more agitated than I liked to see him. He took snufT with a constant click of the lid. m 2l8 L A Z A R R E ^ i t J ■ i! ,; ^ff-Mli - I J if _ 1; /■-OS , i 1 The hills of Champagne, green with vines, and white as with an underlay of chalk, rose behind us. We crossed the frontier, and German hills took their places, with a castle topping each. I was at the time of life when interest stretches eagerly toward every object; and though this journey cannot be set down in a story as long as mine, the novelty — even the risks, mischances and weari- nesses of continual post travel, come back like an invigorating breath of salt water. i .ic usual route carried us eastward to Cracow, the old capital of Poland, scattered in ruined grand- eur within its brick walls. Beyond it I remember a stronghold of the Mid''" Ages called tht fortress of Landskron. The peasants of this country, men in shirts and drawers of coarse linen, and women with braided hair hanging down under linen veils, stopped their carlo as soon as a post-carriage rushed into sight, and bent almost to the earth. At post-houses the servants abased themselves to take me by the heel. In no other country was the spirit of man so broken. Poles of high birth arc called the French- men of the north, at:,l we saw fair men and women in sumptuous polonaises and long robes who ap- peared luxurious in their traveling carriages. But stillness and solitude brooded on the land. From Cracow to Warsaw wide reaches of forest darkened the level. Any open circle was belted around the horizon with woods, pines, firs, beech, birch, and small oaks. Few cattle fed on the pastures, and \V A N D E R I X O 319 sujnted crops of grain ripened in the melancholy From Cracow to Warsaw is a distance of one hundred and thirty leagues, if the postilion lied not •^ore than a dozen carts. Scattering wooden vii- lagcs, each a line of hovels, appeared at long inter- Post-houses were kept by Jews, who fed us in he rop .here their families lived. Milk and egf,. they had none to offer us; and their beds were pdes of straw on the ground, seldom clean never untenanted by Hcas. Beggars ran beside us on the wretched roads as neglected as themselves. Where our horses did not labor through sand, the marshy ground was paved w.th sticks and boughs, or the Lface a built up wuh trunks of trees laid crosswise in '- u.. ill-paved Warsaw, through which the great V'.stula flows, we rested two dayl I kne wUh confused thoughts, trying to pray in the to r^'u"' '''' "^^'^^ P^^^ '^' -*° the old town, of h,gh houses and narrow streets, like a part of Paris. In Lithuania the roads were paths winding through forests full of stumps and roots. The car nage hardly squeezed along, and eight little horses attached to .t in the Polish way had much ado to draw us. The postilions were young boys in coarse hnen, hardy as cattle, who rode bare-back league upon league. ^ :B J ,. I if. .) u I 5- 320 L A Z A R R B Old bridges cracked and sagged when \vc crossed them. And here tlic forests rose scorched antl Ijlack in spots, becanse the jieasants, bound to pay their lords turpentine, tired pines and caught the heated ooze. Within the proper boundary of Russia out way was no better. There wc saw queer projections of boards around trees to keep bears from climbing after the hunters. The Lithii -.nian peasants had few wants. Their carts were put together without nails. Their bridles and traces were made of bark. They had no tools but hatchets. A sheepskin coat and round felt cap kept a man warm in cold weather. His shoes were made of bark, and his home of logs with pent- house roof. In houses where travelers slept the candks were laths of deal, about five feet long, stuck into crev- ices of the wall or hung over tables. Our hosts carried them about, dropping unheeded sparks upon the straw beds. In Grodno, a town of falling houses and ruined palaces, we rested again before turning directly north. There my heart began to sink. We had spent four weeks on a comfortless road, working always toward the goal. It was nearly won, A speech of my friend the marquis struck itself out sharply in the northern light. "You arc not the only Pretender, my dear boy. Don't go to Mittau expecting to be hailed as a VV A N D B R I N O 221 novelty. At least two peasants have started up clamung to be the prince who did not die in tl,c Temple, and hnve been cast down a;,'ain, complain- •ng of the treatment of their dear sister! The Count d'Artois says he would rather saw wood for a liv- ing than be king after the English fashion. I would rather be the worthless old fellow I am than be kmg after the Mittau fashion; especially when his Majesty, Louis XVIII, sees you coming!" ¥■ IX I 1 ir .1i n fit -I ■^ ■ 1 r ' I :; f^ r\: PURPOSELY we entered Mittau about sun- set, which was nearer ten o'clock than nine in that northern land ; coming through wheat lands to where a network of streams forms the river Aa. In this broad lap of the province of Courland sat Mittau. Yelgava it was called by the people among whom we last posted, and they pronounced the word as if naming something as great as Paris. It was already July, St. John's day being two weeks gone; yet the echoes of its markets and feastings lingered. The word "Johanni" smote even an ear deaf to the language. It was like a dissolving fair. "You are too late for Johanni," said the German who kept the house for travelers, speaking the kind of French we heard in Poland. "Perhap it is just as well for you. This Johanni has nearly ruined me!" Yet he showed a disposition to hire my singular servant from me at a good wage, walking around and around Skenedonk, who bore the scrutiny like a pine tree. The Oneida enjoyed his travels. It was easy for him to conform to the thoughts and habits of Eu- rope. We had not talked about the venture into Russia. He simply followed me where I went 222 WANDERING 223 without asking questions, proving himself faithful friend and liberal minded gentleman. We supped privately, and I dressed with care Horses were put in for our last short post of a few streets. We had suffered such wretched quarters on the way that the German guest-house spread Itself commcdiously. Yet its walls were the flim- siest slabs. I heard some animal scratching and whmmg in the next chamber. On the post-road however, we had not always a wall betwixt our- selves and the dogs. _ The palace in Mittau stood conspicuous upon an island m the river. As we approached, it looked not unhke a copy of Versailles. The pile was by no means brilliant with lights, as tlie court of a king might glitter, finding -flection upon the stream. We drove with a clatter upon the paving and a sentinel challenged us. I had thought of how I should obtain access to th.s secluded royal family, and Skenedonk was ready with the queen's jewel-case in his hands Not on any account was he to let it go out of them until .^°°'V7"d applied the key; but gaining audience with Madame d'Angouleme, he was to tell her that the bearer of that casket had traveled far to see her and waited outside. ' Under guard the Oneida had the great doors shut behind him. The wisdom of my plan looked less conspicuous as time went by. The palace loomed silent, without any cheer of courtiers. The horses shook their straps, and the postilion hung 1 It; {■■: !■; r ■ 224 L AZ ARRK lazily by one leg, his figure distinct against the low horizon still lighted by after-glow. Some Mittau noises came across the Aa, the rumble of wheels, and a barking of dogs. When apprehension began to pinch my heart of losing my servant and my whole fortune in the abode of honest royal people, and I felt myself but a poor outcast come to seek a princess for my sis- ter, a guard stood by the carriage, touching his cap, and asked me to follow him. We ascended the broad steps. He gave the pass- word to a sentinel there, and held wide one leaf of the door. He took a candle; and otherwise dark corridors and ante-chambers, somber with heavy Russian furnishings, rugs hung against the walls, barbaric brazen vessels and curious vases, passed like a half-seen vision. Then the guard delivered me to a gentleman in a blue coat, with a red collar, who belonged to the period of the Marquis du Plessy without being adorned by his whiteness and lace. The gentleman staring at me, strangely polite and full of suspicion, conducted me into a well-lighted room where Skenedonk waited by the farther door, holding the jewel-case as tenaciously as he would a scalp. I entered the farther door. It closed behind me. A girl stood in the center of this inner room, looking at me. I remember none of its fittings, except that there was abundant light, showing her clear blue eyes and fair hair, the transparency of her skin, and her high expression. She was all WANDERING 225 in black, except a floating muslin cape or fichu, making a beholder despise the finery of the Em- pire. We must have examined each other even sternly, though I felt a sudden giving way and heaving in my breast. She was so high, so sincere! If I had been unfit to meet the eyes of that princess I must have shriveled before her. From side to side her figure swayed, and another young girl, the only attendant in the room, stretched out both arms to catch her. We put her on a couch, and she sat gasping, supported by the lady in waiting. Then the tears ran down her face, and I kissed the transparent hands, my own flesh and blood, I believed that hour as I believe to this. "O Louis— Louis!" The wonder of her knowledge and acceptance of me, without a claim being put forward, was around me like a cloud. "You were so like my father as you stood there — I could see him again as he parted from us! What miracle has restored you? How did you find your way here? You are surely Louis?" I sat down beside her, keeping one hand between mine. "Madame, I believe as you believe, that I am Louis Charles, the dauphin of France. And I have come to you first, as my own flesh and blood, who must have more knowledge and recollection of things past than I myself can have. I have not ;s-i mm §'A li i m • H 226 ly A Z ARRB long been waked out of the tranced life I formerly lived." "I have wept more tears for the little brother — broken in intellect and exiled farther than we— than for my father and mother. They were at peace. But you, poor child, what hope was there for you? Was the person who had you in his charge kind to you? He must have been. You have grown to be such a man as I would have you!" "Everybody has been kind to me, my sister." "Could they look in that face and be unkind? All the thousand questions I have to ask must be de- ferred u?:dl the king sees you. I cannot wait for him to sc" you! Mademoiselle de Choisy, send a message at once to the king!" The lady in waiting withdrew to the door, and the royal duchess quivered with eager anticipation. "We have had pretended dauphins, to add insult to exile. You may not take the king unaware as you took me! He will have proofs as plain as his Latin verse. But you will find his Majesty all that a father could be to us, Louis! I think there never was a man so unselfish! — except, indeed, my hus- band, whom you cannot see until he returns." Again I kissed my sister's hand. We gazed at each other, our different breeding still making strangeness between us, across which I yearned, and she examined me. Many a time since I have reproached myself for not improving those moments with the most can- did and right-minded princess in Europe, by fore- If |i| WAN DBRI NO 227 stalling my enemies. I should have told her of my weakness instead of sunning my strength in the love of her. I should have made her see my actual position, and the natural antagonism of the king, who would not so readily see a strong personal resemblance when that was not emphasized by some mental stress, as she and three very different men had seen it. Instead of making cause with her, however, I said over and over— "Marie-Therese! Marie- Therese!"— like a homesick boy come again to some familiar presence. "You are the only one of my family I have seen since waking; except Louis Philippe." "Don't speak of that man, Louis! I detest the house of Orleans as a Christian should detest only sin! Hisfather doomed ours to death!" "But he is not to blame for what his father did." "What do you mean by waking?" "Coming to my senses." "All that we shall hear about when the king sees you." "I knew your picture on the snuffbox." "What snufifbox?" "The one in the queen's jewel-case." "Where did you find that jewel-case?" "Do you remember the Marquis du Plessy?" "Yes. A lukewarm loyalist, if loyalist at all in these times." "My best friend." "I will say for him that he was not among the first !!l F I > :i M i l' r ■ .- i i ir 1 i ! 228 L AZ ARRB emigres. If the first emigres had stayed at home and helped their king, they might have prevented the Terror." "The Marquis ou Plessy stayed after the Tui- leries was sacked. He found the queen's jewel-case, and saved it from confiscation to the state." "Where did he find it? Did you recognize the faces?" "Oh, instantly!" The door opened, deferring any story, for that noble usher who had brought me to the presence of Marie-Therese stood there, ready to conduct us to the king. My sister rose and I led her by the hand, she going confidently to return the dauphin to his fam- ily, and the dauphin going like a fool. Seeing Sken- cdonk stand'. ig by the door, I must stop and fit the key to i e lock of the queen's casket, and throw the lid back to show her proofs given me by one who believed in me in spite of himself. The snuff- box and two bags of coin were gone, I saw with con- sternation, but the princess recognized so many things that she missed nothing, controlling herself as her touch moved from trinket to trinket that her mother had worn. "Bring this before the king," she said. And we took it with us, the noble in blue coat and red collar carrying it. "His Majesty," Marie-Therese told me as we passed along a corridor, "tries to preserve the eti- quette of a court in our exile. But we are paupers, W ANDBRING 329 Louis. And mocking our poverty, Bonaparte makes overtures to him to sell the right of the Bour- bons to the throne of France!" She had not yet adjusted her mind to the fact that Louis XVIII was no longer the one to be treated with by Bonaparte or any other potentate, and the preiender leading her smiled like the boy of twenty that he was. "Napoleon can have no peace while a Bourbon in the line of succession lives." "Oh, remember the Duke d'Enghien!" she whis- pered. Then the door of a lofty but narrow cabinet, lighted with many candles, was opened, and I saw at the farther end a portly gentleman seated in an arm-chair. A few gentlemen and two ladies in waiting, be- sides Mademoiselle de Choisy, attended. Louis XVIII rose from his seat as my sister made a deep obeisance to him, and took her hand and kissed it. At once, moved by some singular maternal impulse, perhaps, for she was half a dozen years my senior, as a mother would whimsically decorate her child, Marie-Therese took the half circlet of gems from the casket, reached up, and set it on my head. For an instant I was crowned in Mittau, with my mother's tiara. I saw the king's features turn to granite, and a dark red stain show on his jaws like coloring on stone. The most benevolent men, and by all his f * ' 1 ■■ 11 I 1 E ^ J i I li. . 230 LAZ AR RE traits he was one of the most benevolent, have their pitiless moments. He must have been prepared to combat a pretender before I entered the room. But outraged majesty would now take its full ven- geance on mc for the unconsidered act of the child he loved. "First two peasants, Hervagault and Bruneau, neither of whom had the audacity to steal into the confidence of the tenderest princess in Europe with the tokens she must recognize, or to penetrate into the presence," spoke the king: "and now an escaped convict from Ste. Pelagic, a dandy from the Em- pire!" I was only twenty, and he stung me. "Your royal highness," I said, speaking as I believed within my rights, "my sister tries to put a good front on my intrusion into Mittau." I took the coronet from my head and gave it again to the hand which had crowned me. Marie- Therese let it fall, and it rocked near the feet of the king. "Your sister, monsieur! What right have you to call ^ladame d'Angoulcme your sister!" "The same right, monsieur, that you have to call her your niece." The features of the princess became pinched and sharpened under the softness of her fair hair. "Sire, if this is not my brother, who is he?" Louis XVIII may have been tender to her every other moment of his life, but he was hard then, and \\^ A N E> E R I N Q 231 looked beyond her toward the door, making a sign with his hand. That strange sympathy which works in me for my opponent, put his outraged (h'gnity before me rather than my own wrong. Deeper, more sick- ening than death, the first faintness of self-distrust came over me. What if my half-memories were unfounded hallucinations? What if my friend Louis Philippe had made a tool of me, to annoy this older Bourbon branch that detested him? What if Bellenger's recognition, and the Marquis du Plessy's, and Marie-Therese's, went for nothing? What if some other, and not this angry man. had sent the money to America — The door opened again. We turned our heads, and I grew hot at the cruelty which put that idiot before my sister's eyes. He ran on all fours, his gaunt wrists exposed, until Bellenger, advancing behind, took him by the arm and made him stand erect. It was this poor creature I had heard scratch- ing on the other side of the inn wall. How long Bellenger had been beforehand with me in Mittau I could not guess. But when I saw the scoundrel who had laid me in Ste. Pclagie, and doubtless dropped me in the Seine, ready to do me more mischief, smug and smooth shaven, and fine in the red-collared blue coat which seemed to be the prescribed uniform of that court, all my confi- dence returned. I was Louis of France. I could laugh at anything he had to say. Behind him entered a priest, who advanced up i , ., ' 1 1 » 1 * 1 ^ : hi ^ t ?! .1 : 1 > i . ^ f ?" - 1 !■; -■- -** i'^' ; 232 L AZ A RRE the room, and made obeisance to the king, as Bel- lengcr did. Madame d'Angoulemc looked once at the idiot, and hid her eyes: the king protecting her. I said to myself, "It will soon be against my breast, not yours, that she hides her face, my excellent uncle of Prov- ence!" Yet he was as sincere a man as ever said to wit- nesses, "We shall now hear the truth." The few courtiers, enduring with hardiness a sight which they perhaps had seen before though Madame d'Angoulcme had not, made a rustle among themselves as if echoing, "Yes, now we shall hear the truth!" The king again kissed my sister'« hand, and placed her in a seat beside his arm-chair, which he resumed. "Monsieur the Abbe Edgeworth," he said, "hav- ing stood on the scaflfold with our martyred sov- ereign, as priest and comforter, is eminently the one to conduct an examination like this, which touches matters of conscience. We leave it in his hands." Abbe Edgeworth, fine and sweet of presence, stood by the king, facir Bellenger and the idiot. That poor creature, astonished by his environment, gazed at the high room corners, or smiled experi- mentally at the courtiers, stretching his cracked lips over darkened fangs. AVANDERING 233 "You are admitted here, Rellenger," said the priest, "to answer his Majesty's questions in the presence of witnesses." "I thank his Majesty, said Bellenger. The abb^ began as if tlic idiot attracted his notice for the first time. "Who is the unfortunate child you hold with your right hand?" "The dauphin of France, monsieur the abbe," spoke out Bellenger, his left hand on his hip. "What! Take care what you say! How do you know that the dauphin of France is yet amonc the living?" Bellcnger's countenance changed, and he took his hand of! his hip and let it hang down. "I received the prince, monsieur, from those who took him out of the Tempi::; prison." "And you never exchanged him for another per- son, or allowed him to be separated irom you?" Bellenger swore with ghastly lips— "Xever, on my hopes of salvation, monsieur the abbe !" "Admitting that somebody gave you this child to keep— jy the way, how old is he?" "Aoout twenty years, monsieur." "What right had you to assume he was the dauphin?" "I had received a yearly pension, monsieur, from his Majesty himself, for the maintenance of the prince." "You received the yearly pension through my hand, acting as his Majesty's almoner. His Majesty ^^ If ' f \ ' ! 234 L AZ A RRE was ever too bountiful to the unfortunate. He has many dependents. Where have you hved with your charge?" "VVc lived in America, sometimes in the woods, and sometimes in towns." "Has he ever shown hopeful signs of recovering his reason?" "Never, monsieur the abbe." Having touched thus lightly or. ^k case of the idiot, Abbe Edgcworth turned to me. The king':- face retained its granite hardness. But Bellenger's passed from shade to shade of baffled confidence ; recovering only when the priest said, "Nov,- look at this young man. Have you ever seen hiui before?" "Yes, monsieur, I have; both in the American woods, and in Paris." "What was he doing in the American woods?" "Living on the bounty of one Count do Chau- mont, a friend of Bonaparte's." "Who is he?" "A French half-breed, brought up among the Indians." "What name does he bear?" "He is called Lazarre." "But why is a French half-breed named Lazarre attempting to force himself on the exiled court here in Mittau?" "People have told him that he resembles the Bourbons, monsieur." :*»! WANnERIXG 'Was he encouraged in this «3S encoi arte whom you mentioned?" "I think not, monsieur the abbe. Dut I heard a Frenchman toll him lie was like the martyred king, and .since that hour he has presumed to consider himself the dauphin." "Who was tliis Frenchman?" "The Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe de Bour- bon, monsieur the abbe." There was an expressive movement among the courtiers. "Was Louis Philippe instrumental in sending him to France?" "He was. He procured shipping for the pre- tender." "When the pretender reached Paris, what did he do?" "Ho attempted robbery, and was taken in the act and thrown into Ste. Pelagic. I saw him arrested." "What were you doing in Paris?" "I was following and watching this dangerous pretender, monsieur the abbe." "Did you leave America when he did?" "The evening before, monsieur. And wc out- sailed him." "Did you leave Paris when he did?" "Three days later, monsieur. But we passed him while he rested." "Why do you call such an insignificant person a dangerous pretender?" II f: i 1 ■ i i i • 336 1^ AZ A R RE "He is not insignificant, monsieur: as you will say, when you hear what he did in Paris." "He was thrown into the prison of Ste. Pelagic, you told me." "But he escaped, by choking a sacristan so that the poor man will long bear the marks on his throat. And the first thing I knew he was high in favor with the Marquis du Plessy, and Bonaparte spoke to him; and the police laughed at complaints lodged against him." "Who lodged complaints against him?" "I did, monsieur." "But he was too powerful for you to touch?" "He was well protected, monsieur the abbe. He flaunted. While the poor prince and myself suffered inconvenience and fared hard — " "The poor prince, you say?" "We never had a fitting allowance, monsieur," Bellenger declared aggressively. "Yet with little or no means I tried to bring this pretender to jus- tice and defend his Majesty's throne." "Pensioners are not often so outspoken in their dissatisfaction," remarked the priest. I laughed as I thought of the shifts to which Bel- lenger must have been put. Abbe Edgeworth with merciless dryness inquired, "How were you able to post to Mittau?" "I borrowed money of a friend in Paris, mon- sieur, trusting that his Majesty will requite me for my services." "But why was it necessary for you to post to Mit- \VANDERING 237 tau, where this pretender would certainly meet ex- posure ?" "Because I discovered that he carried with him a casket of the martyred queen's jewels, stolen from the Marquis du Plessy." .iZ^^J'^ "" ?'"■""' "" ^"''y °'>'=" p°^«=- sion of the queen s jewels?" "That I do not know." "But the jewels are the lawful property of Ma- dame d'Angouleme. He must have known they would be seized." ^ a^lLf r^"" " "'"''"^ '° ''™e my evidence agamst him, monsieur." upon the court. Yet you are r ther to be com- mended than censured, Bellenger. Did this pre- tender know you were in Paris.?" "He saw me there." "Many times?" "At least twice, monsieur the abbe." "Did he avoid you ?" "I avoided him. I took pains to keep him from knowing how I watched him." mZ°" '"^ u' ^""''^- ^^^" ^' ^^^t Paris for Mittau was the fact generally reported?" "No, monsieur." "You learned it yourself?" "Yes, monsieur." ^^^^But he must have known you would pursue "He left with great secrecy, monsieur the abb6." , 1 ^ I '^' ! 1 ■' 238 LAZ ARRB It was given out that he was merely going to the country." "What made you suspect he was coming to Mit- tau?" "He hired a strong post-chaise and made many preparations." "But didn't his friend the Marquis du Plessy dis- cover the robbery? Why didn't he follow and take the thief?" "Dead men don't follow, monsieur the abbe. The Marquis du Plessy had a duel on his hands, and was killed the day after this Lazarre left Paris." Of all Bellenger's absurd fabrications this story was the most ridiculous. I laughed again. Madame d'Angouleme took her hands from her face and our eyes met one instant, but the idiot whined like a dog. She shuddered, and covered her sight. The priest turned from Bellenger to me with a fair-minded expression, and inquired, "What have you to say?" I had a great deal to say, though the only hearer I expected to convince was my sister. If she be- lieved in me I did not care whether the others believed or not. I was going to begin with Lake George, the mountain, and the fog, and Bellen- ger's fear of me, and his rage when Louis Philippe told him the larger portion of the money sent from Europe was given to me. Facing Marie-Therese, therefore, instead of the Abbe Edgeworth, I spoke her name. She looked WANDERINQ 239 up once more. And instead of being in Mittau, I was suddenly on a balcony at Versailles! The night landscape, chill and dim, stretched be- yond a multitude of roaring mouths, coarse lips, flaming eyes, illuminated by torches, the heads ornamented with a three-colored thing stuck into the caps. My hand stretched out for support, and met the tight clip of my mother's fingers. I knew that she was towering between Marie-Therese and me a fearless palpitating statue. The devilish roar- ing mob shot above itself a forced, admiring, pierc- ing cry— "Long live the queen!" Then all be- came the humming of bees — the vibration of a string — nothing! ti \}'' I • }' * Ml- BLACKNESS surrounded the post-carriage in which I woke, and it seemed to stand in a tunnel that was afire at one end. Two huge trees, branches and all, were burning on a big hearth, stones glowing under them; and Kjures with long beards, in black robes, passed betwixt me and the fire, stirring a cauldron. If ever witches' brewing was seen, it looked like that. The last eclipse of mind had come upon me with- out any rending and tearing in the head, and facts returned clearly and directly. I saw the black robed figures were Jews cooking supper at a large fireplace, and wc had driven upon the brick floor of a post-house which had a door nearly the size of a gable. At that end spread a ghostly film of open land, forest and sky. I lay stretched upon cushions as well as the vehicle would permit, and was aware by a shadow which came between me and the Jews that Skenedonk stood at the step. "What are you about?" I spoke with a rush of chagrin, sitting up. "Are we on the road to Paris?" "Yes," he answered. "You have made a mistake, Skenedonk!" "No mistake," he maintained. "Wait until I bring you some supper. After supper we can talk." 240 rr%«f WANDERINO 241 "Bring the supper at once then, for I am going to talk now." "Are you quite awake?" "Quite awake. How long did it last this time?" "Two days." "We are not two days' journey out of Mittau?" "Yes." "Well, when you have horses put in to-morrow morning, turn them back to Mittau." Skenedonk went to the gigantic hearth, and one of the Jews ladled him out a bowlful of the caul- dron stew, which he brought to me. The stuff was not offensive and I was hungry. He brought another bowlful for himself, and we ate as we had often done in the woods. The fire shone on his bald pate and gave out the liquid lights of his fawn eyes. "I have made a fool of myself in Mittau, Skene- donk." "Why do you want to go back?" "Because I am not going to be thrown out of the palace without a hearing." "What is the use?" said Skenedonk. "The old fat chief will not let you stay. He doesn't want to hear you talk. He wants to be king himself." "Did you see me sprawling on the floor like the idiot?" "Not like the idiot. Your face was down." "Did you see the duchess?" "Yes." "What did she do?" 242 L AZ AR RB ,}■' H 1 j ;| 1 1 -i i!. (; H f "Nothing. She leaned on the women and they took her away." "Tell me all you saw." "When you went in to hold council, I watched, and saw a priest and Bellenger and the boy that God had touched, all go in after you. So I knew the council would be bad for you, Lazarre, and I stood by the door with my knife in my hand. When the talk had gone on awhile I heard something like the dropping of a buck on the ground, and sprang in, and the men drew their swords and the women screamed. The priest pointed at you and said, 'God has smitten the pretender!' Then they all went out of the room except the priest, and we opened your collar. I told him you had fallen like that before, and the stroke passed off in sleep. He said your carriage waited, and if I valued your safety I would put you in it and take you out of Russia. He called servants to help me carry you. I thought about your jewels; but some drums began to beat, and I thought about your life!" "But, Skenedonk, didn't my sister— the lady I led by the hand, you remember — rpeak to me again, or look at me, or try to revive me?" "No. She went away with the women carrying her." "She believed in me— at first! Before I said a word she knew me! She wouldn't leave me merely because her uncle and a priest thought me an im- postor! She is the tenderest creature on earth. WANDERING 243 Skenedonk — she is more like a saint than a wom- an!" "Some saints on the altar are blind and deaf," observed the Oneida. "I think she was sick." "I have nearly killed her! And I have been tum- bled out of Mittau as a pretender!" "You are here. Get some men to fight, and we will go back." "What a stroke — to lose my senses at the mo- ment I needed them most!" "You kept your scalp." "And not much else. No! If you refuse to fol- low me, and wait here at this post-house, I am going back to Mittau!" "I go where you go," said Skenedonk. "But best go to sleep now." This I was not able to do until long tossing on the thorns of chagrin wore me out. I was ashamed like a prodigal, baffled, and hurt to the bruising of my soul. A young man's chastened confidence in himself is hard to bear, but the loss of what was given as a heritage at birth is an injustice not to be endured. The throne of France was never my goal, to be reached through blood and revolution. Perhaps the democratic notions in my father's breast have found wider scope in mine. I wanted to influence men, and felt even at that time that I could do it; but being king was less to my mind than being acknowledged dauphin, and brother, and named with my real name. 244 L AZ ARRE ! !l I took my fists in my hands and swore to force recognition, if I battered a lifetime on Mittau. At daylight our post-horses were put to the chaise and I gave the postilion orders myself. The little fellow bowed himself nearly double, and said that troops were moving behind us to join the allied forces against Xapoleon. At once the prospect of being snared among armies and cut oflf from all return to Paris, appalled me as a greater present calamity than being cast out of Mittau. Mittau could wait for another expe- dition. "Very well," I said, "Take the road to France." We met August rains. We were bogged. A bridge broke under us. We dodged Austrian troops. It seemed even then a fated thir g that a Frenchman should retreat ignominiously from Russia. There is a devilish antagonism of inanimate and senseless things, begun by discord in ourselves, which works unreasonable torture. Our return was an abominable journal which I will not recount, and going with it was a mortifying facility for draw- ing opposing forces. However, I knew my friend the marquis expected me to return defeated. He gave me my opportu- nity as a child is indulged with a dangerous play- thing, to teach it caution. He would be in his chateau of Plessy, cutting off two days* posting to Paris. And after the first sharp pangs of chagrin and shame at losing the I VS^ A N D K K I N Q 245 fortune he had placed in my hands, I looked for- ward with impatience to our meeting. "We have nothing, Skenedonk!" I exclaimed the first time there was occasion for money on the road. "How have you been able to post? The money and the jewel-case are gone." "We have two bags of money and the snuflFbox," said the Oneida. "I hid them in the post-carriage." "But I had the key of the jewel-case." "You are a good sleeper," responded Skene- donk. I blessed him heartily for his forethought, and he said if he had known I was a fool he would not have told me we carried the jewel-case into Rus- sia. I dared not let myself think of Madame de Fer- rier. The plan of buying back her estates, which I had nurtured in the bottom of my heart, was now more remote than America. One bag of coin was spent in Paris, but three remained there with Doctor Chantry. We had money, though the more valuable treasure stayed in Mittau. In the sloping hills and green vines of Cham- pagne we were no longer harassed dodging troops, and slept the last night of our posting at Epernay! Taking the road early next morning, I began to watch for Plessy too soon, without forecasting that I was not to set foot within its walls. _ We came within the marquis' boundaries upon a little goose girl, knitting beside her flock. Her Hi I Iff 246 LAZ ARRE bright hair was bound with a woolen cap. Delicious grass, and the shadow of an oak, under which she stood, were not tc be resisted, so I sent the carriage on. She looked open-mouthed after Skenedonk, and bobbed her dutiful, frightened courtesy at me. The marquis' peasants were by no means under the influence of the Empire, as I knew from observ- ing the lad whom he had sought among the drowned in the mortuary chapel of the Hotel Dieu, and who was afterwards found in a remote wine shop seeing sights. The goose girl dared not speak to me unless I required it of her, and the unusual notice was an honor she would have avoided. "What do you do here?" I inquired Her little heart palpitated in the answer — "Oh, guard the geese." "Do they give you trouble?" "Not much, except that wicked gander." She pointed out with her knitting-needle a sleek white fellow, who flirted his tail and turned an eye, quav- ering as if he said — "La, la, la!" "What does he do?" "He would be at the vines and the corn, mon- sieur." "Bad gander!" "I switch him," she informed me, like a magis- trate. "But that would only make him run.'* "Also I have a string in my pocket, and I tie him by the leg to a tree." WANDBKING 247 "Serves him right. Is the Marquis du Plessy at the chateau?" Her face grew shaded, as a cloud chases sunhght before it across a meadow. "Do you mean the new marquis, the old marquis' cousin, monsieur? He went away directly after the burial." "What burial ?•• "The old marquis' burial. That was before St. John's day." "Be careful what you say, my child!" "Didn't you know he was dead, monsieur ?" "I have been on a journey. Was his death sud- den?" "He was killed in a duel in Paris." I sat down on the grass with my head in my hands. Bellenger had told the truth. One scant month the Marquis du Plessy fostered me like a son. To this hour my slow heart aches for the companionship of the lightest, most delicate spirit I ever encountered in man. Once I lifted my head and insisted, "It can't be true!" "Monsieur," the goose girl asserted solemnly, "it is true. The blessed St. Alpin, my patron, forget me if I tell you a lie." Around the shadowed spot where I sat I heard trees whispering on the hills, and a cart rumbling along the hardened dust of the road. "Monsieur," spoke the goose girl out of her good heart, "if you want to go to his chapel I will show you the path." I ['S(f '' n :1 248 LAZ ARRE She tied a string aroutid ihc leg of the wicked gander and attached him to the tree, shaking a wand at him in warning. He nipped her sleeve, and hissed, and hopped, his wives remonstrating softly; but his guardian left him bound and carried her knitting down a valley to a stream, across the bridge, and near an opening in the bushes at the foot of a hill. "Go all to the right, monsieur," she said, "and you will come to the chapel where the Du Plcssys are buried." I gave her the largest coin in my pocket, and she flew back as well as the spirit of childhood could fly in wooden shoes. All the geese, formed in a line, waddled to meet her, perhaps bearing a memorial of wrongs from their husband. The climb was steep, rounding a darkened ferny shoulder of lush forest, yet promising more and more a top of sunhght. At the summit was a car- riage road which ascended by some easier plane. Keeping all to the right as the goose girl directed, I found a chapel like a shrine. It was locked. Through the latticed door I could see an altar, whereunder the last Du Plessy who had come to rest there, doubtless lay with his kin. I sat down on one of the benches under the trees. The ache within me went deep. But all that sunny hillcrest seemed brightened by the marquis. It was cheerful as his smile. "Let us have a glass of wine and enjoy the sun," he said in the breeze flowing ^A Vi^3*V:^;/ W A N li H R I NO 149 around his chapel. "And do you hear that little cit- izen of the tree trunks, Lazarre?" The perfume of the woods rose invisibly to a cloudless sky. My last tryst with my friend was an hour in paradise's antechamber. The light quick stepping of horses and tl;. ir rat- tling harness brought Madame do Fcrriir's car- riage quickly around the curve fronting tlu' vhapcl. Her presence was the one touch which the place lacked, and I forgot grief, shame, 'inpattonce at being found out in my trouble, and sVmmI at nrr step with my hat in my hand. She said— "O Lazarre!"— and Paul I.ca; on Ernestine's knee, echoing— "O Zar!" and niv com- fort was absolute as release from pain, because she had come to visit her old friend the marquis. I helped her down and stood with her at the lat- ticed door. "How bright it is here!" said Eagle. "It is very bright. I came up the hill from a dark place." "Did the news of his death meet you on the post- road?" "It met me at the foot of this hill. The goose girl told me." "Oh, you have been hurt!" she said, looking at me. "Your face is all seamed. Don't tell me about Mittau to-day. Paul and I are taking possession of the estates!" "Napoleon has given them back to you!" "Yes, he has! I begged the Dc Chaumonts to let ! i C ■ ■ 250 L AZ ARRB f II il ' I me come alone! By hard posting we reached Mont- Louis last night. You are the only person in France to whom I would give that vacant seat in the carriage to-day." I cared no longer for my own loss, as I am afraid has been too much my way all through life; or whether I was a prince or not. Like paradise after death, as so many of our best days come, this per- fect day was given me by the marquis himself. Eagle's summer dress touched me. Paul and Ernestine sat facing us, and Paul ate cherries from a little basket, and had his fingers wiped, beating the cushion with his heels in excess of impatience to begin again. We paused at a turn of the lieight before de- scending, where fields could be seen stretching to the horizon, woods fair and clean as parks, w . . jt the wildness of the American forest, and vine- yards of bushy vines that bore the small black grapes. Eagle showed me the far boundaries of Paul's estates. Then we drove where holly spread its prickly foliage near the ground, where springs from cliffs trickled across delicious lanes. Hoary stone farmhouses, built four-square like a fortress, each having a stately archway, saluted us as we passed by. The patron and his wife came out, and laborers, pulling their caps, dropped down from high-yoked horses. But when the long single street of stone cottages which formed the village opened its arms, I could WANDERINQ 251 see her breast swelling and her gray eyes sweepin;,' all with comprehensive rush. An elderly man, shaking some salad in a wire basket, dropped it at his feet, and bowed and bowed, sweeping his cap to the ground. Sonic women who were washing around a roofed pool left their pad- dles, and ran, wiping suds from their arms; and houses discharged their inmates, babies in chil- dren's arms, wives, old men, the simpHcity of their lives and the openness of their labor manifest. They surrounded the carriage. Eagle stood Paul upon his feet that they might worship him, and his mouth corners curled upward, his blue-eyed fearless look traveled from face to face, while her gloved hand was kissed, and God was praised that she had come back. "O Jean !" she cried, "is your mother alive?" and "Marguerite! have you a son so tall?" An old creature bent double, walked out on four feet, two of them being sticks, lifted her voice, and blessed Eagle and th€ child a quarter of an hour. Paul's mother listened reverently, and sent him in Ernestine's arms for the warped human being to look upon at close range with her failing sight. He stared at her unafraid, and experimentally put his finger on her knotted cheek; at which all the wom- en broke into chorus as I have heard blackbirds rejoice. "I have not seen them for so long!" Madame do Ferrier said, wiping her eyes. "We have all for- gotten our behavior!" 252 I'AZARREj ■ * : ! hos. and loZ 'IZT '" '" '"' ™°"' "•""= ■ilt t; "^ ' ^^--'o-^d church mv fa I or T h "" "■' '""™'' '"""-excepting ".rone. I ^entio^ .hs f c'lr Z "'" '^ l'^ i« "P in your mind I We have L ^T ""' '"^ we., worth our sal. in^^e Jwar." '""^ ^■"'^■^"'' 'ronr-j.'h itgf "^:!,:':*"' ^'°"" '=<' ^ "--^ dove-cotes or „!1' ^ ' "' "'^ the two structursoneS™ '°""\ '"^'-"X -Pamte in..hea„;iT„;r; ^„:e"■'To::l;"™^'™- i:rs^^^•'--~-'--t:":: >-r;lr:o^a::tT^:dr;"f/-- 1 ^ iTfr^:T^'w:asH«in**'''-^yT!!aHra«.i'P«^M?rs^ We walk.-! until sunset in the park, bv lake, and bridged stream, and liuliicd path Ml! t^; (t n ifi !1 I ■- iii ^ In t 1 .» V f 'i J ■ II W^N DERI NO 253 carrying Paul or letting hira pat behind, driving her by her long cap ribbons while he explored his moth- er's playground. But when the birds began to nest, and dewfall could be felt, he was taken to his sup- per and his bed, giving his moiher a generous kiss, and me a smile of his upcurlcd mouth corners. His forehead was white and broad, and his blue eyes were set well apart. I can yet see the child looking over Ernestine's shoulder. She carried him up stairs of oak worn hollow like stont% a mighty hand-wrought balus- trade rising with them from hall 10 roof. We had our supper in a junelej room where the lights were reflected as on mirrors of polished oak, and the man who served us had served Madame de Ferrier's father and grandfather. The gentle old provincial went about his duty as a religious rite. There was a pleached walk like that in the mar- quis' Paris garden, of branches liattened and plaited to form an arbor supported by tree columns; which led to a summer-house of stone smothered in ivy. We walked back and forth under this tliick roof of verdure. Eagle's cap of brown hair was roughened over her radiant face, and the open throat of her gown showed pulses beating in her neck. Her lifted chin almost touched my arm as I told her all the Mittau story, at her request. "Poor Madame dWngouIeme! The cautioua priest and the king should not have taken you from me like that! She knew you as I knew you; and a woman's knowing is better than a man's proofs. 254 L AZ A RK H She will have times of doubting their policy. She will remember the expression of your mouth, your shrugs, and gestures — the little traits of the child Louis, that reappear in the man." "I wish I had never gone to Mittau to give her a moment's distress." "Is she very beautiful?" "She is like a lily made flesh. She has her strong dislikes, and one of them, is Louis Philippe — " '•Naturally," said Eaude. 'But sne seemed sacrea to me. Perhaps a wom- an brings that hallowedness out of martyrdom." "God be with the royal lady ! And you, sire !" "And you! — may you be always with me, Eagle!" "This journey to Mittau changes nothing. You were wilful. You would go to the island in Lake George: you would go to Mittau." "Both tines you sent me." "Both titr:> s I brought you home! Let us not be sorrowii'" . >■ night." ■"Sorrowful! I am so happy it seems impossible that I come from Mittau, and this day the Marquis du Plessy died to me! I wish the sun had been tied to the trees, as the goose girl tied her gander." "But I want another day." said Eagle. "I want all the days that are my due at home." We ascended the steps of the stone pavilion, and sat down in an arch like a balcony over the sunken garden. Pears and apricots, their branches flat- tened against the wall, showed ruddy garnered sun- light through the dusk. The tangled enclosure WANDERING 255 sloped down to the stream, from which a fain- wisp of mist wavered over flower bpd and tree. Dew and herbs and the fragrance of late roses sent up a divine breath, invisibly submerging us, like a tide rising out of the night. Madame de Ferrier's individual traits were sur- prised in this nearness, as they never had been when J saw her at a distance in alien surroundings. A swift ripple, involuntary and glad, coursed down her body; she shuddered for joy half a minute or so. Two feet away, I worshiped her smiling eyes and their curved ivory lids, her rounded head with its abundant cap of hair, her chin, her shoulders, her bust, the hands in her lap, the very sweep of her scant gown about her feet. The flash of extreme happiness passing, she said gravely, "But that was a strange thing— that you should fall unconscious!" "Not so strange," I said; and told her how many times before the eclipse— under the edge of which my boyhood was passed — had completely shadowed me. At the account of Ste. Pelagic she leanc;! to- ward me, her hands clenched on her breast. Wlu' 1 we came to the Hotel Dieu she leaned back pallid against the stone. "Dear Marquis du Plessy!" she whispered, as his name entered the story. When it was ended she drew some deep breaths in the silence. W t (-, I '! 1 it it I ii a ' :■ 1 • ! n ■ \ i ii '!6 "Sire, you must be very careful. That Bellenger is an evil man." ^ "But a weak one." "There may be a strength of court policy behind him." "The policy of t',« court at Mittau is evidently a policy of denial. "Your sister believed in you." "Yes, she believed in me." "I don't understand/' said Madame de Fcrrit-r. leaning forward on her arms, "why Bellengcr had you in London, and another boy on the moun- tain." "Perhaps we shall never understand it." "I don't understand why he makes it his business to follow you." "Let us not trouble ourselves about Bellenger." "But are you safe in France since the Marquis du Plessy's death?" "I am safe to-night, at least." "Yes, far safer than you would be in Paris." "And Skenedonk is my guard." "I have sent a messenger to Plessy for him," Ma- dame de Ferrier said. "He will be here in the morn- mg. I thanked her for remembering him in the excite- ment of her home coming. We heard a far sweet call through a cleft of the hills, and Eagle turned her head. "That must be the shepherd of Les Rochers. He has missed a lamb. Les Rochers is the most dis- "L-ti 'viBKzeiTTiB^Si i- - ^wat 1 W A N O E R 1 N O asr Unt of our farms, but its night noises can be heard through an opening in the forest. Paul will soon be listening for all these sounds! We must drive to Les Rochers to-morrow. It was there that Cousin Philippe died." I could not say how opportunely Cousin Philippe had died. The violation of her childhood by such a marriage rose up that instant a wordless tragedy. "Sire, wc are not observing etiquette in Mont- Louis as they observe it at Mittau. I have been talking very familiarly to my king. I will keep silent. You speak." "Madame, you have forbidden me to speak!" She gave me a startled look, and said. "Did you know Jerome Bonaparte has come back? He left his wife in America. She cannot be received in France, because she has committed the crime of marrying a prince. She is to be divorced for political reasons." "Jerome Bonaparte is a hound!" I spoke hotly. "And his wife a venturesome woman — to marry even a temporary prince." "I like her sort, madame !" "Do you, sire?" "Yes, I like a woman who can love!" "And ruin?" "How could you niin me?" "The Saint-Michels brought me up," said Eagle. "They taught me what is lawful and unlawful. I will never do an unlawful thing, to the disgrace and -^w«<- mawsmia RCT" > i ^ i^ t i 1 ■♦ ■ ' ^ f i !i 1 \ f . f: ass L AZ A.H KK shame of my house A woman should build h«r house, not tear it down." "What is unlawful?" "It is unlawful for me to encourage the suit of my sovereign," "Am I ever likely to be anything but what they call in Mittau a pretender, Eagle?" "That we do not know. You shall keep yourself free from entanglements." "1 am free from them— God knows I am free enough! — the lonesomest, most unfriended savage that ever set out to conquer his own." "You were born to greatness. Great things will come to you." "If YOU loved me I could make them come!" "Sire, it isn't healthy to sit in the night air. We must go out of the dew." "Oh, who would be healthy! Come to that, who would be such a royal beggar as I am?" "Remember," she said gravely, "that your claim was in a manner recognized by one of the most cautious, one of the least ardent royalists, in France." The recognition she knew nothing about came to my lips, and I told her the whole story of the jewels. The snuflfbox was in my pocket. Sophie Saint-Michel had often described it to her. She sat and looked at me, contemplating the stu- pendous loss. "The marquis advised me not to take them into Russia," I acknowledged. n • • I W^ A N 1 ) LC R I N O 359 f '& .« •8 as "There is no robber> so terrib'e as the robbery committed by those who think thev arc doiiiff right." "I am one of the losing Bourbons." "Can anything be hidden in that closet in the queen's dressinp-room wall?" mused Eagle. "I believe I could find it in the dark. Sophie told mc so often where the secret spring may he touched. When the De Chaumonts took me to the Tuilerics I wanted to search for it. But all the state apart- ments are now on the second floor, and Madame Bonaparte has her own rooms below. Evidently she knows nothing of the secrets of the place. The queen kept her most beautiful robes in that closet. It has no visible door. The wall opens. And we have heard that a door was made through the back of it to let upon a spiral staircase of stone, and through this the royal family made their escape to Varennes. when they were arrested and brought back." We fell into silence at mention of the unsuccess- ful flight which could have changed history; and she rose and said— "Good-night, sire." Next morning there was such a delicious worM to live in that breathing was a pleasure. Dew gauze spread far and wide over the radiant domain. Sounds from cattle, and stables, and the voices of servants drifted on the air. Doves wheeled around their towers, and around the chateau standing like a white cliflf. I walked under the green canopy watching the MICROCOPY RESOLUTION TEST CHART (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) z: u& 2.0 IIIIIM 1.8 ^ /APPLIED IIVMGE Inc ^^ 1653 East Main Street S^^ Roctiester, New York 14609 USA '■^ (716) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^S (716) 288 - 5989 - Fo» \ 260 L AZ A RRE 11^1. ■ .T '. \ , - ) ■. 1 i ■■ 1 i • t '- ! f t h \ - i [, \ 1 1- i I sun mount and waiting for Madame de Ferrier. When she did appear the old man who had served her father followed with a tray. I could only say — "Gcod-morning, madamc," not daring to add — "I have scarcely slept for thinking cf you." "We will have our coffee out here," she told me. It was placed on the broad stone seat under the arch of the pavilion where we sat the night before; bread, unsalted butter from the farms, the coffee, the cream, the loaf sugar. Madame de Ferri^r her- self opened a door in the end of the wall and plunged into the dew of the garden. Her old ser- vant exclaimed. She caught her hair in briers and laughed, tucking it up from falling, and brought off two great roses, each the head and the strength of a stem, to lay beside our plates. The breath of roses to this hour sends through my veins the joy of that. Then the old servant gathered wall fruit for us, and s\\r sent some in his hand to Paul. Through a festooned arch of the pavilion giving upon the terraces, VvC saw a bird dart down to the fountain, tilt and drink, tilt and drink again, and flash away. Immediately the multitudinous rejoicing of a sky- lark dropped from upper air. When men would send thanks to the very gate of heaven their envoy should be a skylark. Eagle v.as like a little girl as she listened. "This is the first day of September, sire." WANDERING 261 "Is it? I thought it was the first day of crea- tion." "I mention the date that you may not forget it. Because I am going to give you something to-day." My heart leaped Hke a conqueror's. Her skin was as fresh as the roses, looking mar- velous to touch. The shock of imminent disccverv went through me. For how can a man consider a woman forever as a picture? A picture she was, in the short-waisted gown of the Empire, of that white stuff Napoleon praised because it was manu- factured in France. It showed the line of her throat, being parted half way down the bosom by u rufi which encircled her neck and stood high behind it. The transparent sleeves clung to her arms, and the slight outline of her figure looked long in its close casing. The gown tail curled around her slippered foot damp from the plunge in the garden. She gave it a little kick, and rippled again suddenly throughout her length. Then her face went grave, like a child's when it is surprised in wickedness. "But our fathers and mothers would have us for- get their suflfering in the festival of coming home, wouldn't they, Lazarre?" "Surely, Eagle." "Then why are you looking at me with re- proach?" "I'm not." "Perhaps you don't Hke my dress?" 't \ 262 L A Z A R R E il f I ■'. ( 'I f j : ! 1 ^* ' ii r ^ ; • i i ; 1 - > f- ^ i. i 'n i I told her it was the first time I had ever noticed anything she wore, and I liked it. "I used to wear my mother's clothes. Ernestine and I made them over. But this is new; for the new day, and the new life here." "And the day," I reminded her. "is the first of September." She laughed, and opened her left hand, showing me two squat keys so small that both had lain con- cealed under two of her finger tips. "I am going to give you a key, sire." "Will it unlock a woman's mind?" "It will open a padlocked book. Last night I found a little blank-leaved b -k, with wooden cov- ers. It was fastened by a paulock, and these keys v.ere tied to it. You may have one key: I will keep the other." "The key to a padlocked book with nothing in it." Her eyes tantalized me. "I am going to put something in it. Sophie Saint-Michel said I had a gift for putting down my thoughts. If the gift appeared to Sophie when I was a child, it must grow in me by use. Every day I shall put some of my life into the book. And :'hen I die I will bequeath it to you!" "Take back the key, madame. I have no desire to look into your coffin." She extended her hand. "Then our good and kind friend Count de Chau- mont shall have it." ii 1 i W A. iX J ) K K J N G ^(i -3 "He shall not! ' I held to her hand and kept my key. She slipped away from me. The laughter of the child yet rose through the digni _ of the woman. "When may I read this book, Eagle?" '•Never, of my free will, sire. How could I set down all I thought about you, for instance, if the certainty was hanging over me that you would read my candid opinions and punish me for them!" "Then of what use is the key?" "You wo'ild rather have it than give it to another, wouldn't ,yOU?" "Decidedly." "AVell, you will have the key to my thoughts!" "And if the book ever falls into my hands — " "I will see that it doesn't!" "I will say, years from now — " "Twenty?" "Twenty? O Eagle!" "Ten." "Months? That's too long!" "No, ten years, sire." "Not ten years. Eagle. Say eight." "Xo, nine," "Seven. If the book falls into my hands at the end of seven years, may I open it?" "I may safely promise you that," she laughed. "The book will never fall into your hands." I took from my pocket the gold sn^ .Tbox with the portraits on the lid, and placed my key carefully therein. Eagle leaned forward to look at them. f' j ^ :" j> i !f n ■ 1 i: .■(H L . \ i: .A. R K K She took the box in her hand, and gazed wiih long reverence, drooping her head. Young as I was, and unskilled i the ways of women, that key worked magic comfort. She had given me a link to hold us together. The inconsist- ent, contradictory being, old one instant with ihc wisdom of the Saint-Michels, rippling full of unre- strained life the next, denying me all hope, yet ii - definitely tantalizing, was adorable beyond words. I closed Hi- eyes: the blinding sunshine struck them through the ivied arch. Turning my head as I opened them. I saw an old man come out on ihe terrace. He tried to search in every direction, his gray head and faded eyes moving anxiously. Madame de Ferrier was still. I heard her lay the snuffbox on the stone seat. I knew, though I could not let myself watch her, that she stood up against the wall, a woman of stone, her lips chiseled apart. "Eagle — Eagle!" the old man cried from the ter- race. She whispered — "Yes, Cousin Philippe!" XI i J f SWIFTLY as she passed between the tree col- umns, more swiftly her youth and vitality died m that walk of a few yards. We had been girl and boy together a brief half hour, heedless and gay. When she reached the arbor end, our chapter of youth was ended. I saw her bloodless face as she stepped upon the terrace. The man stretched his arms to her. As if the blight of her spirit fell upon him, the light died out of his face and he dropped his arms at his sides. He was a courtly gentleman, cadaverous and shabby as he stood, all the breeding of past genera- tions appearing in him. "Eagle?" he said. The tone of piteous apology went through me like a sword. She took his hands and herself drew them around her neck. He kissed her on both cheeks. "O Cousin Philippe!" "I have frightened you, child! I meant to send a message first— but I wanted to see you— I wanted to come home!" "Cousin Philippe, who wrote that letter?" "The notary, child. I made him do it." "It was cruel!" She gave way, and brokenly sobbed, leaning helpless against him. 265 '( t i ¥ ni 1 1 - f ' t^ t f M^ii 'l± 366 L A K A R R E The old marquis smoothed her head, and puck- ered his forehead under the sunlight, casting his eyes around h"ke a culprit. "It was dcspernte. But I could do ..Dthinp^ else! You see it has succeeded. While I lay in hiding, tlic sight of the child, and your youth, has softened Bonaparte. That was my intention. Eagle!"' "The peasants should have told me vou were living!" "They didn't know I came back. Many of them think I died in America. The family at Les Roch- ers have been very faithful; and the notary has held his tongue. We must reward them. Eagle. I have been hidden very closely. I am tired of such long hiding!" . He looked toward the chateau and lifted his voice sharply — "Where's the baby? I haven't seen the ba'oy!" With gracious courtesy, restraining an impulse to plunge up the steps, he gave her his arm; and she swayed against it as they entered. When I could see them no more, I rose, and put my snuffbox in my breast. The key rattled in it. A savage need of hiding when so wounded, worked first through the disorder chat let m.e see none of the amenities of leave-taking, self-com- mand, conduct. I was beyond the gates, bare-headed, walking with long strides, when an old mill caught my eye, and I turned towards it, as we turn to trifles to relieve us from unendurable tension. The water w^ A N j-> t: K 1 N a 267 I ..I i S dnppcd over the wheel, and long green beard trailed from its chin down the sluice. In this quiet- ing company Skenedonk spied me as he rattled past with the post-carriage; and considering my behavior at other times, he was not enough sur- J)nsed to waste any good words of Oneida. He stopped the carriage and I got in. He pointed ahead toward a curtain of trees which screened tlie chateau. "Paris," I answered. "Paris," he repeated to the postilion, and we turned about. I looked from hill to stream, from tlie fruited brambles of blackberry to reaches of noble forest, realizing that I should never see those lands again, or the neighboring crest where my friend the marquis slept. We posted the distance to Paris in two days. What the c^. ntry was like or what towns we passed I could not this hour declare with any cer- tainty. At first making effort and groping numbly in my mind, but the second day grasping determina- tion, I formed my plans, and talked them over with Skenedonk. \7e would sail for America on the first convenient ship; waiting in Paris only long enough to prepare for the post journey to a port. Charges must at once be settled with Doctor Chantry, who would willingly stay in Paris while the De Chau- monts remained there. Beyond the voyage I did not look. The first faint tugging of my foster country began to pull me I j68 L AZ A K K K 1'^ I ii' ir;!' 'f fr ' •Mr as it has pulled many a broken wretch out o. the conditions of the older world. Paris was horrible, with a lonesomeness no one could have forcr ^cn in its crowded streets. A taste of war was in tne air. Troops passed to review. Our post-car. iage met ihe dashing coaches of gay young men I knew, who stared at me without rec- ognition. Marquis du Plessy no longer made way for me and displayed mc at his side. I drove to his hotel in the Faubourg St. Ger- main for my possessions. It was closed: the distant relative who inherited after him being an heir with no Parisian tastes. The care-taker, however, that f^entle old valet like a woman, who had dressed me in my first Parisian finer\ , et us in, and waited upon us with food I sent liim out to buy. He gave me a letter from my friend, which he had held to de- Hvcr on my return, in case any accident befell the marquis. He was tremulous in his mourning, and all his ardent care of me was s. -vice rendered to the dead. I sat in the garden, with the letter spread upon the table where we had dined. Its brevity was ga>. The writer would have gone unde;- the knife with a jest. He did not burden me with any kind of counsel. W'e had touched. We might touch again. It was as if a soul sailed by, waving its hat. "My Dear ^ioy: — I wanted you, -^ut it was best you should not stay and behold me depravity of your elders. It is about a woman. WANUtCKlNO 20(J [1 I May /ou come to a bettor throne than the un- steady one of France. Your friend and servant, Eticnnc du .''Icssy. Garlic is the spice of life, my boy!" I asked no questions about the afJair in which he had been engaged. If .,c had wanted me to know lie would have told mc. The garden was more than I could endure. I lay down early and slept late, as soon as I awoke in the morning beginning preparation for Ic v-ing France. Vet two days passed, for we were obliged to ex- change our worn post-carriage for another after waiting for repairs. The old valet packed my be- longings; though I wondered what 1 was going to do with them in America. The outfit of a young man of fashion overdressed a refugee of diminished fortune. For no sooner was I on the street than a sense of being unnjjstak My watched grew upon me. I scarcely caugiu bod. in the act. A succession of vanishing peoj, passed mc from one to another. tis blouse ( .ed me; and disap- ti it was a soldier who and in the evening he was ^u,. interested o.'d woman. I might not have rem, nbered these people with dis- trust if Skenedonk ! not told me he was trailed by changing figurc> , he t: ught it was time to get behind trees. A working man tr peared. In tli turned up near n succeeded by an •Ill ll. 370 L A Z A K K K Bellcnger might have returned to Paris, and set Napoleon's spies on the lea.'' befriended I.ourbun of all; or the police ii] a a man escaped from Sto. Pelagic aftvr choking a sacristan. The Indian and I were not s! "'led in disguises as our watchers were. Our safety lay in getting out of Paris. Skenc-donk undertook to stow our be- longings in the post-chaist a the last minute. I went to De Chaumont's hotel to bring the money from Doctor Chantry and to take leave without appearing to do ■ , Mademoiselle (lo Chaumont seized me as I en- tered. Her carriage stood in tlie court. Miss Chan- try was waiting in it while Annabel's maid iastcneJ her glove. "O Lazarre!" the poppet cried, her heartiness going through me like wine. "Are you back? And how you are changed ! They must have abused you in Russi.-., We heard you went to Russia. B ♦ since dear Marquis du Plessy died we never 1. ■ the truth about anything. ' I acknowledged that I had been to Russia. "Why did you go there? Tell your dearest Anna- bel. She won't tell." "To see a lady." Annabel shook her fretwork of misty hair. "That's treason to me, Is she beautiful?" "Very." "Kind?" "Perfectly." W A N 1 ) 1 : K* 1 N < ', 271 •'V'ell, you're nul. Hy the way. u liy are vou look ini, •) wan if she is beautiful and kin.I?" "I didn't say siie was beautiful and kir d for me, did I?" "\o, of course not. She has jilted you, the wretch. Your dearest Annabel will console you. Lazarre!" She clasped my arm with both hands. "Madame de I\ . rier's husband is alive!" "What consolation is there in that?" "A ^rcat deal for me. She has her estates Sack, and he was only hi^linjr until she got them. I know the funnie .t thing!" Annabel hooked Iit finger and led me to a small study or cabin- -t the end of the drawing-room. A profusion o. he most beautiful sUiflFs was ar- ranged there for display. "Look!" the witch exclaimed, pinching my wrist in her rapture. "India muslin embroidered in silver lama, Turkish velvet, ball dresses for a bride, rib- bons of all colors, white blond, Brussels point, Cashmere shawls, veils in English point, reticules, gloves, fans, essences, a bridal purse of gold links — and worse than all, — except this string of perfect pearls— his portrait on a medallion of ivory, painted by Tsabey!" "What is this collection?" "A corbeille!" "What's a corbeille?" Annabel crossed her hands in desperation. "Oh, haven't you been in Paris long enough to know what a corbeille is? It's the collection of gifts a I I* ■ ly I I! ii if f.' 272 Iv A Z A RRE bridegroom makes for his bride. He puts his taste, his sentiment, his"— she waved her fingers in the air— "as well as his money, into it. A corbeille shows what a man is. He must have been collect- ing it ever since he came to France. I feel proud of him. I want to pat him on his dear old back!" Not having him there to pat she patted me. "You are going to be married?" "Who said I was going to be married?" "Isn't this your corbeille ?" Annabel lifted herself to my ear. "It was Madame de Ferrier's!" "What!" "I'm sure of it!" "Who bought it?" "Count de Chaumont, of course." "Was Madame de Ferrier going to marry him?" "Who wouldn't marry a man with such a cor- beille?" "Was she?" "Don't grind your teeth at your dearest Annabel. She hadn't seen it, but it must have decided her. I am sure he intended to marry Madame de Fer- rier, and he does most things he undertakes to do. That inconsiderate wretch of a INIarquis de Ferrier — to spoil such a corbeille as this! But Lazarre!" She patted her gloved hands. "Here's the consola- tion :— my father will be obliged to turn his corbeille into my trousseau when I am married!" "What's a trousseau?" "Goose! It's a bride's wardrobe. I knew he had -..-ik. WANUKKlxNO ^7i something in this cabinet, but he never left the key in the door until to-day. He was so completely upset when the De Ferriers came into Paris 1" "Are they in Paris?" "Yes, at their own hotel. The old marquis has posted here to thank the emperor! The emperor is away with the troops, so he is determined at least to thank the empress at the assembly to-night." "Will Madame de Ferrier go to the Tuileries?" "Assuredly. Fancy how furious niv father must be!" "May I enter?" said the humblest of voices out- side the door. We heard a shuffling step. Annabel made a face and clenched her hands. The sprite was so harmless I laughed at her mis- chief. She brought in Doctor Chantry as she had brought me, to behold che corbeille; covering her father's folly with transparent fabrications, which anybody but the literal Briton must have seen through. He scarcely greeted me at all, folding his hands, pale and crushed, the sharp tip of his nose standing up more than ever like a porcelain candle- extinguisher, while I was anxious to have him aside, to get my money and take my leave. "See this beautiful corbeille, Doctor Chantry! Doesn't it surprise you Lazarre should have such taste? We are going this morning to the mayor of the arrondissement. Nothing is so easy as civil marriage under the Empire! Of course the relig- ious sacrament in the church of the Capuchins !i ; 274 L A Z A. K RK follows, and celebrating that five minutes before midnight, will make all Paris talk! Go with us to the mayor, Doctor Chantry!" "No," he answered, "no!" "My father joins us there. We have kept Miss Chantry waiting too long. She will be tired of sit- ting in the carriage." Chattering with every breath Annabel entrained us both to the court, my poor master hobbling after her a victim, and staring at me with hatred when I tried to get a word in undertone. I put Annabel into the coach, and Miss Chantry made frigid room for me. "Hasten yourself. Lazarre," said Mademoiselle de Chaumont. I looked back at the poor man who was being played with, and she cried out laughing — "Did you go to Russia a Parisian to come back a bear?" I entered her coach, intending to take my leave as soon as I had seen Count de Chaumont. Anna- bel chattered all the way about civil marriage, and directed Miss Chantry to wait for us while we went in to the mayor. I was perhaps too indifferent to the trick. The usually sharp governess, undecided and piqued, sat still. The count was not in the mayor's office. A civil marriage was going forward, and a strange bridal party looked at us. "Now, Lazarre," the strategist confided, "your dearest Annabel is going to cover herself with Pa- WANDKRINO 275 risian disgrace. You don't know how ma'ldening it is to have every step dogged by a woman who never was, never could have been — and manifestly never will be — young! Wasn't that a divine flash about the corbeille and the mayor? Miss Chantry will wait outside half a day. As I said, she will be very tired of sitting in the carriage. This is what you must do; smuggle me out another way; call another carriage, and take me for a drive and wicked dinner. I don't care what the consequences are, if you don't!" I said I certainly didn't, and that I was ready to throw myself in the Seine if that would amuse her; and she commended my improvement in manners. We had a drive, with a sympathetic coachman ; and a wicked dinner in a suburb, which would have been quite harmless on American ground. The child was as full of spirits as she had been the night she mounted the cabin chimney. But I realized that more of my gold pieces were slipping away, and I had not seen Doctor Chantry. "We were going to the mayor's," slie maintained, when reproached. "My father would have joined us if he had been there. He would certainly have joined us if he had seen me alone with you. Noth- ing is so easy as civil marriage under the Empire. Of course the religious sacrament follows, when people want it, and if it is celebrated in the church of the Capuchins — or any other church — five min- utes before midnight, it will make all Paris talk! Everv word T said was true!" ^ 't * ii: i i ■i'i fiMi 276 L AZ AR RE "But Doctor Chantry believed something en- tirely different." "You can't do anything for the English," said Annabel. "Next week lyt will say haw-haw." Doctor Chantry could not be found when we re- turned to her father's hotel. She gave me her fingers to kiss in good-bye, and told me I was less doleful. "We thought you were the Marquis du Plessy's son, Lazarre. I always have believed that story the Holland woman told in the cabin, about >our rank being superior to mine. Don't be cut up about Madame de Ferrier! You may have to go to Rus- sia again for her, but you'll get her!" The witch shook the mist of hair at the sides of her pretty aq*lline face, blew a kiss at me, and ran up the staircase and out of my life. After waiting long for Doctor Chantry I hurried to Skenedonk and sent him with instructions to find my master and conclude our aflfair before coming back. The Indian silently entered the Du Plessy hotel after dusk, crestfallen and suspicious. He brought nothing but a letter, left in Doctor Chantry's room; and no other trace remained of Doctor Chantry. "What has he done with himself, Skenedonk?" I exclaimed. The Oneida begged me to read that we might trail him. It was a long and very tiresome letter written in my master's spider tracks, containing long and tiresome enumerations of his services. He pre- i ■ WANDKRINO 2TJ % sented a large bill for his guardianship on the voy- age and across France. He said I was not only a Rich Ivlan through his Influence, but I had proved myself an ungrat^ul one, and had robbed him of his only Sentiment after a disappointed Ex- istence. l\[y Impudence was equaled only by my astonishing Success, and he chose not to contem- plate me as the Husband of Beauty and Lofty Sta- tion, whose Shoes he in his Modesty and Worth, felt unworthy to unlatch. Therefore he withdrew that very day from Paris, and would embrace the Opportunity of going into pensive Retirement and rural Contemplation, in his native Kingdom; where his Sister would join him when she could do so with Dignity and Propriety. I glanced from line to line smiling, but the post- script brought me to my feet. "The Deposit which you left with me I shall carrj- with me, as no more than my Due for lifting low Savagery to high Gentility, and beg to sub- scribe my Thanks for at least this small Tribute of Gratitude." "Doctor Chantry is gone with the money!" Skenedonk bounded up grasping the knife which he always carried in a sheath hanging from his belt. "Which way did the old woman go?" "Stop," I said. The Indian half crouched for counsel. "I'll be a prince! Let him have it." "Let him rob vou?" IH I if % I |M I 273 LAZ ARRE '' I 1 ' i- t f ^'i; r ■ 1 ■• B^ I- ' ' B i:j' .:i ■':' Ii :''!■ i "We're quits, now. I've paid him for the lancet stab I gave him." "But you haven't a whole bagful of coin left." "We brought nothing into France, and it seems certain we shall take nothing but experience out of it. And I'm young, Skenedonk. He isn't." The Oneida grunted. He was angrier than I had ever seen him. "We ought to have knocked the old woman on the head at Saratoga," he responded. Annabel's trick had swept away my little fortune. With recklessness which repeated loss engenders I proposed we scatter the remaining coin in the street, but Skenedonk prudently said we would di- vide and conceal it in our clothes. I gave the kind valet a handful to keep his heart warm; and our anxieties about our valuables were much light- ened. Then we consulted about our imminent start, and I told my servant it would be better to send the post-chaise across the Seine. He agreed with me. And for me to come to it as if by accident the mo- ment we were ready to join each other on the road. He agreed to that. All of our belongings would be put into it by the valet and himself, and when we met we would make a circuit and go by the way of St. Denis. "We will meet," I told him, "at eleven o'clock in front of the Tuileries." Skenedonk looked at me without moving a muscle. W A N D K R 1 N a -7') "I want to see the palace of the Tuilerics before I leave France." He still gazed at me. "At any risk, I am going to the Tuilenes to- night!" My Iroquois grunted. A glow spread all over his copper face and head. If I had told him I was going to an enemy's central camp fire to shake a club in the face of the biggest chief, he could not have thought more of my daring or less of my com- mon sense. "You will never coir.o out" "It I don't, Skencdonk, go without me." He passed small heroics unnoticed. "Why do you do it?" I couldn't tell him. Neither could I leave Paris without doing it. I assured him many carriages would be there, near the entrance, which was called, I believed, the pavilion of Flora; and by showing boldness we might start from that spot as well as from any other. He abetted the reckless devil in me, and the outcome was that I crossed the Seine bridge by myse'f about ten o'clock; remembering my escape from Ste. Pelagic; remembering I should never see the gargoyles on Notre Dame any more, or the golden dome of the Invalides, or hear the night hum of Paris, whether I succeeded or not. For if i succeeded I should be away toward the coast by morning: and if I did not succeed, I should be somewhere under arrest. I can see the bov in white court dress, with no -•So L A ;i A. H K B m hint of the traveler about him, who stepped jauntily out of a carriage and added himself to groups en- tering the Tuileries. Tlie white court dress was armor which he put on to serve him in the danger- ous attempt to look once more on a woman's fac-. lie mounted with a strut toward the guardians of the imperial court, not knowing how he might be challenged; and fortune was with him. "Lazarre!" exclaimed Count de Chaumont, hur- rying behind to take my elbow. "I want you to help me!" Remembering with sudflen remorse Annabel's escape and our wicked dinner, I 1-alted eager to do him service. He was perhaps used to Annabel's escapes, for a very different annoyance puckered his forehead as he drew me aside within the en- trance. "Have you heaid the Marquis de Fcrrier is alive?" I told him I had heard it. "Damned old fox! He lay in hiding until the es- tates were recovered. Then out he creeps to eniov them!" I pressed the count's hand. We were one in dis- approval. "It's a shame!" said the count. It was a shame, I said. "And now he's posted into Paris to make a fool of himself." "How?" "JTave you seen Madame de Ferrier?" W A N r:) E R I N Cr 281 "No, I have not seen her." "I believe we are in time to intercept him. You have a clever hearl, boy. Use it. How shall we get this old fellow out of t'le Tuileries without let- ting him spea'c to the emperor?" "Easily, I should think, since Xapolcon isn't here." "Yes, he is. He dashed into Paris a little while ago, and may leave to-night. But he is here." "Why shouldn't the Marquis de Ferrier speak to Napoleon?" "Because he is going to make an ass of himself before the court, and what's worse, he'll make ,-; laughing-stock of me." "How can he do that?" "He is determined to thank the cnoeror for restoring h' estates. He might thank the empress, and she wouldn't know v/hat he was talking about. But the emperor knows everything. I have used all the arguments I dared to use against it, but he is a pig for stubbornness. For my sake, for Madame de Ferrier's sake, Lazarre, help me to get him harmlessly out of the Tuileries. without mak- ing a public scandal about the restitution of the land!" "What scandal car. there be, monsieur? And why shouldn't he thank Napoleon for giving him back his estates after the fortunes of revolution and war?" "Because the emperor didn't do it. T bought them!" T - . j 1 ,n|' i1 ^ m ^ J m ,1 1 ^' ■ fV s 2Sa LAZ ARRE •'You!" "Yes, I bought them. Come to that, they are my property!" "Madame dc Ferric Jocsn't know this?" "Certainly not I meant to settle them on lier. Saints and angels, boy, anybody could sec what my intentions were!" "Then she is as poor as she was in America?" "Poorer. She has the Marquis dc Fcrrier!" We two who loved her, youth and man. rich and powerful, or poor and fr.gitive, felt the passionate nv-ed of protecting her. ' She wouldn't accept them if she knew it." "Neither would the marquis," said De Ci.au- mont. "The Marquis de Ferrier might live on the estates his lifetime without any interference. But if he will see the emperor, and I can't prevent it any other way, I shall have to tell him!" "Yes, you will have to tell him!" I thought of Eagle in the village, and the old woman who blessed her a quarter of an hour, and Paul standing on the seat to be worshiped. How could I go to America and leave her? And what could I do for her when a rich man like De Chau- mont was powerless? "Can't you sec Xapoleon," I suggested, "and ask him to give the marquis a moment's private audience, and accept his thanks?" "Xo!" groaned DeChaumont. "He wouldn't do ft I couldn't put myself in such a position!" '-*S :t W A N U K K 1 N c^ -««J I'errier,' I ilk ajjaii, jut ol bis "If Napoleon came in so hurriedly he nu.y not ^how himself in the state apartments to-nighr." "But he is accessible, wherever he is. He d. sn't deny himself to the meanest soldier. Why should he refuse to see a noble of the class he is always conciliating when he can?" "Introduce me to the Marquis finally said, "and let me sec [ J time while you get your empt way." I thought desperately of reveih: alist what I believed myself to be. he believed me to be, and com»nan rightful piince, to content himself and less public giatitnde to an usurper. I live in the country, shrinking so niaiurally court that a self-imposed appc.-i ^ncc ■' never be repeated. I believe this would havt icce< 'c hour more of time might havi aved ytai fort to Eaglo— for De Chauinont wa^ lie ol. i:.-igl. ng hii .1 ■ h les- ro, • and as his t'fTu> iv e " vv . .aid Krt need half oi com " 'US life. and have changed the outcome of But in scant fifteen minutes our fale was dec. jd. De Chaumont and I had moved with ar head^ together, from corridor to antechamber, iiom ante- chamber to curtained salon of the lower floor. Tlv private apartments of the Bonaparte family were thrown open, and in the mahogany furnished room, all hung with yellow satin, I noticed a Swiss clock which pointed its minute finger to a quarter before eleven. I made no hurry. My errand was not I 1 1» m N ■ '^ < - 4 ■ . K 1 i g i 384 L AZ A KKli: accomplished. Skencdonk would wait for me, and even dare a search if he became suspicious. The count, knowing what Madame de Fcrricr considered me, perhaps knew my plan. He turned back at once assenting. The Marquis and Marquise de Ferricr were i instant going up the grand staircase, and would be announced. Eagle turned her face above me, the long line of her throat uplifted, and went coura- geous and smiling on her way. The marquis had adapted himself to the court requirements of the Empire, \ublc gentleman of another period, he stalked a piteous masquerader where he had once been at home. Count de Chaumont grasped my arm and we hurried up the stairs after them. The end of a great and deep room was visible, and I had a glimpse, between heads and shoulders of a woman standing in the light of many lusiers. She iirted her lips to smile, closing them quick'y, but having shown little dark teeth. She was of exquisite shape, her 'ace and arms and bosom having a clean fair polish like the delicate whiteness of a magnolia, as I have since seen that flower in bloom. She wore a small diadem in her hair, and her short-waisted robe trailed far back among her ladies. I knew without being told that this was the empress of the French. De Chaumont's hand was on my arm, but another hand touched my shoulder. I looked be- hind me. This time it was not an old woman, or a ■S W A N n K K I N < i -'«3 laborer in a blouse, or a soldier: but I knew my pursuer in his white court dress. Officer of the law, writ in the lines of his face, to my eyes appeared all over him. "Monsieur VeeleeumI" As soon as he said that I understood it was the refugee from Stc. Pelagic that he wanted. "Certainly," I answered. "Don't make a dis- turbance." "You will take my arm and come with me, Mon- sieur Veelccum." "I will do nothingf of the kind until my errand is finished," I answered desperately. De Chaumont looked sharply at the man, but his own salvation required him to lay hold on the mar- quis. As he did so. Eagle's face and my face en- countered in a panel of mirror, two flashes of pal- lor ; and I took my last look. "You will come with n;e now," said the gendarme at my ear. She saw him, and understood his errand. There was no chance. De Chaumont wheeled ready to introduce me to the marquis. I was not permitted to speak to him. But Eagle took my right arm and moved down the corridor with me. Decently and at once the disguised gendarme fell behind where he could watch every muscle without alarming Madame de Ferrier. She appeared not to see him. I have no doubt he praised himself for his delicacy and her unconsciousness of my ar- rest. Tl < ! I'-f f !' 8- I I i H;,J 1" i , 1 ' ■ 1 " 1 ; H 1 ! r^ f 1 I f * ; : ?■ .; «- t 1 ) i 286 L A ;^ A. H K K "You must not think you can run away from me," she said. "I was coming back," I answered, making talk. My captor's person heaved behind me, signifying that he silently laughed. He kept within touch. *'Do you know the Tuileries well?" inquired Eagle. "Xo. I have never been in the palace before." "Xor I, in the state apartments." We turned from the corridor into a suite in these upper rooms, the gendarme humoring Madame de Ferrier, and making himself one in the crowd around us. De Chaumont and the Marquis de Ferrier gave chase. I saw them following, as well as they could. "This used to be the queen's dressing-room," said Eagle. We entered the last one in the suite. "Are you sure?" "Quite sure." "This is the room you told me you would like to examine?" "The very one. I don't believe the Empire has made any changes in it. These painted figures look just as Sophie described them." Eagle traced lightly with her finger one of the shepherdesses dancing on the panel; and crossed to the opposite side of the room. People whp passed the door found nothing to interest them, and turned away, but the gendarme stayed beside us. Eagle glanced at him as if resenting his intrusion, and WANDKRINO 28; asked me to bring her a candle and hold it near a mark on the tracery. The gendarme himself, apol- ogetic but firm, stepped to the sconce and took the candle. I do not know how the thing was done, or why the old spring and long unused hinges did not stick, but his back was toward us — she pushed nie against the panel and it let me in. And I held her and drew her after me, and the thing closed. The wall had swallowed us. We stood on firm footing as if suspended in eter- nity. No sound from the swarming palace, not even possible noise made by the gendarme, reached us. It was like being earless, until she spoke in the hollow. "Here's the door on the staircase, but it will not open!" I groped over every inch of it with swift haste in the blackness. "Hurry — hurry!" she breathed. "He may touch the spring himself — it moves instantly!" "Does this open with a spring, too?" "I don't know. Sophie didn't know!" "Are you sure there is any door here?'' "She told me there was." "This is like a door, but it will not move." It sprang inward against us, a rush of air anvl a hollow murmur as of wind along the river, follow- ing it. "Go — be quick!" said Madame de Ferrier. "But how will you get out?" "I shall get out when you are gone." f;t./ A: ' 1 1 1^^ III - (, ' i J- !l '■ i n:' ■■ 1 n iJ ■1^ I 288 L AZ A RRE "O, Eagle, forgive me!" (Yet I would have oragged her in with me again !) "I am in no danger. You are in danger. Good- bye, my hege." Cautiously she pushed me through the door beg- ging me to feel for every step. I stood upon the top one, and held to her as I had held to her in passmg through the other wall. I thought of the heavy days before her and the blank before me. I could not let go her wrists. We were fools to waste our youth. I could work for her m America. My vitals were being torn from me. I should go to the devil without her. I don't know what I said. But I knew the brute love which had risen like a Hon in me would r.ever conquer the woman who kissed me in the darkness and held me at bay. "O Louis-0 Lazarre! Think of Paul and Cousin Phihppel You shall be your best for your little mother! I will come to you sometime'" Then she held the door between us. and I went down around and around the spiral of stone 1 '. m H • r ' P '''■ - ■ ' f ) 1 J I ■ 1 "*_ i 1 I touched her! Does she ever think of the dauphin Louis? Where is she? Does she know that La- zarre has become Eleazar Williams?" The pastor's house was fronted with huge white fluted pillars of wood, upholding a porch roof which shaded the second floor windows. The doors in that house had a short-waistcd effect with little pan- els above and long paiu-ls below. I had a chamber so clean and small that I called it in my mind the -Monk's Cell, nearly filled with the high posted bed. the austere table and chairs. The whitewashed walls were bare of pi -turcs. except a painted por- trait of Stephen Williams, pastor of Longmeadow from 1718 to 1783. Dnily his laughing eyes watclied me as ii" he found my pretensions a great joke. He had a long nose, and a high forehead. His black hair crinkled, and a merry crease drew its half cir.-Ic from one cheek around under his chin to the other. Longmeadow did not receive me without much question and debate. There were Williamses in every direction; disguised, periiaps, for that gen- eration, under the names of Cooley, Stehbins, Col- ter, Ely, Hole, and so on. A stately Sarah Wil- liams, as Mrs. Storrs, sat at the head of the pastor's table. Her disapproval was a force, though it never manifested itself except in withdrawal. If Mrs. Storrs had drawn back from me while I li\ed under her roof, I should have felt an outcast indeed. The subtle refinement of those Longmeadow women was like the hinted sweetness of arbutus flower. Breeding pas^rd frnm generation to generation. A K K' 1 \' 1 N l; 'V5 I They had not mixed their blood with the blood of any outsiders; and their forbears were Engiiah yeomen. I threw myself into books as I had done during my first moinh.> at De Chaumont's, before I grew to think of Madame dc I'crricr. One of those seven years I spent at Dartmouth. But the greater part of my knowledge 1 owe to Pastor Storrs Greek and Hebrew he gave me to add to the languages I was beginning to own; and he unlocked all his accumulations of learning. It was a monk's life that I lived; austere and without incident, liut brac- ing as the air of the hills. The whole system was monastic, though ahomination alighted on that word in Longmoadow. I took the discipline into my blood. It will go down to tiiosc after me. There a man had to walk with God whether he wanted to or not. Living was inexpensive, each item being gaged by careful housekeeping. It was a sin to gorge the body, and godly conversation was better than abundance. Yet the pastor's tea-table arises with a halo around it. The rye and Indian bread, the doughnuts fragrant as {lowers, the sparing tea, the prim mats which saved the cloth, the wire screen covering sponge cake — how sacred they seem! The autumn that I came to Longmeadow, Napo- leon Bonaparte was beaten on the sea by the Eng- lish, but won the battle '- ' Austerlitz, defeating the Russian coalition and changing the map of Europe. I felt sometimes a puppet while this man played i r i « 1 ] , • " f 'I l1 K , t - I' ■' ■'; llil 11 It it n I i, I 2ijC L A is A H K K his great part. It was no comfort that others of my house were nothing to France. Though I did not see Louis Philippe again, he wandered in America two or three years, and went back to pri- vacy. During my early novitiate at Longmeadow, Aaron Burr's conspiracy went to pieces, dragijing down with it that pleasant gentleman, Harmon Blenncrhassctt, startling men like Jackson, who had best befriended him unawares. But this in nowise afTc'cted my own plans of empire. The solidarity of a nation of Indians on a remote tract could be no Uienace to the general government. Skencdonk came and went, and I made journeys to my people with him. But there was never any letter waiting at De Chaumont's for me. After some years indeed, the count having returned to Castorland, to occupy his new manor at Le Ray- ville, the mansion I had known was torn down and the stone converted to other uses. Skenedonk brought me word early that Mademoiselle de Chau- mont had been married to an officer of the Empire, and would remain in France. The door between my past and me was sealed. Madame de Fcrrier stood on the other side of it, and no news from her penetrated its dense barrier, I tried to write letters to her. But nothing that I could vv-rite was fit to send, and I kne^' not wheth- er she was yet at Mont-Louis. Forever she was holding the door against me. Skenedonk, coming and going at his caprice, ARRIVING 297 is stayed a month in every year at Longmeadow, where the townspeople, having liad a surfeit of abo- riginal names, called him John. He raised no objection, for that with half a dozen other Christian titles had been bestowed on him in baptism; and he entered the godly list of Williamses as John Williams. The first summer I spent in Longmeadow there was an eclipse of the sun about the middle of June. I remember lying on open land, my book on its face beside me, and watching it through my eye- lashes; until the weird and awful twilight of a blotted sun in mid-hcavcn sent birds and beasts to shelter as from wrath. When there was but a hairy shining around the orbed blackness, and stars trembled out and trembled back, as if they said: "We are here. The old order will rctrrn," and the earth held its breath at threat of eternal dark- ness, the one I loved seemed to approach in the long shadows. It was a sign that out of the worst comes the best. But it was a terror to the un.'-re- pared: and Pastor Storrs preached about it the following Sunday. The missionary spirit of Longmeadow stirred among the Williamses, and many of them brought what they called their mites to Pastor Storr jr my education. If I were made a king no revenue could be half so sweet as that. The village was richer than many a stonier New England place, but men were struggling then all over the wide states and territorie'; for material existence. 1 298 LAZ ARRR ! I The pension no longer came from Europe. It ceased when I returned from France. lis former payment was considt:cd apocryphal by Long- meadow, wliosc very maids— too white, with a pink spot it each check— smiled with reserved amuse- ment at a student who thought it possible he could ever be a king. I spoke to nobody but Pastor Storrs about my own convictions. But local news- papers, with their omniscient grip on what is in the air, bandied the subject back and forth. We sometimes walked in tl:c burying ground among dead Williamses, while he argued down my claims, leaving them without a leg to stand on. Reversing the usual ministerial formula, "If what has been said is true, then it follows, first, sec- ondly,*' and so on, he used to say: "Eleazar, you were brougJJt up among the In- dians, conscious only of bodily existence, and un- conscious of your origin; granted. Money was sent— let us say from Lnrope— for vour support; granted. Several persons, among them one who testified strongly against his will, told you that you resembled the Bourbons; granted. You bear on your person marks like those which were inflicted on the unfortunate dauphin of France; granted. You were malignant!}' pursued while abroad; granted. But what does it all prove? Nothing. It amounts simply to this: you know nothing about your early years; some foreign person — perhaps an English Williams— kindly interested himself in your upbringing; you were probably scalded in A K l'^ I V 1 X *» i =£ ^ ihc camps; you have some accitlcnial traits of the uourbons; a man who hcaitl you had a larger I)cnsion tlian the idiot he was tending, disHkcd you. Vou can prove notljing more." I never attempted to prove anything more to Pas- tor Storrs. It would have been most ungrateful tj per made him I was an alien. .\t the same time he prophesied his hopes of nie. and many a judicious person blamed him for treating me as something out of the ordinary, and oockeriiig up pride. A blunter Williams used tu take me by the but- ton on the street. "Elcazar Williams." he would say, "do you pre- tend to be the sun of the French king? I tell you what! I will not let the name ul Williams be dis- graced by any rclatiunship to any French mon- arch ! You must do one of two things : you must cither renounce Williamsism or renounce Bourbon- ism !" Though there was liberty of conscience to criti- cise the pastor, he was autocrat of Longmeadow. One who preceded Pastor Storrs had it told about him that two of his deacons wanted him to appoint Ruling Elders. Ik- appointed them; and asked them what they th.oiight the duties were. They said he knew best. "Well," said the pastor, "one of the Ruling El- ders may come to my huv.sc l)cforc mcMng, saddle my horse, and hold tlic stirrup whi'c I --.t on. The other may wait at ti'e cliur'.-'.! '\nn.r and ^'old h-' — while I get ofj, and after meeting bring him to the 300 l^^'yC ^ bi u ic ik '4-. , 1.1 '. rl ' i steps. This is all of my work that I can consent to let Ruling- Elders do for me." The Longmeadow love of disputation was fos- tered by ho. ,-, u-hich Ruling Elders might have made u : eir busir.cr. to preserve, if any Ruling Elders V .r< willing o accept their appointment. The pastv -rioc. wc-.t to the next town to enjoy argument witli a scientific doctor. When he mounted his horse to ride home before nightfall the two friends kept up their debate. The doctor stood by the horse, or walked a few steps as the horse moved. Presently both men noticed a fire m the east; and it was sunrise. They had areued all night. In Longmeadow a man could not help practicing argument. I also practiced oratory. And all the time I practiced the Iroquois tongue as well as Enghsh and French, and began the translation of books mto the language of the nation I hoped to build. That Indians made unstable material for the white man to handle I would not believe Sken- edonk was not unstable. His faithfulness was a rock. For some reason, and I think it was the reach of Pastor Storrs, men in other places began to seek me. The vital currents of life indeed sped through us on the Hartford and Springfield stage road. It happened that Skenedonk and I were making my annual journey to St. Regis when the first steam'- boat accomplished its trip on the Hudson river. About the time that the Wisconsin country was in- i- f A R K 1 \^ 1 N a ^>0i eluded in Illinois Territory, I decided to write a letter to Madame Tank at Green Bay, and insist on knowing my story as she believed she knew it. Yet I hesitated; and finally did not do it. I found afterwards that there was no post-office at Green Day. A carrier, sent by the ofticers of the fort an:l villagers, brought mail from Chicago. Tie had tv.o hundred miles of wiMcrncss to traverse, and his blankets and provisions as well as the mail to carry; and he did this at ti:e risk of his life among wild men and beasts. The form of religion was ahvays a trivial matter to me. I never ceased to love the sacrifice of the mass, which was an abomination and an idolatrous practice to Pastor Storrs. Tlie pageantry of the Roman Church that first mothered and nurtured me touches me to this day. I love the Protestant prayers of the English Church. And I love the stern and knotty argument, the sermon with heads and sequences, of the New England Congregation- alist. For this catholicity Catholics have upbraided me, churchmen rebuked me, and dissenters denied that I had any religion at all. When the EpisLOf.-' Bishop of New York showed me kindness, and Pastor Storrs warned me against being proselyted, I could not tell him the charm in the form of worsr.ip practiced by the woman I loved. There was not a conscious minute when I forgot her. Yet nobody in Longmeadow knew of her existence. In my most remorseful days, comparing myself with Pastor Storrs, I was '1 If-" 303 I^ Aii A R RK !H Ji- never sorry I had clung to her and begged her not to let me go alone. For some of our sins are so honestly the expression of nature that justifi- cation breaks through them. On the western border there was trouble with dissatisfied Indians, and on the sea there was trouble with the British, so that people began to talk of war long before it was declared, and to blame President Madison for his over-caution in aflfairs. A battle was fought at Tippecai.oe in the Indiana Territory, which silenced the Indians for a while. But every one knew that the English stood behind them. Militia was mustered, the army re- cruited, and embargo laid upon shipping in the ports, and all things were put forward in April of that year, before war was declared in June. I had influence with our tribes. The Govern- ment oflfered me a well paid commission to act as itssecrc , n. Pastor Storrs and the Williamses, who had .lurturing a missionary, were smitten with griet to see him rise and leap into camps and fields, eager for the open world, the wilderness smell; the council, where the red man's mind, a trembling balance, could be turned by vivid lan- guage; eager, i. fact, to live where history was being made. ^ The pastor had clothed me in his mind with min- isterial gown and band, and the martial blood that quickened he counted an Iroquois strain. Yet so inconsistent is human nature, so given to forms which It calls creeds, that when I afterwards put n ■•*■- A K K I \^ I K a 303 1 s on the surplice and read prayers to my adopted people, he counted it as great a defection as taking to saddle and spur. We cannot leave the t.^p'-ession of our lives to those better qualified than we are, however dear they may be. I had to pack my saddlebags and be gone, loving Lonj^meadow none the less because I grieved it, knowing that it would not approve of me more if I -tayed and failed to do my natural part. The snuffbox and the missal which had belonged to my family in France I always carried with me. And very little could be transported on the road we took. John Williams, who came to Longmeadow in deerskins, and paraded his burnished red poll among the hatted Williamses, abetted me in turn- ing from the missionary field to the arena of war, and never left me. It was Skenedonk who served the United States with brawn and endurance, while I put such policy and color into my harangues as I could command. We shared our meals, our camps, our beds of leaves together. The life at Long- meadow had knit me to good use. I could fast or feast, ride or march, take the buckskins, or the soldier's uniform. Of this service I shall write down only what goes to the making of the story. The Government was pleased to commend it, and it may be found written in other annals than mine. Great latitude was permitted us in our orders. We spent a year in the north. Mv skin darkened k' I ill lU\ f ■, 304 L A 2 A R R E and toughened under exposure until I said to Sken- edonk, "I am turning an Indian;" and he, jealous of my French blood, denied it. In July we had to thread trails he knew by the lake toward Sandusky. There was no Sorse path wide enough for us to ride abreast. Brush swished along our legs, and green walls shut our view on each side. The land dipped towards its basin. Buckeye and gigantic chestnut trees, maple and oak, passed us from rank to rank of endless forest. Skencdonk rode ahead, watching for every sign and change, as a pilot now watches the shifting of the current. So we had done all day, and so^ we were doing when fading light warned us to camp. ^ A voice literally cried out of the wilderness, start- ling the horses and ringing among the tree trunks: "The spirit of the Lord is upon me, and Ke hath anointed me to blow the trumpet in the wilderness, and sound an alarm in the forest; for behold the tribes of the heathen are round about your doors, and a devouring flame followcth after them!" i.-^a. II ^^'' I " HAT'S Johnny Appleseed," said Skone- J_ donk, turning in his saddle. "What is Johnny Appleseed?" "He is a man that God has touched," said Skene- donk, using the aboriginal phrase that signified a man clouded in mind. God had hidden him, too. I could see no one. The voice echo still went off among the trees. "Where is he?" "Maybe one side, maybe the other." "Does he never show hiwiself?" "Oh, yes," Skenedonk said. "He goes to all the settlements. I have often seen him when I was hunting on these grounds. He came to our camp. He loves to sleep outdoors better than in a cabin." "Why does he shout at us like a prophet?" "To warn us that Indians are on the warpath." "He might have thought we were on the warpath ourselves." 'Johnny Appleseed knows Shawanoes and Te- cumseh's men." The trees, lichened on their north sides, massed rank behind rank without betraying any face in their glooms. The Ohio and Indiana forests had a nameless quality. They might have been called home-forests, such invitations issued from them to 305 !*•• i ff I 1 ' if >" in* '((. I;. ■i : ■ 1 « ) 1 i ! '' ji 306 L A ;^ A K K hC man seeking a spot of his own. Xor can I make clear what this invitation was. It produced thoughts different from those that men were conscious of in the rugged northwest. "I think myself," said Skcnedonk, as we moved farther from the invisible voice, "that he is under a vow. But nobody told me that." "Why do you think so?" "He plants orchards in every fine open spot; or clears the land for planting where he thinks the soil is right." "Don't other men plant orchards?" "No. They have not time, or seed. They plant bread. He does nothing but plant orchards." "He must have a great many." "They are not for himself. The apples are for any one who may pass by when they are ripe. He wants to give apples to everybody. Animals often nibble the bark, or break down his young trees. It takes long for them to grow. But he keeps on planting." "If other men have no seeds to plant, how does he get them?" "He makes journeys to the old settlements, where many orchards have grown, and brings the seeds from ciderpresses. He carries them from Pennsylvania on his back, in leather bags, a bag for each kind of seed." "Doesn't he ever sell them?" "Not often. Johnny Appleseed cares nothing for money. I believe he is under a vow of poverty. ARRIVINQ 307 No one laughs at him. The tribes on these grounds would not hurt a hair of his head, not only because God has touched him, but because he plants apples. I have eaten his apples myself." "Johnny Appleseed!" I repeated, and Skenedonk hastened to tell mc: "He has another name, but I forget it. He is called Johnny Appleseed." The slim and scarcely perceptible tunnel, among trees, piled with fallen logs and newly sprung growths, let us into a wide clearing as suddenly as a stream finds its lake. We could not sec even the usual cow tracks. A cabin shedding light from its hearth surprised us in the midst of stumps. The door stood wide. A woman walked back and forth over a puncheon floor, tending supper. Dogs rushed to meet us, and the playing of children could be heard. A man, gun in hand, stepped to his door, a sentinel. He lowered its muzzle, and made us welcome, and helped us put our horses under shelter with his own. It was not often we had a woman's handiwork in corn bread and game to feed ourselves upon, or a bed covered with homespun sheets. I slept as the children slept, until a voice rang in the clearing: "The spirit of the Lord is upon me, and He hath anointed me to blow the trumpet in the wilderness, and sound an alarm in the forest; for behold the tribes of the heathen are round about your doors, and a devouring fianic followeth nh<-r them!" f>.' \l it ^ 1 i. i I 'i i t 308 L A Z A R R E Every sleeper in the cabin sat upright or stirred. Wc said in wliispered chorus: "Johnny Applcsccd !" A tapping, light and regular, on the window, fol- lowed. The man was on the floor in a breath. I heard the -nothc- groping among the children, and whispering; "Don't wake the baby!" The fire had died upon the hearth, and they lighted no candle. When Johnny Appleseed gave his warning cry in the clearing, and his cautious tap on the window, and was instantly gone to other clearings and other windows, it meant that the In- dians were near. Skencdonk and T, used to the night alarm and boots and saddle in a hurry, put ourselves in readi- ness to help the family. I groped for clothing, and shoved small legs and arms into it. The little creatures, obedient and silent, made no whimper at being roused nut of dreams, but keenly lent them- selves to the march. We brought the hor.'^es, and put the woman and children upon them. The very dogs understood, and slunk around our legs without giving mouth. The cabin door was shut after us without noise, closing in what that family called home; a few pots and pans; patchwork quilts; a spinning- wheel; some benches: perhaps a child's store of acorn cups and broken yellow ware in a log cor- ner. In a few hours it might be smoking a heap of ashes: and the world offered no other place so i \ A R R I \' I X O 309 dear. What we suffer for is cnriclicd by our suf- fering until it becomes priceless. So far on the frontier was this cabin that no '-'mmunity block-house stood near enough to give its inmates shelter. They were obliged to go with us to Fort Stephenson. Skencdonk pioneered the all-night struggle on an obscure trail; and he went astray sometimes, through blackness of woods that roofed out the stars. We floundered in swales sponging full of dead leaves, and drew back, scratching ourselves on lo" nung foliage. By dawn the way became easier and the danger greater. Then we paused and lifted our rifles if a twig broke near by, or a fox barked, or wind rushed among leaves as a patter of moccasins might come. Skenedonk and I, sure of the northern In- dians, were making a venture in the west. We knew nothing of Tecumseh's swift red warriors, except that scarcely a year had passed since his allies had tomahawked women and children of the garrison on the sand beach at Chicago. Without kindling any fire we stopped once thai day to eat, and by good luck and following the river, reached that Lower Sandusky which was called Fort Stephenson, about nightfall. The place was merely a high stockade with block- houses at the angles, and a gate opening toward the river. Within, besides the garrison of a hun- dred and sixty men, were various refugees, driven like our family to the fort. And there, coming 310 'L.A.Z A. R RE 'i if:' ,f I" 1^ 'if: t " l.ii ! ■■'i heartily from the commandant's quarters to receive me, was George Croghan, still a boy in appearance, though intrusted with this dangerous post. His long face had darkened like mine. We looked each other over with the quick and critical scrutiny of men who have not met since boyhood, and laughed as we grasped hands. "You are as welcome to the inside of this bear- pen," said Major Croghan. "as you made me to the out.side of the one in the wilderness." "I hope you'll not give me such another tramp after shelter for the night as I gave you," I said. "The best in Fort Stephenson is yours. But your rest depends on the enemy. A runner has just come in from the General warning me Proctor and Tecumseh are turning their attention this way. I'm ordered to evacuate, for the post is considered too weak to hold." "How soon do you march?" "I don't march at all. I stay here. I'm going tn disobey orders." "If you're going to disobey orders, you have good reason for doing so." "I have. It was too late to retreat. I'm goin.q to fight. I hear, Lazarre, you know how to handle Indians in the French way." "My dear Croghan, you insinuate the American way may be better." "It is, on the western border. It may not be on the northern." A K K 1 V i N O Ml "Then you would not have advised my a; tempt- ing the Indians liere?" "I shouldn't have discouraged it. When I got the secret order, I said: 'Bring the Frencli— bring the missionaries — bring anything that will cut the comb of Tecumsch!' " "The missionaries and the French like being classed with — anything," I said. "We're Americans here," Croghan laughed. "The dauphin may have to fight in the ditch with the rest us. "The dauphin is an American too, and used to scars, as you know. Can you give me any news from Green Bay in the Wisconsin country?" "I was ordered to Green Bay last year to see if anything could be done with old Fort Edward Au- gustus." "Docs my Holland court-lady live there?" "Xot now,"' he answered soberly. "She's dead." "That's bad." I said, thinking of lost opportuni- ties. "Is pretty Annabel de Chaumont ever coming back from France?" "Not now, she's married." "That's worse," he sighed. "I was very silly about her when I was a boy." We had our supper in his quarters, and he busied himself until late in the night with preparations for defense. The whole place was full of cheer and plenty uf game, and swarmed like a little fair with moving figures. A camp-fire was built at dark in 1 - ■ 1} 312 l.^\Z A K 1< K .it the center of the parade ground, heaped logs send- ing their glow as far as the cfT -luts lounged there, the front of the body in light, the back in darkness. Cool forest night air flowed over the stockade, swaying sniukc this way and that. ,\s the fire was stirred, and smoke turned to flame, it showed more and more distinctly what dimness had screened. A man rose up on tlie oilier side of it, clothed in a cofTee sack, in which holes were cut for his head and arms. His hat was a tin kettle with the handle sticking out behind like a stiff queue. Indiflfercnt to his grotesqueness. he took it ofT and put it on the ground !)eside him, standing ready to command attention. He was a small, dark, wiry man, barefooted and barelegged, whose black eyes sparkled, and whose scanty hair and beard hung down over shoulders and breast. Some pokes of leather, much scratched, hung bulging from the rope which girded his coffee sack. From one of these he took a few unbound leaves, the fragment of a book, spread them open, and began to read in a chanting, prophetic key, something about the love of the Lord and the mys- teries of angels. His listeners kept their eyes on him, giving an indulgent ear to spiritual messages that made less demand on them than the violent earthly ones to which they were accustomed. "It's Johnny Appleseed," a man at my side told " It's Johnny AppleseeJ " a man at iv - side lolj me 1 'I '. "£.z '■ 'i I I li H 1 i ARRIVING 313 me, as if the name explained anything he might do. When Johnny Appleseed finished reading the leaves he put them back in his bag, and took his kettle to the well for water. He then brought some meal from the cook-house and made mush in his hat. The others, turning their minds from future mysteries, began to talk about present danger, when he stood up from his labor to inquire : "Is there plenty in the fort for the children to eat?" "Plenty, Johnny, plenty," several voices assured him. "I can go without supper if the children haven't enough." "Eat your supper, Johnny. Major Croghan v.-ill give you more if you want it," said a soldier. "And we'll give you jerked Britisher, if you'll wait for it," said another. "Johnny never eats meat," one of the refugees put in. "He thinks it's sinful to kill critters. All the things in the woods likes him. Once he got into a holler log to sleep, and some squirrels warned him to move out, they settled there first; and he done it. I don't allow he'd pick a flea ofT his own hide for fear he'd break its legs so it couldn't hop around and make a living." The wilderness prophet sat down quietly to his meal without appearing to notice what was said about him ; and when he had eaten, carried his hat p w ^ ■ 1 1 r .1: ' } ■A M *> ail :^ 314 L AZ A R R E into the cook-house, where dogs could not get at his remaining porridge. "Now he'll save that for his breakfast," remarked another refugee. 'There's nothing he hates like waste." "Talking about squirrels," exclaimed the man at my side, "I believe he has a pasture for old, broke- down horses somewhere east in the hills. All the bates he can find he swaps young trees for, and they go off with him leading them, but he never comes into the settlements on horseback." "Does he always go barefoot?" I asked. "Sometimes he n- -^.kes bark sandals. If you give him a pair of shoes he'll give them away to the first person that can wear them and needs them. Hunt- ers wrap dried leaves around their leggins to keep the rattlesnakes out, but Johnny never protects him- self at all." "No wonder," spoke a soldier. "Any snake'd be discouraged at them slianks. A seven-year rattler'd break his fang on 'em." Johnny came out of the cook-house with an iron poker, and heated it in the coals. All the men around the fire waited, understanding what he was about to do, but my own breath drew with a hiss through my teeth as he laid the red hot iron f^rst on one long cut and then another in his travel-worn feet. Having cauterized himself effectually, and returned the poker, he took his place in perfect serenity, without any show of pain, prepared to accommodate himself to the company. ARRIVING 315 Some boys, awake with the bigress of the occa- sion, sat down near Johnny Appleseed, and gave him their frank attention. Each boy had his hair cut straight around below the ears, where his mother had measured it with an inverted bowl, and freshly trimmed him for life in the fort, and perhaps for the discomfiture of savages, if he came under the scalping knife. Open-mouthed or stern- jawed, according to temperament, the young pio- neers listened to stories about Tecumseh, and sur- mises on the enemy's march, and the likelihood of a night attack. "Tippecanoe was fought at four o'clock in the morning," said a soldier. "I was there," spoke out Johnny Appleseed. No other man could say as much. All looked at him as he stood on his cauterized feet, stretching his arms, lean and sun-cured, upward in the fire- light. "Angels were there. In rain and darkness I heard them speak and say, 'He hath cast the lot for them, and His hand hath divided it unto them by line; they shall possess it forever; from generation to generation shall they dwell therein. The wilder- ness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose!'" "Say, Johnny, what does an angel look like?" piped up one of the boys, quite in fellowship. Johnny Appleseed turned his rapt vision aside and answered: !ti| Ji6 I^ A. Z ^ R R K v,i y ' 1/ i I J h "'White robes were given unto every one of them.' There had I laid me down in peace to sleep, and the Lord made me to dwell in safety. The camp-fires burned red in the sheltered place, and they who were to possess the land watched by the campfires. I looked down from my high place, from my shelter of leaves and my log that the Lord gave me for a bed, and saw the red camp-fires blink in the darkness. "Then was I aware that the heathen crept be- twixt me and the camp, surrounding it as a cloud ^ that lies upon the ground. The rain fell upon us all, and there was not so much sound as the rust- ling of grasshoppers in tall grass. I said they will surprise the camp and slay the sleepers, not know- ing that they who were to possess the land watched every man with his weapon. But when I would have sounded the trumpet of warning, I heard a rifle shot, and all the Indians rose up screeching and rushed at the red fires. "Then a sorcerer leaped upon my high place, rat- tling many deer hoofs, and calling aloud that his brethren might hear his voice. Light he promised them for themselves, and ^'^rkness for the camp, and he sang his war song, shouting and rattling the deer hoofs. Also the Indians rattled deer hoofs, and it was like a giant breathing his last, being shot with many musket flashes. "I saw steam through the darkness, for the fires were drenched and trampled by the men of the camp, and no longer shone as candles so that the ARRIVING 317 Indians might see by them to shoot. The sorcerer danced and shouted, the deor hoofs rattled, and on this side and that men fought knee to knee and breast to breast. I saw through the wet dawn, and they who had crept around the camp as a cloud arose as grasshoppers and fled to the swamp. "Then did the sorcerer sit upon his heels, and I beheld he had but one eye, and he covered it from the light. "But the men in the camp sj outed with a mighty shouting. And after their shouting I heard again the voices of angels saying: 'He hath cast the lot for them, and His hand hath divided it unto them by line; they shall possess it forever; from gen- eration to generation shall they dwell therein. The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose!'" The speaker sat down, and one of the men re- marked : "So that's the way the battle of Tippecanoe looked to Johnny Appieseed." But the smallest boy thoughtfully inquired: "Say, Johnny, haven't the Indians any angels?" "You'll wish they was with the angels if they ever get you by the hair," laughed one of the men. Soldiers began moving their single cannon, a six-pounder, from one blockhouse to another. All the men jumped up to help, as at the raising of a home, and put themselves in the way so ardently that they had to be ordered back. 3i8 LAZ ARRE When everybody but ourselves had left the starlit open place, Johnny Appleseed lay down and stretched his heels to the blaze. A soldier added another log, and kicked into the flame those fallen away. Though it was the end of July, Lake Erie cooled the inland forests. Sentinels were posted in the blockhouses. Quiet settled on the camp; and I sat turning many things in my mind besides the impending battle. Napoleon Bonaparte had made a disastrous campaign in Rus- sia. If I were yet in France; if the Marquis du Plessy had lived; if I had not gone to Mittau; if the self I might have been, that always haunts us, stood ready to take advantage of the turn Yet the thing which cannot be understood by men reared under old governments had befallen me. I must have drawn the wilderness into my blood. Its possibilities held me. If I had stayed in France at twenty, I should have been a Frenchman. The following years made me an American. The pas- sion that binds you to a land is no more to be ex- plained than the fact that many women are beauti- ful, while only one is vitally interesting. The wilderness mystic was sitting up looking at me. "I see two people in you," he said. "Only two?" "Two separate men." "What are their names?" "Their names I cannot see." "Well, suppose we call them Louis and Lazarre." ARRIVING 319 His eyes sparkled. "You are a white man," he pronounced. "By that I mean you are not stained with many vile sins." "I hadn't an equal chance with other men. T lost nine years." "Mebby," hazarded Johnny Appleseed cautious- ly, "you are the one appointed to open and read what is sealed." "If you mean to interpret what you read, I'm afraid I am not the one. Where did you get those leaves?" "From a book that I divided up to distribute among the people." "Doesn't that destroy the sense?" "No. I carry the pages in their order from cabin to cabin." He came around the fire with the lightness of an Indian, and gave me his own fragment to examine. It proved to be from the writings of one Emanuel Swedenborg. With a smile which seemed to lessen the size of his face and concentrate its expression to a sinning- point, Johnny Appleseed slid '.lis leather bags along the rope girdle, and searched them, one after the other. I thouglit he wanted me to notice his apple seeds, and inquired how many kinds he carried. So he showed them in handfuls, brown and glistening, or gummed with the sweet blood of cider. These produced pippins; these produced russets; these produced luscious harvest apples, that fell in Au- 3^0 L AZ ARRE % li B gust bursting with juicy ripeness. Then he showed me another bagful which were not apple seeds at all, but neutral colored specks moving with fluid swiftness as he poured them from palm to palm. "Do you know what this is?" I told him I didn't. "It's dogfennel seed." I laughed, and asked him what kind of apples it bore. Johnny Appleseed smiled at me again. "It's a flower. I'm spreading it Over the whole of Ohio and Indiana! It'll come up like the stars for abundance, and fill the land with rankness, and fever and ague will flee away!" "But how about the rankness?" "Fever and ague will flee away," he repeated, continuing his search through the bags. He next brought out a parcel, wrapped up care- fully in doeskin to protect it from the appleseeds; and turned foolish *^ce, as bits of ribbon and calico fell out upon lis knees. "This isn't the on« /' he said, bundling it up and thrusting it back ag; lin. "The little girls, they lik* to dress their doll oabies, so I carry patches for the little girls. Here's what I was looking for." It was another doeskin parcel, bound lengthwise and crosswise by thongs. These Johnny Appleseed reverently loosened, bringing forth a small book with wooden covers fastened by a padlock. i "W III HERE did you get this?" I heard myself asking, a strange voice sound- ing far down the throat. "From an Indian/' the mystic told me quietly. "He said it was bad medicine to him. He never had any luck in hunting after it fell to his share, so he was glad to give it to me." "Where did he get it?" "His tribe took it from some prisoners they killed." I was running blindly arou;<.d in a circle to find relief from the news he dealt me, when the absurdity of such news overtook me. I stood and laughed. "Who were the prisoners?" "I don't know," answered Johnny Appleseed. "How do you know the Indians killed them?" "The one that gave me this book told me so." "There are plenty of padlocked books in the world," I said jauntily. "At least there must be more than one. How long ago did it happen?" "Not very long ago, I think; for the book was clean." "Give it to me," I said, as if I cursed him. "It's a sacred book," he answered, hesitating. "Maybe it's sacred. Let me see." 321 1 ' 322 L A ;5 A R R H fii|P "There may be holy mysteries in it, to be read only of him who has the key." "I have a key!" I took it out of the snufTbox. Johnny Apple- seed fixed his rapt eyes on the little object in my fingers. "Mebby you are the one appointed to open and read what is sealed!" "No, I'm not! How could my key fit a pad- locked book that belonged to prisoners killed by the Indians?" ' He held it out to me and I took hold of the pad- lock. It was a small steel padlock, and the hole looked dangerously the size of my key. "I can't do it!" I said. "Let me try," said Johnny Appleseed. "No! You might break my key in a strange pad- lock! Hold it still, Johnny. Please don't shake it." "I'm not shaking it," Johnny Appleseed an- swered tenderly. "There's only one way of proving that my key doesn't fit," I said, and thrust it in. The ward turned easily, and the padlock came away in my hand. I dropped it and opened the book. Within the lid a name was written which I had copied a thousand times— "Eagle Madeleine Marie de Fer- rier." Still I did not believe it. Nature protects us in our uttermost losses by a density through which conviction is slow to penetrate. In some mysterious A H 1< 1 V 1 N G 323 an- -« a way the padlocked book had fallen into strange hands, and had been oarriod to America. "If Eagle were in America, I should know it. I'or De Chaumont would know it, and Skcncdonk would find it out." 1 stooped for the padlock, hooked it in place, and locked the book again. "Is the message to you alone?" inquired Johnny Appleseed. "Did you ever care for a woman?" I asked him. Restless misery came into his eyes, and I noticed for the first time that he was not an old man; he could not have been above thirty-five. He made no answer; shifting from one bare foot to the other, his body settling and losing its Indian lightness. "A woman gave me the key to this book. Her name is written inside the lid. I was to read it if it ever fell into my hands, after a number of years. Somebody has stolen it, and carried it among the Indians. Dut it's mine. Every shilling in my wal- let, the clothes off my back you're welcome to — " "I don't want your money or your clothes." "But let me give vou something in exchange for it." "What do I need? I always have as much as I want. This is a serviceable coat, as good as any man need wish for; and the ravens feed me. And if I needed anything, could I take it for carrying a message? I carry good tidings of great joy among the people all the time. This is yours. Put it in your pocket." I ' Li i . .1 it! if. I : ii .IL 324 L A Z A R R E I hid the padlocked book in the breast of my coat, and seized his wrist and his hand. "Be of good courage, white double-man." said Johnny Applcseed. "The Lord lift un the lijjht of His countenance upon you, the Lord make His face to shine upon you and give you peace!" lie returned to his side of the fire and stretched himself under the stars, and I went to Croghan's quarters and lay down with my clothes on in the bunk assigned to me. The book which I would have rent open at twen- ty, I now carried unsealed. The suspense of it was 50 sweet, and drew^ my thoughts from the other sus- pense which could not be endured, ft was not likely that any person about Mont-Louis had stolen the book, and wandered so far. Small as the volume was, the boards indented my breast and made me increasingly conscious of its presence. I waked in the night and held it. Next morning Johnny Appleseed was gone from the fort, unafraid of war, bent only on carrying the apple of civilization into the wilderness. Nobody spoke about his absence, for sh. !lr began to fall around us. The British and In(ii:rs were in sight; and General Proctor sent a flag oi ^ruce demanding surrender. Major Croghan's ensign approached the messen- ger with a flag in reply. The women gathered their children as chickens under shelter. All in the fort were cheerful, and the men joked with the gush of humor which dan- f^l ARRIVINO 3*5 jfer starts in Americans. T saw then the rcaily lauph that faced in its season what was called Indian sum- mer, because the Indian took then advantage of the last pleasant weather to make raids. Such pioneers could speak lightly even of powwowing time — the first pleasant February days, when savages held councils before descending on the settlements. Major Croghan and I watched the parley from one of the blockhouses that bastioned the place. Before it ended a Shawanoe sprang out of a ravine and snatched the ensign's sword. He gave it back reluctantly, and the British flag bearer hurried the American within the gates. General Proctor regretted that so fine a young man as Major Croghan should fall into the hands of savages, who were not to be restrained. "When this fort is taken," said Croghan on hear- ing the message, "there will be nobody left in it to l:ill." r.ritish gunboats drawn up on the Sandusky river, and a howitzer on the shore, opened fire, and cannonaded al! day with the poor execution of long range artillery. The northwestern angle of the fort was their target. Croghan foresaw that the enemy's intention was to make a breach and enter there. When night came again, his one six- pounder was moved with much labor from that angle into the southwest blockhouse, as noiselessly as possible. He masked the embrasure and had the piece loaded with a double charge of slugs and grape shot and half a charge of powder. Perhaps 326 l^A^Z A. R RE the British thought him unprovided with any heavy artillery. They were busy themselves, bringing three of the ineffectual six- pounders and the howitzer, under darkness, withm two hundred and fifty yards of the fort; giving a background of woods to their bat- tery. About dawn we saw what they had been doing. They concentrated on the northwest angle; and still Croghan replied only with muskets, wait- ing for them to storm. So it went on all day, the gun-proof blockhouse enduring its bombardment, and smoke thickening until it filled the stockade as water fills a well, and settled like fog between us and the enemy. An attack was made on the southern angle where the cannon was masked. This is nothing but a feint," Croghan said to the younger officers. While that corner replied with musketry, he kept a sharp lookout for the safety of the northwest blockhouse. One soldier was brought down the ladder and carried through the murky pall to the surgeon, who could do nothing for him. Another turned from a loophole with blood upon him, laughing at his mishap. For the grotesqueness and inconven- ience of a wound are sometimes more swiftly felt than its pain. He came back presently with his shoulder bandaged and resumed his place at the loophole. The exhilaration of that powder atmosphere and ARRIVING 327 its heat made soldiers throw off their coats, as if the expanding human body was not to be confined in v/rappings. In such twiUght of war the twiHght of Nature overtook us. Another feint was made to draw at- tention from a heavy force of assailants creeping within twenty paces, under cover of smoke, to sur- prise the northwest blockhouse. Musketry v.as directed against them: they hesi- tated. The commander led a charge, and himself sprang first into the ditch. We saw the fine fellows leaping to carry the blockhouse, every man deter- mined to be first in making a breach. They filled the ditch. This was the instant for which Croghan had waited. He opened the porthole and unmasked his exactly trained cannon. It enfiladed the assail- ants, sweeping them at a distance of thirty feet; slugs and grapeshot hissed, spreading fan rays of death! By the flash of the re-loaded six-pounder, we saw the trench filled with dead and wounded. The besiegers turned. Croghan's sweating gunners swabbed and loaded and fired, roaring like Hons. The Indians, of whom there were nearly a thou- sand, were not in the charge, and when retreat be- gan they went in panic. We could hear calls and yells, the clatter of arms, and a thumping of the earth; the strain of men tugging cannon ropes; the swift withdrawal of a routed force. , liiNh 328 L A Z A R R E Two thousand more Indians approaching under Tecumseh, v/ere turned back by refugees. Croghan remarked, as we listened to the uproar; "Fort Stephenson can hardly be called untenable against heavy artillery." Then arose cries in the ditch, which penetrated to women's ears. Neither side was able to help the wounded there. But before the rout was complete, Croghan had water let down in buckets to relieve their thirst, and ordered a trench cut under the pickets of the stockade. Through this the poor wretches who were able to crawl came in and sur- rendered themselves and had their wounds dressed. By three o'clock in the morning not a British uni- form glimmered red through the dawn. The noise of retreat ended. Pistols and muskets strewed the ground. Even a sailboat was abandoned on the river, holding military stores and the clothing of officers. "They thought General Harrison was coming," laughed Croghan, as he sat down to an early break- fast, having relieved all the living in the trench and detailed men to bury the dead. "We have lost one man, and have another under the surgeon's hands. Now I'm ready to appear before a court-martial for disobeying orders." "You mean you're ready for your immortal page in history." "Paragraph," said Croghan; "and the dislike of poor little boys and girls who will stick their fists ARRIVING 329 in their eyes when they have tc learn iv at school." Intense manhood ennobled his 1 1? rnimatcd face. The President afterwards made liiUi a lieu- tenant-colonel, and women and his superior offi- cers praised him; but he was never more gallant than when he said: "My uncle, George Rogers Clark, would have undertaken to hold ^his fort; and by heavens, .vc were bound to try it!" The other young officers sat at mess with lum, hilarious over the outcome, picturing General Proc- tor's state of mind when he learned the age of his conqueror. None of them cared a rap that Daniel Webster was opposing the war in the House of Representa- tives at Washington, and declaring that on land it was a failure. A subaltern came to the mess room door, touch- ing his cap and asking to speak with Major Cro- ghan. "The men working outside at the trenches saw a boy come up from the ravine, sir, and fall every few steps, so they've brought him in." "Does he carry a dispatch?" "No, sir. He isn't niore than nine or ten years old. I think he was a prisoner." "Is he a white boy?" "Yes, sir, but he's dressed like an Indian." "I think it unlikely the British would allow the Shawances to burden their march with any pris- oners." it ill 'I R^q 330 L AZ ARRE "Somebody had him, and I'm afraid he's been shot either during the action or in the retreat. He was hid in the ravine." "Bring him here," said Croghan. A boy with blue eyes set wide apart, hair cling- ing brightly and moistly to his pallid forehead, and mouth corners turning up in a courageous smile, entered and stood erect before the officer. He was a well made little fellow. His tiny buckskin hunt- ing shirt was draped with a sash in the Indian fash- ion, showing the curve of his naked hip. Down this a narrow line of blood v/as moving. Children pi refugees, full of pity, looked through the open door behind him. "Go to him, Shipp," said Croghan, as the boy staggered. But he waved the ensign back. "Who are you, my man?" asked the Major. "I believe," he answered, "I am the Marquis de Ferrier." IV HE PITCHED forward, and I was quicker than Ensign Shipp. I set him on my knees, and the surgeon poured a little watered brandy down his throat. "Paul!" I said to him. "Stand back," ordered the surgeon, as women followed their children, crowding the room. "Do you know him, Lazarre?" asked Croghan. "It's Madame de Terrier's child." "Not the baby I used to see at Do Chaumont's? What's he doing at Fort Stephenson?" The women made up my bunk for Paul, and I laid him in it. Each wanted to take him to her care. The surgeon sent them to the cook-house to brew messes for him, and stripped the child, finding a bullet wound in his side. Probing brought nothing out, and I did not ask a single question. The child should live. There could be no thought of any- thing else. While the surgeon dressed and ban- daged that small hole like a sucked-in mouth, I saw the boy sitting on saddle-bags behind me, his arms clipping my waist, while we threaded bowers of horse paths. I had not known how I wanted a boy to sit behind me! No wonder pioneer men were so confident and full of jokes: they had children be- hind them! 331 332 L AZ ARRE I i ; 'M%'''i^' ' He was burning with fever. His eyes swam in it as he looked at me. He could not eat when food was brought to him, but begged for water, and the surgeon allowed him what the women considered reckless quantities. Over stockades came the Au- gust rustle of the forest. Morning bird voices suc- ceeded to the cannon's reverberations. The surgeon turned everybody out but me, and looked in by times from his hospital of British wounded. I wiped the boy's forehead and gave him his medicine, fanning him all day long. He lay in stupor, and the surgeon said he was going com- fortably, and would suffer little. Once in awhile he turned up the corners of his mouth and smiled at me, as if the opiate gave him blessed sensations. I asked the surgeon what I should do in the night if he came out of it and wanted to talk. "Let him talk," said the doctor briefly. Unlike the night before, this was a night of si- lence. Everybody slept, but the sentinels, and the men whose wounds kept them awake; and I was both a sentinel, and a man whose wounds kept him awake. Paul's little hands were scratched ; and there was a stone bruise on the heel he pushed from cover of the blankets. His small body, compact of so much manliness, was fine and sweet. Though he bore no resemblance to his mother, it seemed to me that she lay there for me to tend; and the change was no more an astounding miracle than the change of baby to boy. ARRIVINO 333 I had him all that night for my own, putting every other thought out of mind and absorbing his presence. His forehead and his face lost their burn- ing heat with the coolness of dawn, which blew our shaded candle, flowing from miles of fragrant oaks. He awoke and looked all around the cabin, I tried to put his opiate into his mouth; but something restrained me. I held his hand to my cheek. "I like you," he spoke out. "Don't you think my mother is pretty?" I said I thought his mother was the most beauti- ful woman in the world. He curled up his mouth corners and gave me a blue-eyed smile. "My father is not pretty. But he is a gentleman of France." "Where are they, Paul?" He turned a look upon me without answering. "Paul," I said brutally, "tell me where your father and mother are." He was so far gone that my voice recalled him. He simply knew me as a voice and a presence that he liked. "With poor old Ernestine," he answered. "And where is poor old Ernestine?" le began to shake as if struck with a chill. I drew the blanket closer. "Paul, you must tell me!" He shook his head. His mouth worked, and his little breast went into convulsions. He shrieked and threw himself toward mc. "My pretty little mother!" I" if if £ 1 314 I^AZ ARRB i i t ii . ■V In iiii ;. ,3rJ i, J ^ iiii i li r'- s ' ' ■ ft' i I held him still in a tight grip. "My darling— don't start your wound !" I could have beaten myself, but the surgeon after- wards told me the child was dying when he came into the fort. About dawn, when men's lives sink to their lowest ebb with night, his sank awav. I smoothed his head and kissed and quieted him. Once he looked into space with blurred eyes, and curled up his mouth corners when I am sure he no longer saw me. Thus swiftly ended Paul's unaccountable appear- ance at the fort. It was like the falling of a slain bird out of the sky at my feet. The women were tender with his little body. They cried over him as they washed him for burial. The children went out- side the stockade and brought green boughs and August wild flowers, bearing the early autumn col- ors of gold and scarlet. With these they bedded the child in his plank coffin, unafraid of his waxen sleep. Before Croghan went to report to his General, he asked me where we should bury the little fel- low. "In the fort, by the southern blockhouse," I an- swered. "Let Fort Stephenson be his monument. It will stand here forever. The woods around it will be trampled by prowling savages, and later on by prowling white men. Within, nothing will oblit- erate the place. Give a little fellow a bed here, who died between two countries, and will never be a citizen of either." ARRIVING 335 "I don't want to make a graveyard of the fort," said Croghan. But he looked at Paul, bent low over him, and allowed him to be buried near the southwest angle. There the child's bones rest to this day. The town of Fremont in the commonwealth of Ohio has grown up around them. Young children who climb the grassy bastion, may walk above his head, never guessing that a little gentleman of France, who died like a soldier of his wound, lies deeply cradled there. Before throwing myself down in the dead heavi- ness which results from continual loss of sleep, I questioned the wounded British soldiers about Paul. None of them had seen him. Straggling bands of Indians continually joined their force. Captives were always a possibility in the savage camp. Paul might have been taken hundreds of miles away. But I had the padlocked book, which might tell the whole story. With desperate haste that could hardly wait to open the lids, I took it out, wonder- ing at the patience which long self-restraint had bred in me. I was very tired, and stretched my arms across the pillow where Paul's head had lain, to rest one instant. But I must have slept. My hand woke first, and feeling itself empty, grasped at the book. It was gone, and so was the sun. I got a light and searched, thrusting my arm be- tween the bunk and the log wall. It was not on the floor, or in my breast pocket, or in my saddle-bags. 33« L AZ ARRK iir . II J if P The robbery was unendurable. And I knew the Indian who had done it. He was the quietest, most stubborn Oneida that ever followed an adopted white man. Why he had taken the book I could not understand. But I was entirely certain that he had taken it out of my hand while I slept. He would not break the padlock and read it, but like a judicious father he would take care of a possibly unwholesome volume himself, I went out and found the bald-headed and well- beloved wretch. He was sitting with his knees to his chin by the evening log fire. "Skenedonk/' I said, "I want my book." "Children and books luake a woman of you," he responded. "You had enough books at Long- meadow." "I want it at once," I repeated. "It's sorcery," he answered. "It's a letter from Madame de Ferrier, and may tell where she is." His fawn eyes were startled, but he continued to hug his knees. "Skenedonk, I can't quarrel with you. You were my friend before I could remember. When you know I am so bound to you, how can you deal me a deadly hurt?" "White woman sorcery is the worst sorcery. You thought I never saw it. But I did see it. You went after her to Paris. You did not think of being the king. So you had to come back with nothing. That's what woman sorcery does. Now you have -<*RRlVlNO 337 power with the tribes. The President sees you are a big man! And she sends a book to you to be- witch you! I knew she sent the book as soon as I saw it." "Do you think she sent Paul?" He made no answer. "Madame de Ferrier does not know I hart the book." "You haven't it," said Skenedonk. "But you have." "If she wrote and sent a letter she expected it would be received." "When I said a letter I meant what is called a journal: the writing down of what happens daily. Johnny Appleseed got the book from an Indian. That is how it was sent to me." "If you read it you will want to drop everything else and go to find her." This was the truth, for I was not under military law. "Where is the book?" "Down my back," said Skenedonk. I felt the loose buckskin. "It isn't there." "In my front," said Skenedonk. I ran my hand over his chest, finding nothing but bone and brawn. "There it is," he said, pointing to a curled wisp of board at the edge of the fire. "I burnt it." "Then you've finished me." I turned and left 1 fire. sitting like an iniage by the ! » i I ^11'^ ^ Hr-? ft *; ' ! ; J ' # k if 11 BEFORE I left Fort Stephenson, I wrote a letter to Count de Ch umont, telling him about Paul's death and asking for news of the Dc Ferriers. The answer I begged him to send to Sandusky, which the Hritisii now despaired of taking. But although Skcu'lunk made a long jour- ney for it twice during the half year, I got no an- swer. The dangerous work of tl;e wx: few monihs be- came like a long debauch. Avvni.c, wc were dodg- ing betwixt hostile tribes, or deaiing with those inclined to peace. Asleep, I was too exhausted to dream. It was a struggle of the white force of civilization with the red sense of justice. I wrestled with Algonquin dialects as I had wrestled with Greek. Ottawas and Chippewas, long friendly to the French, came more readily than other tribes to agreement with Americans. Wherever I went I pushed the quest that was uppermost in my mind, but without finding any trace of Madame de Ferrier. From the measure constantly taken betwixt other men of my time and myself, this positive knowledge resulted. In spite of the fact that many treated me as a prince, I found myself an average man. I had no 338 ARRIVING 339 military genius. In argument, persuasive, grace- ful— even eloquent— were the adjectives applied to me; not sweeping and powerful. I should have made a joij-trot king, no bettor than my uncle of Provence; no worse than my uncle of Artois, who would rather saw wood than reign a constitutional monarch, and whom the French people afterward turned out to saw wood. My reign might have been neat; it would never have been gaudily splendid. As an average man, I could well hold my own in the world. Perry on the lakes. General Jackson ii. he south- west, Harrison in the west, and Lawrence on the ocean were pushing the war towards its close; though as late as spring the national c?pitol was burned by the British, and a gentleman whom they g.iily called "Old Jimmy Madison," temporarily ^ :*'en out. But the battle on the little river n:imes, in October, settled matters in the North- , V ,.1 > ' next April, after Leipsic, Napoleon Bona- l>»^ .' vas banished to the island of Elba; and I. -Mis XVIII passed from his latest refuge at Hart- well House in England, to London; where the Prince Regent honored him and the whole capital cheered him; and thence to Paris where he was proclaimed king of France. We heard of it in due course, as ships brought news. I was serving with the American forces. The world is fluid to a boy. He can do and dare anything. But it hardens around a man and be- m f rt| :f|.: Ari inn r 340 L AZ AR RE ii! 1 1 (I comes a wall through which he must cut. I felt the wall close around me. In September I was wounded at the battle of Plattsburg on Lake Champlain. Three men, be- sides the General and the doctor, and my Oneida, showed a diflfering interest in me, while I lay with a gap under my left arm, in a hospital tent. First came Count de Chaumont, his face plowed with lines; no longer the trim gentleman, youth- fully easy, and in his full maturity, that he had been when I first saw him at close range. He sat down dn a camp seat by my cot, and I asked him before he could speak — "Where is Madame de Ferrier?" "She's dead," he answered. "I don't believe it." "You're young. I'm going back to France for a while. France will not be what it was under the Empire. I'm tired of most things, however, and my holdings here make me independent of changes there." "What reason have you to think that she h dead?" "Do you know the Indiana Territory well?" "The northern part only," "It happened in what was called the Pigeon Roost settlement at the fork of the White River. The Kickapoos and Winnebagoes did it. There were about two dozen people in the settlement." "1 asked how you know these things." "I have some of the best Indian runners that ever ARRIVING 341 and when I set them to scouting, trod moccasins, they generally find what I want;— so I know a grelt many things." "But Paul—" "It's an old custom to adopt children into the tribes. You know your father, Chief Williams, is descended from a white girl who was a prisoner. There were about two dozen people in the settle- ment, men, women and children. The majority of the children were dashed against trees. It has been consolation to me to think she did not survive in the hands of ravages." The hidden causes which work out results never worked out a result more improbable. I lay silent, and De Chaumont said, "Do you remember the night you disappeared from the Tuileries ?" "I remember it." "You remember we determined not to let the Marquis de Ferrier see Napoleon. When you went down the corridor with Eagle I thought you were lunng him. But she told us afterward you were threatened with arrest, and she helped you out of the Tuileries by a private stairway." "Did it make any stir in the palace?" "No. I saw one man hurrying past us. But no- body heard of the arrest except Eagle." "How did she get out?" "Out of what?" "The queen's closet." "She was in the garden. She said she went down 342 L AZ A R R B ^1. Mil^ h the private stairway to avoid the gendarme. She trust have done it cleverly, for she came in on the arm of Junot and the matter was not noticed. There stood my emergency facing me again. You had deserted. What made you imagine you were threatened with arrest?" "Because a gendarme in court dress laid his hand on my shoulder and told me I was to come with him." "Well, you may have drawn the secret police upon you. You had been cutting a pretty figure. It was probably wise to drop between walls and get out of i'rance. Do you know why you were ar- rested?" '"I think the groundless charge would have been an attack upon Napoleon." "You never attacked the emperor!" "No. But I had every reason to believe such a charge would be sworn against me if I ever came to trial." "Perhaps that silly dauphin story leaked out in Paris. The emperor does hate a Bour!x)n. But I tliought you had tricked me. And the old marquis never took his eyes off the main issue. He gave Eagle his arm, and was ready to go in and thank the emperor." "You had t< lell him?" "I had to tell him." "What did he say?" "Not a word. All the blood seemed to be drawn out of his veins, and his face fell in. Then it burned fSRS A R R I \' I N G 343 1 re'd hot, and instead cf good friend and benefactor, I saw myself a convict. His big staring blue eyes came out of a film like an oul's, and shot me through. I believe he saw everything I ever did in my life, and my intentions about Eagle most plainly of all. He bowed and wished me good-night, and took her out of the Tuileries." "But you saw him again?" "He never let me see him again, or her either. T am certain he forbade her to communicate with us. They did not go back to Mont-Louis. They left their hotel in Paris. I wrote imploring him to hold the estates. My messages were returned. I don't know how he got money enough to emigrate. But emigrate they did; avoiding Castorland. where the Saint-Michels, who brought her up, lived in com- fort, and might have comforted her, and where I could have made her life easy. He probably dragged her through depths of poverty, before they joined a company bound for the Indiana Territory, where the Pigeon Roost settlement was planted. I have seen old Saint-Michel work at clearing, and can imagine the Marquis de Ferrier sweating weakly while he chopped trees. It is a satisfaction to know they had Ernestine with them. De Ferrier might have plowed with Eagle." said the count hotly. "He never hesitated to make use of her." While I had been living a monk's studious, well- provided life, was she toiling in the fields? I groaned aloud. De Chaumont dropped his head on his breast. I h m 344 L AZ ARRE if ' •! * ! ;r H 3 ! ? ;, 1 1 f » - I 1 "It hurts me more than I care to let anybody but you know, Lazarre. If I hadn't received that letter I should have avoided you. I wish you had saved Paul. I would adopt him." "I think not, my dear count." "Nonsense, boy! I wouldn't let you have him." "You have a child." "Her husband has her. But let us not pitch and toss words. No use quarreling over a dead boy. What right have you to Eagle's child?" "Not your right of faithful useful friendship. Only my own right." "What's that?" "Nothing that she ever admitted." "I was afraid of you," said De Chaumont, "when you flowered out with old Du Plessy, like an heir lost in emigration and found again. You were a startling fellow, dropping on the Faubourg; and anything was possible under the Empire. You know I never believed the dauphin nonsense, but a few who remembered, said you looked like the king. You were the king to her; above mating vvi.ii the best of the old nobility. She wouldn't have mar- ried you." "Did she ever give you reason to think she would marry you?" "She never gave me reason to think she would marry anybody. But what's the use of groaning' There's distraction abroad. I took the trails to see you, when I heard you were with the troops on ARRIVING 345 have Champlain. I shall be long in France. What can I do for you, my boy?" "Nothing, count. You have already done much." "She had a foolish interest in you. The dauphin! —Too good to sit at table with us, you raw sav- age!— Had to be waited on by old Jean! And she would have had me serve you, myself!" He laughed, and so did I, We held hands, cHng- ing in fellowship. "I might not have refused your service; like Marquis de Ferrier." The count's face darkened. "I'll not abuse him. He's dead." "Are you sure he's deaa this time, count?" "A Kickapoo is carr\'ing his scalp. Trust my runners. They have traced him so much for me they know the hair on his stubborn head. I must go where I can have amusement, Lazarre. This country is a young man's country. I'm getting old. Adieu. You're one of the young men." Some changes of Hght and darkness passed over mc. and the great anguish of my wound increased until there was no rest. However, the next man who visited me stood forth at the side of the stretcher as Ikllenger. I thought I dreamed him, bemg light-h^ded with fever. He was unaccount- ably weazened, robbed of juices, and powdering to dust on the surface. His mustache had grown again, and he carried it over liis ears in the ridiculous man- ner aflfected when I saw him in the fog. "Where's your potter's wheel?" I inquired. V ! rr kW i *»■• 111 i ^ I si ft -i i if I 1? »f 'II 1: ! t ' 1 M ri 1 - i 346 L AZ A R RE "In the woods by Lake George, sire." "Do you still find clay that suits you?" "Yes' sire." "Have you made that vase yet?" "No, sire. I succeed in nothing." "You succeed in tracking me." He swam before my eyes, and I pointed to the surgeon's camp-chair. "Not in your presence, sire." "Have you lost your real dauphin?" I inquired. "I have the honor of standing before the real dauphin." "So you swore at Mittau!" "I perjured myself." "Well, what are you doing now?" "Sire, I am a man in failing health. Before the end I have come to tell you the truth." "Do you think you can do it?" "Sire" — said Bellenger. "Your king is Louis XVIII," I reminded him. "He is not my king." "Taken your pension away, has he?" "I no longer receive anything from that court." "And your dauphin?" "He was left in Europe." "Look here, Bellenger! Why did you treat me so? Dauphin or no dauphin, what harm was I do- ing you?" "I thought a strong party was behind you. And I knew there had been double dealing with me. You represented some invisible power tricking me. I I ARRIVINO 347 was beside myself, and faced it out in Mittau. I have been used shamefully, and thrown aside when I am failing. Hiding out in the hills ruined my health." "Let us get to facts, if you have facts. Do you know anything about me, Bellenger?" "Yes, sire." "Who am I?" "Louis XVII of France." "What proof can you give me?" "First, sire, permit a man who has been made a wretched tool, to implore forgiveness of his right- ful sovereign, and a little help to reach a warmer climate before the rigors of a northern winter be- gin." "Bellenger, you are entrancing." I said. "Why did I ever take you seriously? Ste. Pelagie was a grim joke, and tipping in the river merely your playfulness. You had better take yourself off now, and keep on walking until you come to a warmer climate." He wrung his hands with a gesture that touched my natural softness to my enemy "Talk, then. Talk, man. What have you to say?" "This, first, sire. That was a splendid dash you made into France!" "And what a splendid dash I made out of it •gain, with a gendarme at my coat tails, and you behind the gendarme!" "But it was the wrong time. If you were there »ow;— the French people are so changeable—" ?:' 6:' 1' t^ it i ' ■ I \ , j ■ i i ■ t i 1' 11 , :' ^ ^i., , ■*.1 Hi fl^. r? if? I; h 348 L AZ A RR K ••I shall never be there again. Ilus Majesty the eighteenth Louis is welcome. What the blood stirs in me to know is, have I a right to the throne?" "Sire, the truth as I know it, I will tell you. You were the boy taken from the Temple prison." "Who did it?" "Agents of the royalist party whose names would mean nothing to you if I gave them." "I was placed in your hands?" "You were placed in my hands to be taken to America." "I was with you in London, where two royalists who knew me, recognized me?" "The two De Ferriers." "Did a woman named Madame Tank see me?" Bellenger was startled. "You were noticed on the ship by a court-lady of Holland; a very clever courtier. I had trouble in evading her. She suspected too much, and asked too many questions; and would have you to play with her baby on the deck, though at that time you noticed nothing." "But where does the idiot come into my story?" "Sire, you have been unfortunate, but I have been a victim. When we landed in New York 1 went directly and made myself known to the mar who was to act as purveyor of your majesty's pen sion. He astonished me by declaring that th( dauphin was already there, and had claimed the pen sion for that year. The country and the language ARRIVING 349 .r- were unknown to me. The agent spoke French, it is true, but we hardly understood each other, I supposed I had nothing to do but present my cre- dentials. Here was another idiot — I crave yotr majesty's pardon — " "Quite right — at the time, Bellengcr." — "drawing the annuity intended tor the dauphin. I inquired into his rights. The agent showed me papers like my own. I asked who presented them. He knew no more of the man than he did of me. I demanded to face the man. No such person could be found. I demanded to see the idiot. He was shut in a room and fed by a hired keeper. I sat down and thought much. Clearly it was not the agent's affair. He followed instructions. Good! I would follow instructions also. Months would have been required to ask and receive explanations from the court of Monsieur. He had assumed the title of Louis XVHI, for the good of the royalist cause, as ii there were nc prince. I thought I saw what was expected of me." ■ \n(l ..hat did you see, you unspeakable scoun- 0!Ci?" '1 S3V, ihat there was a dauphin too many, hope- lessly icJotic. J''.': if he was the one to be guarded, I w<;"id :artii' i'-m," "Who was tii.^' idiot?" "Some unknown pau; < :. No doubt of that." "And what Ji.i you do with me?" "A chief ot ihe Iroquois Indians can tell you that." r; HI 3 -'4 i» :- »3 ; I ,1 < J i.l JIH 11: U I! : ■ ! " ', i i •' ji 350 L AZ ARR E "This is a clumsy story, Bellenger. Try again." "Sire—" "If you knew so little of the country, how did you find an Iroquois chief?" "I met him in the woods when he was hunting. I offered to give you to him, pretending you had the annuity from Europe. Sire, I do not know why trickery was practiced on me, or who practiced it: why such pains were taken to mix the clues which led to the dauphin. But afterwards the .same agent had orders to give you two-thirds and me only one- third of the yearly sum. I thought the court was in straits; — when both Russia and Spain supported it! I was nothing but a court painter. But when you went to France, I blocked your way with all the ingenuity I could bring." "I would like to ask you, Bellenger, what a man is called who attempts the life of his king?" "Sire, the tricks of royalists pitted us against each other." "That's enough, Bellenger. I don't believe a word you say. excepting that part of your story agreeing with Madame de Ferricr's. Put your hand under my pillow and find my wallet. Now help yourself, and never let me see you again." He helped himself to everything except a few shillings, weeping because his necessities were so great. But I told him I was used to being robbed, and he had done me ill the harm he could ; so his turn to pluck me naturally followed. Then I softened.as 1 always do towards the claim- ARRIVING 351 ant of the other part, nnrl addcfl thr.i we were on the same footinj?; I had been a pensioner myself. "Sire, T thank you," said r.cllrngcr, having shaken the wallet and poked his fingers into the lining where an unheard-of gold piece could have lodged. "It tickles my vanity to he called sire." "You are a true prince," said Bellengcr. "My life would be well spent if I ( uld see you restored to your own." "So I infer, from the valuable days you have spent trying to bring that result about." "Your majesty is sure of finding support in France." "The last king liked to tinker with clocks. Per- haps I like to tinker with Indians." "Sire, it is due to your birth — " "Never mind my birth," I said. "I'm busy with my life." He bowed himself out of my presence without turning. This tribute to royalty should have touched me. He took a handsome adieu, and did not afterward sock further reward for his service. I heard in the course of years that he died in New Orleans, confessing much regarding myself to peo- ple who cared nothing about it, and thought him crazy. They doubtless had reason, so erratic was the wanderer whom I had first consciously seen through Lake George fog. His behavior was no more incredible than the behavior of other French- IP ifl i r il '■tJ,.U,i t.'-, ."fcUsi,.:-,i-all. AdHk'lliWiib- '',.^.' ^IBi'i^U MICROCOPY RESOIUTKJN TEST CHART (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) f t .1 -.' ' .) >l i \ ' ! t i f ■; 1 if t 1 ' '. ! j '; ^ : 'J : ;,■ , ! . -j: :-! f i ; p I. ^ 1 ■ ^ i ; 1 I 353 L AZ A R R E men who put a hand to the earlier years of their prince's life. The third to appear at my tent door was Chief Williams, himself. The surgeon told him outside the tent that it was a dangerous wound. He had little hope for me, and I had indifferent hope my- self, lying in torpor anr^ finding it an effort to speak. But after several days of effort I did speak. The chief sat beside me, concerned and silent. "Father," I said. The chief harkened near to my lips. "Tell me," I begged, after resting, "who brought me to you." His dark sullen face became tender, "It was a Frenchman," he answered. "I was hunting and met him on the lake with two boys. He offered to give you to me. We had just lost a son." When I had rested again, I asked : "Do you know anything else about me?" "No." The subject was closed between us. And all sub- jects were closed betwixt the world and me, for my face turned the other way. The great void of which we know nothing, but which our faith teaches us to bridge, opened for me. i ■ . VI BUT the chief's and Skenedonk's nursing and Indian remedies brought me face earthward again, reviving the surgeon's hope. When blood and life mounted, and my torn side sewed up its gap in a healthy scar, adding another to my collection, autumn was upon us. From the hunting lodges on Lake George, and the Williamses of Longmeadow, I went to the scorched capital of Washington. In the end the Government helped me with my Indian plan, though when Skenedonk and I pushed out toward Illinois Territory we had only my pay and a grant of land. Peace was nof formally made until December, but the war ended that summer. Man's success in the world is proportioned to the number of forces he can draw around himself to work with him. I have been able to draw some forces; though in matters where most people pro- tect themselves, I have a quality of asinine patience which the French would not have tolerated. The Oneidas were ready to follow wherever I led them. And so were many families of the Iroquois federation. B-l the Mohawk tribe held back. How- ever, I felt confident of material for an Indian state when the foundation should be laid. We started lightly equipped upon the horse 353 Jr flit m ■*i lUil Pi; W ■!! rfc II \ ■ !(ff I ! 354 L A Z A R RK paths. The long journey by water and shore brought us in October to the head of Green Bay. We had seen Lake Michigan, of a light transparent blueness, with fire ripples chasing from the sunset. A id we had rested at noon in plum groves on the vast prairies, oases of fertile deserts, where pink and white fruit drops, so ripe that the sun preserves it in its juice. The freshness of the new world continually flowed around us. We shot deer. Wolves sneaked upon our trail. We slept with our heels to the campfire, and our heads on our saddles. Sometimes we built a hunter's shed, open at front and sloping to ground at back. To find out how the wind blew, we stuck a finger in our mouths and held it up. The side which became cold first was the side of the wind. Physical life riots in the joy of its revival. I was so glad to be alive after touching death that I could think of Madame de Ferrier without pain, and say more confidently— "She is not dead," because res- urrection was working in myself. Green Bay or La Baye, as the fur hunters called it, was a little post almost like a New England vil- lage among its elms: one street and a few outlying houses beside the Fox River. The open world had been our tavern; or any sod or log hut cast up like a burrow of human prairie dogs or moles. We did not expect to find a tavern in Green Bay. Yet such a place was pointed out to us near the Fur Com- pany's block warehouse. It had no sign post, and the only visible stable was a pen of logs. Though ARRIVINQ 355 negro slaves were owned in the Illinois Territory. we saw none when a red-headed man rushed for*'!i shouting: "Sam, you lazy nigger, come here and take the gentleman's horses! Where is that Sam? Light down, sir, with your Indian, and I will lead your beasts to the hostler myself." In the same way our host provided a supper and bed with armies of invisible servants. Skenedonk climbed a ladder to the loft with our saddlebags. "Where is that chambermaid?" cried the tavern keeper. "Yes, where is she?" said a man who lounged on a bench by the entrance. "I've heard of her so often I would like to see her myself." The landlord, deaf to raillery, bustled about and spread our table in his pubh'c rom. "Corn bread, hominy, side meat, ven'zin," he shouted in the kitchen. "Stir yourself, you black rascal, and dish up the gentleman's supper." Skenedonk walked boldly to the kitchen door and saw our landlord stewing and broiling, per- forming the offices of cook ; %e had performed those of stableman. He kept on scolding and har- rying the people who should have been at his com- mand:— "Step around lively, Sam. Tell the gentle- man the black bottle is in the fireplace cupboard if he wants to sharpen his appetite. Where is that little nigger that picks up chips? Bring me some more wood from the wood-pile! I'll teach you to go to sleep behind the door!" m m ■ •M I 'i fitfi'Nl r I 356 L AZ A RRE Our host served us himself, running with sleeves turned back to admonish an imaginary cook. His tap-room was the fireplace cupboard, and it was visited while we ate our supper, by men in elkskin trousers, and caps and hooded capotes of blue cloth. These Canadians mixed their own drink, and made a cross-mark on the inside of the cupboard door, using a system of bookkeeping evidently agreed upon bev.veen themselves and the landlord. He shouted for the lazy barkeeper, who answered nothing out of nothingness. Nightfall was very clear and fair in this North- western territory. A man felt nearer to the sunset. The region took hold upon me: particularly when one who was neither a warehouseman nor a Cana- dian fur hunter, hurried in and took me by the hand. "I am Pierre Grignon," he said. Indeed, if he had held his fiddle, and tuned it upon an arm not quite so stout, I should have known without being told that he was the man who had played in the Saint-Michel cabin while Annabel de Chaumont chmbed the chimney. We sat and talked until the light faded. The landlord brought a candle, and yelled up the loft, where Skenedonk had already stretched himself in his blanket, as he loved to do: "Chambermaid, light up!" "You drive your slaves too hard, landlord," said Pierre Grignon. "You'd think I hadn't any, Mr. Grignon; for they're never in the way when they're wanted." ARRIVING 357 "One industrious man you certainly have." "Yes, Sam is a good fellow; but I'll have to go out and wake him up and make him rub the horses down.' "Never mind," said Pierre Grignon. * Fm going to take these travelers home with me." "Now I know how a tavern ought to be kept," said the landlord. "But whafs the use of my keep- ing one if Pierre Grignon carries oflf all the guests?" "He is my old friend," I told the landlord. "He's old friend to everybody that conies to Green Bay. PlI never get so much as a sign painted to hang in front of the Palace Tavern." I gave him twice his charges and he said: "What a loss it was to enterprise in the Bay when Pierre Grignon came here and built for the whole United States!" The Grignon house, whether built for the whole United States or not, wis the largest in Green Bay. Its lawn sloped down to the Fox River. It was a huge square of oak timbers, with a detached kitch- en, sheltered by giant elms. To this day it stands defying time with its darkening frame like some massive rock, the fan windows in th gables keeping guard north and south. A hall divided the houss through the center, and here Madame Grignon v.elcomed me as if I were a long-expected guest, for this was her custom; and as soon as she clearly remembered me, led me into a drawing-room where a statelv old lady sat making lace. I: f; f W. \ :jii 'IW^ " ?'i 358 L AZ A R RE This was the grandmother of the house. Such a house would have been incomplete without a grandmother at the hearth. The furniture of this hall or family room had been brought from Montreal; spindle chairs and a pier table of mahogany; a Turkey carpet, laid smoothly on the polished floor to be spurned aside by young dancers there; some impossible sea pic- tures, with patron saints in the clouds over mari- ners; an immense stuffed sofa, with an arm divid- ing it across the center;— the very place for those head-to-head conversations with young men which the girls of the house called "twosing." It was, in fa-, i, the favorite "twosing" spot of Green Bay. ' Stools there were for children, and armchairs for old people were not lacking. The small yellow spinning wheel of Madame Ursule, as I found after- wards Madame Grignon was commonly called, stood ready to revolve its golden disk wherever she .sat. The servants were Pawnee Indians, moving about their duties almost with stealth. The little Grignon daughter who had stood lost in wonder at the dancing of Annabel de Chaumont, was now a turner of heads herself, all flaxen white,' and contrasting with the darkness of Katarina Tank. Katarina was taken home to the Grignon's after her mother's death. Both girls had been edu- cated in Montreal. The seigniorial state in which Pierre Grignon lived became at once evident. I found it was the A R R I \' I X G 359 custom during Advent for all the villagers to meet in his house and sing hymns. On Christmas dav his tables were loaded for everyhodv who can.e If any one died, he was brought to Pierre Grignon's for prayer, and after his burial, the moi.rners went back to Pierre Grignon's for supper. Pierre Grig- non and his wife were god-father and god-mother to most of the children born at La Baye. If a child was left without father and mother, Pierre Gri-- non's house became its asylum until a home could be found for it. The few American ofTicers sta- t.oned at the old stockade, nearly every evening met the beauties of Green Bay at Pierre Grignon*; and if he did not fiddle for them he led Madame in the dancing. The grandmother herself sometimes took --er stick and stepped through a measure to p ease che young people. Laughter and the joy of hfe filled the house every waking hour of the twen- ty-four. Funerals were never horrible there In- stead, they seemed the mystic beginning of better things. "Poor Madame Tank! She would have been so much more comfortable in her death if she had re- lieved her mind," Madame Ursule said, the first evening, as we sat in a p^^use of the dancincr "She used to speak cf you often, for seeing vou'made a great impression upon her, and she never let us forget you. I am sure she knew more about you than she ever told me. 'I have an important dis- closure to make,' she says. the bay. But more than one stormy evening, when we came back to the bay for supplies, I plunged into the rolling water and swam breasting the waves. It is good 10 be hardy, and sane, and to take part in the visible world, whether you arc great and have ;our heart's desire or not. When we had laid the foundation of the Indian settlement, I built my house with the help of skilled men. It was a spacious one of hewn logs, chi ced with cat-and-clay plaster, showing its white ribs on the hill above the Fox. In time I meant to cover the ribs with perennial vines. There was a spring near the porches. The woods banked me on the rear, and an elm spread its colossal umbrella over the roof. Fertile fields stretched at my left, and on ;;i , !•■ I i i i 362 L A Z A R RE .f iit t i my right a deep ravine lined witli white birches, carried a stream to tlic Fox. From my stronghold to the river was a long de- scent. The broadening and i;arrowing channel could be seen for miles. A bushy island, beloved of wiM ducks, parted the water, lying as Moses hid in osiers, amidst tall growths of wild oats. Lily padh stretched their pavements in the oats. Beyond were rolling banks, and beyond those, wooded hills ri.sing terrace over terrace to the dawn. Many a sunrise was to come to me over those hills. Oaks and pines and sumach gathered to my doorway. In my mind I saw the garden we afterward cre- ated; with many fruit trees, beds, and winding walks, trellised seats, squares of flaming tulips, phlox, hollyhocks, roses. It should reach down into the ravine, where humid ferns and rocks met plants that love darkling ground. Yet it should not be too dark. I would lop boughs rather than have a growing thing spindle as if rooted in Ste. Pe- lagic!— and no man who loves trees can do that without feeling the knife at his heart. What is long developing is precious like the immortal part of vs. The stoicism that comes of endurance has something of death in it. I prepared a home with- out thought of putting any .vife therein. I had grown used to being alone, with the exception of Skencdonk*s taciturn company. The house was for castle and resting place after labor. I took satis- faction in the rude furniture we made for it. In A H R I \M N G 363 after years it became niluj witli rich g-its from the other side of the world, and hooks that Iiavc glad- dened my heart. Yet in its virginhood. before pain or joy or achievement had entered there, before spade struck the ground whicli was to send up food, my holding on the earth's surface made me feel prince of a principality. The men hewed a slab settle, and stationed it be- fore the hearth, a thing of beauty in its rough a> hchen-tinted barks, though you may not believe it. My floors I would have smooth and neatly joined, of hard woods which give forth a shining for wear and polish. Stools I had, ^-^sily made, and one large round of a tree for my table, like an Eastern tabouret. Before the river closed and winter shut in, Sken- edonk and I went back to Green Bav. I did not know how to form my household, and had it in mind to consult Madame Ursule. Pawnees could be had: and many French landholders in the territory owned black slaves. Pierre Grignon himself kept one little negro like a monkey among the statelv Indians. Dealing with acres, and with people wild as flocks, would have been worth while if nothing had resulted except our welcome back to Pierre Grig- non's open house. The grandmother hobbled on her stick across the floor to give me her hand. Madame Ursule reproached me with delaying, and Pierre said it was high time to seek winter quar- tern The girls recounted harvest reels and even i^ ;?1 ' ^1 "■ { ' 1 ■:i' '!■ :; '.'••'' r ■' it : !f ' I i 364 L AZ A RR E weddings, with dances following, which I had lost while away fr^'n the center of festivity. The little negro carried my saddlebags to the guest room. Skenedonk was to sleep on the floor. Abundant preparations for the evening meal were going forward in the kitchen. As I mounted the stairway at Madame Ursule's direction, I heard a tinkle of china, her very best, which adorned racks and dressers. It was being set forth on the mahog- any board. The upper floor of Pierre Grignon's ho'ase was divided by a hall similar to the one below. I ran upstairs and halted. Standing with her back to the fading light which came through one fan window at the hall end, was a woman's figure in a gray dress. I gripped the rail. My first thought was: "How shall I tell her about Paul?" My next was: "What is the matter with her?" She rippled from head to foot in the shiver of rapture peculiar to her, and stretched her arms to me crying : "Paul! Paul!" n VII '^r^^' MADAME!- I said, bewildered, and Vy sick as from a stab. It was no comfort that the high lady who scarcely allowed me to kiss her hand before ve parted, clung around my neck. She trembled against me. "Have you come back to your mother, Paul?" "Eagle!" I pleaded. "Don't you know me? You surely know Lazarre!" She kissed me, pulling my head down in her arms, the velvet mouth like a baby's, and looked straight into my eyes. "Madame, try to understand! I am Louis! If you forget Lazarre, try to remember Louis!" She heard with attention, and smiled. The pres- sure of my arms spoke to her. A man's passion addressed itself to a little child. All other barriers which had stood between us were nothing to this. I held her, and she could never be mine. She was not ill in body; the contours of her upturned face were round and softened with much smiling. But mind-sickness robbed me of her in the moment of finding her. "She can't be insane!" I said aloud. "Oh, God, anything but that! She was not a woman that could be so wrecked." 365 n I' : li 1: [ m ' f i\ 366 L A Z A R R B "I I J ■f ' 1^- Like a fool I questioned, and tried to get some explanation. Eagle smoothed my arm, nested her hand in my neck. "My little boy! He has grown to be a man — while his mother has grown down to be a child 1 Do you know what I am now, Paul?" I choked a sob in my throat and told her I did not. "I am your Cloud-Mocher. I live in a cloud. Do you love me while I am in the cloud?" I told her I loved her with all my strength, in the cloud or out of it. "Will you take care of me as I used to take care of you?" I swore to the Almighty that she should be my future care. "I need you so! I have watched for you in the woods and on the water, Paul! You have been long coming back to me." I heard Madame Ursule mounting the stairs to see if my room was in order. Who could understand the relation in which Eagle and I now stood, and the claim she made upon me? She clung to my arm when I took it away. I led her by the hand. Even this sight caused Madame Ursule a shock at the head of the stairs. "M's'r Williams!" My hostess pavised and looked at us. "Did she come to you of her own accord?" ARRIVINQ 367 "Yes, madame." "I never knew her to notice a stranger before." "Madame, do you know who this is?" "Madeleine Jordan." "It is the Marquise de Ferrier." "The Marquise de Ferrier?" "Yes, madame." "Did you know her?" "I have known her ever since I can remem- ber." "The Marquise de Ferrier! But, M's'r Williams, did she know you ?" "She knows me," I asserted. "But not as my- self. I am sure she knows me! But she confuses me with the child she lost! I cannot explain to you, madame, how positive I am that she recog- nizes me; any more than I can explain why she will call me Paul. I think I ought to tell you, so you will see the position in which I am placed, that this lady is the lady I once hoped to marry." "Saints have pity, M's'r Williams!" "I want to ask you some questions." "Bring her down to the fire. Come, dear child," said Madame Ursule, coaxing Eagle. "Nobody is there. The bedrooms can never be so warm as the log fire; and this is a bitter evening." The family room was unlighied by candles, as often happened. For such an illumination in the chimney must have quenched any paler glare. We had a few moments of brief privacy from the swarming life which constantly passed in and out. i,. I ... fi 368 L AZ AR RK >-.t li( MS i 'J ! sj ■ 1 (!| ^M^ln I i i ! „: ■!' I placed Eagle by the fire and she sat there obe- diently, while I talked to Madame Ursule apart. "Was her mind in this state when she came to you?" "She was even a little wilder than she is now. The girls have been a benefit to her." "They were not afraid of her?" "Who could be afraid of the dear child? She is a lady — that's plain. Ah, M'sV Williams, what she must have gone through!" "Yet see how happy she looks!" "She always seemed happy enough. She would come to this house. So when the Jordans went to Canada, Pierre and I both said, 'Let her stay.' " "Who were the Jordans?" "The only family that escaped with their lives from the massacre when she lost her family. Ma- dame Jordan told me the whole story. They had friends among the Winnebagoes who protected them." "Did they give her their name?" "No, the people in La Baye did that. We knew she had another name. But I think it very likely her title was not used in the settlement where they lived. Titles are no help in pioneering." "Did they call her Madeleine?" "She calls heiielf Madeleine." "How long has she been with your family?" "Nearly a year." "Did the Jordans tell you when this change came over her?" ARRIVINQ 369 "Yes. It was during the attack when her child was taken from her. She saw other children killed. The Indians were afraid of her. They respect de- mented people; not a bit of harm was done to her. They let her alone, and the Jordans took care of her." The daughter and adopted daughter of the house came in v;ith a rush of outdoor air, and seeing Eagle first, ran to kiss her on the cheek one after the other. "Madeleine has come down!" said Marie. "I thought we should coax her in here some- time," said Katarina. Between them, standing slim and tall, their equal in height, she was yet like a little sister. Tiiough their faces were unlined, hers held a divine youth. To see her stricken with mind-sickness, and the two girls who had done neither good nor evil, exist- ing like plants in sunshine, healthy and sound, seemed an iniquitous contrast. If ever woman was made for living and dying in one ancestral home, she was that woman. Yet she stood on the border of civilization, without a foot- hold to call her own. If ever woman was made for one knightly love which would set her in high places, she was that woman. Yet here she stood, her very name lost, no man so humble as to do her reverence. "Paul has come," Eagle told Katarina and Ma- rie. Holding their hands, she walked between them toward me, and bade them notice my height. "I c * IM H\ I i ! if ■if BHl ■!; ^i- m t -■ f^. m f i'rl ii- 370 L AZ A R RB am his Cloud-Mother," she said. "How droll it is that parents grow down little, while their children grow up big!" Madame Ursule shook her head pitifully. But the girls really saw the droll side and laughed with my Cloud-Mother. Separated from me by an impassable barrier, she touched me more deeply than when I sued her most. The undulating ripple which was her pecu- liar expression of joy was more than I could bear. I left the room and was flinging myself from the house to walk in the chill wind ; but she caught me. "I will be good!" pleaded my Cloud-Mother, her face in my breast. Her son who had grown up Mg, while she grew down little, went back to the family room with her. My Cloud-Mother sat beside me at table, and insisted on cutting up my food for me. While I tried to eat, shn asked Marie and Katarina and Piorre Grignon and Madame Ursule to notice how well I behaved. The tender hearted host wiped his eyes. I understood why she had kept such hold upon me through years of separateness. A nameless personal charm, which must be a gift of the spirit, survived all wreck and change. It drew me, and must draw me forever, whether she knew me again or not. One meets and wakes you to vivid life in an immortal hour. Thousands could not do it through eternity. ARRIVING 371 The river piled hillocks of water in a strong north wind, and no officer crossed from the stockade. Neither did any neighbor leave his own fire. It sel- dom happened that the Grignons were left with inmates alone. Eagle sat by me and watched the blaze streaming up the chimney. If she was not a vi.iit in the family group and had no part there, they were most kind to her. "Take care!" the grandmother cried with swift forethought when Marie and Katarina marshaled in a hopping object from the kitchen. "It might frighten Madeleine."' Pierre Grignon stopped in the middle of a bear hunt. Eagle was not frightened. She clapped her hands. "This is a pouched turkey!" Marie anaounced. leaning against the wall, while Katarina chased the fowl. It was the little negro, his arms and i^^t thrust into the legs of a pair of Pierre Grignon's trousers, and the capacious open top fastened upon his back. Doubled over, he waddled and hopped as well as he could. A feather duster was stuck in for a tail, and his woolly head gave him the uncanny look of a black harpy. To see him was to shed tears of laughter. The pouched turkey enjoyed being a pouched turkey. He strutted and gobbled, and ran at the girls; tried to pick up corn from the floor with his thick lips, tumbling down and rolling over in the effort; for a pouched turkey has no wings with which to balance himself. So much hilarity m the family room drew the Pawnee ser- 'hi ^f a V 37' L AZ ARRE \l \ ii •I J Pi,i i .■i| I H iillf', I vants. I saw their small dark eyes in a mere line of open door, gazing solemnly. When the turkey was relieved from his pouching and sent to bed, Pierre Grignon took his violin. The girls answered with jigs that ended a reel, when couples left the general figure to jig it off. When Eagle had watched them awhile she started up, spread her skirts in a sweeping cour- tesy, and began to dance a gavotte. The fiddler changed his tune, and the girls rested and watched her. Alternately swift and languid, with the changes of the movement, slie saluted backward to the floor, or spun on the tips of rapid feet. I had seen her dance many times, but never with such abandon of joy. Our singular relationship was established in the house, where hospitality made room and apology for all human weakness. Nobody of that region, except the infirm, stayed indoors to shiver by a fire. Eagle and the girls in t-ieir warm capotes breasted with me the coldest winter days. She was as happy as they were; her cheeks tingled as pink as theirs. Sometimes I thought her eyes must answer me with her old self-command; their bright grayness was so nat- ural. I believed if her delusions were humored, they would unwind from her like the cloud which she felt them to be. The family had long fallen into the habit of treating her as a child, playing some imagi- narv haracter. She seemed less demented than A R R I \' I N O 373 walking in a dream, ner faculties asleep. It was somnambulism rather than madness. She had not the expression of insane people, the shifty eyes, the cunning and pervcrseness, the animal and tor- pid presence. If I called her Madame de Ferrier instea i ^ 1 >^- : ■ ' 1 !■' ; ■ 1 f 1 'V' 1* r ■ S-. • i ? ■ i :il . 1 )■; ii i I i !' •: "I don't know," said the farmer. "I would give you a great bagful if you could kill the snake which comes every night and steals my cattle." The pig thought, "How can I kill that snake?" but he was so hungry he knew he should starve without corn, so he said he would try. The farmer told him to go down in the field, where the snake came gliding at night with its head reared high in air. The pig went down in the meadow, and the first creature he saw was a sheep. "Baa!" said the sheep. That was its way of say- ing "How do you do?" "Who are you?" "I'm the little Fire Pig." "Wbat are you doing here?" "I've come to kill the great snake that eats ♦he farmer's cattle." "I'm very glad," said the sheep, "for it takes my lambs. How are you going to kill it?" "I don't know," said the pig; "can't you help me?" "I'll give you some of my wool." The pig thanked the sheep, and went a little farther and met a horse. "He-ee-ee!" said the horse. That was his way of saying "How do you do?" "Who are you?" "I am the little Fire Pig." "What are you doing here?" "I've come to kill the great snake that eats the farmer's cattle." "I'm glad of that," said the horse ; "for it steals my colts. How are you going to do it?" ARRIVING 395 me I don't know," said the pig. "Can't you help "I'll give you some of the long hairs from my tail," said the horse. The pig took them and thanked the horse. And when he went a little farther he met a cow. "Moo!" said the cow. That was her way of say- ing "How do you do?" "Who are you?" "I'm the little Fire Pig." "What are you doing here?" "I've come to kill the great snake that eats the farmer's cattle." "I am glad of that, for it steals my calves. How are you going to do it?" "I don't know. Can't you help me?" "I'll give you one of my sharp hor , iid the cow. So the pig took it and thanked her. Then he spun and he twisted, and he spun and he twisted, and made a strong woolen cord of the sheep's wool.' And he wove and he braided, and he wove and he braided, and made a cunning snare of the ho/se's tail. And he whetted and sharpened, and he whetted and sharpened, and made a keen dart of the cow's horn. Now when the little pig has all his materials ready, and sees the great snake come gliding, gliding— I tu.-n the situation over to the children. What did he do with the rope, the snare and the horn? They work it out each in his own s * M \h L 1 ', >t 'i* : m ^^H i ^^^^v if ^^H^^K Ht i ^H t ■ V !!■ i^i 396 L AZ A RREi way. There is a mighty wrangling all around the hearth. One day is never really like another, though it seems so. Perhaps being used to the sight of the Iroquois at Lake George, makes it impossible for me to imagine what the settlers dread, and that is an attack. We are shut around by forests. In primi- tive life so much time and strength go to the getting of food that we can think of little else. It is as bad to slave at work as to slave at pleas- ure. But God may forgive what people cannot help. There is a very old woman among the settlers whom they call Granny. We often sit together. She cannot get a gourd edge betwixt her nose and chin when she drinks, and has forgotten she ever had teeth. She does not expect much; but there is one right she contends for, and that is the right of ironing her cap by stretching it over her knee. When I have lived in this settlement long enough, my nose and chin may come together, and I shall forget my teeth. But this much I will exact of fate. Mv cap shall be ironed. I will not — I will not iron it by stretching it over my knee! Count du Chaumont would be angry if he saw me learning to weave, for instance. You would not i,^ i ARRIVING 397 be angry That makes a difference between you as men which I feel but cannot explain. We speak English with our neighbors. Paul who is to be an American, must learn his languaLu' well. I have taught him to read and write. I have taught him the history of his family and of his father s country. His head is as high as mv breast. When will my head be as high as his breast? Skenedonk loves you as a young superior broth- er. I have often wondered what he thought about when he went quietly around at your heels. You told me he had killed and scalped, and in spite of education, was as ready to kill and scalp again as any white man is for wir. I dread him like a toad, and wish him to keep on his side of the walk. He is always with you, and no doubt silently urges, '"Come back to the wig- wams that nouixshed you!" Am I mistaken? Are we moving farther and farther apart instead of approaching each other? Oh, Louis, does this road lead to nothing? I am glad I gave you that key. It was given thoughtlessly, when I was in a bubble of joy. But if you have kept it, it speaks to you every day. Sophie Saint-Michel told me man sometimes piles all his tokens in a retrospective heap, and says, "Who the deuce gave me this or that?" Sophie's father used to be so enraged at his wife and caughter because he could not restore their ! ? it fci- ( ' I. 398 L AZ A RRE fl ■I Ik ,Md. lost comforts. But this is really a better disposi- tion than a mean subservience to misfortune. The children love to have me dance gavottes for them. Some of their mothers consider it levity. Still they feel the need of a little levity themselves. We had a great festival when the wild roses were fully in bloom. The prairie is called a mile square, and wherever a plow has not struck, acres of wild roses grow. They hedge us from the woods like a parapet edging a court. These volunteers are very thorny, bearing tender claws to protect them- selves with. But I am nimble with my scissors. We took the Jordan oxen, a meek pair that have broken sod for the colony, and twined them with garlands of wild roses. Around and around their horns, and around and around their bodies the long ropes were wound, their master standing by with his goad. That we wound also, and covered his hat with roses. The huge oxen swayed aside, look- ing ashamed of themselves. And when their tails were ornamented with a bunch at the tip, they switched these pathetically. Still even an ox loves festivity, whether he owns to it or not. We made a procession, child behind child, each bearing on his head all the roses he could carry, the two oxen walking tandem, led by their master in front. Everybody came out and laughed. It was a beauti- ful sight, and cheered us, though we gave it no name except the Procession of Roses. Often when I open my eyes at dawn I hear music ARRIVING 399 far oflf that makes my heart swell. It is the waking dream of a king marching with drums and bugles While I am dressing I hum, '"Oh, Richard, O my king!" ^ Louis! Louis! Louis! I cannot— I cannot keep it down! How can I hold still that righteousness may be done through me, when I love— love— love— when I clench my fists and walk on my knees — I am a wicked woman! What is all this sweet pretense of duty! It covers the hypocrite that loves— that starves— that cries, My king!— my king! Strike me!— drive me within bounds! This long repression- years, years of waiting— for what?— for more waitii-!- it is driving me mad! You have the key. I have nothing! " f -) IX t' i n: MY GOD! What had she seen in me to love? I sat up and held the took against my bosom. Its cry out of her past filled the world from horizon to horizon. The ox that she had wreathed in roses would have heard it through her silence. But the brutal, slow Bourbon had gone his way, turning his stupid head from side to side, leaving her to perish. Punctuated by years bursting from eternities of suppression, it brought an accumulated force that swept the soul out of my body. All that had not been written in the book was as easily read as what was set down. I saw the monot- ony of her life, and her gilding of its rudeness, the pastimes she thought cut for children ; I saw her nursing the helplessness which leaned upon her, and turning aside the contempt of pioneer women who passionately admired strong men. I saw her eyes waiting on the distant laggard who stupidly pursued his own affairs until it was too late to protect her. I read the entries over and over. When day broke it seemed to me the morning after my own death, such knowing and experiencing had passed through me. I could not see her again until I had command of myself. So 1 dressed and went silently down stairs. The 400 The -VRHIVINO 401 Pawnees were stirring in the kitchen. I got sonic bread and meat from tlicm, and also sonic grain for the horse; then motmted and rode to tlie river. The ferryman Hved near the old stockade. Some" time always passed after he saw the signals before tlio deliberate Frenchman responded. I led my horse upon the unwieldly craft propelled l.v two huge oars, which the ferryman managed, rmining from one to another according to the swing of the currem. It was broad day when we reached the other shore; one of those days, gray overhead, when moisture breaks upward through the ground, instead of descending. Many light clouds flitted under the grayness. The grass showed with a kind of green blush through its old brown fleece. I saw the first sailing vessel of spring coming to anchor, from the straits of the great lakes. Once I would have hailed that vessel as possi! ' ■ bearer of news. Now it could bring me nothing of anv miportance. The trail along the Fox river led over rolling and, dipping into coves and rising over hills The I'ox, steel blue in the shade, becomes tawny as its namesake when its fur of rough waves is combed to redness in the sunlight. Under grayness, with a soft wind blowing, the Fox showed his blue coat. Ihe prospect was so large, with a ridge running along in the distance, and open country spreading away on the other side, that I often turned in mv saddle and looked back over the half-wooded trail. I thought I saw a figure walking a long way behind I 5 . \ (I ! i M ii if M 402 LAZ ARRE me, and being alone, tried to discern what it was. But under that gray sky nothing was sharply de- fined. I rode on thinking of the book in the breast of my coat. It was certain I was not to marry. And being without breakfast and unstimulated by the sky, I began to think also what unstable material I had taken in hand when I undertook to work with In- dians. Instinctive.^ I knew then what a young southern statesman named Jefferson Davis whom I first met as a commandant of the fort at Green Bay — afterwards told me in Washington : "No common- wealth in a republic will stand with ii ests apart from the federated whole." White men, who have exclaimed from the beginning against the injustice done the red man, and who keep on pitying and exterminating hxv, made a federated whole with interests apart from his. Again when I looked back I saw the figure, but it was afoot, and I soon lost it in a cove. My house had been left undisturbed by hunters and Indians through the winter. I "led the horse to a gallery post and unfastened the door. A pile of refuse timbers offered wood for a fire, and I carried in several loads of it, and lighted the virgin chimney. Then I brought water from the spring and ate breakfast, sitting before the fire and think- ing a little wearily and bitterly of my prospect in life. Having fed my horse, I covered the fire, leaving a good store of fuel by the hearth, and rode away toward the Menominee and Winnebago lands. A R R I \' 1 N O 403 The day was a hard one, and when I came back towards nightfall I was glai! to stop with the offi- cers of the stockade and share their mess. "You looked fagged," said one of them. "The horse paths are heavy," I answered, "and I have been as far as the Indian lands." I had been as far as that remote time when Eagle was not a Cloud-Mother. To cross the river and see her smiling in meaningless happiness seemed more than I coukI do. Yet she might notice my absence. Wc had been housed together ever since she had discovered me. Our walks and rides, our fireside talks and eveninir iliversions were never separate. At Pierre Grig- non's the family flocked in companies. When the padlocked book sent me out of the house I forgot that she was used to my presence and might be dis- turbed by an abse." > one could explain. "The first sailing vessel is in from the straits," said the lieutenant. "Yes, I saw her come to anchor as I rode out this morning." "She brought a passenger." "Anybody of importance?" "At first blush, no. At second blush, yes." "Why 'no' at first blush?" "Because he is only a priest." "Only a priest, haughty officer! Are civilians and churchmen dirt under army feet?" The lieutenant grinned. "When you see a missionary priest lanJing to if H 404 L AZ A.R RK iM m i confess a lot of Canadians, ho flocsn't seem quite so important, as a prelate from (Ihent. for instance." "Is this passenger a prelate from Cihent?" "That is where tlie second blush conies in. He is." "How do you know?" "I saw him, and talked with him." "What is he doing in Green Bay?" "Looking at the country. He was inquiring for you. "For me!" "Yes." "What could a prelate from Ghent want with me?" "Savs he wants to make iniuiries about the na- tive tribes." "Oh! Did you recommend mc as an expert in native tribes?" "Naturally. But not until he asked if you were here." "He mentioned my name?" "Yes. He wanted to see you. You'll not have to step out of your way to gratify him." "From that I infer there is a new face at Pierre Grignon's." "Your inference is correct. The Grignons al- ways lodge the priests, and a great man like this one will be certainly quartered with them." "What is he like?" "A smooth and easy gentleman." "In a cassock?" A K W 1 \' I N a 405 liiitc ICV. He J for with ; na- rt in were have 'icrrc IS al- sone "Tell a poor post lieutenant what a eassock is." "The long-skirted black coat reacliini: to the hceLs." "Our missionary priists don't wear it here. He has the bands and bfoad hat and general ap- pearance of a priest, hut his coat isn't very long." "Then he has laid aside the cassock while travel- ing through this country." The prelate from Ghent, no doubt a common priest, that the lieutenant undertook to dignify, slipped direct'y out of my mind. Madame Ursule was waiting for me, on the gal- lery with fluted pillars at the front of the huusc. "M's'r William,, where is Madeleine?" Her anxiety vibrated through the darkness. "Isn't she here, madame?" "She has not been seen to-day." We stood in silence, then began to speak to- gether. "But, madame " "iM's'r Williams " "I went away early- "When I heard from the Pawnees that you had gone ofT on horseback so early I thought it possible you might have taken her with you." "Madame, how could I do that?" "Of course you wouldn't have done that. But we can't find her. We've inquired all over La Baye. She left the house when no one saw her. She was never out after nightfall before." "But, madame, she must be here!" H llf : 1 ! ' fi V i . J^- • i ■ 'i... ■ , ^ ' / i i ■' 1 . W ' Pi ^ i ii^jii ii 1*1 1 r^ if. ■ " ! 1 i i ■ 1 "Oh, m's'r, my hope was that you knew where she is— she has followed you about so! The poor child may be at the bottom of the river!" "She can't be at the bottom of the river!" I retorted. The girls ran out. They were dressed for a dance, and drew gauzy scarfs around their anxious faces. The house had been searched from ground to attic more than once. They were sure she must be hid- ing from them. I remembered the figure that appeared to me on the trail. :My heart stopped. I could not humil- iate my Cloud-Mother by placing her before them in the act of tracking me like a dog. I could not tell any one about it, but asked for Skenedonk. The Indian had been out on the river in a canoe. He came silently, and stood near me. The book was between us. I had it in the breast of my coat, and he had it on his conscience. "Bring out your horse and get me a fresh one," I said. "Where shall I find one?" "Pierre will give you one of ours," said Madame Ursule. "But you must eat." "I had my suppeV with the officers of the fort, madame. I would have made a briefer stay if I had known what had happened on this side of the river." "I forgot to tell you, M's'r Williams, there is an abbe here from Europe. He asked for you." "I cannot see him to-night." ARRIVING 407 Skenedonk drew near me to speak, but I was impatient of any delay. We went into the house, and Madame Ursule said she would bring a blanket and some food to strap behind my saddle. The girls helped her. There was a hush through the jolly house. The master bustled out of the family room. I saw behind him, standing as he had stood at Mit- tau, a priest of fine and sweet presence, waiting for Pierre Grignon to speak the words of introduction. "It is like seeing France again!" exclaimed the master of the house. "Abbe Edgeworth, this is M's'r Williams." "Monsieur," said the abbe to me with perfect courtesy, "believe me, I am glad to see you." "Monsieur," I answered, givintr him as briet no- tice as he had given me in Mittau, yet without rancor;— there was no room in me for that. "You have unerringly found the best house in the Illinois Territory, and I leave you to the enjoyment of it." "You are leaving the house, monsieur?" "I find I am obliged to make a short journey." "I have made a long one, monsieur. It may be best to tell you that I come charged with a message for you." I thought of Madame d'Angouleme. The sister who had been mine for a few minutes, and from whom this priest had cast me out, declaring that God had smitten the pretender when my eclipse laid me at his feet — remembered me in her second exile, perhaps believed in me still. Women put wonder- ful restraints upon themselves. fi !•; k 1 - j ; il : 3- f :l. ^ t 1 iiJ- i i Iti ' ; LAZ ARRK Abbe Edgeworth and I looked steadily at each other. "I hope Madame d'Angouleme is well?" "She is well, and is still the comforter of his Majesty's misfortune." "Monsieur the Abbe, a message would need to be very urgent to be listened to to-night. I will give you audience in the morning, or when I re- turn." We both bowed again. I took Pierre Grignon into the hall for counsel. In the end he rode with me, for we concluded to send Skenedonk with a party along the east shore. Though searching for the lost is an experience old as the world, its poignancy was new to me. I saw Eagle tangled in the wild oats of the river. I saw her treacherously dealt with by Indians who called themselves at peace. I saw her wandering out and out, mile beyond mile, to undwelt-in places, and the tender mercy of wolves. We crossed the ferry and tool; to the trail, Pierre Grignon talking cheerfully. "Nothing has happened to her, M's'r Williams," he insisted. "No Indian about La Baye would hurt her, and the child is not so crazy as to hurt her- self." It was a starless night, muffled overhead as the day had been, but without rain or mist. He had a lantern hanging at his saddle bow, ready to light. In the open lands we rode side by side, but through ARRIVING 409 his growths along the Fox first one and then the other led the way. We found my door unfastened. I remembered for the first time I had not locked it. Some one had been in the house. A low fire burned in the chimney. We stirred it and lighted the lantern. Footprints not our own had dried white upon the smooth dark floor. They pointed to the fireplace and out again. They had been made by a woman's feet. We descended the hill to the river, and tossed our light through every bush, the lantern blinking in the wind. We explored the ravine, the light stealing over white birches that glistened like ala- baster. It was no use to call her name. She might be hidden behind a rock laughing at us. We had to surprise her to recover her. Skenedonk would have traced her where we lost the trail. When we went back to the house, dejected with physical weariness. I unstrapped the blanket and the food which Madame Ursule had sent, and brought them to Pierre Grignon. He threw the blanket on the settee, laid out bread and meat on the table, and ate, both of us blaming ourselves for sending the Indian on the other side of the river. We traced the hard route which I had followed the day before, and reached Green Bay about dawn. Pierre Grignon went to bed exhausted. I had some breakfast and waited for Skenedonk. He had not returned, but had sent one man back to say there was no clue. The imeal was like a passover eaten m 410 LAZ ARRE mM r/: :'^- 1 fit |..ll » 1 ||: ■?!; l-t: ' :. i in haste. I could not wait, but set out again, with a pillion which I had carried uselessly in the night strapped again upon the horse for her seat, in case I found her; and leaving word for the Oneida to follow. I had forgotten there was such a person as Abbe Edgeworth, when he led a horse upon the ferry boat. "You ride early as well as late. May I join you?" "I ride on a search which cannot interest you, monsieur." "You are mistaker I understand what has dis- turbed the house, and I want to ride with you." "It will be hard for a horseman accustomed to avenues." "It will suit me perfectly." It did not suit me at all, but he took my coldness with entire courtesy. "Have you breakfasted, monsieur?" "I had my usual slice of bread and cup of water before rising," he answered. Again I led on the weary trail to my house. Abbe Edgeworth galloped well, keeping beside me where there was room, or riding behind where there was not. The air blew soft, and great shadow clouds ran in an upper current across the deepest blueness I had seen in many a day. The sun showed beyond rows of hills. I bethought myself to ask the priest if he knew anything about Count de Chaumont. He answered very simply and directly that he did; that I might iP' .v ARRIVING 411 mZ'^Th''""' '\^^^"--^ -- mentioned in report, had ret.red with his daughter and his son- ;n-law to BIo.s, where he was vigorously rebuild- ing his ruined chateau of Chaumont If my mind had been upon the priest, I should have wondered what he came for. He did not press his message. "The court is again in r-xile?" I said, when we could ride abreast. "At Ghent." "Bellenger visited me last September. He was without a dauphin." "We could supply the deficiency," Abbe Edge- worth pleasantly replied. "With the boy he left in Europe?" "Oh, dear no. With royal dukes. You observed his majesty could not pension a helpless idiot with- out encouraging dauphins. These dauphins are thicker than blackberries. The dauphin mvth has become so common that whenever we see a beg- gar approaching, we say. There comes another dauphin.' One of them is a fellow who calls him- self the Duke of Richemont. He has followers who believe absolutely in him. Somebody, seeing him asleep, declared it was the face of the dead king!" I felt stung, remembering the Marquis du Ples- sy's words. ^ "Oh, yes, yes," said Abbe Edgeworth. "He has visions too. Half memories, when the face of his mother comes back to him!" w irf'i.i Ki-'lii* 412 L AZ ARRE "What about his scars?" I asked hardily. "Scars 1 yes, I am told he hi.s the proper stig- mata of the dauphin. He was taken out of the Temple prison; a dying boy being substituted for him there. We all know the dauphin's physician died suddenly; some say he was poisoned; and a new physician attended the boy who died in the Temple. Of course the priest who received the child's confession should have known a dauphin when he saw one. But that's neither here nor there. We lived then in surprising times." "Madame d'Angouleme would recognize him as her brother if she saw him?" I suggested. "I think she is not so open to tokens as at one time. Women's hearts re tender. The Duchess d'Angouleme could nev<;r be convinced that her brother died." "But others, including her uncle, were con- vinced?" "The Duke of Richemont was not. What do you yourself think. Monsieur Williams?" "I think that the man who is out is an infinite joke. He tickles the whole world. People have a right to laugh at a man who cannot prove he is what he says he is. The difference between a pre- tender and a usurper is the difference between the top of the hill and the bottom." The morning sun showed the white mortar ribs of my homestead clean and fair betwixt hewed logs; and brightened the inside of the entrance or hall room. For I saw the door stood open. It i§ in i . A l>i K 1 V 1 N Q 413 had been left unfastened but not ajar. Somebody was in the house. I told Abbe Edgevvorth we would dismount and tie our horses a little distance away. And I asked him to wait outside and let me enter alone. He obligingly sauntered on the hill overlooking the Fox; I stepped upon the gallery and looked in. The sweep of a gray dress showed in front of the settle. Eagle was there. I stood still. She had put on more wood. Fire crackled in the chimney. I saw, and seemed to have known all night, that she had taken pieces of unbroken bread and meat left by Pierre Grignon on my table; that her shoes were cleaned and drying in front of the fire; that she must have carried her dress above contact with the soft ground. When I asked Abbe Edgeworth not to come in her dread of strangers influenced me less than a' desire to protect her from his eyes, haggard and draggled as she probably was. The instinct which made her keep her body like a temple had not failed under the strong excitement that drove her out. Whether she slept under a bush, or noc at all or took to the house after Pierre Grignon and I left It, she was resting quietly on the settle before the fireplace, without a stain of mud upon her. I could see nothing but the foot of her dress «ad any change passed over her face? Or had the undisturbed smile of my Cloud-Mother fol- lowed me on the road? Perhaps the cloud had thickened. Perhaps thun- i3 If ^!| L AZ AR RE •iers and lightnings moved within it. Sane people sometimes turn wild after being lost, running from their friends, and fighting against being restrained and brought home. The gray dress in front of my hearth I could not see without a heaving of the breast. ii (> : f| in f i" ' 1 I I' How a man's life is drawn, turned, shaped, by a woman ! He may deny it. He may swagger and lie about it. Heredity, ambition, lust, noble aspirations, weak self-indulgence, power* failure, success, have their turns with him. But the woman he desires above all others, whose breast is his true home, makes him, mars him. Had she cast herself on the settle exhausted and ill after exposure? Should I find her muttering and helpless? Worse than all. had the night made her forget that she was a Cloud-Mother? I drew my breath with an audible sound in the throat. Her dress stirred. She leaned around the edge of the settle. Eagle de Ferrier, not my Cloud-Mother, looked at me. Her features were pinched from exposure, but flooded themselves instantly with a blush. She snatched her shoes from the hearth and drew them on. I was taken with such a trembling that I held to a gallery post. Suppose this glimpse of herself had been given to me only to be withdrawn ! I was afraid to speak and waited, ' She stood up facing me. "Louis!" 6 415 ! i: * ■] ' ; ii ^¥H4: 416 LAZ A R RE "Madame!" "What is the matter, sire?" "Nothing, madame, nothing." "Where is Paul?" I did not know what to do, and looked at her completely helpless; for if I told her Paul was dead, she might relapse; and evasions must be temporary. "The Indian took him," she cried. "But the Indian didn't kill him, Eagle." "How do you know?" "Because Paul came to me." "He came to you? Where?" "At Fort Stephenson." "Where is my child?" "He is at Fort Stephenson." "Bring him to me!" "I can't bring him, Eagle." "Then let me go to him." I did not know what to say to her. "And there were Cousin Philippe and Ernestine lying across the step. I have been thinking all night. Do you understand it?" "Yes, I understand it. Eagle." By the time I had come into the hou-" her mind leaped forward in comprehension, l..vi blanket she had held on her shoulders fell around her feet. It was a striped gay Indian blanket. "You were attacked, and the settlement was burned." "But whose house is this?" A K K I V I N G 417 was "This is my house." "Did you bring nie to your house?" "I wasn't there." "No, I remember. You were not there. I saw you the last time at tlie Tuilerios." "When dill you come to yourself, madamc?" "I have been sick, haven't I? But I have been sitting by this fire nearly all night, trying to un- derstand. I knew I was alone, because Cousin Philippe and Ernestine— I want Paul!" I looked at the floor, and must have appeared miserable. She passed her hands back over her f(jrehead many times as if brushing something away. "If he died, tell me." "I held him, Eagle." "They didn't kill him?" No." •'Or scalp him?" "The knife never touched him." "But " "It was in battle.'" "My child died in battle? How long have I been ill?" "More than a year, Eagle." "And he died in battle?" "He had a wound in his side. He was brought into the fort, and I took care of him." She burst out weeping, and laughed and wept, the tears running down her face and wetting her bosom. I 418 L AZ A R RK i ■I Iff f li 1- • f i 1 ij ' : "My boy! My little son! You held him! He died like a man!" I put her on the settle, and all the cloud left her in that tempest of rain. Afterwards I wiped her face with my handkerchief and she sat erect and still. A noise of many birds came from the ravine, aw'! winged bodies darted past the door uttering the cries of spring. Abbe E( geworth sauntered by and she saw him, and was startled. "Who is that'" "A priest." "When did he comoi' "He rode here witii me this morning," "Louis," she asked, leaning back, "who took care of me?" "You have been with the Grignons since you came to the Illinois Territory." "Am I in the Illinois Territory?" "Yes, I found you with the Grignons." "They must be kind people!" "They are; the earth's salt." "But who brought me to the Illinois Territory?" "A family named Jordan." "The Intiians didn't kill them?" "No." "Why wasn't I killed?" "The Indians regarded you with superstition." "What have I said and done?" "Nothing, madame, that need give you any un- easiness." A K R X V 1 >{ G 419 He and •'But what did I say?" she insisted. "You thought you were a Cloud-Mother." "A Cloud-Mother!" Sho was asto„is!ie I vvill bring him in and let him give his mes- sage m your presence." When Abbe Edgeworth was presented to her he shghtly raised his eyebrows, but expressed no astonishment at meeting her lucid eyes. Nor did a nTght '""""^""^ ^^' ^'^'" ^"" ^^'^ ^^"^ ^^"^^^ '" The position in which she found herself was try- mf.hH T" ^u" ' ^'''' ^°"^^">'- % house might have been the chateau in which she was born, so undisturbed was her manner. Her night wan- dering and mind-sickness were simply put behind us in the past, with her having taken refuge in my house, as matters which need not concern Abb^ Edgeworth. He did not concern himself with them, but bent before her as if he had no doubt of her sanity. I asked her to resume her place on the settle There was a stool for the abbe and one for myself, river glinting in its valley, and the windrows of heights beyond Jt. A wild bee ii >', l.:i{ , i 1 S 'i F-41 i iii ^it darted into the room, droning, and out again, the eun upon its back. "Monsieur," I said to Abbe Edgeworth, "I am ready now to hear the message which you men- tioned to me last night." "If madame will pardon me," he answered, "I will ask you to take me where we can confer alone." "It is not necessary, monsieur. Madame de Fer- rier knows my whole story." But the priest moved his shoulders. "I followed you in this remote place, monsieur, that we might talk together without interruption, unembarrassed by any witness." Madame de Ferrier rose. I put her into her seat again with authority. "It is my wish, madame, to have at least one wit- ness with Abbe Edgeworth and myself." "I hope," he protested, "that madame will be- lieve there can be no objection to her presence. I am simply following instructions. I was instructed to deliver my message in private." "Monsieur," Eagle answered, "I would gladly withdraw to another room." "I forbid it, madame," I said to her. "Very well," yielded Abbe Edgeworth. He took a folded paper from his bosom, and spoke to me with startling sharpness. "You think I should address you as Monseig- neur, as the dauphin of France should be ad- dressed?" "I do not press my rights. If I did, monsieur the ARRIVING 423 abbe, you would not have the right to sit in my presence.' "^ "Suppose we humor your fancy. I will address you as Monseigneur. Let us even go a litt'^ farther and assume that you are known to be the dauphir o France by witnesses who have never lost track of you. In that case, xMonseigneur, would you put Ih^onT^^^ '° ^ ^'^'' '"'^^'"^ ^" ^'^™ "PO" the "Is this your message?" "We have not yet come to the message." Let us first come to the dauphin. When dauphins are as plentiful as blackberries in France and the court never sees a beggar -appear without exclaim- 'ng: Here comes another dauphin!'-why may T ask ,s Abbe Edgeworth sent so far to seek one'" He smiled. "We are supposing that Monseigneur, in whose pre.ence I have the honor to be, is the true dau- "That being the case, how are we to account for tne true dauphin's reception at Mittau'" tu'Jl'u ^'°'' ''"P^''''^' ^"^ '^"">" '^'""^e« of agents that the court was obliged to employ, need hardly ne assumed. "Poor Bellenger! He has to take abuse from "As Mcnseigneur suggests, we will not go into that matter." ^ Eagle sat as erect as a statue and as white. Kirt . ii wv ■*:| 4^4 L AZ ARRE I felt an instant's anxiety. Yet she had hcrsell entirely at command. "We have now arrived at the paper, I trust," saic the priest. "The message?" "Oh, no. The paper in which you resign al claim to the throne of France, and which may giv you the price of a principality in this country." "I do not sign any such paper." "Not at all?" "Not at all." "You are determined to hold to your rights?"^ "I am determined not to part with my rights." "Inducements large enough might be offered He paused suggestively. "The only man in France," I said, "empowers to treat for abdication of the throne at present, Napoleon Bonaparte. Did you bring a messaj from him?" Abbe Edgeworth winced, but laughed. "Napoleon Bonaparte will not last. All Euro; is against him. I see we have arrived at the m« sage." He rose and handed me the paper he held in 1 hand. I rose and received it, and read it standir It was one brief line : — "Louis: You are recalled. Marie-Therese." The blood must have rushed over my face. herself it," said sign all lay give try." ;hts?" ghts." ^^ offered." powered -esent, is message 1 Europe the mes- eld in his standing. ARRIVING 425 had^a submerged feeling, looking out of it at the "Well, Monseigneur?" "It is like her heavenly goodness." ^^^ '_'Do you see nothing but her heavenly goodness "This is the message?" "It is a message I crossed the ocean to bring." "With the consent of her uncle?" "Madame d'Angoulcme never expresses a wish contrary to the wishes of his majesty." "We are then to suppose that Louis XVIII offers me, through you, monsieur, the opportunity o sign away my rights, and failing that, the oppor- tunity of taking them?" "Supposing you are Monseigneur the dauphin, we will let our supposition run as far as this " I saw distinctly the position of Louis XVIII Marquis du Plessy had told me he was a mass oi superstition. No doubt he had behaved, as Bellen- ger said, for the good of the royalist cause. Brt the sanction of heaven was not on his behavior Bonaparte was let loose on him like the dragon from the pit. And Frenchmen, after yawning eleven months or so in the king's august face threw up their hats for the dragon. In his second exile the inner shadow and the shadow of age com- b.ned against him. He had tasted royally. It was not as good as he had once thought. Beside him always, he saw the face of Marie-Therese. Siie never iorgot the hushed mystery of her brother. I n m ifi 426 1^ A Z A R R E Lf 8 -( , Her silence and obedience to the crown, her loyalty to juggling and evasion, were more powerful than resistance. A young man, brought suddenly before the jaded nation and proclaimed at an opportune moment, might be a successful toy. The sore old king would oil more than the royalist cause, and the blessing of heaven would descend on one who restored the veritable dauphin. I never have seen the most stupid man doubt his power to ride if somebody hoists him into the saddle. "Let us go farther with our suppositions," I said. "Suppose I decline?" I heard Madame de Ferrier gasp. The priest raised his eyebrows. "In that case you will be quite willing to give me a signed paper declaring your reasons." "I sign no paper." "Let me suggest that Monseigneur is not con- sistent. He neither resigns his supposed rights nor will he exercise them." "I will neither resign them nor exercise them." "This is virtually resigning them." "The abbe will pardon me for saying it is not. My rights are mine, whether I use them or not." "Monseigneur understands that opportunity is a visitor that comes but once." "I understand that the most extraordinary thini: has happened to-day that will ever go unrecorded in history. One Bourbon offers to give away a : ARRIVING 427 throne he has lost and another Bourbon refuses it " You may well say it will go unrecorded in his- tory. Excepting this lady."-the abbe bowed toward Eagle -"there is no witness." ^^ "Wise precautions have been taken," I agreed "Tins scrap of paper may mean anything or noth- ing. ' "You decline?" he repeated. _ "I think France is done with the Dourbons, mon- sieur the abbe. A f^ne spectacle thev have made of themselves, cooling their heels all over Europe waitrng for Xapoleon's shoes! Will I go sneaking and trembling to range myself among impotent kings and wrangle over a country that wants none of us? \o, I never will! I see where my father slipped. I see where the eighteenth Louis slipped 1 am a man tenacious beyond belief. You cannot loose my grip when I take hold. But I never have taken hold, I never will take hold-of my native country, struggling as she is to throw off hereditary rule!" "You are an American!" said Abbe Edgeworth contemptuously. "If France called to me out of need, I would fight for her. A lifetime of peaceful rears I would toss away m a minute to die in one achieving bat- tle for her. But she neither calls me nor needs me. A kmg IS not simply an appearance-a continuation Of hereditary rights!" "Your position is incredible." said the priest "1 do not belittle the prospect you open before I I ■■• ii 428 L AZ A R RK t mc. I see the practical difficulties, but I sec well the magnificence beyond them." "Then why do you hesitate?" "I don't hesitate. A man is contemptible who stands shivering and longing outside of what he dare not attempt. I would dare if I longed. But I don't long." "Monseigneur believes there will be complica- tions?" "I know my own obstinacy. A man who tried to work me with strings behind a throne, would think he was struck by lightning." "Sire," Madame de Ferrier spoke out, "this is the hour of your life. Take your kingdom." "I should have to take it, madame, if I got it. My uncle of Provence has nothing to give me. He merely says— 'My dear dauphin, if Europe knocks Napoleon down, will you kindly take hold of a crank which is too heavy for me, and turn it for the good of the Bourbons? We may thus keep the royal machine in the family!' " "You have given no adequate reason for declin- ing this offer," said the priest. "I will give no reason. I simply decline." "Is this the explanation that I shall make to Madame d'Angouleme? Think of t/. tender sister who says— 'Louis, you are recalled!' " "I do think of her. God bless her!" "Must I tell her that Monseigneur planted his feet like one of these wild cattle, and wheeled, and fled from the contemplation of a throne?" ARRIVING 429 "You will dress it up in your own felicitous way monsieur." "What do you wish me to say?" "That I decline. I have not pressed the embar- rassing question of why I was not recalled long ago. I reserve to myself the privilege of declin- ing without saying why I decline." "He must be made to change his mind, mon- sieur!" Madame de Ferrier exclaimed. "I am not a man that changes his mind every time the clock strikes." I took the padlocked book out of my breast and laid it upon the table. I looked at the priest, not at her. The padlocked book seemed to have no more to do with the conversation, than a hat or a pair of gloves. I saw, as one sees from the side of the eye, the scarlet rush of blood and the snow-white rush of pallor which covered her one after the other. The moment was too strenuous. I could not spare her. She had to bear it with me. She set her clenched hands on her knees "Sire!" I faced her. The coldest look I ever saw in her gray eyt pelled me, as she deliberately said— "You aiv not such a fool!" I stared back as coldly and sternly, and delib- erately ans.vered — "I am— just— such a fool!" "Consider how any person who might be to i If 430 LAZ ARRE fl ' i. \ t -; ■■■! * t ;: Ji A 1 •1 '' 1 ! :. .1. ■■ll->-:f -I blame for your decision, would despise you for afterwards!" "A boy in the first flush of his youth," Ab Edgeworth said, his fine jaws squared with a gr "might throw away a kingdom for some worn who took his fancy, and whom he could not ha perhaps, unless he did throw his kingdom aw: And after he had done it he would hate the worn: But a young man in his strength doesn't do su things!" "A king who hasn't spirit to be a king!" Madar de Ferrier mocked. I mercilessly faced her down. "What is there about me? Sum me up. I J robbed on every side by any one who cares to flee me. Whenever I am about to accomplish ar thing I fall down as if knocked on the head!" She rose from her seat. "You let yourself be robbed because you a princely! You have plainly left behind you eve weakness of your childhood. Look at him in 1 strength, Monsieur Abbe! He has sucked in t vigor of a new country! The failing power of old line of kings is renewed in him! You could 11 have nourished such a dauphin for France in yo exiled court! Burying in the American soil li developed what you see for yourself— the king!" •'He is a handsome man," Abbe Edgewoi quietly admitted. •'Oh, let his beauty alone! Look at his manho — his kinghood!" ARRIVING 431 I ihood "Of what use is his kinghood if he will not exer- cise it?" "He must!" She turned upon nie fiercely, "Have you no ambition?'" "Yes, madamc. But there are several kinds of ambition, as there are several kinds of success. You have to knock people down with each kind, if you want it acknowledged. As I told you awhile ago, I am tenacious beyond belief, and shall succeed in what I undertake." "What are you undertaking?" "I am not undertaking to mount a throne." "I cannot believe it! Where is there a man who would turn from what is offered you? Consider the life before you in this country. Compare it with the life you are throwing away." She joined her hands. "Sire, the men of my house who fought for the kings of yours, plead through me that you will take your inheritance." I kept my eyes on Abbe Edgeworth, He con- sidered the padlocked book as an object directly in his line of vision. Its wooden covers and small metal padlock attracted the secondary attention we bestow on trifles when we are at great issues. I answered her, "The men of your house— and the women of your house, madame— cannot dictate what kings of my house should do in this day." "Well as you appear to know him, madame," ** ' 11 1 ' SB'* 1 ^»h. 6*1 . : , ? fit Tin:-.- 1 432 LAZ ARRB said Abbe Edgcvvorth. "and loyally as you urge him, your efforts are wasted." She next accused tnc— "You hesitate on account of the Indians! "If there were no In.lians in America. I should do just as 1 am doing." "All men," the abbe noted, "hold m contempt a man who will not grasp power when he can.|' "Why should I grasp power? I have u m my- self. I am using it." ^ "Using it to ruin yourself!" she crtcd. "Monseigneur!" The abb6 rose. We stood eye to eye "I was at the side of the king your father upon the scafYold. My hand held to his lips the crucifix of our Lord Jesus Chr'st. In h,s death no word of bitterness escaped him. True son of St. Louis, he supremely loved France. Upon you ho laid injunction to leave to God alone the punish- ment of regicides, and to devote your life to the wel- fare of all Frenchmen. Monseigneur! are you deaf to this call of sacred dutyl* The voice of yottr father from the scaffold, in this hour when the fortunes of your house are lowest, bids you take your right- ful place and rid your people of the usurper who ^ind. France and Europe into the blood-stained '""l wheeled and walked across the floor from Abl)o Edgeworth, and turned again and faced him. "Monsieur, vou have put a dart through me, 1. anvthing in the universe could move me from nn position, what you have said would do it. But my AHRIVINO 433 father's blood cries through me to-(!ay — 'Shall the sun of Louis X\ I he forced iIdwh the unwilling throats of his countrymen by foreijjfn bayonets? — Russians — Germans — English I — Shall the dauphin of I'rancc be hoisted to place by the alien?' — My father would forljid it! Vou appeal to my family love. I bear about with me everywhere the pictured faces of my family. The father whose name you invoke, is always close to my hrart. That royal duche.ss, whom you are privileged to see daily, monsieur, and I — never — is so dear and sacred to me that I think of her with a prayer I'ut my life is here Monsieur, in this new world, no man can siy to me — 'Come,' or 'Go.' I am as free as the Indian. lUit the pretender to the throne of France, the puppet of Russia, of England, of the enemies of my country, — a slave to policy and in- trigue — a chained wanderer about Europe — O my God! to be such a pretender — gasping for air — for light — as I gasped in Ste. Pelagic! — O let me be a free man — a free man!" The old churchman whispered over and over — "My royal son!" My arms dropped relaxed. There was another reason. I did not give it. I would not give it. We heard the spring wind following the river channel — and a far faint call that I knew so well — the triangular wild flock in the upper air, flying north. .'■I I 'I 434 L AZ ARRE li Hi- • .1 t tH Ili.liU ii Wj;^S "Honk! honk!" It was the jubilant cry of free- dom! "Madame," said Abbe Edgeworth, resting his head on his hands, "I have seen many stubborn Bourbons, but he is the most obstinate of them all. We do not make as much impression on him as that little padlocked book." Her terrified eyes darted at him— and hid their panic. "Monsieur Abbe," she exclaimed piercingly, "tell him no woman will love him for throwing away a kingdom!" i'he priest began once more. "You will not resign your rights?" "No." "You will not exercise them?" "No." "If I postpone my departure from to-day until t^ morrow, or next week, or next month, is there any possibility of your reconsidering this decis- ion?" "No." "Monseigneur, must I leave you with this answer?" "Your staying cannot alter it. Monsieur Abbe." "You understand this ends all overtures from France?" "I understand." "Is there nothing that you would ask?" "I would ask Madame d'Angouleme to remem- ber me." 'Louis I \ojareaking! you are a king.' "^ i i Wf L -^t^ ' :*ie'.ir;r m ■ ' i; T . >" .; ! f ■ ■ '-ij 1 » . ^:l| - 1 li ; ^ s^^^wbiih^ ' ^R^PRShI^hIv - '4; J ARRIVING 435 He came forward like a courtier. lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it. ^ re^ZfrZ P'™''"'°"' Monseigneur. I ^iH now retire and ride slowly back along the river until you overtake .e. I should like t 'have s^e T for solitary thought." "You have my permission, Monsieur Abbe" He bow-ed to Madame de Ferrier, and so mov- jng to the door, he bowed again to me, and took hi« His horse's impatient start, and his remonstrance a he mounted, can.e plainly to our ears. The reg- ular beat of hoofs upon the sward followed ; then an alternatmg tap-tap of horse's feet diminished down Eagle and I avoided looking at each other A bird mquircd through the door with 'innuisi tJ»e chirp, and was away. ^ J.lr''"^ '"^ whirlwinds, fire, and all force ^^jM^themselves condensed and quiescent m the i;^,' I moved first, laying Marie-Therese's message i aced Eagle, and she as stonily faced me. I was She shuddered from head to fnnf ru I opened rnv •"•rr-" -nA » i « - - --> ..= m. .nd took her. Volcanoes and r?iw IPuAK* .V^^ n.r 436 LAZ ARRB whirlwinds, fire, and all force, were under our feet We trod them breast to breast. She held my head between her hands. The tears streamed down her face. "Louis! — ^you are a king! — ^>'ou are a king!" THE END. T?" m ^4 jJi: ' • liWMlf: l^mffT >-Mh ur feet. le tears A LIST O'' RECENT FICTION OF THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY m I; i I < i : I -: m ONB QUARTEK MILUON COPIES Have been sou of this freat Ustmlcal lOTe-story of Princess Mary Tndor, sister of Henry ym i^ice, $1.S0 ▲SK YOUR B00KS3II -^ FOR IT 't¥ -'. .1 uii 1 1' A VIVACIOUS ROMANCE OF REVOLU- TIONARY DAYS ALICE 0/ OLD VINCENNES By MAURICE THOMPSON The Atlanta Ccnstirution says : " Mr. Thompson who.c adightful writings in prose and verse have made his reputation national, has achieved his master stroke of genius in this historical novel of revolu- tiunary days ;n the West." The Den-ver Daily News says : " Z^'? "V^T ?■■?" "'''f'"'' of action ! Scotfs tourna- ment on A^hby lidd, (ieneral Wallace's chariot race, and now Maurae Thompson's duel scene ,nd .he raising of Alice s flag over old Fort Vincennes." The Chicago Times-Herald ia\s : o Have anrf To Hold ' more vital than 'Janice Mere- dith, such IS Maurice Thompson's superb American ro- mance, 'Alice of Old Vincennes.' It is. i„ addition more artistic and spontaneous than any of its rivals." I 2mo, xvith five illustrations and a frontispiece in color, all drawn by Mr. F. C. Yohn Price, $1.50 Th Bowen-Mcrril] C ompany, Indianapolis ■'^ X-/ n : J 1 "A NOVEL THAT'S WORTH WHILE" TAe REDEMPTION (?/ DAVID CORSON By CHARLES FREDERIC GUSS A Mid-century American Novel of Interne Power and Intereit Tie Interior tays : •'This is a book that is worth while. Though it telU of weaitness and wickedness, of love and license, of revenge and remorse in an intensely interesting way, yet it it above all else a clean and pure story. No one can read it and honestly ask • what's the use.' " Nnvell Dioight Hillit, Pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, says : " ' The Redemption of David Corson' strikes a strong, healthy, buoyant note." Dr. F. W. Gunsaulus, President Armour Institute, says : " Mr. Goss writes with the truthfulness of light. He has told a story in which the fact of sin is illuminated with the utmost truthfulness and the fact of redemption is portrayed with extraordinary power. There are lines of greatness in the book which I shall never forget." President M. W. Stryker, Hamilton College, says : •• It is a victory in writing for one whose head seems at last to have matched his big human heart. There is ten times as much of reality in it as there is in ' David Harum,' which does not value lightly that admirable charcoal sketch." Price, ^1.50 The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis AS CKLSI' AxM) CLI'AN CLT AS A NEW MI\T\(;k." THE PUPPET CROWN BY HAROLD MacC.RATH A princess rarely beaiifitul; a iJiuliess niagnihceiit and heartless; a villain revengeful and Ciurageous; a hero youth- ful, hiimorjus, fearless and truly Amerkau; such are the principal characters (jf this dcliKhtful story. -.>>». /.;,j^ Jo,i- StandarJ. Harold MacGrath has attained the hinhest point achiev- able in recent Motion. We have the clim;.x of romance and adventure in -I'he Puppet Crown." - r/«? rhiU,h;i>>u.i North American. Superior to most of the great successes.— ,«. Paul PUnter Press. " J :ie Tuppct t:rown" m a profusion of cleverness.— fl,j/. iifro* ■• A meriiiin. Challenges cmparisoii with author! whose names have become imni'vrtal — i'iiUaro AmrrLaH. Latest t iitry in the list of \wiiner.s.- CAtr/,«««-«=" From //;,• Denver Times : "fh\^'Y,' ^''='"<^*" ^f3"