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 /'/ 
 
 THE LADY OF GHATSAU BLANG 
 
t< I 
 
 The kadv of Ghateau Blanc 
 
 AN HlSTORlGAk R0MANC5B 
 
 BY 
 
 MALCOLM W. SPARROW, 
 
 Autlini (it •* Malawaiida.'" 
 
 •■Thf Piirtrait." ■•Tin- l^lnlallLe ot l.aTour. 
 " Beaubassiii.' etc. 
 
 rORONTfl : 
 
 I'HF HKOlCiH PHINTI\(. C(.). 
 
 18%. 
 
Kiile 
 
 red acoirdinK- to Act of tin- Parlianicni ot T ,„ i ■ , 
 -^h. hundred „„d „,•„.„-«,•,, l"M,a,,\- '"'%'" "'^^ 
 oHice of .Ik. Minister of A^ricultur. ' ' '""''^'" 
 
 >ear one ihoiisand 
 Toronto, in the 
 
J 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMEMS 
 
 i 
 
 To enumerate, b\ iiiean> o\' lout note-., the references neces- 
 sar\ in a narrative such as 1 have attempted, would not onl\ 
 annov the reader, hut exasperate the printer. Vet I should not 
 lav down mv pen without mentioninjc the Memoirs of M. de 
 Bourrienne, Duchesse d'Abranles, Baron de Meneval, Prince 
 Mellernich, and the works ot' linbert de Saint-Amand, Louisa 
 Mulbach, Frederick Masson, and Lord Wolseley. No one could 
 write witii assurance ol' the h'irsl l-Impire without the aid of these 
 authors, and 1 wisli to make this acknowledijment t:f their invalu- 
 able assistance. 
 
 iHl- \l TllOR. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 rilAPii.K 
 
 I. 1''orti;nk's Smii.k, - " - 
 
 II. CllATK.M- Hi. AM - - - - - - 
 
 II I. Ski. MA, - - - - » • « • 
 
 iV. .\(;ui;i;ahi.k 1.\ii'Ui:ssio\, ... 
 
 V. SlI.i;\CK IS (ioi.PK.V, - - - 
 
 VI. .\ Di:i.i.AK.\Tio\, - - . -, ,. 
 
 V'li. .Anxii-tiks Wii.i. Xhvkk t'i;Asi;, - - - 
 
 V'lII. Till-: RKSii.r oi- thk .AiiinHNT, 
 
 IX. TfiuKK Gknti.k.mkn 1 kom 1'auis, - 
 
 \. TlIK FlNIMNC. OV A TkKASIKK, - . - 
 
 XI. A SoiAi) OV HrssAKs Comk On oi- riih Xionr, 
 
 XII. .\ .MOKNI.NU DrIVK, - - - - 
 
 XIII. The Seckhtakv Shdws His Hanp, 
 
 XIV. A Has la Cocaudk, . . - . - 
 XV. What oh Banyan Lkaknkp xv thk Hakkaiks, 
 
 XVI. ViVK I.'F.NH^KRKLK, - - - - " 
 
 XVI I. Thk WocNnHO Puisoner, - - - - 
 
 PAOK 
 
 I 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 '3 
 '7 
 
 22 
 
 ^5 
 
 2S 
 
 :>o 
 
 4.> 
 
 4« 
 
 51 
 
 57 
 62 
 
 67 
 
1 
 
! 
 
 THB LADY UI CHAIEAU BLANC. 
 
 \r 
 
 I OR I INI 
 
 ;k I. 
 
 ^Mll.l. 
 
 '1" \\!is a f^lorioiis nvMniiif,' in 
 the full o\' the >car 1814. 
 \;ipi)leiMi Horiaparto was 
 at {•:iba ; l.oiiis .Will, 
 was in Paris ; all France 
 was disseniblin^' tii the 
 l^ourhons, ami the Al- 
 lies at the foMj^ress oi 
 Vienna were tiuarreiiinji^ 
 "with one annther oxer the map of luirope. 
 The ea.'i'es tiiat ha.l fij,''urci.l so coiispicu- 
 ousl\ at Austei iii^., \\'af,'rani, KriedlanJ. 
 Boiocl' IukI suikienK disappeared, and 
 despite the protestations ol the soldiers, 
 the lleur-Lle-lis olthe restored Kin^'' lloated 
 priMidlv and deliantly in the hree/e from 
 the di>me of the Tuileries. it had be- 
 come danijferous \.o wear the tri-eokirs o\ 
 tlu' limpire ; patriotic to wear the white 
 of the HourhiMis ; and while I'ivv T Eni- 
 pcn'Uf was uttered with fear aiul trem- 
 Hlint,'', \'ivf Ic A'ci was sjuniteil uith an 
 exultation that threatened to rend the 
 sky. It was stranf.;:"e to many tint they 
 had not realized hetore iiou tnueh thev 
 loved the Kinj^' ; it was extraoniinary 
 that they had not perceived sooner the 
 rapidity with which U petit coi-pornl was 
 leading' !•" ranee to ruin. It was surprising 
 how easily they coidd reconcile themselves 
 to the return of the cniii^n's, who for 
 years had hcen tii^hting against France 
 like brother against brother, and it was 
 equally surprising how easiU they could 
 
 submit to the exile of the m.in who, out ol 
 the chaos ol the Re\c)lution, had made 
 l-'rance. W\ there were men in I'aris 
 who tullv understood the situation, and 
 although they were prudent enough to 
 keep their ctxiviction.s beneath the sur- 
 face, they could 11. * I. elp teeiing contempt 
 lor mail) \\\\o. havii ^ profitted under tlie 
 limperor, were nov I. uding- the King. 
 
 .\t the I. ion i Or iiii in the V uboiTg 
 St. .Antoine, on the morniiv, ilready cited, 
 three army orticers s'' chatting' together 
 o\er' the present . iti of afl.nrs. (laspard 
 Lennnit, the pri^prutor oi the inn, a bust- 
 ling little man in shin sleeves and apron, 
 with a face as round and as rubic md as 
 a harvest moon, was lookinj.^ after the 
 comforts o\ his guests with an attention 
 which was alnuist obsequious. It was 
 Monsieur le Colonel de Banyan this, and 
 Monsieur le Major de Brissac that, and 
 Monsieur le Captain Martello something 
 else, with a politeness which led a man, 
 who stood guzzling gin at the bar, to be- 
 lieve that the Lion d'Or inn was at that 
 moment honored with distinguished 
 guests. But when he discovered that 
 these men were only half-pay oflicers, he 
 shrugged his shoulders and resumed his 
 drinking with a cynical expression of 
 countenance that was decidedly uncom- 
 plimentary. F'inally, however, this 
 knowing customer, having imbibed a suf- 
 tic'=»nt quantity of gin to render his equi- 
 
THK l.\^^■ ov cwvvv.w lu.wc. 
 
 librium somewhat dubious, left the inn. 
 and there bein^' no more customers to 
 serve at that moment, the attentive pro- 
 prietor drew ofl" to await the possible re- 
 quirements of his military patrons, with 
 a hope that he mig^h: overhear their con- 
 versation. 
 
 " So the Due de Barri is to review the 
 troops to-day," said Major de Hrissac, re- 
 moving; his pipe and blowinij a cloud of 
 smoke into the air with a toss of the head 
 that mifjht have meant contempt. 
 
 This man was short and rather thick- 
 set, with a round, ruddy face, curly black 
 hair and side whiskers, black eyes and 
 short, thick nose. His imiform was that 
 of the .\rtillery. 
 
 "These Bourbons apparently take 
 ijreat pleasure in showint; themselves otV 
 to the soldiers," said Captain Martello, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 The Captain was quite a younj,'' man, 
 havinfj a bronzed thoujjh merry face, blue 
 e_\es, fair hair and a Grecian nose. He 
 was tall of stature and had the phvsique 
 of an athlete. His uniform was that o( 
 the — th Hussars. 
 
 " The old idea of royalty has not gone 
 out of them," said the Major. "Their 
 doings are not what the people were led 
 to expect." 
 
 " They are taking the wrong course," 
 said Colonel de Banvan. " There is no 
 policy in declaring the people of the Km- 
 pire rebels, nor is it decent ot them to 
 starve and abuse the men who have help- 
 ed to make I-" ranee. The country was 
 never prosperous under these hated Bour- 
 bons, and she has been glorious under the 
 Kmperor." 
 
 " They treat us like Cossacks !" ex- 
 claimed de Brissac, with a tierce scow!. 
 
 " They are making enemies," cried the 
 C'olonel, with spirit. " They will hear 
 trom the people soon." 
 
 Colonel de Banyan, in the brilliant uni- 
 form of the (hiard Chasseurs, was a fine 
 
 specimen of a soldier of the Kmpire. His 
 figure was tall, broad-shouldered, findv 
 proportioned, and as straight as an arrow 
 His face was bronzed by the suns o| 
 man\ lands ; across his left cheek was a 
 long reil scar, the result of a Russian 
 sabr • cut at Borodino. His eyes were 
 large and of a deep brown or hazel. His 
 hair was black and wavy. His lioman 
 features denoted great force, endurance 
 and determination, and while there werv 
 evidences of fierceness and severity, there 
 were also indications of gentleness and 
 good fellowship. 
 
 .\ tew moments of silence ensued, dur- 
 ing which de Banyan smoked vigorously. 
 Martello was the first to speak. 
 
 "It is starvation to remain here in 
 faris," said he. 
 
 "If we e\er expect to join the Emperor 
 at Elba, we should lose no time about it," 
 said de Brissac. 
 
 " Suppose we start the day after to- 
 morrow y" said de Banyan. 
 
 "Why not to-morrow?" cried Mar- 
 tello. 
 
 'Why not to-day?" exclaimed de 
 Brissac. " 1 am getting sick of being 
 treated like a dog." 
 
 " Well, let us consider the matter," 
 said de Banyan. 
 
 In the discussion which followed, de 
 Banyan's suggestion lo start in two da>s 
 was agreed upon ; then they rose from 
 their seats, drank a toast to the Emperor, 
 paiil their reckoning, and were about to 
 leave the inn, when the door opened and 
 gave admittance to a rather genteel-look- 
 ing stranger. He was dressed in the 
 extreme of fashion and seemed to have 
 popped out o( a band-box. He viewed 
 his surroundings for a moment with an 
 air of disgust, as if the odor of liquor and 
 the plainness o( the room affected him 
 greatly. h'inally, perceiving de Banyan 
 and his friends, he approached them with 
 an air of diHidence. 
 
 " ' 
 seeniil 
 
 think I 
 
 whi 
 
 tance| 
 
 probi 
 
 Coloil 
 
 Chasj 
 
 he ?"] 
 
 * * 
 
 at vol 
 
% 
 
 i 
 
 rnK i.ADN OK fUA'i i:Ar ni.wc 
 
 he fimpire. JH, 
 inildered, findv 
 ^'ht as an arrow. 
 
 y the suns ,,| 
 
 ->'t cheek was ;, 
 
 "f" a Riissiiti, 
 
 "is eyes wen 
 
 or hazel. His 
 
 Hi-'< Homan 
 
 fee, endurance 
 
 lile there wero 
 
 severity, there 
 gentleness and 
 
 e ensued, dur- 
 ed vig^orously. 
 eak. 
 
 '"ain here in 
 
 n the Emperor 
 ime about it," 
 
 day after to- 
 cried Mar- 
 
 ■ xclaimed de 
 ick of beinfr 
 
 tile matter," 
 
 Collowed, de 
 : in two days 
 sy rose from 
 he Emperor, 
 -•■e about to 
 
 opened and 
 renteel-look- 
 ''ied in the 
 ed to have 
 
 He viewed 
 nt with an 
 f" liquor and ^ 
 
 ffected him 
 tie Banyan 
 
 them with 
 
 " I betj pardon, i,'-entiemen. for tliis 
 seeininijf iiitrus on," saiil ho. " Hut I 
 think I liave business with one of you 
 which may prove o\ considerable impor- 
 tance. I was infornied that I should 
 probably liiul Colonel de Banyan here 
 Colonel .Maurice de Banyan, of the (niard 
 Chasseurs. Which of you gentlemen is 
 he ?" 
 
 " I am Colonel de Banyan, monsieur, 
 at vour service," said that worthy, step- 
 ping forward. 
 
 The expression of the stranger's face 
 changed, as if he had been suddenly re- 
 lieved of a great burden. 
 
 " Well, monsieur," said he, somewhat 
 jocosely, " It is the devil's own chase 1 
 have had for you. To find a man in 
 Paris, without knowing anything oi' his 
 haunts, is like iuuuing a pearl in the 
 sand. .My name is Argeneau, and it 
 grieves me to say that i am the bearer of 
 sad news." 
 
 " .Ah, indeed," exclaimed de Banyan, 
 seriously. 
 
 " Yes, monsieur. The fact is, your 
 uncle, .M. le Cieneral Baron de Banyan, 
 whom i have had the honour of serving as 
 private secretary, was stricken with apo- 
 plexy three days ago." 
 
 " .)/o// />/'<•«.' then — " 
 
 " Monsieur, the stroke was fatal." 
 
 " Ah, />(ir/>/L'ii .' that is sail news in- 
 deed." 
 
 As de Banyan e;diibiled deep t'eeling, 
 the stranger waited a few moments, din- 
 ing which time he helped himself to a 
 pinch of snuff from a beautifully wrougiit 
 .snuffbox, then contiiuieil : 
 
 " Being his private secretary, monsieur,, 
 1 took the liberty to enquire into his af- 
 fairs to some extetU, and fuuling that you 
 were the nearest o\ kin, and therefore 
 heir to his estates, I made it m_\ business 
 to hunt you up and inform you o\' what 
 has happened." 
 
 " N'ou did right. Monsieur Argeneau, 
 
 and perhaps I shall have the opportunity 
 o\' showing my appreciation and grati- 
 tude." 
 
 Here de Banyan turned to his friends. 
 
 " Vou see, m\- dear friends." said he, 
 " it will be necessary for me to leave 
 i*aris to-night." 
 
 " We heartily congratulate you, Maur- 
 ice," saidde Brissac, somewhat jubilanth. 
 
 "Congratulate me I" exclaimed de 
 Banyan, with an expression which had in 
 it evidences of surprise and disapproval. 
 
 The Major was quick to perceive that 
 he had said the wrong thing. Vet it was 
 only an instance of one man judging an- 
 other by himself. .As he was somewhat 
 diplomatic, however, he felt it necessary 
 to justify his remark. 
 
 " Well," said he, in a voice that hinted 
 of chagrin. " The death of an uncle is, 
 1 presume, sad. But when th.at uncle is 
 rich, and leaves his gilded slippers for his 
 nephew to step into, that nephew, 1 take 
 it, is in .1 fair position to be congratu- 
 lated." 
 
 " Still we should not fail in our respect 
 to the dead, my tiear l.ucien," returned 
 de Banyan, somewhat coldly. " The 
 baron was m\' father's brother, and des- 
 pite the fact that a quarrel early in mv 
 bo\ hood kept me trom him, let me assure 
 you, though I inherit his riches, his death 
 is a severe blow to me." 
 
 " Then pra\ pardon me, my dear Maur- 
 ice, tor my impertinence?" 
 
 "Certainlv, my dear friend. i shall 
 see you and I-om's again, after i have set- 
 tled my uncle's affairs. .As soon as you 
 can, join me at Chateau Blanc near 
 Rouillc, in the department of Seine-et- 
 .Marne,then we shall makefurtherarrange- 
 ments. .Meanwhile, adieu. .As 1 shall ride 
 to my uncle's estate to night, I must at 
 once secure a passage in the afternoon 
 diligence." 
 
 Here the stranger spoke up. 
 
 " Thinking that vou miirht wish to re- 
 
rilK I.Ain Ol" (. HATHA r iu.anc. 
 
 turn with nic, Monsieur le Colonel. I took 
 the liberty o( brinj,''int,' the baron's car- 
 riage. It is at the Three Dolphins, at 
 your disposal," 
 
 " \'oii are a prutlent man. monsieur." 
 said de Banyan, with a look of approval. 
 " It may be tliat 1 shall tieed you in my 
 service, f shall not forget \ou. .\nd 
 now my good tViends, as my affairs will 
 need some attention before 1 can leave 
 the city, I shall bid you adieu." 
 
 He shook hands with the Major and 
 the Captain, and, accompanied by Mon- 
 sieur Argeneau, departed. 
 
 "Nevertheless, Captain," said the 
 Major, as de Banyan disappeared, " I 
 think the Colonel a lucky dog. Fortune 
 seems to smile on him always at the most 
 opportune moment." 
 
 " He is a luckv dog and no mistake. 
 But if I were in his place, and were so 
 suddenl)- bereft of an uncle, whose estates 
 are worth several millions oi francs, 1 
 
 couUl find plenty of consolation in stei- 
 ping into the old man's shoes, and 1 fe. 1 
 certain that I could manage to wort \ 
 along without him. Kb ! Major?" 
 
 " Right you are, my dear Captain 
 But de Banyan never knew how to ap- 
 preciate the sm.les of fortune. I take i' 
 he is sighing row like a lo\e-Iorn maidei 
 oxer this bit of news, when he should bi 
 rejoicing over his good luck. Well, since 
 he will not rejoice, it follows that we 
 must, for it means a franc or two in our 
 own pockets. Maurice never forgets his 
 friends." 
 
 "Then here's to Colonel Baron de 
 Banyan." exclaimed the Captain, filling 
 two glasses from the decanter on the 
 table. " May he live long to enjoy his 
 wealth." 
 
 " I heartily endorse the sentiment " 
 >aid de Brissac. 
 
 -And they drained their glasses to the 
 bottom. 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 il.ition in step- 
 >es, and I fV. l 
 aj^c to won > 
 ■NFajor ?" 
 ilear Captain 
 V liow to ap- 
 ine. I take i^ 
 e-lorn niaiden 
 lie should be 
 Weil, sinci- 
 lows that wt 
 or two in our 
 er forffets his 
 
 lel Baron de 
 
 aptain, filiin<,r 
 
 anter on the 
 
 to enjoy his 
 
 e sentiment " 
 
 lasses to the 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 T was late in the 
 afternoon. De Ban- 
 yan sat in his car- 
 riage, silent and re- 
 flective. His com- 
 panion, Monsieur 
 Argeneau, hati sev- 
 eral times attempted 
 to converse with him, 
 but failing to draw- 
 
 melancholy was there to contradict the 
 inference. It was certain, however, that 
 he placed considerable importance on 
 reaching the chateau as soon as possible, 
 and the sound of the postilion's whip and 
 voice was music in his ears. They had 
 travelled thus for some distance, when de 
 Banyan saw fit to address his companion. 
 "By-the-by," said he, "I believe you 
 intimated, when we first met, that I was 
 
 fo rth anything more the sole heir to the Baron's estate ; are 
 
 than monosyllables, had finally subsided, you sure of this ?" 
 
 and to all appearances was endeavoring The prospect of a conversation animat- 
 to sleep in the seat opposite. ed the face of Monsieur Argeneau. He 
 De Banyan's countenance was sad. He was one ot those men who enjo\ aeon- 
 sat with his arms folded, and his chin low versation and are usually found trouble- 
 down in his collar. Now and again he some just when one does not wish to 
 heaved a sigh, which told of the melan- talk. 
 
 choly working of his mind, of which his "I believe the estate is strictly entail- 
 companion each time took notice with a ed, monsieur," said he. " \'ou are, so 
 furtive glance of his drowsy eyes. The far as I am able to discover, the only heir 
 postilion cracked his whip frequently, and of the male line, and unless Mademoiselle 
 urged on his horses with all the enthusi- Selma has some claim, I know of no 
 
 asm of one who realizes that time and 
 tide wait for no man, and that the emer- 
 gency of the moment is of vast import- 
 ance. Hence the carriage lumbered 
 
 other." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Selma !" exclaimed de 
 Banyan, in surprise. "Who is she?" 
 
 "Oh, do vou not know, monsieur? 
 
 along the dusty road with many a lunge She is the Baron's adopted daughter." 
 
 and many a swerve that was unpleasant "The devil!" 
 
 to its occupants, but nevertheless did not De Banyan settled back in his seat and 
 
 elicit from them the wish to decrease the looked at Argeneau in astonishment. 
 
 speed. It would seem that de Banyan " I was not aware of this," said he. 
 
 was anxious to assume his new m/c of "No one else knows of it either. She 
 
 Baron. It would seem that he thought is generally supposed to be his daughter." 
 
 his uncle's riches might fly before he could "But he was married?" 
 
 get possession of them ; yet his extreme "Yes, in Egypt; but his wife died be- 
 
THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 fore he returned to Fnmce. He adopted 
 the child in Eg-ypt." 
 
 "Strang-e I never knew of this." 
 "Monsieur le Haron was very careful 
 that it should not be known." 
 
 "It throws another light on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "The estate is strictly entailed, mon- 
 sieur, and can only pass to you." 
 
 "But this girl must be provided for." 
 "There is enough for both, monsieur." 
 "Perhaps she is already provided for." 
 "Tiiat is not unlikely, monsieur." 
 "There is a will, of course?" 
 "Oh yes." 
 
 "Do you know its purport?" 
 "No." 
 
 "How did you know o( me?" 
 "Monsieur le Haron liad spoken of you 
 quite often. Besides, tiiere are directions 
 on the back of the will." 
 "And \ou came at once?" 
 "Immediately after his death." 
 "Why did you not come before? \'ou 
 say he was stricken three days ago." 
 
 "We were greatly excited, monsieur. 
 1 did not think of you." 
 
 "But did not my uncle ask for me?" 
 "He was unconscious from the moment 
 he was stricken." 
 
 ".Vnd Mademoiselle Selma?" 
 "She knew nothing o[ you whatever." 
 De Banyan was more anxious than ever 
 to reach his destination. Several times 
 he urged the postillion to increase the 
 speed, but it was late in the night when 
 they reached the chateau. 
 
 it was a beautiful place, and in the 
 moonlight de Banyan perceived that the 
 edilice and surroundings were not over- 
 pretentious, but were well in keeping 
 with the unostentatious spirit ol' the late 
 baron. There was also evidence of the 
 building having, at some time or other, 
 served as a fortress as well as a dwelling. 
 There were heavy stone walls with battle- 
 ments, two great stone towers, a stone 
 
 stairway leading to the entrance, and 
 also indications of there once having 
 been a drawbridge and a moat. Taken 
 all together, it had rather a formidable 
 appearance to those who were not of 
 its hou.sehold. 
 
 De Banyan was not long in gaining 
 admittance, and, escorted by .-^rgeneau, 
 he immediately repaired to the library. 
 At present he was more like the gue.st 
 than the proprietor of the establishment, 
 and was quite satisfied to let .Argeneau 
 do the honors. His arrival evidently was 
 expected. .Argeneau rang, and a servant 
 entered. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron de Banyan has ar- 
 rived," said he. "Inform Madame Mort- 
 ier that we will lunch here." 
 
 "And who is Madame Mortier?" said 
 de Banyan, after the servant had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Tiie housekeeper, monsieur. As good 
 a soul as ever lived. She was mademoi- 
 selle's nurse." 
 
 "And does she know of this Egyptian 
 affair?" 
 
 "^'es. but she is ignorant of mademoi- 
 selle's origin. .AH she knows is the fact 
 that when General de Banyan was aide- 
 de-camp to General Bonaparte at Cairo, 
 he was possessed of the whim to adopt a 
 female infant." 
 
 De Banyan could not suppress a smile. 
 "Rather a strange whim for a soldier, 
 was it not?" said he lightlv. 
 
 "There was a reason for it," answered 
 .Argeneau quickly. 
 
 "Oh. I don't doubt it in the least. But 
 this Madame Mortier, is she trustworthy?" 
 "Quite, as women go." 
 "\'oii mean -" 
 
 "She should ne\er know more about 
 this affair than she does at present." 
 "1 understand." 
 
 The con\ersation was interrupted by 
 the entrance of two servants with the 
 luncheon. .As de Banyan and .Argeneau 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 '^k 
 
 were both hungry, and the presence of 
 the servants prevented them renewing- 
 the topic, very little was said while the 
 luncheon was being disposed of. De 
 Banyan was thoughtful, and made only a 
 few commonplace remarks. x^rgeneau 
 showed a tendency to lead the conver- 
 sation, but it finally dawned upon him 
 that de Banyan was not giving the atten- 
 tion he desired, and he therefore deemed 
 it prudent to finish his lunch in silence. 
 As de Banyan was raising a glass of rare 
 old Burgundy to his lips, he paused sud- 
 denly, and, holding the glass aloft, sat 
 looking at it contemplatively. 
 
 "Monsieur ."Vrgeneau," said he, still 
 looking at his glass, "we will not disturb 
 the papers to-night. Such haste would 
 he disrespectful to the dead. 1 desire, 
 therefore, to wait until after the 
 funeral." 
 
 He drank his wine and set down the 
 glass. 
 
 "As you please, monsieur," said Ar- 
 geneau. "I am at your service." 
 
 "But," continued de Banyan, " I de- 
 sire you to conduct me to the room con- 
 taining my uncle's remains, before I re- 
 tire for the night." 
 
 He rose from the table as he spoke. 
 .\rgeneau rose also. 
 
 "Certainly, monsieur," said Argeneau. 
 "It is an easy matter. The room is near 
 at hand." 
 
 They passed along a wide corridor ; 
 then, turning to the left, entered the death 
 chamber. The room was lighted only by 
 the ciuidles which burned at the bier of 
 the dead baron. As they entered, a 
 young woman, who had been kneeling at 
 the side of the corpse, suddenly rose to 
 her feet, turned a frightened face to. the 
 intruders, then hurriedly left the room by 
 another door. 
 
 "It is mademoiselle," said .Argeneau. 
 "She was much attached to the Baron." 
 
 "I am sorrv I have disturbed her," 
 
 said de Banyan, drawing back. " Per- 
 haps I had better retire." 
 
 "She will not return, monsieur," said 
 .Argeneau. 
 
 "In that case, then, leave me, but re- 
 main within call. I-'or a few moments I 
 wish to be alone." 
 
 As .Argeneau left the room, de Banyan 
 advanced a few paces and stood beside 
 the casket. 
 
 It was a grand old face upon which he 
 gazed ; the face of a soldier, wrinkled and 
 weather-beaten, though pallid now in 
 death. The white hair, falling about it, 
 made it venerable. The long, deep scar 
 across it from brow to cheek, telling of a 
 sabre cut, made it heroic. The finely- 
 shaped mouth, hinting of mildness and 
 generosity, made it lovable. The high, 
 broad brow, suggesting benevolence and 
 an elevated mind, made it honorable. 
 The broad prominent chin, the large 
 aquiline nose, the breadth oi' head be- 
 tween the ears, the heav\ jaw, suggesting 
 great executive ability, made it a formid- 
 able coiuitenance, and filled one with awe 
 and respect. The body was of splendid 
 size and proportion, and was clothed in 
 the uniform of a General of Division. It 
 lay in a casket of mahogany, which rested 
 upon a pall of black velvet, and was sur- 
 rounded by candles, according to the 
 Catholic faith. There was no other light 
 in the room. 
 
 De Banyan stood for a time, with hands 
 clasped before him and head bowed. He 
 seemed to be studying the face as if to fix 
 it in his memory. Occasionally he heaved 
 a sigh, which told ot the sadness within. 
 Nearly eighteen years had passed since 
 he had quarrelled with the man who now 
 lay dead before him. He had not been 
 beneath his uncle's roof since, tior had he 
 so much as exchanged a word with him. 
 Now he regretted it all, and he was deep- 
 ly affected that he had not received his 
 uncle's pardon before the hand of death 
 
8 
 
 THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 had snatched the opportunity from him 
 for ever. Finally, however, he aroused 
 himself and looked slowly about the room; 
 then, with a half-ling-erin^ s^aze at the 
 corpse, he started for the doorway. On 
 his way his attention was arrested by an 
 object on the floor. He stooped and 
 picked it up. It was a lady's handker- 
 chief. He looked about the room, looked 
 at the handkerchief, hesitated, then, put- 
 ting the handkerchief in his pocket, open- 
 ed the door. 
 
 "Argeneau," said he, in a low voice. 
 "Here, monsieur," was the answer. 
 "Conduct me to my apartments." 
 Argeneau complied in silence. At the 
 door de Banvan paused. 
 
 "My uncle must have died suddenly," 
 said he. 
 
 ."He was stricken in the forenoon, and 
 died on the third day," said Argeneau. 
 "He was alone at the time of the attack. 
 Upon entering the library two hours after 
 he had breakfasted, I found him uncon- 
 scious. He was beyond the power of 
 medical aid before the doctor arrived." 
 " Had he been ailing at all?" 
 "No, I believe not. I never heard him 
 complain of anything, except an occa- 
 sional heavy pain in the chest." 
 "It was indeed sudden." 
 "Very." 
 
 "When will the fimeral take place?" 
 "To-morrow, at three o'clock." 
 "Very well. Good night, Argeneau." 
 "Good night. Monsieur le Baron, and 
 may your sleep hi sweet." 
 
 De Banyan stood in the lialf-opened 
 doorway, watching Argeneau as he passed 
 down the corridor. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron," murmured de 
 Banyan. "How strange it sounds. It 
 is a title I had never hoped for, and yet, 
 if it were not for the charter which Louis 
 XVI 1 1, has been compelled to grant the 
 people of France, I doubt if I should he 
 anything more than plain Monsieur, even 
 
 with my uncle's riches to lend me influ- 
 ence." 
 
 His right hand was resting upon the 
 lintel of the door ; he leaned his brow up- 
 on it, and for a momen. contemplated the 
 floor. Then, with a dejp sigh, he stepped 
 within the room, and a.l grewstill through- 
 out the corridor. 
 
 CHAPTKR HI. 
 
 SELM.\. 
 
 Morning came, and with it a glorious 
 sunshine, clear skies, and the songs of 
 birds. Selma de Banyan sat at the win- 
 dow of her boudoir, gazing pensively out 
 at the park, with her chin in her hand 
 and her elbow on the window-sill. Now 
 and then she bowed her head upon her 
 arms and wept so that her whole form 
 shook with her sobbing. Then, drying 
 her eyes, she resumed her former occupa- 
 tion of gazing out at the park. 
 
 She was attired in a black gown, which 
 fell about her in graceful folds, and gave 
 tii the eye an agreeable conception of a 
 beautiful figure. A snowy neck, a shape- 
 ly head, crowned with a wealth of golden 
 tresses, a pink-and-white complexion that 
 seemed like wax in contrast with her 
 black gown, superb eyes, a fine nose, a 
 beautiful mouth, together with a bright 
 intelligent brow, were enough in them- 
 selves to win the admiration of the most 
 critical. But, to the close observer, there 
 was more to be admired than beautiful 
 features. There was the expression of 
 soul within, combined with womanly dig- 
 nity, sympathy, strength of character, 
 and- crowning all a sweet unconscious- 
 ness of self. She was probably not ox'or 
 seventeen, and, despite a suggestion of 
 inexperience with the world, there was 
 every evidence of quick-wittedness and 
 independence. 
 
 The room in which she sat was a most 
 inviting apartment, with panelled walls, 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 and ceiling tinted with pink, purple and 
 gold, and was furnished in the height of 
 fashion. The number of rugs, portieres, 
 divans and easy chairs to be seen sug- 
 gested every comfort. A harp stood in 
 one corner of the room, in company with 
 a lute and a cabinet of music. There was 
 also a well-filled bookcase, and a dainty 
 little escritore. On the walls were beau- 
 tiful pictures, and on an easel in another 
 corner was a full-sized painting oi the 
 late Baron di^ Banyan. A marble mantel, 
 with a V^enetian mirror reaching to the 
 ceiling, and embellished with a deep 
 frame of gold, supported a number of 
 knick-knacks of a lady's choosing and a 
 pretty clock of Italian marble. F^om a 
 rosette in the ceiling depended a candela- 
 bra of twenty-five candles. .\t the farther 
 end of the room a door opened into a 
 sleeping apartment. To the left of this, 
 in the adjoining wall, was the door which 
 opened into the corridor. 
 
 It was evident that Selma had been 
 reared in luxury, and if she knew not 
 how to meet the trials and tribulations oi 
 life it was through no fault of hers. The 
 death of Baron de Banyan, whom she had 
 looked upon as her father, was her first 
 great grief. She had never known her mo- 
 ther, but had loved the Baron with all her 
 heart. He had ever been kind and indul- 
 gent, and, now that he was no more, she 
 was quite irreconcilable. Madame Mor- 
 tier had sought to console her, but to no 
 purpose. She freo,uently entered the room 
 unannounced, looked solicitously at the 
 sorrowing maiden, spoke a few comfort- 
 ing words, and disappeared ; only to en- 
 ter again in a few moments with a look 
 of sympathy, and then disappear w ithout 
 saying anything. Presently, however, 
 she entered with a smile on her face. She 
 was a short, thick-set woman, with a full 
 round face, and with hair and eyes as 
 black as jet. She held in her hand a deli- 
 cate lace haiidkerchief. 
 
 "Why, nurse," said Selma, "what 
 have you there?" 
 
 "Your handkerchief, my love. Mon- 
 sieur the new baron gave it me, with his 
 compliments to you. He picked it up 
 last night in the room where monsieur 
 your papa lies." 
 
 "The new baron, dear nurse! Has 
 he come so soon!" 
 
 "Yes, my pretty one." 
 
 "Then it was he who entered the room 
 last night with M. .\rgeneau." 
 
 "He arrived last night, deary, anJ he 
 seems a very pleasant young man tc meet. 
 He wished me to convey his deepest sym- 
 pathy to you, and say that he is at your 
 service and awaits your command." 
 
 "He is very kind, but I shall not com- 
 mand him, nurse; at least, not at present. 
 My heart is too full of grief. But tell 
 me, what is he like? Is he handsome? 
 You say he is }oung?" 
 
 "He is both young and handsome, 
 and, judging from the scar upon his face, 
 he is brave." 
 
 " Indeed ! Is the scar like that of 
 papa's ?" 
 
 "Yes, only crossing the face at a differ- 
 ent angle." 
 
 "Then he is a soldier?" 
 
 "He is a colonel of chasseurs." 
 
 "Only a colonel! Papa was a general." 
 
 "True ; but Monsieur le Colonel is 
 young. It takes time to become a gen- 
 eral. Besides, our little man is not in 
 Paris now, you know, and the good King 
 Louis is at peace with the world." 
 
 "Why do you say the good King Louis, 
 nurse? Is he so good? Only a short 
 time ago I heard you say ' Long live the 
 Emperor.' " 
 
 "The King rules, my love. The Em- 
 peror is no longer a person of power. 
 There is a reason for it, and it makes a 
 difference." 
 
 "But the Emperor will return. Coun- 
 tess de Vilma has told me so." 
 
lO 
 
 THE LAD^• OF CAHTEAU BLANC. 
 
 "The countess had better not tell any 
 one else, my clear," said Madame Mor- 
 tier, as she ijently smoothed Selma's 
 heautil'iil hair. "It may s,'-et abroad that 
 she is here." 
 
 "And if it should-'" 
 
 "The countess would be in i^reat dan- 
 gcr. The Bonapartists are reijarded with 
 suspicion. Countess de Vilma is here 
 tor a |iurpose. She has risked a jjfreat 
 deal in cominji^ to France, tor there are 
 many spies in the service oi' Fouchc to 
 look after and denounce those who are 
 suspected of conspiracy ag'ainst the 
 Kin<4'." 
 
 ".Are thinti;-s so bad as that then-*" 
 
 "For the Bonapartists, quite; for the 
 royalists, no. France is at peace. We 
 do not now send our brave younj^ men to 
 meet the horrors of war. There are no 
 more conscriptions. No more breaknii;' 
 of hearts. \o more desoiatini^ ot fire- 
 sides. We can now live without catch- 
 injjf our breath at the souml of every 
 drum-beat." 
 
 "But if the I{mperor should return 
 
 ".May the y^ood Ciod forbid it! But 
 come, my dear, let us think no more 
 oi' it. Lei us enjo\' the peace we have. 
 Wh.'it shall 1 say to Monsieur le Baron?" 
 
 "What shall you say? Why let me 
 see — say oh, well, say that I appreciate 
 his kindness, and and well, tell him 
 that 1 hope soon to see him. At present 
 
 oh, I leave it to \ou, dear nurse. Say 
 somethiiii^ about a welcome here, or any- 
 thiiii,' you like that ma\ seem proper. 
 My poor brain plays me sad tricks; I do 
 not seem able to think at all." 
 
 " ^'ou poor dear. Vou shall not be 
 disturbed ai^-^ain to-day." 
 
 .Nhidame .Mortier bent o\er and kissed 
 her fondly, then re-arranjj^ed the cushions 
 about her. 
 
 "There now, my precious, make your- 
 self comfortable, and try to fori,''et your 
 troubles." 
 
 " .\h, nurse, 1 do try; but how can I 
 forjjfet that my ijood, kind papa is dead?" 
 
 She burst into tears aijain, and it was 
 some time before ^Lldame Mortier could 
 console her. Just as she had succeeded 
 in dryintj the your<^''^nrrs tears, however, 
 and while Selma was af,'ain contemplat- 
 ini^' the park, tht;re was a iif^ht knock at 
 the door from the corridor. Madame 
 Mortier answered it, and ushered in a lady 
 whom she announced as Countess de 
 \'ilma. 
 
 .Madame la Comtesse had never been 
 considered beautiful, but there was much 
 about her that was attractive. She had 
 tine eyes, a clear complexion, a j^ood 
 mouth, an aquiline nose, and a high fore- 
 head, over which her jet black hair was 
 arr.'inifed in short curls, after the fashion 
 of Madame de Stack Her features were 
 usuallx lighted with a pleasant smile, 
 which maue one forget that they had not 
 been modelled after the prevailing tjpeof 
 beauty. Her iigure was of medium height, 
 and inclined to be stout, but its defects 
 were considerably overcome by the splen- 
 did taste she displayed in her garments. 
 As she entered, Selma greeted her with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Ah, madame," said she, "it is so 
 good of you to come to me." 
 
 The countess approached, and, kneel- 
 ing beside the young girl, passed her 
 hand affectionately over her sunny tresses. 
 
 ".My dear Selma, I could not stay 
 away longer," said she. "It grieves me 
 to see \ou so sad. 1 thought I might be 
 o\ some ser\ ice to you." 
 
 "That is kind of you, madame. Let 
 mo assure you that your presence and 
 sympathy are of great help to me." 
 
 .Madame Mortier quietly left the room. 
 Comitess de \'ilma turned as the door 
 closed, and saw that there were no others 
 present. 
 
 W 
 
 \v 
 
 e are alone, are we not, mv dear?' 
 
 d she 
 
THK f.ADV OF CHATKAL' BLANC. 
 
 1 1 
 
 "V'es, madame, quite. Madame Mor- 
 tier is the only one who enters unan- 
 nounced." 
 
 "And can you trust her?" 
 "Trust her!" exclaimed Selma, with a 
 look of surprise. " Why, madame, she 
 was my nurse. In fact, she is the only 
 mother 1 have ever known. Besides, I 
 have no reason to distrust any one." 
 
 The countess smiled, and ag'ain passed 
 her hand over the golden tresses. 
 
 " V'ou have not seen much of the world, 
 my dear," said she benig-nly. 
 
 ".And is the world so bad, madame, 
 that we must distrust the people in 
 it?" 
 
 Madame la Comtesse a rose, and seated 
 herself in an easy chair opposite the young- 
 girl. The expression of her face was half 
 pity, half cynicism, yet she smiled. 
 
 "The world is full of intrigue, my 
 love," she said, after a moment spent in 
 re.iding the young girl's innocent coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 ".And why, dear countess? " 
 "Why? Because men and women are 
 ambitious. Because there are evil de- 
 signings of one against the other. Be- 
 cause a king reigns to-day, and an em- 
 peror ekes out an existence on a miser- 
 able little island called Elba. Ah, my 
 dear, the world is so full ol' contention, 
 intrigue, and political bickering that we 
 know not whom to trust. Once this 
 emperor had the world at his feet; he 
 made kings and queens, and there was 
 not a nation that did not tremble at his 
 shadow; but now, through the treachery 
 of those whom he has raised to the promin- 
 ence they never could have g-iined with- 
 out his help, he has been crushed and 
 banished." 
 
 "But he will return, madame? He will 
 not always be in exile?" 
 
 The pleasantness in the countess' face 
 faded out; her eyes partly closed with 
 the lids qui'/ering ; the lips closed tightly 
 
 for an instant and the m; sseter muscles 
 contracted. 
 
 " Ves, he s/ia// return," said she be- 
 tween her close set teeth, and with a de- 
 cisive nod of the head. " The people do 
 not love these Bourbons. The limperor 
 muxi return, and before very long too, or 
 France will be lost to him forever." 
 
 Selma looked at Countess de Vilma in 
 surprise, then, failing to comprehend, 
 turned her attention to the view outside. 
 The countess looked at her pityingly. 
 She could not understand the young girl's 
 innocence. She judged every one by her- 
 self, and she felt that anyone who did not 
 understand the art of intrigue must be 
 very simple indeed. 
 
 During the moment she sat watching 
 Selma her countenance resumed its plea- 
 santness, and when Selma turned to look 
 at her again, it was surprising to find 
 how amiable she had become. 
 
 " It seems so strange," said Selma, 
 resuming the conversation. " I know so 
 little of the world. I have lived content- 
 edly here in this charming chateau, with 
 no other company than my teachers and 
 my nurse. Papa was always averse to 
 company, and I think I have never cared 
 for company until now. With mv music 
 and my painting my time has been fully 
 occupied, and I have concerned myself 
 very little about political matters. When 
 you speak as you do, madame, I feel that 
 I am very ignorant, and perhaps very 
 stupid." 
 
 " Not stupid, my dear, but unsophis- 
 ticated," said Countess de Vilma, with an 
 amiable smile. " A'ours has been a life 
 of happiness. Vou have dreamed your 
 time away in this beautiful chateau, and 
 now you are just awaking to the stern 
 realities of life. Methinks I envy you." 
 
 ' ' Ves, I have been happy. Papa was 
 so good to me, but now oh, madame, 
 I dread to think of the future, I shall be 
 so lonelv." 
 
I 2 
 
 TliK I.ADV OF CHATKAl' HI.ANC. 
 
 Tears f^usheil to her eyes iiijain, hut 
 she striij^'^led \o suppress them. The 
 countess, thinking to turn her tliout^lits 
 into another cliannel, bej,''an commentiiifj 
 upon a picture upon the wall. It was a 
 landscape in oil, and cleverly done. 
 
 " What a beautiful paintinj,'," said siie. 
 
 Selma's face lighted up with a smile. 
 
 " ^'ou arc kind to say so, madame," 
 said she. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear Selma. I cannot 
 help sayinjj so, if 1 wish to he truthful. 
 It is excellent." 
 
 " 1 am i^lad you like it. Papa liked it. 
 1 painted it for him." 
 
 " \'ou, dear !" exclaimed the countess 
 in surprise, al the same time rising and 
 approaching^ the painting for a closer in- 
 spection. 
 
 " \'e>i, niadanie. These are all mine 
 in this room." 
 
 " Indeed? Did you do that of the 
 baron, yonder ?" 
 
 " ^'es, madame." 
 
 The countess passed over to look at it. 
 
 " Why, Selma, you are indeed an art- 
 ist. Who was your instructor?" 
 
 " .Monsieiu- David, madaine." 
 
 " .\h he was under the patronatj"e of 
 the I--mperor. \'ou have received Hrst- 
 class instruction, my dear, but it is very 
 easy to see that you have talent." 
 
 " Thank you, madame." 
 
 "■ That is a speakint; likeness of the 
 baron." 
 
 The coiuitess contemplated it for a 
 moment in silence, then suddenly turned 
 from it and introduced a new topic. 
 
 " Oh, by-the-bye," said she, " Have 
 you seen the new baron yet ?" 
 
 " No, madame," replied Selma. "He 
 came only last nij^^-ht oh yes, I did see 
 him too, but it was in the dusk. He en- 
 tered the room where papa lies while I 
 
 was there, hut as I was somewhat alarm- 
 ed, I hurried out and had no time to ob- 
 serve him closely." 
 
 Countess de \'ilma turned and walked 
 slowly back to her seat, with a thought- 
 ful expression. 
 
 " I must se -• him, yet I must know his 
 politics befon we meet," said she, as if 
 thinking aloud. " Selma, dear, you can 
 help me here, if you will." 
 
 " 1 will, A I can, madame, but how?" 
 
 " Invite him here, and while 1 am hid- 
 ing behind that screen there, question 
 him about the Hmperor. I wish to know 
 if he favors His Majesty. Vou must know 
 thai my presence here is not without its 
 object. Had the baron, your papa, lived, 
 I should have accomplished my mission. 
 .Now it rests with the new baron whether 
 1 shall succeed. 1 am sure you are clev- 
 er enough to draw him out, and after I 
 have heard what he has to say, I shall 
 know better how to proceed. Will you 
 i.\o this?" 
 
 " 1 will try, madame, but you must 
 pardon me if I do not succeed. Shall I 
 send for him now ?" 
 
 " If you please. .Meanwhile I will hide 
 myself here. Whatever you do, be care- 
 ful not to s;iv anything about me." 
 
 " \ er\ well, madame, it shall be as you 
 wish." 
 
 Selma crossed the room and rang for 
 her maid. In a moment the door opened 
 and a rather attractive young woman en- 
 tered. 
 
 "Julie," said Selma, "Present my 
 compliments to Monsieur the new Baron 
 de Banyan, and say that I shall be pleas- 
 ed to receive him here, if he can make it 
 convenient to come." 
 
 The result of this message was that a 
 few moments later de Banyan stood be- 
 fore her. 
 
 I 
 
 
TUK LAn\- Ol- C'HATl-Al' IH.ANC. 
 
 13 
 
 CIIAI 
 
 AC.KKEAm.l-: 
 
 Colonel Baron Maurice tie Banyan was 
 in every respect a soldier. He thou}4ht 
 as a soldier, and deported himself jj-enor- 
 ally as a soldier. Marches, bivouacs and 
 battle-fields had been his lot from very 
 early manhood. The roar of cannon, the 
 rattle of musketry, the clash of sabres 
 had tended to ^ive him a nerve of iron. 
 Good comradeship, danf,'-ers, ambition, 
 had made him darinj^ and determined, 
 and had instilled into him the idea that 
 he must either win a general officer's 
 epaulets, or die the glorious death of a 
 brave soldier. Nevertheless, the moment 
 he crossed the threshold of Selma's 
 boudoir, and beheld her in all her inno- 
 cent young beauty, there came into his 
 life something which he had never known, 
 and from that moment he felt there was 
 something else to live for than a soldier's 
 honors. 
 
 He had had his dream of fair women, 
 and had formed his ideal; but his im- 
 poverished circumstances, acting like a 
 talisman against matrimony, had de- 
 veloped in him a mannerism which seemed 
 akin to indifference. His comrades often 
 joked him about this apparent aversion to 
 feminine loveliness, but with a smile he 
 went his way, and, aside from those 
 common-place pleasantries which are the 
 outcome of politeness, nothing was ever 
 noticed which might lead his friends to 
 believe that any serious impression had 
 been received. Now all was changed. 
 It is surprising how the sound of one 
 voice can touch the chord which sets the 
 
 ri'R i\-. 
 
 IMPKICSSIONS. 
 
 pulses tingling. It is also surprising 
 how quickl\ one recognizes a congenial 
 spirit. The moment de Banyan heard 
 the sound of Selma's voice there was born 
 in him a new hope, a new desire, and if 
 he stood with marked deference before 
 her, it was only in accordance with his 
 feelings of sympathy, respect and .id- 
 miration. 
 
 " It was kind of you, mademoiselle, to 
 send for me so soon," said he, with an 
 expression of countenance which signified 
 his pleasure. " I had not hoped for this 
 honor until " 
 
 He was about to say, until after the 
 funeral, but noticing the expression of 
 sadness upon the young girl's face, he 
 finished with, 
 
 "I'ntil some time later." 
 She looked at him with a smile, and 
 there was something in her eves which 
 reassured him. 
 
 " It is kind of you, monsieur, to show 
 me such consideration. Will vou not be 
 seated .»" 
 
 De Banyan thanked her, and drawing 
 a chair to a position which enabled him to 
 catch a glimpse of the scenery from the 
 window, and at the same time watch the 
 beautiful girl before him, he settled him- 
 self for a pleasant chat, wondering what 
 might be its outcome. 
 
 It was quite plain that Selma was un- 
 accustomed to the presence, of strange 
 gentlemen. She was slightly embarrass- 
 ed, but she had determined to do her 
 best, and instead of taking observations, 
 
'4 
 
 nil': l..\l)^ ov iii.\Ti:.\r ui.anc. 
 
 in iirdcr \o Idihi ,iii npiiiiiMi oi tliis new 
 Haron do Many.in, slio was busy with llu- 
 task whiL'li sIk' hail iindertJikon tor the 
 C'mmlcss dc \'ihiia. and was pu/zliiif,^ lier 
 brain lor tho proper thin}^' to sa\ . 
 
 " N'oii arrived last nij^'ht, did you not, 
 monsieur, " said she finally. 
 
 " N'es, mademoiselle. M. Arj^eneau 
 found me in Paris yesterday. He told 
 me what liad Iwppeneil, and urji^ed me to 
 come at once. I left I'aris immediately." 
 
 "W'e are ^lad you came, monsieiw. it 
 was ^o\m\ ivt'you to come at once." 
 
 " I felt that 1 mifi'ht be of service, and 
 came as quickly as possible." 
 
 " Let me .issure you that your presence 
 at Chateau Hlanc just now has relieved 
 me of considerable anxietv, I did not 
 know to whom I mi^'ht turn (or advice in 
 this sad emerjcency. Papa has never 
 spoken to me oi' relatives, and I was not 
 aware that I had any." 
 
 A shadow passed i.>\er de Hanyan's face 
 and left it j^loomy. 
 
 " It has been seventeen years since I 
 ha>e had the honor oi addressiiit;' my 
 imcle," said he. "The tbrco o\' circum- 
 stiinces has kept us apart, and I canniH 
 inuij^'ine that he would wish to remind 
 _vou ot one who lias been so ne^•liJJenl." 
 
 There was a mcnnenl's pause, durinj^ 
 which Selma outlined the liicure in the 
 carpet with the toe o( her dainty shoe. 
 
 " Then you and 1 ;ire cousins," said 
 she, lookint;^ up. 
 
 "It woukl seem so," answered de Han- 
 yan, pleasantly. "The late baron was 
 my uncle." 
 
 "And have I no other relatives then?" 
 
 " I am the last of the male line, made- 
 moiselle. Our family was not a prolific 
 on^. My gfrandparents had but two chil- 
 dren my father and my uncle. My 
 father was killed in E{j\pt, at the Battle 
 o( the P\ ramids. My mother died soon 
 after. Mv uncle was made a baron bv 
 
 the l<"mperor Napoleor 
 
 selle, 1 believe, are his oidy child ; conse- 
 (.pienlly you and I are the only livinjf 
 members of the family." 
 
 " Then you are my i>nl\ relative," sail! 
 she, alnuv t dreamily. Mut turninj,' on 
 him directly, and with an earnest expres- 
 sion, she continued : 
 
 " \'ou say the l-lmperor made papa a 
 baron ■'" 
 
 "N'ls. It was f4>r bravery tlisplayed 
 upon the field." 
 
 " I have heard my father speak in jjlovv- 
 ina terms o( the Kmperor. Perhaps it 
 was throujjh jcratitude." 
 
 "Not ^Tatitude alone, mademoiselle, 
 but because of his j^reat appreciation of 
 the Kniperor as a man and a ruler, lie 
 has had every reason to sound his 
 euci>miimis." 
 
 "Then I infer, monsieur my cousin, 
 that you can also soiuid the Emperor's 
 praises ?" 
 
 " I can indeed, mademoiselle, and I 
 look forward to a time when the Kmperor 
 shall be recalled by the voice of the peo- 
 pie." 
 
 "Then you rtre a true Bonapartist, 
 monsieur ?" 
 
 " 1 am lor Napoleon, mademoiselle, 
 and 1 can say ver\ heartily, long live the 
 Kmperor." 
 
 So delifi^hted was Countess de V'ilma by 
 this time that she immediately rose from 
 her seat behind the screen and stepped 
 into view . De Banyan spranjc to his feet 
 in amazement. 
 
 " JfoH Dit'/i, madame, >ou here!" he 
 cried. 
 
 " ^'es, Monsieur le Baron," answered 
 the countess, with a smile. " .And now 
 that I know who the Baron de Banyan is 
 I have nothing to fear. I little thought 
 that Colonel Maurice de Banyan, so gal- 
 lant to me once, would prove so service- 
 able to me now." 
 
 " But, madame, do you not know that 
 
 ou. 
 
 mademoi- your presence in France has jeopardized 
 
I 
 
 Till-; i.ADN oi ciiAri;.\i' ni-.wc. 
 
 you? It is jjf e 110 rail \ be'a'\Lci <liat yi>ii 
 arc at Kiba with your luishaiui. 'l"o line! 
 you here would arouse suspicion. There 
 are spies in every i.|uartor. I Iretubli' lor 
 you, matlanie, (or I fear that I could not 
 protect you." 
 
 " But you would try, inonsieur, would 
 you not?" said the countess, with her 
 most winninj,'' smile. 
 
 "Can you doubt me, madame? If so, 
 permit me to say that m_\ lite is ;it the 
 service of the wife of my old commander, 
 and it the sacrifice would be in the inter- 
 est ot the Kmperor's cause, I shall be all 
 the more vvillinj>- to make it." 
 
 " .\h, if" there were more such men as 
 you, baron, the lunperor would soon be 
 reinstated. No, I i.\o not doubt you ; I 
 have not so soon tortcotten that you once 
 risked your lite to savi' "line at the cross- 
 ing of the Beresina." 
 
 Then, turninjf to Selma, she continued : 
 
 " \'ou see, m\- dear, )our cousin, the 
 baron, and I are old friends. I was quite 
 ifjnorant of the fact that Colonel de Ban- 
 yan and the new master of Chateau Blanc 
 were one and the same j^fentleman." 
 
 "Then you have the advantagfe of me, 
 madame," said Selma. 
 
 " Indeed? In wh.it wa\ ?" 
 
 " ^'ou already know monsieur my 
 cousin, while I have just made his ac- 
 quaintance." 
 
 " Then you h.ive a pleasure before you, 
 my dear Selma. The acquaintance oi' 
 Monsieur le Baron is worth cultivatinjj. " 
 
 "It is \er}- jjood of }ou to say so, 
 countess," said de Banyan, with a pleas- 
 ant expression, and a low bow. ".And 
 permit me, mademoiselle ni}- cousin, to 
 assure you of my esteem j'.nd friendship." 
 
 " I shall be glad if we are to be friends," 
 said SeliTia, with a slight blush. 
 
 "And I shall be honored, mademoi- 
 selle, in gaining such a friend," said de 
 Banyan earnestly. 
 
 " Ah, baron," said the countess, with 
 
 a mischie\ous twinkle in her eyes, " I 
 perceive that you two will get along very 
 niceiy." 
 
 " I sincerely hope so," exclaimed de 
 Banvan with such warmth that the coun- 
 tess raised her eyebrows and smiled sig- 
 nificantly. 
 
 ".\nd poor me, baron." said the coun- 
 tess, with mock pensiven»ss. " I hope 
 you will not ttirget me in your devotions." 
 
 De Banyan was equal to the emer- 
 gencN . 
 
 " How could I, coimtess, when the re- 
 niembran e of you is such a happy dream?" 
 
 She beamed upon him a most benig- 
 nant smile, and graciously motioned him 
 to be seated, at the same time seating 
 herself by the side of Selma, near the 
 window. 
 
 "I presume, baron," said she, "that 
 you have particularly noticed the state of 
 affairs in Paris since the return of the 
 Bourbons and the cniiffn's'^" 
 
 " ^'es indeed, my dear countess, and I 
 am greatly disappointed. The manner in 
 which the King has imposed upon the 
 people is realK provoking. These auda- 
 cious Bourbons are beginning where they 
 left off. Such a thing as the Empire 
 seems never to h.ave existed. They have 
 established their old customs, and have 
 even got e so far as to train the soldiers 
 after the principles of the period before 
 the Revolution. .At the Tuileries the 
 people of the I'aubourg St. Gertnain are 
 lording it over those of the F)mpire in such 
 a maimer a:- to arouse indignation. The 
 King is either being flattered and misled, 
 or else he is a fool. The people are al- 
 ready clamoring against the return of the 
 emigres, and it looks very much as though 
 the time was ripening for a change." 
 
 "The change will come, baron. In- 
 deed, it is sure to come. I have learned 
 from the late Baron de Banyan that every 
 soldier in the army carries the tri-colored 
 cockade in his knapsack, ready for such 
 
i6 
 
 TMK LAD'S- OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 an emertj-enc) . W'c can Llopend upon tlie 
 soldiers at an\ rato." 
 
 " 'I'lie Hoiubons ha\f treateil tlie sol- 
 diers hadly, and tliey resent it. Itan\ of 
 them cr\' ' I'/vc /f /\\i/\' they usually add 
 sof/i) 'i'licf, ' t/i' Nome, cf son petit piipii.' 
 I was present at one oi the re\ie\vs niH 
 lonj;' af^o, and as the Count dWrtois 
 passed alontj the line there was not a 
 murmur in behalf of the Kini^. livery 
 man was silent. There was not a sinjjle 
 '■Vive le Roi' from the ranks. The men 
 stood as stolid and sombre as if resenting 
 some personal injury. It was quite sii^ni- 
 ficant, madame, thot the soldiers still love 
 the Hmperor. " 
 
 "Then our course is easy." 
 
 "It is onl\ a tiiatter of time."' 
 
 " I siiall have ijt'od news for tiie F.m- 
 peror when I return to Klba." 
 
 " If he does not come in the sprin<; it 
 will be loo late. I ri;c him to make 
 haste, countess, and remind him of the 
 fact that all the half-pay ollicers at St. 
 Denis are reaily to join him as soon as he 
 arrives in France." 
 
 The countess was thou!,>"htful for a mo- 
 ment, and her face became troubled. 
 
 " I doubt, baron, if he could hold out 
 nuich loni^vr than the spririi^," said she, 
 presently. " He has depended upiin re- 
 ceivinic the subsidy stipulated by the treatv' 
 o'i Fontainebleu, on the strength o'i which 
 he has made hea\ \ expenditures in the 
 interests of the island, and has used up 
 the ij^reater part >:^i his own personal 
 treasure. The .\llies have not ful tilled 
 their promises to him. and iniless some- 
 thini^- is ^owQ very soon he will be on the 
 \ eri^e o'i famine. He will even be oblit^ed 
 to disband his brave rrenadiers, who have 
 so nobly g'one into exile with him." 
 
 " .]/im /)/eii, madame I" exclaimed tie 
 Banyan. " Is it so bad as that?" 
 
 " It may be even worse." 
 
 "Then something must be i.\o]-\e at 
 once." 
 
 "Neijotiations have already been made 
 with certain bankers of Genoa and Milan 
 for loans, and these bankers have ad- 
 vanced larjje sums. But even this is not 
 enough." 
 
 " The 1 we must do something- for him 
 here in France," exclaimed de Banyan 
 earnest l\-. 
 
 " I have ventured secretly into France 
 in thic I'lmperor's interests," continued 
 the coimtess, after a moment's pause. 
 "On the streng^th of the friendship wliich 
 existed between the Fmperor and the late 
 baron, I have made this chateau my head- 
 quarters. Here I await the arrival of tny 
 secret ag-ent, Monsieur de Saint-Breton, 
 who is netji^otiatiny some financial busi- 
 ness in the interest of Napoleon. This 
 netjotiation is nominally in my husband's 
 behalf, but is really for the benefit of the 
 Emperor. I am expecting monsieur my 
 agent soon, and until he arrives I must 
 trespass upon your hospitalit)." 
 
 "Ah, countess, if you knew what 
 pleasure it gives me to be of service, not 
 only to }ou but to the Kmperor, you 
 would have no doubts about my hospi- 
 tality." 
 
 " I""or myself, I thank you most heart- 
 ily. .As for the Fmperor, I am sure he 
 will appreciate your loyalty. I shall cer- 
 tainly speak of it to him." 
 
 " Tell him, also, madame, that my 
 sword nay, my life is at his ser- 
 vice." 
 
 ".\h, if there were more men like you, 
 baron!" 
 
 "There are thousands o( the same 
 spirit, madame." 
 
 " 1 rue, but there are a greater number 
 of an averse spirit." 
 
 " Hut when they see him again, and re- 
 member tlieir victories, their glories, their 
 prosperities while he was their chosen 
 Emperor, this aversion will change to 
 love, and every heart will throb in wel- 
 come." 
 
THE LADV OV CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 17 
 
 Countess de V'ilma looked at de Banyan 
 witli an expression of irratitude. 
 
 " I thank you, baron, for those en- 
 oouragiiif^ words," said she, in a voice 
 that trembled with emotion. 
 
 " I cannot help speaking- them, ma- 
 dame. When I recall the fact that the 
 Coalition ha\e robbed him of his wife and 
 child, and are treatinj^- him like a brig^and 
 in their intention to transport him like a 
 vile criminal to some distant island of the 
 Atlantic, I feel that he has a riijht to de- 
 fend himself ag^ainst proceedinj^fs contrary 
 to justice and niorality; and, in so doinij, 
 he is not merely a general seeking to re- 
 place himself at the head of his troops, a 
 sovereign anxious to regain his sceptre, 
 but a husband and father, bent on regain- 
 ing possession of his wife and child. 
 There are others, madame, who realize 
 this fact even better than 1 do, and it is 
 
 with their assistance that he will accom- 
 plish this great undertaking." 
 
 Selma had listened attentively to the 
 conversation, and when de Banyan ceased 
 she beamed upon him a smile of approval. 
 She believed him to be a brave, true man, 
 and she was proud that he was her cous- 
 in. He had risen as he spoke, and when 
 he finished, they understood that he was 
 about to take his leave, whereupon Selma 
 rose and extended her hand to him. 
 
 "V'ou are very good, my cousin," she 
 murmured, as he bowed over her hand, 
 as was the fashion of the times, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " I sincerely hope you will have no oc- 
 casion to alter your good opinion," here- 
 plied, with a smile. 
 
 Then, turning to the countess, he made 
 his obeisance, and left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SILENCE IS GOI.OEX. 
 
 The funeral was over. With consider- quently de Banyan and his secretary. Ar- 
 able pomp, and the presence of many geneau, were busily engaged in the 
 sympathising friends and people of the library with papers and documents, 
 country surrounding Chateau Blanc, the Argeneau had a splendid opportunity 
 late Baron de Banyan had been laid to rest to exercise his loquacity, and, despite the 
 in the family vault. Several days had work in hand, he seemed unusuallv ami- 
 
 passed, and the new Baron de Banyan 
 had finally estaiiiished himself in his 
 uncle's chateau. There had been the 
 visit of the Notary, and the reading of the 
 
 able. De Banyan learned much from this 
 moiilin II paroles concerning his uncle's 
 circumstances, and received such a vivid 
 description of the estate, that he felt it 
 
 will. There had been the necessary legal unnecessary to go over it for any other 
 proceedings which serve to confirm the purpose than to satisfy his curiosity. It 
 
 rights of a succe .sor. Tiiere had pre- 
 vailed the customary obsequiousness on 
 the part of the legal adviser, which sug- 
 gests a hope of further patronage, and 
 finallv, there had been the exit of mon- 
 
 seemed large enough, it was certainly 
 good enough, and he felt that he would 
 be quite at ease during the rest of his life. 
 Even the room in which he was engaged, 
 with its beautifullv frescoed walls and 
 
 sieur the Notary, and the beginning of a ceiling, its rich carpet, its splendid furni- 
 new life for de Banyan. ture and delightful pictures, to say no- 
 There was much to think about, much thing of its books and bookcases, gave 
 ♦o talk about, and likewise much to do evidence of considerable expenditure, and 
 concerning the late baron's iffairs, conse- consequently suggested a certain amount 
 
iH 
 
 THK LADV OF CHATKAU BI.ANC. 
 
 of comfort ; and since hitherto all he had 
 e\er owned were his regimentals, his 
 horse, his sword, and all the comforts he 
 had ever known were those which occa- 
 sionally befall the lot of a soldier in active 
 service, whose memory teems with remi- 
 niscences of the camp-fire, bivouacs, forced 
 marches and bad weather, he was certain 
 that he could fully appreciate his inheri- 
 tance, and he was sorry indeed that he 
 had ever been forced to keep aloof from 
 his uncle on account of the petty quarrel 
 which had occurred in his earlier da\s. 
 Still, he felt that his uncle had been over- 
 bearing and bitter, and after all, he be- 
 lieved he was justified in his resentment. 
 Then, when he remembered that the estate 
 had been strictly entailed, and that he was 
 the last of the line, he realized that he 
 would have come into possession sooner 
 or later, and his pride whispered to him 
 that to unbend even a little toward his 
 uncle's memory would be asking too 
 much. \'et, he was of a generous na- 
 ture, and finally, waiving the whisperings 
 of pride and vindictiveness, his heart grew 
 heavy with sincere sorrow and regret. He 
 had always honored his uncle with his re- 
 spect, and he had not been slow to claim 
 relationship whenever the military merits 
 of the late General de Hanyan had been 
 the topic of discussion among his brother 
 oflicers. Therefore, when he recalled the 
 noble face, the grey hairs, the heroic 
 brow, he felt quite ashamed of himself 
 that he had ever been so obstin;ite, so re- 
 sentful, so boyish. 
 
 His uncle had left him everything. The 
 strriiige thing about the will was that no 
 provision whatever had been made for 
 Selma. He was greatly troubled over 
 this ; it seemed so unusual. Selma was 
 indeed a charming girl. She had m;ide a 
 decided impression upon him, ;ind he won- 
 dered why she had been ignored. True, 
 she was only an adopted daughter, but it 
 seemed an unnatural thing to leave her 
 
 unprovided for. But while he was pon- 
 dering the tnatter and wondering what he 
 should do, Argeneau came to his assist- 
 ance with a document which read to the 
 effect that certain properties in Paris had 
 been conferred upon Mademoiselle Selma 
 by rhe Emperor Napoleon, from which 
 she derived an annual revenue of thirty 
 thousand francs. The late baron was ap- 
 pointed her trustee and guardian, and in 
 case of his demise, should such a thing 
 occur before her maturity or marriage, it 
 was stipulated that the succeeding heir 
 to the estates should assume the guardian- 
 ship. De Banyan felt easier after this, 
 yet what he most wished to know was not 
 to be found. 
 
 " So the secret dies with him," said he, 
 after he had read the document for the 
 third time. 
 
 "The secret, monsieur?" said Argen- 
 eau, with a rising inflection. 
 
 "Ves. The secret of her birth and 
 parentage." 
 
 .Argeneau stopped his work, placed his 
 elbows upon the desk before him, and, 
 while biting the feather end of his quill, 
 looked steadih at the baron with a quizzi- 
 cal expression. 
 
 "Do you look upon it as a secret?" 
 said he finally. 
 
 "It is indeed a mystery to me." 
 
 "Oh, I thought you knew." 
 
 "I have not even a faint idea." 
 
 "Do you know the story of Madame 
 Fourcs?" 
 
 " I have heard one or two versions of 
 it." 
 
 " Have you ever seen her?" 
 
 " She was pointed out to me once in 
 Paris." 
 
 " She is a beautiful woman, I believe?" 
 
 " Remarkably so." 
 
 " I'.iir hair, blue eyes, pink complexion, 
 and all that sort of thing?" 
 
 " ^'es, a very beautiful woman indeed. 
 I remember her quite well. When I was 
 
 \ 
 
TH1-: \.\D\ OK CHATKAU liLANC. 
 
 19 
 
 l 
 
 told tliat she liad been Xapoleon's mis- 
 tress at Cairo, I look a special observa- 
 tion." 
 
 "You have seen Mademoiselle Selma?" 
 "Oh, yes." 
 
 " Did you not notice her resemblance 
 to Madame Foures ?" 
 
 " A/on Dicu .' I never thoui^iit of" it." 
 " Ft is there, nevertheless." 
 " .\h," exclaimed de Banyan, leaninj^ 
 forward, "perhaps yon are ri<j-ht ; and 
 now that I think of" i*., the mouth, the 
 chin, the smile are his. Parblcu .' There 
 is a stronjc resemblance to both. Hut, 
 Mon Dieu .' What are we thinkinj,"- oi'i 
 We must not malijii-n this poor ijirl upon 
 such weak evidence. She does not de- 
 serve it. She is g-entle, lovable. She 
 has an individuality which is worth\- of 
 respect. She thinks the baron was her 
 father. She must never know that he 
 was not." 
 
 " Do you think it can be kept from her 
 very much lousier, monsieur •*" said .\r- 
 g-eneau, with somethinj,'- in his voice 
 which sounded like a sneer. 
 
 '■'' Parblcn .' It must be," exclaimed de 
 Banyan, smiting the desk with his hand, 
 and showini^ an earnestness which matle 
 Arg-eneau uneasy. " .Mademoiselle Selma 
 is supposed to be my cousin. The man 
 who says a word aj^ainst her i,''ood name 
 shall answer to me for it." 
 
 " But will .she not wish to know for 
 herself?" said Argeneau, a little discon- 
 certed. 
 
 " Why should she?" 
 " She might wish to know something 
 of her mother." 
 
 " She believes the baron, my uncle, to 
 have been her father. Since she has never 
 known her mother, it follows that my 
 uncle has told her something to the effect 
 that her mother died when she was born, 
 or when she was an infant." 
 " Still, you are not sure." 
 "I am certain. Monsieur Argeneau, 
 
 that my uncle was not a fool," exclaimed 
 de Banyan, with sudden asperity. 
 
 "Oh, oi course not," said .Argeneau, 
 with a smile. "What am I thinking of?" 
 
 He immediately resumed his work, as 
 if dismissing the subject from his thoughts. 
 But once during the conversation there 
 had been an evil expression in his eves 
 which de Banyan did not like. It annoved 
 him. While Argeneau continued to assort 
 papers, de Banyan leaned back in his 
 chair, and with his hands behind his head 
 watched his secretary with a significant 
 concentration. Finally he leaned forward 
 and laid a paper-weight upon some docu- 
 ments at his side. 
 
 "Argeneau," said he, with a delibera- 
 tion that sent a tremor over the secretary's 
 frame, "is this affair known to any one 
 besides Madame Mortier and yourself?" 
 
 " I believe not, monsieur." 
 
 " Then let me be understood. \'o\.\ are 
 tiie only man who can ruin mademoiselle's 
 happiness. One word from you would 
 crush her spirit for ever. Now mark me. 
 .My uncle has seen fit to trust you. On 
 the strength of this recommendation I 
 have taken you into my service, but I do 
 not know you sufficiently to have that 
 implicit confidence in you which it seems 
 my uncle has had. ^'ou may be perfectly 
 trustworthy; I do not say you are not. 
 But I do say (here de Banyan's brow 
 darkened) that if ever you so much as 
 hint to Madtmoiselle Selma, or to any one 
 else, the true state of things, I shall 
 compel you to measure swords with me, 
 and I can assure you that with the sword 
 I am no novice. Do you understand me?" 
 .Argeneau's face was livid; de Banyan's 
 was as dark as midnight. 
 
 " \'ou need not be alarmed. Monsieur 
 le Baron," .said Argeneau, as soon as he 
 could speak without trembling. " Let 
 me remind you of the fact that I am your 
 private secretary, and I know my busi- 
 ness." 
 
n '! ^ — 
 
 llll'; I. ADS OV CIIATlvAr HI.ANC, 
 
 " N'ciy well. N'l-iw hi' j^ootl onotij^li to 
 scikI Matlaine Mortier to mc, and remain 
 within call until you are wanted." 
 
 Had de l^anyan seen the expression of 
 his secretary's face as he left the room he 
 would have had i^ood cause for alarm, for 
 in it was all that was e\il and sinister. 
 
 When Madame Mortier came, de Ban- 
 yan motioned her to a seat, and lor a 
 moment reij^'arded her with a look that 
 certainly made her feel very uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 " Madame," said he finall\ , " we have 
 been makinj^ stranti'e discoveries concern- 
 ing' Mademoiselle Selma. it seems that 
 vou were her nurse at C'aircv I wish you 
 to tell me all you know about this affair. 
 Vou need not he afraid, for since my 
 uncle has made it .ippear that she was his 
 dauijhter, it certainly shall continue to 
 appear that she is my cousin. 1 may also 
 add that she is well provided for, and 
 that 1 am interested in her happiness." 
 
 Madame Mortier reflected. 
 
 " Do I understand, monsieur, that you 
 did not know that mademoiselle was the 
 late baron's adopted daui,'-hler ?" said she 
 finally. 
 
 " Precisely, matlanie. 1 ha\e lived 
 apart triim my uncle tor Tuany years, and 
 know nothintj whatever of his aft'airs, 
 save a few rumors which were current 
 amoni,'' the officers ol the barracks. One 
 of these rumors was to the efiect that he 
 had married a native of Cairo while in 
 Kijypt, but that she had died before the 
 army returned to I*" ranee." 
 
 "The rumor was correct, monsieur. 1 
 was witii her when she ilied." 
 
 "Then this l*]^yptian was really his 
 wife y" 
 
 " ^'es, they were reall\ married. Bon- 
 aparte himself sanctioned the marriagfe." 
 
 "Then there were no chiklren of this 
 mari-jjige ?" 
 
 " \'es. monsieur, there was one. Hut 
 it died a few ilavs alter birth." 
 
 " .And madame, it's mother?" 
 
 " She died a few days later." 
 
 " Indeed ?" said de Hanyan, with a look 
 of surprise. 
 
 rivn lowering his brows, which had 
 risen slightly, he continued : 
 
 " .And mademoiselle, what of her ?" 
 
 ' At the time the dead babe was re- 
 moved, mademoiselle was placed in it's 
 cadle." 
 
 " .Ah ! well, ^o on." 
 
 " Madame was in a very critical state. 
 The knowledge of the death of her child 
 woidd have killed lier. Monsieur le 
 Baron was distracted. At the time he 
 was aide-de-camp to General Bona- 
 parte " 
 
 "Shv the Kmperor, madame, if you 
 please, " interrupted de Banyan, with a 
 froNK n. 
 
 "He was General Bonaparte then, 
 monsieur." replied Madame Mortier, 
 rather crisply. " I speak of him as he 
 was then." 
 
 " Oh, verv well, then, proceed." 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron was also a great 
 friend of General Junot. At the time of 
 the death of his child. Monsieur le Baron 
 went to Cieneral Junot and told him how 
 much he feared to let his wife know of the 
 death of their babe. I never knew how 
 it came about, but in a very short time 
 the dead babe was removed and made- 
 moiselle was left in it's place. I was told 
 by Monsieur le Baron that a woman 
 whose husband had been killed in battle 
 ;it St. Jean d'.Arc, had given birth to the 
 child about the same time that madame 
 had been delivered, but had died a few 
 hours afterward. Monsieur le Baron 
 charged me to treat this babe as his own, 
 and ne\ er let madame know." 
 
 "Then you know nothing- of her par- 
 entage H" 
 
 " Nothing, except that the father of 
 mademoiselle had been a very great friend 
 of Monsieur le Baron, and for this reason 
 
THK LADY OF CAHTKAU BLANC. 
 
 21 
 
 y" 
 
 he resolved to adopt the habe, after his 
 wife died." 
 
 "Does mademoiselle know anything of 
 this T 
 
 " She knows absolutely nothing;', mon- 
 sieur. She believes the baron to have 
 been her father." 
 
 " She must never know the truth, ma- 
 dame." 
 
 " 1 cannot remember ever having' wish- 
 ed her to know the truth, monsieur." 
 
 " \'ery well, madame, I have every 
 confidence in you. Her happiness shall 
 not be marred. That is all. For the 
 present let me wish you tin revoir," 
 
 .After madame had courtesied and left 
 the room, de Banyan called his >ecretarv. 
 " Arf^eneau," said he, as the secretary 
 advanced toward him, "will you have 
 the j;-oodness to tell me upon what 
 grounds you base your suspicion of mad- 
 emoiselle's origin ?" 
 
 •Argeneau hesitated, and for a moment 
 contemplated the floor. He was not so 
 anxious to talk now. He seemed quite 
 disconcerted, and tried to revive himself 
 with a pinch of snuff. Presently he rais- 
 ed his head and looked directly at de 
 Banyan with an expression which seemed 
 to suggest that he knew more than he 
 wished to tell. 
 
 "There was a rumor," said he, finally, 
 " That Madame Fourcs was delivered of 
 a child at Cairo. it seems this child 
 suddenly disappeared. No doubt \ou 
 have learned something of mademoiselle's 
 history from Madame Mortier. You, 
 yourself, have noted the resemblance of 
 mademoiselle to Madame Fourcs, you 
 also remarked the resemblance of the 
 
 mouth, chin and smile to " 
 
 "Tush !" exclaimed de Banyan, in ill 
 humor. " There is nothing in that. If 
 this is all the ground you have for your 
 belief, I would advise you to think as 
 little of it as possible. Resemblances 
 amount to nothing." 
 
 Argeneau suddenly stepped to the desk 
 
 at which he had been at work, and very 
 deliberately selected a paper therefrom. 
 
 " I beg you. Monsieur le Baron, to 
 read this document once more," said he, 
 unfolding it and handing it tode Banyan. 
 "You will perceive that the Emperor has 
 settled upon mademoiselle a handsome 
 mcome. Do you think for one moment 
 that he did so out of sheer generositv ?" 
 " Bah ! " exclaimed de Banyan, throw- 
 ing down the paper and settling back in 
 his chair. '• When the Emperor made 
 my uncle a baron, he also made some 
 provision for mademoiselle. It mav have 
 been generosity that prompted him, or 
 it may not have been. The Emperor is 
 not a man to do a thing without a good 
 reason." 
 
 " He had a reason, beyond a doubt." 
 
 "Then you think " 
 
 "That the Emperor knows more about 
 the origin of mademoiselle than either 
 you or I." 
 
 De Banyan gave vent to a jeering 
 laugh. 
 
 " M. .Argeneau, you are laboring under 
 a delusion," said he, rising from his 
 chair. " A wild hallucination," he add- 
 ed, as he began to restore his papers and 
 documents to their respective receptacles. 
 " A horseback ride, followed by a knock 
 on the head, might do you good," he 
 continued, as he locked the drawers of 
 his desk, and started for the doorwav. 
 " But remember that I have warned you 
 against expressing your opinions upon 
 this matter to any one," said he, just as 
 he was about to pass out into the corri- 
 dor. 
 
 After the door had closed, .Argeneau 
 remained for a time in a meditative mood. 
 Then with a shrug of his shoulders, he 
 seated himself and fell to work. Present- 
 ly he paused, placed his elbow upon the 
 desk, rested his chin between his thumb 
 and forefinger, stared a while at the wall, 
 then with a deep sigh, uttered the word 
 " patience," and settled down to work. 
 
22 
 
 Till': LAD^' OF CHATKAU BI.ANC. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. / 
 
 A niHI.AKATION. 
 
 The room in which Arfjeneau was at dress. His thick, brown hair was curled 
 
 work overlooked the ijfardens. His desk in the most precise manner. His riifiled 
 
 was so close to the window that by simply .-,nirt ''. ont, lace cravat, and white 
 
 turninjj his head he could see the beautiful stockinj,''s were neatness in themselves, 
 
 perspective beyond. Several times he About his throat he wore a black silk 
 
 had paused to look out, but nothiny ribbon with a tjolden trinket attached to 
 
 seemed to interest hiiu, and he resumed it. His trousers and waistcoat were of a 
 
 his work. Presently, however, the sound rich, liijht-colored material, while his coat, 
 
 of horses' feet prompted him to look out fashioned in the latest style, was of a deep 
 
 more quickly than before. This time he brown. His features were of the aquiline 
 
 discovered de Hanyan mounted upon a type and finely cut. About the brow and 
 
 fine charjjer, which moved down the a\enno inouth there was a sui^'tjestion of shrewd- 
 
 at a j^alUip. Ari^-eneau watched him for ness, but in the eye, to the close observer, 
 
 a moment with admiration, then observiiii,'' there was somethinj^ unsatisfactory. Ft 
 
 him salute someone, looked to see who it was small, dark, deep-set, and had a very 
 
 could be. Selma, in her black mournins.^' unsteady jjaze. Finallv, there was a 
 
 costume, stood amoni^' some roses in the striking evidence of self-complacency, self- 
 
 ijardens. with a smile upon her sad, pale importance, and presumption. 
 
 face. 
 
 Arjfeneau watched her closely tor a 
 moment, then tried to resume his work, 
 but there was a i^reater charm without. 
 He ijrew restless. Time and atjain he 
 let his attention wander from the work 
 before him to the person of Selma in the 
 g'ardens. Finally he threw down his pen. 
 
 .As he paced the floor there was a fro\^ n 
 upon his brow, and at frequent intervals 
 the muscles of his jaw contracted. 
 Presently he turned abruptly and advanced 
 to a curtain at the other end ct' the room. 
 This he drew aside and disclosed to view 
 a collection of swords and dat,^fjers of 
 various patterns. Selectin>j a beautiful 
 
 rose from his chair, and with h.-nds behind pearl-hilted rapier, he bei^an an exercise 
 him, paced the room with measured tread, in paVry and thrust, which ijave evidence 
 looking out frequently as he passed the of considerable knowledge of the fencing- 
 art. .\fter half an hour's combat with an 
 imaj^inary opponent he replaced the 
 rapier and aj^niin sought the window. 
 
 Selma was now seated in a pretty little 
 summer-house, arranging her flowers into 
 a houiiuet. The summer-house was near 
 the drive-way, and overgrown with a 
 running \ine. 
 
 window. 
 
 Several times as h> paused at the 
 window he helped himself to snuff in a 
 manner neculiar to himself, and which IkuI 
 it' .' - ,e.'tions of afVectation. There 
 .- '.'A of affectation in the pose and 
 s\\.:\ vi. 1 ;'- lithe, slender form, and there 
 wsi'; a .-i.ygcstiKMi of foppishness in his 
 
Tnr: L.\n^• of chatkat blaxc. 
 
 i'rosciitly Art,''LMie;iu piil on iiis hat :uk1 
 left the room. A tew niomeiUs hiter lie 
 was saunteriiii,'' down the tlrive-way 
 tinvartl tlie summcr-liouse. He lieltl an 
 open book before liini, and seemed 
 absorbed with its contents. His steps 
 were directed, apparently unconscious of 
 Scima's proximit\', to where slie was 
 sittinif. It was not many moments before 
 lie readied the eiiti'ance of the summer- 
 house. 
 
 "Oh, pardon me, mademoiselle," he 
 cried, alFectinji' to be surprised at seeini^ 
 her, '• I was not aware o\' your presence 
 here. Heini^- relievetl ol' my mornins,'- 
 duties, I came hither to read. I hope I 
 have not disturbed \ou." 
 He was about to withdraw. 
 " I pray you. Monsieur .\r<^eneau, do 
 not retire," said Selma with ;i smile. 
 " ^'ou shall read to me." 
 
 " I I'ear, mademoiselle, my hook will 
 not interest _\ou." 
 
 "Why then, what book ha\e \ou." 
 "It is an I'ln^lish work." 
 " .\h, but 1 understand l^ni^lish. It is 
 not a translation, is it ■' " 
 
 " \o, it is in the orii,Mnal text, but its 
 contents m;iy not be to your taste." 
 " Of what does it treat then ? " 
 "Of the possibilities and fra'lties of 
 human nature." 
 
 "Could anxthini^be more interestint,'-?" 
 "To me, no. The study oi' human 
 nature is so I'ascin.itinj; that I have revelled 
 for many an hour in the various portra\als 
 oi' character which my author's .i,'enius 
 has accomplished." 
 
 " Why, who is this remarkable author, 
 monsieur ? " 
 
 " It is William Shakespeare, mademoi- 
 selle," said he, with a smile that was 
 somewhat mischievous. 
 Selma smiled also. 
 
 " Now you are jestini^- with me, 
 monsieur," said she, i,'-ood naturedlv. 
 "The idea of your beins;- so mvsterious 
 
 about Sh.akespeare, whose works are 
 so cleverly translated into our lanyuajje, 
 is really amusing. But I can agree with 
 you, for [ have read a number of his 
 dramas, both in the French and the 
 I'^ni^rlish. He has indeed made some 
 wonderful character sketches. 1 would 
 that France had his equal. It is true we 
 ha\e Racine, Rosseau, Corneille, Voltaire, 
 and even Madame de StacI, who wrote 
 Corinne, ;uid the famous De I'.MIemagne, 
 the first edition of which Napoleon caused 
 to be destroyed, but we have not the 
 i^-enius of this celebrated Hnylishman." 
 
 "The genius oi' France, mademoiselle, 
 is that of a soldier." 
 
 " True, but is not that a cruel genius? 
 .\ cruel ambition ? Ah, monsieur, think 
 of the hearts it has broken, of the tears it 
 has caused, of the lives it has jeopardized 
 and wasted. War is so terrible." 
 
 "Hut this warrior's genius was necessary 
 to I'Vance, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Then tell me. Monsieur Argeneau, 
 why have they dethroned him?" 
 
 " Because his usefulness is at an end. 
 Because he has forgotten e\erything but 
 himself, and has become detrimental to 
 !iis conntr\ . " 
 
 "But suppose he should j-eturn, mon- 
 sieur ? " 
 
 " He will never dare." 
 
 " But suppose the people should recall 
 him ? " 
 
 "Then we must expect war until France 
 i-i crushed and humbled to the dust." 
 
 " But may not I'^^ance be victorious?" 
 
 " She will ne\er be \ictorious again. 
 Her rule over nations is at an end. The 
 Fmperor's great armies have so drained 
 the country of men that only boys and old 
 men are left." 
 
 " How terrible! " 
 
 "It is terrible, mademoiselle. We have 
 had enough of war. Our nation, once so 
 brilliant and prosperous, is now like a 
 wounded lion.ilisconiHtedand distrauarht." 
 
-'4 
 
 TIIK l..\D\ Ol- CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 " \hn these lioiirhons 
 "They have brought peace, mademoi- 
 selle, and we :i.re glad o( their return." 
 
 " But the King, it seems, is not liked. 
 1 heard monsieur, mv cousin the baron, 
 say that King l.ouis was not carrying out 
 a good policy towards his people." 
 
 " Monsieur le Baron is a Bonapartist," 
 exclamed Argeneau, with rather more 
 asperity than he was aware ot. 
 
 Selma was quick to notice it, but slow 
 to give evidence of her observation. 
 
 "And 1 presume Monsieur .Argeneau is 
 a true royalist," said she, looking at her 
 flowers, without the slightest change of 
 manner. 
 
 .Xrgeneau's reply was guarded. 
 " I love my country, mademoiselle, and 
 approve oi anythuig that may bring 
 prosperilx." 
 
 Selma did not reply to this remark, but 
 turned her attentiiin to the arrangement 
 of her flowers. 
 
 Argeneau watched her with an express- 
 ion of profound admiration, and for a 
 moment there was a delicious silence, in 
 which he feasted his soul upon her fascin- 
 ating beauty. The very fact that he was 
 ne;ir her made him happy and even daring. 
 Presently she held her flowers up before 
 her admiringh. 
 
 "Are the\ not beautiful, monsieur-'" 
 said she, with a pleasant smile. 
 
 "As beautiful as the hand that holds 
 them," said .Argeneau, with considerable 
 ardor. " Thev would do justice to the 
 taste of the ^impress Josephine." 
 
 Selma looked up quickly, but with a 
 dubious expression, then a ripple i>f 
 laughter, that sounded like dulcet music, 
 burst from her lips. 
 
 " \ou flatter me, monsieur," she cried. 
 Argeneau's manner suddenly became 
 that of an enamored swain in the presence 
 ii{' his enamorata. 
 
 " Can there be flattery in speaking the 
 truth. Mademoiselle Selma)'" said he in a 
 low soil tone that trembled with emotion. 
 
 His face betrayed his feelings. His 
 manner caused Selma to loolf up in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "I do not understand you, Monsieur 
 .Argeneau," she said, with the slightest 
 reserve of manner. 
 
 " N'ou mean you w/// not understand 
 me." 
 
 Selm I became indignant. 
 
 " I mean I do not understand you, 
 Monsieur .Argeneau," she said decisively, 
 and with a look that was almost haughty. 
 
 .Although Argeneau felt the rebuff, he 
 was not easily subdued. 
 
 " I can explain myself in three words," 
 said he, with considerable assurance. 
 
 "Then, if it is so easy, I pray you 
 do so at once." 
 
 He bent towards her with a radiant face. 
 
 " .Ah, mademoiselle, can you not see 
 that I love \ou," said he in a tone much 
 softer than before. 
 
 The expression that swept over Selma's 
 face had in it surprise, indignation, con- 
 tempt. She sprang to her feet and drew 
 herself up to her full height. 
 
 "How dare \ou!" she cried, with 
 flashing eyes. 
 
 Tbv" next moment she was flying down 
 the pathway towards the chateau. 
 
 Argeneau's face displayed chagrin 
 and disappointment. Then an evil ex- 
 pression came into it that vvculd have 
 alarmed Selma, had she seen it. 
 
 But he was not left long for reflection. 
 Selma had no sooner disappeared within 
 the chateau than the sound oi hoof beats 
 upon the gravel brought him to his senses, 
 
 .A horse was tearing down the drive- 
 way without a rider. Argeneau quickly 
 recognized the animal, and remembering 
 having seen de Banyan upon him only a 
 short time since, naturally concluded that 
 an accident had happened. 
 
 Leaving the summer-house, he hurried 
 to the stables, gave the alarm, and with 
 two servants, set out in search of Mon- 
 
 ■>aron. 
 
THK LAin- OF CHATKAL' HI.ANC. 
 
 25 
 
 L'pon leaviiij; the siinimcr-hi>ii.se so 
 precipitately, Selma sougiil lier own 
 apartments, locked the doors, and ex- 
 cluded everyone. She was hij^^hly ex- 
 asperated. That Ar^eneaii should have 
 the audacity to presume upon her kindness 
 wa- indeed annoying. Argeneau, her 
 father's protege ! .Vrgeneau, her father's 
 secretary! Oh, it was humiliating! How 
 could he, and upon what could he have 
 presumed ? Upon her leniency, her kind- 
 ness? Then he was a blind, presumptuous 
 dolt. Upon her friendliness to him in the 
 summer-house? Then lie was a conceited 
 ignoramus, and deser\ ed to be regarded 
 with contempt. How angry she felt ! 
 How could he even dare to entertain 
 thoughts of love toward her, much less 
 utter them ? She, the daughter of a 
 wealtliy baron. He, a menial in her 
 father's service. Oh, it was outrageous ! 
 It was insulting ! Time and again she 
 asked herself what she had done to prompt 
 such a confession. She had tried to be 
 kind and generous to all. She had only 
 treated .Argeneau as she would have 
 treated anyone who bore the reputation 
 of behaving himselt. Finally she was 
 more annoyed with herself than with 
 Argeneau. Then she began to feel sorrv 
 tor him, and after her indignation had 
 spent itself, she threw herself upon a divan 
 near the window and wept bitterly. Why 
 she wept she could not tell, unless it was 
 from a reaction of feelings. 
 
 While lying there, she was suddenly 
 startled by a hurried rapping at the door. 
 She did not answer, but rose to a silting 
 posture and listened. Another rap met 
 with no better result. 
 
 " Mam'selle, mam'selle," cried an ex- 
 cited voice from the corridor. 
 
 She recognized it at once. It was her 
 maid, Julie, and the qu!':k, almost breath- 
 
 UHAI'TKR \ II. 
 
 VNXIKTIKS Wll.l. NKVKK IKASK. 
 
 les> crv, aroused her from herself. She 
 
 sprang up and opened the door. Julie 
 entered with an excited countenance. 
 
 "Oh, Mam'selle, mam'selle," she cried, 
 out of breath. 
 
 "Why, Julie, what is it? What has 
 happened?" said Selma, beginning to 
 take alarm. 
 
 " .Monsieur le Baron, mam'selle. Mon- 
 sieur le Baron has met with an accident. 
 Tliev- are bringing him to the chateau 
 unconscious." 
 
 Heavens ! What a pang shot through 
 .Selma's heart. She reeled, and stretched 
 out herhand forsupport. Julie caught her. 
 
 "V'ou sa\ there has been an accident?" 
 she gasped. 
 
 " ^'es, mam'selle." 
 
 ".And they are bringing monsieur to 
 the chateau unconscious?" 
 
 " ^'es, mam'selle, he is badly hurt." 
 
 "But but he i.; not — not — dead, 
 Julie?" 
 
 Selma's voice had sunk to a whisper. 
 
 "Oh no, njam'selle. They say he is 
 alive, but — " 
 
 ".J/o// />/<«, Julie! are you sure? Run 
 
 run quickly, bring me word that he is 
 not dead. Run girl, run. I must know 
 the worst." 
 
 Julie hastened to obey her mistress. 
 When the door closed Selma dropped 
 upon tier knees and raised her pale face 
 to heaven. 
 
 "Oh, sweet Mother," she murmured. 
 "Spare him, he is all I have in the world." 
 
 Then she slowly turned her eyes to the 
 door in a reflective manner. 
 
 ".Ah, Maurice, Maurice," she murmured, 
 "why have you been so reckless? Do 
 you not know that this is torture to me?" 
 
 Hut her soliloquy was cut short by 
 approaching footsteps. She sprang to 
 her feet and waited ' suspense. She 
 
26 
 
 Tin: I.\l>^ o\- c i).\ri \r ni.wf. 
 
 c\en iipeneti the tloor in anticipation ot 
 lur n-.aid's return. I^iit it was not Julie. 
 It was Coiuiless do N'ilnia. 
 
 "Why Scinial" exclaimed the countess. 
 "What is it ? What has happened':' \ou 
 look so friLfhtened, chikl." 
 
 " Have you not hearil, niadame ? " 
 
 " Heard, lieard what ? " 
 
 " That he has been hurl in an accident." 
 
 " He, whom? I don't imderstand you." 
 
 " Monsieur, niy cousin. The\ are 
 brinifins,"- him to the ciiateau unconscious." 
 
 " .lA^// D/t'ii, child I Who has told 
 you ? " 
 
 "Julie, madanie. 1 have just sent her 
 to le.'irn the worst." 
 
 " Hut it may not he so had as you think, 
 dear Selm;i. (."iMiie, let us look upon the 
 brii;;-ht sitle of it. .\ccidents i.\o not always 
 prove fatal. Julie will soon be here, and 
 I am sure she will hrinsj;- better news. ' 
 
 The countess folded Selma in her arms 
 and led her to a divan ; then seatinij them- 
 selves, they waited the arrival of Julie. 
 
 "Oh, madame," cried Selma, "it it 
 shoukl he the worst, what shall I do? I 
 shall be utterly alone in the w(>rld." 
 
 Madame laComtesse drew -Selma's heail 
 down to her breast and kissed her pale 
 cheek. 
 
 "Why, my darliiiij^," she said, "there 
 are many thini^s ycui could iio. For 
 instance, you could close up this establish- 
 ment, go to Paris, and find a husband." 
 
 Selma raised her head quickly, and 
 gazed at the countess with ;i dubious 
 expression. 
 
 " Ah, tnadame, you are jestini;' with 
 me," she cried reproachfully. 
 
 " Not at all, dear .Selma. 1 w;is never 
 more serious in my lite." 
 
 " Hut, mad.'ime, would I fmd anyone 
 like — like him?" 
 
 A deep blush suffused Selma's cheek, 
 and, as the coimtess beheld it, she was 
 con\inced of wh.it she had alreadv sur- 
 mised. She cauyfht Selma's face between 
 
 her hands, ;uk1 i,f;ized earnestly at the 
 confuseti countenance. 
 
 " .\h, Selma." said she, "I see how 
 the wind blows, ^'ou love this man." 
 
 .\t this juncture the maid, Jidie, ap- 
 peared, with the news that Monsieur le 
 Haron latl reco\ered consciousness, and 
 was nut so badly hurt as was at first 
 suppo^•ed. Whereupon the tension of 
 their uixiety i,''a\e way and the two ladies 
 breathed easier. 
 
 "\ow, Julie, find .Madame .Mortier, and 
 tell her to be as usetid as she c;ui," said 
 Selma. "Then return to me as soon as 
 \ou ha\e dime so." 
 
 In a moment Selm;i and the countess 
 were alone ai,''ain. 
 
 " Well, Selma," said the countess, 
 dr.iwiui,'- the beautiful younic f4'''l 'ti li^^r, 
 with a motherly aflection. ".\m I not 
 rii^^ht ? ^'ou do lo\e him, iJo you not?" 
 
 .Selma drew away from the coimtess 
 with a confused smile. Then the smile 
 faded, and her face became very thou£j;'ht- 
 ful, the while her pretty finj^'ers played 
 with the tassel o( the cushion beside her. 
 
 " I i.\o no! know, madame," said she 
 presently. "1 tlo not think one can learn 
 to lo\e so soon. Hut -Monsieur le Haron 
 is the nearest approach \o my ideal that 
 1 h;i\e e\er seen. Hesides, he is my 
 cousin, and the master o( Chateau Blanc. 
 1 ha\ e read in books oi love at first siiji'ht, 
 but for me, lo\e must come throu»jh 
 assiicialion with a noble character. I do 
 not know my cousm's character sufficiently 
 to juds^e, but he i,''ives the best promise 
 of any man 1 lia\ e ever met. His comintf 
 has relieved me o\' many anxieties, and I 
 do not feel so utterly alone. .My sympathv 
 for him, I think, is quite natural ; he is my 
 relative, ^'ou s;iy I love him ; I am not 
 sure; and yet I feel that I could love him, 
 if he is all that my impressions sug'yest. 
 How difTerent he is from well, I was 
 about to say .Monsieur .Argeneau." 
 
 "Whv, Selma ! What an absurd com 
 
 .» 
 
THK i.Ain' OK til \ri:.\r mi.wc. 
 
 a? 
 
 parison ! Wlial, Ar},'-eiicau. tlio soi-rotary ? 
 Oil, come, my tiear, Monsieur lo Hiiron 
 would not like- that." 
 
 Tlie Louuiess laui,''lietl heartily, and 
 Solma laui,Mied loo, hut liers was not tiie 
 merriment oi' her ei>mpHnion. 
 
 " ^'ou must rememher, dear tHuuiless, 
 that I have not seen many tjentlemen 
 with whom I can eompare monsieur my 
 cousin," 
 
 " Well, Selma dear, o\' all the men I 
 know, there is not cin\i more worthv o( 
 esteem than Monsieur !e Haron. I owe 
 n.y lite to him. If you ever succeed in 
 winning' his love, you should be the 
 happiest woman in France." 
 
 " Let us not speak o( it, madame." 
 
 "Why not, dear Selma!-' I am sure 
 Monsieur le Haron is a nohle fellow." 
 
 " Hut if I should disco\er that his love 
 is essential to my happiness, I do not 
 flatter myself that I could win it. Then, 
 dear countess, my life woidd he very 
 wretched indeed." 
 
 The coimtess broke inti> a merry laugfh. 
 
 " Whv Selma," she cried, "do you not 
 know that a woman as beautiful as \ou 
 are, coidd have the world at her t'eet if 
 she wanted it ? " 
 
 "Oh, why do you speak so, madame?" 
 said Selma, impatiently. " I fear you 
 arc jestintj;' with me." 
 
 " Helieve me, I was never more in 
 earnest. Hut there, my de.ar, il' I dis- 
 please you, I will sav no more." 
 
 There was a vast difference between 
 these two. The one, yountj, imsophisii- 
 cated, fresh and beautiful. The other, 
 middle-ai;ed, '.experienced, dark .and 
 faded. 
 
 Countess de \'ilma's life had been a 
 stranjje one. Like the Duchess of Dantzic, 
 she had followed the army at the side o( 
 her husband ; or, with a canteen at her 
 hip, had figured amoiiiif the wounded 
 
 soldiers as a ministering ani^^el. She was 
 in Russia, and it is a wonder th.'it she 
 survived that terrible campaign. In fact 
 she nearly lost her life at 'he crossing c( 
 the He-esina, when the bridges were 
 demolished by the crush oi' struggling 
 soldiers upiin them. Hut, owing to the 
 timel) succor ot Colonel de Hanvan, who 
 brought her ashore at the risk o( his own 
 life, she had survived to participate in the 
 Prussian campaign which followed. And 
 after ;ill was lost, and her husband had 
 volunteered to go into exile, as an otlicer 
 of the devoted grenadiers, who followed 
 N'apoleon to LIba, she went with tiiem. 
 When the new coiut was formed at 
 Porlo-Ferrajo, with the Princess Horghese 
 at its head, she was appointed one o( the 
 ladies in waiting, and from that time 
 became thormighlv imbued with the idea 
 th;it the I'^mperor should return to l'"rance. 
 This enthusiasm, stinudated by that of 
 Princess Borghtl'se, who had become an 
 earnest worker in her imperial brother's 
 behalf, prompted her to make the present 
 adventure into I'rance, and it is owing to 
 this that we find her at Chateau HIanc. 
 Selma was greatly pleased with her, and 
 had lost no time in cultivating her 
 acquaintance, so that at the present 
 moment they were greatly attached to 
 each other. There was something so 
 kind and sympathetic about Mad.ame la 
 Comtesse, that after the death oi' her 
 supposed father, Selma found her a great 
 consolation, and dreaded to think at' the 
 time when the countess would be com- 
 pelled to return to Elba. 
 
 It was not long before Jidie returned 
 with the news that the doctor had been 
 sent for, and then Selma and the countess 
 busied themselves with whatever they 
 could think of that might convey to 
 de Banyan a sense of their profound 
 sympathy. 
 
38 
 
 lllh L.\l)\ OK CHAlK.Xr Hl.ANC. 
 
 CHAP'Il 
 HIE': KKsri.r o\- 
 
 News travels last. Tliat Monsieur le 
 Haroii liail been tlirown Irom liis horse 
 aiul luirt, was a topic n\' eoinersation 
 aim>ii<; the servants o\ thecliateau tor the 
 lemaiiuier ol the das'. Simie thoui^hi it 
 an ill omen. Some could \ery easily ac- 
 count lor it. Some could not acciiunt for 
 it. Some did not pretend to account for 
 it. l-"inallv the truth was known. .Mon- 
 sieur le I) iron's horse hai.1 bolleil, and 
 had dashed in amonj^' some trees. Mon- 
 sieur le Haron, ha\ini,'' suddenly come in 
 contact with a heavy limb, and l'>eini,'' un- 
 able to withstand tiie shock ot' collision, 
 had been swept fVom his saddle and 
 (.lashed to the earth. Monsieur le Haron 
 beiiii,^ more fragile than Mother I'.arth. 
 had, ol" course, i^ot the worst ol it, and 
 was now itursini;' a Iractured arm. 
 
 Doctor Hlau\elt, however, declared 
 that there were no internal injuries, and 
 i^'ave e\er\(ine to under.stanJ that Mon- 
 sieur le Haron woukl soon be aroiuid 
 ai^ain, alihoui,'^h he wciuld be compelled to 
 carry his arm in a slin;^- tor some time to 
 conie. 
 
 It was indeetl pro\ i^kini^'. 'i"o be 
 houseel up with a briiken arm w;is decid- 
 edly ii-ksonie. Hut alter all, there was 
 at least some consolation in the prospect 
 ot an association with his cousin Selma 
 aiul the Countess de \'ilma. Therefore, 
 with the best j^raco that the occasion 
 would permit, he endeavored to adapt 
 himself' to present circumstances. It w.is 
 .some time in the afternoon before the 
 doctor succeeded in settintr his arm. It 
 
 R \'lll. 
 
 nil-; .ACiiiM'NT. 
 
 was still later in the ilax before a power- 
 ful opiate had taken effect, and while 
 Morpheus held sway o\er Ills sen.ses, the 
 sun went ilown behind tiie hazy hills in a 
 tiare ot L;'i>Ulen f,''lory. 
 
 The ladie.s had been very solicitous ; 
 Selma especially, and it is possible that 
 her i^rentle solicitude may have liad more to 
 do with easin<,''tle Hanyaii's siifTerinj^'s tiian 
 the doctor's powerful opiate. 
 
 The pretty bouquet of t"oryfet-me-nots, 
 in a neat little vase whicii stood on a table 
 near at hanti, had been brought in by 
 Selina's maid, Julie, with her mistress's 
 compliments, aiul an expression of com- 
 miseration. The dainty luncheon which 
 came in later on, had been prepared by 
 Selm:'. herself, and as de Banyan ate it, 
 he tried to think ot another titre when a 
 w Oman's ij-entle attentions had been sucii 
 ;i h.ilm to his wmuids, but could not recall 
 ;i sinL;le instance. 
 
 .Vrj^'eneau also had been very attentive. 
 He ctHild not leave .Monsieur le Haron's 
 side, and he exhibited considerable feeling 
 c/ver the accident. Even after de Banyan 
 hail fallen asleep, li'.: remained in the 
 room, in case o( ■. rnorgency, and left it 
 iMily loni,'' eno;;,;!; to <^et his meals. His 
 countenance, iiovvever, was not nearly so 
 placid as usual, and it is just possible that 
 the experience of the morning with Selma 
 was still prevalent in his mind, with all its 
 disturbing features. That he was in love 
 with her could hardly be doubted, but it 
 may have been that her fortune had more 
 to do with his affections than the fascin- 
 
TMH l.\l>\ OV CIIAIKAr RLWC 
 
 39 
 
 M 
 
 atinjj yoiin)^' lady IktscII', althniij,'li she 
 \v;i>< iiulootl sviHlhy of a lar superior man 
 tliaii ho. Still, ho sooniod road)' ti) mako 
 the bosl oi' it, and hiilo his timo. Thoii, 
 too, it was possiblo that ho t'oared the 
 disploasuro o( his now master, and hoped 
 to win his s,'-i)i)d opinion before he should 
 hoar ot the atVair in the sinnmor house. 
 lie was satisfied that do Manyan would 
 never hear o( it Irom .Mile. Selma. 
 Her pride would prevent that. N'et it was 
 aj^ain possible that someone iiad over- 
 heard, and ho felt uneasy. As a solace 
 he endeavored lo read. Hut judi,nni; 
 from the number oi' times he looked up 
 from his book and i^azed absently into 
 vacancy, readins,'' did not produce the de- 
 sired effect. 
 
 Hrvd he known de Hanyan better, how- 
 e\er, he would have had occasion to flat- 
 ter himself that his attentions had made 
 a favorable impression. Oe Banyan w.is 
 bejj^inninf^ to like him, and yet he won- 
 dered at the attachment. There was 
 something about this shrewd, yet com- 
 mimicative younij man which at first 
 aroused de Banyan's distrust, and despite 
 the fact that he was ins^'ratiatini;' himself 
 into his master's favor, de Banyan con- 
 tinued to regard him with a \af^ue suspi- 
 cion. Several times since the conversa- 
 tion in the library that morninfj he had 
 pondered the question of discliarj^insjliim 
 from his service. But when he remem- 
 bered that Ars^-eneau was acquainted with 
 every detail of his recently inherited es- 
 tate, he realized that his services were 
 invaluable, and to dispense with them 
 would be decidedly injudicious. Besides, 
 having- him near, he could prevent the 
 circulation of any theory concerninj^ Sel- 
 ma which Argeneau might entertain. 
 
 Since women had never interested him 
 very much, it seemed strange to cle Ban- 
 yan that he should be so deeply concerned 
 about Selma. It is true he had some 
 doubts of her origin, and the more he 
 
 pondered .Xrgeneau's theory, the more the 
 secretary's views seemed possible. N'et 
 when lie remembered the soothing effect 
 Selma's presence had mer him, and how 
 good and clever she seemed, he was de- 
 terminetl to withhold judgment until he 
 knew the truth, and, though naturally cu- 
 rious, he was not anxious to know that 
 which, if revealed, might become a cruel 
 piece of kni>wIodge to all concerned. He 
 could not help remarking 'he resemblance 
 she bore to the Bonapartcs, and yet, as 
 he turned this i>ver in his mind, he con- 
 cluded again that resemblances amounted 
 to nothing. Besides, it appeared to him 
 that .Mailame Mortier's story was the 
 more plausible, and he concluded to believe 
 it. 
 
 During the morning, while riding upon 
 his high-spirited charger, ho recalled to 
 mind Selma as she stood in the garden 
 surrounded by flowers, with that sad 
 though interesting smile upon her beauti- 
 ful features, and he thought her the fair- 
 est creature he had ever beheld. Then 
 again, he resolved that whoever should 
 malign her good name should answer to 
 him for it. He was glad that he had 
 warned Argeneau. He was satisfied 
 with himself that he liad interviewed Ma- 
 dame Mortier, and now he believed no- 
 thing could possibly occur which might 
 cause his adopted cousin's imhappiness. 
 
 Having settled this in his own mind, 
 his thoughts reverted to .\rgeneau, and 
 he determined as soon as possible to know 
 something of his history. it was while 
 this thought predominated that the acci- 
 dent had occurred, and although his 
 meditation had been suddenly inter- 
 rupted, and a number of incidents 
 had intervened before its resumption, 
 upon waking, about midnight, he discov- 
 ered Argeneau still sitting in the room, 
 with an open book in his hand, and his 
 mind at once returned to the interrupted 
 topic. 
 
THE LADY OF- CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 Hut his brain was not free from tlic 
 opiate, and after watching,'- Aryeneaii a 
 moment, he drifted off into semi-con- 
 sciousness, and did not asjain open his 
 eyes until aroused hy a low knock upon 
 the door which ojioned into the corridor. 
 
 Argeneau, upon answerinj^ the knock, 
 discovered that it was Antoinc, the foot- 
 man, come to announce the arrival of 
 three strang'e gentlemen. 
 
 De Banyan had overheard and was 
 wide awake in an instant. - 
 
 " Their names I" he cried. 
 
 Argeneau was startled at the sound of 
 his master's voice, coming so unexpected- 
 ly from behind the curtains ot the bed, 
 but answered immediately. 
 
 " Major de Hrissac, Captain Martello, 
 and Monsieur de Saint-Breton." 
 
 " They have come in good time," said 
 de Banyan. " .Admit them, .Antoine, and, 
 Argeneau, see that they want for no- 
 thing." 
 
 .As .Argeneau left the room, de Banyan 
 lay back upon his pillow, and a happy 
 smile lighted up his countenance. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THREE GENTLEMEN FROM PARIS. 
 
 .Another morning had come, and still isting on nothing better than bread and 
 
 there was a promise of fair weather. The water, with only ,'in occasional bottle of 
 
 birds sang cheerily in the park and the wine, will certainly look happier while 
 
 sun slione so brightly that all nature re- partaking oi' the delicacies of a wealthy 
 
 joiced in its ctTulgence. The same cheer- haron"s table, and if our friends appeared 
 
 ful spirit prevailed within doors. In the amiable, and ate sumptuously, it is not 
 
 breakfast room .Majiir de Brissac, Cap- to be wondered at. 
 
 tain -Martello and Monsieur de Sairit- There is nothing like a good meal to 
 
 Breton were feasting, with considerable bring about sociability ; but on this occa- 
 
 satisfaction. upon the delicacies that had sion tliere was, for a time, considerable 
 
 been set before them. reser\e. This, be it known, was due to 
 
 M. de Saint-Breton was seated at one the fact that the trio were not very well 
 
 end of tile table, with the maior at his aci.|uainteil. That is to sa\', de Brissac 
 
 right and the captaiti at iiis lett. Me was aiul Martello were somewhat suspicious 
 
 a tall, well-built man, with a full, mmd, o( de .Saint-Breton, atul de Saint-Breton 
 
 jovial face, twinkling eyes, a short, tlat was ncit sure of de Brissac and .Martullo. 
 
 nose, iirown hair and short side-whiskL-is; They had met upon the road the night 
 
 yet, despite his pleasantness, there was before, and ;ilthougi) conversant to 
 
 that about the moutii and chin wiiicli in- some extent upon dixers topics, \erv 
 
 dicated determination and considerable little had been said whicii wouUI tend to 
 
 daring. lie was attired in a civilian revLal the object ol the \isit to Chateau 
 
 suit of dark material, with jack boots, and Blanc. He Brissac ami Martello had 
 
 would easily have passed for a merchant. overtaken de Saint-Breton, and had made 
 
 The only change in the appearance o( e?iquiries o\' him for the chateau, where- 
 
 linssac a 
 
 nd .Mart 
 
 eilo, since their intrii- upon the stranger hail replied that since 
 
 duction at the Lion tfOr Inn, in the l''au- he was ilesiineil to the same place, he 
 
 bourg St. .\ntoine, was a more contented would be glad ot' their companv. So 
 
 expression of countenance, which might while tie Briss;ic aiul .Mart 
 have been due to their present circuni- 
 
 eiio were won- 
 
 dering who the sn anger mis'-ht be, and 
 
 stances, since soldiers who h.ive been ex- what his business at the hatea 
 
 u was. 
 
 de 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 31 
 
 Saint-Breton in like manner was worry- 
 ing- his brain over de Brissac and Mar- 
 telio. 
 
 In their conversation the death oi' 
 Baron de Banyan, and the arrival of the 
 new heir, had been commenced upon, but 
 it was discovered that de Saint-Breton 
 had never met the present Baron de Ban- 
 yan, althou^'-h he had known of him as a 
 colonel of chasseurs for some time. Lit- 
 tle was leai ned of each other, aside from 
 the fact that they had left Paris that 
 morning. Even their names were not 
 known until they announced them- 
 selves at the chateau. Under these cir- 
 cumstances it was quite natural that a 
 certain amoiuit of reserve should exist; 
 besides, Foucho's spies were so numerous 
 throughout the country, that one knew 
 not whom to trust, and to be suspected 
 of being an agent of the Bonapartists 
 was a matter which often resulted in the 
 arrest and conilemnation to death of the 
 suspect ; thereibre, one could not be too 
 careful in making acquiiintances. But 
 after th.ey had been a few moments at 
 breakfast, and had felt the cheering 
 warmth of some rare old Burgundy, there 
 was a disposition to tliaw out and becoiue 
 more sociable. 
 
 " .My faith I" exclaimed de Brissac, as 
 he set down his glass, aiui sm;ickeil his 
 lips with a decisive wag of the head, 
 "but our dear Maurice has inherited 
 some excellent wine along with his patri- 
 mony. It does my soul good to sample 
 it. Come now, my friemls, fill uvi your 
 glassL's and join me in a tir.ist to the 
 health of Colonel Banm de Bany.an." 
 
 There was no nc^i] of a secorvl invita- 
 tion, and when the glasses touched t)ie 
 table ag.-iin the faces oi .all be.ameu witli 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " it i;-' ' excellent wine, major, and 
 of an old vintage," remarked de Saint- 
 Breton. " i'lie late baron was narti.il to 
 
 tl 
 
 have I quaffed with him of this same sup- 
 ply." 
 
 "You seem to have known the old 
 baron pretty well ?" remarked de Brissac. 
 
 "Yes, fairly. I have had business 
 with him." 
 
 " Well, if he was as judicious in busi- 
 ness as he was clever in selecting his 
 wines, it is safe to surmise that success 
 attended him." 
 
 " He was successfid be)'ond a doubt. 
 No man ever had greater luck." said de 
 Saint-Breton. 
 
 " Nor did ever a man show greater 
 pluck !" exclaimed de Brissac, warmly. 
 " 1 reinember him at I^eipsic. Quick as 
 lightning, fierce as fire, stolid as a rock. 
 When the Elster bridge was blown up by 
 that confoiuided fool of a corporal, he 
 rallied his men, and led them to a ford 
 further up the stream ; then, while the 
 shot of the enemy fell round him like 
 hail, he got his division across amid the 
 cheers o( those who had preceded him. 
 Now, there was ;i general for you. But, 
 alack-a-day, those times are over now." 
 
 " ThinK you so, major," exclaimed de 
 Saint-Breton, looking up, with elevated 
 eyebrows. 
 
 I)e Brissac exchanged a quick glance 
 with .Martello, which signified some doubt 
 cimcerning the speaker. .Martello poured 
 another glass of wine, and appeared indif- 
 ferent. 'I'hen de Brissac put a question 
 which seemed strangely out of place, but 
 '\hich was not without its purpose, nev- 
 ertheless. 
 
 " Can it be, monsieur, that you love 
 the \i(.ilet ?" said he, after sweejiing a 
 <^l;uice about the room to see that there 
 Wire no servants present. 
 
 " What th Ml ?" w;is the quick reply. 
 
 .')e Brissac and Mai 1U> again ex- 
 changed glances, with a luiil of the head, 
 and an expression iif salisfaclion. 
 
 " It will return in tin' spririg," siiid 
 
 le w ines 
 
 o( B 
 
 lurgundv, and manv a health t! 
 
 ie\', ui conc^ t. 
 
33 
 
 ■ru'u LA<>V Ol- CHATEAU B.,ANC. 
 
 «-.^ are of the s.ime party,' 
 "So, then, ^^^ arte ^^^_ 
 
 ,,.ea ae Saint-Breton I J^ J ^^^ .^ 
 
 Only Bonapart.sts come here, 
 
 11 f.-> hi> on triiaru. 
 „ well to be . ^^ ,^p,,,e, 
 
 " The'- vou arc ntit 
 
 ■ r " ^-lid de Brissac. 
 monsieur, saia " _ ^^^ ^,,e 
 
 . 1 .„rvint'" exclaimed de 
 " Hist '. the servam . 
 
 Brissac, in a low voice 
 
 ,\fter the servant had come 
 
 the conversation co.^ed.^_^^^„ 
 
 '"^'^f T^laS^-"' earnestly, 
 resumed de ban ^^.^^^^^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 ' Have you not heard ^ , „f 
 
 monsieur," said de Hnssae ^^^^ ,. j,^^^.^ ,,, not ne.ie. ^ ,f 
 
 . Yes ; but my mission >Y\ '',,, to they are d,scussn g ^^^^^ ^,^^ ^,„,es ?" 
 
 ,t present; 1 cannot reveal a e^en ,,.„sportin, his Majes y to t e ^^^^ 
 
 vou - replied de Saint-Breton. ^. ^^ ,„ ,,,Uumed the major 
 
 ^''?:We!lthen,whatofthet.mes^^^^ou ^^^^^,,,, •„ ,,,,,eme.,t 
 must certainly have qu.te a bud. ^^^.^^^ .^ .^ ,,,,e. 
 
 news ; 
 
 ^'"•"•r-"t^e" replied de Saint- 
 ''^^' :^;^":^ himself from an ig- 
 
 ''"^"■- . ell^ e should leave Elba at 
 nominious exile, nc 
 
 once 
 
 CC-" , r .u-.s'J" asked de 
 
 "Does he know of this. 
 
 Ten days ago 
 
 ;ws ?'" ,,,, I,:^ efforts 
 
 D=Sa-.n,.Brctcnco„un^^'> -; a 
 
 P'-*" »'. 'r; r' f . ie T.,-„cries. a - 'o K.ba. « '* ^."^^ „,„„. , „ave just 
 
 ,he review m '"■]""! y^' ,he easer- l-^n-r^or. H- " „„„p,,l„e, anO Brit- 
 
 cidenx happenoJ whKh prne^ ^^ ^^^^^^.^^ ""'"''';' L- ci.v that was 
 
 „,„e „f th.nss. I "•' ,„„„K.,.tto """"■■""- .v.-or We o,>lv await 
 
 e„„„gl. .o overhear vvl,.,. . ^^ _^ _^^, ^„.^„„,, ,„ „,. ,avor. ;^_^,^^„ 
 
 relate <1 • ^"O. .. .0 "- ^^^ ^^ ,„^, „„, „„„e ■>- ' J„^,„ ,„„,,«<. 
 
 Due ae Barrl passeu -'""- ,.,.,., 1„ ,he Ivnipero, s l.uor .,. 
 
 ,„,»>«er -"";,;;;;„::':■,,;:,„; u, U-,,. hv'.ish.,n;m.uo,-.. ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^„, 
 
 '■T''T'm.„ sh>ha,y .<oro,Kl 
 
 7';: ; wtlU. no, pay V ouiwho 
 
 ot a man wm-' iVuni one 
 
 iKlvou, without recompens., n 
 
 end'ofKuropetotheo er. h^.^^ ^ 
 
 ^^^"^"n;:a:op^all eve. upon 
 
 ^'^""V7 \v Vilitto you- ^aia 
 
 ^^'^'•:''' , ,.'e o.nvehimcredi,-" 
 I, . ' t li'C choose 10 .i^e • . , „ 
 
 '%„e,™iora„cl*eeap,a-,„h..rs,a„oa 
 
 "":';';;■. .re .ore fiUe «... . «" ^.»- 
 
 " ,...id de Saint -Bret on. 
 ^"!w^;;:*l regiments of such iel- 
 : ,..^\he Emperor wouia soon regain his 
 
 power.- saia Martcllo. 
 
 '^'^ ^-":'"='^"; „,,nhs the Emperor 
 ..Then.natewmont ^^ 
 
 •u K . ni Paris !" cnea ae Bnssae. 
 " y n his favor, nothing can pre- 
 
 ^'^^^f'^^rJo Id advise that gouty old 
 vent him. I ^^^^^i"" . ^^^ his 
 
 " ''";;'" f':r,::;::'r;u.co.-. 
 
 jej^rs Will not ea.r> mm ,,.j„ 
 
 Uisbanaageaaimina^hng. ^^^.^^^^^^^ 
 
 i- \h ' niv dear Mauriee, 
 „• \pnn./mu towara de Banyan, as 
 
 Bnssac, spnn.H j, seems an 
 
 he caught sight ot h,m. ^ 
 
 age since we parted." 
 
THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 U 
 
 d de 
 jone, 
 
 »ow, 
 
 lestly. 
 , that 
 ity of 
 
 . VI" 
 
 jres r 
 nd the 
 
 Saint- 
 
 an ig- 
 
 Elba at 
 
 sked de 
 
 lays ago 
 I his way 
 ,n for the 
 lave just 
 and Brit- 
 ' that was 
 year ago, 
 inly await 
 nthusiasm 
 I increased 
 
 ; Emperor 
 :ic. "With 
 nir can pre- 
 it gouty old 
 idy, for his 
 France fast 
 iperor shall 
 friends, hH 
 This time 
 
 sand drained 
 But just as 
 leir scats, the 
 entered, with 
 
 • exclaimed de 
 Lie Banyan, as 
 "It seems an 
 
 Then seeing that he carried his arm in 
 a sling, he drew back in surprise. 
 
 " Whv, what devil's luck is this ?" he 
 exclaimed, pointing to the arm. 
 
 De Banyan closed the door and ad- 
 vanced a few steps toward the table, then 
 stood smiling- at his guests. 
 
 " Well, you see, my dear Lucien," 
 said he, somewhat jocosely, " I have a 
 hor.se in the stable that has a fashion of 
 taking the bit in his teeth. Yesterday he 
 bolted with me, dashed in among some 
 trees, brushed me off like a fly, and this 
 is the result." 
 
 ft 
 
 " Have him shot at once," cried de 
 Brissac, earnestly. "Why, pnrbleii, 
 
 man, we cannot afford to have you break- 
 ing your bones at a time like this. We 
 need you. The Emperor needs you. All 
 •"rani.e needs you. 1 take it, my dear 
 Maurice, that you are failinia;- in your 
 horsemanship for want of practice." 
 
 "There will be practice enough soon," 
 said Martello, ad\ ancing and shakin;^ de 
 Banyan's hand cordially. "It is a lucky 
 thing, Maurice, that it is not your sword 
 arm." 
 
 ".A. very lucky thing, baron," said de 
 Saint-Breton, who had risen and was 
 awaiting his turn. " 1 have not the 
 honor of knowing you personally, but 1 
 hope "his will not prevent me expressing 
 my syn'pathy." 
 
 " '\v^\\ lae very good, .Monsieur de 
 Saiiif-Pr ton," said de Banyan, approach- 
 ing stnd 'xtending his hand. " Since 1 
 was ii.ablf to bid you welcome last ni^ht, 
 pen. lit ; : .o do so now. Please do me 
 the honor to make yourself perfectly at 
 home, and remember that your smallest 
 wish shall be attended to with pleasure." 
 
 " 1 am very grateful to you, baron," 
 said de S;iint-Brcton, with a low bow. 
 " Allow me to say that it is the same hos- 
 pitality which your uncle has always ex- 
 !c.\dod to me." 
 
 " Then you have been here before, 
 monsieur ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, several times. I had con- 
 siderable business with the late baron. I 
 was here the morning- of the day he was 
 stricken, but he was in good health when 
 1 last saw him. I left for Paris on a 
 special mission in the interest of Countess 
 de Vilma. It was a great blow to me 
 when I learned of the baron's death." 
 
 " I fear his death has seriously incon- 
 venienced the countess. But whatever I 
 can do in his stead, shall be done in as 
 good a spirit," said de Banyan. 
 
 "Then we can rely upon you, baron ?" 
 said de Saint-Breton. 
 
 "To the death," said de Banyan, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 "Do I understand, Maurice, that Coun- 
 tess de Vilma is here ?" exclaimed Mar- 
 tello, in surprise. 
 
 " Yes, she is here, but she returns to 
 Elba soon." 
 
 " She will begin her journey to-night, 
 baron," said de Saint-Breton. " She 
 was waiting for me to return from Paris. 
 1 have been in search of valuable infor- 
 mation for the Emperor, and as soon as 
 my despatches are in her possession she 
 will begin her journey." 
 
 " Then we start with her," said de 
 Brissac, emphatically. " Since our des- 
 tination is Elba, she shall not go back 
 alone." 
 
 " But is it necessary for her to start 
 to-night?" said de Banyan, regretfully. 
 
 " Yes. She must not be seen leaving 
 the chateau," said de Saint-Breton. " It 
 is much safer to start at night. There 
 are spies everywhere. It would be dan- 
 gerous for you, my dear baron, should it 
 he made known to the authorities that 
 the countess is here. Once on the road, 
 so long as she travels incognito, she can 
 journey night or day in safety." 
 
 " She has much need of our protection 
 
34 
 
 THK LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC 
 
 'It was lucky we 
 
 then," said Martello. 
 arrived last night." 
 
 .. Hut vou, Maurice." sa,d de Br.s ac 
 ruefullv;"vou. with your broken bones 
 
 ::!>;; leave you behind. />«....«; 
 
 n,y horse ever serves me such a scurvv 
 trfck, I shall shoot him without compunc- 
 
 ''''"oh I shall be ready to join you when 
 the tin.; comes," said de Banyan_ 
 
 .' We count on you, Maurice , but alter 
 all since vou have come into your mher- 
 Uance, Perhaps you can do more good 
 here," said de Brissac. 
 
 ', shall endeavor to serve the E.nper- 
 or wherever I am," was deBa.^- ■- 
 
 plv Then turning to de Samt-Bn . 
 he' continued, " Vou see, 1 am already . 
 
 service to the countess and to you, n,on- 
 sieur, in his M^yesty's behalf. 
 
 .'Let me assure you, my dear baion, 
 
 of nn- gratitude," said de Saint-Breton. 
 ..Speaking ofthecountess,mytnends, 
 saidcLBrissac,beginningtofillh.sgass 
 
 ..reminds me of the fact that we have 
 
 .,ot yet honored her with a toa^t The 
 time is not inopportune, and I mv.te >o 
 
 "irr^urprising how many celebrities 
 
 thr:a3orco:id think ot when te^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 eood wine to be had, and .t .s hardlv ne 
 !r°arv to state that his friends were on 
 
 r^casion, quite ready to jom hn^ 
 ^The health of .he --s ^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ 
 in a brimming cup, and atter ^ > 
 
 coasted all the worthies they -uld th-^ 
 of, there prevailed a sentimejU of con 
 
 .eniality which compensated for 
 
 reticence of the evening before. 
 
 Finallv, breakfast being over, the> left 
 
 J/rrom^ndsec about the occupa^.ons 
 
 -fthedav. That is to say, de Samt 
 .to. was left to report to the countess 
 ,rne.de Brissac and Martello, were taken 
 
 n tow bv de B-anyan, who, m sp.te of h.s 
 h Zn arm, endeavored to entertam 
 them as best he could. It was qu.te nat- 
 rihatheshouldw^htotake^em 
 
 over his estate, and durmg the vvholc 
 n,orning they were thus occupied. 
 
 .lit 
 
THK LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 35 
 
 The 
 vite vou 
 
 jlebrities 
 iiere was 
 iirdly ne- 
 were, on 
 oin him. 
 s quaffed 
 they had 
 Hild think 
 it of con- 
 for the 
 
 -, they left 
 ccupations 
 de Saint- 
 g countess, 
 were taken 
 spite of his 
 I entertain 
 IS quite nat- 
 take them 
 the whole 
 pied. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FINDING OF A TREASIKE. 
 
 IF the walls of Chateau Blanc could nephew became his successor, there was 
 speak, they would tell excitinjj only a sujjgestion of the original Chateau 
 tales. During that period succeeding Noir left. This suggestion, however, 
 the revolution, in which the royalist was more noticeable internally than ex- 
 struggled against republican, and even ternally. There were secret doors and 
 in the time of the First Council, when passages to many of the apartments, and 
 measures were adopted for the destruc- in several instances either a large mirror 
 tion of all factions of a bandit nature, or painting, arranged with a secret 
 these same battlemented walls bore the spring, hid places of exit never dreamed of. 
 appellation of Chateau Noir, and gave It was while showing his friends over 
 shelter to a band of desperadoes, who, as the chateau, that de Banyan discovered 
 an excuse for their lawlessness, had es- several of these secret, doors and pas- 
 poused the cause of the royalist party. sages. Argeneau, who had been taken 
 
 Their leader, a dare-devil by nature, and 
 a bandit through force of circumstances, 
 bore the name and title of Marquis de Trc- 
 peson. He was of the old nobility, and 
 
 along to serve as a guide, had, with his 
 usual readiness, related several tales in 
 connection with them, more or less 
 legendary, and as he conducted the party 
 
 through his cunning and daring had es- here and there, he was gratified to see 
 
 caped the Conciergerie and the guillotine, that his narratives were received with 
 
 and drawing about him a malicious band considerable interest. It was after lunch- 
 
 of Chouans, had so securely established eon, and de Saint-Breton had 'oined 
 
 himself in his chateau, that he was not them. 
 
 dislodged until near the close of the period They had been over nearly the whole 
 
 of the First Council. Even then, despite building, when they finally reached an 
 
 the fact that several detachments had apartment, to which they did not gain 
 
 been sent against him, the intrepid mar- immediate admittance. The door was' 
 
 quis continued to bid defiance to the laws locked, and .Argeneau had some difficulty 
 
 of the land, until General de Banyan, in finding the key. 
 
 who was then a major, succeeded in cap- " Do you know what is beyond?" said 
 
 turing him, and in breaking up his band de Banyan to .Argeneau, who was work- 
 
 ot Chouans. ing diligently at the lock. 
 
 .\s a reward for his services, the First " No, monsieur," replied .Argeneau, 
 
 Council promoted the major to the rank 
 ! colonel, and gave him the entire estate, 
 V hich had been confiscated by the gov- 
 - iiment. The late baron had made good 
 >-e of the gift, and at the time his 
 
 " I do not know that this door has been 
 opened since I came to live here. The 
 late baron never entered this part of the 
 chateau, and it has been left as it was in 
 the time of the marquis " 
 
1 >vv lU about 
 
 , was in hopes you » , ,„■„, 
 
 ,,,,eU»V---^;^t",:: K.»n..- 
 "°"-'"";'■/ ;r'™>e "-"»'" '"r ■'" 
 
 where they keep the.. _ ^^^^^^^^.,^^^j ^j, 
 
 --nuitis not unhktl>, 
 
 Sah,t-Ureton, xs. '^ ^,^ ..^aed to 
 
 At this .m.ment the ^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ^P"^ "'\ t " pam- entered, they were 
 hmijes. ^""V.trhev beheld. 
 -•^^•^^'^""; ro'UlthpoUshedoak 
 U was a sma 1 roon ,„ehed 
 
 ,, . . .,,c was looW.nK for the secret 
 
 D.i Hrissae \^ " . 1 , 
 
 1 1 .nlv he cried '. 
 • ,.• when suddenl> nc «- ^_ 
 
 ;nrnig. ^^"*=" , ^ . ,^^,,, ..,e here.'' 
 
 He was ^^-7; •;\^^,., .^,ahered rovuul 
 Glided frame. Theothus, 
 
 "''"'■ .• -th \t -IS a buUet, or 1 never 
 
 ..Hvmytaith, it.s. . ^_^.^^ ,^^,^ 
 
 k,iew the mark one . ;^^ i,,,s been 
 „,,„ the firc-ph.co. ,^, ,j„„. 
 
 >""-„-:;:,;'s,-e;.h.- ■".^-*»' 
 
 small, daiK , ^,,,i, here.•' 
 
 ^'- ^^^^^^ '^ 't he pohued toalar^e 
 As he spoke he P ^^^^j^. ^^.^^^. 
 
 •^^ ^^^ :^^^'^;,:; or, about half way 
 U was a sman rou,„. -■.•.. , Hack ^^^^^^^^ ,,a the wall. They^ 
 
 floor, deep oak ----'^;; ,, open ^^^^^/re ^^estly ^^^l^^^^:;''^ 
 walls and ce.hn^. ^'^'\ yh^\\^^\^^ '^^^'*^''^ ., ,vith his handkerch.el. l'^ 
 
 turnUure was ot heav>. -|rv.^ ^^^^^^ ^^^ ^,^^,^^ ,vuh h,s l^^ ^^^ ^^ „,,jUative mood. 
 
 ,,f ,he stain scaled oH. _ ,^,i,imed de 
 Blood, by n.y ■ t - ^^^^.^^^,^,j, 
 
 Bnssac. " The buUet has . 
 
 ""''' ^c'' , Hreton straightened himself 
 ne ^^^'"^-^^'\^;, ,,^., ,hout the room 
 "^^^ -w-^PV:^ "."u behind him, stepped 
 
 urnuii'^ •■- 
 
 oi a very old pattern 
 
 In the centre ot 
 
 - • .,n oaken table, such as 
 
 '''' '""^ "^';,r eiMueenth century tor 
 were used n. the e, ^^^^ ^^^^^^^^^^ ^^„,, 
 
 writing purposes, i '- ^^ .,^ ,^^, 
 
 1 C.I was ever\inuir, 
 clusi, and so w.i. 
 
 room. , ;is a library, 
 
 -Thismusthavesu ed^^_^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 ,, study." o>----^^ ^^, , sweeping 
 surveyed the room -th 
 
 ^^lance. ,j ,uarqi''^ evi- 
 
 . .Well. »>'--• '^, he should be 
 aen^^-^^^'-;.-::tt-:.Uap, forhe 
 ^^^^'^'^ '"-Wlu; usual means otesit, 
 has provided 1- ^^, ^^ ^,,,.^,,0 
 
 then, with his nana ^ ^.^^^^.^.^ ^^^^,^^,. 
 
 towards the t.ible. - ^^,,^. 
 
 OeBanyan,whose.um^^^^^^^^^^^^^, ^,^^ 
 
 ^;;^:;:^;;r::rseated himself a short 
 
 not know the stoi, ---^^ ^^,, ,,,e it 
 ,oom," said de Banyan, 
 would be interesting. ^^^_^ ^,^^^^ , ,, 
 
 .. 1 ..m verv soii>. nu-., ^ 
 
 \'' •, - said .\rgeneau. 
 
 not know it- 
 
 should like to tell it. ^^^^^^^ ^^„ 
 
 . Perhaps, my dea. baron, _^ ^^ ^^ ,^^^_ 
 
 .soie... t';^;::^:b;;ut it.-' said de saint. 
 
 ^^- T -t l/":a:::;:;n:'o a h^-si^e y;;^ ^omahm. ^^^^^^ ^^ ^,^^,, ,,.. h. 
 
 *"'^^'' ^'^^ . , , van. in surprise. 
 
 ^'^;^;;othersimmediatelv became into- . .^ ^.^^ ^ ,,,, not? 
 
 ,led in the p 
 
 iclure. 
 
THE L.\^»^• OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 J)/ 
 
 i sec 
 
 ret 
 
 ^ in lli^' 
 •ed vouwi^ 
 
 „• 1 never 
 
 saiJ he. 
 
 has been 
 e standnii; 
 
 d de Ban- 
 aken. that 
 down t'l-oni 
 
 lo a lar-o 
 at halt" way 
 wall. Ihey 
 lello' brushed 
 <erchier. He 
 , toot. Some 
 
 exclaimed de 
 oone thront^h 
 
 Uened himselt 
 Hit the room. 
 ,d him, stepped 
 edilative mood. 
 ,as sjivint." '^^'^^^' 
 ,c dust otV one 
 himself a ^horl 
 
 eau, that you do 
 nected with tlus 
 , >• 1 am sure it 
 
 onsieur. thai 1 clo 
 Argeneau. 
 
 baron, 1 could tell 
 
 it," said de Samt- 
 
 h of snuff from h's 
 
 - exclaimed de Han- 
 
 ^0 
 
 
 I'lverv one was surprised and no less 
 attenti\'e. 
 
 "Then I hes,'- of you, monsieur, to pro- 
 ceed, ^'ou see liou anxious wn are," 
 said de Banyan. 
 
 " \'ery well ; I will uio my best. Hal, 
 t,>'entlemen, you must not expect loo 
 much." 
 
 In a momenl they had j,Mthered around 
 de Saint-Breton, and witii almost the 
 eafj-erness of children awaited the story . 
 
 " II is not a lonj^ story, i^entlemen," 
 said de Saint-Breton, "and as I am not 
 blessed \vitii liie descripti\ e ability o\' our 
 worlhx' friend, Arjjfeneau, I shall stale it 
 as brieth as possible. In the year 1803 
 I was a lieutenant imder the late Baron 
 de Han\an, w lu^ was then a major. I 
 was witii him wlien he captured the Mar- 
 quis de Trcpeson. We had a iiarti fii,''hl 
 befvtre we i^'ainei.l possession ot the ch.il- 
 eau, and many ol' oiu" men ,\ere killed. 
 Mul we had a strons,'' force, -.iniA were 
 determined to succeed. Oin- men were 
 so furious, that upon tjainint; an en- 
 trance, they ransacked the buikliiii;' aiu! 
 killed a ji^ootl man\ who were hidint^f in 
 the ilitl'erenl apartmenls. In the cor- 
 ridors there was a perfect melee, in the 
 midst ol which 1 (.lisctn ered a man, w horn 
 I knew lo be in the employ o{ i'ouchc, as 
 ,1 i;o\ernnient spy. He was tii,''htint;- 
 with our ememies, and I knew tlieii that 
 he had been tloinij' the double service of 
 a traitor. He had used his connection 
 with the Minister of Police to further the 
 cause of the ro\alists. and in this way 
 had manai^ed to keep the .M;irquis de 
 
 that secret door. 1 fired my pistol at him, 
 and the ball passed throuj,''h his head. 
 He fell there, where you see that stain 
 upon the floor. I presume that is the 
 bullet in the jiicture frame." 
 
 .As he finished, de Saint-Brelon coolly 
 helped hiirjself to another pinch of siuifF. 
 
 Strani,»-e to say, .Ars^eneau was so 
 ai,''itated that de Bayan asked him what 
 was the matter. 
 
 " It is nothing, ihonsieur. Simply 
 one of my old attacks, which often comes 
 on during- an exciting moment. I can- 
 not listen to the story of bloodshed with- 
 out becoininj,^ excited." 
 
 " \'ou would ne\er make a soldier, 
 Arg-eneau," said de Brissac, derisi\el\. 
 " \'ou are too sensitive." 
 
 "Indeed, I fear I am, monsieur. I 
 was never cut out for a soldier." 
 
 But nothiiii;- more was ihoutjht of 
 .Arj^-eneau than that he was of a very 
 timid nature. True, his actions were 
 quite uiuisual, but when tlvese robust 
 and hardy soldiers had taken into consid- 
 eration his slitfiu. nervous body, they 
 thoiii,''ht thai perhaps his sensitiveness 
 was quite riatinal, and thev dismissed 
 the subject without furlher conunent. 
 
 The slorv of the rocmi with its secret 
 door still imereslet! iheiu, and tie SaiiU- 
 Breton appeared in another character. 
 That he hatl been a soldier aroused a 
 teeliiiij' of sympathy wiiich was conuuon 
 to all. That he had participated in the 
 overthrow ol the Marquis de Trcpeson 
 and his band made him more interesting 
 than ever, and Iroiu that moment they 
 
 rcpeson 
 
 md 
 
 is band of desperadoes 
 
 reyar 
 
 d^a 
 
 turn as a man oi consulera 
 
 posit'd. His name was Henedict \h 
 
 tontaine." 
 
 hie 
 I'or a few minutes Martello 
 had been contemiilatinir the secret door. 
 
 miportiuu 
 
 As de Saint-Breton uttered the name, I'inallv he rose fro'ii hi-- 
 
 d St 
 
 ep- 
 
 \ 
 
 ry eneaii started, and his face became a.^ 
 
 pale as death. No one noticed it, how- 
 ewr, and de Saint-Bretosi contiiuied. 
 
 pinj^ to the picture, betjan lo examine it. 
 not only with his eyes, hut with iiis 
 hands. 
 
 siiiirled out tl 
 
 le man. 
 
 He fled t( 
 
 th 
 
 IS room. 
 
 As h 
 
 e was about tci ojien where, saiu he 
 
 There ..licuiid be a sprint;' here some- 
 h 
 
38 
 
 THK L.\D\ OF CHATKAU BLANC. 
 
 The others drew about him, and began 
 to search for the spring. 
 
 While this was going on, Argeneau 
 stepped to de Banyan's side and asked 
 that he might be excused, stating tiiat 
 he had not finished certain work which 
 required his attention. De Banyan, see- 
 ing that they would not require him 
 longer, permitted him to go. 
 
 Meanwhile, the spring had been found, 
 and amid exclamations of satisfaction the 
 door swiuig open. 
 
 Instead of a passage-way, as they ex- 
 pected, they founH an alcove, or rather, 
 a closet. In this were arranged a num- 
 ber of shelves, and on these shelves were 
 a number of well-filled bags. De Bris- 
 sac took one of these down. It was very 
 heavy, and when he dropped it upon the 
 floor there was a jingle of coin. When 
 he opened it, a glittering mass of gold 
 met iiis gaze. 
 
 With an exclamation of surprise they 
 gathered around de Brissac ; then de 
 Banyan took the bag and emptied it 
 upon the table. Martello stepped to the 
 door leading to the corridor, closed it and 
 
 locked it, then returned to the table. In 
 a very short time twenty bags had been 
 emptied upon the table, and in the glit- 
 tering mass of gold, there was over one 
 hundred thousand francs. Who could 
 tell how it came there. But everyone 
 guessed that it had been the marquis' 
 treasure. 
 
 " My friends," said de Banyan, after 
 they had coimted the money, " we are 
 all in the same .cause. We are each of 
 us devoted to the Emperor. The Em- 
 peror is in need of money. His cause can- 
 not live without money. My plan is this, 
 Monsieur de Saint-Breton shall take this 
 money to the Emperor, for immediate 
 use. It has, no doubt, been stolen from 
 the government, by the marquis and his 
 band, and to the government it shall 
 return. What say you, my friends, to 
 my plan ? " 
 
 The plan was at once agreed upon, 
 and when night came, the gold was 
 packed away in Countess de Vilma's 
 carriage, and started on its journey to 
 the Emperor. 
 
THK LADV OK C'HATKXr Ml.Wt 
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTKU XI. 
 
 A SOIAO OF msSARS lAVIK Oil HI- Till: Ntl.MT. 
 
 of the true stale oi' i\f- 
 fairs in Paris, that she 
 tooi< de Saint-Breton's 
 advice to start tor 
 KIba that verv nitriit. 
 
 -fA with a budjjet of information 
 
 I- ' which would certainly be ot 
 
 jjfreat value to the F^mperor. 
 After dismissing de Saint-Hreton, she in- 
 formed her maid of her intentions, and 
 instructed her to get things ready for the 
 start. Then she sought Selma's boudoir 
 with the hope of spending the rest of tiie 
 day with her. 
 
 In the evening the ladies .ind the gen- 
 tlemen met in the elegant drawing-room 
 of the chateau. Selma had her harp and 
 lute brought in, and for a time enter- 
 tained them with selections from Haydn's 
 "Creation," which was then fast becom- 
 ing popular. She had a sweet soprano 
 voice, and when she sang with lute 
 vcompaniment, " With \'erdure Clad," 
 ' ery one was delighted. Finallx , re- 
 suming her harp she several selections 
 from Mchul's " Ci.ibrielle d'Kstrces," and 
 Sponlini's " Ka Vestale." charming her 
 little audience to the fullest extent; so 
 with music, cards and congenial conversa- 
 tion the evening passed quickly. 
 
 The parting hour came finally, and as 
 Countess de V'ilma's travelling carriage 
 
 rolled away, Selma burst into I us and 
 hurried to her room. Madame Mortier 
 was there to console her, however, and 
 for some time they sat together comment- 
 ing upon tiie events of the past week, 
 and what they expected o( the future. 
 Finally, Madame .Mortier bade Selma 
 good-night and left the room. 
 
 For sonic time Selma sat ;it her win- 
 dow, looking out into the night. The 
 sky was clear and the stars were grand 
 to contemplate. The moon had not yet 
 ri>en, liul awa\ in the distance there was 
 .1 glow among the trees which her.alded 
 her advent. Deep, fantastic shadows 
 lined the roadway, and a gentle breeze 
 whispered among the trees. There was 
 no other souiul save the chirping o." in- 
 sects, the croaking of frogs, and the flut- 
 if,g o{ ;i nightingale from a hedge in the 
 park. 
 
 I'rosenth , lunvever, another sound be- 
 came noticeable ; indistinct at first, tb.en 
 graduallv more ilefmile. Selma listened 
 attentively And wondered if it could be the 
 countess returning, but as the sound was 
 finally located in an opposite direction, 
 her anxiety was imn-,ediately changed 
 from the countess to what promised to be 
 a coming event. It was not long before 
 she could distinguish the sound of gallop- 
 ing horses, and as they drew nearer, the 
 cadence of r.ipid hoof beats could be eas- 
 ilv followed. 
 
 Suddenly, from a bend in the road, two 
 horsemen dashed into view. In spite of 
 
40 
 
 THH \.AD\ 0\' C'HATKAr BI.AXC. 
 
 the darkness, there was luUroiihle to dis- 
 cern that they were hussars. They rode 
 side by side, and moved at a rapid pace. 
 In another moment two others appeared, 
 and together they rode as if tniich depend- 
 ed upon their speed. Selma listened 
 ea<jferly. Presently, altluniifh the trees 
 and the nijjfht had for a time obscured 
 them, slie was aware they had halted at 
 the park gate. Then she realized that 
 they were galloping up the avenue. She 
 could hear the scraping of gra\ el under 
 foot, the clanking of sabres, the rattling 
 of bridle chains, the squeaking of leather, 
 the sound of heavy breathing. In another 
 moment tiiey were at the foot of the stair- 
 case. 
 
 There was a stamping and scraping of 
 gra\el as the horses were brought to a 
 stand, then all was still, save the champ- 
 ing of bits, and the lieavy breathing of 
 the panting animals. 
 
 Selma looked out very cautiously, her 
 heart was throbbing wildly. The horses 
 had evidently travelled fast ; they were 
 reeking with sweat, and their nostrils 
 were widely distended. 
 
 One man, who bore ihreo chexrons 
 upon his arm, dismounted, threw his 
 bridle to his comrade, gathen-d up his 
 sabre and sabre-tache, then with an erect 
 bearing and a brisk step climbed the 
 staircase. 
 
 The door opened before ho hail time to 
 rap. 
 
 " ^'ou have come too late. N'our 
 bird has flown," exclaimed an irritated 
 voice. 
 
 Selma was electrified. The voice was 
 .\rgeneau's. Why should he ha\e open- 
 ed the door-' Why not. .\iUoine, the 
 footman ? She was just abo\ e them aiul 
 could hear distinctly. She listened eag- 
 erly. 
 
 " The devil I" exclaimed the hussar. 
 " \'ou may well sa\' the devil," retorted 
 Argeneau, augrilv. " \'ou ha\e had 
 
 plenty of time. Wni knew of this alfair 
 three hours ago." 
 
 "We started an hour ago. We have 
 been riding ever since," replied the hus- 
 sar. " Besides, you did not tell us he 
 would leave to-night." 
 
 " Well, there is time yet. Vou can 
 nertake him. His roi c lies to the 
 south. 1 would advise you to follow at 
 once. But have a care ; he is well-arm- 
 ed and well-mounted. Besides, there are 
 two others with him." 
 
 " Keep your warning for those who 
 need it," replied the grufT voice of the 
 hussar. 
 
 Then turning upon his heel, he descend- 
 ed the steps and mounted his horse. 
 There was a trampling of feet in the 
 gravel, then the horses were put to a gal- 
 \op. In another moment the door closed 
 and all was still, save the insects, the 
 frogs and the nightingale in the park. 
 Selma was left to her reflections. One 
 question continually presented itself : 
 
 " Was .\rgeneau a spv, a traitor, or a 
 scoundrel ?" 
 
 Meanwhile the coimtess and her friends 
 were well on their way. Nothing had 
 happened to alarm them, yet they were 
 alert and uneasy. There was a distance 
 of a quarter of a league between her car- 
 riage and dc Brissac and .Martello. This 
 arrangement was to serve as a blind. 
 Since Coimtess de Vilma was travel- 
 ling incognito, to be apparently with- 
 out an escort would certainly attract 
 very little attention. M. de Saint-Bre- 
 ton was more than a league in ad- 
 vance, lor the purpose of arranging 
 for relax s of horses. If they could pass 
 the fust post station without being recog- 
 nized, the danger would be over. They 
 were congratulating themselves upon the 
 way in which things had turned out, and 
 yet weie entertaining no little anxiety 
 over what might still possibly happen. 
 The recognition of the countess would 
 
Till-: i,.\i)N' oi' til \'n;\r ni.wf. 
 
 4' 
 
 lirme fatal to the enterprise. Her pre- 
 sence in France woiilil certainly ^\\o rise 
 to alarm anmnLf tiie rovalisls, who be- 
 lieved her to be at Klba with her hus- 
 band. The consecjnences mijjfht be her 
 arrest, and an exposure of the whole 
 scheme to brin<^ the l^mperor back. 
 Kven as it was, all who ever had any- 
 thin^'- to l\o with Napoleon and his em- 
 pire were looked upon with suspicion, 
 and even the Queen oi' Holland, or 
 rather the Duchess de St. I.eu. who was 
 permitted to reside in Paris, did not 
 escape the vijjilance of the police. There- 
 fore, precaution was not altog-ether un- 
 necessarv. The experience whicli de 
 Hrissac and Martello had had, in dod^'- 
 infj the spies of Paris, was another rea- 
 son for uneasiness, :uid the\ believed 
 that it was even more uri^ent than ever 
 that they should leave !•' ranee as soi>n as 
 possible. 
 
 The\- had been discussins,"- these mat- 
 ters as they rode alonjc, when suddenly 
 de Brissac reined in his horse, and turn- 
 ed half way round in his saddle. 
 
 "Well, what is the matter now?" ex- 
 claimed Martello. as he followed de Hris- 
 sac's example. 
 
 " Listen ! Do you not hear somethiiii;' 
 down there ? " 
 
 They had Just climbed a short hill, 
 which, at its summit, formed a complete 
 bend in the roatl. l-"or abmit tiiree min- 
 utes they did not move. 
 
 " No," said Martello. "I hear nolli- 
 iiiij ; iio you ? " 
 
 "Not now. I thouirht I did thou!:;!). 
 .\h ! there it is ai^ain. Do \ ou hear 
 that?" 
 
 " ^'es. Do you make it init ? " 
 
 De Brissac hurriedly dismounted, and 
 dropping upon his hands and knees, 
 placed his ear to the ground. 
 
 "Well? "said Martello, aftei waiting 
 several seconds. 
 
 " Its horses, bv the eternal ! " cried de 
 
 Brissac, springing ti> his feet, and then 
 into his saddle. " Devil take it, we are 
 pursued." 
 
 " Humph ! that is rather unpleasant. 
 But what makes you think we are pur- 
 sued ? " remarked .M;irtello. 
 
 De P>riss;ic listened before he answered. 
 The sounds had become more distinct. 
 
 " They are moving too fast for ordin- 
 ary travel." said he fm.ally. 
 
 "/Vr/Vc// !" exclaimed Martello. "Then 
 we are likelx' to have .'in interest ing time 
 pretty soon, if that is the case." 
 
 lie bent over his satldle, and began 
 unfastening the buckles of his pistol 
 holsters. Then he drew his sabre partly 
 from its scabbard and returned it, to 
 satisfy himself that it was read) lor the 
 emergence De Brissac did likewise. 
 
 " W'e must intercept them," s;iid he. 
 " Tliey must never overtake the count- 
 ess." 
 
 " But if we are outnumbered, our 
 chances will not be worth much," said 
 Martello. 
 
 " Devil take the chances. V\'e must 
 fight and take the consequences." 
 
 " I)Ut we must succeed in putting them 
 to route, or it will be all up with the 
 counles«i 
 
 De i-irissac looked atioul hmi rather 
 anxiously. They had just reached an 
 open space in the road, .uul there was a 
 heavy clump of trees a little further be- 
 yond them. 
 
 "Do \ou know this locality?" said 
 de Brissac, finally. 
 
 "I have been over it before," .mswered 
 MartelU^. 
 
 "Is there a cross road anywhere 
 near?" 
 
 "There is one about a le ; i '"urtlier 
 on." 
 
 " .\h ! that is good. Now let us reach 
 that clumii of trees before they discover us." 
 
 The next moment they were thing to 
 cover. 
 
4-' 
 
 THI-; l.\l)\ Oh IHMHAI' HI..\NC' 
 
 C')n ri'.u'liiiif,^ the shatlDw of the Irocs, 
 Jo Uiissiii' tiii'U up a piisitidii on one 
 siilc nl the roaJ atid Martelln on the 
 lUlier. liotli drew their pistols, ami 
 awaited ("iirther developments. 
 
 Meanwhile, the soinuls whieii first at- 
 traited their atteiUi(^ii jL,'rew louder. I're- 
 senlly there appeared above llie summit ot" 
 the hill the shako ol an hussar, then the 
 head ami shoulders, then a horse's head, 
 and finally the lull form o\' a splendid 
 looking;- warrior, upon a jatleil i.liar!.'er. 
 Behind him, in quick succi.'ssion, appear- 
 ed three others. I'pon ijainint,'' the sum- 
 mit they put spurs to their horses, and 
 came on at a j^^allop. 
 
 " {'"ire at their horses," said de Uris- 
 sac. " It would He a pity to kill such 
 line lookin<c soldiers." 
 
 " Rot the soldiers," exclaimed .\Iar- 
 tello, "since the odds are a,!,''ainst us, 
 my dear I.ucien, I shall endeavi'r to pop 
 that hifjf seri,''eant out of his saddle. Ont; 
 man less will be somethin<.j' to our ad- 
 vanlaj^e." 
 
 " \'er\ well, pop him if you can ; hut 
 leave that burly chap to the riijht tor 
 me." 
 
 In less time than it takc^ to tell ll, 
 lour jiistol shots ran<.j out in tjuick suc- 
 cession, and two ot the hussars tell trom 
 their saddles. 
 
 Helievini^' that two bullets had niisscil 
 their mark, ile Brissac ami Martello im- 
 metliately returneil their pistols to tlicir 
 holsters, drew their sabres, put spurs to 
 their horses anil dashed iiut into the 
 moonlit,fhl. 
 
 The fall ol their comrades hat! thrown 
 the remainins.;' hussars into contusion. 
 Their horses were brouj,''ht suddenh to a 
 halt. They waited only lont,' enouijh to 
 iliscover 1 hat some hoisemeii were bear- 
 iuij- down upon them with sabres drawn, 
 then puttinij spurs to their own charijers, 
 i;alloped away in the ilirection in which 
 
 they had come, nuich to the .imusement 
 of lie Hrissac and .Martello. 
 
 I'pon reachinj; the incline, the retreat- 
 ing; hussars dashed down it at break-neck 
 speed. I)e Krissac and Martello halted 
 at the summit, wheeleil their horses anil 
 j^'idloped leisurely back. .\s they ap- 
 proached the two talleti hus.sars they dis- 
 covered that the bijf serjjfeant was sitting- 
 upon the side of the road with his elbows 
 upon his knees and his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Ah, see there, Louis," exclaimed de 
 J-Jrissac, "you have only winjjfed him." 
 
 " I am jclad I did not kill him. These 
 fine fellows will be needed soon." 
 
 " Well, if they run from the enemy like 
 that, they will be of no use whiitever. .\t 
 any rate 1 hope my man is in a no worse 
 condition than yours. Hut he lies there 
 as if somethintj serious had occurred. I 
 did not iiim at him, i shot at his horse, 
 and you will perceive that my aim was 
 correct, for the poor brute ha.s fallen." 
 
 Sure enouifh, a dead horse was \\'\f>^ 
 a short distance from the insensible hus- 
 sar. .\ little further on, at the side of the 
 road, the horse of the other hussar w.'is 
 iiuietly grazing. 
 
 .'\s de Brissac and .Martello approached 
 the discomfited sergeant, he looked up 
 with haired in his eyes, but the expres- 
 sion upon the faces of the two friends, 
 as they reined in their horses, was that 
 of sympath)-. 
 
 " Are you badly hurt?" said de Hris- 
 sac. 
 
 " 1 can take care of myself," was the 
 t^rutV reply. 
 
 " Ami \our comrade Y" saiil Martello. 
 " It's all up with him. His neck is 
 broken." 
 
 " Damnation !" exclaimed de Brissac. 
 
 Then, without anything further, they 
 put spurs to their horses and were soon 
 out of sight in the distance. 
 
TlIK I.ADV OV CWVVl.M lU.ANC 
 
 4.; 
 
 CHAPTKR \ll. 
 
 A MORMNt. 1>KIVI;. 
 
 HKN morniii),' came, " Your broken arm excuses \ou. lam 
 
 l)e lianvaii arose not out of patience, but urn ylacl that you 
 
 at a rather late are able to be about." 
 
 hour, and with the " You are very lenient." 
 
 assistance of his "Oh no, I think not." 
 
 va/e/ </(■ chambn\ " \ soldier should not consider a 
 
 dressed himseit'and broken arm a sufficient excuse for keeping,' 
 
 made ready for breakfast. His fractured breakfast waitini^." 
 
 arm troubled him somewhat, but since he 
 had sustained a number of worse wounds 
 on the field oi battle, and had recovered 
 from them with only the comparatively 
 indifferent attention of the army surgeons, 
 he believed that a broken arm was in no 
 
 " \'ou speak lij^'htly ol it, Maurice. I 
 am sure if it were me, I should not be 
 able to leave my bed. much less my 
 room." 
 
 "Soldiers are accustomed to even 
 worse wounds tiian broken bones. Manv 
 
 wise sufficient in itself to deprive him of a poor fellow is lorced to march lonjj dis- 
 
 the usual njoyments of life, and amon^ tances in spite ol his sufferinj^s." 
 other thinj^s, he looked forward to his " It must be terrible." 
 
 cousin Selma's society with very plea.sant " It does seem terrible to those who 
 
 anticipations. are unaccustomed to it. But we thmk 
 
 The eveninj^ before, she had treated very little of it. It is a part of our pro- 
 him with marked deference. Indeed, she fession to fjfive and receive wounds." 
 had shown such solicitude since his mis- " A man must be brave to do that." 
 hap, that if he dreamed of her, it is not " It is not so much a matter of bravery, 
 surprising. She was so beautiful, so as it is a matter of saving one's self from 
 amiable, so interesting, that many a the hands of the enemy." 
 less susceptible man than he could not " Br.i do you not rejoice that peace has 
 have resisted the charm of her presence. been declared? I cannot understand how- 
 He had hoped to meet her at breakfast, men can talk of war after their awful ex- 
 and sure enough, when he entered the periences on the fields of battle." 
 room, he found her there, apparently " 1 do rejoice, but I know full well that 
 waiting for him. we shall have more war before France is 
 
 " I must apologize for having kept you permitted to rest Men do not think of 
 
 waiting," said he. " I think I must have their experiences when there is an object 
 
 overslept. I hope you are not out of in view. Let them once establish an ob- 
 
 pHtience." ject, and everything is forgotten save the 
 
 She smiled pleasantly and moved hope of success." 
 toward him. They had seated themselves at the table 
 
44 
 
 THK L.\nV OK CHATP:AII BLANC. 
 
 and the \v;iiliTi<^ maid had hof^'iin to ser\e 
 them. 
 
 " But whj- should there be more war ?" 
 said Selma. 
 
 " Tiie reason is good enough, made- 
 moiselle. The .Allies have forced u> to 
 accept a Bourbon king. We do not 
 w:uit the Bourbons. France declared this 
 twenty years ago, when she dethroned 
 and guillotined King Louis and Madame 
 \'eto. But Lngland, and Russia, and 
 Prussia, and .Austria, or, as the king 
 would say, our good friends the Allies, 
 insist that v.e do not know our own minds, 
 or our own requirements, consequently, 
 there is prevalent a spirit of rebellion. 
 We insist upon our rights. We demand 
 our Emperor." 
 
 " Then there is likely to be a civil 
 war ?" 
 
 " Possibly so." 
 
 " But have not many of Napoleon's old 
 marshals allied themselves to the King?" 
 
 " Yes, but they will fly to the Emper- 
 or's standard the moment he lands in 
 F" ranee." 
 
 " Would that not be treasonable ?" 
 
 " It would be treasonable to the Bour- 
 bons, but loyal to France." 
 
 " Then suppose Napoleon should fail 
 to regain France ; suppose, after a des- 
 perate effort, perhaps a civil war, the l"-m- 
 peror should fail to reinstate hirnself; 
 suppose the King should succeed in main- 
 taining his power, would it not be 'errible 
 to all who deserted the Bourbons ?" 
 
 " But the Emperor will not fail. .All 
 France is eager for his return. Thousands 
 are expecting him. and they will rally 
 to his standard as they never have 
 before." 
 
 "Oh dear. I tear i do not know 
 enough oi' politics to understand you, my 
 cousin. Still, it seems to me that if war 
 can be prevented it should. I'Vance has 
 sutt'ered so. Besides, i cannot bear to 
 think of you going——" 
 
 .At this juncture Antoine entered and 
 made his obeisance. 
 
 " ^'ou Hent for me, mademoiselle?" 
 said he. 
 
 " Ves, Antoine. I wish you to order 
 my carriage. ! am going to see Madame 
 Duval. I want you to place in the car- 
 riage the things which Julie will give 
 you. Have the carriage ready in an 
 hour's lime. That is all, .Antoine." 
 
 With another obeii^nnce, Antoine left 
 the room. 
 
 " .And who is Madame Duval, may I 
 a^k ?" said de Banyan. 
 
 " She is a widow whose husband was 
 killed at La Rothiere. She is a tenant of 
 ours, and is almost destitute. I have not 
 seen h' ; since a week before poor papa 
 died. ! fear she is not very comfort- 
 able." 
 
 " So you are going to assume the role 
 of sister of charity? Will you permit 
 me to accompany you ?" 
 
 " I shall be glad of your company, 
 .Maurice." 
 
 They finished their breakfast finally 
 and a little later were ready for what 
 promised to be a pleasant drive. 
 
 As he caught sight of the carriage at 
 the foot of the staircase, de Banyan, with 
 a curiosity not unnatural in one who has 
 just come into an inheritance, and who 
 wishes to get a full knowledge of every- 
 thing that may be considered his own, 
 contemplated it for a moment with no 
 little satisfaction. It was what they 
 termed in those days a ffoiniohi caleche, 
 and was drawn by two fine bays, one of 
 which was ridden by the postillion. The 
 footman rode on a seat at the front of the 
 carriage. 
 
 W'hile de Ban\an was surveying the 
 equipage, he saw that the postillion was 
 examining the priming of a pistol which 
 he had taken from the holsters of his 
 saddle. 
 
 " Do you usually go out under arm.s, 
 
THE LADY OF CHATKAl' HI.ANC. 
 
 45 
 
 mademoiselle," he asked, as he helped 
 Selma to the back seat. 
 
 "Oh, yes. Papa always insisted upon 
 me doing so whenever I went out alone. 
 There have been a number of highway 
 robberies about here, and it is always 
 wise to be ready for any emergenc} . An- 
 toine is armed with two pistols and so is 
 the postillion. No one ever molested me, 
 however, but papa always insisted upon ' 
 what you see, and I must say that I feel 
 much safer under such circumstances. 
 One never knows what may happen." 
 
 " My uncle was very precautious." re- 
 marked de Banyan, as he took his seat, 
 and gave the signal to start. 
 
 " Yes. He never forgot that he "vas a 
 soldier." 
 
 "Then you do not dread the sound of 
 firearms, or the smell of powder ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, I do. But sometimes we 
 must set aside our feelings for what is 
 necessary for our safety. " 
 
 " But you have no fear of anything 
 happening to-day have you ?" 
 
 "Oh, no indeed. VVhy ?" 
 
 De Banyan could not help admiring the 
 beautiful girl, whose face was so fresh 
 from the delightful morning air, and 
 whose deep blue eyes were so kindly and 
 frank. 
 
 " BecHuse if anything should happen, 
 my dear Selma, please remember that my 
 life is at your service. " 
 
 She looked at him with an expression 
 of gratitude. Then a blush suffused her 
 face, and she seemed a little confused. 
 But recovering herself, she said laugh- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Thank you, my brave protector, bi-.t 
 I am almost certain that you v/iU not be 
 called upon to m?.ke such a sacrifice thi.'^ 
 morning." 
 
 " If there is ever a time, Selma, when 
 I can serve you in such a manner, \o\\ 
 will not find me hesitating." 
 
 " Oh, but you must not do anything 
 
 so rash as that, Maurice. I want you to 
 live." 
 
 " Still, you know that 1 nm your pro- 
 tector, }oiir guardian. Please tell me 
 that you do not regret it." 
 
 " 1 shall never regret it, .Maurice." 
 
 " You may find me a little strange in 
 mv ways. I have been very little in the 
 society of ladies. My mother died a good 
 many years ago, and 1 never had a sister. 
 1 have always wished I had a sister, 1 
 think she would have made a better man 
 of me." 
 
 " Then you must let me be your sister." 
 
 " To make a better man of me ?" 
 
 They both laughed. 
 
 " Oh, 1 did not mean that," said she, 
 merrily, " but suice you suggest it, 1 
 believe 1 sl-.ouid like to try it." 
 
 " Then you think tiiere is room tor 
 improvement ?" 
 
 " Have you not admitted it ':' \on 
 have already said thai 1 may find you 
 strange, and that you are unaccustomed 
 to the societ) of ladies. Xovv it will be 
 such fun to teach a hig brave soldier, 
 who has faced death in a himdred forms, 
 the '"'tie niceties which are expected oi 
 him by the fair sex." 
 
 rhe\' were both amused, and chat- 
 ing thus, rode along very pleasantly. 
 Finally, however, Selma became preoc- 
 cupied. 
 
 Her thouglUs were of .\rgeneau. It 
 seemed strai.ge that since the afiair in 
 the simimer house she had seen nothing 
 of him. Hitherto, he had made himself 
 very conspicuous. He had even annoyed 
 her at '. .tvs, r.lthough she did not under- 
 stam! nis •-.lOaning. But had it not been 
 i'or t'le incident of 'he night before, she 
 might have believed that he had left the 
 chateau. 
 
 .Ml night she liad wondered at his con- 
 duct, and had come to the conclusion that 
 something unusual was going on. She 
 worried a little about the countess a id 
 
46 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 her friends, and tried to account for the 
 visit of the hussars and Argeneau's con- 
 nection with them. She- wondered if de 
 Banyan knew anything about the affair. 
 She wondered if siie should tell him. Vet 
 she hesitatei^ through fear of doing Ar- 
 geneau an injustice. 
 
 " Why so thoughtful, cousin Selma," 
 said de Banyan, presently. 
 
 " I ask your pardon," said she, arous- 
 ing herself. " 1 was thinking oi' an in- 
 cident that occurred last night." 
 
 And then she told him what she had 
 seen and heard. 
 
 It is hardlv necessary to state that de 
 Banyan was incensed at what seemed to 
 be .Argeneau's treachery. He was deeply 
 concerned about the safety of his friends, 
 and if the subject became the topic of con- 
 versation, it was only a natural sequence. 
 In due time, however, they arrived at 
 their destination. 
 
 Madame Duval's cottage stood by the 
 roadside, and although an humble affair, 
 it was nevertheless cleanly, suggesting 
 the carefulness of its occupant. 
 
 .Madame's sband, Pierre Duval, had 
 been an industrious peasant until the Em- 
 peror's last conscription to-e him from 
 his family, and compelled him to do battle 
 against the enemies o( France. At La 
 Rothicre his career was suddenly termin- 
 ated b\- a Prussian bullet, and those de- 
 pendent upon him weie left without a 
 protector. 
 
 Selma had been very kind tohisfamilv, 
 which consisted oC the widow, two chil- 
 dren, and an aged father, and out of her 
 own purse had provided many of the ne- 
 cessaries of life. 
 
 When de Banyan understood the mat- 
 ter, his heart was touched, and following 
 out an impulse, he placed in the h;mds of 
 .Madame Duv;d a purse containing a him- 
 dred francs in gold. It was an act tiat 
 won a smile of approval from Selma, and 
 
 afforded Madame Duval and her house- 
 hold unbounded satisfaction. 
 
 " It was good of you, Maurice," said 
 Selma, on their way home, and she was 
 glad in her heart that he was generous. 
 
 "They have made a sacrifice on the 
 altar of our country," replied de Banyan, 
 with feeling. "There is not a man in 
 France not under obligations to them. 
 I shall not forget them." 
 
 " Oh, if there were more who thought 
 so, how many might be in some way 
 compensated for the sacrifices they have 
 made." 
 
 "The Emperor has compensa* ' 
 many." 
 
 " But they have proven ungrateful. 
 Think of Talleyrand, Fouche, Bernadotte, 
 .Marmont, and many of his marshals and 
 generals who deserted him at the critical 
 moment." 
 
 " True, but the efforts of these men 
 were for their own psrsonal gains, they 
 made no sacrifices to the Emperor. There 
 are otiiers who have received fewer bene- 
 fits and are truer men." 
 
 " Then if he should return he will have 
 these rnen to depend upon." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, the ministers, mar- 
 shals and generals will adopt his colors 
 the moment those of the Bourbons lose 
 their significance. It will be another case 
 of the lion and the jackal." 
 
 " Do you think this will be soon?" 
 "It will be with the return of the vio- 
 let." 
 
 De Banyan did not soon forget this 
 visit to Madame Duval's. As they drove 
 home he recalled a picture which remind- 
 ed him of the Madonna. It was this : 
 An humble apartment, with Selma, in all 
 her youth and beauty, standing near the 
 doorway, holding in her arms a flaxen- 
 haired cherub of two years, whose infan- 
 tine demonstrations of delight were highly 
 amusing ; a little girl of five summers 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 47 
 
 tiigginjj in a familiar manner ather sl<irt; 
 an aged man, the father-in-law of Madame 
 [")uval, kneeling- and kissing Selma's 
 hand, and Madame Duval, in no wise an 
 uncomely matron, standing near with the 
 sunshine of approval in her smiling coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Had he been an artist, de Banyan would 
 have reproduced . that picture, and he 
 would probably have named it the Angel 
 of Mercy. 
 
 In this visit Selma had impressed him 
 so that he began to think of her in a way 
 conducive to something beyond admira- 
 tion, and the prospect of her someday 
 becoming the Baroness de Banyan was 
 very favorable indeed, that is, so far as 
 he was concerned. 
 
 His pulses were throbbing with the 
 pleasure of being near her, and if he took 
 no note of his surroundings, it was be- 
 cause his thoughts of her had their own 
 piquancy. 
 
 Suddenly, howevor, upon turning a 
 bend in the road, Selma grasped his arm, 
 and pointed to the distance. 
 
 " Look there !" she cried, all in a 
 tremor. 
 
 De Banyan looked to discover three 
 masked horsemen approaching at a 
 gallop. 
 
 " What does it mean, Antoine ?" said 
 de Banyan, turning to the footman. 
 
 " Danger, monsieur," was the reply. 
 
 "Bandits?" 
 
 " Ye.s, monsieur." 
 
 " Have you the pistols ready ?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Do not use them unless it is abso- 
 lutely necessary. .\ re you a good shot?" 
 
 " I have been considered so. I was at 
 Leipsic 'vith the late baron." 
 
 " If you shoot, do not waste your am- 
 munition." 
 
 " Have no fear of that, monsieur." 
 
 " How many are there ?" 
 
 " Tliree, monsieur." 
 
 " We are as good as four. Give me 
 one of the pistols." 
 
 .Antoine did so, but with some reluc- 
 tance. He felt that Monsieur le Baron, 
 being disabled, should leave the matter 
 to himself and the postillion. 
 
 De Banyan gave his attention to Selma. 
 She was pale, but she ga\e esidence that 
 she would brave the affair through. 
 
 " You are not afraid ?" said de Banyan, 
 with a show of anxiety. 
 
 "A little," she admitted, "but 1 shall 
 try to prove that I am the daughter of a 
 soldier." 
 
 The next moment the horsemen were 
 alongside. One of them, who seemed to 
 he the leader of the party, came close up 
 to the carriage. 
 
 " If you do as I say, monsieur," said 
 he, in a sharp voice that did not seem 
 natural, " no harm will come of this in- 
 terruption. If you resist, it will be the 
 worse for \ou. I will trouble you to 
 alight from the carriage." 
 
 ".And if I refuse?" said de Banyan, 
 with rising ire. 
 
 " Then, monsieur, 1 command you to 
 alight." 
 
 The bandit leveled a pistol at de Ban- 
 van's head. Selma was almost paralyzed 
 with horror, but before de Banyan could 
 comply, had he been so disposed, a pistol 
 shot rang out with a startling crash, and 
 with a fierce cry the bandit threw up his 
 arms and fell to the ground. Antoine 
 had not lost a moment, but seeing the 
 danger which threatened his master, had 
 fired deliberately at the bandit's head. 
 Two other shots followed in quick suc- 
 cession, but the bandits, evidently not 
 having expected resistance, were so laken 
 by surprise when Antoine and the pos- 
 tillion opened fire upon them, that, being 
 suddenly seized with a sense of self-pre- 
 servation, they put spurs to their horses 
 and rode rapidly away, leaving their com- 
 rade behind. 
 
48 
 
 THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 The man lay ne;ii' the carriaj^e where 
 he had fallen. The mask had slipped 
 from his face. .\ bullet had penetrated 
 his forehead, and a thick stream o\' blood 
 was wellinjj from the wound and staining 
 the dust of the highway. .\mid a whir' 
 of emotion de Banyan disco\ered thai 
 the dead man was .•\ri,''eneau. Selina 
 discovered it also, and sank back into her 
 seat with pale face and c]ui\ering nerves. 
 
 "Oh, it is awful," she yasped. 
 
 " It is no more than he deserves," ex- 
 claimed de Banyan, vindictively. 
 
 " But 1 could not wish him such a 
 fate." 
 
 "There can be no sympathy (or a 
 traitor." 
 
 " He has done wronjj, Maurice, I pity 
 him." 
 
 " He is unworthy of your pity, Selma. 
 From what ! now know, he had it in his 
 power to make your life miserable." 
 
 She thoujjht he referred to .Arj^eneau's 
 passion for her. She did not know that 
 de Banyan had in his mind .\rg-eneau's 
 
 insinuations concerning her origin, there- 
 fore, she wondered how it was possible 
 tor .\rgeiieau to cause her anything worse 
 than annoyance. 
 
 He Banyan believed that the secret he 
 so dreaded to have made known would 
 now remain forever silent, and if he felt 
 a great relief over what had happened, it 
 was because he had already succumbed 
 to Selma's charms, and was beginning to 
 worship at her shrine. 
 
 " Shall we drive on, monsieur?" asked 
 .Antoine. 
 
 " Ves." 
 
 Antoine looked at the dead man. 
 
 " And shall we do nothing with him, 
 monsiei!r ?" 
 
 " \o, nothing. Leave him there. His 
 companions will take care of him. He 
 deserves nothing from us. Start the car- 
 riage." 
 
 In a short time they arrived at the 
 chateau, and Selma in her own boudoir 
 related to Julie and Madame Mortier 
 what had happened. 
 
 CHAPTER XHL 
 
 THK ShX KKTARY SHOWS HIS H.\NO. 
 
 When .\rgeneau left the room in which he urged his horse to a higher rate of 
 
 de Banyan and his triends had made the speeil. .At each prick of the spurs the 
 
 discovery of the Marquis de Trepeson's poor beast sprang forward with a snort, 
 
 treasure, he walked straight to the stables, and a vigorous switching of the tail, 
 
 ordered a horse, mounted and rode away as if angered at the injustice of such 
 
 at a brisk gallop. treatment, but, nevertheless, he carried 
 
 The expression of his face was not what his rider rapidly out of sight of the 
 might iiave been expected after the weak- chateau, down dale and uphill, until he 
 ness shown while de Saint-Breton was came to a beaten path which left the 
 relating his story. There was anything highway at right angles, and meandered 
 but weakness now. The dark frown, the through a strip of wood to the west. 
 close-set jaw, and the snapping restless- Here he was permitted to come to a brisk 
 ness of the eyes, gave a sinister expres- walk, and in compliance with the pres- 
 sion which would have surprised de Ban- sure of the reins, turned into the path, 
 yan and his frienils, had they observed It was comforting to be in the shadow 
 him. That he was deeply in earnest of the wood ; to hear the birds sing, and 
 about something could also have been in- feel that deep sense of solitude which pre- 
 ferred from the unkindly manner in which vails nowhere else, and which brings to 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC 
 
 49 
 
 the troubled mind a sense of rest that 
 cannot be resisted. This was perhaps 
 thereasan Argeneau condescended to let 
 his horse move more slowly, or it may 
 have been due to the necessity of fre- 
 quently having to dodjje the drooping 
 branches of the adjacent trees. Be this 
 as it may, however, in half an hour 
 he drew rein at the edge of a small clear- 
 ing and soimded a cry which resembled 
 the screeching of an owl. 
 
 There was an answering cry, and a 
 moment later a man with a large slouch 
 hat, and the garb of a peasant appeared 
 in the clearing and came toward him. 
 
 " .Ah, Bellefontaine, it is you," said the 
 man, as he reached .Argeneau's side. 
 " What's in the wind, that you come so 
 unexpectedly?" 
 
 "The devil's in the wind, Lepage," re- 
 plied Argeneau, with asperity. " Where's 
 Dubosc ?" 
 
 "In the cave." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 " No. Benoit and Gaspard are there." 
 
 " So much the better. Here, take my 
 horse. Keep him here. I s'--^'! not be 
 long. I must hurry back." 
 
 "What's up?" said Lepage, as .Ar- 
 geneau dismounted. 
 
 "There's a job for some of you," said 
 Argeneau. 
 
 " .Anything easy ?" 
 
 " No. It's risky business." 
 
 " So much the better." 
 
 " I can depend on you ?" 
 
 "Why, certainly, Bellefontaine. ^'ou'il 
 not find me shirking a hard job." 
 
 " .All right. I'll go in now." 
 
 .Argeneau started across the clearing. 
 
 "Oh, I say," cried Lepage, as if a 
 sudden thought had occurred to him. 
 
 " Well ?" said .Argeneau, pausing and 
 half turning. 
 
 " Dubosc is in a bad mood." 
 
 " The devil he is. What's the matter 
 with him ?" 
 
 " Oh, they've been quarrelling again." 
 
 " Damn those fellows, they are always 
 quarrelling. If they don't stop it 1 shall 
 cut with them." 
 
 " Tell them so." 
 
 " I will. What's the matter this time? 
 
 "Cards." 
 
 " The last time it was booty." 
 
 " A'es, it's always one or the other. 
 
 " They are a set of fools." 
 
 "Tell them so." 
 
 " Perhaps 1 shall." 
 
 The man laughed, and then gave his 
 attention to the horse. 
 
 .Argeneau crossed the clearing, pulled 
 aside some bushes, and entering the 
 mouth of the cave, traversed 'a narrow 
 passage until he came to a large subter- 
 ranean vault. Candles stuck into bot- 
 tles, and placed on the shelving rocks of 
 the walls transmitted just sufficient light 
 for him to discover two men seated at a 
 rudely improvised table, engaged in a 
 game of cards. .A third man, a little 
 apart from the others was cleaning a 
 pistol. 
 
 They had heard the sound of Argeneau's 
 approach, and were looking at the en- 
 trance of the cave when he mac t his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " It is Bellefontaine," exclaimed the 
 man with the pistol. 
 
 " Is that you, Benoit ?" said .Argeneau, 
 for the light blinded him a little. 
 
 " Ves." 
 
 " Where is Dubosc ?" 
 
 " Parfy/cu .'" ii\c\iumc(i a gruff voice. 
 " Where are your eyes ?" 
 
 " I have bat's eyes just at present. 
 Monsieur le Terror," retorted Argeneau. 
 " Your illumination has blinded me." 
 
 "Well, here I am ; so out with it. 
 What's up ?" 
 
 " .Anything on hand for to-night?" 
 
 " No, nothing in particular. You have 
 not given us many pointers lately. I 
 guess the lady of Chateau Blanc has sue- 
 
so 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 ceeded in tiiriiinfj your head. We began 
 to believe you had deserted us." 
 
 " Have no tear of tliat. 1 still have 
 need of you, my friends." 
 
 " Humph ! and when you have no need 
 of us, you will liirow us over and de- 
 nounce us. Is that your jjame ?" 
 
 "Come now, Dubosc, you and your 
 band have nothinj^ to fear from me." 
 
 " Well, perhaps not. But we know a 
 thing or two when we do fear you. The 
 memory of your father would not sa\e 
 you then." 
 
 " It is the memory of my father that 
 brings me here now." 
 
 "Well, that's dirt'erent. A splendid 
 tellow was Benedict Bellefontaine, and it's 
 a mortal shame that he came to his death 
 over there in the old chateau. I often 
 wish I knew who did it. I should have 
 my revenge on him, that's what I would." 
 
 " Supposing you had the opportunity 
 to take the man who did it from the 
 chateau within an hour, what would you 
 do?" 
 
 "What would I do?" 
 
 " \'es. What would you dc?" 
 
 "Well, damme, I'd find a means to 
 secure him first, then I'd bring him here 
 and hang him to one of those trees out- 
 side for the crows ro peck at. Oh, I'd 
 have my revenge all right enough, you 
 can wager your boots on that, my boy." 
 
 "Well, it is possible for you to have 
 your revenge, Dubosc." 
 
 " How so ?" 
 
 "The man who shot my father is there 
 at the chateau this \ cry moment. Vou 
 know him. He is de Saint-Breton. Less 
 than an hour ago 1 hcaid him tell his 
 friends that he did it. I came away im- 
 mediately to tell you about it, and to see 
 if we cannot arrange some plan for his 
 capture." 
 
 " So it's de Saint-Breton, is it ? Well, 
 now, that's not so bad. I've sworn to 
 get even with him on another score. It 
 
 was him as shot me in the arm in that 
 l.ist mail coach affair of ours. Now I can 
 have double vengeance. Damme, that's 
 not so bad." 
 
 " Well, have you a plan of attack ?" 
 
 ' ' No, not at present, have you ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Out with it then. Let'.s see if it is a 
 good one." 
 
 " How many hussar uniforms have 
 you ?" 
 
 "A dozen, if you want them." 
 
 " Well, here is my plan. Put four 
 good men into as many complete uni- 
 forms. Send them to the chateau to- 
 night. I will watch for them, but will 
 not act unless the plan miscarries. They 
 will announce themselves, and also state 
 that they have come to arrest M. de 
 Saint-Breton on a charge of conspiracy 
 against the King. .After they have se- 
 cured him, they will bring him here. In 
 the morning I shall be with you, and we 
 can carry out the rest of our plans with- 
 out interruption." 
 
 " Good. It shall be done." 
 
 " ^'ou will not tail me ?" 
 
 The man, a surly-looking fellow, with 
 a large hooked nose and a heavy black 
 moustache, that shadowed a cruel mouth 
 and a bull-dog chin, swaggered up ti> 
 .Argeneau and laid a heavy hand upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "See here, Paul Bellefontaine," .said 
 he, gruffly, " when I say a thing I 
 mean it. .And when I say it's a go, 
 why, damme, it's a go. So, don't you 
 worry. I'll be there when the time comes. 
 Now you get back to the chateau and 
 leave the rest to me. I'll be there, or 
 my name's not Pierre Dubosc." 
 
 ".All right, Dubosc, 1 will see you in 
 the morning." 
 
 Turning on his heel, Argeneau left the 
 cave, mounted his horse, and rode back 
 to the chateau, well pleased with what he 
 had done. 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 The reader already knows the result of 
 this enterprise. But when Argeneau re- 
 turned to the cave at an early hour next 
 morning, he was enraged to learn that 
 Lepage had had his neck broken, and 
 Dubosc was suffering from a bullet wound 
 in his shoulder, while de Saint-Breton 
 was far out of reach. He pronounced 
 them a pack of cowards for running away 
 and complained that they had left Lepage 
 where he had fallen on the highway. 
 
 He then called for two volunteers, and 
 immediately set out with them to recover 
 the body of the dead hussar. 
 
 While they were thus engaged, and 
 just before they turned out of the wood 
 into the highway, Argeneau saw Selma's 
 carriage pass, and his old love for her 
 became the subject of his meditation. The 
 more he thought, the more his imagina- 
 tion played. He knew she was averse to 
 him, but he believed that under certain 
 circumstances, she might learn to regard 
 him in a better light. It suddenly oc- 
 curred to him that it was possible to ar- 
 range those circumstances himself. All 
 it required was a bold dash, and before 
 anything could be done to prevent it, he 
 could abduct Selma from the carriage 
 
 and carry her off to the cave, where in the 
 course of time he hoped to bring her to 
 her senses, and make her see the advisa- 
 bility of becoming his bride. His pre- 
 sumption was founded upon the belief 
 that he possessed the secret of her origin, 
 and he felt that when he should make 
 known the truth (he was satisfied that he 
 had the truth) she would be so humiliated 
 that his advances would in all probability 
 be received with more favor. 
 
 It is surprising that a man with suffi- 
 cient common sense to know better, 
 should abandon himself to such villainy. 
 Argeneau, in his wild imagination, for- 
 got that the late Baron de Banyan had 
 been his benefactor ; forgot thai Selma 
 had been very kind to him ; forgot that 
 the present master of Chateau Blanc had 
 placed considerable confidence in him, 
 and for the nonce he even forgot that he 
 had robbed his benefactor, maligned the 
 woman he loved, and deceived the man 
 who was disposed to trust him. But 
 when such a character determines to do 
 a dastardly deed, it is not such abandon- 
 ment after all. 
 
 As the reader already knows, this last 
 piece of treachery cost him his life. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A 13.\S LA COCARDE. 
 
 Argeneau's villainy set de Banyan 
 thinking. For a long time he paced the 
 floor of his library with lowering brows 
 and compressed lips. He was pondering 
 a deep problem. Had he known that 
 Argeneau had been enamoured of Selma, 
 the solution would have been easier ; 
 but she had not told him of this, and 
 he was therefore nonplussed. He re- 
 called the conversation he had had with 
 Argeneau concerning her ; he reflect- 
 ed upon what Selma had told him about 
 Argeneau and the hussars ; then he pon- 
 dered the tragedy of the morning, but 
 
 could make nothing out of it all than that 
 Arg-eneau had been playing the devil 
 generally, and had ended in losing his 
 life. Argeneau's connection with the 
 bandits, and also with the hussars, was 
 beyond his comprehension, and it anger- 
 ed him the more he thought of it. He 
 despised a traitor above all things else. 
 He was annoyed at himself for having 
 placed confidence in him, and he felt 
 alarmed when he remembered that 
 Argeneau had been his uncle's confiden- 
 tial secretar}'. 
 
 "Oh, the scoundrel!" he exclaimed, 
 
5* 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 time and ai,''ain, as he paced tlie floor. 
 "The traitorous scoundrel ! And to think 
 that my uncle trusted him ! To think 
 that he has lived so long near her !" 
 
 Presently a new thought presented it- 
 self. He stepped to his escritoire and 
 rang for his valet, then continued pacing 
 the floor. So absorbed was he that he 
 did not hear the parting of the/o^-Z/m'^, 
 as his valet entered. 
 
 "Did you ring, monsieur?" said the 
 young man, after waiting a moment at 
 the doorway. 
 
 De Banyan turned with a quick, ner- 
 vous movement. 
 
 " Send Antoine to me at once," said 
 he. 
 
 The valet bowed and disappeared. The 
 curtains had hardly ceased swaying to and 
 fro when Antoine appeared. 
 
 " It seems you are a good shot, .An- 
 toine," said de Banyan abruptly. 
 
 Antoine's countenance signified that lie 
 appreciated the compliment. 
 
 " I have seldom missed my mark, 
 monsieur," said lie, with a self-complac- 
 ent air. 
 
 " Tiien you have reason to believe that 
 Argeneau is dead?" 
 
 "If I ever see him again, monsieur, I 
 shall think it is his ghost." 
 
 " "N'ou were careful in your aiin ?" 
 
 " It was in self-defence, monsieur. I 
 did not know the man was .Argeneau. 
 Mv aim was deliberate, and I meant to 
 kill." 
 
 " ^'ou have known of the existence of 
 this band of outlaws for some time ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, monsieur. Several mail 
 coach robberies have occurred within the 
 last year, and always in this locality. 
 Some time ago a coach in which M. de 
 Saint-Breton was tr.iveliing was attacked 
 bv masked men, but as the passengers 
 defended themselves with their pistols, 
 the b;indits were driven ofl. " 
 " How long ago was this?" 
 
 " .About three months, monsieur." 
 
 " Has anything been done to break up 
 this band of desperadoes ?" 
 
 " A detachment of hussars hr vc been 
 stationed at Rouillc, that is all, monsieur. " 
 
 " You say hussars ?" 
 
 " Yes, monsieur." 
 
 " Who commands them ?" 
 
 " Major Parquin, monsieur." 
 
 " .Ah, I think I know him. Very well. 
 That is good. Now Antoine, order the 
 ciiiec/ie, and prepare to accompany me. 
 Since you are so handy with them, don't 
 forget your pistols, we may need them 
 again. Be ready in half an hour." 
 
 At the time appointed de Banyan was 
 ready to start. 
 
 On this occasion he wore a civilian 
 costume, and a black chapeau, decorated 
 with a rosette of red, white and blue rib- 
 bon, underneath which was a small double 
 bow of violet. 
 
 On his way through the corridor he 
 stopped at the door of Selma's boudoir 
 and knocked. Julie answered and an- 
 nounced him to her mistress, Selma was 
 reclining upon a divan, but immediately 
 rose to her feet. 
 
 " .\h, Maurice," said she, coming to- 
 ward him, with a pleasant smile. " I 
 was just thinking of you." 
 
 " I am glad you were not suffering 
 from the effects of this morning's experi- 
 ence," said he, stepping through the door- 
 way. " I am about to visit my old friend, 
 Major Parquin, at Rouillc, on important 
 business, and I could not leave without 
 inquiring after your liealth." 
 
 " That is kind of yo'j, Maurice. lam 
 better now, thank you, but I cannot help 
 thinking of that awful tragedy. It seems 
 so like some horrid nightmare that I can 
 scarcely believe it to have happened." 
 
 " It would be better to forget it." 
 " I wish I could." 
 
 " Argeneau has proven himself a vil- 
 l;iin." 
 
THE LADV OK CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 53 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " He is not worth thini<ing' about." 
 
 " Hut the impression is there, never- 
 theless." 
 
 "Try to banish it. I cannot bear to 
 think of your discomfort." 
 
 " How kind you are. But wliat of 
 yourself? .Are you not overtaxing your 
 own nerves ? A fractured arm is not an 
 easy thing to bear, I am sure." 
 
 " Have no fear of me. It is not the 
 first wound I have had to recover from." 
 
 " No, that scar upon your face tells 
 me that. Nevertheless, Maurice, I shall 
 be anxious about you, and for my sake, 
 if you will not for your own, you must 
 promise to take care of yourself." 
 
 " Oh, very well, then, I promise," said 
 he, with a laugh. 
 
 " Then why do you undertake this visit 
 to-day ?" 
 
 " It is of vast importance." 
 
 " Does it concern what has happened?" 
 
 " Yes. The coming of those hussars 
 last night is mysterious to me. I am 
 uneasy about the Countess do \'ilma and 
 my friends. Besides these desperadoes, 
 who are bold enough to waylay a private 
 conveyance in broad daylight, must be 
 exterminated. I must notify Major Par- 
 quin of what has happened, and urge him 
 to adopt severe measures." 
 
 " Could not .Antoine tell M. le Coin- 
 mandant of this ?" 
 
 " I must see him personally. It seems 
 strange to me that he has not ridden us 
 of these bandits ere this. If necessary 1 
 shall offer my services." 
 
 At this announcement, Selma started, 
 and a look of anxiety came into her lace 
 that made de Banyan regret what he had 
 said. 
 
 " .Maurice," said she, earnestly, "what- 
 ever you do, remember that you are all I 
 have, and that I shall be very anxious 
 about you." 
 
 " You will have no cause for anxiet) ," 
 
 said he, in a laughing manner. " I as- 
 sure you I shall not ^;o a step beyond the 
 scope of duty." 
 
 " But you men have such strange 
 thoughts of duty. \ou are so venture- 
 some, so reckless." 
 
 " Never, when the pleasant recollec- 
 tions of such women as you inspire us 
 with caution," said he, with a look of ad- 
 miration in his dark, laughing eyes. 
 
 .-\ warm blush mounted to her cheek, 
 yet she smiled and showed her pearlv 
 teeth. 
 
 " ^'ou are quite a courtier, monsieur," 
 said she, jocosely. " It is a wonder the 
 King has never sent for you." 
 
 " The King knows I am not a royalist. 
 This fact alone is sufficient to preclude me 
 from his court," replied de Banyan. 
 " But should I ever be admitted to His 
 Majesty's presence, he will certainly find 
 me honest in my opinions." 
 
 " \'ou are incorrigible," she cried, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 Then, coming nearer, she began to ar- 
 range the handkerchief a little more grace- 
 fully about his disabled arm. 
 
 " Do be careful, .Maurice," she mi^r- 
 mured. 
 
 " Foryour sake, Selma, I will do no- 
 thing rash," said he, in a low, earnest 
 tone. 
 
 Then bidding her au rcvoir, he hurried 
 down to the ciileclie awaiting him at the 
 foot of the grand st.aircase. 
 
 His appearance caused Antoine consid- 
 erable uneasiness. 
 
 " .Monsieur," he exclaimed, in surprise, 
 as de Banyan stepped into the ca/cc/ic, 
 "you wear the cockade of the Empire." 
 
 " ^'es," answered de Banyan, "it is 
 m\ ''••""tic. io wear it." 
 
 " It will be dangerous, monsieur." 
 
 " 1 shall wear it, .Antoine, nevertheless. 
 1 am not ashamed ot it. I have never 
 worn any other, and what is more, I 
 never shall." 
 
54 
 
 THK LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 " Whither do we go, monsieur?" 
 
 "To Rouillt;." 
 
 " Paniivii .' it will be dangercus." 
 
 "You have your pistols, Anloine?" 
 
 " \'es, monsieur." 
 
 "Then start the carriage." 
 
 The next moment the calechc was rat- 
 tling over the gravel of the driveway 
 toward the park gates, and .\ntoine was 
 worrying over the possible trouble in 
 store tor them. 
 
 The village of Rouille was less than a 
 league from Chateau Blanc. You could 
 see the smoke from its chimneys curling 
 up over the hill-tops, while standing upon 
 the landing oi the grand staircase, and 
 when the wind was favorable, you could 
 often hear the shouts of children, as they 
 played upon the green sward. There was 
 a church in the village which, during the 
 Revolution, had been used as a stable 
 for horses, then as a barracks for ::oldicrs, 
 but after Napoleon restored religion and 
 churches to F" ranee, it had been re-estab- 
 lished, and a barracks had been built to 
 serve as a recruiting post for cavalry. 
 
 There were people in the village who 
 cguld say that they had taken prominent 
 parts in the horrors of the Revolution, and 
 there was one man especially who could 
 boast that when quite a lad he had carried 
 the head of an aristocrat through the streets 
 of Parisupon a pike. This man was known 
 as Jean Pitou,and he was very proud of his 
 aversion to the aristocrats. 
 
 Madame la Guillotine also had paid 
 her respects to this village, and it is 
 stated that her executions afforded con- 
 siderable merriment to the throngs of 
 morbid spectators who came to gloat 
 over her awful accomplishment. A 
 brother of the original lord of Chateau 
 Blanc had, in this same village, paid to 
 Madame la Guillotine the penalty for 
 being a member of the aristocracy, and 
 when his venerable head fell into the 
 basket, despite the gray hairs, the vil- 
 
 lagers laughed and shouted themselves 
 hoarse. 
 
 There were honest people at Rouille, 
 however, who were still loyal to the Em- 
 pire and its champion, but amongst them 
 were quite a number of these sansculotte 
 who entertained the same aversion to 
 authority, the same thirst for blood, and 
 the same readiness to rise in revolt that 
 existed in the days of the Revolution. 
 And what is said of the village of Rouille 
 might be truthfully said of do/ens of other 
 villages throughout France at that parti- 
 cular period. This unruly disposition of 
 the suns culotfc, however, had been nearly 
 subdued by the iron hand of the great 
 Emperor, but after his abdication, it 
 wanted only a brand from the smoulder- 
 ingfires of anti-Imperialism to set it ablaze 
 again with all its destructive tendency. 
 It is a well-known fact that in this un- 
 pretentious village, on the 21st of .April, 
 1814, the Emperor Napoleon was burned 
 in effigy by a howling mob of fanatics, 
 whose political sentiments were as capri- 
 cious as the winds. 
 
 Just at present, however, things were 
 comparatively quiet. The King, whose 
 royal brother had been beheaded in the 
 presence of many who were now living 
 at Rouille, was giving great satisfaction. 
 Peace had been declared, and the man 
 who had been so careless of French blood 
 was an exile. Great as had been the ob- 
 jection to the Bourbons once, so great was 
 the approval of the Bourbons now. But 
 twenty years is a long time, and during 
 such a period people have ample opportun- 
 ity to reflect and even change their minds. 
 It is surprising how many of the villagers 
 of Rouille forgot that they had taken such 
 violent opposition to the Bourbons as 
 history records, but it was only after Na- 
 poleon's star began to pale that they 
 began to forget. It was only after the 
 hon ors of Russia, the defeats of Prussia, 
 and the invasion of the Allies that they 
 
heniselves 
 
 t Rouillc, 
 o the Em- 
 njjst them 
 sans culotte 
 version to 
 blood, and 
 revolt that 
 devolution, 
 of Rouille 
 ns of other 
 that parti- 
 iposition of 
 been nearly 
 the ^Tcat 
 dication, it 
 e smoulder- 
 set it ablaze 
 e tendency, 
 in this un- 
 ist of April, 
 was burned 
 of fanatics, 
 ?ere as capri- 
 
 thing-s were 
 
 King, whose 
 
 eaded in the 
 
 now living 
 
 satisfaction, 
 nd the man 
 F"rench blood 
 
 been the ob- 
 , so g'reat was 
 is now. But 
 , and during 
 pie opportun- 
 ; their minds, 
 f the villagers 
 id taken such 
 Bourbons as 
 )nly after Na- 
 ile that they 
 nly after the 
 ts of Prussia, 
 es that they 
 
 THE LADV OV CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 5.S 
 
 believed they could reconcile themselves 
 to the presence of a King. They had 
 had enough of bloodshed, enough of con- 
 quest, enough of glory, and so anxious 
 were they for peace, that they wilfully 
 ignored the fact that Louis X\'lil. had 
 been forced upon them by a foreign 
 power. 
 
 Such were the people of Rouille, and it 
 was to this village that de Banvan was 
 driving. 
 
 There were curious eyes upon him as 
 he entered the village. The arrival of a 
 stranger at Rouille was always the signal 
 for a gathering oi idlers, and de Banyan's 
 coming was not an exception to the rule. 
 
 When he stopped at the inn of the 
 Cheval Blanc, for the purpose of leaving 
 the caleche, while he walke..! jver to the 
 barracks, several men who had been laz- 
 ily smoking their pipes on the porch, rose 
 from their high-backed benches and stood 
 gazing at him in a listless attitude. They 
 were sullen-faced men and poorly clad. 
 Two of them had been conscripts in the 
 last campaign. Another wore a dirty 
 white ribbon at his button hole, and a 
 broad band of crape on his hat. 
 
 Presently one of the conscripts removed 
 his pipe from his mouth, and pointing 
 with the stem at de Banyan's chapeau, 
 made a remark which immediately arous- 
 ed his neighbor from his temporary 
 apathy. Then the man with the pipe 
 nudged the man with the white ribbon, 
 and pointed to the chapeau. No sooner 
 did this man catch sight of the object 
 than he became excited, and hurrying 
 among his comrades, in a very few mo- 
 ments had them imbued with the same 
 uneasiness as himself. 
 
 Presently a hoarse voice called out very 
 lustily : 
 
 " Down with the cockade !" 
 
 As de Banyan turned to discover if pos- 
 sible who had shouted, he was greeted 
 with sullen scowls. 
 
 " Monsieur, there will be trouble in a 
 moment," said Antoine, uneasily. " it 
 would be well to drive at once to the bar- 
 racks." 
 
 " Bah !" cried de Banyan. "The fel- 
 low is a churl. If I had not this broken 
 arm, I would give him a taste of the horse 
 whip." 
 
 " Down with the cockade !" cried an- 
 other voice from the back part of the 
 porch. " Down with the tri-colors ! No 
 true citizen wears it now. Down with 
 the cockade !" 
 
 " My friends," said de Banvan, "the 
 cockade you have taken exceptions to 
 has been with me at Austerlitz, Eyiau, 
 Essling, VVagram, Friedland, Bi>rodino 
 and Dresden. Would you have me dis- 
 card it for one that has never left the 
 boundaries of France, except in (light 
 before the eagles of our Emperor?" 
 
 " A Bi" .ipartist !" howled some one in 
 the crowd which was fast gathering. 
 
 "An oflicer of the Old Ciuard !" cried 
 a gray-haired veteran, with one leg gone. 
 " I know him. It is Monsieur le Colonel 
 de Biuiyan, who led the — th Chasseurs 
 in that gallant charge at Borodino of 
 which I have so often told }ou. Respect, 
 friends, for a brave gentleman." 
 
 " He is a Bonapartist, and he wears 
 the tri-colors !" was the retort. 
 
 " Down with the cockade ! Down 
 with the Bonapartist !" cried the man 
 who wore the white ribbon. 
 
 And "down with the cockade" rang 
 obstreperously from mouth to mouth. 
 
 " Monsieur, ' said Antoine, nervously, 
 " may I not drive on?" 
 
 " Do you think I am going to let a 
 howling pack o*" loungers give me the 
 rout ?" exclaimed de Ba.".yan, indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 At this juncture a man elbowed his way 
 to the side of the ca/cc/u' with a detemii- 
 nation that set esery one wondering. He 
 was a tall, sinister-looking fellow of the 
 
IIIIC I..\l)\ Oh t IIA'JKAl' HI.ANC. 
 
 peasant Didor, willi aciniiitenance lescni- 
 hWuii that of ihu notorious Marat, and 
 his cruel mouth and sf'ippinj,' eyes lnokcd 
 tlcvitish as he pausod \o ^:i/.c insolently 
 at do lianyan. 
 
 " V'ou do not heed, monsieur," saii.1 he, 
 with a hiss. " V'ou do not intend to re- 
 move the cockade i-*" 
 
 " 1 have not the slii^-htest notion of it," 
 replied de Banyan, irritated by the man's 
 insolence. 
 
 " Then 1 will remove it fi^r you !" cried 
 the fellow witli another hiss. 
 
 And suitinj^ the action to the word, he 
 sprung" upon the step of the carriage, and 
 struck de Ranyan's chapeau from his 
 head. As it fell to the ground, he crush- 
 ed it beneath his foot, amid the clamour- 
 ous approval o\' the crowd that had gath- 
 ered. 
 
 Without a moment's rellection de Man- 
 yan caught the whip out of .Antoine's 
 hand, sprang to the ground and struck 
 the fellow a stinging blow across the 
 face. 
 
 " Von scoundrel !" he cried, bringing 
 the whip down again. " V'ou d.ure to 
 commit such an outrage? I'll teach you 
 better manners !" 
 
 The fellow howled with pain, and 
 showed that he was a coward ; but de 
 Manyan did not sp;ire him. Several times 
 the whip cut across his back before the 
 crowd could recover from their astonish- 
 ment. Then two men sprang forward, 
 as if to seize de Hanyan's arm. .\ntoine, 
 perceiving their intentions, immediately 
 sprang up in the carriage with his pistols 
 cocked and levelled at the crowd. 
 
 " Keep back there !" he cried. "Keep 
 back all of you ! The first iiiaii who 
 touches Monsieur, will get a taste of 
 lead !" 
 
 There was something in the expression 
 of Antoine's face which signified that he 
 would carry out his threat. Besides, the 
 frowning muzzles of the pistols were not 
 
 to be treated with indifFerence, and the 
 men hesitated. The crowd howled, and 
 ."•bowed a tendency to scatter ; then they 
 seen ed to change their minds, and started 
 back, as if they would annihilate de 
 Manyan. 
 
 But at this threatening moment there 
 was heard the sound of galloping horses, 
 and several oi' the crowd turned to see 
 what it meant. 
 
 "The hussars are coming!" some one 
 cried. "(Juick, disperse, the hussars 
 are coming ! Look out for the hussars !" 
 
 De Banyan had finished hiscastigation, 
 and, under the protection of Antoine's 
 pistols, was climbing back into the 
 calcchc, when the hussars dashed into 
 view around the corner of the street. 
 There were only four of them, but as 
 soon as they understood de Banyan's 
 predicament, they formed themselves on 
 either side of the calcchc and at his re- 
 quest escorted him to the barracks. 
 
 " He is a brave man," said the old vet- 
 eran, who had spoken in his favour be- 
 fore. " V'ou should have seen him at 
 Borodino, when he got that slash across 
 his face. Besides, did you not observe 
 that he carries his left arm in a sling 'i" 
 
 "Ah, ves, monsieur is a verv brave 
 man indeed," said his neighbour. " No 
 one would have dared whip Jean Pitou, 
 even with both arms at his service." 
 
 " He is the devil !" exclaimed Jean 
 Pitou, who had just come near them, 
 rubbing his smarting body. 
 
 " V'ou have reason to know it," said 
 the army veteran with a smile. 
 
 " .'Knd he will have reason to regret it," 
 said Jean Pitou, with a vicious e res 
 sion. " 1 am not one who forg 
 
 " V'ou are not likely to forg aid 
 
 tne army veteran. "He has .rked 
 your face well. I should not like to wear 
 that scar myself." 
 
 " Peace, old man," criedjean Pitou, in 
 a rage. " Peace, I say, or even your 
 
THli LADV Ol' CHATKAU HI.ANC. 
 
 57 
 
 criitcli and your {."ray hairs may not save 
 you." 
 
 " Vou would not strike a cripple, wduUI 
 you, Jean ?" said the veteran. 
 
 " Not if he holds his tonf^'iic, bul have 
 a care." 
 
 Whereupon the army veteran conclud- 
 ed that it would be wise to hold his peace. 
 
 The crowd now },'radually dispersed, 
 but not until many hail trodden uj'ion the 
 chapeau aiul cockaile which do Manyan 
 had left behind, and which had been the 
 cause ot' so much trouble. 
 
 .Alter they had ^'one, the army veteran 
 picked up the cha|K'au, and, brushinjj the 
 dirt from it, buttoned it up in his coat. 
 
 CHAPTKR XV. 
 
 WHAT Die HANVAN LliAKMilJ Al lUK HAKKAl KS. 
 
 It was not until de Hanyan had jjained the barracks he made his way to the Com- 
 the interior of the barracks that he was mandant's quarters without delay, 
 completely out ofdan^'er. On three oc- Major Parquin was a lar{^e, round, 
 casions stones were thrown by some one ruddy-faced man, with considerable blus- 
 conoealed amonj^ the houses ; one hit the ter in his manner, and a very red nose, 
 horse of one of the hussars, another The flare of purple veins in his cheeks 
 struck the back of the calcchc, and an- sufjf,'ested that he had tasted much wine 
 other skimmed over the ears oi the horse in his time, and had experienced consid- 
 which Antoine was driving. At each erable bad weather. His eyes were wat- 
 throw one or the other of the hussars gal- ery, but not from sentiment. His bear- 
 loped away in the direction whence the ing was that of a soldier who prided him- 
 stones came, but could find no one upon aelf upon an erect posture. He had seen 
 whom he might vent his wrath, and it service in Egypt, Italy, Spain and Russia, 
 was not imtil the gates of the barracks and his heavy voice, which suggested the 
 were passed that there prevailed a general rumbling of thunder, had been cultivated 
 feeling of relief. amid the din of battle. 
 
 That de Banyan was out of humour " Ah, my dear Colonel," he exclaimed, 
 
 follows as a natural sequence ; but there as de Banyan entered, "this is indeed an 
 
 was considerable satisfaction in knowing honour. But, by my sword, I am sorry 
 
 that he had given his principal oflTender you are wounded. Why, let me see; 
 
 his just deserts. One thing, however, we have not met since the catastrophe at 
 
 bothered him greatly: If the people of Moscow, and it was the devil's own mess 
 
 Rouillc were such fanatical anti-Imperi- we were in then. I have wondered many 
 
 alists, what could he expect from an offi- 
 cer in the service of the King. His hope 
 was that he might find him a Bonapartist 
 at heart, and ready to assist him ; but 
 although he knew the Commandant, he 
 
 a time since if your bones were not bleach- 
 ing somewhere in that terrible country. 
 Pray be seated. It does my eyes good to 
 see you again." 
 
 And shaking de Banyan's well arm 
 
 was not sure that he had not, like Jour- most cordially, he backed him into a 
 
 dan, Marmont, Murat, Bernadotte, and chair. 
 
 Jomini, gone over to the Bourbons heart "Well," said de Banyan, as he sank 
 
 and hand. Believing, however, that the into the chair, " had it not been for the 
 
 sooner h ascertained Major Parquin's timely arrival of four of your hussars just 
 
 political \ lews the better, on reaching now, it is quite probable that you would 
 
58 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 not liave seen me at all, for something 
 serious was about to happen." 
 
 "Why, how is that ?" exclaimed the 
 Major, in surprise. 
 
 He had resumed the seat at his writing 
 desk, in which de Banyan found him upon 
 entenng^. 
 
 " The fact of the matter is, my dear 
 Parquin, you have a very bloodthirsty lot 
 of villagers about you. The old spirit of 
 revolution is something more than a 
 smouldering ember here, I can assure 
 you." 
 
 "Guns and cannister, my dear de Ban- 
 yan, what has happened ?" 
 
 The Major was deeply interested. 
 
 The moment was a critical one for de 
 Banyan, since upon his reply hung con- 
 demnation or approval ; but he saw the 
 opportunity of learning the Major's poli- 
 tics, and he did not hesitate. 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, my dear 
 Parquin, said he, jocosely, " I was rash 
 enough to venture i o the village with 
 the tri-colors on my hat, on ac junt of 
 which I have been mobbed." 
 
 A cloud suddenly swept over the Com- 
 mandant's features, and he leaned forward 
 with a jerk. 
 
 " Sacre nom!" he growled, " were you 
 so imprudent as that ?" 
 
 De Banyan, who had been eyeing the 
 Major closely, nodded and went on. 
 
 " My chapeau has been destroyed, and 
 my cockade has been trampled into the 
 dust. They made quite a fuss over that 
 bit of ribbon. The red, white and blue 
 is to them what the red scarf of the tore- 
 ador is to a mad bull. I am now under 
 the extreme necessity of asking you for 
 the loan of a hat." 
 
 "It is at your service, and welcome," 
 said the Major, taking down a high hat, 
 which hung on a peg near him, and hand- 
 ing it to de Banyan, " but it was very 
 imprudent of you to wear the tri-colors." 
 
 "So 1 discovered. But this locality 
 
 used to be so strongly Bonapartist that I 
 fearea nothing." 
 
 Parquin glanced hurriedly about the 
 apartment. 
 
 " Then you love the violet ?" said he, 
 in a low tone. 
 
 " What then ?" answered de Banyan, 
 leaning forward. 
 
 " It will return in the spring," said 
 Parquin. 
 
 It was the old challeige and reply and 
 signified a Bonapartis\ They looked 
 each other straight in the eyes, and real- 
 ized that they were of the sanje senti- 
 ments. Upon making this discovery, a 
 feeling of great satisfaction came over de 
 Banyan. 
 
 " Are we alone ?" he asked. 
 
 Parquin rose from his seat, and made 
 a careful inspection of the room, looking 
 out of the windows, and even opening and 
 closing the outer door. 
 
 " Quite alone," said he. 
 
 Then stepping to a cabinet near at 
 hand he took down a decanter of wine, 
 and two glasses, which he placed upon 
 his writing desk. 
 
 " I invite you to drink with me the 
 health of Corporal Violet." said he, filling 
 the glasses. 
 
 " With pleasure, "answered de Banyan. 
 
 They raised their glasses and saluted. 
 
 " Long live Corporal Violet," said ile 
 Banyan. 
 
 " May he return in the Spring," said 
 Parquin. 
 
 And they quaffed the beverage at a 
 swallow. 
 
 For a moment they were both silent and 
 thoughtful. Parquin wa the first to 
 speak. 
 
 " Have you heard the latest news from 
 Paris ?" said he. 
 
 " No. What are they doing now ?" 
 
 "A courier brought me the news this 
 morning, that the King, not satisfied with 
 restoring the ecclesiastics to power, and 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 59 
 
 list that I 
 
 Ibout the 
 
 said he, 
 
 Banyan, 
 
 |ng," said 
 
 reply and 
 ey looked 
 , and real- 
 inje senti- 
 scovery, a 
 me over de 
 
 and made 
 »m, looking 
 opening and 
 
 let near at 
 er of wine, 
 }laced upon 
 
 /ith me the 
 \id he, filling 
 
 d de Banyan, 
 ind saluted. 
 let," said de 
 
 Ipring," said 
 
 iverage at a 
 
 oth silent and 
 the first to 
 
 ;st news from 
 
 ling now ?" 
 the news this 
 satisfied with 
 o power, and 
 
 encouraging their religious processions, 
 their sermons and their Te Dctitns in his 
 behalf, is about to erect a monument to 
 that arch traitor Cadoudal. That villain, 
 who led his Chouans and Vendeeans 
 against the Imperial Government, and 
 who with Pichegru, Danonville and Mo- 
 reau, conspired against the life of the 
 Emperor." 
 
 De Banyan looked at the Major in 
 amazement. 
 
 ^* Mon Dieti .'" he cried, indignantly. 
 " What an outrage ! Oh, these Bour- 
 bons ! These stupid Bourbons ! When 
 will they cease their insults ! Why were 
 they forced upon us after all the blood 
 that has been spilt to keep them out of 
 France. Ah, my friend, it is high time 
 the Emperor should return. These con- 
 temptible Bourbons are ruining even their 
 own cause." 
 
 *' It is a bad business, and I am sorely 
 tempted to resign my commission on ac- 
 count of it," said Parquin, in a melan- 
 choly tone. 
 
 "No, do not do that," replied de Ban- 
 yan, quickly. "You can serve the Em- 
 peror better here. How many men have 
 you ? ' 
 
 "Three hundred and forty." 
 
 •' What are their sentiments ?" 
 
 " They would follow the Emperor to 
 the ends of the earth. Every one of them 
 carries the tri-colors in the lining of his 
 shako." 
 
 " Then it is for you to remain with 
 them and be ready at the proper time." 
 
 " Think you so?" 
 
 " You could not possibly serve our 
 cause better. You will be in a position 
 to lead the sentiments of your men in the 
 right direction." 
 
 The Commandant reflected. 
 
 "Very well, then," said he, presently. 
 " So long as there is hope my sword re- 
 mains in readiness." 
 
 " But these villagers must be looked 
 
 after, Parquin," said de Banyan. " It 
 will never do to let them grow so pre- 
 sumptuous." 
 
 " They shall pay dearly for what they 
 have done. I shall immediately investi- 
 gate the matter and shall arrest every one 
 of them who took part in this outrage. 
 Gad's life ! between these villagers and 
 the bandits I have been sent to capture, 
 I shall have my hands full." 
 
 " Ah ! I was nearly forgetting. It is 
 of these bandits I wish to speak," said 
 de Banyan, with spirit. 
 
 And then he told of his morning's ex- 
 perience, the death of Argeneau, and the 
 visit of the hussars the night before. 
 
 " Now, why," said he, " were those 
 hussars at my chateau, inquiring for M. 
 de Saint-Breton, who happened to be a 
 guest of mine ?" 
 
 '' Pardieuf I was not aware of the 
 fact." 
 
 " Then you did not send them ?" 
 
 " Name of a pipe ! no. Why should 
 I ? I do not even know of M. de Saint- 
 Breton." 
 
 " Humph ! that is strange." 
 
 " Are you sure they were my men ?" 
 
 " They were hussars, and as your de- 
 tachment is the only one in this vicinity, 
 I naturally concluded they were yours." 
 
 " Well, they were not my men at all. 
 They were bandits in a discarded uniform 
 of the -th Hussars." 
 
 " Ah, you are sure of this ?" 
 
 " Quite sure. Early this morning one 
 of their number was found dead on the 
 highway. Near him was a dead horse. 
 The horse had been shot , the man's neck 
 had been broken. It was quite evident 
 that they had made an attack upon some 
 one last night ; possibly your friends. 
 The result of the escapade is not yet 
 known. Your friends may have got oflF 
 alright, or they may have met with some 
 serious reverses. This remains to be 
 seen. My impression is, they got off" 
 
6o 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 alright. But, as I say, we shall see. For 
 some time this band of marauders have 
 been giving trouble in this locality, and I 
 am at present at a loss to locate them. 
 This much I have learned. They are led 
 by a man named Dubosc, and are a des- 
 perate lot. Their method of operation is 
 to appear in their hussar uniforms, and, 
 under the guise of soldiers, they are en- 
 abled to approach travelling coaches 
 without giving an alarm. The attack is 
 sudden, and our disbanded soldiers are 
 blamed for it. A few days ago. Captain 
 Montluc, one of my officers, found a clue 
 to their rendezvous, and is now, with fifty 
 men, undertaking their capture. Yester- 
 day he sent word that he would have the 
 whole band secured in a very short time. 
 I am expecting to hear from him again at 
 any hour." 
 
 " I sincerely hope he will succeed. 
 But what annoys me perhaps the most is 
 the treachery of my secretary, Argeneau. 
 It seems my uncle has had him in his ser- 
 vice about two years." 
 
 "Your uncle has bean writing his 
 memoirs of Egypt ; that accounts for 
 Argeneau being employed." 
 
 " His memoirs ! Why, 1 was not 
 aware of the fact. 1 have not come 
 across them, and Argeneau never men- 
 tioned them to me. Do you know tiiis 
 for a fact, or do you only guess at it ?" 
 
 " Well, about two years ago 1 met the 
 late baron in Paris. He told me then 
 that he was about to begin his memoirs 
 of the Egyptian campaign, and lie asked 
 me to give him some facts relating to an 
 expedition which I undertook against the 
 Mamelukes." 
 
 " But why did not Argeneau tell mc of 
 these memoirs? And stranger still, why 
 has not my cousin spoken of them ?" 
 
 " Argeneau may have had reasons for 
 not letting you know of their existence ; 
 it is quite evident that he would stop at 
 nothing. As for mademoiselle, she may 
 
 not have had occasion to mention them ; 
 or else she did not know of them at all. 
 The baron was very reticent about some 
 things, and he may never have mentioned 
 the memoirs to his daughter." 
 
 The conversation at this juncture was 
 suddenly interrupted by the sound of 
 horses clattering over the pavement out- 
 side, followed by several emphatic com- 
 mands from an officer. 
 
 The Commandant sprang to the win- 
 dow and looked out. De Banyan fol- 
 lowed his example. 
 
 " .Wo/'Wt'M.'" exclaimed Parquin. "It 
 is Captain Montluc and his men return- 
 ed." 
 
 " They have been successful," said de 
 Banyan, " they have several prisoners." 
 
 "They have had a fight too," said 
 Parquin, " the captain is wounded, and 
 some of his men are missing. Ah, he is 
 dismounting. He will be here in a mo- 
 ment." 
 
 The Commandant was in an exultant 
 mood, and as he turned from the window 
 his smiling face portrayed his feelings. 
 They had scarcely resumed their seats 
 when the door opened, and Captain Mont- 
 luc entered. He was a fine specimen of 
 a soldier, and quite young. There was 
 no doubt about his being wounded. 
 Around his head was knotted a blood- 
 stained handkerchief, and he carried his 
 right arm in a sling. 
 
 His report to the Commandant was to 
 the effect that he had surprised the ban- 
 dits in their cave, whereupon a fierce 
 fight had ensued, and after losing seven 
 of his men and killing five of the bandits, 
 he had captured four of the desperadoes, 
 among whom was their chief, Dubosc. 
 He was satisfied that the band was now 
 broken up, and he was certain that no 
 furliicr trouble would arise. After mak- 
 ing his report the Captain left the room 
 to seek the services of the surgeon. 
 De Banyan, who had overheard all, 
 
 &.»-» 
 
THE LADY OF CHATP:AU BLANC. 
 
 6i 
 
 )n them ; 
 at all. 
 lout some 
 lentioned 
 
 :ture was 
 [sound of 
 Iment out- 
 latic com- 
 
 the win- 
 [inyan fol- 
 
 um. "It 
 en return- 
 
 il," said de 
 risoners." 
 too," said 
 inded, and 
 Ah, he is 
 re in a mo- 
 rn exultant 
 the window 
 lis feelings, 
 their seats 
 ptain Mont- 
 specimen of 
 There was 
 f wounded. 
 ;d a blood- 
 ; carried his 
 
 dant was to 
 sed the ban- 
 3on a fierce 
 losing seven 
 the bandits, 
 desperadoes, 
 ief, Dubosc. 
 nd was now 
 rtain that no 
 After mak- 
 eft the room 
 iirgeon. 
 verheard all, 
 
 was gratified to learn the result of the 
 expedition, and when he understood that 
 Dubosc was among the prisoners, he de- 
 termined, if possible, to have an interview 
 with him, in hopes of learning something 
 of Argeneau's history. 
 
 " Speak to him, by all means, my dear 
 Colonel," said Parquin, when permission 
 was asked. " The villain may know more 
 than we imagine." 
 
 De Banyan immediately had the pris- 
 oner brought before him. The result of 
 the interview was quite satisfactory. 
 Much that Dubosc related, however, the 
 reader already knows. But there were 
 some things in the bandit's narrative con- 
 cerning Argeneau, which have not yet 
 been recorded. 
 
 It seems that when the Marquis de 
 Trepeson's band of desperadoes was 
 broken up, and the notorious Chouan spy, 
 named Benedict Bellefontaine, lost his 
 life, his son Paul, a mere boy, escaped 
 and fled to Paris, where, from fear of 
 being associated with the Chouans, on 
 account of his name, and arrested, he as- 
 sumed the nom de guerre of Argeneau, 
 and lived as best he could among the poor 
 of Washer Woman's Lane. 
 
 One day, however, at one of the re- 
 views in the Place du Carrousal, he ap- 
 proached the Emperor and asked that he 
 might have admission into the school at 
 St. Cyr. The request was granted, and 
 he became a student at the expense of the 
 Government. 
 
 After he had finished his education, he 
 served as secretary to different officers of 
 the army. He was with Gerard, and 
 afterward sought and received employ- 
 ment of General de Banyan, at Chateau 
 Blanc, the old rendezvous of the Chouans, 
 and which years before had been his 
 home. 
 
 Now Dubosc had been associated with 
 deTrcpeson'sChouans also, but later in life 
 joined a regiment of hussars, and served 
 
 as a sergeant in several campaigns. He 
 was at Jena, Wagram and Leipsic, and 
 did good service. But after the Restora- 
 tion, his regiment had been disbanded by 
 the King, and being out of employment, 
 he recalled his old occupation, gathered 
 a number of his hussar comrades about 
 him, and resumed operations as a bandit, 
 attacking travelling coaches whenever the 
 opportunity afforded, and with consider- 
 able success. 
 
 On learning that the son of his old 
 friend was at Chateau Blanc, Dubosc 
 managed to have an interview with him, 
 and, without much trouble, induced him 
 to act in the same capacity with him that 
 the young man's father had acted with 
 the old Marquis, that is to say, Argeneau 
 became Dubosc's informant of danger, 
 and of anything new in the \'ay of an 
 enterprise, and in many instances he was 
 the instigator and leader. So, coming 
 naturally by his treacherous natun', it is 
 not surprising that his deeds were any- 
 thing but meritorious. 
 
 De Banyan wondered how bad his 
 affairs had become on account of Argen- 
 eau's connection with them, and if he 
 started for home immediately after the 
 interview with Dubosc, it was because of 
 the trouble he anticipated. 
 
 It was late, however, when he loft the 
 barracks. Fortunately, there was no 
 further demonstrations of disapproval on 
 the part o\' the satis ctilotte, but on pass- 
 ing the last cottage of the village, he was 
 accosted by the old army veteran who 
 had spoken in his favour at the Chevel 
 Blanc. 
 
 " Monsieur," said the old cripple, as 
 the carriage stopped, " permit me tores- 
 tore your chapeau." 
 
 "Ah, that is very good of you, my 
 man," said de Banyan, taking the hat 
 which the old fellow had carefully cleaned. 
 " Now you can do me still another favour 
 by taking this one, with my compliments. 
 
62 
 
 THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 to M. lie Major Parquin at the barracks," 
 he added, removing^ the hat he wore. 
 
 "Certainly, monsieur, it gives me 
 pleasure to be of service." 
 
 " How shall I reward you?" 
 
 " I want no reward, monsieur," said 
 the man, with considerable pride. " 1 
 serve him willingly who is brave enough 
 to wear the tri-colors in times like 
 these." 
 
 De Banyan drew a Napoleon from his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Well, then, my good man," said he, 
 offering the coin, "at least you must drink 
 the health of Corporal Violet at my ex- 
 pense." 
 
 " With pleasure, monsieur," said the 
 veteran, taking the gold, and touching 
 
 his cap. " Corporal Violet shall be wel! 
 toasted." 
 
 De Banyan directed Antoine to drive 
 on. The horse had no sooner started 
 than the veteran called after them. Again 
 the caleche stopped. ^ 
 
 " Monsieur," said the veteran, coming 
 up, " beware of Jean Pitou." 
 
 " And who is Jean Pitou ?" 
 
 " The man whom you whipped to-day. 
 He means vengeance." 
 
 De Banyan broke into a laugh. 
 
 "Oh, very well, then, I will keep my 
 eyes open," said he, merrily. "Thank 
 you, my friend, and adieu." 
 
 This time the caleche rattled down the 
 road and did not stop until it reached the 
 chateau. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 VIVE i.'empereir. 
 
 After a man has stepped into a comfort- ed at the doctor's premonitions and con- 
 able inheritance, even though the prospects tinued his investigations, regardless of 
 are bright, it requires time to grc'^' possible results. 
 
 familiar with his affairs, and if he is Selma being also deeply concerned, did 
 
 blessed with any business capabilities her best to lure him from his task, and 
 
 whatever, it follows as a natural sequence was not a little piqued at her failure, 
 
 that he should wish to know just liow One day, when he had been longer than 
 
 matters stand with him. Therefore, if usual in her company, and had listened 
 
 de Banyan became very practical, and to the beautiful music which she played 
 
 even preoccupied, it was because he 
 realized that he had considerable yet to 
 learn concerning his estate. He deter- 
 mined to make a thorough investigation, 
 and since Argeneau had proven such a 
 rascal, he fully expected to find things in 
 a pretty bad shape. 
 
 His fractured arm hindered him great- 
 ly, but with the aid of his vulct de cham- 
 brc he succeeded in getting over consider- 
 able work which was decidedl\ humdrum, 
 and anything but favourable to his re- thrumming a few plaintive chords in a 
 covery. manner which signified disappointment. 
 
 Dr. Blauvelt had cautioned him " Why, what have 1 been doing; or, 
 
 against exertion oi any kind ; but as he rather, what have I not been doing ?" 
 had been accustomed to hard work, under said he gently, 
 even less favourable conditions, he laugh- " Why, don't you see, Maurice, you 
 
 for him upon her harp, until he almost 
 lost himself in a delightful reverie, he 
 suddenly sprang to his feet with the re- 
 mark that he had stayed beyond his 
 time. 
 
 "Ah, Maurice," cried Selma, a little 
 pensively, " Vou are not at all compli- 
 mentary." 
 
 De Banyan turned toward her with a 
 look of surprise. She had leaned her 
 beautiful head against her harp, and was 
 
THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 63 
 
 all be well 
 
 le to drive 
 ler started 
 lem. Again 
 
 t 
 an, coming 
 
 ped to-day. 
 
 ill keep my 
 "Thank 
 
 ed down the 
 reached the 
 
 jns and con- 
 egardless of 
 
 oncerned, did 
 lis task, and 
 
 her failure. 
 
 longer than 
 had listened 
 h she played 
 il he almost 
 il reverie, he 
 t with the re- 
 
 beyond his 
 
 elma, a little 
 t all compli- 
 
 d her with a 
 d leaned her 
 arp, and was 
 e chords in a 
 ^appointment. 
 ;n doing ; or, 
 been doing ?" 
 
 Maurice, you 
 
 have hinted that I have no attraction for 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, no, Selma, you are quite mis- 
 taken. P'rom what do you draw your 
 inference ?" said he, with a look of 
 chagrin stealing over his face. 
 
 " From your actions. Here I have 
 been for three days trying to keep you 
 away from those tiresome accounts, in 
 hopes that you might not overtax your- 
 self. But each time I have failed. The 
 accounts have more attraction than I." 
 
 ' ' The accounts have no attraction at 
 all," said he, earnestly, " but the work 
 must be done, and the sooner it is accom- 
 plished the sooner will I be at liberty. 
 That is why I keep at tliem. But if you 
 knew how hard it is for me to concen- 
 trate my mind upon those ponderous 
 journals and ledgers, because of my 
 thoughts of you, you would never 
 imagine that you had lost your attrac- 
 tion. With a soldier, however, it is 
 always duty before pleasure, and I must 
 continue my task." 
 
 Her fingers were striking a few soft 
 rippling notes from the harp, and a warm 
 blush was blotiing out the delicate roses 
 of her cheek. 
 
 " And does a soldier think so much of 
 duty that he will forget himself?" she 
 murmured ; but suddenly stopping her 
 music, she looked up with an earnest ex- 
 pression. "Ah, Maurice," said she, 
 "think of how you may retard your 
 recovery." 
 
 De Banyan stepped to her side and 
 took her hand. His face was illumined 
 with something more than gratitude. 
 
 " My dear Selma," said he, " I thank 
 you for your kindly solicitude. It does 
 me more good than the doctor's pre- 
 scriptions. Yet, for your sake, as well as 
 my own, I must thoroughly investigate 
 my financial affairs. After I have be- 
 come master of the situation, I shall give 
 vou little cause tor solicitude." 
 
 started to leave the room, but at the 
 doorway turned, and for a moment 
 contemplated the floor. 
 
 " Selma," said he, presently, with an 
 earnest expression, "let me assure 
 you that I fully appreciate your kindly 
 interest. You are my good angel. Life 
 has never been to me what it is now." 
 
 Then he left her and returned to his 
 study. 
 
 After he had gone she was so happy 
 that when she resumed her harp the music 
 seemed to vibrate through the room like 
 the exquisite harmony of an inspired 
 soul. Now rolling forth in volumes, now 
 trembling away in dulcet tintinabula- 
 tions, then swelling forth again into 
 bright crescendos, which seemed to be 
 the echo of her heart's glad song, then 
 dying out in a tender diminuendo, as if to 
 suggest how happy were her '•eflections. 
 Later in the day she seated herself at her 
 easel and began to paint his portrait. 
 
 But the days came and went, and still 
 de Banyan worked diligently. Ever with 
 her image before him, and the sound of 
 her voice in his heart, while ever and 
 anon the mystery which overhung her 
 life, rose up like some rugged obstacle 
 which he could not surmount. He had 
 searched everywhere with the hope that 
 some record migh have been left, but to 
 no avail. Nothing could be discovered 
 which might throw light upon the sub- 
 ject. His one hope was that Madame 
 Mortier's story was true. .Argeneau's 
 insinuations were revolting. He could 
 not bear to think of them, and now 
 that his secretary had proven so treacher- 
 ous, he concluded that the rascal must 
 liave destroyed the records in order to 
 further his own plans. One thing was 
 certain ; the books showed that .Vrge- 
 neau had robbed the late baron of several 
 thousand francs, .uul if he was depraved 
 enough to rob the man who evidently had 
 placed implicit confidence in him, and 
 
 He raised her hand to his lips, then who had benefited him in many ways, he 
 
64 
 
 THE LADV OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 certainly would not hesitate to destroy 
 records, if they stood in his way. 
 
 One afternoon, however, a singula' 
 accident occurred which led to the dis- 
 closure of the secret. As de Banyan sat 
 at work in his library, he was suddenly 
 startled by a heavy crash behind him. 
 On turning to discover what had happen- 
 ed, he found that a large picture had 
 broken its cord and fallen to the floor. 
 As he looked at the wall where it had 
 hung he noticed the outline of a small 
 door with a spring lock. On opening 
 this he drew forth a small iron casket 
 which also opened with a spring. It was 
 filled with important papers, one of which 
 was the very record he had been in search 
 of. Ten minutes later he knew that 
 Argeneau had basely lied to him. The 
 paper was in his uncle's handwriting, and 
 not only corroborated Madame Mortier's 
 story of Selma's adoption, but stated 
 that she was the daughter of Captain de 
 Montbars, who had been an aide-de-camp 
 of Napoleon's in Egypt. It also stat- 
 ed that at the battle of St. Jean d'Arc 
 Captain de Montbars lost his life while 
 endeavouring to save that of his General- 
 in-Chief by springing between him and a 
 shell, which burst almost at his feet. F'or 
 this great sacrifice, and because of the 
 death of her mother. Napoleon had caus- 
 ed her adoption by the late baron, and 
 after he became Emperor, settled upon 
 her an income of thirty thousand francs. 
 Naturally de Banyan rejoiced at his dis- 
 covery, and having finished his task re- 
 solved to court his adopted cousin's com- 
 pany as much as possible. 
 
 Then followed a season of happiness, 
 in which pleasant walks and talks, horse- 
 back rides, and most enjoyable excur- 
 sions into the country served to promote 
 Cupid's work. 
 
 So the winter passed and the violets 
 returned. Hut delightful as were these 
 few brief months for de Hanvan and 
 
 Selma, they did not pass so smoothly for 
 others. France as a nation was uneasy 
 and anxious. For the Bonapartists, it 
 was a period of speculation and planning ; 
 for the royalists, a season of anxiety ; 
 for the Bourbon King, a spell of blind 
 credulity ; for the banished Emperor, a 
 time of alertness and calculation. 
 
 At the Congress of Vienna the celebri- 
 ties of Europe were still quarreling over 
 the topography of a continent, and 
 Talleyrand was scheming harder than 
 ever for the removal of the fallen Emper- 
 or to the Azores. It was quite evident 
 that they still feared the man of Elba, 
 and yet while they were planning his 
 greater security, things were shaping 
 themselves at Porto-Ferrajo and through- 
 out France for this dangerous exile's 
 return. 
 
 One day at Porto-Ferrajo, a great ball 
 was given, to which all the Elban cele- 
 brities were invited. It was under the 
 auspices of Princess Borghese, and was a 
 great success. The Emperor with all his 
 officers was there, apparently quite con- 
 tented with his lot, and no one could 
 suspect from his manner that anything 
 unusual was about to happen. 
 
 The next morning, however, before 
 those who had attended the ball could 
 recover from its various effects. Napoleon 
 suddenly took it into his head to embark 
 on board the Inconstant and set sail for 
 the shores of France, accompanied by 
 twelve hundred grenadiers and officers, 
 in six small vessels. That the enter- 
 prise was audacious is certain from the 
 fact that with this mere handful of grena- 
 diers. Napoleon announced, after getting 
 well out to sea, that he was destined to 
 set free a population of thirty millions of 
 people. 
 
 When the news came that Na- 
 poleon had landed at Cannes, and was 
 advancing towards Paris, de Banyan, with 
 a resolution borne of a sense of duty, set 
 
lothly for 
 uneasy 
 •artists, it 
 lanning ; 
 anxiety ; 
 of blind 
 [mperor, a 
 in. 
 
 he celebri- 
 [eling over 
 nent, and 
 irder than 
 len Emper- 
 iitc evident 
 in of Elba, 
 lanninj; his 
 re shaping 
 nd through- 
 rous exile's 
 
 a great ball 
 Elban cele- 
 is under the 
 ie, and was a 
 )r with all his 
 ly quite con- 
 o one could 
 hat anything 
 n. 
 
 /ever, before 
 he ball could 
 cts, Napoleon 
 ad to embark 
 i set sail for 
 :ompanied by 
 
 and officers, 
 It the enter- 
 ain from the 
 dful of grena- 
 , after getting 
 IS destined to 
 rty millions of 
 
 le that Na- 
 mes, and was 
 i Banyan, with 
 se of duty, set 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 65 
 
 iHit to join him. There had been earnest 
 entreaties on the part of Selma, plighted 
 vows on the part of de Banyan, fond 
 embraces and fervent kisses on the part 
 of both, and when Selma recovered 
 herself sufficiently to look at tlie matter 
 from the standpoint of a brave and loyal 
 woman, she realized that her lover had 
 mounted his charger and had ridden away 
 in the direction of Grenoble. What the 
 result of the enterprise would be she 
 knew not, but in her heart she trembled. 
 
 On the night of the 19th, Napoleon 
 reached Fontainbleau, and on the follow- 
 ing evening, in fog and rain, entered 
 Paris in an open carriage, preceded by a 
 courier on horseback, who announced his 
 master's arrival. 
 
 A few hours previous, Louis XVIII 
 had fled to Holland for protection, and 
 the vacant throne was left to the 
 usurper, who, without bloodshed, had con- 
 quered France, amid the acclamations of 
 immense crowds. 
 
 Vive PEmpcreur resounded through the 
 streets until long after midnight. People 
 shouted themselves hoarse; shouted until 
 they lost their voices; and when they 
 could shout no longer, they listened with 
 considerable satisfaction to the booming 
 of the cannon that had thundered at 
 Marengo, Austerlitz and Dresden, and 
 which shook the brilliantly illumined city 
 until dawn. 
 
 It is strange how men forget. It is 
 strange how public favor deviates. Less 
 than a year ago the cry had been, "Down 
 with the Emperor" and "Long live the 
 King"; now it was, "Down with the 
 King" and "Long live the Emperor." 
 What an innovation ! 
 
 There were men who seemed to live 
 anew. There were men who wept when 
 he passed, and smiled happily through 
 their tears after he had gone. There 
 were men who strove to forget their 
 sworn allegiance to the Bourbons, and 
 
 who sought to establish their never-fail- 
 ing loyalty to the Emperor. There were 
 others who trembled at the sight of liini, 
 and still others who sagely shook their 
 venerable heads and wondered what 
 would come of it all. Yet, in one tre- 
 mendous chorus they thundered their 
 huzzas, and crowded about the Emperor 
 until he was obliged to Cry out, "My 
 friends, you stifle me!" 
 
 None saw, however, the looks from 
 evil eyes. None guessed the resentment 
 smouldering in the hearts of hundreds 
 among that clamoring multitude. In 
 that hour of excitement everyone was 
 busy with his own feelings. 
 
 For the Bonapartists, it was a day of 
 triumph; for the royalists, a day 
 of tate. P'rom the time Napoleon set 
 foot upon French soil it had been one 
 grand ovation, a sort of royal and trium- 
 phal progress; so that in conversation 
 at the Tuileries, with his old friend Caul- 
 aincourt, he had good reason for saying, 
 that the success of his rash venture was 
 a return once more of that dazzling good 
 fortune, which had spoiled him during 
 so many years. 
 
 In the Tuileries the Eniperor found all 
 his old ministers, his generals and his 
 courtiers assembled. All were desirous 
 of seeing and greeting him. An immense 
 concourse of people surged aroimd the 
 entrance on the stairway, and h'xs aide s-de- 
 canip were compelled to carry him in 
 their arms up the grand staircase, and 
 thence into the royal apartments, amid 
 exultant cries of \'ive r Emperetir. 
 
 To re-establish his authority, re-organ- 
 ize his go\crnment and create a new 
 army, that would enable him to meet his 
 enemies in the field, required time. But 
 that he was not idle is certain, from the 
 fact that during the eighty-four days of 
 his stay in Paris he re-established his 
 authority all over France, tranquilized 
 the country generally, put down royalist 
 
66 
 
 THE LADY OF CHATEAU BLANC. 
 
 risinjjs, obtained money for his military 
 wants, adjusted the national finances, 
 restored the civil administrations everj- 
 wherc, and organized an army of three 
 hundred thousand soldiers, most of them 
 veterans, besides an Imperial Guard of 
 forty thousand men, who were ready to 
 follow him to the ends of the earth. 
 
 But in all his hurry he forgot to disarm 
 those two arch-traitors, Talleyrand and 
 Fouche, and it is probably due to his 
 clemency that they were permitted finally, 
 nder the guise of friendship, to plot his 
 asjcond downfall. 
 
 During this excitement and preparation 
 de Banyan was not idle. Having been 
 assigned to his old regiment, he entered 
 upon his duties with an energy which 
 was equal to the emergency, and in due 
 time had his men ready for the field. 
 Then orders came to march in three days 
 to meet the enemy. This gave de Banyan 
 sufficient time to hasten home to Selma. 
 Their parting was an affecting one, but 
 like the brave woman she was, she bade 
 him God speed, and promised to pray for 
 him until his return. 
 
 Then followed in quick succession the 
 
 battles of Ligny, Quatre-Bras and Wat- 
 erloo, with their disastrous effects to the 
 French, and their strange enigmas to the 
 world. It has been stated that this last 
 campaign was a series of blunders on the 
 part of the F"rench generals, and a suc- 
 cession of amazing triumphs on the part 
 of the allies. But the establishing of the 
 truth of this must be left to history. 
 Suffice it to say, however, that every 
 loyal man in that terrible struggle fought 
 nobly, and among them was no braver 
 soldier than Colonel Baron de Banyan. 
 He was often in the thickest of the fight, 
 and his men received a new stimulus 
 whenever they beheld him. At Waterloo 
 three horses fell under him, and the last 
 seen of him he was leading his regi- 
 ment of chasseurs against the British 
 squares. 
 
 When night came the pale moon look- 
 ed down upon a field of carnage, and a 
 fleeing, almost annihilated army; and in- 
 stead of the croaking of frogs, the songs 
 of insecfs and the fluting of nightingales, 
 there were heard disconsolate cries of 
 anguish and of woe, and the shouts of vic- 
 torious pursuers. 
 
THE LADY OF CHATKAIJ BLANC. 
 
 67 
 
 and Wat- 
 
 ects to the 
 mas to the 
 at this last 
 ders on the 
 and a sue- 
 on the part 
 ihing of the 
 to history, 
 that every 
 ggle fought 
 no braver 
 de Banyan, 
 of the fight, 
 e\v stimiiUis 
 At Waterloo 
 and the last 
 ig his regi- 
 the British 
 
 2 moon look- 
 'nage, and a 
 rmy ; and in- 
 fs, the songs 
 nightingales, 
 (late cries of 
 shouts of vic- 
 
 CHAPTER XVll. 
 
 THE WOUNDEO PKISONEK. 
 
 After Waterloo, the Allies invaded 
 I" ranee, and for the seeond time Napoleon 
 was obliged to abdieate. Things were 
 not favourable for the fallen Emperor even 
 in his own eountry, or among his own 
 people. His cause was forever lost, and 
 his family ruined. The Allies had pro- 
 scribed him, and declared to the French 
 nation that they were not fighting France, 
 but the Ogre of Corsica. His marshals 
 were discouraged, indignant and resent- 
 ful, and the very men whom he h.id bene- 
 fitted the most became his bitterest 
 enemies. Fouche, at the head of a pro- 
 visional government, advised him to flee 
 to America, and then treacherously noti- 
 fied the Allies of the advice he had given, 
 that they might pursue the illustrious re- 
 fugee and capture him. Nevertheless, 
 Napoleon hesitated to take the advice of 
 his old Minister of Police, and it was not 
 until the 29th of June, eleven days after 
 Waterloo, that he left Malmaison, accom- 
 panied by Marshal Bertrand, Las Casas, 
 Savary, and a few of his attached ser- 
 vants, attended by a small guard of 
 mounted men. The first night he slept 
 at Rambouillet, the second at Tours, the 
 third at Niort. On July 3rd he reached 
 Rochefort, and on the 8th of .August he 
 was on board the Northumberland, on his 
 way to St. Helena. 
 
 Meanwhile, the days at Chateau Blanc 
 were full of anxiety. From the distance 
 resounded the thunder of war, while ever 
 and anon detachments of French soldiers, 
 in complete disorder, hurried along the 
 highway in the direction of Paris. 
 
 From her window Selma watched them 
 with beating heart, and it was all Mad- 
 ame Mortier could do to comfort her. 
 One day the fighting was nearer, the roar 
 ol cannon louder, the rattle of musketry 
 heavier, the yelling of combatants wilder 
 and fiercer. Sometimes it was the cry of 
 Vive r Empereur, then again it was the 
 German cry of Fat/ierland, and "On to 
 Paris." Before the close of the day the 
 two armies swarmed into view, and a 
 shell burst in the park almost at the foot 
 of the grand stairway of the chateau. An 
 hour later the French were a broken rab- 
 ble, fleeing before the victorious Prus- 
 sians. When night came the camp fires 
 of the Prussians could be seen in all dir- 
 ections. 
 
 Madame Mortier knew something of 
 war. She had followed her husband — 
 who, by the way, was killed in Egypt at 
 the Battle of the Pyramids— in more than 
 one campaign, and knew what it meant 
 *o ue at the mercy of a victorious enemy, 
 and if she trembled at the thought of 
 what might befall the inmates of Chateau 
 Blanc, it was because of the terrible deeds 
 she had seen committedby thevery French 
 who were now at the mercy of an enraged 
 and long abused enemy. To the victor 
 belong the spoils, and she knew not how 
 soon Ciiateau Blanc might fall a prey to 
 the Prussian soldiers. But Selma thought 
 not of this ; she was never before in such 
 an alarming juxtaposition to an hostile 
 army. She thought only of her lover, and 
 wept that she had no news of him. But 
 could she have witnessed the succeeding 
 
68 
 
 THi: I.ADV OK CHATKAU BI.ANC. 
 
 events since his ioavetakin^, and hav^ 
 known the conspicuous part lie liad pla> - 
 ed ; could she iiave seen iiini at VN'aterloo, 
 intrepid, terrible, and have realized his 
 dangers, his miraculous escapes, his fear- 
 less efforts to lead his men to the very 
 cannon's mouth, and his final disappear- 
 ance, she would have had sufficient cause 
 for alarm. Then could she have beheld 
 the blood-stained form that lay beneath 
 the very cannon which belched forth iis 
 grape and cannister into the last of the 
 Old Guard, after Cambronne had refused 
 to surrender, she probably would not 
 have known that it lay there from ex- 
 haustion alone, and would have lost all 
 hope. Hut after the moon arose, and the 
 night of that eventful day was far ad- 
 vanced, could she have observed that re- 
 cumbent form as it came back to life and 
 action, and have seen the man for whom 
 her heart beat so fervently, rise from be- 
 neath the cannon and sprint^- upon the 
 back of an artillery horse that stood near 
 at hand, and fly from the ghastly battle- 
 field, she would have known that her 
 lover still lived and would probably reach 
 her side unmolested. But this she did 
 not know, and because of her ignorance 
 she wept. 
 
 "Courage, child," said Madame Mor- 
 tier, " I feel sure that Monsieur le Haron 
 will return to you. A little longer, dearie, 
 and it will all be over. The defeat of our 
 armies means that peace will soon reign 
 again. The Emperor's star has set for- 
 ever." 
 
 "Thank God for that," cried Selma. 
 " For if an Emperor must cost so many 
 valuable lives, then let us have a King, 
 so that he be a King of peace." 
 
 " There is but one King of peace, my 
 child, and he is our Saviour. So long as 
 man exists, there will be strile and con- 
 tention, and the sooner we women learn 
 to adapt ourselves to circumstances the 
 better." 
 
 While they were speaking there came 
 a .sound of tramping soldiers and a rattle 
 of accoutrements in the park. On look- 
 ing out, an armed force was discovered 
 maniEuvering to surround the chateau. 
 Ten minutes later the faithful Antoine an- 
 nounced to his fair young mistress that a 
 Prussian officer was waiting in the salon 
 below, and had requested an interview 
 with mademoiselle. 
 
 " It has come at last," thought Mad- 
 ame Mortier. " Now we are to be plun- 
 dered and abused." 
 
 "What shall I do, nurse," said Selma, 
 in alarm ; " must I go ?" 
 
 " It would be better, my love. But 
 let me go with you. I know something 
 of these military men, and may be able to 
 .save you annoyance." 
 
 "Come then by all means, dear nurse, 
 but let us ^o at once." 
 
 Leading the way, she entered the salon 
 where the Prussian officer rose to meet 
 her. 
 
 He was a man somewhat advanced in 
 years, as his partially bald head, heavy 
 gray moustache, wrinkled features and 
 shaggy eyebrows indicated. But he pos- 
 sessed a fine physique and a keen eye, 
 and in his gorgeous uniform of a general 
 of division, bore a commanding pres- 
 ence. 
 
 " I hope you will not look upon this 
 intrusion too severely, mademoiselle," 
 said he, in very good French, and with a 
 politeness not expected, "but so many 
 things arise out of the fortunes and mis- 
 fortunes of war, that an officer, in the 
 discharge of his duty, cannot always help 
 being intrusive, therefore I crave your 
 pardon." 
 
 ' ' You are very kind to put it in that 
 light," answered Selma, with a feeling of 
 relief, " but will you not be seated?" 
 
 The officer, selecting a chair, .sat down 
 beside the young girl, who took a seat 
 upon a divan near at hand. Madame 
 
there came 
 land a rattle 
 On look- 
 discovered 
 le chateau. 
 lAntoinean- 
 ptress that a 
 |in the salon 
 interview 
 
 nx^hi Mad- 
 to be pi un- 
 said Sehna, 
 
 love. But 
 
 something 
 
 ly be able to 
 
 dear nurse, 
 
 -ed the salon 
 3se to meet 
 
 advanced in 
 head, heavy 
 eatures and 
 But he pos- 
 i keen eye, 
 of a general 
 nding pres- 
 
 : upon this 
 Jemoiselle," 
 and with a 
 Lit so many 
 ;s and mis- 
 cer, in the 
 always help 
 crave your 
 
 : it in that 
 a feeling of 
 ;ated ?" 
 r, sat down 
 ook a seat 
 Madame 
 
 TIIK LADY OK CHAIIIAU HE.ANC. 
 
 09 
 
 Mortier remained standing near the door- 
 way. 
 
 *' I wish to assure you, mademoiselle, 
 of my protection," continued tlie ofliccr. 
 "I am General von Blitzcr, and have the 
 honour of commanding the forces at pre- 
 sent located in this neighbourhood. You 
 will have nothing to fear from my men. 
 I have placed a detachment of soldiers 
 to guard your premises, and they have 
 strict orders to arrest anyone caught 
 trespassing. Besides, with your permis- 
 sion, 1 shall make this chateau my head- 
 quarters until to-morrow." 
 
 Selma was very much relieved at this, 
 and Madame Mortier was not a little sur- 
 prised. But before anything could be 
 said to express their appreciation and 
 gratitude von Blitzer went on: 
 
 "Now, having assured you of safety, 
 mademoiselle," said he, twirling his big 
 moustache, "I am obliged to impose still 
 further upon your hospitality, in behalf of 
 a friend, who is severly wounded." 
 
 " Since you have been so kind, mon- 
 sieur," said Selma, "it would be ungrate- 
 ful of me to make any objections. A 
 room shall be arranged at once for your 
 friend's reception." 
 
 Von Blitzer's countenance assumed an 
 expression of satisfaction, and he settled 
 back in his chair with a smile. 
 
 "You are very good, mademoiselle," 
 said he. " Nevertheless it may be some- 
 thing to my friend's interest 10 state thai 
 he is a French Colonel of Chasseurs." 
 
 " Ah ! then he is your prisoner ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But how can he be your friend ? " 
 
 " He once saved my life at great peril 
 to his own." 
 
 " He must be a brave man to risk his 
 life for another." 
 
 " He is indeed, mademoiselle, for noth- 
 ing but bravery could have saved me. It 
 was at Borodino. As you know, the 
 Prussian forces were at that time the 
 
 allies of the l-'rench. Once during this 
 battle my division was in great danger of 
 being annihilated, and 1 myself was sur- 
 rounded by a number of Russians and 
 Cossacks. .\t the moment of my great- 
 est peril, my friend dashed up with a 
 detachment of chasseurs and rescued 
 me. In the struggle he received a sabre 
 cut across the face. I owe him my life; 
 and since he has fallen into my hands, 
 and is severely wounded, jou will under- 
 stand how anxious 1 am to make him 
 as comfortable as possible." 
 
 Selma was deeply interested, and not a 
 little nervous. 
 
 "Since he is a Frencl"iian, he will be 
 doubly welcome," said she, "but will 
 you not give me his name, monsieur? " 
 
 Von Blitzer looked at her keenly. She 
 was pale and trembling, but strove to 
 control herself. For a moment he hesi- 
 tated, then turning to Madame Mortier. 
 motioned, with a quick jerk ot the head, 
 for her to approach. 
 
 At this juncture the sound of heavy 
 footsteps and the clanking of sabres in 
 the corridor told that some soldiers had 
 entered the chate.iu. 
 
 "It is Colonel Baron de l>anyan, made- 
 moiselle," said he, at last. " It is the 
 division to which he is attached that I 
 have just defeated." 
 
 Selma did not faint, but sat as if stun- 
 ned. Madame Mortier bent over and 
 gently touched her hair. The spell, how- 
 ever, was soon broken ; drawing her 
 hand slowly across her brow, Selma rose 
 to her feet. 
 
 "Monsieur," said she, calmly; "you 
 are indeed considerate, but will you not 
 favour me still further by having Mon- 
 sieur le Baron brought to the chateau at 
 once ? " 
 
 Von Blitzer's expression was one of 
 admiration. 
 
 " Madamoiselle," said he, "you are a 
 brave woman. 1 shall be most happy to 
 
70 
 
 THE LADY OK cHATLIMT 'j;.\NC. 
 
 comply Willi your wishes. Monsieur le 
 Haroii is here in the corridor." 
 
 Sehna looi<ed at von Ulit/er as if she 
 had not understood, then suddenly sprang' 
 forward toward the door. Von Blitzer 
 intercepted her. 
 
 " Pardon me, mademoiselle, said he. 
 " I must remind you that monsieur is 
 severely wounded." 
 
 " .1/o« ZP/i'M !" exclaimed Selma, in a 
 plaintive tone, then sank back into .Mad- 
 ame Mortier's arms, pale and treniblinjj. 
 
 The next moment there passed before 
 the door four stalwart hussars, bearinjj 
 an ambulance stretcher, on which Sclina 
 recognized her lover, pale and hays^ard. 
 
 " Maurice !" she cried, with outstretch- 
 ed arms. 
 
 He opened his eyes, .ind the light of a 
 smile stole into his countenance. Then, 
 with Antoine l'.;ading the way and the 
 army surgeon following, they ascended 
 the stairway to de Hanyan's apartments. 
 
 It seemed ages to Selma before she was 
 permitted to even enter the room where 
 the wounded man lay. The Prussian 
 surgeon h:id given strict orders tiiat de 
 Banyan was not to be disturbed. Ho 
 had a lance wound through his lungs, 
 and his condition was indeed critical. 
 Still, with careful treatment his chances 
 of recovery were favorable ; and at the 
 command of Cleneral von Blitzer, the 
 surgeon exercised his skill to the best 
 advantage. As for Selma, after she did 
 g'ain admittance to the room, she would 
 not leave it, but remained a silent ob- 
 server, ready for the earliest emergency. 
 
 The next day the Prussian army re- 
 sumed its march towards Paris, and Dr. 
 Blauvelt was left in charge o\ the wound- 
 ed master of Chateau Blanc. 
 
 Then followed days of anxiety, which 
 told upon Selma in a way that left her 
 
 I ale and careworn. Finally Dr. Blauvelt 
 announced that the crisis had passed, and 
 lis patient was beginning to improve. 
 Then how anxiously did Selma watch and 
 wait for the first evidence of recognition. 
 How she hovered over him, with beating 
 heart and throbbing pulses, prayiog that 
 she might not be kept longer in suspense. 
 Finally her prayer was answered. One 
 morning as she leaned over him, he open- 
 ed his eyes, and with a smile murmured 
 her name. 
 
 With a thrill of delight she sank upon 
 her knees at his side, and smoothed back 
 the black, waving locks from his brow. 
 It was a happy moment for them both, 
 but as memory returned, dark shadows 
 began to float before de Banyan's mind, 
 and the smile faded. 
 
 " What is it, Maurice ?" said she, ten- 
 derly, noting the change. 
 
 He looked at her as if trying to recall 
 something. 
 
 "We were defeated, were we not?" 
 said he finally. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 •' How long since?" 
 
 "Ten days, my love, but why trouble 
 about it now ?" 
 
 " It was our last hope," said he, weari- 
 ly closing his eyes. A moment later he 
 murmured dejectedly, " and all is lost." 
 
 " Save honour," was her quick reply. 
 
 ".And you," said he, with a smile. 
 
 Then for a long time he remained 
 silent, soothed by the touch of her hand 
 upon his brow, 
 
 A week later they learned that the 
 Bourbons had returned, and Napoleon 
 had left France forever. It was as if a 
 Hock of geese had waddled through the 
 doorway, as an eagle took flight from the 
 ilome of the Tuileries. 
 
Blauvelt 
 sed, and 
 mprove. 
 atch and 
 ijjnition. 
 beatintf 
 Aag that 
 uspensc. 
 !d. One 
 he open- 
 lurmured 
 
 P1W:«'J 
 
 :ink upon 
 hed back 
 lis brow, 
 lem both, 
 shadows 
 I's mind, 
 
 I she, ten- 
 
 to recall 
 
 we not ?" 
 
 iy trouble 
 
 I he, weari- 
 t later he 
 iill is lost." 
 lick reply, 
 smile, 
 remained 
 f her hand 
 
 d that the 
 1 Napoleon 
 was as if a 
 through the 
 rht from the