1 
 
OJ 1 C1LIF. LIBRABY, LOS 
 

JT < 
 
 
 The CRADLE 
 of the ROSE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF AN EMPRESS" 
 
 "EMERALD AND ERMINE" "GRAY MIST" 
 "THE TRIDENT AND THE NET" ETC. 
 
 OKFICIER DE L ORDKE DEL INSTKUCTION PUBLIQUE DE FRANCE 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH WATER-COLOR 
 DRAWINGS BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 1908 
 
Copyright, 1908, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 
 
 AIL rights reserved. 
 Published October, 1908. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE WATCH-TOWER OF FORT ROZKAVEL Frontispiece 
 
 KERHARDE C FARM Facingp. 128 
 
 A CORNER OF THE MANOIR OF KREMARZE .... " 196 
 THE CHATEAU DE ROZKAVEL " 264 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
ROZKAVEL 
 
 Within the Rose, as once did lie 
 The Beauty of a day gone by, 
 Biding, till Hate had spent its power, 
 The sword, the Hero, and the hour 
 Of bud and bloom and summer sky; 
 
 So slumber on, undoomed to die, 
 Strength, Loveliness, and Honor high 
 (Leafless and withered though the bower) 
 Within the Rose. 
 
 One day in song the birds shall vie, 
 One day the swallows darting fly, 
 And hands undaunted shake a shower 
 Of fragrance from the Royal Flower, 
 Seeking those happy portals nigh 
 Within the Rose. 
 
 M. M. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Unseen and strong, the brightness underlying 
 Not less than storm, whose rivers blindly run 
 True as a circling star, yet still defying 
 The courses of the sun; 
 
 Knowest thou also neath his far uprising 
 Thy native source in times forever gone, 
 That thou hast held since days beyond surmising 
 The Highways of the Dawn ? 
 
 And warm with deep desire a faithful presage 
 Sweep st the bleak skerries of Newfoundland s shore, 
 Smoking with fog, undaunted by the message 
 Of iron Labrador ? 
 
 Ah, sweet the quest along that path Elysian, 
 Primrose, or gold, or under midnight skies 
 Levelled in leaping silver to the vision 
 Of weary, wakeful eyes! 
 
 The Gulf Stream. M. M. 
 
 THE swimmer was floating on his back, a mile or so 
 from shore, his clear-cut profile almost level with the 
 silken list of a singularly quiet sea. He blinked now 
 and again rather moodily through down-drawn lashes 
 up at the delicately flushed morning sky, for he sorely 
 missed the joyous tumble of waves which made his daily 
 plunge so pleasant, and completely failed to appreciate 
 
 3 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the glassiness of the water and its warmth, unseason 
 able even there in the full sweep of the great Gulf Stream. 
 The sun was bright for Brittany, where it is mostly veiled 
 and discreet, so much so, indeed, that the trails of rosy 
 dawn-mist behind which a flock of gulls, according to 
 their time-honored custom, shrilly defied one another from 
 three points of an imaginary triangle, were rapidly dis 
 solving into the azure air, calm as on a midsummer 
 day. 
 
 Very faintly the echo of a church-bell quite a bit in 
 land, calling the faithful to early mass, roused Olier de 
 Frehel from the half-drowse into which he was drifting, 
 and caused him to notice a strong pungency of sea-weed 
 coming from Heaven alone knew where, since the nearest 
 outcroppings of reef, with their briny fringes, were so far 
 off as to be wholly beyond the possibility of perception. 
 
 "What the devil " he was beginning, when a low, 
 bubbling sound a mysterious tearing of the still water, 
 that suddenly dimpled and purled into millions of tiny 
 shining blisters made him open wide his eyes; and the 
 next instant a broad bed of slimy growth, torn from the 
 Atlantic floor, heaved up beneath him, lapping him 
 closely in a tangled half-acre of supple thongs. In a 
 flash he knew that to struggle against that floating mesh 
 meant certain death, and he forced himself to lie in corpse- 
 like immobility, though every separate nerve ached and 
 strained under pressure of the maddening temptation to 
 try and free himself at any cost. Corpselike, too, the 
 face would have seemed now, gray under its golden coat 
 of tan, the gripping teeth showing white upon the color 
 less under-lip, had it not been for the savage anger of the 
 eyes fear had no place there, only rage: fierce, unreason 
 ing rage at being held by an imbecile, inert force one 
 could not even attempt to fight. 
 
 4 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 One . . . two . . . three . . . Was it still the echo of 
 the bell or merely the pounding of his arteries? . . . He 
 gazed fixedly at a pink wisp of cloud immediately above 
 his head, miles up there in the blue, and again began to 
 count the strokes of his own knell, for when that viscid 
 snare went down again, as sooner or later it surely must, 
 he would go down, too ; that he never doubted for a second. 
 Forgotten tales of such grim happenings, gleaned in boy 
 hood among the fisher-folk, awoke in his remembrance with 
 the vividness of just-heard speech; and one especially of 
 a bather who had thus been dragged down in sight of his 
 wife and daughter, to be left by the tide three days later 
 on the flats of Pen-Arze", still wound inextricably in his 
 shroud of sea-twine. He seemed to hear the grizzled nar 
 rator of the story using it to point the universal maxim of 
 the Breton coast, that swimming is a useless accomplish 
 ment at best, and only makes it harder for a man to die. 
 Why not, then, deliberately hasten the end, since it might 
 delay, pitilessly imminent, during many hours ? 
 
 . . . One . . . two . . . three . . . four ... he nevertheless 
 mechanically continued to whisper within himself. It must 
 be the bell, after all; and his wavering ideas formed them 
 selves unwittingly into an oft-seen peaceful little picture: 
 the old Cure", who twenty-four years before had christened 
 him, walking hurriedly and a little breathlessly up the nar 
 row path through the burial ground to his small lichen- 
 grown church, his rusty black soutane brushing the tide of 
 fresh new grass and pink witches-thimble rising about the 
 granite of the tombs, his dim blue eyes a little anxious 
 at the thought that he was late perhaps, neglecting his 
 duties. . . . Duty ? Why, it was a duty, too, to hold on to 
 one s life; most certainly a duty to endure to the last, 
 without weakness or faltering! 
 
 One . . . two . . . three . . . One . . . two . . . Oh yes, 
 
 5 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 it was the church - bell, and its persistent echo became 
 a fulcrum on which to lever up his remaining strength. 
 He seemed to stand the insupportable swarming tingle 
 of all those little tentacles better when he counted. But 
 how long could he go on counting ? 
 
 He was beginning to feel as though his brain were shrink 
 ing to the smallness of a pellet and rocking in his empty 
 head, when, without warning, the whole undulating eyot of 
 weed sank noiselessly from him, mysteriously returning 
 whence it came. For a moment a very long moment 
 Olier maintained the same unyielding rigidity, and then, 
 with a choking gasp, rolled over on his side, as near un 
 consciousness as he had ever been in his strong young life. 
 
 The strange, dull feeling passed off almost at once, 
 however, and though the gleam of the smooth water made 
 him a little giddy still, after a while he managed to strike 
 out shoreward in a groping, halting way utterly unlike 
 his usual manner, it is true, but with gradually stronger 
 strokes, which at last brought him to the sloping shingle- 
 beach. With a deep-drawn sigh of relief he stretched 
 out at full length to get his breath again. 
 
 He had been much more shaken than he would have 
 cared to own, and in consequence felt very unjustly dis 
 gusted with himself. Nevertheless, the barren, desolate, 
 lonely beach, with its long stretches of gray pebbles 
 merging into long stretches of coarse, salt - powdered 
 grasses, looked actually beautiful to him just then, and he 
 reflected, as he lay watching a tiny blue ripple break into 
 transparent foam embroidery at his feet, that life was a 
 marvellously agreeable possession, after all, and an un 
 commonly unpleasant one to lose especially in so in 
 glorious a fashion, snarled in tangle like a bit of drift 
 wood. Even in his present somewhat exhausted condi 
 tion, the very pose of his well-knit frame spoke of great 
 
 6 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 latent strength and activity, and of a life spent mostly 
 out-of-doors, for so much wholesomeness is not bred be 
 tween four walls. The face was perhaps a trifle too 
 square, as was the obstinate Breton forehead beneath 
 the short-cropped blond hair; but the deep-set, dark-gray 
 eyes were in total disaccord with it, for they were dis 
 tinctly those of a dreamer of dreams of one who might 
 on occasion look hungrily upon a lost cause, an im 
 possible scheme, or champion an idea deemed wholly 
 obsolete. Again, the grimly curved, clean-shaven lips 
 were much too severe when not smiling, the nose un 
 compromisingly straight, and the chin and lower jaw 
 just as uncompromising. Taken all in all, a fair, quiet, 
 eminently self-reliant youth, possessed of enviably pure 
 blood, a resolute will, an iron constitution, and a few 
 wind-swept acres surrounding a little old Manor, which, 
 together with half a dozen "family retainers" and the 
 scant remnants of a once large fortune, had been be 
 queathed to him by his parents during his minority. For 
 the last six months he had lived alone at Kremarze, hav 
 ing asked for a year s leave immediately after reaching 
 the rank of ensign, because he could not approve of the 
 new ideas beginning to taint even the navy. Naturally, 
 he had not given that as his reason for wishing to be re 
 lieved from duty for, comparatively speaking, so long a 
 period; but still it was only because he had not been 
 questioned that he had not done so, since he certainly 
 was not one of those who hesitate to own their opinions 
 or principles out of a fear of blame or ridicule. 
 
 Presently this very un-modern young man, but newly 
 snatched from the jaws of a peculiarly ugly death, rose 
 with a yawn from his recumbent position and sauntered 
 toward a chaotic row of bowlders, between two of which 
 he had contrived a sufficiently convenient substitute for 
 
 7 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 a bath-house. In a very few minutes he emerged again, 
 gaitered and tweeded, paused in the middle of a patch of 
 silvery sand-thistles to light a cigarette, and then started 
 at a brisk pace along the rough track leading across the 
 wide lande to his small domain. 
 
 Away up above him a sand-lark was singing at the top 
 of its little voice, twirling and turning madly with the 
 very vibration of its song, and Olier, fired by the example, 
 fell to whistling a gay ronde tune between puffs, and now 
 and again craning his neck so far backward to watch 
 the antics of the bird, that he suddenly cannoned into the 
 sole other wayfarer upon the vast stretch of heather- 
 grown table-land for miles around. 
 
 "Eh bien, M sieu I Comte; you re good and uncon 
 strained this morning!" the Garde-Champetre grumbled, 
 rubbing his broad shoulder and hitching up the strap 
 of his old-fashioned musket at one and the same time. 
 
 "What about yourself, Guemadeuc?" Olier cried, laugh 
 ing heartily. "You must have been star-gazing at mid 
 day, too, or else how is it you did not see me coming?" 
 
 "I wasn t star-gazing, as you call it, M sieu Olier," the 
 other retorted, smiling grimly beneath his grizzled mus 
 tache. "Not star-gazing at all. I was . . . thinking." 
 
 Olier stared quizzically at the soldierly face on a level 
 with his own. There was a harsh look in the light-blue 
 eyes, a concentration upon the weather-beaten features 
 that he had never seen there, though Guemadeuc was a 
 hard man, and not famed for amenity or amiability of 
 manner. 
 
 "What s the matter?" he asked, dropping his banter 
 and speaking in a quick, decisive tone. 
 
 "Everything s the matter," Guemadeuc replied, shortly. 
 "But where s the use of bothering you with my troubles 
 , . . man officier?" 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The last two words, pronounced after an infinitesimal 
 pause, had in them a ring that did not pass unnoticed. 
 
 "You need not remember that just now. Let s speak 
 as between friends. What is the matter?" 
 
 "Oh! if you take it that way, it s different, M sieu Olier. 
 You ve always been our friend, as your father was before 
 you, and there are very few of your sort left to us poor 
 devils nowadays worse luck!" 
 
 They had struck into another cross-track, bordered 
 with budding clumps of apricot-scented furze, leading to 
 Cape Rozkavel, a couple of miles off, and away from 
 Kremarze", for Olier s interest was aroused now, and he 
 dismissed all idea of breakfasting until he had thoroughly 
 "disentangled Guemadeuc s cordage," as he would have 
 expressed it. He was essentially a sailor in heart and 
 thought, was Olier, although he set some things higher 
 even than the deep-rooted love of his metier ; and, well 
 aware that if he allowed the Garde-Champetre to relapse 
 into his characteristic Armorican muteness he would 
 find it difficult to pull him out of it again, he proceeded 
 to beat the iron while still hot. 
 
 "You were about to tell me something," he said, quick 
 ly, but without the least shade of curiosity in his voice. 
 
 Guemadeuc did not answer at once. It was plain to 
 Olier that the force of long habit made him reluctant to 
 air his grievances, even in such safe company, and nearly 
 a minute elapsed before he finally spoke. 
 
 "It s like this, M sieu Olier," he began, with the hesita 
 tion of a taciturn and hereditarily silent man launching 
 into reprehensible loquacity "it s like this. I m think 
 ing of sending back that" and he tapped the broad 
 silver badge fastened to the lapel of his faded corduroy 
 coat "where it came from." 
 
 "Resign?" Olier said, amazed. "Yours is a fairly 
 
 9 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 good job, Guemadeuc, well paid for the amount of work; 
 and you have a large family to support. What ails you, 
 any way?" 
 
 "The thought that I m about to feed my little ones 
 on dishonest bread, M sieu Olier, that s all; and, by the 
 cloak of St. Tugduald, I d sooner let them go to the 
 doors 1 than do that." 
 
 "I must confess that I don t understand a word of 
 what you say," Olier interposed, narrowing his eyes, 
 sailor-fashion, to observe the other more keenly. "Would 
 you mind making yourself a bit clearer?" 
 
 "Certainly not, now that I ve gone so far. And, to 
 begin with, what am I hired to do ? Run after poachers 
 and report on ordinary delinquents fighting drunkards, 
 tapageurs, or wife-beaters that s what I m meant for, 
 is it not so?" 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 "Does it include turning spy on honest, God-fearing 
 folk, and crawling in the mud on my belly to do such 
 I who have won my three chevrons and the military medal 
 in the field think you, M sieu 1 Comte?" 
 
 "Of course not. But who is asking you to do dirty 
 work?" inquired Olier, impatiently. "You are not going 
 mad, are you?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it. I m as sane as yourself, M sieu Olier. 
 But just let me ask you something. Are you acquainted 
 with Dulac, our Deputy?" 
 
 Olier nodded. He was beginning to see the draw of 
 the drift. 
 
 "Know his secretary, too?" 
 
 "I ve seen him at the Concours Regional, I believe. . . . 
 A swarthy, little, scrawny mocco? with gimlet eyes and a 
 blue chin?" 
 
 1 Beg. 2 Marseillais. 
 
 10 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "That s my man, . . . and a nasty little monkey he is, 
 too. Well, he sent for me last week to meet him at 
 Kerdikan s inn, where he was lodging with his valet, 
 if you please! Wouldn t it make you sweat pitch to 
 think of a voyou like him giving himself the airs of a 
 seigneur? But let that go. He sent for me, Alain 
 Guemadeuc, Garde-Champetre of Rozkavel parish, that s 
 the important fact, in order to tell me . . . what do you 
 suppose, M sieu Olier? . . . I ll give you a magpie s egg 
 with a golden yolk if you can guess?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Oh, a mere trifle. . . . Nothing he found difficult to 
 ask, I could see, for he. talked quite naturally in that 
 buttery voice he s got. . . . Only that I was to find out as 
 quick as I could who goes to Mass in the arrondissement, 
 and who does not; who is pure red that s his exact 
 word and who isn t; . . . who grumbles against the 
 gouvernement Daux, and who doesn t ; . . . who gives money 
 to the Catholic missions, and who to help the cashiered 
 Cures. ... I was looking at him, open-mouthed, like a 
 cretin, all the time he was talking, twirling my cap in 
 my hand, and he, thinking I hadn t understood him, re 
 peated the whole string of tricks, adding to it, as he went 
 along, speaking of my civic duties, the sacredness of 
 the cause of liberty, and a lot of truck like that! Liberty! 
 . . . pshaw! . . . liberty to starve or murder, that s all the 
 liberty one s likely to find in the end. Little by little I 
 began to see red, pure red sure enough it was, and I 
 came near to mopping the floor with his skinny carcass." 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 "Then I called a halt to my appetite for his throat, 
 just in time; but I broke loose, and told him what I 
 thought of his good manners, . . . told him in terms I 
 wouldn t repeat before you, M sieu Olier, naval officer 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 though you are, and accustomed to language. . . . Oh, 
 yes! I told him, and slammed the door hard enough to 
 bring down the ceiling, and left him gaping and choking 
 with fright in his tight black frock-coat, that fits him as 
 gaiters would a rock-rabbit." 
 
 "And you are still Garde-Champetre?" Olier asked, in 
 sincere astonishment. 
 
 "That s what torments me most, M sieu Olier. I was 
 certain sure that I d be broken like a simple pipe-stem. 
 But stead of that I ve not heard from him again, nor his 
 canaille of a patron either; and it disquiets me, because 
 it s understandable that he is not likely to pocket my 
 insults without peeping; ... it wouldn t be natural, es 
 pecially for a parvenu like him. So I m thinking it 
 would be much better to resign quick, of my own accord, 
 before they ve got a chance to fire me dirtily." 
 
 Standing stock-still, before his companion, in the mid 
 dle of the sandy rut, Olier was doing some rapid think 
 ing, for on his advice he knew much might depend; and 
 his own position being under existing circumstances deli 
 cate, he felt himself to be in something of a quandary. 
 
 "Wait a bit Guemadeuc," he said at last. "This is a 
 serious matter for you, and shouldn t be decided on the 
 spur of the moment." 
 
 "To be sure; only I m not going to lie down flat to my 
 teeth waiting to be kicked, that s all. I ve had, in any 
 case, about enough of the whole boutique. D you know 
 that out Morbihan way a venerable priest of God has 
 been arrested for carrying the Holy Sacraments to a 
 dying woman? Have you heard that it s illegal nowa 
 days to christen one s children by what they call the 
 names of kings and queens. . . . Yes!" he suddenly shouted, 
 pounding one thick fist in the palm of the other hand. 
 "No more Henris nor Henriettes, . . . nor Louis nor 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Francois, I dare say, ... a while ago we saw Breton 
 soldiers ordered to knock the stuffing out of Breton 
 fishermen who were defending the nuns that brought up 
 their little ones the way they should go ; ... our crucifixes 
 are thrown down and trampled upon, our priests are cash 
 iered like unfaithful employees; . . . our hospitals are 
 filled with fast women, instead of the Sisters of Mercy 
 that consoled and helped us when we were sick and wound 
 ed; ... and still we must keep quiet, it appears! I have 
 never been a malcontent, M sieu Olier; I m not against 
 the Republic, if it s a good one; Badinguet 1 or a president 
 above us is all one to me, since our kings have in one 
 fashion or another left us in the lurch. Carnot was a 
 good man, and so was our old Marshal. 2 I served under 
 him in 70, and I know that if he could swallow that style 
 of government, it can t be altogether bad. But now" 
 he raised his clinched hands furiously above his head 
 11 bon Dieu de bon Dieu! is there nothing we can do? 
 Nothing at all to make those villains go to the right 
 about?" 
 
 "Softly, softly, my good Guemadeuc," Olier quickly 
 interposed. "You are a little too seditious for your own 
 safety. Remember that even heather and broom have 
 been known to have ears round here of late. You must 
 really be more careful." 
 
 "And since when have you yourself become so cautious, 
 M sieu Olier ? You and Prudence have not often travelled 
 the same road." 
 
 "I m not thinking of myself," Olier impatiently re 
 torted, "but of you, who are still in government employ, 
 and as such must " Here he paused in embarrass 
 ment. . . . "Well, must respect . . . the . . . the . . . the 
 
 1 Napoleon III. * MacMahon. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 principle of ... of authority," he hastily concluded, angry 
 at the lameness of his words. 
 
 " Sapristi! M sieu Olier, it must have cost you some 
 thing to disgorge that piece of advice," the other said, 
 with a quick twinkle of his searching eyes. "More 
 especially seeing that you re not on a year s leave to 
 watch the almond-trees bloom at Kremarze"! I m not 
 such a fool as I look, mon Lieutenant, and your case may 
 have some little likeness to mine, saving the respect I 
 owe you." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Olier, irritably. 
 
 "Bah! It s not only us poor wretches who are galled 
 by the harness that don t fit snug any more. I ve been 
 a soldier, and a good one, I flatter myself; I know the 
 respect due to superiors when they are superiors and 
 how to obey orders, when they are properly given; but 
 everything is topsy-turvy now, and it s no longer worth 
 while to try and do one s duty. Sailors, soldiers, or va-nu- 
 pieds, metayers, or fishermen, poor and rich, nobles and 
 commoners, everybody has lost the North. . . . The ship 
 can t answer bad helmsmen, can it? And that s why 
 we are going to the dogs." 
 
 "You should become a public orator, Guemadeuc. 
 I had no idea you were gifted with such forensic talent." 
 
 "Oh, you can laugh, mon gentilhomme although in 
 your heart of hearts you don t feel so very much like 
 laughing! Old Guemadeuc, once Sergeant Guemadeuc, 
 of the 24th Spahis, if you please, can put two and two 
 together. . . . And now as you don t look inclined to ad 
 vise me, I am off to Rozkavel, where I have to cast an eye 
 over whatever devil s cuisine a band of Parisian workmen, 
 who are turning the place upside down, may be up to." 
 
 "Rozkavel, the dismantled fort?" 
 
 "Why, sure. I know of no other Rozkavel at least 
 
 14 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 not since the poor old castle yonder," and he pointed over 
 his shoulder to some invisible nook of the vaporous cliff- 
 line behind him, "has been in the paws of the Citoyen 
 Poteau. The dismantled fort, of course, rented now by 
 our gouvernants" he touched his velveteen cap with 
 mock reverence "to some rich rastaqoueres, who must to 
 my thinking be stark mad excepting they have some 
 queer purpose in view; for why anybody wants to go rent 
 ing a pile of rocks miles from anywhere beats me." 
 
 "The millionaires, who fancy Rozkavel as a summer 
 residence, should be people of simple tastes," Olier said, 
 dryly. "But you must be mistaken, Guemadeuc. It 
 seems scarcely possible that anybody could dream of 
 living there." 
 
 "No, M sieu Olier, I m not mistaken; and wait till a 
 whole tribe of foreigners comes bag and baggage down 
 upon us you ll see gay times." 
 
 "Heaven forfend. I am here to be left in peace." 
 
 "Not if those same rastaqoueres can help it. They ve 
 got fine noses for hunting up nobles, and if they have but 
 one or two marriageable daughters 
 
 "I m not in the market," Olier exclaimed, repressing 
 a laugh. "Quit invoking evil upon a sorely troubled 
 head, Guemadeuc, . . . and listen to this. If ... mind you, 
 only if ... you should find yourself without a place, I 
 have heard that Monsieur de Tremoer is looking for a 
 gamekeeper, and I might drop him a line about you, 
 should you wish me to do so." 
 
 "Wish you to do so, M sieu Olier! I ll never forget 
 your goodness. . . . Gamekeeper to M sieu 1 Marquis de 
 Tremoer! That s more than I ever dreamed of becoming. 
 . . . Rozkavel and its workmen can jolly well take care of 
 each other. I m for home this minute to write out my 
 resignation; you can take your oath on that. And, 
 
 is 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 mind you, M sieu Olier, you ll never have cause to regret 
 this." 
 
 "But hold on, my man, don t be in such a deuce of a 
 hurry. Think before you jump, at least." 
 
 "Think nothing! I ve done all the thinking lately I ll 
 ever do, and it wasn t a pleasing business; so don t detain 
 me, M sieu Olier. I m too glad to wait another second." 
 And Guemadeuc, beaming and joyous for once in his life, 
 strode off, with long, plunging strides that swallowed the 
 ground, swinging his cap above his head in his exuberance ; 
 while Olier, left planted in the heather, watched him out 
 of sight with a clouded face. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Wakeful for all that was the morn unveiling 
 Aloft the gusty downs, the gulls at speed 
 Plumbing the depth, or waveringly sailing 
 Above the wrack and weed 
 
 Out where the black reefs burst the surge asunder, 
 Fending the cliff, that sees the wrath below 
 Heave heavenward, and, towering, curve in thunder 
 Amid the undertow; 
 
 Offshore; no billow that unfurls a feather, 
 And noonday odors from the basking land 
 Blown through the cloven gateways of the heather 
 That meet the gleaming sand; 
 
 Flames of the West on cloud-banks fiercely rifted 
 Round some uprearing headland bold and free, 
 Graven by all the gales that e er have lifted 
 The fleeces of the sea; 
 
 The pitlike dark, th impassioned prayers and saintly 
 For souls abroad, the life-boat barely inned, 
 The desperate sirens laboring far and faintly 
 To pierce the wall of wind 
 
 For oh! the pulses of my homeward yearning 
 Move with thy mighty current still and wide; 
 No swallow s flight, to go as oft returning, 
 But an unswerving tide. 
 
 The Gulf Stream. M. M. 
 
 A STRONG nor -wester was whistling its way through 
 the narrow, picturesquely gabled streets of St. Malo, and 
 whipping the waters of its rock-girt harbor to milky 
 a 17 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 whiteness. Clean and dustless was the granite town 
 swept that morning by its ancient antagonist, and the 
 motto of Brittany s ermine shield carved upon the twin 
 arches of the grim Porte St. Vincent " Potius Mori, quam 
 Foedari" 1 seemed singularly appropriate to the present 
 aspect of the little Malouin capital. Even the magnificent 
 plane-trees of the Place Chateaubriand, though already 
 festively decked with delicate tufts of April green, groaned 
 and strained as the boisterous gusts caught them again 
 and again in the none too playful grip of a last straggler 
 left behind by a long series of decamping spring storms. 
 Olier de Frehel, awaiting the advent of the plucky little 
 steamer which twice a week shoulders its laborious way 
 from Boulogne to Brest, was good-humoredly fighting 
 the wind inch by inch down the almost deserted quay. 
 He had come to St. Malo on Guemadeuc s behalf, and, 
 much to his satisfaction, had just obtained from his 
 father s old friend, the Marquis de Tremoer, still lingering 
 at his superb winter residence of the Rue Broussais, the 
 place of head gamekeeper which the Garde-Champetre 
 so greatly coveted. Filled with the thought of the good 
 tidings he was bringing home, and walking head bent the 
 better to withstand the blast, he did not catch sight of 
 the Etoile de Brest until she had actually rounded the 
 pier -head and was rolling sidewise toward her wave- 
 washed moorings. Her commander, a typical broad- 
 shouldered, deep-chested Breton mariner, was swearing 
 lustily in his short, pointed red beard at the whistle-pull 
 in his hand, which, like most things, alas, above or below 
 his sorely tried decks, was more or less the worse for 
 weather; but in another moment, having successfully 
 brought his restive craft alongside, he descended from 
 
 1 "To die, rather than be defiled." 
 18 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the bridge, mechanically tested with his foot the tautness 
 of a hawser or two, and faced round just in time to shake 
 hands with Olier. 
 
 "Going back with us?" he inquired, beamingly. 
 "That s right. It s a good-fortune to have a companion 
 on that brute of a return trip, and," he concluded, casting 
 a look over his shoulder at the open sea, "to-day it s 
 going to be no pleasanter than usual." 
 
 Olier laughed. "Lucky you haven t any of your 
 dainty lady summer- passengers, for they d scarcely ap 
 preciate the kind of dancing we re likely to get." 
 
 "We have one!" Captain Querlescan burst out. "Not 
 that she s likely to incommode us much," he added, his 
 gray-blue eyes twinkling mischievously, "so you needn t 
 look like that. Came aboard with a couple of servants 
 and a couple of dogs at Boulogne, and made it plain to 
 me from the first that she s used to salt water. You ll 
 believe me if you choose, but she s stuck to the deck like 
 a limpet ever since, though we cut some capers, let me 
 tell you, that would have settled matters the wrong way 
 for many a strong man." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Yes, indeed and indeed! She s English a Lady 
 Clanvowe " he pronounced it "Clanvo." "And here 
 she comes," he hastily continued. "Pretty figure, eh?" 
 
 Olier glanced up indifferently, but could not but admit 
 this to be the truth. "Yes," he said, with curious re 
 luctance, "but rather grewsomely veiled"; and pulling 
 out his cigarette-case, he held it out to the captain, since 
 here, partially sheltered by the deck-house, there seemed 
 a latent possibility of lighting a match. 
 
 Meanwhile his sole fellow-passenger had taken up a 
 position at the taffrail, and seemed wholly absorbed in 
 the contemplation of a picturesque group of fishwives, 
 
 19 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 who with their large baskets, bright-hued aprons and 
 kerchiefs, and wildly fluttering coiffes, made a pretty 
 spot of moving color near the landing-place. She herself, 
 in her long, silver-gray Directoire travelling-coat, all little 
 collars and little pockets, that emphasized, if anything, 
 a remarkable slenderness of waist and breadth of shoulder, 
 was certainly soberly clad enough; and yet the mere 
 manner in which the folds of impenetrable gray gauze 
 were wound about the small gray toque, with its pointed 
 Mercury wings just peeping above them, proclaimed a real 
 elegante well worthy of notice in these days of huge head 
 gear and extravagant modes. 
 
 Nevertheless, Olier and the captain, puffing at their 
 cigarettes and guarding them from the searching wind 
 as best they could, had drifted into the exchange of coast 
 news, and were not looking in her direction. They were 
 both, in spite of differences of age and position, mild 
 woman-haters, thus giving the lie direct to that old 
 proverb which proclaims the unavoidable love of a sailor 
 for a lass. Moreover, this particular woman was a 
 "stranger" which does not necessarily mean a foreigner, 
 but in old Armorica the term is a sweeping and somewhat 
 contemptuous one including all non-Bretons, who as 
 such are utterly devoid of interest to the natives. 
 
 "I ll see you later. Come on the bridge as soon as 
 we have cleared the channel. We are starting at once," 
 the captain said at last, as a final bag of mail was thrown 
 a- top of a pile of crates; and, hurrying off, he left Olier 
 at liberty to watch a solitary sand-cart crunch and rumble 
 up the quay while the gang-plank was being hauled in. 
 
 Slowly and cautiously the little steamer described a 
 half -circle, and, turning her blunt nose to the short foam- 
 topped seas, began at once to roll and lift in her most 
 disconcerting way. Even Olier soon had his work cut 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 out to keep a dignified attitude, well seasoned though 
 he was, and leaning as he did against the leeward wall of 
 the deck-house, where, quite unconscious of his lack of 
 gallantry, he fell to wondering how much it would take 
 of this sort of thing to drive any one but the crew and 
 himself below. His unkindly hopes were doomed, how 
 ever, to be ruthlessly dashed, for the ya wings and surg- 
 ings and quivering swoops of the Etoile de Brest apparent 
 ly had not the slightest effect upon the gray-clad little 
 etrangere, firmly planted on her very small feet the reck 
 less wind, tossing back a frou-frou of dainty petticoats, 
 had disclosed to him that they were truly exceeding small 
 and admirably shod and swaying as instinctively and 
 easily with every disorderly motion of the ship as one 
 to the manner born. 
 
 St. Malo was falling behind at a great rate ; in a few more 
 moments the capricious yellow line of shore, slipping in 
 and out among the embattled waves, like the links of a 
 fabulous golden chain between the folds of some opulent 
 green-and- white brocade, would also have melted away 
 as had already the vague outline of his splendid name 
 sake, Cape Frehel in the fitfully sun-shot lilac vapors, but 
 still Olier nursed the unexplainable irritation aroused 
 by the self-possession and nonchalance of that provoking 
 little gray silhouette, so visibly at home there, and as 
 undisturbed by the disgraceful capers of the "Star of 
 Brest" as the captain himself. Her whole attire, too, 
 seemed planned for just such work the tight-drawn veil 
 pinned down so snugly as to offer no loophole to the 
 wind; the exquisitely fitting coat, practical and business 
 like, in spite of its delicacy of tint, not a ribbon or bit of 
 lace loose anywhere; no jingling bracelets or chatelaine; 
 just from head to foot a sheath of soft, uniform cloud-gray 
 that seemed painted on, almost. An unusual type of 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 woman, indeed, but probably very unprepossessing of 
 countenance, or else why this thick gauze mask? 
 
 After a while, utterly disgusted, Olier climbed to the 
 bridge, where, square and immovable in his gleaming 
 oilskins, stood his friend Querlescan, every minute or so 
 wiping the salt spray from his eyes with an enormous 
 blue silk handkerchief. The weather, though singularly 
 unfavorable, was not of a nature, as yet, to trouble him 
 much; unfavorable conditions were his daily portion, 
 and he had long since grown accustomed to them; still, 
 the horizon presented some anxious possibilities, and, with 
 out troubling to speak, he indicated to his visitor by an 
 expressive gesture the great bank of congested gloom 
 shouldering its way slowly upward. 
 
 "Yes," nodded Olier, "it s going to get dirtier by-and- 
 by." And with a short laugh he added: "Probably suf 
 ficiently so to drive even your obdurate passenger below, 
 where she belongs." 
 
 "I wouldn t bet on that," the red-bearded skipper 
 retorted. "She may be harder to beat than you think. 
 A woman who can stand what s going on now is out of the 
 ordinary. Still, I don t propose to let her have her head 
 much longer. I d be in a nice mess if she got herself 
 washed overboard." 
 
 At that very instant a hissing wave-top slashed diago 
 nally up and flooded heavily across the full breadth of the 
 deck, to cascade overside again. A swift bound back 
 ward saved Lady Clanvowe from a complete drenching, 
 but the captain, though amazed at her prowess, and per 
 haps even filled with dawning admiration, considered 
 that the time had come to call a halt. 
 
 "Quartermaster!" he roared, in his roughest voice, to 
 the man standing within a yard of him, "tumble down 
 and tell the lady to leave the deck! Say there is danger!" 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Leaning against the bridge-rail, Olier followed the smart- 
 looking sailor with amused eyes, saw him salute and 
 deliver his message, and at that short distance plainly 
 read the surprise caused by its reception, though he could 
 not hear a word of what was passing in that ceaseless din 
 of wind and sea. 
 
 "He doesn t seem to persuade her," he remarked, 
 mockingly, to his companion. "You were right, and now 
 probably you ll have to remove her by force." He was 
 overjoyed to observe that Querlescan s countenance, al 
 ready sufficiently rubicund, was rapidly taking on a danger 
 ously apoplectic hue. Not obey orders! ... a passenger! 
 ... a woman! Evidently the next few moments might 
 be as pregnant of happenings as the threatening sky. 
 
 "What s up, Quartermaster?" Thus the captain in 
 the very surliest of accents to his returning estafette, 
 who with impassive features, but suspiciously twinkling 
 eyes, had just swung himself back upon the bridge. 
 
 The lady refuses to go below, mon Commandant. The 
 quartermaster, an old man-o-war s man, had been in the 
 service under his present captain, and always addressed 
 him with quarter-deck punctilio and etiquette, hand raised 
 to cap, eyes fixed. 
 
 "Refuses to go below? What the hell does that mean, 
 Quartermaster ?" 
 
 "I don t know, mon Commandant, and she s laughing 
 to split her sides." 
 
 "What for?" This with rapidly increasing savageness, 
 and a side-long glance at Olier which signally failed to 
 check that irreverent personage s obtrusive delight; for, 
 indeed, the situation was turning out more comically 
 than he had dared to hope. 
 
 "Well, mon Commandant, I think it s the idea that the 
 deck s unsafe for her." 
 
 23 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "But certainly, . . . that is precisely what made me 
 laugh." 
 
 The three men, as if on one pivot, turned to confront 
 the possessor of that soft contralto voice, who might 
 have emerged from a surprise box, so suddenly and un 
 expectedly had she made her appearance. The captain 
 stared in speechless astonishment. In such weather skirts 
 should have been an insuperable obstacle to the ascent 
 of an almost perpendicular bridge-ladder, but here she 
 stood before him as though she had just done the most 
 natural thing in the world. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Commandant," she said, serenely, 
 " for storming your position, after disobeying your orders; 
 but the fact is I dislike to go below. Besides, I run no 
 danger whatever. I am, if you must know it, a bit of a 
 sailor, and hold a master s certificate, which may explain 
 to you how I come to be more at home on deck than in 
 the saloon." 
 
 One hand holding the bridge-rail in a fashion visibly 
 practised and familiar, she waited for his answer; and 
 Olier waited, too, but with less patience, for at last his 
 interest was fully roused. His ear had just been caressed 
 by that pure, eighteenth-century French, clear and level- 
 toned, which nowadays, alas, throughout the length and 
 breadth of France is only to be heard where a few scat 
 tered chateaux preserve the traditions of former days a 
 language not whined through the nose or gabbled from the 
 lips or palate, but delivered with an open mouth, as high 
 bred Anglo-Saxons speak their own native tongue. Curious 
 that an Englishwoman should speak French like that! 
 
 Meanwhile the nonplussed captain was saying: "Even 
 if you run no personal danger, madame, you cannot avoid 
 being wet through on deck, and unless you prefer to 
 remain here with us 
 
 24 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The scarcely veiled sarcasm passed unrebuked, and the 
 offer was at once accepted with a simplicity that staggered 
 Captain Querlescan. 
 
 "Yes, of course you are quite right, and thank you 
 very much, Commandant; but I stay only on condition 
 that I shall not be in your way. I hate women who get 
 in the way of men s work or sport and expect to be 
 waited upon." 
 
 Caught in his own net, Captain Querlescan winced. 
 "Your coat, madame, is already soaked with spray," he 
 argued with feeble doggedness, and, as if every word were 
 being windlassed out of him, "You will catch your death 
 of cold!" This was greeted with a laugh which had such 
 a ring in it that it made the ungracious mariner suddenly 
 change his mind and attitude he could not have told why, 
 but so, nevertheless, it was and, though she had just 
 dared him to his face and made him undeniably ridiculous, 
 from that instant he liked her. 
 
 "Will you let me send for some oilskins?" he asked, in 
 markedly altered tones. 
 
 "You can send for mine," she readily acquiesced. 
 "Grafton that s my servant will give them to the 
 quartermaster, if you don t mind his going after them. 
 But here am I already giving trouble ... so as soon as I 
 get my storm -rig I ll subside completely." 
 
 "Subside completely!" Olier mentally commented. 
 "She does not give the impression of belonging to the 
 sort that can ever quite do that, or pass unperceived 
 either." And he glanced at her beneath his eyelashes, 
 carefully refraining, however, from letting his stealthy 
 gaze rest upon the captain, who must, he thought, have 
 by now reached the bursting-point. How complete was 
 the volte-face of this usually brusque and intolerant 
 officer he did not even suspect, until he beheld him 
 
 25 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 actually in the act of helping his passagcre into the 
 " storm-rig," which in itself was a corroboration of every 
 word she had uttered, for it proved to be by no means the 
 absurd makeshift of the common run of yachtswomen, 
 but a hooded garment, uncompromisingly serviceable, 
 practical, and much weather-stained. 
 
 Indeed, even apart from this, Lady Clanvowe s attitude 
 left no possible doubt that she mostly meant what she 
 said, for in another moment she had retreated to the 
 farthest end of the bridge, where she enfolded herself in 
 deepest silence, half turning her back upon the others 
 in a way so expressive of a desire to mind her own busi 
 ness that Olier felt his first disapprobation disappearing 
 by leaps and bounds. 
 
 During the last hour the half-gale had considerably 
 freshened. The air was now full of spindrift, and the 
 maltreated steamer, buffeted by savage cross-waves, 
 labored hard. Twice Captain Querlescan took a step in 
 the direction of the hooded figure silhouetted against 
 those swinging seas, and twice, greatly to Olier s amuse 
 ment, returned to his post with a smothered imprecation 
 that broke at last into a torrent of low -breathed pro 
 fanity. 
 
 "What are you bothering about?" the latter asked, 
 imperturbably. "She s giving you no trouble. Why 
 don t you leave her alone?" 
 
 "Huh! No trouble? D you think I feel at my ease 
 here, forced to act like a boor on my own decks?" 
 
 "She does not expect you to dance attendance upon 
 her that seems evident." 
 
 "I know; but ordinary politeness demands that I 
 should see to her comfort, and how am I to go about it 
 with such a stubborn piece of goods?" 
 
 "Couldn t you induce her to take some refreshment 
 
 26 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 or other ? That would oblige her to go below, you see, 
 . . . and since you re so anxious to do that . . . !" 
 
 "Nom d un chien! Why didn t I think of it before? 
 I ll give up the bridge to Goarec, although I had told him 
 that I d keep it all the way to Brest." And, whispering 
 a command to his quartermaster, the much - relieved 
 mariner moved hesitatingly toward Lady Clanvowe. 
 
 "Madame," he said, almost imploringly, "won t you 
 come and have a cup of coffee and some biscuits? You 
 have been standing here in the cold for hours, and ..." 
 he concluded, desperately, "I am getting really anxious!" 
 
 "My dear Commandant, " she cried, with one of her 
 contagious little laughs, "I am so sorry to have worried 
 you. Of course I ll come; you must not imagine that my 
 dislike of the tween decks goes to the length of starving 
 myself." And, passing in front of him, she swung herself 
 down the ladder before Olier, who was standing close to 
 it, had time to offer help, seized an opportune righting 
 of the vessel to run across the deck, and reached the 
 companion-way. 
 
 "Well done!" the naval officer said aloud, in spite of 
 himself. "Jove, but that s a clever little woman!" And, 
 much puzzled and amused, he followed the captain, who 
 had momentarily relinquished all responsibility to his 
 second, through the fringe of a retiring wave-crest along 
 a once more dizzily slanting deck. 
 
 The lamentable banality of marine dining-rooms was 
 on the Etoile de Brest greatly diminished by the faded 
 condition of its fittings and furniture. The once in 
 flammatory red and gold had toned down with years to a 
 pleasant shade of tawny brown, and on the long table 
 great branches of pink-and- white May flung there by 
 the second officer, who, being a newly married man, had 
 bought them at St. Malo for his bride, and forgotten all 
 
 27 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 about them immediately gave a touch of spring and youth 
 to the whole place. The steward was picking an armful 
 of them from the carpet, where they had been thrown 
 by the continuous pitching and rolling, when the two 
 men entered ; while in front of one of the sadly tarnished 
 mirrors above the circular divan stood Lady Clanvowe, 
 with uplifted hands, detaching one by one the long gold 
 pins holding her veil in position. From the opposite side 
 of the saloon Olier glanced with quick curiosity in the 
 mirror, to try and catch the first glimpse of the features 
 so carefully concealed until now ; but the damp gauze was 
 troublesome, and it was only after several impatient little 
 pulls and wrenches that Lady Clanvowe finally dragged it 
 upward from an oval face, still faintly flushed to shell- 
 pink tints by the wind, large, black-fringed, dark-blue 
 eyes, a short, imperious little nose, and a mouth of ex 
 quisite perfection and loveliness. Another quick tug, 
 and both hat and veil came off together from a glorious 
 mass of soft, silky hair, piled up in a fashion suggesting 
 Madame de Lamballe and, still further to enhance the 
 resemblance, snow white and sparkling as if powdered 
 all over with fine diamond-dust. 
 
 Involuntarily Olier drew a deep breath, startled by the 
 beauty and pastel-like delicacy of that mirror-vision, and 
 at that instant Lady Clanvowe turned round, and, with a 
 noticeable lack of the clumsiness generally engendered by 
 the erratic motions of a storm-tossed boat, crossed over 
 to the table where Captain Querlescan was deftly slipping 
 cups and plates in and out of the fiddles. 
 
 Raising his eyes at her approach, he too gave a start 
 of surprise as he caught sight of her standing in the 
 full light of the port -holes, slim and graceful and smil 
 ing. 
 
 "Voila!" she said, seating herself on one of the swivel 
 
 28 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 chairs and beginning to draw off her gloves. "I m quite 
 ready for your coffee, Commandant." 
 
 "I trust it will not be too muddy. We are still dis 
 tressingly unprepared for distinguished travellers, and ..." 
 
 "It smells deliciously," she interrupted, turning one 
 damp glove clean inside out, after vainly endeavoring to 
 remove it in the ordinary fashion. Her hands, like her 
 feet, were singularly small, and there was a vivid sparkle 
 of many diamonds and sapphires as she dried them on 
 her tiny handkerchief. 
 
 Olier had been waiting for the captain to introduce him, 
 but, finding that the worthy skipper was forgetting all 
 about this simple ceremony, here put in his word: 
 
 "Will you present me to Lady Clanvowe, Querlescan?" 
 he said, a little stiffly. 
 
 Red as a tomato, the captain rose hastily: "The 
 Comte de Frehel a Breton of the Bretons." 
 
 "Higher praise no man can desire," she said, frankly 
 holding out her hand. "I am a profound admirer of 
 Brittany, past and present. But let me see . . . de Frehel 
 ... it must be your father whom I had the pleasure of 
 meeting many years ago. You reminded me of him from 
 the first." 
 
 "Many years ago, madame?" The incredulous intona 
 tion of the words was a spontaneous compliment which 
 made Lady Clanvowe smile in a pleased little way. 
 
 Certainly. It is quite eighteen years since my husband 
 and I left Vienna, where he, the Comte de Frehel I mean, 
 was then French Ambassador." 
 
 The two men exchanged a quick, questioning glance. 
 Was she joking? Surely she could not, in spite of her 
 silver locks, be over thirty. 
 
 "My father was at Vienna about the time you mention, 
 madame; but surely ..." Olier paused, embarrassed, and, 
 
 29 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 as if guessing his thoughts, she lightly touched her gra 
 cious coiffure: 
 
 "Genuinely white," she laughed. "Absolutely gen 
 uine." 
 
 "A freak of nature," the captain interposed. "I have 
 a cousin who was gray at twenty." 
 
 "Well, so was I, ... a little on the temples," she quietly 
 continued, helping herself to a biscuit. "But I like it 
 better now, . . . it s more complete." 
 
 She spoke so naturally that any flattering remark would 
 have seemed almost a piece of rudeness. Even plain- 
 spoken Querlescan saw this, and with unusual tact pro 
 ceeded to change the subject. 
 
 "The season is early for visitors to our little country," 
 he remarked, balancing his cup deftly half-way between 
 the table and his mouth. "You are not going to make a 
 long stay in Brittany, are you, Miladi?" 
 
 "I don t know, but I think it probable. You see, the 
 wife of a diplomat is something of a slave ; but Sir Hubert 
 having been sent on a mission to Tibet, where it was 
 difficult for me to accompany him, I am free to put into 
 execution a long-cherished plan, which is to spend a whole 
 summer in Brittany." 
 
 "If you have never been here before," the captain said, 
 with a frown, "it s all right; but otherwise you will be 
 hurt, I am sure, to see it becoming so changed." 
 
 Olier was also frowning, but at his indiscreet friend. 
 He found it utterly useless to abuse their cherished coun 
 try before a stranger; but not so the now fully aroused 
 mariner, who between mouthfuls embarked upon a thor 
 ough expose of the present situation. 
 
 "And," he at last concluded, "they have succeeded in 
 transforming this classic little corner of the world into a 
 place of virulent hatreds and suspicions, where brother 
 
 3 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 will soon be throttling brother, and father denouncing 
 son." 
 
 Lady Clanvowe had listened in absorbed silence, her 
 dark-blue eyes darkened still more by obviously sincere 
 interest, and Olier, watching her, wondered much. What 
 could all this matter to her, an English great lady, with a 
 mere poetical fad for the old Land of Legend which was 
 so dear to him ? Pose ? No, even strong prejudice could 
 not make a keen observer read her grave, clever expres 
 sion thus; and suddenly seized once more with the irri 
 tation she had earlier aroused in him, he said, almost 
 roughly: 
 
 "How can all these nauseating details de menage amuse 
 Lady Clanvowe?" 
 
 She turned quickly, and gave him a singularly pene 
 trating look. 
 
 "Amuse?" she said. "You mean interest, Monsieur 
 de Frehel. But I assure you that these details de menage, 
 as you call them, do even more than that." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A flush of silver on the sea-line growing; 
 A point, an edge, a candent arc; the shade 
 Of cloud low-gathered rims with pearl, and, glowing, 
 Lengthens the pale moonglade. 
 
 All the wide Night awakes, and breathless waiting 
 Knoweth fulfilment in that mystic fire, 
 A soul of beauty, thrilling, palpitating 
 As the Cyllenean lyre. 
 
 Hearken the surf-song herald waves apprising 
 The caverned rocks ashore, and mark, oh, mark 
 How the fleet footprints of the wind arising 
 Flash in the clearing dark, 
 
 Hasting the miracle abroad to blazon; 
 And through the thresh of waters, low, serene, 
 Moveth soft-shod that shaking diapason, 
 Circleth that treble keen! 
 
 How wild its fluting! Tis a wondrous leaven 
 To shape Night s harmonies, that near and far 
 Orb in its crystal as the lights of Heaven 
 Run backward to a star. 
 
 Unto one call of Power these assemble, 
 Choiring in unison to the hollow sky, 
 And all their lovely voices cry and tremble 
 Until the Night doth die. 
 
 So to a waiting dusk, illuming, winning, 
 Until the storied Morn that is to be, 
 You came, in light and melody beginning 
 Your gentle rule in me. 
 
 Moonrise. M. M. 
 
 32 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 THE long stretch of rough shingle beneath Fort Roz- 
 kavel was almost entirely covered by fleecy surf, shining 
 white in the fitful rays of a round-faced moon that was 
 busy playing hide-and-seek with a flock of black clouds. 
 As it nearly always is there, the wind was strong, and the 
 hollow clamor of the sea, worrying the ledges along low- 
 water mark, betrayed the sudden plunge to great depths 
 off that portion of the shore. A spot of tragic loneliness 
 without one break in the monotony of water and stone, 
 save the low, massive brow of the Fort, just now scarce 
 ly distinguishable from the masses of surrounding rock 
 either in form or color, and without a single point of 
 light showing anywhere within its looming bulk. 
 
 Splashing moodily along the soupy gravel, Olier de 
 Frehel, on his way home from one of the interminable 
 walks he often took after his solitary dinner to try and 
 tire himself out, was industriously attempting to think 
 of nothing at all, when, just as he came abreast of the 
 Fort talus, he was checked in his stride by a sudden flood 
 of melody, marvellously attuned to the obligato of wind 
 and waves, gliding higher and higher, and soaring pierc 
 ingly sweet until it seemed to stab the dark heavens 
 above. For a moment he scarcely breathed, tingling 
 from head to foot with a never-felt emotion, for at that 
 place and hour there really was something nerve-shaking 
 in that rarest music of all, the utterance of a surpassing 
 ly well-played violin. So completely entranced was he 
 that at first he did not even wonder whence it came 
 from the earth, the water, or the sky what mattered? 
 The very essence of those liquid notes was strange to 
 him; he had never heard the like before, though that did 
 not occur to him until afterward, for the night had found 
 a soul and was made anew the fresh salt breeze, the 
 ghostly surf, the glittering bridge swung gently across 
 3 33 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the straining backs of the breakers with every re-emer 
 gence of the moon, were now all as living, breathing things 
 that sang together with beautiful voices, each a separate 
 part, and yet all in some wonderful way shaping into that 
 exquisite central harmony, moulded and drawn into it 
 as rays run backward to a star. Very gradually Olier 
 began to realize what his inner mind had immediately 
 and instinctively acknowledged that whoever played 
 that violin possessed a master -hand. None but a great 
 artist could win from it those superhuman echoes of 
 some unknown Paradise, and he stood absolutely mo 
 tionless, straining every nerve to follow the delicious 
 shading of every perfect phrase, until with one soft, fine 
 spun note a lessening thread of moonbeam that died 
 and lost itself in the sobbing of the waves it all ended, 
 leaving him dazed and amazed, uncertain whether he 
 had not been dreaming. 
 
 For some time he remained rooted to the ground, vainly 
 endeavoring to solve the puzzle, and gazing helplessly 
 around him, from the heaving whiteness of the sea to 
 the deserted shore, until all at once the words of Gue"ma- 
 deuc flashed back to his mind. He had claimed that the 
 Fort would shortly be inhabited, but Olier raised search 
 ing eyes to the sombre parapet without discovering the 
 least bit of corroborative evidence. Then, fired with a 
 sudden determination, he set off at a run, and, escalading 
 the talus in three bounds, brought up at the foot of the 
 walls. 
 
 These were discouraging, too; their regularly spaced 
 loopholes, wherein once had lurked the grim muzzles of 
 guns, were much too far above his head to be looked 
 through, and with a nautical oath of great force and 
 power he ran on to the solid iron doors which guarded 
 the one entrance, only to find them hermetically closed. 
 
 34 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "I dreamed it all, then!" he exclaimed, wrathfully. 
 "Or else there must be musical Farfadets in possession 
 of Rozkavel." And, turning on his heel, he regained 
 the beach in an absurdly angry mood. Fortunately, he 
 knew every inch of the way, for just then the moon 
 ducked derisively behind a cloud, leaving him in total 
 darkness; and, as the rising tide made it expedient for 
 him to hurry, he lost no time in climbing back to the 
 lande. Before setting off across the heather, he once 
 more turned mechanically to peer back at the blotch of 
 intenser blackness he knew to be the Fort, and gave a 
 gasp of surprise, for at his present elevation he was on a 
 level with the windows of the guard-room, and he dis 
 tinctly saw a faint, rosy gleam issuing from them. With 
 a shamefaced sense of relief, he lingered there, trying 
 to determine the nature of this peculiar illumination, 
 and, finally convinced that it represented the light of 
 shaded lamps sifted through tinted curtains, he resumed 
 his lonely road, vexing his brain with one supposition 
 after another as to who the wonderful musician might 
 be, who had made the lonely night live and pulsate 
 and throb with such indescribable harmony? Indeed, 
 in his present solitary life the incident was assuming the 
 proportions of an event, and immediately on reaching 
 home he sent for his aged gardener, Hanvec, whom he 
 knew would still be dozing over the kitchen fire. 
 
 Hanvec was a notorious gossip, inordinately proud of 
 his sobriquet of Skrid-pendeziek, which in Breton means 
 newspaper, or, textually, "relation day by day of what 
 happens, has happened, or will happen" a well-merited 
 one, moreover; for what he did not manage to find out 
 for miles around Kremarze* was not worth inquiring into. 
 The peculiar picturesqueness of his statements invariably 
 delighted Olier, usually the most incurious of men, and, 
 
 35 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 while drying his wet boots at a crackling fagot-blaze that 
 lent fantastic animation to the figures on the ancient 
 tapestries of the hall, he smiled a smile of amused an 
 ticipation. 
 
 Carrying his red woollen cap in one hand and his heavy 
 sabots in the other, Hanvec made his appearance almost 
 at once, every separate wrinkle of his brown face alert 
 with curiosity. 
 
 " Avance a I ordre, I Ancien!" Olier said, in a slightly 
 raised voice, for Hanvec had lately become a trifle hard 
 of hearing. "Avance a I ordre." 
 
 "Present, M sieu VComte!" the old man retorted, 
 straightening his back and touching his white forelock. 
 
 "What do you know about the tenants of Rozkavel?" 
 
 A sharp gleam brightened the faded blue eyes of the 
 ambulatory gazette of Kremarze", and a malicious smile 
 crinkled his lips. 
 
 "Tenant not tenants, M sieu 1 Comte," he corrected, 
 depositing his sabots on the carpet and resting his hands 
 on his hips in an easy conversational way. 
 
 "Tenant, eh?" Olier questioned. "What is he like?" 
 
 For the second time Hanvec deprecatingly offered an 
 amendment: "Not he ... she . . . it s a she." 
 
 "A she? Alone in that God -forsaken hole? Non 
 sense!" 
 
 "No nonsense, M sieu 1 Comte the truth; but there 
 are servants ... a lot of good-for-nothings who speak a 
 villainous lingo, and look as supple as if they d swallowed 
 a marline-spike apiece!" 
 
 "Where do they hail from, do you think?" 
 
 "From no Christian land . . . that s sure." 
 
 "And the ... the lady; what of her?" 
 
 "I couldn t rightly say, M sieu 1 Comte. I ve only 
 seen her at long range, though I did try to pull up closer; 
 
 36 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 but she s not easy to approach one minute here, the 
 other there, dancing on the outermost points of the rocks, 
 running up the cliffs as a goat would; my old legs can t 
 follow such a pace." 
 
 "Can it be she who plays the violin like an angel?" 
 Olier asked, more to himself than to his worthy news 
 monger; but doubtless the latter was not quite as deaf 
 as he pretended, for he instantly answered the comment 
 as if it had been addressed to him. 
 
 "Or a devil!" he grumbled. "I heard her crin-crin 
 one night, and it made my blood run cold. It s pagan 
 music, that s what it is." 
 
 "Crin-crin . . . pagan music!" Olier exclaimed, shrug 
 ging his shoulders at such vandalism. "I ve heard the 
 best, but never anything to compare with that touch." 
 
 "Maybe, maybe, M sieu 1 Comte, but is there any 
 reason in a woman locking herself in a dismantled fort 
 to play for the fishes and the gulls when everybody else 
 is asleep? It s not canny . . . You can laugh your fill, 
 M sieu I Comte, it s not canny, nor lucky, either!" Han- 
 vec indignantly protested. 
 
 "Bosh!" Olier interrupted. "But look here, VAncien, 
 lucky or unlucky, Christian or heathen, this curious per 
 son and her following can t live solely on music. Where 
 do they get their provisions, their fuel, and the rest? 
 You know very well that all they can buy around here 
 is bread and onions, and if, as you infer, neither mistress 
 nor servants speak either French or Breton, how do they 
 manage?" 
 
 "And what about the yacht, M sieu I Comte? Doesn t 
 it bring them all they want?" 
 
 "The yacht! Oh, there s a yacht, is there?" 
 
 "Why, yes, there is, and a choice one, too, trim as a 
 battle-ship, with its brass-work shining enough to dazzle 
 
 37 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the eye, and painted as white as the heart of an oyster- 
 shell." 
 
 "Where in the world does it anchor? There s no safe 
 place about Rozkavel." 
 
 " Nobody knows that, M sieu 1 Comte. It comes and 
 goes unbeknown, just like its owner, and none s the 
 wiser." 
 
 "Hold on a minute, VAncien!" Olier exclaimed at this 
 point, half rising from his deep chair. "Did you ever 
 get near enough to her to see what color her hair is?" 
 
 "Name of a one-eyed lobster, M sieu Olier!" the old 
 man remonstrated, "what s the color of her hair got to 
 do with it? You ve not stepped on a tuft of losing-grass, 
 have you, M sieu Olier, to-night on the landef You 
 seem all astray, as it were." 
 
 "Never you mind what I seem; answer me." 
 
 " If it comes to that, it s soon done," Hanvec said, more 
 quietly. "I ve never seen the color of her hair, M sieu 
 TComte, nor want to. I m not at the age when one risks 
 one s neck for such trifles!" this in an offended tone. 
 
 "You re an old fool, VAncien. ... I don t care a rush 
 about her hair, either. All I wanted to find out was 
 whether by any chance it happens to be white snow- 
 white, you understand." 
 
 "White . . . snow-white!" Hanvec echoed, falling back 
 a little. "Sainte Vierge de La Palude! . . . You are not 
 going mad, Our Gentleman ? . . . white . . . and she hopping 
 about like a sand-piper all day long?" 
 
 "It wouldn t matter in her case," Olier responded, 
 absently. 
 
 Poor Hanvec dropped his limp cap into one of his 
 capacious sabots, and came deliberately forward until 
 he almost touched his master. 
 
 " Let me look at the clear of your eyes, M sieu l Comte," 
 
 38 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 he said, earnestly. "It isn t possible something ails 
 you! I never heard you talk wild like this before, and 
 if defunct our good lady may she rest in peace" here 
 he devoutly crossed himself " hears you now, she ll never 
 set foot in here again. Don t you trouble about that 
 Rozkavel witch any more. She s here for no good pur 
 pose I feel it in my bones and there s trouble enough 
 without her already." 
 
 Olier saw that the old man was really concerned, and 
 he patted the bent shoulder reassuringly. 
 
 "There, there," he said, kindly, "quit worrying about 
 me, and tell me instead what trouble you mean." 
 
 "What trouble ? Every sort of trouble, M sieu 1 Comte. 
 You know it as well as I do. Trouble everywhere, which 
 ever way one turns." 
 
 Olier rose quickly to his feet and leaned against the 
 monumental blue granite chimney-piece, his face turned 
 from the bright, revealing flames. 
 
 "I m not going to look at you any more, M sieu Olier. 
 You can sit down," said Hanvec, with perfect simplicity 
 and not at all as if to exhibit his shrewdness. "You 
 see," he continued, studiously gazing at the vague pattern 
 of the faded Turkey hearth-rug, "we re in a bad way 
 here, and there s something in the wind that s going to 
 breed a fine tempest soon." 
 
 "I m hanged if I understand what you re driving at," 
 Olier interposed, impatiently, from the shadow of the 
 high mantel. 
 
 "Don t you, M sieu 1 Comte?" the other continued, 
 wholly undisturbed. "Perhaps you don t know also that 
 before long every mother s son of us will have to rise 
 up against those French, or be flattened as flat as the 
 back of my hand. ... I m old to fight, but never mind . . . 
 never mind . . . when the hour comes I ll load and shoulder 
 
 39 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 a musket or sharpen a scythe with the best or I ll take 
 my sabot in my fist if there s nothing else.* But what we 
 want is a leader . . . one of the old sort." 
 
 Olier had let him go on unhindered, but at this he 
 dropped his hand heavily on the white-bloused shoulder. 
 
 "Be quiet!" he commanded. "You know that I can t 
 listen to such talk. What devil possesses you to-night?" 
 They were eying each other now, man and master, mas 
 ter and man, as absolute equals, a dark flush slowly 
 mounting to the roots of Olier s hair, while the older face 
 was paling beneath the sun-stains of seventy long years. 
 Then, suddenly, Olier let his hand fall to his side and 
 turned his head away. 
 
 "Does M sieu 1 Comte wish the strawberries gathered 
 to-morrow morning?" Hanvec asked, in the toneless, 
 even voice of a well-trained servant coming for orders. 
 "They are rotting on the stalk." 
 
 "Rotting on the stalk?" Olier asked, in bewilderment. 
 "Who . . . what?" 
 
 "The strawberries in the south garden, M sieu 1 Comte," 
 Hanvec respectfully explained. 
 
 "Oh, the strawberries! Gather them if they need 
 gathering." 
 
 "And," the old man implacably persisted, "what shall 
 I do with them when they are gathered?" 
 
 "Give them away, or throw them to the pigs; I don t 
 care a damn!" Olier cried, in exasperation, turning his 
 back full upon his unmoved retainer, who, noiselessly 
 picking up his sabots and cap, stepped softly from the 
 hall, a Machiavellian smile on his wrinkled lips. 
 
 Left alone, Olier threw himself in his arm-chair, thrust 
 both hands in his pockets, and, fixing a pair of unwinking 
 
 * The heavy sabot of the peasant, wielded as a club, is a mur 
 derous weapon. 
 
 40 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 and suddenly hardened eyes upon the red core of the fire, 
 fell into a very abyss of vexatious thought. Hanvec s 
 words kept ringing mercilessly in his ears. "We want a 
 leader ... a leader ... a leader!" He, Olier de Frehe l, an 
 officer in France s navy, had just been asked unofficially, 
 it is true, but by a voice which he knew spoke for the 
 entire country-side to lead an insurrection against 
 France. This was what Hanvec had meant. Forswear 
 his allegiance, show himself disloyal to the flag under 
 which he served ? 
 
 Involuntarily he detached his gaze from the incan 
 descent coals, and winced as it encountered the droop 
 ing folds of a worn old banner fastened to the tapestry 
 above the portrait of Herve, Comte de Frehe l, captain 
 of a ship -of -war in the reign of the twelfth Louis. 
 The sumptuous satin, still dimly white between its thick- 
 sown, golden fleurs-de-lys, gleamed faintly in the leaping 
 glow of an outer fringe of small twigs burning more 
 fiercely than the larger sticks, and the long, golden tas 
 sels hanging from the staff swayed a little in the draught 
 from the chimney, as they had done in the winds of 
 forgotten ages. The King s flag! The flag of that old 
 France, who, whatever her faults, was the mightiest of 
 European states, with whom her enemies dealt in coali 
 tion if they dealt at all a France whose policy was not 
 to be unsettled by a hint of menace from a foreign power ! 
 
 With a groan Olier forced himself to look away from it. 
 What had he, Lieutenant de Frehe l, of the steel-hulled, 
 triple-engined, four-screw, twenty- four- knot cruiser Marat, 
 in common with that ancient and unsullied emblem? 
 And yet, duty or no duty, oath or no oath, how could he 
 close his eyes to the glaring truth? The violent opposi 
 tion of Brittany to the arbitrary doings of the French 
 government during the recent Church and State crisis 
 
 41 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 was but a preliminary to further and worse conflicts . . . 
 that could not be doubted . . . and upon Breton loyalty 
 a great deal depended, since Brittany is to-day, as it has 
 always been, the nursery of the French navy. It seemed 
 incredible in the face of this that France should pursue 
 her short-sighted and senseless war against Breton faiths, 
 Breton customs, and even the Breton language a sore 
 point indeed with those arch-conservatives but so it 
 
 was. 
 
 "Ar Brkzonek h&g ar Feiz 
 A 20 breur ha C hoar b Breiz," * 
 
 he murmured, and, suddenly jumping to his feet, began to 
 pace the floor restlessly from one end to the other of the 
 immense room. 
 
 "Fools! Fools! Fools!" he repeated aloud, again and 
 again, as in an unending procession the long tally of 
 useless injustices and wrong-dealings to which his race 
 had been subjected passed through his mind. It seemed 
 all so inane, from the annulment of ecclesiastical influ 
 ence and that influence had certainly been on the side 
 of morality, decency, and good conduct down to the ap 
 palling system of organized delation, as baleful and fully 
 as fatal in its effects for thousands upon thousands of 
 victims as that described by Tacitus. Oh yes, "inform 
 ing" was now raised throughout France to the importance 
 of a public institution. The army was daily becoming 
 more gangrened by a wilful admixture of accredited and 
 duly subventioned agents, who boasted the title of 
 " Franc-Maf ons de la Solidarite Militaire," and who, 
 forming a loathsome association, ceaselessly spied upon 
 their brother officers, and reported to high quarters upon 
 their religious and political opinions. There existed, as 
 
 * " In Brittany the faith and the language are brother and 
 sister." 
 
 42 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Olier well knew, an official "Delation Bureau," by which, 
 during the past year, twelve thousand brave officers had 
 been besmirched and blacklisted in carefully docketed 
 briefs. Untruthful and infamous dossiers, teeming, of 
 course, with misrepresentation, but admirably catalogued 
 and annotated in two ponderous volumes, respectively 
 entitled Corinth and Carthage, as corresponding to the 
 parabolic sheep and goats. "Delenda est Carthago" was 
 the relentless motto of the originator of that modern 
 Delation Bureau, which, according to his own statements, 
 meant professional ruin, or at least the absolute loss of 
 all hope of future promotion, for the unfortunates whose 
 names were once engrossed upon the pages of Carthage. 
 And this was taking place under a republican regime 
 flaunting the magnificent device, " Liber te, Egalite, Fra- 
 ternite." Liberty! Fraternity! What about the ferocity 
 of those measures taken recently, then, with regard to 
 the de-religionization at any price . . . any cost ... of 
 the army and navy? What about those latest decrees 
 denying the comfort and consolation of the Last Sacra 
 ments to dying soldiers and sailors, excepting at the offi 
 cial and personal request of the moribund ? Olier remem 
 bered the storm of indignation this had aroused far and 
 wide. And how could it be otherwise, when even the 
 peoples professing other creeds than Catholicism showed 
 so different a comprehension of their duties ? He thought 
 of how, during the Boer war, the British authorities had 
 sent a Catholic priest seven hundred miles by special 
 train to hear the last confession of a dangerously wounded 
 private soldier; and opposite this fact he set the case of 
 
 Lieutenant L , who, shot and taken unconscious to the 
 
 hospital, had been left there to die like a dog, although 
 
 his cousin, M. P de L , demanded that a priest 
 
 should be immediately summoned, pointing out, in justi- 
 
 43 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 fication of this request, the consecrated medals found 
 hanging by a chain around the young officer s neck, be 
 neath his blood-stained tunic. Alas, many other and yet 
 more grievous instances of the same deliberate evil-doing 
 made Olier clinch his fists in impotent rage as he recalled 
 them one by one. 
 
 Wearied and disheartened, he felt at that moment 
 tempted to send in his resignation from the navy at once, 
 and without any further paltering. But was it not per 
 haps a sign of weakness in him thus to avoid facing the 
 music? And, besides, what could he, alone and unaided, 
 do to stem the muddy torrent let loose upon his native 
 land? He paused again in front of the hearth, where 
 now only a few charred bits of wood smoked dismally, 
 and racked his brain for the twentieth time that night 
 in search of some possible solution. 
 
 "We want a chief . . . one of the old sort." Pursued by 
 the echo of old Hanvec s demand, he fled up the broad, 
 shallow-stepped staircase where in sport one of his an 
 cestors had once ridden his war-charger, setting other 
 echoes to work beneath the groined stone arches that 
 had sheltered countless De Frehels in the vanished days, 
 when honor was no vain and empty word. 
 
 "I cannot! I cannot!" he said aloud; and, with a 
 suddenly lagging and spiritless step, he passed slowly on 
 to his room in the gray dawn-light, wishing, from his 
 heart, that the sea-weed snare had dragged him to the 
 bottom of the ocean a month ago. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Under the dunes those herded monsters tall, 
 Now basking warm, and now that vague and vast 
 Bristling their manes of sea-grass, writhe and crawl 
 Before the smoking blast 
 
 Skirting the naked shingle salt and dry, 
 Crannied aloft, or nodding to the spume, 
 By Earth uncherished, or the Heavens high 
 My flower of flowers doth bloom; 
 
 Foliaged in frosty green from head to heel, 
 Petaled with spider-silk that cups the sun, 
 Frail as a moonbeam, yet the strength of steel 
 To hold a growth begun. 
 
 Steadfast in sand, secure in strife and din, 
 You, dear heart, you and yours, she doth express; 
 Courage, and its yet undissevered twin, 
 Unfaltering Tenderness. 
 
 For though step-daughter of the brooding sky, 
 The bitter sea-breath and the stony mould, 
 Sweetly she proffers to the passer-by 
 Free and ungrudging gold. 
 
 The Sand-Poppy. M. M. 
 
 THE shelving face of red rock behind and overtopping 
 Fort Rozkavel forms a rather ineffectual barrier between 
 the waves and the lande, for it has many wide gaps 
 through which broad slices of turf have slid to mingle 
 with the ruddy sand, and there become islets of vigorous 
 greenery, that obstinately hold their own against biting 
 
 45 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 winds and bitter salt spray, until a storm rushes up to 
 tear them to pieces and scatter the tough little plants 
 of which they are composed in all directions. Bleaching 
 bits of wreckage, suggestive of the dangerous nature of 
 the coast, bestrew this narrow desert of foreshore, and 
 sword -bladed maritime grasses, eternally shaking and 
 whispering in the strong sea-breath, encroach even upon 
 the so-called road leading to the hump-backed promon 
 tory crowned by the little Fort. 
 
 On the morning following Olier s torturing cogitations 
 the present inhabitant of that grim dwelling left its gran 
 ite archway and set off along the heather-path at a rapid 
 pace. Upright and trim, she swung along with that ease 
 and litheness which at one glance betrays perfect health 
 and poise of body and mind, looking continually seaward 
 as she walked, and rarely turning her eyes toward the 
 land a gray-green level, differing but little save by its 
 immobility from the great plain of water to her right. 
 
 Before reaching the narrow chaussee on each side of 
 which cluster the few cottages that make up Rozkavel 
 village, she met two salt-workers, who scowled savagely 
 from beneath the wide brims of their soft felt hats at the 
 slender woman in navy-blue serge and dark bret, set 
 squarely sailor-fashion upon her snowy coils of hair. 
 " Milligaden !" * one of them growled, while the other, has 
 tily crossing himself, whispered, glancing back over his 
 shoulder at the stranger: 
 
 "Have you seen the young face and old hair? . . . 
 That s a Korrigane ... a doer of evil and a caster of 
 spells, depend upon it!" And he repeated the sign of 
 the Cross. 
 
 Ignorant though she must have been of the purport 
 
 * Accursed. 
 46 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 of their unflattering opinion, yet, had some perspicu 
 ous observer been concealed behind the tall clumps of 
 furze that here crowded in upon the road, he might have 
 been puzzled by the curious little smile, half-defiant, 
 half-amused, which for an instant replaced the expression 
 of musing sadness upon her lovely features. Sadness was 
 not habitual Avith her. It may have been, therefore, merely 
 the reflex of the Breton landscape, for Brittany in its grave 
 and severe beauty strikes the minor dominant of Celtic 
 song; still, it sat rather oddly upon such a woman, and 
 offered a decided contrast to her self-reliant gait and 
 bearing. 
 
 Quaint and delightful little old Rozkavel village looked 
 that morning, its thatched roofs, all aglow with purple 
 irises and pink house - leeks, basking in the pale - golden 
 May sunlight, its tiny garden patches, reclaimed from 
 the universal sand-dune, displaying row after brave row 
 of cabbages and onions, graced here and there by the 
 lace-like shade of a few clusters of rose-tufted tamarisks, 
 while now and again the squat trunk of a fig-tree showed 
 ghostly gray amid the gloom of its leathern foliage. Not 
 a soul, however, was to be seen, though from the top of 
 the rise Lady Clanvowe had plainly discerned many 
 busy figures hurrying to and fro. Now the half-door of 
 every little granite house was carefully drawn to, and not 
 even a stray dog prowled about the boundary ditches as 
 the visitor from Rozkavel, a little surprised at the pro 
 found silence and lifelessness of the place, slackened her 
 pace and peered over a low wall of piled-up stones held 
 together apparently by nothing more binding than a pro 
 fuse felting of Bethlehem-moss, thickly powdered with 
 its millions of imperceptible waxen starlets. 
 
 Her curiosity was rewarded merely by a view of other 
 rows of prosperous cabbages, serried phalanxes of onions 
 
 47 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 pungently and pompously drawn to their full height of 
 three feet odd, and the slate margin of a well, whereon 
 reposed a dusky wooden pail, brimful of temptingly 
 clear water. Between this and the back-door of the 
 house a willow broom and a solitary overturned sabot 
 appeared to indicate a line of flight, and Lady Clanvowe, 
 distinctly puzzled, stepped back upon the road. 
 
 At that instant a stone, coming from nowhere in 
 particular, but nevertheless creditably aimed, narrowly 
 missed her temple and fell in the midst of the onion-army, 
 breaking off short two of its most commanding units. 
 Quick as a flash she turned on her heel and faced about. 
 There was a sudden glitter in her eyes that made them 
 seem rather violet than blue, but her color never wavered 
 as she stood absolutely still, waiting for further develop 
 ments. Still nobody was to be seen, and, far and wide, 
 nothing louder than the monotonous drone of many 
 bees and the soft mutter of the rising tide below the dune 
 could be heard. Beginning to doubt the evidence of her 
 senses, she determined to investigate the matter a little 
 further, but before she could put the idea into execution 
 a volley of stones and pebbles rattled viciously all around 
 her, none of them, fortunately, taking effect. 
 
 Evidently the attacking party was ensconced behind 
 those other low walls surrounding the cottages across 
 the road, and she bent quickly forward as if to try and 
 see over them. She was getting angry now angrier 
 than she had been for many years. "They d murder 
 me if they dared," she thought, "only they proba 
 bly won t dare." And, in spite of all, her irrepressi 
 ble sense of humor asserted itself, and showed her the 
 ridicule of the situation being brought to bay by an 
 enemy that seemed so desperately shy! "The battle is 
 over for to-day, anyhow," she mused, and for the sec- 
 
 4 8 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ond time her strategic forecast was set at naught, as a 
 jagged bit of flint hummed sharply through the air, 
 catching her full on the point of the shoulder and making 
 her flinch ever so slightly, to her extreme disgust. 
 
 "Haloun!"* she cried, her voice sharp with sudden 
 fury. Folia ibil a ves er c harr, a onigour da genial" \ 
 
 Dead silence followed this tirade a favorite one with 
 angry Bretons and then a vast buzz of excited comment 
 rose from all directions at once, punctuated by such ex 
 clamations as: "She spoke Breton!" . . . " It was Roz- 
 kavel Breton. Did you hear her?" cutting clear and high 
 above the low-pitched voices. 
 
 "Yes, Breton, of course, you blockheads! What else 
 should it be?" she called out, the soft gutturals of their 
 beloved tongue acquiring a peculiar grace as she pro 
 nounced them ; and at that a foam of white coiffes, with 
 here and there the long, flowing hair of a masculine head, 
 washed over the crests of all the little walls amid a deaf 
 ening scramble of sabots, and the population of Roz- 
 kavel village swept toward her like a wave. Quite un 
 moved, she stood her ground, and saw them halt within 
 three paces of her, bunching together like startled sheep. 
 
 "Well," she said, quietly, in the vernacular, "have 
 you played the fool long enough? Can you recognize a 
 friend now?" 
 
 Still huddled in a compact mass, they were staring 
 stupidly at her, and there was a moment of dense silence; 
 then, all at once, and as if moved by one impulse, the 
 elder men and women began pushing and elbowing their 
 way to the front, vague comprehension beginning to light 
 the worn, sunburned faces craned eagerly forward. 
 
 * Canailles, contemptible people. 
 
 t "As always, the worst pegs of the cart grate first," which is 
 equivalent to " Much fuss for little work." 
 4 49 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Don t you know me?" Lady Clanvowe asked again, 
 in her clear, far-reaching tones, and one tall old man, 
 who stood head and shoulders above the crowd, cried 
 out, hoarsely: 
 
 "Vamkzel Rouanez!* Vamezel Rouanez!" 
 
 "Of course. Who else?" she said, with a breathless 
 little laugh. " Rouanez de Rozkavel come back to you 
 after all these years to be greeted with curses and insults ! 
 You re a nice lot!" 
 
 The man who had spoken was slowly taking off his hat. 
 " Children," he announced, in a voice of awe, " it is indeed 
 our Demoiselle come back to us from the dead." And 
 at the portentous words there was a recoil, for those there 
 who had never seen her, and had always heard her name 
 numbered among the "blessed departed," took them 
 literally ; all the more readily since it was visibly impossi 
 ble for her to be standing there, young and slim and 
 vigorous as a sapling, after all those years ... all those 
 years! Fear was dawning in all the eyes fixed upon her, 
 and, guessing their thoughts, she addressed herself to 
 the old man, with a little hint of that unconscious au 
 thority which is inherited but never acquired: 
 
 "Come here, lann Loudeac," holding out her hand 
 toward him, "and see for yourself whether I am alive 
 or not." 
 
 Slowly, leaning on his pen-baz, lann Loudeac obeyed, 
 his eyes, still keen as a hawk s, hungrily searching every 
 feature of that face so unmistakably Rozkavel. His gi 
 gantic frame was trembling like a leaf, and, when he at 
 last reached her side, a full second passed before he sum 
 moned courage to touch her slender, ungloved fingers. 
 
 "The Blessed Saints be glorified," he whispered, bend- 
 
 * Mademoiselle Reine. 
 5 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ing low over the little hand strongly grasping his. "The 
 Blessed Saints be praised; it is indeed our Vamezel, our 
 little Rouanez-gez !" * All the antique loyalty and fealty, 
 the whole-souled devotion of the Breton race, rang in 
 the one sentence, and the rest who heard closed in around 
 her, incoherent with remorse and shame and enthusiasm, 
 trying to touch her dress, her hands, her feet, and show 
 ering benedictions upon her head as zealously and pro 
 fusely as they had showered stones a few minutes before. 
 She was not an emotional woman, and yet her eyes were 
 full of tears as she listened and found herself surrounded 
 again with the atmosphere she had so unconsciously 
 missed during her long exile. Indeed, so utterly absorbed 
 were all the actors of the little drama that nobody heard 
 the quick beats of rapidly approaching hoofs, nor caught 
 sight of horse and rider until they had brought up smartly 
 on the very ed^3 of the densely packed semicircle about 
 Lady Clanvowe, and a voice demanded, in no uncertain 
 terms, an immediate explanation of this ominous gathering. 
 
 From the brow of the sand-hill which partly shelters 
 Rozkavel village from the north wind, Olier de Frehel 
 had watched the commotion anxiously, although quite 
 unable to distinguish what was going on; but, since he 
 was in a mood just then to translate almost anything 
 into danger-signals, he had galloped down the incline at a 
 breakneck pace. 
 
 "Lady Clanvowe!" he cried, bending in his saddle as 
 he caught sight of her "Lady Clanvowe! What on 
 earth are you doing here?" 
 
 She raised her laughing, tearful eyes, and for a second 
 they looked at each other over the coping of coiffes and 
 rough, red, masculine heads in mutual stupefaction. 
 
 * Our darling little Queen. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Greeting old friends!" she called back at last, coming 
 forward through a lane of curtseying people. He had 
 jumped to the ground and bowed low over her hand. 
 
 "You gave me a fine fright," he said, quickly, in 
 French, which, of course, save the men who had been 
 in the service, none of those about understood; and, 
 lowering his voice, he added: "These are unquiet times, 
 and I thought those dare-devils were up to some mis 
 chief, instead of which I find them embracing your knees. 
 What does it all mean?" 
 
 The Rozkavellians had fallen back, and were whisper 
 ing excitedly between themselves and casting curious 
 glances at them from a respectful distance. 
 
 "It means a long story," she said, sitting down on the 
 top of the nearest little wall, "but I can summarize it 
 in six words. I was once Rouanez de Rozkavel, and 
 these faithful souls have not forgotten ms. That is all." 
 
 "All?" Olier exclaimed. "What a fool I have been!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I should have read you at once. Somehow 
 or other you seemed so un-English, so very unlike a 
 stranger, when I met you on the Etoile de Brest, and even 
 when you . . ." 
 
 "Exasperated you most?" she suggested. 
 
 " Not that . . . but still the puzzle was irritating, and I 
 see you noticed my priggish behavior." 
 
 "Not at all priggish . . . pronouncedly Breton, per 
 haps." 
 
 "Thank you, I like that better; and you are very in 
 dulgent. But what really humiliates me is not to have 
 recognized you." 
 
 "Recognized me?" she asked, sincerely surprised. 
 "How could you have done that?" 
 
 " Oh, simply enough ; for I have at home a portrait of 
 
 52 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 your mother, whom you resemble I see it now to an 
 extraordinary degree. It hangs in a room where I sel 
 dom go now, which is my only excuse, for otherwise ..." 
 He paused, and then went on, naively: "I understand 
 why I have been vexing myself so constantly of late, try 
 ing to remember who you reminded me of, and it was 
 the Marquise de Rozkavel . . . my special adoration since 
 childhood , . . I mean ..." He stopped short, blushing 
 furiously, but she was quietly brushing the wiry little 
 brown chevelures of the moss upon the stone beside her 
 with her open palm, and, without raising her eyes from 
 this absorbing work, she said, quite naturally: 
 
 "Yes, that might have helped you. I know I am like 
 my mother, for my father often used to say so." 
 
 " I wish you had told me who you were," Olier resumed, 
 speaking with more ease. "I could have been of some 
 use to you perhaps on your arrival here. For, of course, 
 it is you who have taken Fort Rozkavel, is it not?" 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "And who . . . who play the violin?" 
 
 "Yes. But how do you know that, please?" 
 
 He glanced absent-mindedly at the cluster of people 
 still curiously watching from afar, and said, almost in a 
 whisper : 
 
 "I heard you last night from the beach . . . and oh! ... 
 it was a pleasure!" 
 
 "It s nice of you to say that," she responded, with a 
 quick smile. "You must come and listen to my musical 
 vagaries at close range, since you like that sort of thing. 
 Your mother and I were playmates, and you may, if 
 you feel like it, look upon me as a sort of long -lost 
 aunt." 
 
 She gave a final rub to the tough little moss perruques, 
 and glanced up at him. 
 
 53 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Why do you laugh?" she demanded, in her decided 
 little way. 
 
 "Because you do not look like an aunt for a man of 
 my age." 
 
 She nodded disapproval. "You are not," she ex 
 plained, "given to making compliments, I hope. I dis 
 like them, as I do everything savoring of triviality, and 
 I d sooner you would not displease me, even in trifles." 
 
 "That was not a compliment." 
 
 "Then it s worse. You are dealing in subtleties . . . 
 no more, no less. Anyhow," she concluded, rising and 
 brushing a few bits of moss from her skirt, "what I mean 
 is this: I have come here in search of rest, silence, and 
 luxurious loneliness. I do not intend to see anybody; 
 but, nevertheless, since it is silly to overdo anything, I 
 shall be very glad to receive you, provided you come a la 
 Bretonne and not a la Frangaise. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 "I think I do," he answered, at once. "But you are 
 hard on Frenchmen. There are some left who know how 
 to behave." 
 
 "Are there? I am delighted to hear it. But they do 
 not belong to the younger generation. And, by-the-way, 
 I am anxious to remain, for the world at large, merely 
 Lady Clanvowe. I am going to warn those impulsive 
 but extremely reliable people yonder of my wishes in the 
 matter, and I know that I can count on your discretion." 
 
 "You can. Moreover, I live at Kremarze, like a her 
 mit, and spend my time absolutely alone." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 She gave him a swift, searching glance, and took a 
 step in the direction of her former vassals. 
 
 "You ll let me walk back with you?" he pleaded. 
 "I ll send my hors^ home by one of those lads there." 
 
 54 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You are afraid of some fresh attack upon me?" she 
 asked, laughing. 
 
 "Well, yes," he admitted. "Everybody around here 
 is not aware of your true personality, and one can never 
 know to what lengths our thorough-going people may 
 go, where strangers are concerned." 
 
 " I ve just had a taste of that," she said, lightly. " But 
 I am generally quite able to take care of myself. Also, 
 it will force you to make a long detour." 
 
 "You needn t trouble about that," he interposed, a 
 little sadly. "I am the most useless of mortals since 
 weeks and weeks. Indeed, it will be a charity on your 
 part to give me something to do." 
 
 "All right; wait a second." And she went to make her 
 adieus, leaving him to attempt a partial recovery from 
 the succession of surprises to which he had been treated. 
 
 As a general rule, naval officers, even when still pathet 
 ically young, are not easy to astonish. They peep too 
 early into the world s kaleidoscope for that. But Lady 
 Clanvowe was so far from being an ordinary personality 
 that Olier could be forgiven for being a little taken off 
 his feet. The mixture of almost child-like simplicity and 
 profound knowledge of life which characterized her, 
 coupled with the flawless youthfulness which gave mock 
 ing and exquisite denial to the age he was now obliged 
 to accept as a calendar fact, certainly made up a tout- 
 ensemble that at the very least put him at an embar 
 rassing disadvantage. She was something never before 
 encountered, never even dreamed of or imagined, burst 
 ing upon his brooding solitude like an unexpected bou 
 quet of fireworks against the dark background of a mid 
 night sky; and perhaps just because he dreaded and 
 disliked women unable to accustom himself to their 
 eternal coquetries and unconquerable passion for make- 
 
 55 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 believe this particular one, so diametrically different 
 from the rest, created upon him a profound impression. 
 
 His own mother had died while he was still a baby, and, 
 brought up entirely by men of a rather severe type, he en 
 tertained the frankest contempt for the Squire of Dames, 
 as from what he noticed did Lady Clanvowe herself. 
 She was free from all smallnesses, and spoke with the 
 firmness and decision of a man when she spoke at all; 
 her whole manner was singularly free from that latent 
 striving to produce an effect which can utterly mar the 
 charm of the most brilliant personality. Why should 
 she and he not be friends, then, in the highest possible 
 acceptation of the word? With a being so fascinatingly 
 original, so devoid of wearisome femininities, one could 
 surely stand on safe and invigorating ground. And what 
 a boon it would be to find in her a reliable and sound- 
 minded counsellor in his present dilemma! He was 
 awakened from his revery by her sudden reappearance 
 at his side, and the "Come along," full of camaraderie, 
 with which she prefaced the walk to Rozkavel. 
 
 They had taken the narrow dune-path, and were going 
 in Indian file, when all at once she checked her rapid pace 
 with such abruptness, and bent herself almost double 
 in so unexpected a fashion, that he just missed taking a 
 header over her stooping figure. 
 
 "What in the world is the matter?" he asked, aghast. 
 
 "A long-remembered delight sand-poppies!" she cried, 
 kneeling down in the midst of a patch of sulphur-hued, 
 broad-winged bloom. 
 
 "Isn t it wonderful," she continued, quickly pulling 
 off her gloves, "to find this most delicate, perhaps, of all 
 the flowers thriving and prospering in a perpetual whirl 
 wind? Just look at that gauzy tissue! One can almost 
 see through it!" She raised luminous eyes to his smiling 
 
 56 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ones, holding up toward him a great cluster of fairy- 
 golden petals in their setting of frosty green. "Do you 
 like flowers?" she demanded, peremptorily. 
 
 "Yes very much," he admitted. 
 
 "Ah! I m glad of that. So few men really do; and 
 those who possess that wholesome taste are ashamed to 
 acknowledge it." 
 
 "I also love jewels," he announced, gently fingering 
 the velvety poppy foliage. "May I look at that ex 
 traordinary ring of yours? It is an asteria, is it not? 
 But I never saw so pure or so large a one." 
 
 "Yes, it s a ruby asteria," she answered, promptly 
 holding out her hand to him from where she knelt "the 
 Stone of Fate, you know." 
 
 The searching sun-rays were outlining the six-pointed 
 star clearly on the deep carnation tints of the gem, and 
 she turned it hither and thither for him to examine. 
 "My husband gave it to me just before his departure. 
 But, unlike you, he loves neither jewels nor flowers, 
 though he is so good and kind that he always knows how 
 to select both admirably for me." 
 
 She jumped to her feet again without the least effort, 
 all of a piece and her arms full of flowers. Such unheard- 
 of suppleness was disconcerting, and Olier stared at her 
 for a moment before speaking. 
 
 "Why didn t you teach him to share your tastes?" he 
 asked, taking from her all she would relinquish of her 
 dainty burden. 
 
 "Why should I ? It would have meant, to begin with, 
 some sort of contest and struggle a thing I dread ex 
 tremely. A big fight when it s worth while . . . well and 
 good. But continual little bickerings and pullings and 
 tuggings at another person s soul-strings exasperate me. 
 Besides, Hubert never interferes with my numerous fads, 
 
 57 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 and it would be distinctly unfair of me to force them too 
 insistently upon him." 
 
 "You are fair through and through," Olier said, con- 
 vincedly. 
 
 "I don t know. ... In a fashion I think I am reason 
 ably so. You see, unfairness is not merely bad policy: 
 it is unjust, and all injustice is, in my opinion, little less 
 than a crime. I m afraid you ll find that I hold odd 
 views on most subjects, Monsieur de Frehe"l rather ob 
 stinate and unusual ones." 
 
 "Pas Bretonne pour rien?" he suggested. 
 
 "Exactly," she acquiesced. "But my life has been 
 spent in keeping my views and opinions in the farthest 
 possible background throttling them mercilessly half 
 the time, to be explicit. For years I, who abhor the 
 world, have been obliged to go six nights out of seven to 
 balls, receptions, dinners, and similar dreariness. I love 
 everything simple, and the very air I usually breathe is 
 of the most artificial. ... I am given to saying out loud 
 whatever I think at the moment, and as the wife of a 
 diplomat I am bound to weigh and measure every word 
 I utter. More than that: I, who am at heart as anti- 
 foreign as the good folk about here, have had to live since 
 early childhood on alien soil for to me all non-Breton 
 lands are alien. But I am speaking altogether too much 
 of myself, which is another form of selfishness I don t 
 admire. Let s look at this instead. Can there be greater 
 beauty anywhere?" 
 
 She swept her hand from east to west, and stopped so 
 close to the ever-crumbling edge of the sand-bluff that 
 he involuntarily grasped her arm. 
 
 "It is never safe to go too near the brink here," he 
 cautioned. But she was gazing at the magnificent pan 
 orama unfolded before her, and did not even seem to hear. 
 
 58 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The swelling landes, green and golden with broom and 
 whin, rippled as far as the eye could reach from horizon 
 to shore, where the sea at its full danced with brightest 
 laughter around the breasting rocks; while miles and 
 miles away a purple line of pine forests barred the hazy 
 lavender of the sky like a deeper brush-stroke upon some 
 masterly aquarelle. 
 
 "How can anybody prefer even the finest of cities to 
 this?" Lady Clanvowe said, suddenly. "Sordid, I call 
 them, every one, with their insufferable reek of piled-up 
 humans . . . glare, gas, noise, and dust! Oh, horrible!" 
 
 "You feel things strongly," Olier remarked, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 "I do. But generally I steel-cage the temptation to 
 such outbursts of feeling. I trust you do not imagine 
 that I talk like this to the first-comer?" 
 
 "I don t think you do. And let me add that 7 accept 
 the present exception as a compliment." 
 
 "You should. And I assure you that it has done me a 
 world of good to unbend for once. I am unbending most 
 of the time now," she continued, gayly. "It was for 
 this especial purpose that I took that pink horror yon 
 der off the hands of your government," and she pointed 
 derisively toward Fort Rozkavel, squatting unpoetical 
 and businesslike save for its frivolous coloring upon 
 its gorgeous base of red rock. "It is, to my belief, the 
 very loneliest spot in the whole world," she went on; 
 "but why a misguided Ministry should have seen fit to 
 bedaub it with shrimp - pink caramel passeth under 
 standing." 
 
 Olier burst into the first hearty laugh he had indulged 
 in for months. 
 
 "It does look like caramel," he admitted. "It s pre 
 cisely what it looks like." 
 
 59 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You may well say so. I can scarcely refrain from 
 running my tongue along the wall outside the windows 
 of my room sometimes, it glistens so appetizingly there. 
 Do you know, I think it is Socialistic varnish, meant to 
 please the masses a sugar-coated fort may be almost 
 acceptable even to the anti-militarists." 
 
 "But why didn t you have it scraped, then?" Olier 
 asked, still laughing. 
 
 "In order to remind me day by day that my dream is 
 still incomplete . . . the past dead and too many illusions 
 a mistake ..." She broke off abruptly, and fell into a fit 
 of abstraction so profound that he felt as if she had actually 
 left his side and he were once more alone with his gloomy 
 thoughts. "What a singular organization!" he mused, 
 watching the momentarily expressionless face, which, but 
 a moment ago, had glowed with enthusiasm. Now the 
 wonderful deep-blue eyes alone lived, and he read pain 
 there, and longing and infinite regret. Almost afraid 
 to move, he stood as still as she, wondering what would 
 come next; and when she turned to him and said 
 in her ordinary voice: "Come along; I ll show you the 
 inside of my Schlaraffenland house," he followed her 
 without a word. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Through wood or field I could but trace, 
 
 Though loved of yore the strand, 
 A mask, and not a living face; 
 
 I did not know my land. 
 
 Remembrance was a fountain sealed, 
 
 A hoard without a key; 
 In greeting low you spoke, and oh, 
 
 It was my land to me! 
 
 Return. M. M. 
 
 ANYTHING grimmer or more uninviting and prisonlike 
 than the outside of the little Fort, in spite of its fancy 
 tinting, it would have been hard to find. Blank and 
 sleek the ramparts rose for thirty feet to the level of the 
 square platform within, indicated by a row of empty 
 embrasures, yawning dismally like toothless mouths. 
 The tide was quite high now, and leaped musically around 
 the red-rock base, blotched with the living green of great 
 masses of samphire, and flecked with creamy foam. 
 
 "The entrance is not engaging," Lady Clanvowe stated, 
 pausing before the ponderous iron door that fitted into 
 the shiny wall like a cork in a bottle. "Discouraging, 
 eh? Nothing short of explosives could break it in. But 
 watch the marvellous workings of modern invention," 
 she concluded, pressing the tiny ivory button of an elec 
 tric bell that incongruously punctuated the solid arch 
 way. "Of course, this mode of summoning the guard is 
 absurd and tasteless, but I am essentially eclectic, and 
 
 61 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 when something seems convenient ..." The iron panel 
 rolling inward without a sound cut short the explanation, 
 and Olier, who had imagined himself beyond any further 
 surprise where she and her household were concerned, 
 stared in amazement at a tall turbaned Sikh salaaming 
 low within the narrow aperture, instead of the liveried 
 servant he had expected to see. 
 
 "This is Jwala-Singh," Lady Clanvowe said, preceding 
 her guest across the stone-paved inner court. " I brought 
 him back from India years ago as my personal body 
 guard, and a more loyal and faithful one none ever had. 
 He is a perfect treasure, never absent, and never in the 
 way; clever, honest, alert, and passably ornamental, as 
 you see." 
 
 " He looks like one of Barbedienne s enamelled bronzes," 
 Olier commented, glancing back at the picturesque fig 
 ure in cream and blue and silver bending over the com 
 plicated lock of the postern, and refastening it as care 
 fully as though the Fort was sustaining a siege. "But if 
 they meet him in the village he may get into trouble." 
 
 "Nonsense!" she exclaimed, incredulously. 
 
 "Not in the least. You have forgotten your Brittany, 
 Lady Clanvowe, if you believe that the good people here 
 abouts will accept him meekly. Last year they behaved 
 really shockingly to a Spahi who had come to visit a 
 Breton comrade on leave." 
 
 "Ah! but that must have been a Senegalian a negro." 
 
 "Co 1 or prejudices are a trifle wholesale here. Fortu 
 nately your superb attendant looks as if he could take 
 care of himself. Otherwise I would advise you to keep 
 him within the ramparts." 
 
 They had reached another grudging little postern open 
 ing directly into what had been the armory, where now 
 the stone walls were hidden beneath wonderful arras and 
 
 62 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the flagged floor by a heavy carpet of harmonious color. 
 There was not much furniture, but every single piece 
 was authentically, antiquely Breton, and carved from 
 that dark, lustrous pear wood which, oddly enough, is 
 apparently no longer used, and has therefore become 
 rarely precious. Masses of flowers filled every available 
 nook and corner, foxglove and fern mostly, mixed with 
 other blossoms quite undiscoverable upon that barren 
 coast. Yet the huge room was not feminine of aspect. 
 There were no knick-knacks, no beribboned cushions, no 
 frail footstools or airy trifles of any sort: only a few 
 trophies of arms disposed against the grave-hued tapestry 
 supplied a clear gleam of metal, and, marking the exact 
 centre, a bronze pedestal rose straight and slim, support 
 ing a beautiful model of an ancient war-frigate under full 
 spread of sail in massive silver. The row of small, high 
 windows had been widened by cutting into the enormous 
 ly thick masonry, until they now almost touched, form 
 ing a wide band of blue-and-amber light across the whole 
 length of the wall facing the sea, whose all-pervading 
 song filled the room with a melody that those two loved 
 beyond all others. 
 
 "You have worked wonders!" Olier exclaimed, looking 
 admiringly around. 
 
 "What merit is there in that," she said, simply, "when 
 money is no object at all?" 
 
 "A fortunate state." 
 
 "Yes and no. In my case, yes, perhaps, because my 
 money is free from the usual responsibilities of wealth. 
 Until two years ago I was almost a pauper in my own 
 right." She laughed, and continued: "My husband is 
 very rich in his; but the income of my tiny dowry barely 
 sufficed to pay my own personal expenses . . . which was 
 a mercy, for I have no patience with women who allow 
 
 63 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 even their legal owners to pay for their clothes it s de 
 grading." 
 
 She was sitting sidewise on the arm of a chair opposite 
 Olier and swinging her tiny russet-shod feet slowly to 
 and fro. "The question of befitting dresses used to be 
 a momentous one in those days, I can tell you," she ex 
 plained, "because it costs a lot when one is forced to go 
 out much. And then without rhyme or reason a relative 
 of Hubert s, an aged female Harpagon, surly, crabbed, 
 and disagreeable beyond description, left me her colossal 
 hoards, because, as she stated in her will, I had never 
 made any ingratiating attempts upon her, and to be used 
 for myself and myself alone. What do you think of 
 that?" 
 
 " Colossal hoards sounds good," Olier smiled. 
 
 "Oh, colossal is the word! That unamiable old lady, 
 who lived on bread and soup in two rooms of a ramshackle 
 house, seems to have spent her eighty allotted years in 
 piling up golden guineas and storing priceless gems." 
 
 "I congratulate you." 
 
 "Well," she said, speculatively, "in spite of what I 
 said just now, I have not yet quite made up my mind 
 whether it was lucky or unlucky for me to become so 
 unexpectedly one of the richest women in the world. 
 You see, there is that uncomfortable provision about the 
 money being applied to my sole use. Now, I cannot 
 wear cloth of silver fringed with fine pearls all day long, 
 can I? simplicity being a besetting sin with me! Nat 
 urally I do not take the clause too literally, and I give 
 away a great deal. But do what I will, my purse, like 
 the Wandering Jew s, can never be empty." 
 
 "You are not going to regret it?" Olier wondered. 
 
 "More or less, yes. Fancy what it is to feel so much 
 capital getting mouldy on one s hands. Hubert is such 
 
 6 4 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 a scrupulous animal that he absolutely refuses to apply 
 one sou of it to the estates; besides which, we have no 
 poor people near Clanvowe Hall or anywhere else on our 
 lands none at all, to speak of. The peasantry live 
 in rose - garlanded cottages which positively make one s 
 mouth water with envy. And as to financing organized 
 charities no, thank you!" 
 
 "You don t approve of organized charities?" 
 
 " Rather not. Vanity traps, to catch mere simpletons, 
 or socially ambitious persons who imagine that to have 
 their names published broadcast, opposite an imposing 
 row of figures, will open doors closed to them. It s a 
 sell whichever way you look at it. But you must be 
 wondering why I tell you all this. Truly, I have not 
 chattered so much in ten years." 
 
 "You should know how deeply I appreciate the favor 
 you do me. I think I am a very fortunate individual." 
 
 "Well," she said, absently, after a pause, "there is 
 something in that not about your being a favored or a 
 fortunate individual, of course, though I suppose that to 
 be made an exception of is to the exception s credit . . . 
 but, oh!" she suddenly exclaimed, sliding to her feet and 
 looking at him with shining eyes, "when one has kept 
 silent for so very, very long about the things one thinks 
 of most, it is delicious to be at last able to speak them 
 aloud to some one of one s own race and breed and kind 
 a real, stubborn, obstinate, self-contained dreamer of a 
 Breton like one s self. No, don t say anything; I am 
 not paying you much of a compliment this time, but I 
 seem to feel at home with you, and in absolute sympathy 
 of tastes and opinions and ideas, which is a great deal." 
 She had started to walk up and down in front of him, 
 and he did not even get up from his chair, convinced that 
 she was speaking more at than to him, and that any move 
 
 5 6 S 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 on his part might interrupt, if not actually check, this 
 spontaneous self-revelation of character. 
 
 "I wonder if I could make you understand," she was 
 saying, "how I have longed for Brittany? Why, not 
 once have I been able to go to sleep at night without 
 hypnotizing myself into the belief that those waves below 
 there were breaking beneath my windows. In some 
 parts of Ireland and Scotland, on the moors or the rocks, 
 I have tried to trick myself into believing that I was not 
 on the wrong side of the Channel; but even with closed 
 eyes, and with the smell of the kelp or the gorse and 
 heather in my nostrils to aid the illusion, I never suc 
 ceeded, because I missed that nameless something which 
 belongs here and nowhere else. Whether it dwells in the 
 air or not, I can t tell. Here I drink my fill of it every 
 second out of the twenty-four hours of each day. Even 
 the little pink - and - yellow shells on the beach are the 
 keenest pleasure to me. And now you come across my 
 path, and the mere fashion of your speech brings back 
 to me the feeling that I am once more Rouanez de Roz- 
 kavel, and not a useless mondaine playing a part for 
 which she is as utterly unfitted as a sand-lark to sing in 
 a cage. That is why I am treating you as a comrade, 
 why I, in the most unblushing manner, make a confidant 
 of you from the first, at the risk of your thinking, with 
 some shadow of reason, that I have not escaped the con 
 tagion of eccentricity during my long stay in England. 
 I have starved starved, I tell you; and I am feasting 
 now! Never mind, though; think what you please. It s 
 of no consequence, even if you do suppose me to be a lit 
 tle unbalanced. What matters?" 
 
 Olier s heart was beating queerly. "Lady Clan vo we," 
 he said, rising and standing before her, "I have never 
 regretted my native clumsiness so much as now, when I 
 
 66 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 would like to tell you how deeply touched and grateful I 
 am. I I can only ask you to accept all my my ut 
 most devotion and loyalty." 
 
 "You are a good boy, Olier de Frehel; I will do that 
 joyfully," she said, smiling up at him. "But you must 
 not mistake me for that despicable object, a femme in- 
 comprise. I have the best and dearest of husbands, a 
 brilliant and charming man, who has never given me a 
 moment s intentional worry or pain. The only differ 
 ence of opinion between us is that he likes society, and all 
 society means, while I don t. He would wish me to take 
 more pleasure in those things that interest him, and yet 
 he has never asked me to attend a single function that 
 he could spare me, and has allowed me to seclude myself 
 whenever it was at all possible to do so. Oh, I am not 
 easy or agreeable, as your father told me once at a court- 
 ball in Vienna: Vous n etes pas facile a contenter, chere 
 madame, car enfin ceci, c est superbe! I hear him now." 
 She paused, gave one of her characteristic little laughs, 
 and resumed: "He was a Breton of the Bretons, too, 
 your father, though not quite as much as you are. But 
 now let s have some tea. My throat is as dry as a lime 
 kiln, which proves that one is always punished for talking 
 too much. Please ring that bell near the chimney." 
 
 Olier obeyed, and then slowly came back to the broad 
 window-seat where she had momentarily poised herself. 
 His brain was in a maze a pleasant one to roam through, 
 but none the less puzzling or intricate for all that What 
 a captivating companion he had found! so singularly 
 generous and whole-hearted. He would have wished to 
 tell her so, but doubtless she would have accused him 
 again of flattery, and he was glad to see the door open 
 in answer to the bell, since the little interruption would 
 give him time to collect his thoughts. But, as he might 
 
 67 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 have guessed, it only offered a new riddle for his considera 
 tion, and, instead of merely glancing at the man who en 
 tered, he instinctively scrutinized him sharply. 
 
 Tall, thin, with beneath his steel-gray hair a face per 
 fectly immobile and cold, this black-clad attendant would 
 have made an admirable stage ambassador. Dignity 
 could surely be carried no further, and the impassive 
 expression with which he listened to his mistress s orders 
 was in itself a chef d ceuvre of training. At the green- 
 carpeted table of a ministerial council such a countenance 
 would have been fittingly surrounded. But in the trans 
 formed armory of a dismantled sea-fortress it seemed dis 
 tinctly incongruous, and struck Olier as the first metrical 
 fault of the Rozkavel poem. "What in the world did 
 she bring such a personage here for?" he asked himself. 
 And as at that instant the object of his wonder glided 
 away gliding he thought was the only word which could 
 express that silent, apparently weightless tread he was 
 on the point of putting the question to her, when, guessing 
 his thoughts, as she had already done once or twice, she 
 volunteered the explanation: 
 
 "He discords a little in the symphony, does he not?" 
 she said, with twinkling eyes. 
 
 "A little," Olier admitted. 
 
 "No, glaringly much more so than Jwala-Singh and 
 his turban, who are at least deliciously picturesque. But 
 Hubert positively venerates him, and thinks him the 
 only being capable of keeping me from breaking my neck 
 twenty times a day during his absence. I am bound to 
 say that all the virtues are embodied in Grafton but he 
 is oppressive. Still, since he is otherwise perfect, I sub 
 mit to his protecting airs, as it reassures Hubert." 
 
 "He reminded me of the Statue du Commandeur just 
 now," Olier ventured, repressing a smile. 
 
 68 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " Oh no ! The statue is a bit noisy compared to Graf ton. 
 Grafton is the very cream and essence of silence. I wish 
 he would smash something once in a while, or bump 
 against a piece of furniture ... to break the monotony, 
 if nothing else. But he evolutes with a machine-like 
 precision which precludes any such relief it is hopeless! 
 And now here he comes again," she finished, in a whisper, 
 as, followed by two footmen bearing a fully set tea-table 
 between them, Grafton drifted in, and stood over them 
 until the correct angle had been attained in the disposi 
 tion thereof, and a glance from Lady Clanvowe indicated 
 that his tutelary presence was no longer indispensable 
 to her comfort and happiness. 
 
 "Ouf!" she breathed, thankfully, as the heavy folds 
 of the portiere fell together after him and his satellites. 
 "The tea will taste nicer without him." 
 
 "That is sublimated tea," Olier declared, gazing ap 
 provingly at the frost-rimmed crystal cup, wherein the 
 iced and lemoned Golden Pekoe was served. 
 
 "Summer tea," she said, smiling. "Russian summer 
 tea, if you insist upon a title. But drink it quickly, for 
 I have yet to show you my dogs, my flowers, my familiars, 
 and, in one word, what we will call the kernel of this my 
 fortress." 
 
 The tour of inspection through that succession of rooms, 
 one more original than the other, was an unusual pleasure 
 to Olier, who at once became firm friends with Lady 
 Clanvowe s almost constant companions "Feal"* and 
 "Fubuen,"f a Royal Dane and a bull-terrier of excep 
 tional beauty. But he felt the greatest interest that day 
 in what she called her "den" a vast apartment widely 
 opened to the light of waves and sun by deep-embrasured 
 
 * Faithful. t Gnat. 
 
 69 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 windows, and which taught to him in half an hour more 
 about the true Rouanez than months of daily intercourse 
 could have done. Every object there seemed to have 
 an individual little voice to reveal her tastes, occupa 
 tions, and talents, and his perceptions were keenly alive 
 to each and every one of this concert of hints. 
 
 "You are very fond of sport," he said once, pausing 
 before a panoply of curious weapons. 
 
 "Of some kinds of sport, very," she answered. "But 
 I do not shoot at live targets, and neither hunt nor fish, 
 though I can never have enough of sailing, riding, swim 
 ming or walking, either if that is sport!" 
 
 He understood without further explanation, and si 
 lently added one more item to the already long tally of 
 her qualities. For, like most manly men, he abhorred the 
 woman who prides herself on possessing a "virile" vein 
 of cruelty, and struts "with the guns," greedy for the 
 blood of pretty wood and field creatures. 
 
 " You will like my little K s r 1 even better than this," 
 she said, suddenly interrupting his mental enumeration, 
 as they paused for a moment in one of the deep windows. 
 "That s my yacht, and as soon as she returns from her 
 present foraging expedition you ll have to give me your 
 naval-officer s opinion about her." 
 
 He drew a quick breath, and turned away rather 
 brusquely from her scrutinizing glance. What would 
 she say, he thought, with a sudden sinking of the heart, 
 if she knew how the mere mention of his profession 
 galled him she who seemed to hold honor and duty so 
 high? 
 
 "Poor old France," she said, softly, looking down the 
 jagged line of coast sweeping eastward to the Breton 
 frontier "poor old France. What a holocaust of splen 
 dors is going on there!" 
 
 70 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "What made you say that?" he exclaimed, almost 
 roughly, starting at the intonation of the words. 
 
 "You would think me unpleasantly meddlesome if I 
 were to tell you," she replied, calmly continuing to gaze 
 in the direction of the far-distant Loire-country. 
 
 " Yet you told me awhile ago that we were to be friends 
 and comrades." There was disappointment and a touch 
 of irritation in his tone. 
 
 "My poor boy," she said, dropping her hand for a sec 
 ond lightly on his sleeve, "did you imagine I supposed 
 you to feel comfortable beneath the unfolding flag of 
 anarchy ? The tricolor passe-encore, but that . . . ! I am 
 not utterly dense, and when I see a young and healthy 
 man, and a sailor at that passionately fond of his pro 
 fession apply for a year s leave to come and brood it 
 away alone, as you are doing, I am able to account for 
 that furrow between your eyebrows, which has no busi 
 ness there at your age, and also to guess the cause by the 
 signs." 
 
 His broad shoulder was turned toward her with sin 
 gular rudeness, some uninitiated observer might have 
 thought, yet she spoke on, in the ordinary manner of a 
 person discussing the current topics of the hour: "You 
 have evidently puzzled your brain past endurance in 
 trying to disentangle a hopelessly tangled problem. It 
 is no use, believe me. I could stand here and discuss 
 the subject with you for a year and get no further than 
 that. It is no use." 
 
 "Tell me, for God s sake, what I am to do, then," he 
 said, without turning toward her, "since you have divined 
 so much?" 
 
 "I cannot do that now," she said. 
 
 "Why not?" came in the same repressed voice. 
 
 "Because I do not know you well enough yet, and, of 
 
 7 1 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 course, have not thought it all sufficiently over. As it is, 
 I have not done badly, have I?" 
 
 " Will you be my conscience when you have done both 
 . . . will you help me?" 
 
 "I will do all I can to help you, but our consciences are, 
 I fear, too similar to work well in unison, unless we re 
 verse the proverb and hold that two affirmatives make a 
 negative, which does not sound very promising." 
 
 "You must think me strangely unconventional," he 
 said, after a short silence, turning at last and looking at 
 her with troubled eyes. 
 
 " No, I do not. I want you to say what you think to 
 me, to come and go here as you please, and to remember 
 that I was your mother s friend. By-the-way," she con 
 tinued, in a lighter manner, "I am going to call you 
 Olier. I never use empty formulae with those I like." 
 
 And presently he left her in the deep embrasure, with 
 her two dogs gravely sitting at her knee and the boister 
 ous breeze blowing her hair into little waves of silver 
 to stride off aimlessly along the edge of the lande. 
 
 On and on he walked, never once thinking of the miles 
 he left behind him, until the quickening dusk began to 
 mark the lateness of the hour. The sun had set some 
 time before, and huge copper-red columns of crinkled 
 cloud slanted up from below the horizon clear across a 
 sky of dull, dead turquoise, soft to the eye as purest velvet. 
 A low skeny, reaching far out into the sleepy sea, attracted 
 him, and, making his way to its utmost end, he sat down 
 on a flat, gray rock to watch the gorgeous West fade to 
 ashinc^s. One by one the stars appeared, and untiringly 
 he waited and watched them, following, perhaps for the 
 first time since childhood, the old Breton custom of tell 
 ing his beads upon those little twinkling worlds shining 
 above in the darkening azure. 
 
 72 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Up from the darkling cloud that lay above the wreck of Rome, 
 Flung forth to stormy centuries, a trail upon the foam 
 Of fire, there sprang a flashing Star, by deathless Fate s decrees 
 The Lode-Light of the living world, the glorious Fleur-de-Lys. 
 
 This in the wild Crusading roar shook out " Our God s command," 
 This lit with strength the ghastly track across the Syrian sand, 
 This wavered with the vulture-wings o er thousand battles won, 
 From Dorylaium s field of fame to leaguered Ascalon. 
 
 This bound the hero-brows that met the Moslem s victor powers, 
 This clad Du Guesclin s silent breast beneath the vanquished 
 
 towers, 
 This filled the gaze of frenzied throngs, that mad and madder 
 
 swayed 
 As sea-like thunders swelled to greet the banners of the Maid. 
 
 On high, on high, it flamed the sky, unbroken and unbowed, 
 And struggling oft from pale eclipse within a misty shroud, 
 Cast over wreckful Circumstance, to burning song and pen, 
 An endless mirror-path of steel for strong and knightly men! 
 
 And brightly bloomed a smiling land behind the warrior-shield, 
 The envious ages stood to mark the foison of her yield, 
 Order and Honor kept her gates, and Kingship held the keys, 
 But ne er a laggard sword to shame the sacred Fleur-de-Lys. 
 
 No force was then, my France, my France, thy will to bind or 
 break, 
 
 Then was no foreign menace made a coward mob to quake; 
 
 The banded nations whispered war, but how they cried for peace 
 
 When shimmering squadrons fiercely surged beneath the Fleur- 
 de-Lys! 
 
 73 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 And shall the Star be quenched for aye in clouds of base desires, 
 The folk imagine empty things and follow wandering fires ? 
 Sans Loyalty there is no Law, there is a faith that frees; 
 Down the red rag of Anarchy, God save the Fleur-de-Lys! 
 
 The Song of the Fleur-de-Lys. M. M. 
 
 "AND I hear, Miladi, that you think of remaining all 
 the summer in this dismal hole. Surely Trouville or 
 Etretat, or some other brilliant bathing - resort, would 
 have suited a lady of your consummate elegance better." 
 
 "There is no accounting for tastes especially British 
 tastes, Monsieur. We are credited with being all more 
 or less eccentric across the Channel, are we not?" 
 
 Even Senator Dulac s pachydermatous vanity had not 
 been quite proof against Lady Clanvowe s frosty polite 
 ness during the last quarter of an hour, for he was not a 
 stupid man, and he was beginning to regret having forced 
 himself upon her cherished privacy. At the beginning 
 of this thorny visit a vague sense of his audacity had 
 exaggerated his habitual pompousness into something 
 almost resembling patronage, but swift retribution was 
 now overtaking him, and he was instinctively lowering 
 his tone. 
 
 "Depend upon it, you will die of ennui here," he re 
 sumed, dangling exasperatingly the chain of his pince-nez 
 to keep himself in countenance. He never wore it, since 
 his small, keen eyes needed no such aid. "You are miles 
 from the nearest chateau, and you will soon find the place 
 untenable." 
 
 "I am never bored when I am alone," she said, coolly, 
 "which explains why I have taken Rozkavel. I had 
 hoped that it would be inaccessible to visitors." 
 
 The complexion of this shepherd of the people had long 
 since retired from business as a background for blushes, 
 and at this direct thrust he was fain to content himself 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 with moving uneasily in his chair as a relief to his feelings, 
 gazing fixedly the while at the tightly gloved sausages 
 which did him duty as fingers. 
 
 "She treats me like a sweep," he was thinking, "but 
 she won t drive me away till I have found out something 
 more about her." And aloud he said: "It cannot be 
 the first time you are in France, Miladi, for you speak 
 our language with a purity not to be acquired abroad." 
 
 "Oh, I have often been in France, but I thought we 
 were talking of Brittany." 
 
 "It s the same thing." 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 "How do you mean, Miladi? Surely you are aware 
 that we have erased all petty frontiers, and that our 
 great country is now one and indivisible." 
 
 "I know, as everybody else does, that you have tried 
 to do so," she explained, with a curious little ripple in 
 her voice. 
 
 "Permit me to correct this erroneous impression," the 
 Senator put in, straightening his bulky person with re 
 viving importance. "We have accomplished an unprece 
 dented change throughout our rebellious provinces." 
 
 "Not for the better, unfortunately," she calmly stated, 
 observing with pleasure his budding irritation. 
 
 "What!" he cried; "you do not think that the sub 
 duing of disaffected departments is praiseworthy ? Why, 
 we ve got these obstinate brutes here under such control 
 that I can report to the government with perfect truth 
 that the spirit of the inhabitant is satisfactory. Do you 
 call this nothing, Miladi?" She shrugged her shoulders, 
 and, goaded by the action, he started off again without 
 giving her a chance to answer his question in words. 
 
 "Their beastly patois is being eradicated, their idiotic 
 superstitions will soon be a thing of the past, and within 
 
 75 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 an easily computable time we will have succeeded in lev 
 elling all Brittany to our own " 
 
 "Flatness?" Lady Clanvowe suggested. 
 
 "Really, Miladi!" gasped the politician. 
 
 "Really!" she echoed, mockingly. "Oh no, not really, 
 perhaps only apparently, and even that it is permissible 
 to doubt. Moreover, if ever you should accomplish your 
 purpose, you will only be by so much the nearer to ruin 
 for yourselves and your country." 
 
 "In what way, pray?" 
 
 "In every possible one," she replied. "Had you, who 
 are at the head of affairs, troubled to use a little judg 
 ment and tact a very little, mind you you would have 
 seen at once that you are doing your best to break the 
 real backbone of France, with the usual crippling re 
 sult. Your short-sighted policy if one can ennoble 
 wild work of that description by so high-sounding a 
 name has overlooked the fact, patent to all intelligent 
 statesmen for there are still a few foreign ones that 
 Brittany, with a trifling amount of humoring, might have 
 been made to play the useful part in your none-too- 
 healthy system that a well-set-up backbone always does. 
 Now, however, you have antagonized your best province 
 since province you call it past all possible reconcilia 
 tion. The deliberate effort to destroy one of the oldest 
 and finest languages in Europe, which you graciously de 
 scribe as a patois, the blows dealt at the beautiful and 
 helpful faiths which are mere odious superstitions/ ac 
 cording to you, are your crowning mistakes. And let 
 me hope, for your sakes, that you may never discover 
 what the conquered race can prove to be, if it ever takes 
 the bit between its teeth." 
 
 The Senator had listened with open mouth to this con 
 fession of opinion, and, even when she ceased speaking, 
 
 76 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 remained for several seconds silent, visibly at a loss for 
 words an interval which Rouanez employed in picturing 
 to herself the amused smile with which her husband had 
 greeted similar lapses from true diplomatic poise in the past. 
 
 "You seem to have studied the question with surpris 
 ing assiduity, Miladi," the bewildered Dulac managed at 
 last to say. He knew little of the English, except that 
 they were an easy-going Protestant people, afflicted with 
 a sentimental liberalism which had made their country 
 the asylum par excellence of political criminals. Such 
 sentiments as she had just expressed were rarely audible 
 at his exalted height, but as an Anti-Catholic and " Lib 
 eral" he found them doubly astonishing in the mouth of 
 one of the Islanders. 
 
 "I have a natural inclination toward lost causes, even 
 when they in no wise concern me," she replied, with ap 
 parent flippancy. 
 
 "But," the other ventured, in a tone far more humble 
 than he had used until then, "don t you sometimes make 
 enemies for yourself?" 
 
 "All the time. It s one of my chief occupations." 
 
 "I suppose an aristocrat like you is above caring for 
 public opinion?" 
 
 "Oh, entirely. But so must you be, by-the-way, or else 
 your roughshod riding over popular feelings can scarcely 
 be accounted for." 
 
 "On the contrary, it is pure devotion to a great and 
 noble idea that actuates us, We seek by sure means to 
 instruct those who need instruction most." 
 
 Lady Clanvowe laughed outright. "Bravo, Monsieur 
 le Senateur!" she said, with exquisite mockery. "You 
 may end by believing what you say, if you say it often 
 enough. Only you had better double the blinkers you 
 have put over your eyes." 
 
 77 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "We see clearly enough for our purpose the havoc 
 your highfaluting patrician principles have worked," 
 he retorted, really angry now. "Sincerely, you cannot 
 claim that the nobles have played a pretty role in France, 
 especially since the Revolution." 
 
 "Since the Revolution? Most of them assuredly have 
 not," she calmly rejoined. 
 
 "Ha! You admit that?" 
 
 "Certainly. But it appears to me that you have heard 
 enough unpleasant truths for one sitting, and as I par 
 ticularly dislike offending any one under my roof-tree" 
 she glanced quizzically at the massive stone ceiling " I 
 think we had better stop now." 
 
 " Not by any means!" he hotly exclaimed. " For, once 
 that I am able to see the other side of the medal, I m not 
 going to be such a fool as to let you off like that. Fire 
 away! I want to know what those duffers say of us 
 outside France." 
 
 The elegance of his phraseology filled Lady Clanvowe 
 with such delight that she suddenly turned upon him 
 an almost amiable face. 
 
 "Of course," she said, repressing her amusement, "see 
 ing that I did not ask you here, I may argue that wider 
 latitude in outspokenness is allowed to me, and, since 
 you insist, I will avail myself of it. On one point 
 only I partially agree with you. The representatives of 
 France s old aristocracy have done little or nothing to 
 stem the muddy current of anarchy, because they were 
 and mostly are so desperately poor. Of the rest we can 
 make two heaps. The rallies 1 to the Napoleons or to 
 the Republic, who have in so doing lost all right to call 
 themselves nobles, and the unspeakable villains and de 
 generates who, by selling their ancient names and pros 
 tituting both blood and honor by degrading marriages, 
 
 78 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 have found a shorter and dirtier road to prosperity. 
 There are black sheep in every flock, and we needn t 
 talk of those " 
 
 "Who have bowed down befors the Golden Calf?" the 
 the Senator interrupted. 
 
 "No, the Brazen Serpent the original dollar-sign, by- 
 the-way to stay the plague of poverty; and those have 
 stooped so low that it is impossible for them ever to get 
 up again. You will argue, it goes without saying, that 
 there are some nobles left who are neither too poor nor 
 too dishonored to come forward in defence of their beliefs 
 and creeds. But these are not only hopelessly in the 
 minority, they have also allowed themselves to become 
 infected by the universal je m en fichisme of the age, and 
 this is why I would divide the responsibility for the ruin 
 that is fast overtaking France almost in halves between 
 them and you." 
 
 "You are severe to us." 
 
 "No, just which is terribly difficult in the face of 
 what one sees. You are making France the laughing 
 stock of Europe France, which was once the greatest 
 country of all and that must cause all decent people, what 
 ever their creed or nationality, to look askance at you." 
 
 "You hate and despise all republics, evidently." 
 
 "Not in the least. They are all admirable in the 
 abstract and I have even seen one or two in working 
 order. But what I do despise is unfairness of any sort, 
 and your particular Republic, that knows neither freedom 
 nor equity, is a mere farce." 
 
 "I am glad you are not French, Miladi," he said, look 
 ing for the first time straight at her. 
 
 "Why, please?" 
 
 "Simply because you might prove a dangerous mal 
 content and a too-con vincingly eloquent one." 
 
 79 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You overwhelm me!" she said, freezing up again 
 immediately. 
 
 "Not at all. Not at all," he protested, with an unctu 
 ous wave of one pearl-gray-kid hand. "You would, in 
 deed." 
 
 "Fortunately my being English must reassure you on 
 that point, and there is only one other to which I care to 
 draw your attention. I have come here, Monsieur le 
 Sewateur, to enjoy a well - earned rest, and I would be 
 obliged to you if you were kind enough to tell all those 
 who, like yourself, might conceive the gracious thought 
 of brightening my solitude, that under no circumstances 
 will I make any more exceptions, and that my doors are 
 shut for good." She rose, and, clumsily following her 
 example, the great Dulac, sadly diminished even in his 
 own magnificent esteem, stood for a second staring at her. 
 
 "No wonder we hate your class as we do!" he suddenly 
 said, in a burst of angry frankness. 
 
 "It s a pity you don t always speak like that," she ap 
 proved. " One could endure you so much more agreeably." 
 
 "That s altogether the most extraordinary woman I 
 ever met," Dulac commented, as, enthroned in his puffing, 
 reeking, forty - thousand-franc motor-car, he whirled in a 
 choking dust-cloud along the indifferently kept chausse e 
 toward the Brest road an emblem, had he but known it, 
 of modern civilization, which dashes on to the object of 
 the moment, childishly delighted with its own speed and 
 distributing dust and a bad smell. "I was a fool to 
 force her to receive me," he thought again, "and yet I 
 don t regret the experience. . . . Still, I d like to know why 
 she bought Rozkavel from us for she has bought, and 
 not rented it as she pretends. Ah, it s about time to 
 demolish what s left of those beastly aristocrats!" 
 
 80 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Le vilain bonhomme!" Lady Clanvowe was at that 
 very instant saying, aloud. " Pouah!" She threw some 
 powdered amber on a perfume - burner, opened every 
 single window in the room with hasty hands, and, snatch 
 ing up her sailor-cap, flew down to the beach to get away 
 from what she considered a " Dulacian atmosphere" as 
 speedily as possible. 
 
 During the past weeks she had lost much of her first 
 joy and enthusiasm at being once more on her native 
 soil. At every turn some new discovery wounded or 
 enraged her, and, pacing up and down the wet shingle, 
 as she had often done of late, she began to fret and worry 
 anew. Like Olier, she wondered whether nothing could 
 really be done before the hopeless words "too late" 
 stared Brittany in the face. Brittany had always been 
 the little handful of salt that leavened all France. But 
 the salt was melting fast, and, when it was gone, what 
 then? What were all right-minded people thinking of? 
 Laisser-faire, veulerie, a total want of energy and pride, 
 seemed to spread each day more and more among the 
 discouraged higher classes. 
 
 " Les ex-dirigeants" she muttered, pushing with the tip 
 of her foot a huge medusa, abandoned by the tide to 
 melt and shrivel in the sun. There was still a faint hint 
 of the vivid azure and deep rose-pink which frilled its 
 soft transparency when it floated like a great opalescent 
 bell "between two waters," and she asked herself whether 
 it could still be revived again. "It s a toss-up," she said 
 aloud, seized by a fancy for superstitious experiment that 
 often assailed her; and, promptly drawing on the leathern 
 gloves she always carried in her pocket for similar fishy 
 ventures, she lifted the drooping, trembling mass in both 
 hands, carefully avoiding to tear or damage it, and ran 
 across the rocks to a broad pool sunk in the sea-weed, 
 
 6 8l 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 beside which she knelt down to slide it in. For what 
 seemed to her a long time, the limp jelly remained inert ; 
 then, imperceptibly, it began to pulsate, and one by one 
 its dainty skirts spread out, expanding fold by fold, until 
 at last, gloriously tinted again and shining, the living 
 omen oscillated above the dusky bed of green Venus- 
 hair carpeting the pool. 
 
 "Not too late! Not too late!" Rouanez cried, jumping 
 up and clapping her hands together. " The next tide will 
 carry it back to its home again ; but its luck remains with 
 me!" And, inexplicably encouraged and comforted, she 
 went back to resume her quarter-decking on the shingle. 
 
 Extremely fair-minded in all things, Lady Clanvowe 
 was in the habit of debating with herself the questions 
 that interested her, consciously trying to consider them 
 from every point of view. Now Brittany and Brittany s 
 fortunes had been her chief preoccupation ever since she 
 had been old enough to form an opinion, but even her 
 most judicial attitude had been unable to render the idea 
 of a republic in connection with this old Celtic land other 
 than absurd. Time and usage, however, had begun to 
 dull the sense of this incongruity between the two, when 
 the former s persecution of the latter had revived and 
 sharpened it to a keenness never previously felt. Long 
 before er return from England, reports of the govern 
 ment s abuses of power abuses so continuous and varied 
 as to show that a systematic and aggressive oppression 
 was directed against the people of her race and kin 
 had roused her unforgiving anger. But now that she 
 was able to see for herself the lengths to which the author 
 ities were going, her fighting blood began to stir in good 
 earnest. 
 
 How could it be possible that all that was honorable 
 and true in France, regardless of birth and creed, did not 
 
 82 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 rise in indignant protest against such injustice committed 
 in the name of liberty ? After all, the questions involved 
 were not merely local, but of vital interest to the country 
 at large. The pressure bore heaviest upon Brittany only 
 because there the state of things which the party in 
 power sought to destroy found its pre-eminent example. 
 Protest, indeed, of a sort, was not lacking throughout the 
 land. Men of all classes, even those who by birth, edu 
 cation, and belief were diametrically opposed to the in 
 stinctive and hereditary Catholic Legitimists, denounced 
 the governmental lack of policy in unmeasured terms. 
 And yet nobody dared to act in open opposition. Wordy 
 bathos? Oh, there was a plethora of that; but action? 
 Even the famous Nationalist Party had merely contrived 
 to cover itself with ridicule whenever occasion presented. 
 
 "How long is it to be endured?" she asked of a sand 
 piper, who, startled by her voice, brought up on one 
 slim leg for a second, and then, with a contemptuous 
 shrug of his dark-pointed wings, resumed his erratic, tail- 
 jerking progression, without paying further attention to 
 this inquisitive human being. He might have been a 
 French Cabinet-Minister, for all the impression a sane 
 question produced upon him. 
 
 "Happy bird," thought Rouanez, as she wearily re 
 turned to her irksome musings, "who can enjoy life ac 
 cording to his own ideas!" There were so many people 
 in France now whose simple and harmless beliefs and 
 modes of existence were being assailed by intolerance 
 armed with power. 
 
 Eighteen thousand educational institutions of the Church 
 closed, the hospitals, both civil and military, deprived of 
 their admirable nursing sisterhoods, the wishes of the dead 
 coolly set at naught by the passing of the latest Devolu 
 tion Bill nothing less than legalized sacrilege and rob- 
 
 83 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 bery, that one crimes large and small against the inno 
 cent and the defenceless ! Even with an effort she could 
 not dismiss the long list from her mind, nor its black and 
 bitter import. France alone, for all that she cared, might 
 take the shortest road to complete marasmus, if fallen 
 France so desired; but what of poor little rock-strewn, 
 stout-hearted Brittany, then ? A shiver ran between her 
 shoulders. A people of peoples, so brave and loyal and 
 pure-minded and stanch her Bretons; difficult to turn 
 from the right path, but, when once led astray, worse than 
 the worst in their terrible violence and recklessness; grim 
 and unrelenting and hard as their own menhirs. They 
 had borne poverty and privation with uncomplaining 
 courage, and their faith and loyalty had remained un 
 shaken through countless trials and tribulations, but she 
 knew what would be the result of a long-continued course 
 of the present treatment, and that result was no pretty 
 one to contemplate. 
 
 For several days she had not seen Olier de Frehel. That 
 night he was to dine with her, and she suddenly made 
 up her mind to withdraw from his path the tacit barrier 
 which she had built up across the road to confidences. 
 She had wished to study him for a while before allowing 
 him to speak; but the need of a second opinion upon the 
 subject of her vexatious cogitations was making itself 
 so strongly fel that it decided her to provoke, if necessary, 
 a full revelation of his views. 
 
 With a lighter heart she paused to watch a flock of gulls 
 wheeling on lissome wings above the edge of the tide, and 
 presently followed them out along the already half-sub 
 merged chain of rocks, that stretches its bizarre length 
 from the shore to what has been known immemorially by 
 the curiously Arabic name of Le Tombeau d Almanzo? a 
 huge, gray stone not unlike some monument fashioned by 
 
 8 4 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 human hands. In a moment she had escaladed the steep 
 side of the great block, and was inhaling deeply the in 
 vigorating breeze, all laden with the scent of violets and 
 fresh brine, and bruised, stranded marine growths, which 
 is the particular savor of that coast. The sea was smooth 
 as a floor, and of a faint, pearly hue, striped near the in 
 distinguishable horizon by delicate breeze-marks and cloud 
 shadows into rich moire effects, so that a far-away steamer 
 with its plume of gray smoke seemed to be retreating, 
 hull-down, in the sky. For half an hour she scanned the 
 vast half-circle of water with expectant eyes, as the "Kes 
 trel" was due from another foraging expedition; but no 
 sign of the graceful white yacht was visible to its eager 
 captain, who vainly narrowed her keen eyes beneath her 
 hand to search the vagueness of the sea-rim, and finally, 
 with an impatient little sigh, swung herself down to the 
 rugged causeway and ran home to dress for dinner. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Safety or rest is none; the deep, expanding 
 Dark under beetling cloud, without a sail, 
 
 Blind, helpless power void of understanding, 
 Heaves at the fret of every passing gale. 
 
 Cry, then, "A Cliff to breast the Sea!" my brothers 
 "The King!" 
 
 The land is sick, beholding fevered visions 
 Of Greed and Envy hard to be endured, 
 
 And o er her trouble shout uncouth physicians 
 By worse infection shall the ill be cured. 
 
 Give us the Hand whose touch can heal, my brothers 
 The King! 
 
 Avaunt the "science" babblers make a trade of! 
 
 By weakling pens shall Want and War be banned? 
 States are not built on stuff that dreams are made of, 
 
 Nor is foundation in the shifting sand. 
 Pledge me the Corner-Stone true-laid, my brothers 
 The King! 
 
 Despoiled of strength, forgot their ancient chrism, 
 
 The storied towers are sinking day by day; 
 Then, ere the ruin reach the red abysm, 
 
 Rise! and with fiery thought beyond dismay, 
 Gripping the sword-hilt, cry to God, my brothers, 
 "The King!" 
 
 The King. M. M. 
 
 THE dinner was neither long nor elaborate, for Rouanez 
 always considered time spent at table a wicked waste, 
 and, although careful of the menu for her young guest s 
 sake, she gave far more attention to the beautiful sulphur- 
 
 86 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 colored carnations of the surtout than to the admirably 
 prepared dishes. 
 
 "Come to my den," she said, as soon as the dessert- 
 plates had been removed by the oppressive Grafton. 
 "It s pleasanter there for our coffee; besides which that 
 room is the only one here that can lay claim to something 
 resembling a balcony." 
 
 "This one is of your creation?" Olier asked, following 
 her upon the broad balustraded ledge which, with a su 
 preme contempt for difficulties, she had caused to be 
 bolted to the granite of the wall. 
 
 "Yes, naturally. Forts lack such conveniences, as a 
 rule," she replied, laughing. "And rightly so in more 
 senses than one, for my little architectural effort is not 
 exactly in keeping with the rest of this unadorned build 
 ing. But, such as it is, it happens to be immensely com 
 fortable. See how splendidly we can watch the moon- 
 rise from here." And she pointed to the strangely large 
 red orb slowly emerging from the sea, its dim defaced 
 human semblance seeming to bear an expression grim 
 and wicked rather than grotesque. 
 
 "Br . . . rr . . . rr! I have seen more cheerful evening 
 scenes," Olier remarked, glancing at the cold, black water 
 and the sardonic moon amid the half-encircling frame of 
 rocky shore. 
 
 "Won t you have a cigarette to warm you up, Lady 
 Clanvowe?" he added, holding out to her his open case. 
 
 "No, I don t feel like smoking just now," she said, 
 almost impatiently. "Please go and fetch my violin 
 from the table in there." 
 
 "Are you going to play for me at last?" he asked, de 
 lighted. 
 
 "Go and fetch my violin," she repeated. And, a little 
 surprised at her tone, he hastened back into the big room 
 
 8? 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 lit by heavily veiled lamps, in quest of the precious in 
 strument. 
 
 Without a word she took it from him, and without any 
 preliminary poses or attitudes instantly began to play, 
 her face turned almost completely away from him, one 
 knee resting on the low balustrade in an easy, familiar 
 attitude, utterly devoid of conventionality. Prepared as 
 he was by his former experience out there on the shingle, 
 he nevertheless felt a curious shock of all his nerves as 
 he listened to what at first seemed but another outburst 
 of impatience rhythmically expressed. But as the swift 
 staccato melody proceeded on its erratic way, emotions 
 and perceptions hitherto dormant awoke in him and 
 more than once made him catch his breath. 
 
 Somebody possessed of more judgment than simplicity 
 of expression has said that the voice of the violin is ideal 
 ized sorrow; forgetting, however, that this instrument, 
 which lies nearest the human heart, is supremely capable 
 of being made to render every feeling, even when, as was 
 just now the case, unsupported by any accompaniment 
 but that of wind and sea. Olier, at any rate, found no 
 flaw in its song as it flowed on and on, linking in effort 
 less mastery quaintly sweet Breton berceuses touch 
 ing little epitomes of ancient mother-loves to barbaric 
 Tzigan airs that found an echo in the fitful sea-breeze; 
 wonderful rhapsodies woven of heart-shaking hoof-beats, 
 trumpets far off, and the ring of steel; and snatches of 
 unknown entreaty, calling, calling onward, to something 
 high and noble and divine; until, brutally almost, with 
 one last, deep, stirring chord, as once before the whole 
 superb sound-phantasmagoria ended, and the wash of the 
 waves remained in sole possession of the vast night. 
 
 Leaning against the wall, Olier did not move or speak, 
 and, glancing at his white face, Lady Clanvowe thought, 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 anxiously, "Have I overdone it?" Then, in her coolest, 
 calmest manner, she said aloud, putting her violin down 
 on the ledge: 
 
 "Fortunately this mood does not often come upon me 
 when there is some one listening." 
 
 "I agree with you," came from Olier, in a dull, half- 
 awake sort of way, "unless you want to send people 
 crazy." 
 
 "Nonsense!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he corrected, straightening him 
 self and coming nearer to where she was standing. " Your 
 genius is of a dangerous sort. It twists the soul like a 
 rag, and turns the heart inside out." 
 
 "Your soul and your heart need not mind the process. 
 They are of the right kind. I have stolen a peep into 
 them, and I am satisfied of it," she added, more seri 
 ously. 
 
 " Both are sorely lacking in decision and courage, never 
 theless." 
 
 "So you believe. But you must allow me to differ." 
 
 "Only because you do not know the worst of me," he 
 said, almost sullenly. 
 
 "Well, supposing you sit here by my side and confess," 
 she suggested, pointing to a basket-chair near the one she 
 always occupied when on the balcony. "There s no time 
 like the present." 
 
 He obeyed, and, after a pause, without looking at her, 
 slowly began: 
 
 "For a long while, Lady Clan vo we, 1 have been ques 
 tioning the possibility of my remaining in the navy. 
 You guessed a part of my reasons, I know. But perhaps 
 even your extraordinary penetration has not divined 
 how hard it would be for me to abandon the sea." He 
 drew a short, sharp breath as his eyes rested for a second 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 on the moonglade raggedly dividing the endless proces 
 sion of foamless rollers. 
 
 "Perhaps I can do that, even," she said, gently; "but 
 please go on." 
 
 "The fact is," he resumed, still gazing away from her, 
 "that there are certain compromises nowadays demand 
 ed in the service that I cannot bring myself to accept. 
 Those concerning religious matters I might have put up 
 with, after a fashion. I make no secret of my ideas, and, 
 although perfectly aware that they stand in the path 
 of my future advancement, I think I could have succeed 
 ed in surmounting such obstacles as they present. But 
 there are other difficulties much more arduous. You are 
 acquainted, I understand from previous conversations, 
 with the spy system which, first in the army, and more 
 lately in the navy, has been wrecking career after career 
 and life after life. That is getting very much on my 
 nerves, more especially since, a year or so ago, it brought 
 to grief the captain of my ship a Breton like ourselves 
 and a man of sterling worth. Summoned to Paris, he 
 was ordered, in peremptory terms, to discontinue the 
 religious observances which, it had been reported, 
 shocked and disturbed his comrades those were the 
 terms employed; and knowing himself to be without 
 fortune, and too old to hope for success in any other 
 profession, he listened in silence. When, however, a 
 further demand was made for the non-attendance at 
 church of his young wife and his two little boys, he drew 
 his sword, broke it across his knee, and, setting the two 
 pieces on the official desk, left the room without further 
 parley. He is at present vegetating with his little family 
 in a fisherman s cottage not far from here. I don t think 
 they have altogether more than seven or eight hundred 
 francs a year to live upon. It s a heart-breaking thing 
 
 qo 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 to see." He paused, and, as she offered no comment, 
 he resumed, in the same monotonous way: 
 
 "You see, one must cringe and crawl or be broken. 
 This is the outcome of the ferocious Jacobinism of to 
 day. The Powers that Be cannot endure any sort of in 
 trinsic superiority in their subordinates. Wealth is the 
 only distinction they acknowledge, for money is sacred in 
 their eyes. An honored name, a title, are the blackest 
 marks against a man. What they really want is slaves 
 in every branch of the service. Why, even the liberal 
 professions are becoming impossible! The judiciary is 
 expected to stop at nothing, as has, I think, been suffi 
 ciently demonstrated by the case of the unfortunate Mar 
 quis de N , who, as you may remember, was kept 
 by his examining magistrate for two years in solitary 
 confinement, and barbarously sweated once a week at 
 least, before the Juge & Instruction was finally com 
 pelled to send him before a jury, which, as it was by 
 chance composed of honest men, acquitted him on the 
 spot." 
 
 " Being given that he is a Marquis, he can talk of luck," 
 interposed Rouanez. 
 
 "You may well say so. And yet a plain citizen, a 
 very worthy man indeed, whose only drawback in gov 
 ernmental eyes was that he had the manner and opinions 
 of a gentleman, was not long ago indicted for murder, on 
 patently manufactured evidence, and only after several 
 months of secret confinement was allowed to appear be 
 fore the tribunal; when the presiding judge, one of the 
 old school, publicl) r congratulated the investigating mag 
 istrate upon his having succeeded on this occasion in 
 breaking all previous records for asinine obstinacy and 
 wilful prejudice. Such arbitrary acts are of almost daily 
 commission. Their number is increasing by leaps and 
 
 91 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 bounds, and, honestly, one does not know any longer in 
 France where to turn for common justice." 
 
 " France is disintegrating," she assented. " No one could 
 have watched the process more carefully than I have 
 from afar off, it is true, but none the less constantly. 
 Since my arrival here, indignation has crowded out nearly 
 every other feeling I am capable of. But what can one 
 do except fret and fume?" 
 
 "A great deal, perhaps," he muttered so low, that she 
 guessed more than heard the words. 
 
 "Speak up! Tell me what you mean!" she exclaimed, 
 sitting suddenly bolt upright in her chair and fixing him 
 with imperious eyes. 
 
 "Wait a moment, Lady Clanvowe, I m coming to that 
 presently. Meanwhile, do you mind if I ask you a ques 
 tion?" 
 
 "Certainly not." 
 
 "Well, then, is it true that you received that worm- 
 eaten politician Dulac here to-day? Hanvec, my incor 
 rigible news-gatherer, told me so, but I refused to believe 
 him." 
 
 "He was well informed, as usual. Dulac did call upon 
 me forced his way in after a fashion because if I 
 hadn t been seized with a sudden curiosity about him 
 he wouldn t have got in at all. But thanks to the fact 
 that he is the new proprietor of Rozkavel 
 
 "Dulac has bought the Fort?" Olier asked, incredu 
 lously. 
 
 "No, no. The Castle of Rozkavel my old home." 
 
 "Good Heavens! Why didn t you buy it, Lady Clan 
 vowe? I didn t know it was in the market." 
 
 "Neither did I until too late, unfortunately, although 
 my agents have been on the lookout for a chance of pur 
 chase, year after year. I have never ceased to regret its 
 
 92 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 having been sold at my father s death in order to get to 
 gether a little dowry for me. My guardian was an ob 
 stinate man, who would not hear of delay in the matter, 
 and, since I was scarcely more than a child then, my en 
 treaties fell upon deaf ears. Alain de Morsan got it for a 
 song. His wife was a Meridionale, who hated Brittany, 
 and hastened to get rid of it the moment she became a 
 widow. Poteau, the rich manufacturer, was the next 
 purchaser, as you probably remember, and my husband 
 made him several offers through an agent, but he would 
 not sell at any price. Now, however, Poteau s daughter 
 has just married Dulac s son, it appears, and the wily 
 Senator, who is extremely anxious to obtain a footing 
 among his constituents, has paid a fancy price for the 
 estate." 
 
 Olier shrugged his shoulders angrily. Dulac as chate- 
 lain of Rozkavel will be a pretty sight to contemplate," 
 he grumbled. "Rozkavel the Cradle of the Rose* the 
 Royalist Rose! A fine place for that porker to wallow 
 in!" 
 
 "It can t be helped now," she said, quietly. "But tell 
 me, Olier, why you seemed so perturbed at Dulac s visit?" 
 
 "Because Dulac is a thoroughly bad man, and, in spite 
 of his heavy, coarse appearance and behavior, a singu 
 larly quick and shrewd one. Knowing him as I do, I 
 believe he came here for some purpose of his own, cer 
 tainly not from ordinary curiosity, or even snobbishness. 
 Poteau would have been quite another pair of sleeves. 
 He is a harmless old chap, proud of his wealth, reason 
 ably stingy and passably vulgar, but by no means a bad 
 fellow; whereas it is annoying to find that Dulac is in 
 terested in your presence at the Fort." 
 
 * The meaning of the Breton name Rozkavel. 
 93 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Perhaps," Rouanez suggested, "since he intends to 
 spend the summer a few short miles from here, and since 
 he is a married man, he only wishes to establish neigh 
 borly relations." 
 
 "I am not at all of that opinion," Olier said, decisively. 
 "Dulac is a beast, but, as I have just told you, a very 
 intelligent and wide-awake one, and even social ambition 
 of the most virulent sort would never induce him to com 
 mit such a betise as to bring you and Madame Dulac face 
 to face." 
 
 "What s the matter with Madame Dulac?" 
 
 "Oh, a whole lot. To begin with, she is said to have 
 been more than . . . lively ... in her young days; at any 
 rate, when Dulac, then a famished journalist annexed 
 her she was occupying an unequivocal position behind 
 the bar of a brasserie in Montmartre. They lived dis 
 honorably together for several years, she paying the 
 greater part of the expenses, and then, discovering that 
 her lover was getting rich, she bullied him into marrying 
 her, without drums, trumpets, or witnesses, except the 
 necessary legal ones. To-day the couple are millionaires 
 two or three times over, and the ex-barmaid gives herself 
 excruciating airs of virtue. She is if you will pardon 
 the roughness of the simile one of those self-made prudes 
 who would put trousers on a pair of sugar-tongs, and she 
 now exacts the most ferocious respect for the convenances 
 from all who approach her." 
 
 " Of course the zeal of the proselyte," Rouanez smiled. 
 
 "Exactly," Olier responded. "And my portrayal is 
 not in the least overdrawn. May luck preserve you from 
 ever convincing yourself of this with your own eyes. 
 Bales of false hair and cascades of real diamonds ; a 
 blotched, vicious face, thickly powdered and painted, a 
 voice like vinegar, only more so, and a shrewishness that 
 
 94 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 beggars all description. She is, I really believe, the 
 worse of the two." 
 
 "That seems difficult!" Lady Clanvowe protested. 
 
 "No, bad as he is, she has the advantage of being cal 
 lously cruel. It is she, for instance, who last year con 
 ceived the precious idea of importing American oysters 
 into Cancale in order to send them on to Paris as native 
 products, and sell them there at an enormous profit." 
 
 "Dear me! I think I read something about it at the 
 time. Wasn t there a row of sorts?" 
 
 "I should think so. The Cancalais boarded the first 
 oyster-laden vessel that entered their port, destroyed 
 four million shell-fish, thrashed captain and crew to a 
 jelly, and were only prevented from scuttling the ship 
 by the untimely advent of the gendarmes, who had a hot 
 time of it, too. That little venture cost Dulac something 
 over fifty thousand francs. It is refreshing to think that 
 if he tried it again, especially hereabouts, the bill would 
 probably be footed with blood." 
 
 "It would serve him right, the villain!" she cried, in 
 dignantly. "Imagine trying to ruin the wretched little 
 industries here! Haven t the poor devils suffered enough 
 from the failure of the sardines ? Oh, it is odious! Olier, 
 what can we do you and I to help them? Tell me 
 now, please, please!" 
 
 She had risen and began to pace the length of the bal 
 cony, her long, white train making a shining wake behind 
 her, and he let her pass and repass him several times be 
 fore answering her question. 
 
 "Why don t you tell me?" she demanded, irritably, 
 pausing at last and almost striking her hand upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "Because," he said, slowly, "I needed just those few 
 additional minutes to make sure of myself. Now my 
 
 95 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 mind is made up about a good many things. In the 
 first place, I am leaving the navy." His face was calm, 
 almost expressionless, but there was an unmistakable ring 
 of decision in his voice. 
 
 Bending quickly forward, she glanced scrutinizingly at 
 him. "You are quite certain?" she asked. 
 
 " Quite. I cannot run with the hare and hunt with the 
 hounds, nor, in strict loyalty, sympathize with and abet 
 Royalists and Catholics while serving the present style 
 of republic. That is clear to you, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes. But can you afford to abandon a career which, 
 if not brilliant in the monetary sense, is nevertheless ac 
 ceptable in that respect for a man of your simple tastes. 
 Forgive me, Olier, for my frankness, but it is well to 
 count the cost sometimes." 
 
 "Your frankness, like everything else coming from 
 you, is all kindness and consideration," he said, much 
 touched; but, interrupting him, she continued talking, 
 rather rapidly, and as though greatly troubled: 
 
 "You are quite, quite sure that it is not my harum- 
 scarum influence which has weighed with you in deciding ? 
 You see, it would be a terrible responsibility to assume, 
 and, although I am generally perfectly ready to face the 
 outcome of my words and actions, yet in this case 
 She broke off a little breathlessly, her delicate features 
 drawn with anxiety. Gently taking her hand, he raised 
 it to his lips. 
 
 "Your influence, dear Lady Clanvowe, is the best and 
 most wholesome one I have ever felt. Please do not vex 
 yourself with doubts as to the single-mindedness of my 
 resolve. It was inevitable, and I would have reached it 
 sooner or later in any case. That I did so now may be 
 indirectly laid at your door, perhaps, and for this I am 
 grateful to you, since the course I am adopting is the only 
 
 96 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 one for an honest man. Now, however, will you sit down 
 again and let me tell you something more concerning a 
 question you put to me awhile ago?" 
 
 Silently she did as he asked, and for more than three 
 hours the bright moon-rays shone on two faces that seemed 
 cast in the same mould of irrevocable resolve. 
 
 When at last he rose to go, he suddenly pointed to a 
 plain little golden fleur-de-lys clasping a spray of white 
 heather on the lace of her sleeve. 
 
 "Will you give me that?" he said, simply. "I think I 
 might carry the emblem again now." 
 
 "You can, indeed," she murmured, and with quick 
 ringers she snatched it off and fastened both flower and 
 badge to the lapel of his dress-coat. 
 
 "Ah. well!" she said, softly. "At least the gloom and 
 irresolution of the past are gone! Let Dulac have old 
 Rozkavel, Olier; perhaps you and I can make this the 
 true Cradle of the Rose!" 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Coral, red coral? No, tis not the bruited 
 Blood of the Depths: a weed-growth drifting free, 
 By the strong ground-swell after storm uprooted 
 From ledges under sea. 
 
 Though tint for tint without a shade at issue, 
 And branch for branch in form and measure true, 
 It images that rare Caprsean tissue 
 Framed in the stainless blue. 
 
 A quaint duplicity, but perhaps another 
 May show, sweetheart, before the eyes that mark. 
 What will you liken to this wandering brother 
 Of all the soundless dark? 
 
 The floating Flower of Sleep, along the edges 
 Of shoreward waves; its dreaded Twin of Stone 
 Deep-drowned and silent as Lethean sedges 
 Where never wind is blown? 
 
 Our Life that is, too restless for enjoying, 
 Fearful of all, forgetful of the slime 
 Strewn with those other selves, beyond destroying, 
 Lodged in the bones of Time ? 
 
 No, to a dearer thought my choice is lessened, 
 One only gloss to which your heed I crave; 
 Song, though a flower slight and evanescent, 
 Rideth no shallow wave. 
 
 Up from the deeps that know her silent session 
 She lifts to ocean-music heaving slow, 
 To reach your feet, the poor and frail expression 
 Of all that dwells below. 
 
 The Red Coral-weed. M. M. 
 98 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 LIFE at and about Fort Rozkavel continued to go on 
 in its usual placid and uneventful way at least, to all out 
 ward seeming. But deep beneath the calm surface there 
 were significant quiverings, like those in water when it 
 has almost reached the boiling-point. 
 
 A terrible storm had swept along the coast a few days 
 after Rouanez and Olier s long conversation, leaving in 
 its track more than one ruined corn-field behind the 
 dunes, and an increased weight of anxiety in many a 
 heart, for the wheat and oats and rye of that region are 
 famous, and sell at comparatively high prices. But the 
 farmers were determined to recoup themselves a little in 
 the only way possible by gathering from the beach the 
 immense quantities of sea-weed wrenched by the waves 
 from the rocks and skerries along the shore, thus aug 
 menting the always insufficient provision that can be 
 made on the one day annually allowed by the government 
 for harvesting the living growth, which is strictly pre 
 served during the remainder of the year. 
 
 The sea was still in a wallowing confusion, the water 
 rising and falling in drunken-looking billows that top 
 pled thunderously over the reefs and crushed themselves 
 out into spreading sheets of yellow foam; but to such 
 dangers the coast population is hereditarily indifferent, 
 and the spectacle presented by the stretch of stone and 
 shingle abandoned by one of the highest tides of the sea 
 son filled Lady Clanvowe with delight, as, clad in her 
 bathing - suit, she stepped upon the Fort - glacis at four 
 o clock the morning after the storm. The whole space 
 was black with people armed for the fray with sharp 
 tridents, the women with their heavy belinge petticoats 
 kilted high from their bare legs with broad bands of 
 cloth, and red or blue kerchiefs tied closely over their 
 coiffes to preserve their whiteness from disaster; the men 
 
 99 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 wearing for the occasion for it was singularly raw 
 the winter hood of greenish - blue swan-skin, no longer 
 encountered in other parts of Brittany, which, closely 
 fitting over the head and lower portion of the face, like 
 a knightly camail, gave these gaunt giants a striking 
 resemblance to the war-chiefs of feudal days. An inter 
 minable file of side-rack carts was ranged at the edge of 
 the splashy stretches where the brown kelp -fleeces lay 
 the thickest, and from everywhere resounded like a bat 
 tle-cry the "D ar bezin! . . . D ar bezin!"* of the har 
 vesters. 
 
 Bending far out over the parapet, Lady Clanvowe, 
 completely fascinated, watched the concerted rush of the 
 multitude, bent upon profiting by this lucky chance to 
 "do the government" as they joyfully called it out 
 of as much bezin glaz"\ as they could manage to tear up 
 before the jealous sea galloped them off its borders. The 
 other weed, the wreckage of the storm, already lying 
 crushed and bruised in mountains at the foot of the cliffs, 
 was for the present merely their pretext for appropriat 
 ing something of much greater value the fresh, living 
 product and they took it brutally, fiercely, floundering 
 waist-deep into the wash of every receding wave, indif 
 ferent to the risk of being swallowed up by some hole or 
 crevice, and storming every new position as if a personal 
 enemy had been intrenched behind each successively 
 emerging rock. 
 
 Carried away by her growing enthusiasm, Lady Clan 
 vowe ran down to mix with the toilers. Her secret had 
 been well guarded as far as the outside world went the 
 outside world meaning here all that was not strictly Bre 
 ton but among themselves the word had been passed 
 
 * " Au goemon" " To the weed!" 
 t Green, or live, goemon. 
 100 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 that "Kountez Rouanez" had returned, and as soon as 
 she appeared a loud hurrah greeted her. 
 
 "Come along, Itron!* Help us chase away that ruf 
 fianly sea who s keeping us from our own!" they cried, 
 thrusting her forward with a willingness to make her 
 head the fighting-line that came naturally to them, since 
 their nobles had always been in the van since the begin 
 ning of time; and, laughingly entering into the spirit of 
 the thing, she splashed her way to the front of the Roz- 
 kavel clan no longer the great lady who created a sen 
 sation wherever she showed herself sparkling from head 
 to foot with the Clanvowe diamonds, but almost again 
 the same little Rouanez de Rozkavel who had been the 
 life and joy of similar bygone raids. 
 
 " Ai ta! Ai to/"f she called out, running at full speed 
 after a viciously back-spouting wave, spitting and slaver 
 ing all over her, with the shouting crew at her heels. 
 From beneath her down - jammed sailor - cap one long 
 braid had escaped, and was floating behind her like a silver 
 streamer, but her rosy, wind-beaten face was that of the 
 Vamezel of long ago, and her blue eyes sparkled with fun. 
 
 Old Hanvec, standing on a near-by point of rock, 
 chuckled as he followed her inimitably graceful onward 
 rush. " Here s the leader they are braying for!" he cried, 
 in sudden enlightenment. "The last one left of the old 
 blood. Ah, Gwa!% What a pity she isn t a man!" 
 
 "She s worth twenty!" a gruff voice said at his feet, 
 and, looking down in surprise, he saw Guenek, an ex- 
 farmer of the Marquis de Rozkavel, who had stopped a 
 moment to readjust his load of kelp. 
 
 "She is," Hanvec admitted. "But who s to tell her 
 so and ask her to help us? They do say she s rich as a 
 
 * Lady. f En avant. % Malheur. 
 
 IOI 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 queen, and, if she wanted to, we d soon be provided with 
 what we lack to tumble their strumpet of a republic into 
 the ditch." 
 
 "Why don t you get your young master to do that?" 
 the metayer demanded. "He is the only person she al 
 lows inside her gate. Why don t you?" 
 
 "He d soon send me to the rightabout," Olier s old 
 retainer replied. "I tried to approach him a while ago 
 about something like it, and you should have seen his 
 scowl, Pere Guene"k it was worth the price of entry." 
 
 "Bah! Try again. In his heart he is with us. Gue- 
 madeuc told me so before leaving for his new post. But 
 here I am gossiping instead of working. King, Presi 
 dent, or Devil, we must have kelp!" And, hitching his 
 ungainly burden higher upon his shoulders, the worthy 
 man turned and strode away without another word. 
 
 "He is right," Hanvec commented to himself. "Our 
 Count could perhaps make her help us. But I m not going 
 to risk being sworn at again. Supposing I asked her 
 myself? She couldn t eat me up." 
 
 For a little while longer he pondered, nodding his 
 gray head and shifting from one leg to the other like a 
 melancholy heron, and looking vaguely like one, too, with 
 his gaunt figure and stooping shoulders, perched on his 
 rock above the half-flooded tidal flat. During the last 
 weeks he had heard much, and stored in his inexorable 
 memory fact over fact of a decisive nature, and he knew 
 well enough that if he could impart some of this knowledge 
 to a personage able perhaps willing to act, it would 
 weigh heavily in the balance. 
 
 "I ll risk it," he said aloud again, and, instantly de 
 scending from his observation post, he moved in the di 
 rection of the group, taking a short breathing-spell be 
 low the Fort talus. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The sun, a great crimson ball, half-swathed in angry 
 whorls of purple storm-cloud, had but lately peeped 
 above the rocking ocean-rim. But there was no time 
 to waste, for the tide would soon begin to turn, and 
 before he could reach them the line of harvesters with a 
 wild hurrah went plunging in again. 
 
 "Confound them and their hurry!" he grumbled, sitting 
 down on a bowlder and pulling his short wooden pipe 
 from his pocket. "I d have liked to speak to one or two 
 of those who live farthest inland. It will mean a fine 
 long tramp to go and seek them out. But where s the 
 use trying to get hold of such lunatics?" he concluded, 
 carefully sheltering the weak, blue flame of a malo 
 dorous sulphur match in the hollow of his hand. "She, 
 too," he growled on, "risking her good health in that 
 cold water! Is there any sense in that? Every day, 
 all day and damn the weather she s in and out 
 of it. Should she fall sick now, we d be in a fine 
 plight." 
 
 Evidently the changes of the years did not weigh upon 
 Hanvec s sanguine spirit. He scarcely had a doubt as 
 to the success of his self-imposed mission. She could 
 give but one reply. The daughter of the Rozkavels be 
 longed to her people, he felt, overlooking with sublime 
 indifference such trifling matters as marriage-ties and 
 altered nationalities; and, considering these things, his 
 customary philosophy was rudely shaken by her reckless 
 behavior. Presently he quite lost sight of her, and the 
 mere idea that she could be so foolish as to go and drown 
 herself before his chance of enlisting her sympathies had 
 come made him fidgety. 
 
 "He! Jouan!" he called out to a broad-shouldered lad 
 backing his newly filled ox-cart up the slope. "What s 
 become of the Itron?" 
 
 103 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The young fellow s white teeth gleamed in a broad 
 smile of amusement. 
 
 "She s away beyond the reef, taking headers in the 
 breakers, and riding in upon them!" he shouted back. 
 "She s a daring one with the water, she is!" 
 
 "But, sacred name of a pig!" Hanvec cried, rising with 
 surprising alacrity and walking quickly toward the cart, 
 "somebody should fetch her home! She ll be carried 
 off! The sea s treacherous as Judas Iscariot after a high 
 tide like yesterday s. What are you all thinking of?" 
 
 Jouan stared at the irritable old gardener. 
 
 "What ails yourself?" he asked, in astonishment. 
 "Are you her guardian now, that you bristle up like that? 
 Surely she s of age, and knows what she s about." 
 
 "She doesn t," Hanvec asserted, "else she wouldn t 
 be going on like this. Here, boy," he added, "I ll mind 
 your caleche and pair, and give you a pipe of tobacco 
 into the bargain, if you ll go and watch her a bit. You re 
 the best swimmer in five villages." 
 
 "Well, I m damned!" the lad exclaimed. "You re not 
 going dotty, old one, are you?" 
 
 "Shut your noise and do as I tell you!" Hanvec or 
 dered, with sudden authority. "I have my reasons. Go 
 now!" 
 
 To refuse obedience when graybeards speak is still a 
 very serious misdeed in Brittany. Still, poor Jouan hes 
 itated. He did not fancy missing the opportunity of 
 hauling in another load of the precious weed. But Han 
 vec was not, as a rule, a man to be trifled with, and, be 
 sides, derived much dignity and importance from his 
 privileged position with Olier. 
 
 "I must go if you say so, of course," he said, sullenly. 
 "But she ll pick me up nicely for interfering with her. 
 It s an impertinence you want me to be doing, that s 
 
 104 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 what it is. And like as not she ll slap my jaw for an in 
 solent pup.* 
 
 "Let her; what matters?" was the growling rejoinder. 
 
 "Much obliged, my lord gardener. You re a good 
 plucked one where another man has to face the music." 
 
 "Enough!" Hanvec thundered. "Are you going, you 
 ill-mannered, offensive, white-livered sand-louse! Must 
 I help you on with my oak-leather slipper, or offer you 
 my arm to lean upon?" His wrinkled face suddenly 
 became malignant as he drew himself to his full height 
 and towered over the tall youth. 
 
 "One s off ... one s off!" Jouan hastily acquiesced. 
 " You re peppery for your age, godfather! * And, avoid 
 ing the old man s uplifted arm, he turned to go. 
 
 At that moment, however, a dripping little figure raced 
 up the slippery slope, carrying an armful of those beauti 
 ful algse, looking so wonderfully like soft, pink coral, that 
 are sometimes washed from the bottom of the sea by a 
 deep ground-swell. 
 
 Two sighs of profound relief greeted her appearance, 
 and as she passed them, still at a run, with a quickly 
 thrown "good-morning," the old man and the young one 
 exchanged a glance. 
 
 "There!" Jouan mocked. "There s your baby that 
 I was to go and watch over! She doesn t look as if she 
 wanted much help, does she?" 
 
 "Oh, get along!" Hanvec retorted, " How do you know 
 she hasn t caught her death of cold, you slow-brain?" 
 
 Apparently convinced that his "godfather" had sud 
 denly fallen into dotage, the gars shrugged his shoulders, 
 spat in his hands, and, seizing hold once more of his 
 long ox-goad, returned to his job without one glance at 
 
 * A title often given by young people to their elders. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the gaunt shape of the gardener, already ascending the 
 talus in Rouanez s wake. 
 
 "Is it possible to say two words to your lady?" Han- 
 vec demanded a few minutes later of the servant whom, 
 oblivious of electric bells, he had summoned by a fearful 
 thundering on the iron door. The man, a tall, blond, blue- 
 eyed Saxon, gazed at the tall, blue -eyed, gray -haired 
 Celt with instinctive hostility and the offensive hauteur 
 of flunkeydom. He spoke neither French nor Breton, 
 and, scanning the humble working-attire of the intruder, 
 was already turning to reclose the postern-door in his 
 face, when the latter, coolly setting his back against it, 
 repeated his question in the loud voice which most people 
 seem to think will assist a foreigner s comprehension of 
 an unknown tongue; and eye and head reinforced well a 
 distinct flavor of command. 
 
 "Well! Of hall the himpudence and haudacity!" the 
 footman exclaimed, measuring the native s wiry frame 
 and broad shoulders. "Get out of it, you eathen!" 
 
 Hanvec wasn t one to "get out of it," even had he 
 understood the order, and matters were assuming a seri 
 ous aspect when Jwala -Singh, who had seen the en 
 counter from the other side of the yard, came opportunely 
 between the two angry men. 
 
 "Let him come in," he said, in his soft, flexible voice. 
 "My lady does not want these to be turned away." 
 
 The footman scowled, but drew off, unwilling to dis 
 pute the Sikh s authority, since Jwala-Singh, his mistress s 
 personal attendant, had never been known to make a 
 mistake. Meanwhile, Hanvec was taking stock of the 
 picturesque mediator. He had served in the navy in 
 his distant youth, and a dusky countenance was no nov 
 elty to him, while the rich costume appealed to his Bre 
 ton eye for gorgeous color. 
 
 106 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Come," Jwala-Singh said, with a courteous gesture 
 of unmistakable welcome, and Hanvec, disdaining to so 
 much as glance at the discomfited footman, followed his 
 brilliant guide, who, judging further parley useless, ush 
 ered him into a sort of waiting-room, indicated a chair, 
 and left him to contemplate the granite walls at his 
 leisure. 
 
 In a very short while he was there again, silent as ever, 
 to lead him along a bewildering labyrinth of inner pas 
 sages to the "den," where Lady Clanvowe, wrapped in 
 a loose, white cashmere dressing-gown, her astonishing 
 tresses falling like a silver cascade almost to her feet, was 
 breakfasting from a tray in the sunny window -seat. 
 She did not speak until Jwala-Singh had vanished like a 
 shadow beneath the portiere; then, smiling up at her 
 venerable visitor, she asked him in Breton to be seated. 
 
 "Not in your presence, Itron," Hanvec deprecated, 
 standing straight and proud midw.iy between door and 
 window. 
 
 "Please do!" Rouanez persisted. "We can talk better 
 so," and, without more ado, the newsmonger of Kremarze 
 took possession of an escabeau, which he fetched from a 
 far corner rather than accept the comfortable arm-chair 
 to which she had motioned him. 
 
 "Aren t you one of the Frehel men?" she asked, put 
 ting down her cup. 
 
 "Yes, Itron. I have been gardener at Kremarze ever 
 since I came back from the service, many years ago." 
 
 "That was after my father s death?" she inquired, 
 watching him from under her long lashes, curious to find 
 out whether he, too, knew who she really was. 
 
 "Yes, Itron; which is why I only remind you from 
 your likeness to Madame la Marquise that was. You re 
 the very spit of her," he admiringly concluded. 
 
 107 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "And tell me, my friend," she returned, repressing a 
 smile, "have you come on an errand from Monsieur 
 Olier?" 
 
 Hanvec gazed into the depths of his red-knitted cap 
 for a moment, turned the bright object slowly inside out, 
 like a stocking, and coughed. 
 
 " No, Itron, no !" he declared at last. "And, to be honest, 
 I d sooner not have the master know that I have made so 
 bold. I ve come on an errand, it s true, but not his." 
 
 "Ah!" she said, bending over the little silver tea-pot 
 as if wholly taken up with an investigation of its contents. 
 "Ah!" 
 
 "And," Hanvec continued, mastering an unusual em 
 barrassment, "that s just the rub. I m afraid to tell 
 what it is." 
 
 Rouanez looked up and fixed her dark-blue eyes upon 
 him. "That s not as it should be between old Bretons 
 like us two," she quietly put in. 
 
 The wrinkled, troubled face smoothed suddenly and 
 grew beautifully calm and hopeful. 
 
 "You haven t disremembered the Rozkavel ways, 
 Itron," he said, with a gleam of triumphant gratification. 
 
 "Do we ever forget?" she asked, simply. 
 
 "No, sacred-good-blood! No! And, being as it is, I 
 can speak out, after all. You ll not mind what I ve got 
 to say, even if you don t take up with it." He passed 
 the back of his hand twice across his mouth, shifted on 
 his inhospitable seat, and glanced first over one shoulder 
 and then over the other at the corners of the huge room. 
 
 "Can we be overheard?" he whispered, bending toward 
 her. 
 
 "No," she reassured him, "certainly not. And, more 
 over, we two alone here speak and understand Breton. 
 Go ahead." 
 
 1 08 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 Abeam, abeam, abreast the gleam of sullen-sinking day, 
 Ghostlike, a shadow glimpsed and gone behind the sleeting spray, 
 Our island lies, a grimmer guise than haven yet hath worn, 
 A blotch of Night, a loathlier sight than ere the world was born. 
 
 Her ploughing skerries lift the wave to smite the viewless verge, 
 Her strangled sea-caves gulp and roar disgorging to the surge, 
 Her headlands tear the racing rack, and beastlike in their den 
 With cracking jowl the bowlders growl to grip the bones of men. 
 
 Bear up! bear up! the gunnel s low to scur the leeward spume, 
 And Darkness driveth down to bid the sea-smoke writhe and fume; 
 Hark! down the corridors of fog the blasting squalls do blow 
 Boom, boom, the bellowing cliffs defy their everlasting foe! 
 
 Ahead, ahead, the breakers spread a monstrous moony-white, 
 A phantom flame that pallor came to beacon all the night; 
 Through, through we go one gasping throe, and in the reef are we, 
 For drowned souls that ever tolls the bourdon of the sea. 
 
 A lantern close beside the surf, another far and high, 
 A lane in line betwixt the crags that thunder as we fly, 
 And, lo, th eternal walls are cleft, and into blackness blind, 
 We jam her through the champing jaws with half the deep be 
 hind. 
 
 There s lace, and knives, and Yankee weed, and English cloth to 
 
 wear, 
 
 As lightly flung as e er was swung the foam of Finisterre; 
 And many a gars from Er to Groix, and maid of Monts d Arre e 
 Shall bless the sail that dared the gale and beat the Douaniers. 
 
 The Fraudeurs. M. M. 
 
 GRAFTON was not pleased. Born at Clanvowe, and in 
 the employ of the Clanvowes since at the age of eight 
 
 109 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 he had been intrusted with the cares of knife-cleaning in 
 the manorial pantry, he considered himself part of the 
 family dignity and pomp and by no means the most 
 negligible part, either. So profound, indeed, was the opin 
 ion he held of his own value and importance that Sir 
 Hubert alone, though even he was still and would always 
 remain to him "the young master," ever ventured to op 
 pose or chide him. 
 
 From these circumstances sprang Grafton s defects, 
 similar to those sometimes observable in other human in 
 stitutions of long and unquestioned standing. He was 
 meddlesome, he was officious and authoritative and ob 
 stinate to an incredible degree, but, since undeniable virtues 
 remained as a counterpoise to these vices, the mere idea 
 of pensioning him off had never entered anybody s head- 
 It was he who had suggested with deferential cleverness 
 that he should accompany her ladyship to Brittany, "in 
 order," as he had told Sir Hubert, "to relieve her of all 
 the troubles and cares of a foreign sojourn." And fully 
 aware that no one else on earth could be so efficient in the 
 organization and stewardship of her establishment, the 
 just then somewhat worried diplomat thought that this 
 seemed the best possible plan. 
 
 Sir Hubert and his lovely wife had never been separated 
 for any great length of time, and it was not without 
 qualms that he contemplated an enforcedly protracted 
 absence; for although he knew how well she was qualified 
 to take care of herself under all circumstances, she was 
 so infinitely precious to him that his ordinary impassi 
 bility was not proof against haunting anxiety, that curse 
 of all true affection. 
 
 "You will watch over Lady Clanvowe, Grafton," he 
 had said, at the last. "She is so unselfish that she never 
 considers herself at all." And the "Yes, Sir Hubert, I 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 will watch," constituted for both a solemn engagement 
 to try to prevent if possible that Lady Clanvowe should 
 drown herself, break her bones, starve herself by for 
 getting the hours of meals, or otherwise damage her ex 
 quisite, impulsive little person. Further those two Brit 
 ish minds did not soar at the time. 
 
 Since the arrival at Rozkavel, however, Grafton s ideas 
 on the subject had been widening painfully. To begin 
 with, he found himself in the position of a hen attempt 
 ing from the bank to follow up the adventures of a duck 
 ling in forbidden waters, since to continue the simile 
 beyond the safe standing - ground of Rozkavel Fort lay 
 an element utterly unknown to him namely, Brittany. 
 Language, customs, people, manners, all were equally 
 strange, and he included all in a heartfelt and sweeping 
 hatred. He had sojourned with his master and mistress 
 in most parts of Continental Europe, and had even ac 
 companied them to Asia and America, but no other 
 country had aroused his insular prejudices or inspired 
 him with distrust and apprehension to the same degree. 
 
 " Her ladyship s just like a colt let loose in the pad 
 dock after a rainy week in the stable," he thought to him 
 self. "She s not the same at all." And he turned ma 
 levolent ears and eyes upon all who approached her all 
 excepting Olier de Frehel, for, as he reflected, eagerly 
 grasping at this small crumb of comfort, "he s a respect 
 able young man, at least, and his dress-coat was cut in 
 London, I d swear!" It would require some forceful 
 combination of circumstances to convince him that daily 
 intercourse between his beautiful mistress and so very 
 good-looking a youth could so much as cause local gos 
 sip. Lady Clanvowe of Clanvowe Hall and Grassmere 
 Castle was above such things. Besides, to do him justice, 
 he knew and respected her far too much to connect the 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 mildest sort of flirtation with a woman of her rare and 
 refined type. 
 
 On all accounts save this one poor Graf ton s days and 
 nights were loaded with carking care. If it had always 
 been irksome to Lady Clanvowe to be watched over and 
 followed about, now she looked absolutely resentful when 
 he approached her with a coat or a scarf during her night 
 ly promenades along the Fort glacis; and once when he 
 had condescended so far as actually to implore her not to 
 swim out beyond the breakers unaccompanied by a boat, 
 she had come perilously near telling him to mind his busi 
 ness. Of course, she had not said so ; but the flash of those 
 deceptive eyes, that were never two minutes alike, had 
 spoken for her, and he had made for him a precipitate 
 and almost undignified retreat. What could the wretched 
 man do? Sir Hubert was now entirely beyond reach, 
 and Jwala-Singh, instead of siding with his colleague, saw 
 only with Lady Clanvowe s eyes, and would have calmly 
 preceded her down the crater of a volcano had she bidden 
 him do so. It was enough to make a devoted major- 
 domo tear out his hair in handfuls to find himself so help 
 less, but, fortunately, Grafton s gray locks were getting 
 too thin to allow of undue wastefulness, and he perforce 
 abstained. 
 
 "If her ladyship," he ventured to Olier (who spoke 
 perfect English), while helping him out of his light sum 
 mer overcoat one night "if her ladyship should happen 
 to go on board after dinner, would you be so kind, my 
 lord, as to suggest her changing her evening - dress for 
 something warmer? Her ladyship had a severe cold in 
 the early spring, and her throat is still delicate." 
 
 For the first time Olier looked kindly at the hatchet- 
 faced butler. 
 
 "I shall certainly attempt what you ask, Graf ton, but 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 I am afraid Lady Clanvowe may not like it. She is not 
 fond of being taken care of, I have noticed." 
 
 Grafton s pale eyes turned ceilingward as if to take 
 Heaven to witness that this was indeed the case. 
 
 "Thank you, my lord," he said, bringing them respect 
 fully down again to the level of Olier s amused face. "I 
 beg your lordship s pardon for having presumed so far." 
 And with the gesture of a grand chamberlain ushering 
 the ambassador of a friendly Power into the presence of 
 his sovereign, he threw wide the door of the transformed 
 armory. 
 
 "I ve got my job cut out if I am to mediate between 
 Lady Clanvowe and Grafton," Olier thought, as he ad 
 vanced to greet her. But for the present at least his 
 mission was turned into a sinecure by the appearance of 
 Rouanez, who wore, instead of one of her customary di 
 aphanous white dresses, a blue serge of the simplest make, 
 with two tiny golden anchors serving as its sole adorn 
 ment on the tight-fitting high collar. 
 
 "The Kestrel is here once more," she called, joyfully, 
 "and as I want you to come for a short cruise to-night, 
 I took it for granted you wouldn t mind my being in my 
 captain s uniform!" 
 
 "I don t mind it in the least," he answered, delighted 
 to be quit of his promise so cheaply, "and there is noth 
 ing I shall enjoy more than going out on that model boat 
 of yours, Lady Clanvowe. But I wouldn t be surprised 
 if we are in for rough weather. It s beginning to blow 
 up pretty lively!" 
 
 "All the better. It will just suit my purpose," she 
 added, in a lower tone. 
 
 "Oh! You have a special purpose to-night?" he 
 asked, offering her his arm to pass on to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 8 II 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Yes, a very special one, which I ll tell you later." 
 And she began to speak of something else. 
 
 It was blowing freshly when, immediately after swal 
 lowing their coffee, they descended to the beach, where 
 the Kestrel s canot was drawn up on the shingle. Dark 
 ness had not yet quite set in, and a young moon, as yet 
 lustreless and dull as unpolished silver, hung listlessly 
 above a low bank of fog that gathered half the horizon 
 in a veil of mystery. Later, the night would be velvet- 
 black, and Olier, glancing at the dark rocks where the 
 surf was already spouting in tall jets of foam, wondered 
 a little at the "special purpose" which made the lovely 
 captain of the "Kestrel" risk her darling yacht along so 
 grim a lee shore. But he did not venture to question her. 
 for on the water she was a very different person from the 
 easy-going "comrade" he always found her at Rozkavel. 
 
 As to the " Kestrel," Olier knew that she was always 
 ready for anything: a quiet, proud, dignified, plucky ship, 
 where every object was to be found in its proper place, 
 every man at his proper post, and really ordered more in 
 the style of a man-of-war than of a luxurious pleasure 
 craft. She was a big boat, too, with a crew of forty 
 sailors, engineers, and stokers, under the command of a 
 master and three mates. But, contrary to all rules fol 
 lowed on private yachts, there were no stewards, no but 
 ler, and not the shadow of a stewardess, though the galley 
 was occupied by an excellent cook and his efficient as 
 sistants. Once when Olier had asked Lady Clanvowe her 
 reason for dispensing with functionaries usually regarded 
 as so indispensable, she had explained that "land-lubbers 
 exasperated her," and that, moreover, she had never felt 
 the need of having a woman staggering in her track from 
 one end of her stateroom to the other. Smart was cer 
 tainly the word best expressing everything aboard, from 
 
 114 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the manner in which the men handled the canot that took 
 them alongside her white ladder, to Lady Clanvowe s 
 business-like and entirely natural way of ascending the 
 upper bridge and relieving Captain Penruddock of com 
 mand. Olier already knew that Cornish mariner well, 
 and held him in a high esteem, which was in no wise di 
 minished by the captain s unaffected modesty and his 
 profound confidence in his owner s talents as commander 
 and navigator of the " Kestrel." 
 
 "Her ladyship s a wonder, sir," he had told Olier dur 
 ing a previous excursion. "I ve known in my time 
 and for the punishment of my sins yacht-owners who 
 played at navigation. Some of them had really studied 
 the craft, and some had not, but the results were the 
 same, more or less: a capful of breeze blew all trace of 
 knowledge out of their brains. Now, her ladyship is dif 
 ferent. She s a better sailor than I am myself; never at 
 a loss what to do, and always cool as a cucumber that s 
 the only way to express it. Indeed, I never feel the 
 Kestrel so safe as when in her hands." 
 
 To-night, however, Olier noticed that though Captain 
 Penruddock s period of responsibility had come to an 
 end for the time being, he was keeping up a sort of aim 
 less pendulum-promenade along the deck up hill and 
 down dale, as the ship climbed the rough combers in 
 stead of retiring to his room for a smoke as he invariably 
 did; thus indicating with unconscious ostentation how 
 useless he considered his presence the minute Lady Clan- 
 vowe took charge. Then, too, after watching him for a 
 few moments as he passed and repassed in front of the 
 lighted chart-room, Olier became almost certain that he 
 could read a worried expression in the deep lines of the 
 captain s face. 
 
 "What s the matter with him?" he thought, bracing 
 
 "5 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 himself as the ship suddenly dropped her nose into a 
 watery valley, and, turning round, he glanced at Rouanez, 
 who with a quartermaster at her side, was heading the 
 "Kestrel" into the black heart of the rising gale. In a few 
 minutes she ran down the steps of the ladder, and, quickly 
 consulting the aneroid in the head of the companion-way, 
 went back to her post without speaking. Something un 
 usual was certainly taking place. Could it be and yet 
 how could it be ? related to Rouanez s "special purpose " ? 
 For the captain had certainly not been admitted to that 
 secret, of which he himself was still ignorant. Considered 
 thus, Penruddock s attitude acquired a sudden interest, 
 and Olier presently bore down upon that perturbed officer 
 with intent to discover what was in the wind. 
 
 "Where are we off to?" he asked, smiling. "From 
 present indications I should say America!" 
 
 Captain Penruddock did not smile in answer; his eyes 
 narrowed a little as if seeking something in the gray 
 murk ahead ; then he softly and nautically swore to him 
 self. 
 
 "Why, what s up?" Olier asked, genuinely astonished 
 this time. "Has anything gone wrong?" 
 
 They had reached the door of the chart-room, and, with 
 the brusqueness born of sudden resolve, the "second in 
 command," as he always punctiliously designated him 
 self, beckoned the naval officer in. "Can you give me a 
 few minutes, sir?" he asked, formally, dropping the tone 
 of deferential camaraderie to which Olier had led the way 
 from their first meeting. 
 
 "Certainly. I don t suppose Lady Clanvowe needs us." 
 
 "Neither do I," Penruddock answered, almost curtly, 
 and again Olier stared. 
 
 " Well, then, tell me what weighs on your mind, cap 
 tain, for certainly something does, and, if I can be of any 
 
 116 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 service to you, I need not add that it will give me much 
 pleasure." 
 
 Penruddock sat down on a swivel-chair before the chart- 
 table, ran the forefinger of his right hand inside the col 
 lar of his smart, gold-laced white drill coat, and cleared 
 his throat, as if something stuck there obstructing his 
 power of speech. He was about fifty-five; a tall, gray- 
 haired man of the British naval -officer rather than the 
 conventional merchant - service type, with the finely 
 modelled features of his Celtic shire, and small, close- 
 cropped side-whiskers, almost white. Once he must have 
 been remarkably handsome, and even now, in spite of 
 weather and hardship, his was a striking face, lighted up 
 by eyes of singular keenness that seldom smiled and yet 
 never looked sullen or harsh. 
 
 "Monsieur de Frehel," he said at last, "are you yes 
 or no aware of what is going on?" 
 
 "What is going on?" Olier asked, looking straight at 
 him. "Going on where?" 
 
 Captain Penruddock pointed over his shoulder in the 
 direction of the Breton coast, then, bringing his hand 
 back in front of him, said, significantly, "There and 
 here." 
 
 " No," Olier said, quietly. 
 
 A puzzled look amounting almost to bewilderment came 
 into Penruddock s eyes. He caught up a pair of com 
 passes and mechanically measured the width of the "Pas 
 sage du Four" on the huge chart before him; his fingers, 
 led by habit, accurately fixing the two sharp points on 
 Ouessant-town and Breles respectively, but his mind for 
 the time being as unconscious of these two points of a 
 sailor s reckoning as though they had never existed. 
 
 "I cannot bring myself to the rudeness of putting my 
 question differently," he hazarded, without looking at his 
 
 117 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 companion, "and I must ask you to believe, sir, that in 
 any case I am not prompted by impertinent curiosity or 
 the faintest shade of disloyalty to Lady Clan vo we." 
 
 Olier nodded. " Please repeat your question in any 
 form you think best," he said, evidently quite unruffled 
 by his interlocutor s persistence. 
 
 Captain Penruddock threw down the compasses, half 
 rose, and, sitting down again, passed his hand across his 
 forehead. 
 
 "I am in a a a very disagreeable predicament," 
 he explained, " entirely at a loss how to act, and, if you 
 don t consent to help me, I do not know what I shall 
 do." 
 
 There was so much distress in the voice now, the honest, 
 bronzed face was so troubled, that Olier spoke at once in 
 quite a different tone. 
 
 " How can I help you, my dear Penruddock, if you do 
 not tell me what disturbs you?" 
 
 " I thought you could guess." 
 
 " You thought wrong, then." 
 
 "You seemed to me to be in Lady Clanvowe s con 
 fidence, you see." 
 
 " What s that got to do with it ? Speak, man. Don t 
 beat about the bush like that." 
 
 " Strictly speaking, then, I am concerning myself about 
 matters which are beyond my province. I am hired to 
 command this ship in its owner s and official captain s 
 absence, nothing more. But, as it happens, Lady Clan- 
 vowe has made me her debtor for life by doing for me 
 more than any other living creature has ever done, and 
 I am grateful. When, therefore, I am led to believe that 
 she is running into a grave danger, is it not pardonable 
 that I should forget everything else, including discipline? 
 I would not say all this even to Sir Hubert, Monsieur de 
 
 118 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Frehel, and it is only because you arc Lady Clanvowc s 
 compatriot, and perhaps her ally, that I do so to you." 
 
 Olier had lighted a cigarette and was industriously 
 blowing rings of blue smoke straight before him. His 
 attitude was not in the least defiant, nor even lacking in 
 courtesy, and the smoke rings were useful guiding points 
 to focus his eyes upon. 
 
 " Will you tell me what leads you to believe that Lady 
 Clanvowe is about to run into danger?" he asked, calmly. 
 "You are not dramatically inclined, Captain Penruddock, 
 and your words are too significant not to be taken seri 
 ously. Yet for my part I am absolutely at a loss to ac 
 count for them." 
 
 " Since you will have it so," Penruddock rejoined, " I ll 
 tell you the whole story from beginning to end." 
 
 "I wish you would," Olier said, with admirably re 
 pressed curiosity. 
 
 "Well, a week ago, while on my way to rejoin the 
 Kestrel, lying alongside the quay at Falmouth, where we 
 had gone for provisions of sorts, I came face to face with 
 a fellow-townsman of mine who is forwarding-agent to 
 one of our chief gun manufacturers. I would have passed 
 on with a quick good-evening, for I was in a hurry, and 
 he seemed a bit the worse for liquor, but he insisted on 
 buttonholing me in order to find out where I was bound 
 to, where I had come from last, and other similar trivial 
 details. 
 
 " Going back to Brittany, eh? he said, with a sidelong 
 look. There ll be a rumpus there before long, or else 
 my name s not Tregarthen. 
 
 "What are you talking about? I asked, pricking up 
 my ears a bit, for I thought how annoying it would be 
 for Lady Clanvowe, who is enjoying the thought of a long, 
 quiet summer, if what Tregarthen designated as a rumpus 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 came to upset her plans. Still Tregarthen, whom I have 
 known ever since we were boys together in Penzance, is 
 not a very clever chap, and on second thoughts I felt like 
 laughing at myself for listening to his gab, but for once 
 I was doing him an injustice. 
 
 " Some political party or other there is arming itself, 
 he said, lowering his voice, and that pretty completely, 
 too. I could tell you who s conveying the contraband of 
 war, and the name of the consignee, but mum s the 
 word. I don t want to get into trouble. 
 
 " Nonsense, I said, to lead him on. For, although I 
 couldn t have told what impelled me, I was getting anx 
 ious to hear all he knew. 
 
 "Not a bit of it, he asserted. Walk with me to the 
 end of the parade and I ll tell you. 
 
 " It was raining, and we had the place almost to our 
 selves. See here, Penruddock, he said, puffing the smoke 
 of a vile cigar in my face, what I m going to say is to 
 remain between us, and, without giving me time to ac 
 quiesce, he went on. The man who s carrying those 
 guns is the owner and master of a little steamer that 
 seems to be all hatches, and has a curious habit of chang 
 ing its name whenever convenient. He knows his busi 
 ness, and he has had a finger in every revolutionary deal 
 of the past twenty years. Now he s been crossing back 
 and forth to some little God-forsaken island on the Finis- 
 terre coast, and his bills of lading are made out to a man 
 by the name of Ros Ros Roscaivle, a rich chap I 
 should imagine, if it s his own money that pays the 
 freight. Fortunately we were walking in the middle of 
 the street just then, and he could not see my face. 
 
 "Queer name, I said, after a while. How do you 
 write it? 
 
 " R-o-s-c-a-i-v-l-e, he spelled, slowly. Some Breton 
 
 1 20 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 chief, I should think. They say those old beggars are sour 
 on the government. To make a long story short, I got 
 rid of the man as soon as I could by means of a drink or 
 two in a near-by bar, and went aboard puzzling my head 
 sorely. The different spelling of the name might be due 
 to Tregarthen, and yet again it might be done on pur 
 pose by ... by ... the consignee." Captain Penruddock 
 paused long enough to give Olier time to say something 
 if he wished, and, finding that that imperturbable man 
 was quietly lighting a fresh cigarette from the butt of the 
 old one, slowly resumed: 
 
 " Lady Clanvowe is the last of the Rozkavels, Monsieur 
 de Frehel." And again he paused. 
 
 "Yes, I think so," Olier said, indifferently. 
 
 "Also," Penruddock continued, "she is passionately 
 fond of her country." 
 
 "That s nothing extraordinary for her to be, is it?" 
 
 " Yes and no. Because she was practically brought 
 up in England, as you know, and has seldom set foot on 
 Breton soil since her marriage." 
 
 " Even so, I m still in the dark, Captain Penruddock. 
 You do not imagine, I suppose, that Lady Clanvowe is 
 plotting against the French Government, do you?" 
 
 There was a moment of tense silence. The two sailors 
 the blunt, matter-of-fact Cornishman and the polished, 
 keen-witted Breton noble were looking straight into 
 each other s eyes, and neither gaze was lowered. 
 
 "I admit," Captain Penruddock said, "that it does not 
 seem unlikely to me." 
 
 Olier shrugged his shoulders. " You are raving, my 
 dear captain." 
 
 " Perhaps. But for many reasons too long to detail I 
 have some cause to hold this opinion. I would go to 
 hell and back again for Lady Clanvowe s sake, Monsieur 
 
 121 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 de Frehel, if it could give her a minute s pleasure. But, 
 by God! this is a tall order if I am right for her I 
 mean, because for myself ..." He broke off, rose, and 
 came closer to Olier. 
 
 "It s a life-and-death game, sir ... for her do you 
 understand?" 
 
 Olier, too, had risen, his face suddenly set like flint. 
 
 "Why don t you tell that to her?" he asked, stiffly. 
 "Do you suppose that I would dare approach her with 
 such a cock-and-bull story?" 
 
 Penruddock s suspicions for the first time began to 
 seem to him less well-founded, and his scrutinizing eyes 
 wavered. 
 
 "It would be unfortunate to put the idea into her 
 head if it is not already there," he slowly pronounced, his 
 brow puckered with anxiety. 
 
 Olier burst out laughing. "That s a new way of look 
 ing at it," he said, lightly. "I wouldn t risk it if I were 
 you . . . and," he suddenly added, more gravely, "if I 
 were you, too, Penruddock, I wouldn t breathe a word of 
 all this to a soul, here or in England. It is never ad 
 visable to spread unfounded rumors of that sort." 
 
 "Who d you take me for?" the elder man indignantly 
 remonstrated. "Bandy her name about? I told you 
 why I spoke to you; but I give you my word of honor 
 that come what may I sha n t do so to any one else." 
 
 "Thank you. And now let s go and see what your 
 charming conspirator is doing. The weather must be still 
 thickening, to judge by the way the Kestrel is putting 
 down her forefoot." 
 
 "You go, Monsieur de Frehel," Penruddock suggested. 
 "If I ve been accusing her wrongly, I d as soon not meet 
 her just now." And he held the door open for Olier to 
 pass out. 
 
 122 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 I love you, dwellings of the long ago, 
 
 Whence my youth issued to unclouded skies; 
 
 Beneath your eaves my heart her nest doth know, 
 And with the wren and martlet homeward flies. 
 
 Fair-walled ye stand, unworn by time or change, 
 Yet your deep-linteled windows seem to be 
 
 Like to an old man s faded eyes and strange, 
 Musing upon a near eternity. 
 
 Round ye a glamour of old sunlight shines, 
 Drowsed by the lulling call of dove to dove, 
 
 (Ah, winged memories!) and your woven vines 
 Flower and breathe sweetly from the dust of Love. 
 
 Shades of the generations darkly drawn 
 
 Lengthen themselves athwart your thresholds gray; 
 
 Cradled have ye the dreams of many a dawn, 
 And covered o er the fires of many a day. 
 
 La Chanson de la Bretagne. 
 
 To his surprise, the first thing that caught Olier s eye 
 on stepping on deck was the life-boat hanging outboard 
 in davits, ready to be lowered at a minute s notice. The 
 night was every bit as black and stormy as he had ex 
 pected, and the wind was plucking the wave-tops into 
 pelting spindrift with a continuous hissing sound ; but the 
 " Kestrel " scudded from crest to crest as unconcernedly 
 and nearly as lightly as a toy boat on the ripples of a 
 duck-pond, and Olier felt his heart warm to the perfect 
 ship. 
 
 123 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Above him, on the upper bridge, Lady Clanvowe, in 
 sou wester and oil-skins, thrust her chin over the canvas 
 dodger and peered down ; then she beckoned, and, as he 
 obediently climbed the ladder, he heard her hailing the 
 forward lookout: 
 
 "Fo c sle there! do you see anything broad abeam?" 
 
 " No, nothing yet, m lady !" came back in muffled mono 
 tone, and Olier, who had reached her side, asked, smiling: 
 "Watching for derelicts?" 
 
 "No," she answered, a trifle irritably as he thought 
 "for a confounded rock that must have melted into the 
 dark." 
 
 "I would leave that rock be for to-night," he said in 
 Breton, low and distinctly, looking gravely at her. 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because I have something serious to tell you before 
 you go further in any direction." 
 
 She glanced quickly at him, read the weight of meaning 
 in the deep, gray eyes fixed upon hers, and, with her usual 
 quickness of decision, clapped a whistle between her square, 
 little, white teeth and blew shrilly. In twenty seconds the 
 " Kestrel," with engines unreduced in speed, was tracing 
 a large, wallowing circle across the charging seas, heading 
 for home, heeled to a wind alive with scurring spume 
 that stung the faces of those on the upper bridge like 
 nettles. 
 
 "What s up?" Lady Clanvowe demanded, as soon as 
 the manoeuvre had been successfully accomplished. 
 
 "I d sooner tell you later," Olier bawled in her ear. 
 "It s too long a story to be discussed whilst we are pirou- 
 eting like this." 
 
 As a matter of fact, the change of direction, bringing 
 the " Kestrel " broadside to the wind, made the keeping 
 of one s feet a matter of paramount importance. 
 
 124 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " Don t," Olier began again, " relinquish the bridge. Act 
 as you always do." 
 
 Lady Clanvowe nodded, shrugged her shoulders, and 
 went on staring before her into the thick blackness that 
 hid the bight of Rozkavel Bay, while Olier wondered at 
 her submissiveness. Another woman, he reflected, would 
 have either declined to act without further enlighten 
 ment, or else would have showed temper at being asked 
 to remain in ignorance until better opportunity offered. 
 She, on the contrary, seemed wholly taken up with her 
 present duties, not one of which she neglected, until, on 
 reaching the partial shelter of the cliffs, she sent for Cap 
 tain Penruddock, handed over the command, and, acting 
 on another hint from Olier, told him to run the yacht 
 out to sea for the night, and to be back for orders next 
 morning at ten. The slung - out life - boat screamed her 
 way down to the water, unhooked, shoved off, and, hustled 
 by the waves like a cork, made for the shore; Olier, who 
 could have steered blindfolded there, standing up at the 
 tiller in the stern; and after twenty minutes of lively 
 dancing, he and Rouanez were left alone on the shin 
 gle, to watch the white boat labor back into the thick 
 gloom, its oars straddling through the surf like some very 
 precise and methodical insect s legs an insect too self- 
 respecting to be worried or put out of time by mere 
 weather. 
 
 Neither spoke, even then, and it was only after several 
 minutes that Rouanez, unbuttoning the ear-flaps of her 
 sou wester, lifted to his a pair of questioning eyes that 
 gleamed curiously in the clear white light of the little 
 lantern he held. "Tell me at once," they seemed to say, 
 and, walking slowly by her side toward the Fort, he did so. 
 
 "Poor old Penruddock!" she commented, when he had 
 concluded. " Nice, devoted soul, Penruddock, but I am 
 
 "5 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 sorry to find him so inquisitive. However, it does not 
 in the least matter; he s honor personified, and, besides," 
 she concluded, with a sudden low laugh, "I hold him in 
 the hollow of my hand." She formed a cup with her lit 
 tle palm, held it up toward Olier, and, pointing with calm 
 assurance to its rose-leaf concavity, repeated: "The hol 
 low of my hand there!" 
 
 "Will you tell him that I spoke to you of what he 
 said?" Olier asked. 
 
 "Certainly not. Why should I? Forewarned is fore 
 armed, you know. No need for that sort of explanation." 
 
 "Well!" Olier exclaimed. "Well!" 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "Oh! I was only wondering how it comes that your 
 soul and heart and pluck should have been imprisoned in 
 a feminine envelope." 
 
 Again she laughed at the naivetd of the compliment. 
 This boy was in the way of becoming an indispensable 
 source of amusement, she felt. "Envelope and contents 
 make ires ban menage together," she retorted. "But look 
 here, Olier, things are going awfully slowly, I am afraid. 
 If we don t hurry, the hour will be missed I mean the 
 psychological moment for action." 
 
 "I know that as well as you do," he said, stopping 
 short a few yards from the iron postern. "I will see 
 Keben de Kerhardec to-morrow, and come in the even 
 ing to report to you." 
 
 "You needn t do that; I ll join you at the cross-roads 
 of Tremaza, near the Calvary, and go on from there. 
 You ll ride, of course?" 
 
 "Yes, naturally; it s too far to walk. I had better not 
 go in with you now, perhaps." 
 
 " Not perhaps, but certainly. It s awfully late already, 
 and your clothes must be drenched. Good-night, Olier 
 
 126 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Kenavo* Await me to-morrow at four sharp, at the foot 
 of the Cross." 
 
 "At the foot of the Cross," he echoed; and then they 
 looked at each other for a second, as if the words had 
 fallen strangely on the thick, damp air. 
 
 "Shall I ring?" he asked, stepping toward the pre 
 posterous electric button. 
 
 "No. I ve trained them never to expect me, but never 
 to be out of the way when wanted; and this surly en 
 trance has a new perfection. Wait and see." 
 
 She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulled out a gold 
 chain weighted with pretty trifles, and showed him the 
 tiniest of keys. "Bluebeard s task would have been 
 simplified if Joseph Bramah had lived then," she said, 
 lightly. "See how an inch of silver masters tons of solid 
 iron." She pushed aside one of the seemingly firm bolt- 
 heads, felt for the small key-hole, and without an effort 
 unlocked and rolled back the whole well-oiled mass. "I 
 merely tell them to leave the inside bars down," she ex 
 plained. 
 
 "But where in the world do you find workmen capable 
 of executing such things?" he asked, much entertained. 
 
 "I have a sapient locksmith in my train, my good 
 friend the under- footman. It s always well to be pro 
 vided against emergencies when one goes to forlorn places!" 
 
 She turned to shake hands, and, before Olier could raise 
 a finger to assist her, she had closed the door, and the 
 light patter of her little sea-boots on the pavement of the 
 court-yard reached him over the wall. He listened to 
 them as long as they could be heard, and longer, for in 
 the silence of that sheltered corner of the night they 
 seemed to merge into the beating of his heart. 
 
 * Au revoir. 
 127 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The succeeding day was a most brilliant one. The 
 storm had left no traces this time, save a clean-washed 
 sky of delicate blue, arching cloudless from horizon to 
 horizon like an inverted bowl of precious enamel, and a 
 few additional pieces of drift-wood on the beach, with 
 here and there a long, thorny branch torn from the big 
 blackberry bushes clustering on the ledge of the lande. 
 
 Rouanez had not brought many horses with her to 
 Rozkavel, but she rarely left England without her favor 
 ite hunter, Sacripant, a golden bay that had carried her 
 cross country for two years now, and who had been raised 
 on the Clanvowe stud-farm. She was riding him that 
 afternoon, and they made a pretty picture, as, preceded 
 and followed alternately by the two dogs, they galloped 
 across the firm grass -bound sand behind the dunes. 
 Sailors are proverbially bad horsemen, but proverbially 
 only, for there are many exceptions to the rule, Olier 
 being one of those, and Rouanez another, who, when not 
 at sea, practically lived in the saddle a saddle, in her case, 
 by the way, as light and unobtrusive as the best maker 
 of Vienna could fashion from special materials, for she 
 disliked being separated from her horse by double thick 
 nesses of leather and padding, even more than holding 
 him in with a bit, or even a pelham. The mere snaffle 
 was always effective enough in her persuasive, coaxing 
 little hands. To-day she spoke twice to Sacripant in the 
 tone she adopted when he was expected to put his best 
 foot forward, and, when in a fit of mischievous gayety 
 the young thoroughbred shied at a fluttering net hung up 
 to dry over a hedge, she stretched forward and slapped 
 him, half warningly, half tenderly, on the side of the 
 head, without thanks to her suppleness checking his 
 pace by the least weight upon the reins. 
 
 The farm of Kerhardec, whither she and Olier were 
 
 128 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 bound, was a good distance off, in a green, fertile nook 
 sheltering under the rock walls of a gorge, where a tiny 
 river scarce deserving so ambitious a name ran down 
 to meet the sea. The Kerhardecs had once owned 
 thousands of acres; in fact, the entire coulee of arable 
 land that extends as far back as the village of Houlik, six 
 or seven miles up country ; but since the Revolution their 
 property had steadily dwindled, until to-day, even count 
 ing a tract of salt marshes to the west of the farm, it 
 barely sufficed to nourish the last remaining representa 
 tives of that still influential family of provincial noblesse 
 comprising K6ben, his little boy, and his grandmother, 
 Dame Isilt, a typical old Royalist whom time had left 
 unchanged in opinions and vigorous in body. Little re 
 mained of the ancient manoir. One peaked-roof tower 
 was still intact, and on each side of it a solidly built, blue- 
 slated wing extended across a quaint, high-walled garden, 
 where the flowers of other days bloomed nearly all the 
 year round. Rouanez was eager to renew her acquaint 
 ance with the splendid old Chouan widow whom she re 
 membered so well, and once more she chirruped to Sacri- 
 pant, who profited by the permission to break joyfully 
 into his hunting gallop. 
 
 Seated on the Calvary steps at the cross-roads of Tre- 
 maza, Olier had thrown his horse s reins down, in token 
 that, if the sagacious and faithful animal so willed it, the 
 short grass mixed with wild thyme and delicately frosted 
 with salt was his to crop. Above him the huge granite 
 Crucifixion rose in tier after tier of primitively carved lit 
 tle shapes of saints, angels, and archangels, framing the 
 great central Figure on the Cross all of the soft, uniform 
 gray of granite, time-toned and melting into exquisitely 
 faint shadows of scarcely deeper velvetiness in the slant 
 ing mellowness of the afternoon sun. A few months be- 
 9 129 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 fore a fierce struggle had taken place there, when the 
 assembled gars of ten parishes had successfully defended 
 the Calvary against the gendarmes of the Republic, bent 
 upon overthrowing this monument of the dead ages, and 
 one corner of the massive entablature was newly broken, 
 the ragged tear of the weather-worn coat showing the 
 fresher tint of the inner stone. Olier himself had been far 
 away on his cruiser then, but the newspaper reports of 
 that fight had thrown him into one of his rare fits of 
 anger, and he had not forgotten. Indeed, he was think 
 ing bitterly of it now, his eyes fixed on three or four tiny 
 patches of brown lichen on the step where his feet rested, 
 that looked really like dried blood; and so absorbed was 
 he that he did not hear the muffled thunder of Sacripant s 
 lightly shod hoofs until Rouanez s clear voice roused him 
 from his brooding. 
 
 " H6, Olier! Are you asleep ?" she called out. " C Haro 
 is treading on his reins." 
 
 Olier, a little dazed still, ran to his horse, and, read 
 justing the bridle, mounted. "I am incorrigible," he 
 said, shamefacedly, joining her, cap in hand. "But this 
 spot is full of haunting ghosts." 
 
 "We re going to lay those ghosts, once and for all," 
 she interrupted, with a suddenly hardening face. "Come, 
 Olier, we are late, and it s still quite a distance off." 
 
 He glanced toward her, and for a long moment con 
 tinued to look at the graceful figure, in its tight-fitting, 
 pale-gray habit made in one piece, and the small, silver- 
 crowned head with its pale-gray straw sailor hat almost 
 the exact nuance of those shining tresses pushed off 
 from her forehead at a singularly becoming angle. She 
 was an artist in small as in big things, and instinctively 
 attended to the merest details of attire with a security 
 of touch that was never at fault. In spite of present 
 
 130 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 worries, her native air had been good to her, for never 
 had she seemed so absurdly young. Indeed, while dress 
 ing for her ride, suddenly tempted to consult what she 
 called her "cruelty mirror" a large looking-glass set pur 
 posely in the crudest possible light she had smiled at her 
 smiling reflection. Even the scarce visible crumpling of 
 the delicate skin beneath the eyes, like that of an apple- 
 blossom petal twelve hours gathered, which had some 
 times showed there when she was very tired, had now 
 entirely disappeared. "I have no vanity," she had once 
 told her husband, "but still I will hate to grow old and 
 ugly, because it is such a humiliating surrender." To 
 which that gentleman, both gallant and truthful a rare 
 combination had replied: "You will never do either; 
 the stuff you are made of renders both impossible." 
 
 Some similar idea was groping about in Olier s brain 
 just then as he watched her, and he suddenly said aloud: 
 
 "Astonishing!" 
 
 "What s astonishing?" she demanded, turning in her 
 saddle and narrowing her blue gaze questioningly. 
 
 "Nothing! A a a passing thought!" he hurriedly 
 replied. 
 
 " I d take care of myself if I were you. Thinking aloud 
 is the first sign of incipient paralysis, they say," she 
 mocked, mischievously crinkling her eyes at him. 
 
 "I shouldn t wonder," he answered, in great good-hu 
 mor. "And here we are in sight of the Farm before 
 worse prognostications follow, I am thankful to say." 
 
 "You don t like to hear disagreeable truths," she cried, 
 reining in Sacripant to let him precede her down the side 
 path to Kerhardec. "That s proof of a selfish and arbi 
 trary disposition. But, dear me, what extraordinary pink 
 lilies!" she delightedly concluded, hardly able to resist the 
 temptation to dismount and appropriate them at once. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Diademes de la Reine," he called back over his shoul 
 der, still pounding ahead on the soft moss of the sentier. 
 "Don t you remember them? They are the pride of 
 Kerhardec." 
 
 "Diademes de la Reine!" she mused, flushing like the 
 flowers themselves with pleasurable reminiscence. How 
 often she had driven away from here with her father, 
 carrying home a fragrant lapful of those glorious blooms, 
 with satiny pink petals curling back in palest blush-rose 
 from the haughty gold-tipped aigrette within. But this 
 was no time for poetical fancies, past or present, since 
 they were already at the arched stone doorway of the 
 Farm, and K6ben de Kerhardec himself was standing there 
 to greet them, his gigantic height almost blocking the nar 
 row entrance. Red-haired and blue-eyed, as all the Ker- 
 hardecs had been before him, with the rather long features 
 and peculiar gauntness of his race, he carried his pedigree 
 on his severe face, just now, however, lighted by a brill 
 iant smile of welcome. 
 
 "Grandmaman will be so glad," he said, using the sim 
 ple, childish appellation as they do there. "Come in 
 quickly," and he made way for Rouanez. "Go with her, 
 Olier," he added, stepping down to where his friend stood 
 holding both horses. "I ll attend to those till old Tord 
 makes up his mind to appear. He must be getting deaf, 
 for I whistled for him as soon as I heard you turn off the 
 road." 
 
 "You d never find your way," he explained to Rouanez, 
 standing within the dusky porch, "without Olier; he 
 knows the labyrinth." And a labyrinth of corridors it 
 was, indeed, winding to this side and to that, with only 
 here and there a loophole of a window, heavily glazed 
 and leaded as was customary generations ago. But at 
 last from the half-light of this stone-walled maze they 
 
 132 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 suddenly emerged into a wide, sunny room, opening upon 
 the garden on the other side of the house by a row of long 
 French windows. A room uncarpeted, and draped only 
 with pink-and-green chintz that time had dulled to the 
 softness of old brocade, and furnished somewhat scantily, 
 but with massive bahuts, chairs, and tables that would 
 have made the fortune of an antiquarian ; and the whole 
 apartment so daintily clean and airy and sunny that 
 merely to enter it was to feel refreshed and invigora 
 ted. 
 
 Sitting within one of the wide-open windows, beside 
 her spinning-wheel, was a slender, black -clad woman, 
 straight as a lance, busily drawing flax from the snugly 
 loaded distaff through her thin fingers. Her back was 
 toward them, and the click of Olier s spurs made her 
 turn round with the alertness of a girl. 
 
 "Ke ben told us to come and find you, Madame Isilt," 
 he said, advancing a little ahead of Rouanez toward the 
 mistress of Kerhardec Farm who, rising, took two steps 
 toward her guests, then stopped and bent her tall figure 
 in a curtsey that would not have been out of place in a 
 throne-room. 
 
 "I am glad to welcome you," she said, without offering 
 to shake hands, but with real welcome in her deep, musi 
 cal voice. "It is an honor for Kerharde c to receive the 
 last of the Rozkavels." 
 
 Rouanez had curtseyed as low, if a little less stiffly 
 than the stately old woman, and now accepted the prof 
 fered chair near the spinning-wheel. "Surely," she was 
 thinking, "nowhere else in the world could one find such 
 simple dignity." And her eyes rested admiringly upon 
 the cameo-like features, the proud eyes, and the masses 
 of smooth, banded hair, creamy white (as hair that once 
 was brilliant red-blond is wont to bleach), graced by the 
 
 133 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 daintiest of tiny lace coiffes* on its foundation of golden 
 tissue. It was a beauty that seemed part and parcel of 
 the place, like the sunlight in warm squares upon the 
 dark, polished floor, and the musical cooings from the 
 stone terrace ledge outside, where a flock of pigeons were 
 fluttering and preening, amid the trailing branches of a 
 far-spreading Marshal Niel rose now just bursting into 
 bloom. 
 
 "What an exquisite home you have!" Lady Clanvowe 
 could not help saying. "One could never feel dull or 
 unhappy in such surroundings." 
 
 "Dull, no," Dame Isilt quietly replied. "Dulness and 
 ennui are modern inventions bad ones, too, like the rest." 
 
 Her son, who had just entered, laughed a little as he 
 leaned on the high, straight back of her seat. "Grand- 
 mere^ ferociously old-fashioned," he remarked, glancing 
 at Rouanez over the soft, ivory-tinted lace of his grand 
 mother s pretty head-dress. 
 
 "She is right to be so," Rouanez retorted. "I for one 
 entirely agree with her ideas." 
 
 A flush of pleasure rose to Dame Isilt s scarcely wrinkled 
 face. "It does one good to hear young people speak like 
 that," she approved, looking sympathetically at her visitor. 
 
 Rouanez gave a short laugh. " Oh, Madame Isilt!" she 
 cried. ;< Young is excessive when you speak of me." 
 
 "I think not. I am seventy-two, and I do not feel 
 old not old at all," she insisted; adding, in a suddenly 
 rasping tone: "Not old enough, at any rate, to despair of 
 seeing the old days and the old faiths brought back again 
 before I call myself that." 
 
 * Many women of the impoverished " petite noblesse " in Brit 
 tany pride themselves on wearing an idealized coiffe (while re 
 jecting the rest of the costume) as a sign that they identify 
 themselves with the life of the peasant which has become theirs. 
 
 134 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Her three listeners said nothing, and, letting her un- 
 dimmed blue eyes wander toward the irised wings of her 
 feathered pets fluttering about the open window, Dame 
 Isilt went on in sonorous Gaelic, with the air of one build 
 ing up the fragments of dormant memories: 
 
 "I have seen much in my time, fighting and peace, 
 dearth and plenty, great hopes broken and deep sorrows 
 healed." She turned for a second to Rouanez, then gazed 
 once more away from her, as if seeking the ghostly sil 
 houettes of the past in the depths of the great trees that 
 had been full-grown when she herself was a little child. 
 "But never, never, did I witness such horrors as at pres 
 ent. You have come, Olier de Frehel, I doubt not, to 
 talk in confidence with my son Keben. You can say your 
 say here before me, and before the Rozkavel who has come 
 from so far to break the spell at last, and to awaken young 
 Bretons like yourselves from your sleep of inactivity." 
 She swung round, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, her 
 slim, tall frame trembling, her beautifully shaped, toil- 
 worn hands extended. "The Saints be praised and 
 blessed for her coming, since it has put an end to your 
 shameful acquiescence and dothfulness. Oh! shame, 
 shame indeed, upon you whose blood is that of Chou- 
 ans, of true Royalists and Catholics, for having let your 
 churches be desecrated, your priests driven away, and your 
 kings reviled and mocked ! Shame ! Shame ! Shame ! 
 
 "Mother!" Keben cried. "Mother, recollect yourself. 
 Don t speak like that." 
 
 "Silence!" she commanded, shaking off his deprecating 
 hand. "You have deserved to hear this, and if it hurts 
 you, all the better. Do you fancy that if our gars had 
 found fifty men like you and the Frehel here to lead them, 
 they would have been beaten and clubbed into sub 
 mission by those unspeakable ruffians who came to de- 
 
 35 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 stroy their altars? Ah! If I had not been a woman I 
 would have known how to rekindle the sparks in every 
 heart, in every soul, from one end of Brittany and Vendee 
 to the other; and that once done the rest would have fol 
 lowed! Normandy and Picardy are not quite gangrened 
 yet! Think you that there our example would not have 
 told? But no; you who are men, strong and hale, and 
 fitted for the task, have shunned it. Twenty times the 
 hour came when success would have been easy; twenty 
 times you let it pass by; and now you would have me 
 recollect myself and mince my words! You will hear 
 me, I tell you, and hear me to the end for, indeed, if a 
 crime lies at my door it is to have forborne so long!" 
 
 She was pale now to the lips, and those three who 
 heard were as white as she; for there was something ter 
 rible in the fiery denunciation that held both men silent, 
 while Rouanez, too stirred to interfere, stared in dumb 
 astonishment. 
 
 "And now," she concluded "now that once again the 
 dial points the hour of action, rise up all of you, never 
 to sit down again till you have shouldered your way to 
 triumph ! Give no quarter and take none ; and especially 
 never yield nor falter on any single point of Faith and 
 Creed!" 
 
 Here Rouanez at last roused herself. The spell of the 
 old Druidess s grand presence and wild inspiration was 
 broken. 
 
 "Might you not have considered, Dame Isilt, before 
 you denounced them so bitterly, that the fault was not 
 theirs?" she said. "Can one carry out an insurrection 
 successfully without funds? Who was to arm the gars? 
 Could Olier have done it? Could K^ben, or the other 
 sons of dead Chouans, whose hearts are as stout as their 
 purses are empty? Where is the use of recrimination 
 
 136 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 when there was no sin ? Why, even the united fortunes 
 of the de Tremoers would have been but a drop in the 
 bucket, and you speak of inertia, Dame Isilt, of acquies 
 cence and slothfulness ? Look at Olier here, who has left 
 the sea and sacrificed his career without a murmur. 
 Ke"ben, too, has borne much, and is ready enough, now 
 he has the chance! God knows they have nothing to be 
 ashamed of!" 
 
 There was indignation in her tone, and Dame Isilt 
 glanced across at her with flashing eyes. 
 
 "I don t see . . ." she began, angrily; and then abrupt 
 ly broke off. "Yes, I do," she resumed, in an altered 
 voice. "I do see, after all. There is much in what you 
 say, Rouanez de Rozkavel, much that never occurred to 
 me, and I fear I have been unjustly harsh perhaps." 
 
 Ke"ben gave her a look of extreme surprise, for he 
 had never heard his haughty grandmother acknowledge 
 herself in the wrong. 
 
 "Your views were excusable," Rouanez admitted, but 
 without a trace of gratification or friendliness. It seemed 
 evident that even this partial dipping of colors did not 
 efface in her opinion the rank injustice done to Olier and 
 Kdben. "Our present undertaking is well I am not 
 blind to its difficulties, and that s expressing myself mild 
 ly; but we are going to do our best; so it s useless to 
 harp upon that chord. On the other hand, it is on the 
 cards that it may be already too late to accomplish what 
 we desire, because, speaking generally, the present gen 
 eration lacks enthusiasm, feu sacre, and backbone." 
 
 " The Royalist spirit exists to-day as it did sixty years 
 ago," Dame Isilt stubbornly protested " here in Brittany, 
 at least." 
 
 Rouanez shrugged her shoulders. "It still exists, but 
 not as it did sixty years ago," she coolly stated. "The 
 
 37 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 fibre has relaxed. Of course, there are some who ..." 
 she smiled suddenly, ..." who show fidelity, as, for in 
 stance, Hidrik Brok, the blacksmith of Kremarze, who, 
 after a good many bowls of cider, told me the other day 
 with tears in his voice that he didn t stomach the state 
 of affairs now; what he wanted was a real king, not a ... 
 a ... cardboard one . . . curse it ... but a live King . . . 
 like that little King of Spain, who . . . hasn t caught cold 
 in his eyes . . . and isn t afraid of anybody dead or 
 alive. Why? he hiccoughed, did not that same King of 
 Spain come and help Brittany out of the mess? He was 
 rightful King of France, was he not ? and he had a little 
 boy to succeed him, at least all the same family as 
 Henry V., who had none never; and why didn t that 
 fier gar con step across his frontier, damn it all ! to get 
 busy and make things buzz. Wasn t he a Bourb . . . 
 Bourb . . . Bourb . . . ? Here his tongue gave out, and 
 I finished the word for him, adding some timely ad 
 vice, in the middle of which he rolled over into the 
 ditch to listen more comfortably, no doubt and went 
 fast asleep, tears of distress rolling down his cheeks. 
 That may be a proper survival of Legitimistic feeling, 
 but as for me I would prefer to find it less spiritu 
 ous." 
 
 Even Dame Isilt had unbent during this recital, and 
 the two men were laughing. 
 
 " Your blacksmith is an extreme case, Olier, of course," 
 Rouanez continued, "but there are many like him, even 
 here in loyal old Brittany, to whom a monarchy means 
 simply increased prosperity, and who wholly lose sight 
 of the loftier idea that animated their forefathers. Still, 
 even this belief can be made use of, and in the mean while 
 we happily have the true ones to lean upon." 
 
 " I cannot understand why you are ready to risk your 
 
 138 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 skin and your money, if that s all the faith you have in 
 final success," Dame Isilt said, dryly. 
 
 "One has always faith enough to risk that much," 
 was the quiet reply. " What I regret far more to hazard 
 are the lives of the people under our orders of those who, 
 as somebody I know expresses it, would follow us through 
 hell and out again at a word of command." 
 
 " I have here," the old woman hastened to put in, wav 
 ing off with one impatient gesture such trivialities as 
 wholesale bloodshed in a great cause, "a list of all the 
 chiefs you have not yet seen the braves who " 
 
 " One might almost fancy one was listening to Fenimore 
 Cooper," Rouanez thought, while her grim vis-a-vis un 
 folded a yard-long strip of paper. 
 
 "You will find here a resume" of what remains of the 
 Armorial de Bretagne," she proudly explained: "de Tre- 
 moer, de Lannilis, de Kerdren " 
 
 "I know," Rouanez interrupted; "I have the same." 
 
 "Who made it out for you?" 
 
 "I did it myself." 
 
 Dame Isilt and Ke be n stared at her in surprise. Not 
 so Olier, who had long since ceased to wonder at her 
 methods. 
 
 "You came here to Brittany prepared, then, on pur 
 pose to help us?" Ke ben exclaimed. 
 
 " Not in the least. But there s been plenty of time 
 since my arrival. I had enough besides to convince my 
 self that the greatest possible prudence is necessary. I 
 am here to-day because nothing can be more natural than 
 for me to come and pay my respects to Madame de Ker- 
 hardec, and to visit this beautiful old manoir most in 
 teresting for a foreigner but neither Olier nor myself shall 
 under any circumstances come again openly, at least." 
 
 "You think you are suspected?" 
 
 139 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " No, not that, but I more than think I know that 
 there are some . . . not imbeciles either, but very shrewd 
 and cunning persons, who are always on the alert, and 
 who . . ." 
 
 "Bah!" Dame Isilt sneered; "those common louts of 
 Gouvernementaux. 
 
 Rouanez glanced up at her. "Common louts if you 
 like, but nevertheless clever enough to have landed you 
 where you are, and brought to their way of thinking a 
 great part of France. It is always best not to under 
 value one s enemies." 
 
 " You estimate yours so highly that you seem inclined 
 to award them the victory, sans coup ferir," the old woman 
 scornfully exclaimed. 
 
 Rouanez flushed slightly. She was not accustomed to 
 such a tone, and the age and inferior rank of Dame Isilt 
 alone saved her from a very lively retort. She was rising 
 with the intention of leaving the business of the day in 
 the hands of Olier by asking to go and see the gardens, 
 when there was a patter of little running feet on the 
 terrace, the pigeons whirled upward in a great tinted 
 cloud, and a small boy, still wearing the long, blue apron 
 of Breton babyhood, tumbled in at the window and cast 
 himself, laughing gleefully, across Keren s legs. 
 
 "Oh, Mdbik!" 1 the young man exclaimed, reproach 
 fully. But Rouanez had already crossed over and was 
 bending toward the child. 
 
 "What a delicious little fellow!" she murmured, gazing 
 at the round, sunburned face, the glorious tangle of red- 
 gold curls, and the roguish blue eyes peeping through their 
 long, curving, brown lashes with unconscious challenge. 
 
 "A bad, disobedient boy," Ke"ben scolded, but with 
 
 1 Little son. 
 140 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 such a caress in his deep voice that " Mdbik" once more 
 began to laugh. 
 
 "Is is he yours?" Rouanez asked. 
 
 " Yes," Dame Isilt answered for him. " He is Kdben s 
 son. A good little man usually, although," she added, with 
 characteristic rancor, " he cost his sweet young mother her 
 life." 
 
 She had adored her granddaughter-in-law, and never 
 had been able quite to forgive little Ineo for having caused 
 this bitter loss. Rouanez, now on her knees beside the 
 baby, frowned slightly. Dame Isilt certainly carried 
 things rather too far in one way and another, and person 
 ally she, Rouanez, would find it no hardship to forego 
 the pleasure of further visits. She had never had a child, 
 and her eyes suddenly filled with tears as Ineo, fascinated 
 by the pretty lady s sweet face, spontaneously held out 
 his arms to her and allowed himself to be carried out on 
 the terrace, while Olier, noticing her unusual emotion, 
 hurriedly launched himself into a discussion with Dame 
 Isilt, so as to prevent her from following them. In a 
 minute the three within the room were deep in their cam 
 paign plans, but Rouanez remained away, and returned 
 only when it was time to go. 
 
 " Olier," she said, after a long silence, as they dropped 
 behind the rise of moorland that hid the Farm from view, 
 " if I was fortunate enough to have a son I think I would 
 fight shy of insurrections." She bent to rearrange the 
 huge sheaf of Kerharde c lilies fastened to her saddle, 
 and in a dreamy voice, quite unlike her usual crisp, clear 
 tones, repeated: "Oh, yes, I would fight shy of every 
 thing likely to separate me from him." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Breton, I sing those wandering prows to you 
 For whom no harbor lighteth on the lee, 
 
 High-piled Armadas of th unfathomed blue, 
 The crowding galleons of a shoreless sea. 
 
 How oft with them my nomad thoughts would pine 
 To cleave the unvexed levels of the sky, 
 
 Such flights illimitable and divine 
 
 As haply we may follow when we die! 
 
 Silvered or dark, as sun or storm decree, 
 Nightly, unheeding of the Shining Seven, 
 
 Squadrons of God, they ride eternally 
 
 The sweeping tide-rift of the open heaven. 
 
 The ancient stars their lanterns be, that swing 
 Glimmering aloft until the dawnlight pales, 
 
 Voices and mystic murmurs faintly wing 
 
 From the deep shadows of their towering sails. 
 La Chanson de la Bretagne. 
 
 IN the billiard-room at Kremarze, Olier, sitting cross- 
 legged on the massive corner of the green-cloth-covered 
 table, was talking to Arzur de Tremoer, his life-long com 
 rade and still his best friend, despite that slight difference 
 of age which in the early twenties may draw so sharp a 
 line between the boy and the man. Anyhow, Arzur s 
 height and breadth made him look older than his twenty 
 years, and the past weeks had very considerably altered 
 the boyishness of his dark, handsome features. Just now 
 his brown eyes were showing the curious green high- 
 
 142 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 lights that excitement always brought there, and as he 
 bent enthusiastically toward Olier 
 
 "Splendid!" he exclaimed. "Splendid! My father 
 thinks she is the most wonderful creature in existence, 
 and as usual that old gentleman is dead right. Fancy a 
 woman building up a plan like that!" 
 
 " She is so little of a woman," Olier interposed, tossing 
 the end of his cigarette out of the window with a jerk. 
 
 "Upon my word, I honestly believe that you have 
 brought yourself to the point of looking upon her merely 
 as your commanding officer," Arzur said, impatiently. 
 " I am, I must confess, not quite so blind to her extraor 
 dinary charm." 
 
 Olier offering no comment, he continued: "I wish to 
 God there was another woman like her in the world. You 
 would then see your humble servant recant and turn his 
 thoughts to matrimony." 
 
 Olier shrugged his shoulders. " I wish you would stop 
 talking nonsense, Arzur!" he said, irritably. " It is scarce 
 ly respectful of you to make Lady Clanvowe a subject for 
 pleasantry." 
 
 "Pleasantry!" the lad cried, indignantly. "I m not 
 joking, I assure you, my sage mentor. Just let her hus 
 band be bowled over by the Afghans, or whatever you 
 call em, and see whether I am in earnest or not." 
 
 An angry flush rose to Olier s face. "I am afraid," he 
 remarked, cuttingly, "that your father has made a mis 
 take in judging you grown-up enough to take so impor 
 tant a part in our affairs. You are acting like a school 
 boy." 
 
 Never had those two come so near quarrelling, and 
 Arzur walked the length of the room before trusting him 
 self to reply. What had come to Olier? he wondered. 
 Were the cares of a conspirator weighing too heavily upon 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 him ? or else . . . He paused half-way back, planted him 
 self before a mirror, and, after a critical examination, 
 called out in a manner not exactly forced, but sufficient 
 ly jovial to have cost him something. 
 
 "When a man has got such a conquering little pair of 
 whiskers as mine, he scorns being teased about his youth- 
 fulness." 
 
 Olier, however, was already feeling foolish. 
 
 "You d be twice the man you are now if you d only 
 cut those beastly little rabbit s-feet!" he replied, laughing. 
 
 "Rabbit s-feet! My exquisitely mown favor is d 1 or don- 
 nance!" Arzur grumbled. "Why, they give me the ap 
 pearance of a seasoned sea-dog." 
 
 "Seasoned noodle! But come enough time wasted; 
 we have still important work to do to-night." 
 
 Instantly Arzur dropped his banter and advanced sober 
 as a judge. "All right," he said, "I await your further 
 orders." 
 
 "They won t be difficult so far as this evening goes, 
 at any rate and they won t be mine, either. We are 
 going out to get them now." 
 
 "We are going out, are we?" 
 
 " But, of course, you don t imagine that we can afford 
 to assemble in plain sight of everybody ? Of course, when 
 I say in plain sight," he added, glancing out at the moon 
 lit loneliness of the park and vast, somewhat neglected 
 gardens, "I mean above ground." 
 
 "A meeting underground is exactly what we lacked to 
 make the thing complete," Arzur declared, with amazing 
 gravity. " I had not dared to hope that we could indulge 
 in such proper atmospheres." 
 
 "We can, and, what s more, we must; which, as Lady 
 Clanvowe says, supplies a touch of fun that we need bad 
 ly. I do, at any rate. For one thing, I am not quite 
 
 144 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 happy about that man Graf ton. He watches her al 
 together too closely for my peace of mind." 
 
 "Who s going to bring her to-night?" Arzur asked. 
 
 "She ll bring herself," Olier answered, pulling out his 
 watch and pressing back the lid, "but not before one 
 o clock, and this leaves us a little over an hour to reach 
 the rendezvous ourselves. It isn t a bit too much, for 
 we must avoid the high-road." 
 
 "Let s start, then; the shore path is twice as far." 
 
 "Not so fast, my lad. Listen to what I m going to 
 tell you. My people here are as loyal as loyal can be; 
 but, nevertheless, I do not propose that they shall know 
 what we are about until every single detail has been 
 finally adjusted. So you will kindly go to your room 
 now, undress; and get into bed." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Because merely to pretend won t do. It s not at all 
 the same thing. As soon as you have done that, ring the 
 bell for Pierrek, and give him minute orders about your 
 things to go yachting to-morrow morning, and a quarter 
 of an hour later get up, put on the paludier 1 clothes I 
 showed you before dinner, and wait for me." 
 
 "Really, Olier, don t you think that such precautions 
 are a bit overdone?" Arzur asked, smiling. 
 
 " I do not. We are playing a far more dangerous game 
 than you seem to realize. Our lives, yours and mine, 
 and even those of others, are of small consequence if you 
 like, but there is . . ." 
 
 "Hers?" 
 
 "Yes, hers, and if we do not try to guard it in every 
 possible fashion, she will not do so for herself, you may 
 depend on that." 
 
 1 Salt-marsh worker. 
 
 10 145 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 I 
 
 The lad was genuinely serious now. "I ll do all y 
 say, and more if necessary," he murmured, in so chasten 
 a tone that Olier felt annoyed with himself for havi 
 perhaps uselessly dampened his spirits, but, rememberi 
 his friend s extreme buoyancy, he did not attempt 
 cheer him up. 
 
 The moon had disappeared behind a bank of lig 
 summer clouds when the two young men let themseh 
 out by a little door in the park wall and struck out 
 the direction of the sea. Anybody meeting them wot 
 have taken them for salt-workers on their way to t 
 marshes, for Olier had insisted that they should act 
 to the disguise. Even their walk was altered, and, 
 though not a soul was in sight, they dragged their f( 
 
 Ias men do who have just been roused from heavy sle 
 to attend an unwelcome task. Their soft, broad-leav 
 hats were pulled down over their eyes, casting their fac 
 into deep shadow, and when once or twice they spoke, 
 was on indifferent topics, and in rough coast Bretc 
 since it was, after all, possible that behind the piled- 
 rocks at the side of the path a douanier, if nothi 
 worse, might be lurking on the lookout for salt-thiev 
 Indeed, as they came abreast of the semaphore towi 
 ing far above the beach on a gaunt promontory, 
 tall, slender mast and spidery rope ladder profil 
 against the silvered sky in trim, dark lines, a man cai 
 close to the edge of the stone platform and peer 
 down. 
 
 "Who s that?" Arzur whispered. 
 
 "Only the night guardian on duty. He can t recc 
 nize us from up there and in this light, even if he s se 
 us," Olier whispered back, and just then the sound of 
 lively ronde tune, thinned by distance, floated down 
 them: 
 
 146 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "On lui r mett ra sa Couronne 
 De plume de paille, 
 De plume de geai, 
 
 On lui rendra sa Couronne 
 De plume de geai 
 De plume de ble!" 
 
 "Sa Couronne! A good omen," Olier murmured, re 
 pressing a laugh. 
 
 "Only his won t be made of straw, let s hope," chuckled 
 Arzur, and he began to hum between his teeth: 
 
 "Sa Couronne de plume de paille 
 De plume de ble, 
 Sa Couronne de plume de geai!" 
 
 It is good to be young, and to see the funny side of 
 things sometimes, especially in periods of storm and 
 stress. 
 
 For another mile they skirted the foot of the cliffs, 
 until they came to where a succession of tall, jagged spurs, 
 loopholed here and there by natural arches a rock for 
 mation common on the coast heading toward the Cap 
 de la Chevre cut across the strip of shingle to advance 
 boldly far into the sea. This is perhaps the most danger 
 ous spot of the shore, for, although at low tide one can 
 walk very nearly to the end of the point, the flood has 
 a sudden knack of rushing in upon it, especially in cer 
 tain sets of the wind, that has proved a terrible trap for 
 more than one unwary loiterer upon these sands. 
 
 The moon had kept appearing and disappearing behind 
 its veil of clouds during their whole trip, but now, swung 
 low in a clear band of deep blue, it brilliantly illuminated 
 the bay, leaving in deep shadow that part of the beach 
 which Olier and Arzur had reached, and where the two 
 rock-walls, of cliff and spur, converge in a deep embay- 
 
 147 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ment. The silence was complete, for the sea was very 
 quiet and seemed asleep far out there beyond the weed- 
 clad reefs, and the two young men paused to listen. 
 
 "It s all right!" Olier whispered, presently. "Come 
 along; here is the place." And he pointed to the sheer 
 face of the precipice. 
 
 "Where?" questioned the other. 
 
 "Here, here!" Olier muttered, impatiently, and, taking 
 the lead, he silently began to climb like a monkey, with 
 foot and hand, up the almost perpendicular base of the 
 falaise, closely followed by Arzur. For the first twenty 
 feet the ascent was not too difficult for such active young 
 fellows, but the next fifteen proved arduous even to 
 them, and they were both a little short of breath when 
 they at last hoisted themselves into the arched mouth of 
 a crevice slanting sidewise into the rock, and partially 
 closed by a sharp, screen-like projection. 
 
 " Ouf ! that was a tough job," Arzur grumbled, straight 
 ening himself to his full height. " I ve got kinks all along 
 my spine!" But Olier was not minded to listen, and, 
 feeling his way with one hand, preceded him along a nar 
 row passage black as pitch. 
 
 "Can t we light the lantern?" Arzur asked, stumbling 
 after him on the uneven path. 
 
 "Not yet . . . s-s-s-st!" came from Olier; and for five 
 minutes more they advanced, Arzur stretching both arms 
 in front of him to avoid bumping against some sudden 
 angle. 
 
 "Halt!" Olier said at last, and Arzur heard him fum 
 bling with a box of matches. In an instant the little 
 lantern he had brought in his pocket was lighted, and 
 Arzur, looking about him, found that they were standing 
 in the center of a small cave of red granite, pierced at the 
 upper end by a perfectly round hole. 
 
 148 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Hurry up!" Olier commanded, diving through into 
 another winding gut, so narrow that it allowed just space 
 enough for a man to pass, but so high-roofed that the 
 top could not be distinguished amid the general gloom. 
 The rough sides were exquisitely spangled and veined, 
 and Arzur was wondering what made them glisten so 
 prettily to the lantern-rays, when his cogitations were 
 suddenly cut short by another bright light flashing into 
 his eyes and a voice asking as calmly as if the speaker 
 were awaiting a guest at the door of his own little memoir: 
 
 "Is that you, Frehel?" 
 
 "It is, I m happy to say, and so no doubt is Arzur," 
 Olier responded, shaking hands with Keben de Kerharde c. 
 
 "I should think so!" the lad exclaimed. "The way of 
 the transgressor is hard, and no mistake. But where to 
 now?" he added, as, Keben leading, they wound their 
 way still deeper into the cliff. 
 
 A sharp turn, and they stood on the threshold of a 
 much larger cave than the first one, where fifteen or 
 twenty people were already assembled, and, as each had 
 on entering deposited his lantern on the floor or on some 
 projection of the wall, the place was quite bright enough 
 to recognize each face at first glance. In the midst of 
 them was Rouanez, wearing the short, striped under- 
 petticoat and rolled-up skirt and apron of the paludiere, 
 while over her coiffe the customary kerchief was bound. 
 In her hand she held the twisted cloth, or tor eke, that 
 cushions the head beneath the weight of those huge 
 wooden bowls, in which the daughters of Brittany bear 
 load after load of salt along the perilously narrow strips 
 of dried mud that gridiron the marais-salants into shallow 
 little harvesting squares, while at her feet lay the bowl 
 itself, empty, save for some few adherent and sparkling 
 particles. It was a costume far too business-like to be 
 
 149 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 embellishing, and yet seldom had Rouanez looked more 
 to her advantage than standing there in her tiny sabots 
 and rough, blue woollen stockings, the almost nun-like 
 severity of her head-gear emphasizing the purity of her 
 profile, and even the clumsiness of the belinge corsage ut 
 terly failing to hide the perfection of her supple figure. 
 She was talking with unwonted animation when Keben 
 approached with his companions, and she merely nodded 
 to them without pausing. 
 
 "... Not one of the rank and file," they heard her say, 
 "can in any case be endangered, come what may, pro 
 vided the instructions have been followed and no written 
 orders have been allowed to be sent." 
 
 " I think," replied the Marquis de Laoual, to whom she 
 was speaking, " that you can rest easy. Every order has 
 been verbal passed on from mouth to mouth. Indeed, 
 your idea and especially your manner of carrying it out 
 was little short of a stroke of genius; for it is the seiz 
 ure of papers that has wrecked so many plots, or turned 
 them into disasters in the event of failure." 
 
 "Yes, there can be no doubt of that," she continued. 
 "And it is an iniquity to hazard uselessly the life and 
 liberty of thousands in such a way. However, the idea 
 is not mine: I borrowed it from the Arabs, who pro 
 ceed in precisely the same fashion. . . . Desert telegraphy, 
 swift and sure and traceless! Come here, Hanvec!" she 
 called out, and Olier s retainer stepped forward briskly, 
 his back straight as the pen-baz he carried, and his whole 
 appearance that of a man who has suddenly dropped half 
 his burden of years. 
 
 "Present!" he cried, raising one hand to the edge of 
 his broad-brimmed hat. 
 
 "This man, as you know, Laoual, is our chief news- 
 gatherer, and, so far, he has not discovered the least cause 
 
 150 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 for believing that our projects are suspected a reassuring 
 fact, for little escapes Hanvec s keenness." 
 
 The old man flushed with pride. "Thank you, Itron," 
 he murmured; "I watch night and day, as for that, and 
 it will have to be a famous weasel that gives me the slip." 
 
 "There is one famous weasel who will bear watching," 
 Olier interrupted, "and that is Flochard, Dulac s secre 
 tary. Guemadeuc sent me word this morning that, under 
 pretence of preparing Rozkavel Castle for his chief s ar 
 rival, he is prowling all over the neighborhood. I need 
 not add that he is very wide-awake and sharp." 
 
 "Ah, the filthy hog!" Hanvec burst forth. "If ever 
 I could get him alone on the cliff I d make him acquainted 
 with the Hell of Plogonak a corpse-swallower that never 
 gives back what one lends to it." 
 
 "Hush, you old brigand" Olier chided! "No private 
 violence is permitted. I ve told you that before." 
 
 Rouanez laughed. "Private violence is good," she 
 said, glancing at him. "An excellent specification. As 
 to you, Hanvec, you are too well known to that particular 
 weasel to spy upon him successfully. We have found you 
 a lieutenant, and a quick-footed one, for the Senator s 
 mouchard is getting too ubiquitous." 
 
 "You had heard of his present doings?" asked the 
 young Comte de Masserac, who was standing at her 
 elbow. 
 
 " I try to find out all I can," she replied, almost apolo 
 getically, "and it s the part of my task I dislike most. 
 Keleren 1 is on Flochard s track, and, as he more than 
 deserves his sobriquet, I think he has a chance of keep 
 ing him in sight. Indeed, the boy has already proved 
 valuable, and we cannot thank Kerharde"c enough for 
 
 1 Will- o-the-wisp. 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 having procured him for us." She paused, looked up at 
 the Marquis de Laoual, and added: "Please tell them 
 now what Vende"ens have joined us this week, and let 
 them repeat the list aloud several times, together with 
 that of their own chiefs, so that they may memorize 
 them." 
 
 And then followed an enumeration which alone was 
 sufficient proof that the Legitimist party was not, as so 
 many claimed, greatly diminished since the days of the 
 ill-starred Duchesse de Berri. One after another the 
 grand old names fell from Laoual s lips, and like an echo 
 each was twice repeated by the listeners. 
 
 " The registers of the Bastille can scarcely have equalled 
 this," Rouanez said, very low, with glistening eyes. 
 "Oh, we may succeed, after all!" 
 
 " In opposition, we have to set down the names of 
 those most likely to prove dangerous among our op 
 ponents," Laoual resumed. "Fortunately they are in 
 dividually not greatly to be dreaded." 
 
 "There is one," Rouanez put in. 
 
 "Dulac?" 
 
 "No, higher up than that in power, that is." 
 
 "The Prime Minister?" 
 
 " Yes. He is clever very clever, even in most 
 things. And had it only occurred to him to use this 
 cleverness in persuading his colleagues to avoid the error 
 of exaggeration, we might have whistled for the present 
 chance ... if chance one may call it." 
 
 "Misdirected talents are worse than useless," young 
 MasseYac interposed, sententiously, "and not much to 
 be feared, I think." 
 
 Rouanez turned to look at him, and shrugged her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " His case," she said, quietly, "must be a peculiar one, 
 
 152 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 then, for he has certainly managed to gain influences that 
 can scarcely be overlooked. Were he alone, instead of 
 being surrounded by a crowd of fanatics and corrupt dema 
 gogues, I for my part would consider our plight practically 
 hopeless." 
 
 The Marquis de Laoual nodded. " I am very much of 
 your opinion," he admitted; "all the more so because 
 I know the man personally, and have been able on more 
 than one occasion to observe his undeniable qualities. 
 But, clever or otherwise, we must do our best to prove 
 ourselves cleverer still; which brings us back to our 
 muttons by a direct road. When do you think that all 
 will be ready for action, Rouanez? Do not forget that 
 time presses. This renewal of the famous Affaire, thanks 
 to the imprudent step taken the other day in connection 
 with the transplanting of what s-his-name s remains, is 
 all we could desire, and we should beat the iron while it 
 is hot. You have accomplished miracles in three months. 
 How many weeks will it take you and your lieutenants 
 to complete the work?" 
 
 "That, my dear Laoual, I cannot tell you off-hand like 
 this. But to-morrow I may possibly do so. The arma 
 ment of the volunteers is nearly complete, and I want 
 you to come with me to Gull Island in order that you may 
 inspect our magazines. We are assured of the enthusias 
 tic co-operation of the regiments stationed at Lorient, 
 Brest, Chateaulin, Quimper, Morlaix, and Lannion; which, 
 in effect, gives us control of the most important portion 
 of Brittany. One regiment at Nantes is pretty certain 
 to join us, while Vannes will bodily come over to the 
 cause as soon as the more western districts have risen. 
 You know already that our sister - province is good. 
 Rochefort, La Rochelle, La-Roche-sur-Yon will all bring 
 their contingents of soldiers and civilians, while the navy 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 I do not for an instant hesitate to say belongs to us, al 
 most en bloc. This should be enough to set the North 
 ablaze." 
 
 "Then surely we have in hand the means of bringing 
 all France to arms!" Laoual exclaimed, enthusiastically. 
 "That is, if you do not view the situation too favorably." 
 
 "I don t," she energetically asserted. "All that has 
 been lacking hitherto was the leaders. We have those 
 now, and no mistake." 
 
 "Thanks to you, who have known how to gather up 
 the four corners of the Parti, " Olier said, his gray eyes 
 shining oddly in the lantern lights. 
 
 "Nonsense!" she remonstrated, really annoyed. "Any 
 body could have done the same. I have merely brought 
 to bear some surplus energy and idle money that had lain 
 dormant too long; nothing more. Please don t say such 
 things again, Olier. I hate it!" 
 
 "Very well, I sha n t, then," he promised. 
 
 Then followed the real business of the night, the swear 
 ing-in of several new subordinate leaders, the verbal re 
 ports of independent agents, approval of recent trans 
 actions, including the disposal and concealment of arms 
 and ammunition, and the assignment of new passwords; 
 all of which took so much time that Olier, who seemed 
 curiously restless for once in a way, suddenly exclaimed, 
 almost impatiently: 
 
 "Let me warn you, good people, that we had better 
 make tracks now, for it is past two o clock, and in an hour 
 it will be so light that we will be recognized by the first 
 urchin we meet; more especially Arzur and I, who have 
 farthest to go." 
 
 "Why, I had no idea it was so late," Massdrac cried. 
 " How are you going home, Lady Clanvowe surely not 
 alone, as you came?" 
 
 154 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Surely alone, as I came, my good MasseYac; it is the 
 safest way." 
 
 "I am not at all sure of that," Laoual interrupted. 
 " You see, Rouanez, young paludieres do not run about 
 the country alone. They go in groups to and from their 
 work in the marshes, and a solitary one might attract 
 notice." 
 
 "Young . . . ? You make me laugh! Besides, who 
 is to catch sight of me at this hour on the lande? Do 
 you propose to put on petticoats and a coiffe, in order 
 to form a group with me?" 
 
 "No, certainly not . . . naturally. But suppose you 
 came along in my boat, and I were to take you to your 
 yacht?" 
 
 "And have my crew informed of my nightly prome 
 nades, disguised, and with gentlemen wholly unknown to 
 them? You are talking feebly, Laoual. My conduct is 
 sufficiently outrageous as it is, even to the uninitiated, 
 who only see the best side of it. I must think of my hus 
 band sometimes, and not risk my good name any further," 
 she concluded, with a laugh. 
 
 " It s no use trying to oppose you," returned the Mar 
 quis, " but it is perfectly absurd to hint that your hus 
 band needs any pity. He of all men does not." 
 
 " He does, on the contrary," she said, in an altered 
 voice, thinking of the horrible scandal in which the failure 
 of the plot might involve him. "One must risk some 
 thing for one s King, however," she hastily added. 
 
 "For which one?" the sarcastic voice of the Marquis 
 whispered in her ear "since we have more Pretenders 
 than Monarchs ready to hand." 
 
 "The rightful one," she answered, smiling. "And when 
 the throne is comfortably prepared and cushioned, he ll 
 cut no bad figure there." 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Sapristif" muttered Arzur to Olier, who had been close 
 enough to overhear, "those two at least are not blinded 
 by partisanship." 
 
 " Who could be with their eyes open ? Who would have 
 risked such an adventure, were it not that matters have 
 come to so ugly a head that some cutting is sorely need 
 ed?" was the sober reply. "And since Lady Clanvowe 
 does not need us, let s be off, you and I; as it is, we ll 
 have to run." He hurried his adieus, bowed to the re 
 maining few, for several had already departed, and, pick 
 ing up his lantern, re-entered the passage, the others 
 filing off by an opposite entrance that led through similar 
 tortuous windings to the lande. 
 
 Last of all, Rouanez left the sheltering rock, and, when 
 assured that every one had disappeared, struck out 
 through the wet heather across the broad shoulder of the 
 point. Her step was less buoyant than usual, not on 
 account of her tiny sabots the quaint foot-gear fitted 
 with perfect comfort but because what was for her the 
 only sore point of the whole matter had just been touched, 
 and that was Hubert. Poor old Hubert! What if he 
 came back from the other side of the world to find her 
 in prison or else a fugitive from the laws of her native 
 land? Had she been quite within her rights when she 
 placed herself at the head of the Royalist party and set 
 afoot so gigantic a plan of revolt? She paused for a 
 second, knee-deep in the heather, her big wooden bowl 
 resting on her hip, and searched the velvet darkness for 
 an answer. 
 
 "It isn t the first time the Clanvowes have had to do 
 with Brittany," she argued, irrelevantly, thinking of that 
 far-away Sir John, who was a captain of Chandos, and 
 who, as old Froissart says, fought like "a man out of 
 hys mynde" over the body of the great Seneschal in that 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 obscure skirmish which sealed the fate of Guienne. The 
 moon had set, and the stars alone, twinkling in the deep 
 blue of the sky, prevented the chill hour before dawn 
 from being absolutely black. A faint breeze rustled the 
 tough twigs of the heather, and far below the edge of the 
 falaise a c harc-houat * was mournfully calling to its mate, 
 still drowsing, no doubt, in some rock-hollow. 
 
 "Rather late for regrets, anyway," Rouanez muttered. 
 "All I ve got to do is to stick by my guns and hope for 
 the best. Hubert will forgive me anything, and then . . . 
 one can always end things decently if the guns miss fire!" 
 She raised her disengaged hand, dashed from her eyes a 
 moisture for which the thickly falling dew was in no wise 
 responsible, and straight as a homing swallow made for 
 Fort Rozkavel, reaching it just as the narrowest of pale 
 lemon-colored streaks was beginning to cut the welded 
 curve of sea and sky, away over in the mysterious East. 
 
 * Widgeon. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 Stone-built and low, its irised cap of thatch 
 
 Quaintly askew above two windows small, 
 The footway to the half-door on the latch 
 
 Was ranked with stocks and gillyflowers tall; 
 
 And fast above the lintel to the wall 
 A holly-bush gave token of good cheer, 
 
 And to the worn wayfarer seemed to call, 
 For three red apples was her merry gear, 
 That said, "Three coppers is the price of cider here." 
 
 Seen from the low-walled lane a haven fair 
 
 Of peace it seemed, not elsewhere to be found, 
 For pigeons stooping through the golden air 
 
 Made on the gable-end a grateful sound; 
 
 Some strawen hives spread quiet all around, 
 And lacy tamarisks timed the wind s refrain, 
 
 And, visioned o er the gray dune s gentle mound, 
 The still gray sea, a broad and boundless plain, 
 Rolled on the creaming sands, flowed back, and rolled again. 
 
 From bench and bird-cage at the door one passed 
 
 Down two rough steps into a stone-floored room, 
 With bulging ceiling raftered dark and vast, 
 
 Where all was turf en scent and kindly gloom; 
 
 Black oaken tables solid as a tomb 
 And stools to outlast centuries were there, 
 
 And provender until the day of doom 
 Hanging on strings unless one must prepare, 
 On such a monstrous hearth, a huger bill of fare! 
 
 The Breton Inn. M. M. 
 
 THE little inn of Douar-mat* was filled that evening to 
 its uttermost capacity not in itself an extraordinary oc- 
 
 * Bonne-terre (Good Earth). 
 158 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 currence, since Kerdikan was celebrated for miles around 
 for the excellence of his cider ; but as the sardine season 
 had not been turning out favorably, thirst had of late 
 been forcibly curbed, and the vastness of the present 
 gathering would have been surprising to those who did 
 not know that both cider and calvados were on this occa 
 sion to be had for the asking. Indeed, several brilliantly 
 labelled flagons of that latter bottled curse glowed wicked 
 ly in the light of the smoky oil-lamps planted here and 
 there on the dingy tables, while the reek of a battery of 
 clay pipes rose thickly toward the strings of onions and 
 clusters of lard-filled bladders garnishing the low ceiling. 
 Of those present only a very few puffed away at cheap 
 cigarettes, and these were progressists of the first water, 
 young men who inclined toward new ideas, or else ex- 
 soldiers and sailors, "lighting paper" as they call it there, 
 from habit contracted during their years of service. In 
 Finisterre the cigarette is in ill-repute, as being too effem 
 inate and dandified, and inspires the inhabitant with no 
 confidence. 
 
 Outside, the night was sympathetically wet; the wind 
 waltzing in from the sea whistled shrilly as it came, and 
 the three apples jauntily stuck on the twisted branches 
 of the bunch of holly over the door, to announce to all 
 comers that the monetary value of a bowlful of cider was 
 three sous precisely, banged roughly against each other, 
 as though they were enjoying, on their own account, the 
 quarrelsome pleasures of a drunken spree. 
 
 Blue blouses and white ones, woollen jerseys and 
 broad breeches, embroidered jackets and pailletted waist 
 coats, mixed their disparate hues all along the lengthy 
 oaken benches, and before the hearth, where a few fagots 
 crackled beneath the huge earthenware marmite, one 
 glossy black frock-coat displayed its incongruous bour- 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 geois presence above a pair of soulfully pearl-gray trousers 
 and immaculately varnished boots. The wearer, a ruf 
 fianly featured, narrow-shouldered, hollow-chested man 
 of thirty or thereabouts, was orating in the raucous ac 
 cents of the Parisian faubourgs, and it was plainly evi 
 dent that he took himself and his present mission with 
 complete seriousness. Unfortunately for him, however, 
 he did not understand his audience. Ignorant of the im 
 portant fact that while a Breton will drink with anybody, 
 when drunk all his racial prejudices become exacerbated, 
 and blinded by the memory of former forensic triumphs 
 in the industrial sections of France, he and his brandy 
 were rapidly raising the temper of the assembly against 
 himself. 
 
 "I tell you, my friends," he shouted, at the top of his 
 unpleasant voice, "that your day is at hand: you who 
 have for so long been heavily burdened by the oppressors ! 
 Your wilful blindness has been the primary cause of the 
 frightful evils from which you have suffered; your obsti 
 nate loyalty to ideas and principles so old that they stink 
 with decay has landed you into utter starvation and de 
 grading penury. However, we who from the true intel 
 lectual centre of France have watched your struggles with 
 odds too great for you to bear are here now to lend you 
 a helping hand, to show you the error of your past, arid 
 to usher you into a brighter future. All men are equal, 
 my friends; all men are equally entitled to the goods of 
 this world. Long ago you should have tumbled your 
 damned nobles into the gutter!" He paused long enough 
 to gulp down a generous bumper of mele-cassis, wipe his 
 thin lips on a dazzling crimson silk handkerchief, which 
 he had once or twice brandished like a patchouli-perfumed 
 banner, and resumed. 
 
 "We do not promise more than we intend to give, as 
 
 1 60 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 I have already told you a while ago. Look at my chief 
 to-day: many times a millionaire, raised by a grateful 
 Government to the Senate, an Officer of the Legion of 
 Honor, and what means more still, my friends much 
 more a man who holds your destinies in his beneficent 
 hand. What were his beginnings? Tell me that: what 
 were his beginnings ?" 
 
 No one seemed to know what these beginnings had been, 
 which saved the orator an awkward minute, and, satis 
 fied on that point, he felt safe to bluff along as before. 
 "Ah!" he bellowed, banging his fist so violently on the 
 nearest table that the thick glasses with which it was lit 
 tered rang dully, "you do not know that, but I do, and 
 I am proud of the knowledge; prouder still to be able to 
 impart it to you. This great and good man was, like 
 yourselves, born in a lowly cottage; nay, so poor was 
 his parents habitation that it might better be compared 
 to a stable to the stable where Here alcoholic enthu 
 siasm inspired so sacrilegious a comparison that a growl 
 of indignation ran from bench to bench, and Dulac s pru 
 dent secretary, bolting down the rest of his panegyric 
 upon the advantages conferred by the Great and In 
 divisible Republican Scheme, attempted to turn the gen 
 eral attention into a safer channel by means of a more 
 concrete example. 
 
 "Behold this idiot crouching at my feet!" he cried, 
 pointing contemptuously to the hearth-stone where hud 
 dled the pitiful figure of Gregor the Innocent, lank, tall, 
 ill-built, with a forest of drab-colored hair falling upon 
 his dirty face and completely hiding his eyes; a poor 
 wretch, who wore by choice over his gaunt limbs a dilapi 
 dated skirt, torn and tattered, and draped his square, 
 high shoulders in a once garish shawl, now faded and 
 fringed with brambles. "Look at him! He might have 
 
 " 161 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 been a man like you and me had not his evil fate caused 
 him to be born where ignorance reigns supreme, and 
 where he was allowed to fall into neglect until he has 
 become an object of disgust and mockery to all!" 
 
 Alas! Monsieur Flochard had made yet another mis 
 take! 
 
 "No! No!" several voices protested, indignantly; 
 "Gregor is an innocent, but he is a good lad, and he 
 brings us luck. Nobody laughs at him here!" 
 
 More than one fierce face was stretched out toward the 
 somewhat discomfited windbag. A few of the most hot 
 headed or the most drunk got to their feet and forced 
 their way noisily toward him. Decidedly the meeting 
 was assuming a stormy aspect, and the agitator s sallow 
 face began to whiten, when suddenly a huge man, who 
 had been quietly sitting in a corner, rose and pushed 
 through the crowd. 
 
 He wore the short brown homespun jacket and knee- 
 breeches of a metayer, and on his white locks the flatter- 
 brimmed, velvet-bound hat that distinguishes the farmer 
 classes from the salt-workers. 
 
 "Be still, you fools!" he called out through the rising 
 turmoil, in a voice that commanded instant attention. 
 " I warned you what you would hear from that carrion- 
 crow, but you wouldn t listen to me. You came to drink 
 his poison through your ears and through your besotted 
 mouths. Now don t you dare to lay a finger on him. 
 Listen some more, on the contrary, and let him fill your 
 heads with more rubbish. You owe it to him in pay 
 ment for his treat!" 
 
 "Who are you?" the Senator s Agent Provocateur asked, 
 quaveringly. "Not a Kremarze peasant, nor one from 
 Rozkavel, I think." 
 
 "No, my master," the old man answered, contemptu- 
 
 162 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ously, " neither from Kremarze nor from Rozkavel either, 
 but from Laoual, where such vermin as you are not given 
 free entry. I know you well, Monsieur Antoine Flochard, 
 for it was you who carried out your Patron s fine plan of 
 bringing foreign oysters to our shores, which must have 
 been his little way of bettering our lot!" 
 
 At this a murmur rising louder and louder filled the 
 low-ceiled room. Every man there was leaning forward 
 eagerly in his seat, and it was evidently only intense 
 curiosity as to what the tall farmer would do next that 
 held the crowd quiet. 
 
 " You weren t so proud then, my fine cockerel. I was 
 there visiting my daughter, who s married to an oyster- 
 man up that way, when the freres de la cote mashed up 
 every accursed foreign shell, and I saw you decamp be 
 fore they could get their fingers on you. You talk of our 
 old ways. They were the good ones. Yours are filthy, 
 and I don t mind telling you so to your face, you black 
 guard, who come here to rouse the devil in our young 
 men s hot brains!" 
 
 The secretary s bile-injected eyes were rolling in his 
 head, like little wheels, with fright. The tense stillness, 
 the cold, concentrated stare of that hostile gathering were 
 disquieting things, but his formidable accuser seemed to 
 assure him protection, and also his pay was too big to be 
 risked, so he plucked up enough courage to try and turn 
 the tables on his opponents. 
 
 "And what are your great people doing for you at 
 Laoual?" he shrilly demanded, standing on tiptoe in his 
 unconscious desire to emulate the giant s magnificent 
 poise. " Has your fine Marquis who drives four-in-hand 
 and owns a yacht given up those to feed the hungry and 
 clothe the naked that abound on his land?" 
 
 A sudden roar of laughter greeted the question, and the 
 
 163 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 tall form of Kerdikan the innkeeper shouldered itself be 
 tween the two angry men. 
 
 " I ve let you go on a good little while, M sieu Flo- 
 chard," he said, grimly, " for the reason that it s not in the 
 interest of my business to fall foul of you, and further 
 more, because more than half of those here don t under 
 stand a word of what you say in your French lingo. But 
 don t you go throwing your slime on M sieu 1 Marquis de 
 Laoual, who gives three-quarters of his revenues to the 
 poor, and who stood by all of us, even of Kremarze and 
 Rozkavel, during the last spell of cholera, when he and 
 Madame la Marquise went from bedside to bedside as un 
 afraid as if the complaint was toothache. Is it your 
 Dulac who d do the same, or give one centime when no 
 body knew of it? Pah! You make me sick; you and 
 your big speeches! In Morbihan perhaps, or the Loire- 
 Inferieure, you might talk so. But we of Finisterre don t 
 listen out of the same ear. Pack up your wares and go 
 offer them somewhere else, if you don t want your head 
 cracked open." 
 
 The idiot crawling on the floor gave a blood-curdling 
 croak of glee no doubt at the uproar, which agreeably 
 tickled his sense of hearing and Flochard turned with 
 staring, frightened eyes to look whence the sound came. 
 
 "So you choose to stick by the old ways!" he shouted, 
 out of the extremity of his terror. He had lost all chance 
 of power over them for the present at least and he 
 knew it. He knew, too, that he was in danger, for he had 
 maddened most of them with drink. Every nerve of his 
 mean little carcass trembled, but he made the last des 
 perate effort of a cornered rat. " Remember that we 
 hold the handle of the axe," he screamed again; "that 
 we can cut your bonds or else your necks!" 
 
 "Go to Hell with your axe, or use it on yourself!" a 
 
 164 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 young fisherman bellowed, his eyes red with rage and 
 brandy, lurching forward to shake a leg-of-mutton fist 
 under the orator s nose. " Here Hanvec, Hoel, Touan, 
 
 7 */ 
 
 Kerdikan, all of you men of Kremarze, come here and 
 we ll roll him down the falaise. Down the rocks with him. 
 Hardi les gars! Over the edge with the failli chien!" 
 
 In a second the whole place was in an uproar, and there 
 was no time to be lost if murder could still be avoided. 
 There was a ghastly livid patch on each of Flochard s 
 cheeks, and his lips were working convulsively. With 
 one stride the huge farmer from Laoual reached him, 
 seized him by the collar, and lifting him bodily from the 
 floor, rushed him to the door, which he kicked open. 
 "Run for your life!" he said, throwing him out into the 
 darkness, and then slamming to the heavy oak, set his 
 back against it and faced the struggling mob. 
 
 "Take it easy, boys," he said, in his quiet voice of 
 command. "He is out of reach by this time, for his 
 devil s car was waiting for him at the cross-roads. And 
 now listen to me!" 
 
 The snarling, savage pack fell back before the calm 
 unconcern of the white-haired man, whom, by-the-way, 
 no one had seen there before that night. This in itself, 
 however, in nowise diminished the influence he had rapid 
 ly gained over them; for there is so little visiting in Brit 
 tany between villages, even when only a few miles apart, 
 that it occurred to none of these for the most part rather 
 befuddled brains to question the metayer s genuineness. 
 
 "You ll excuse me, who am old and have seen much," 
 he began again, amid a sudden silence, and in the courte 
 ous tone which they invariably adopt out there for public 
 speaking, "if I, although not belonging to your com 
 munes, ask you to have nothing more to do with that 
 man of evil words and deeds whom I have just saved 
 
 165 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 from your fists. I have been many years, boy and man, 
 in the service of our Marquis, and it gives me, I think, 
 title to make a few remarks to you of Kremarze and 
 Rozkavel. You heard that Flochard just now advise us 
 to roll our nobles in the gutter. The same was done long 
 ago at the time of the Revolution, and what was gained 
 by it? Are we better off than our fathers were then? 
 Do we get more to eat ? Do our fields yield more or our 
 stockings hold a greater quantity of silver bits ? He says 
 that one man is as good as another, and that there should 
 be equality of rights and property. But he took good 
 care not to explain to you that the manner in which he 
 and his kind get on is by rifling their neighbor s plum- 
 trees. One can always do that when one is clever enough ; 
 but it isn t a clean way to fill one s belly. Our nobles 
 have their faults; why shouldn t they? But at any rate 
 they have always stuck by us, and even the poorest never 
 refuse to share their bit of bread with those of us who 
 belong to them." 
 
 "That s true! That s true!" came from several of the 
 slowly sobering listeners. 
 
 "Yes, it s true," the Laoual farmer resumed. "You 
 think perhaps that if you gave up the old faiths you d be 
 out of the mire; but you would not. You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourselves all of you here to have drunk 
 at that bad adviser s expense. Drink is your curse. You 
 men and boys, here, for a pint of calvados would sell your 
 last measure of wheat. It makes you beat your wives, 
 neglect your work, and come home dissatisfied with your 
 lot. In a little while your very blood will turn into 
 brandy, and it s then that you ll become the prey of the 
 Flochards and Dulacs, and other miscreants who want 
 to use your backs to climb to high places. Fools that 
 you are, can t you see that it is so? They d soon show 
 
 1 66 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 you how fair and generous they are if you asked them for 
 help! How did they treat the vine-growers of the South, 
 men of their own kidney, who were only putting into 
 practice their own ideas, when they asked for assistance ? 
 Did they loose their purse - strings, as from Socialist 
 to Socialist? Not a whit. They gave them bullets to 
 chew; nothing softer; nothing more nourishing; just 
 lead! I dare say you are hungry for some too. You 
 used to be good Christians once. You went to Mass with 
 your women, and did mostly what was right. But now 
 you are catching the same disease that these accursed 
 Francs have, and if you don t look out it will gain on 
 you, till you have become as rotten as the rest . . . yes, 
 rotten to the core ... to the point of blaspheming the 
 Holy Saints and Martyrs, disregarding decency and 
 morality, murdering your unborn children, and striving 
 after illicit gain. That is what such progress as is held 
 up before your eyes means; progress that is depopulat 
 ing France so rapidly that those who read of the numbers 
 of the people in the newspapers are frightened. Do you 
 know that the navy our navy, for it always has been 
 ours more than anybody else s is falling behind those of 
 other countries? Monsieur le Marquis read that to me 
 the other day. We are only fourth now, after being 
 second. That is progress, is it not ? I wish I could speak 
 better than I do, so that you might better understand. 
 Take my poor little warning, however, men of Finisterre, 
 take it as it is given, from the heart of my soul. And 
 now I ve had my say out, and there s nothing more." 
 
 He had been feeling for the door- fastening behind his 
 back while finishing his harangue, and, slipping it noise 
 lessly, he stepped out backward into the stormy night, 
 fastened the latch from the outside, and was gone. 
 
 A babel of voices broke forth, and every single man rose 
 
 167 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 to his feet and rushed forward to bring once more among 
 them the speaker who had managed to tell them hard 
 truths, and yet reach their better selves, but Kerdikan 
 and Hanvec stood between. 
 
 "Let him go!" the innkeeper ordered. "He s said his 
 say. Go home, boys, and chew on the quid he s handed 
 you. He s a wise one, is that Laoual man!" 
 
 "He is that! He is that!" every one cried. 
 
 "Well, then, do as he bade you do," Hanvec cried, per 
 emptorily. 
 
 "But who is he?" they demanded, pressing closer. 
 " Tell us who he is, at least. His tongue is famously long, 
 and he knows what he is talking about." 
 
 " A farmer from Laoual. He told you so himself. Go 
 home, go home; there s been enough babble for one night. 
 Take them away, Hanvec. I must close up, or else that 
 Flochard will have the law on me." 
 
 Slowly, silently, the crestfallen and greatly sobered 
 crew filed out and marched off beneath the sluicing rain 
 in different directions. The idiot had crept from the 
 auberge without being noticed a little while before. Im 
 mediately the place was cleared, Kerdikan put up the 
 stout bars of the front entrance, then crossed over to the 
 other side, and, quickly unfastening a narrower door giving 
 on a small garden-plot, called softly: "Monsieur le Mar 
 quis! Monsieur le Comte!" 
 
 The wind had risen to a half gale, and he had to repeat 
 the call a little louder. "Where are they?" he was anx 
 iously muttering, when two shadows detached themselves 
 from the rain-beaten wall and passed into the house, drip 
 ping from head to foot. 
 
 "The Saints have pity on us!" Kerdikan muttered. 
 "But you are wet through, my gentlemen. Fortunately 
 your own clothes are in the bread-hutch, safe and warm." 
 
 1 68 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Pitiful figures, indeed, those two cut, in their bedrag 
 gled, borrowed plumes. The farmer of Laoual, with his 
 venerable white wig soaked and limp beneath the half- 
 melted, broad-leafed hat, and the pseudo-idiot, shaking 
 out his grotesque skirts; more of a scarecrow than the 
 real Grdgor safely sleeping somewhere with the pigs 
 had ever been. 
 
 "Gwd! M sieu Arzur," continued the innkeeper, "it s 
 not nice to see you like that. Take off these clothes 
 while I throw a fagot on the fire." 
 
 Arzur was laughing, but a little ruefully. He had not 
 relished his loathsome disguise, and disgustedly threw his 
 own wig upon the floor, before plunging a sadly begrimed 
 face in a bowl of water standing on the broad window-sill. 
 
 "Pouah!" he spluttered, emerging from the soapsuds. 
 "What a wretched business!" 
 
 The Marquis de Laoual s handsome features were set 
 and stern. "I don t like playing spy any better than 
 you do," he said, with a touch of severity, "but we had 
 to know what that individual would tell them, and this 
 was the only way." 
 
 "I know. Don t think I am complaining, Monsieur 
 de Laoual," Arzur hastily interrupted. "And one can 
 scarcely call it playing spy, either. You were superb. 
 Lord! I came very near applauding you aloud. I can t 
 imagine how you managed to change even your voice 
 and give it that characteristic intonation. Oh, it was 
 perfect ! Such a make-up ! I never would have dreamed 
 that forty could be made to look so like seventy!" 
 
 Here Kerdikan, who had coaxed the dying embers into 
 a satisfactory blaze, began to add his praise to Arzur s. 
 
 "They ll not soon forget what M sieu 1 Marquis told 
 them. Every word carried its weight," he said, enthu 
 siastically. "And served them right, too, the thin-brains ! 
 
 169 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 But all this bodes no good," he continued, scratching his 
 luridly blond head thoughtfully. "That particular will 
 not forget either! He is not quite a fool, though, in spite 
 of all. Suppose he twigs that there s something more 
 afoot than usual, what then?" 
 
 " He won t have a chance to do much, my good Kerdi- 
 kan," the Marquis reassured him. " Everything is all but 
 ready for the final surprise, and in a very short space of 
 time ..." He stopped long enough to get into the tweed 
 coat the innkeeper was holding up to him, carefully settled 
 his tie and collar, and concluded: "We will conduct him 
 and his precious patron back to where they belong, I hope." 
 
 "We all who know wish that moment was already here, 
 M sieu 1 Marquis," Kerdikan said, feelingly. " You ll have 
 done a great deed for us." 
 
 "I?" Monsieur de Laoual protested. "I merely obey 
 orders, as you do yourself, Kerdikan. It is Miladi whom 
 you will have to thank, if we succeed. She s the soul and 
 spirit of it all." 
 
 "A mighty extraordinary Lady! I saw her yesterday 
 for a moment. She was riding past on that gold-colored 
 horse of hers, and stopped to shake hands with me as 
 friendly as you please: You remind me of your father, 
 Kerdikan, she says to me, smiling; and every time I 
 look at you I think of the time when I used to come and 
 bring my pony to be shod at his forge. Isn t it wonder 
 ful, M sieu 1 Marquis, to hear a thing like that from a 
 Lady who doesn t seem much more than twenty-five, 
 saving the presence of her white hair; and beautiful it is, 
 too, shining like threads of mica at full-moon time." 
 
 " You re a poet in your way, Kerdikan," Arzur approved 
 from the hearth-step, whereon he sat enthroned, calmly 
 toasting a thick crust of brown bread over the layer of 
 embers frontiering the fire. 
 
 170 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Monsieur de Laoual turned to look at him in surprise. 
 "You don t mean to tell me," he exclaimed, "that you 
 are hungry?" 
 
 "As hungry as a bear. You cannot imagine how emo 
 tions always rack my stomach. And this," he compla 
 cently continued, "sopped in a bowl of cider will about 
 satisfy its cravings." 
 
 "Oh, very well, have your . . . supper, then; but don t 
 be too long about it, for the tide waits for no man, and 
 in an hour my canot will not be able to approach the rocks. 
 And now as to you, Kerdikan, I want you to go to Kre- 
 marze early to-morrow morning and tell Monsieur de 
 Frehel that the rendezvous is at the edge of the little cove 
 of Sten, between half-past eleven and twelve o clock." 
 
 "To-morrow night?" Arzur inquired, grinding away at 
 the crisp crust. 
 
 " Yes, naturally. We can t go to Gull Island in broad 
 daylight! And, come to think of it, I wish you could 
 manage to accompany us, Kerdikan. Is there any pos 
 sibility of your finding somebody to mind your inn for a 
 few hours, or can you simply lock it up?" 
 
 "I can get my nephew to attend to it until the closing 
 hour, M sieu 1 Marquis, and he ll sleep here. All I ve got 
 to do is to tell him that I am obliged to ride to the Fair, 
 which, as luck will have it, begins day after to-morrow in 
 Poulduro-town." 
 
 " Excellent ! You were armorer of your squadron, were 
 you not, Kerdikan?" 
 
 "Yes, M sieu 1 Marquis." 
 
 "That makes everything easy. And now if you happen 
 to have satisfactorily allayed the cravings of your stom 
 ach, Arzur, we ll be off. Lord, how it rains!" he added, 
 as a noisy torrent of wind-whipped water slashed the 
 thick window-shutter. "We were wise to wear oil-skins 
 
 171 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 and sou westers. We ll go out through the turf-shed, 
 Kerdikan, so as to avoid opening the door of this lighted 
 room. I don t know why, but during the past few days 
 I ve had the feeling that somebody s watching me!" 
 
 Kerdikan, on his way to unlock the turf-shed door, 
 turned swiftly. 
 
 "Walk close to the walls, gentlemen, and I ll follow 
 you at some distance. Nom de Dieu! I wish I could 
 catch somebody spying on you!" he said, with sudden 
 ferocity. " I d soon silence him, whoever he d be." And 
 as the two walked on together through the wall-enclosed 
 lane, the huge form of the innkeeper, indistinguishable in 
 the pitchy darkness, padded noiselessly after in his heavy 
 woollen socks through the ankle-deep mud. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 High on the promontory s seaward limb 
 
 A marvellous great pit-hole sloped adown 
 Unto a mouth ot darkness rude and grim, 
 
 Wherein so ran the whisper of renown 
 
 Souls of the damned eternally did drown: 
 Churned in the gorge of hell the live-long day, 
 
 Night brought a boon to drink upon the crown 
 Of that great cliff until the dawnlight gray 
 The sea-wind, speeding fresh from thousand miles of spray. 
 
 The pit-wall was y-broken toward the sea, 
 
 A great cleft reaching almost to the tide, 
 But here the hell-mouth from its surgings free 
 
 A lip of world-old granite did divide. 
 
 There in sleek circuit horribly did glide 
 An evil pool, or foamed a boiling stark, 
 
 That, after gulping high in ghastly pride 
 Until the utmost edge its slime did mark, 
 In sick green swirling rings sucked downward to the dark. 
 
 None but low, dreadful devil-sounds it made 
 
 To chill the very heart (and suiting so 
 Its raw, dank breathing struck the soul afraid 
 
 As of some dead abysm far below), 
 
 Save when the high surf in a wrath of snow 
 Stormed in, and then the roaring current-swale 
 
 Fought like white dragons in the Pit of Woe, 
 And far abroad, neath sun or starlight pale, 
 Wild thunder flowed and flared upon the veering gale. 
 
 The Hell of Plogonak.U. M. 
 
 LADY CLANVOWE, seated at her desk, was busily writing 
 to her husband. There was, she knew, no certainty at 
 all of these weekly letters reaching him before he once 
 
 173 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 more re-entered civilized regions, but this was no sufficient 
 reason for her to neglect her promise, and the agile pen 
 flew easily over page after page of exquisite description. 
 
 Barring the one great occupation of her present life, 
 which, of course, she could not even distantly allude to, 
 there was little for her to tell; but having been endowed 
 among other gifts, with an extreme facility for saying 
 things prettily, whether she spoke or wrote, she was never 
 at a loss for material. Still, this morning the task did not 
 seem quite so grateful as usual, and once or twice she 
 paused, first to straighten mechanically the heavy head 
 of a carnation, a thick hedge of which fragrant blossoms 
 encircled three sides of the desk-top, and then to blow 
 away some few dust-specks that had settled on the big 
 enamel - framed photograph of her lord, occupying the 
 place of honor immediately in front of her. 
 
 "Poor Hubert!" she said, softly, letting her gaze linger 
 upon the clean-cut, severe features and kindly eyes of the 
 portrait. " What would he say if he knew?" She leaned 
 her round chin in her palm and continued to contemplate 
 the picture, but her thoughts wandered, and so absorbed 
 was she that the slow opening of a door behind failed to 
 arouse her. To be sure, since Grafton s was the hand on 
 the knob, it followed naturally that the little operation 
 had been silently performed; but even the faint click of 
 the portiere-rings as he glided in was unheard, and sev 
 eral minutes elapsed before an uncomfortable sensation 
 brought her back from her re very, and she glanced up. 
 
 Immediately behind the desk hung a curious antique 
 mirror, a long, narrow bit of glass, framed in very old 
 carved pear-wood, and reflected in its slightly dulled sur 
 face she saw a hitherto unknown countenance, intense and 
 straining, with wide eyes and parted lips. Not a muscle 
 of her face moved ; she did not stir, but through her eye- 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 lashes she concentrated all the force of her keen sight upon 
 the craning head and shoulders of the watcher. 
 
 Could this really be the impassive, correct, dignified 
 Grafton ? she asked herself, almost doubting that what she 
 saw was real. For she read devouring eagerness on those 
 tense features, and something far more surprising yet 
 actual dread, the dread that takes possession of a man 
 and becomes his guiding power. What under the sun 
 could so disorder a correct conventional individual like 
 him, Lady Clanvowe s keen and quick understanding was 
 unable even distantly to guess just then. Surely the 
 great, peaceful, sunny, flower-filled room, with its one 
 quiet occupant, could produce no such strange impres 
 sion ; and yet there could be no doubt of it Grafton was 
 in the grip of some unknown apprehension of which she 
 was the cause. Step by step she saw him approach, ut 
 terly unconscious of having been perceived, and bend 
 further and further forward, evidently to try and catch 
 a glimpse of the sheets of paper scattered about the 
 blotter. Fortunately the first one, where "My dear 
 Hubert" was inscribed in her clear writing, lay upper 
 most, and suddenly Grafton began a retrograde move 
 ment toward the door, walking backward, and with such 
 care and deftness that a shadow would not have been 
 more noiseless. Still she sat motionless, her chin in her 
 palm, and this time the portiere-rings did not click; but 
 in a few seconds she heard the door-handle turn deliber 
 ately, after a light knock, and some one enter slowly. 
 
 "Who is that?" she asked, in her ordinary manner, 
 and turned quite naturally at the "Grafton, my lady," 
 which came in answer. 
 
 "What is it, Grafton? Has Captain Penruddock ar 
 rived?" 
 
 "No, my lady," the butler replied. "I came to ask 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 whether your ladyship would ride out this afternoon. 
 James is below waiting for orders." 
 
 Rouanez glanced out of the window at the pale-blue 
 sky and sun-shot waves, and appeared to ponder. "I 
 am not sure," she said, twirling her penholder between 
 her fingers. "Tell Jim to come again just before lunch 
 eon. Perhaps since the weather is so fine I will paddle 
 about in the canoe and, by-the-way, Grafton, have you 
 any message for Sir Hubert? I am writing to him," she 
 explained, waving the penholder toward her letter and 
 turning a smiling face toward the faithful and devoted 
 old servitor. 
 
 "No, my lady . . . that is, yes, my lady; since your 
 ladyship is so kind . . . my service and respect to my 
 master as usual." 
 
 "Certainly, your service and respect as usual," she 
 slowly repeated. " I will also assure him of the way in 
 which you fulfil your mission here. He will, I know, be 
 pleased to hear how you watch over me and attend to 
 my comfort." 
 
 The shrewdest observer could have detected no trace 
 of irony or double meaning in the even, friendly tone, 
 and yet Grafton s pale eyes wavered, and he so far de 
 parted from his stringent principles as to shift his weight 
 from one foot to the other though of course noiselessly. 
 
 "Thank you, my lady ... I hope I know my duty," he 
 murmured, staring at the points of his patent-leather pumps. 
 
 " I am sure of it, Grafton. And now please send Jwala- 
 Singh to me. I have some instructions for him." 
 
 She turned her back on his retreating figure, and ap 
 parently sank once more into the depths of epistolary 
 composition; but as a matter of fact, her pen did not 
 touch paper again until the tall form of the Sikh suddenly 
 appeared at her elbow as if it had risen from the carpet. 
 
 176 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "I have remarkably silent attendants," she thought; 
 "but Jwala-Singh s noiselessness is neither stealthy nor 
 disquieting, which forms a pleasant contrast to " And 
 aloud she said to the salaaming Hindu: " I want to know, 
 Jwala-Singh, whether you have noticed lately any change 
 in Graf ton s manner." She knew her man too well to cau 
 tion him to keep secret what she was about to tell him ; 
 discretion from him was a foregone conclusion. 
 
 "Since we are here, my lady?" Jwala-Singh spoke 
 almost faultless English, although he had an Oriental 
 weakness for excursions into the decorative and hyper 
 bolic. 
 
 " Yes; but more especially lately. He seems . . . afraid 
 of something or other, and I have noticed that he prowls 
 about a good deal." 
 
 " He watches day and night, my lady, but for what I 
 cannot find out yet." 
 
 Lady Clanvowe smiled a little grimly. "You saw it, 
 too, then?" she asked. 
 
 " I have, my lady, and ever since I have followed in 
 Grafton s footsteps, like an echo upon the sound of a call 
 at night." 
 
 "What is it he fears, do you think?" 
 
 " He fears this land of stones and thorns, and the peo 
 ple whose speech he cannot understand, my lady; also he 
 fears some other thing, and that thing is what I search." 
 The Sikh s dark features were as impassive as usual ; but 
 the lips were just now ever so slightly curled back from 
 a double line of dazzling teeth, and this alone sufficed to 
 give the whole countenance a peculiarly fierce and for 
 bidding expression. 
 
 Lady Clanvowe turned right round in her chair and 
 fixed her most penetrating gaze upon him. 
 
 "Tell me, Jwala-Singh," she quietly asked again, "is it 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 of me, or of something he fancies I might do, that he is 
 afraid?" 
 
 For a short second the Hindu did not answer; and 
 when he did it was with a noticeable emphasis. 
 
 "Perhaps, it may be so, my lady." 
 
 " But what in the world can it be?" she exclaimed, her 
 eyes beginning to blaze. " What can suddenly make him 
 so outrageously insolent? Does he flatter himself that I 
 intend to put up with such behavior!" 
 
 Jwala-Singh glanced over his shoulder at the heavy 
 tapestry folds of the portiere behind him, and his mis 
 tress, noticing this, lowered her voice. 
 
 "He would not dare to listen at the door?" she whis 
 pered, angrily. 
 
 One of Jwala-Singh s rare smiles came and went with 
 to use one of his own forms of speech the swiftness of 
 a shadow on running water ; but there was no mirth in its 
 fleeting. 
 
 " He will scarcely listen when I am on the other side of 
 the door," he explained, "because he knows what very 
 little, little sounds I can hear, but otherwise He left 
 the sentence expressively unfinished. 
 
 " It is intolerable!" Lady Clanvowe cried, rising quickly, 
 "and I am going to send him back to England this very 
 day that is exactly what I am going to do, Jwala-Singh 
 . . . and more : I will write at once to Sir Hubert and tell 
 him why I have done so!" 
 
 Jwala-Singh did not move; he did not even change the 
 direction of his look, and yet Rouanez stopped short under 
 the weight of his mute disapproval. 
 
 "Why not?" she demanded, as if he had spoken. 
 
 " I cannot speak freely I, the servant of my lady, and 
 her slave of things too high for such as I am ; but as I hope 
 to be considered faithful, no such step should be taken." 
 
 178 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "And I am to submit to being spied upon and lorded 
 over?" she questioned, quivering with suppressed anger. 
 
 The Sikh silently inclined his head. 
 
 Slowly Lady Clanvowe sank back on her chair without 
 ceasing to question him with her eyes. For what might 
 have been perhaps but a few seconds, though to both of 
 them it seemed hours, she did not speak. A faint light 
 was gradually dawning on her comprehension, and an 
 ugly light she found it likely to prove. Jwala-Singh, she 
 knew, was what one could truthfully term a gentleman 
 during years she had been enabled to put his blind de 
 votion to the test; he was, moreover, the only creature 
 save Olier from whom she would accept advice in her 
 present isolation. Why not force him to speak out ? Why 
 not take his counsel, if she found that counsel sound? 
 
 "Jwala-Singh," she said, at last, "you have never once 
 failed in your loyalty to me and Sir Hubert, and I want 
 you now to forget all ideas of distance and differences of 
 blood, creed, . . . and . . . position. I want you to speak 
 to me as if I were of your own people. Do you under 
 stand, Jwala-Singh ?" 
 
 The Hindu s immobile face became suddenly expres 
 sive, as, bending, he grasped the hem of her dress, touched 
 it gently with his lips, and straightened into his old atti 
 tude. There had not been the faintest touch of servility 
 in the spontaneous homage. 
 
 " I find Grafton s strange attitude all the more embar 
 rassing, Jwala-Singh," she began, "because I am unable 
 to explain my present position. Now, if you can throw 
 any light upon his behavior, be it ever so faint, you will 
 do me the greatest possible service. Therefore, you must 
 speak frankly, Jwala-Singh." 
 
 The Sikh s intelligent eyes gave evidence of a thorough 
 comprehension of her meaning; but still he remained 
 
 179 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 mute, and she was on the point of trying to urge him 
 further, when he held up one slim hand, as if to entreat 
 her to be patient a little longer. 
 
 "My lady," he said, at last, "if Grafton is sent away 
 his dismissal will put a dark look upon what none but 
 himself has until now observed. It will be thought that 
 you, my lady, do not desire witnesses of what you do 
 here." 
 
 Having made up his mind to speak, Jwala-Singh spoke 
 now in a firm, unfaltering voice, which gave the words a 
 grave meaning. 
 
 "What I do here?" Rouanez questioned, with a sudden 
 sinking of the heart. "How do you mean it?" 
 
 "My lady knows that here she does not act at all as 
 she does when at the Hall, or even in the many foreign 
 places where Grafton and I have accompanied her." 
 
 " Naturally not, since I am here taking a holiday, in 
 my native land, and free to do just what "and as I please, 
 without any constraint." 
 
 "Yes, my lady, that is true talk, and yet it does not 
 explain many things that appear strange to one of Graf- 
 ton s small thought." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Since your ladyship wants me to make statement, I 
 must warn you, my lady, of Grafton having it in his 
 mind that lately your ladyship has more than once been 
 absent all night from the Fort." 
 
 " What nonsense!" Lady Clanvowe cried. " And where 
 does he suppose me to go?" She spoke nervously now, 
 for the truth of the accusation left her almost defenceless, 
 and permitted she saw that in a flash of a singularly 
 unpleasant interpretation. 
 
 " I have not been told what he supposes, happily for him; 
 if it be something disrespectful " Jwala-Singh resvimed 
 
 1 80 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 in the same calmly even tone: "Neither did he tell me 
 his suspicion concerning my lady s absences from the 
 Fort at night. But an hour or so before sunrise a week 
 ago I found him concealed at the end of the long corridor 
 leading to your ladyship s private apartments, watching, 
 and when I asked him what he was doing there he began 
 to stammer, lost courage, and told me he feared that you, 
 my lady, were out on the water, adding that he must 
 find means to put a stop to such imprudences. As was 
 my place to do, I awed him into returning to his own 
 room, and ever since then I have scarce let him out of 
 my sight; so much so, that peace no longer reigns be 
 tween us." 
 
 Rouanez was cold all over now. What a situation! 
 Hundreds, thousands, perhaps, of lives were at the mercy 
 of Grafton s discretion, or else, as her quick wit indicated, 
 she must lead him to believe that she, Rouanez de Roz- 
 kavel, Lady Clan vo we, was engaging in some vulgar in 
 trigue, leaving her home at the dead of night to keep a 
 tryst like any love-sick chambermaid ! Even if in defiance 
 of Jwala- Singh s advice she sent Graf ton home, would he 
 consent to go, she wondered, so shaken was she for the 
 moment by the unanticipated prospects suddenly unrolled 
 before her? He had his mission to heart; he considered 
 himself in Sir Hubert s absence her natural guardian. 
 
 Then her normal self returned, and she smiled grimly. 
 Oh yes, Graf ton would go if she wished it! But what if 
 he talked to Penruddock ; what if he wrote to Sir Hubert 
 himself, and the letter were, as doubtless might happen, 
 intercepted? Olier had warned her not to write a single 
 compromising word, since the post-mistress of the nearest 
 town through which the mails passed was known to be a 
 Government spy. Also, how much had Graf ton really 
 discovered ? Had he perhaps seen her creep home in her 
 
 181 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 paludiere disguise perhaps even followed her and wit 
 nessed the rapid meetings which once or twice had taken 
 place for hurried councils on the lande, or at the foot of 
 the cliffs, between herself, Keben de Kerhardec, de Laoual, 
 Arzur, Olier, and de Masserac ? In this case the lover ques 
 tion fell before a far more terrible one. What should she 
 do to find out how she now stood ? Jwala - Singh alone 
 could help her ; but then she must unreservedly confide in 
 Jwala-Singh. And why not? She knew how absolutely 
 she could trust him. And yes ... he of all men could 
 understand the plight of her Bretons . . . because his own 
 people had been conquered, and were held in bonds, that if 
 more kindly and merciful, yet galled, as all bonds must a 
 proud race. He could hoodwink Grafton since Grafton 
 she seemed bound to keep near her, after all. 
 
 "Listen, Jwala-Singh," she said, with swift but irre 
 vocable resolve, "I will tell you the truth about all this, 
 now and at once." 
 
 Jwala-Singh once again raised a warning hand. " Not 
 now and at once, if it please my lady. I have dwelt here 
 the half of an hour already, and Grafton must not suspect 
 that I am to be honored by confidences in which he has 
 no part. Let my lady go out riding after tiffin along the 
 path of pink flowers (the path across the heather), and I 
 will await her horse s hoof-beats near the old powder- 
 tower on the edge of the precipice. There we can talk; 
 not here." 
 
 Rouanez brought her square little teeth together with 
 a click; her delicate nostrils were quivering like those of 
 a mettlesome horse who feels the curb. There was so 
 much wisdom in the Hindu s words that she was longing 
 to strangle Grafton, and once left alone she gave way to 
 one of the rare fits of rage which were the pitfall and 
 snare of her well-governed nature a fit of rage which 
 
 182 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 left her white and trembling; and firmly resolved also to 
 hurry the completion of the plot as much as it could be 
 hurried. The situation was no longer tenable. 
 
 An hour later she had to force herself to eat a few morsels 
 under Grafton s tutelary gaze, and that small effort cost 
 her almost more than in her present mood she could com 
 pass. She was beginning actually to hate that pink of 
 respectability, and Rouanez s hatred was no lukewarm 
 thing; but she managed to maintain an outward com 
 posure, and cutting the unwelcome meal as short as pos 
 sible, she slipped into her habit and rode off at a tearing 
 gallop in a direction precisely opposite to the old Pou- 
 driere. 
 
 The spot selected by Jwala-Singh for the rendezvous 
 was as safe from surprise as any spot on earth could well 
 be, for from that high elevation, mile upon mile of coast, 
 naked of any cover that could possibly conceal an ap 
 proach a vast stretch of land and sea could easily be 
 scanned. The dismantled and now roofless powder-tower 
 rose from the sheer edge of the cliff, and occupied a point 
 of rock, beneath one side of which the narrow shingle 
 beach ran back toward Rozkavel; while immediately be 
 neath the other raged the frightful "Hell of Plogonak," 
 where they say the souls of sailors and fishermen who 
 have died impenitent are churned all day long, and are 
 cast at night, panting, bruised, and battered, upon the 
 jagged lip of the precipice, to lie in an inextricable tangle, 
 moaning and crying aloud for mercy. After sundown no 
 native of that region is bold enough to approach within 
 a league of the promontory, and it cannot be denied that 
 the wild clamor which especially during the dark hours 
 rises there, low or loud, according to the shifting of the 
 wind, is of a nature to justify the belief concerning it. 
 
 Jwala-Singh, waiting for his mistress, was standing at 
 
 183 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the foot of the crumbling tower- wall, and after a little he 
 crossed the yard-wide path encircling it and bent over the 
 brink of Plogonak. The rock beneath dropped away in 
 a great funnel to a smooth, round well that pierced to un 
 known depths and communicated with the inmost arteries 
 of the ocean. Toward the sea one side of the funnel was 
 broken away to within a few feet of low-water mark, so 
 that when the tide rose it flooded in, and the two cur 
 rents, surface and submarine, fought with ghastly, roar 
 ing, sucking noises. But it was when the tide was out 
 and it was out now that the Hell of Plogonak most de 
 served its name, for when the sea retreated from the 
 broad lip of the well, in that sleek, black gorge, the dark 
 water, running oilily round and round, rose and fell at 
 almost regular intervals, as if in answer to some horrible 
 pulsation. Again and again a soft, resistless heave lifted 
 the grayish foam-fringes encircling the fluid column nearly 
 to the top, and then with a throaty gulp it sank swiftly, 
 down, down, down, in dizzy corkscrew rings, streaked and 
 lashed with bands of wicked green. A raw, dank air, as 
 of lifeless abysses, rose from below, and beneath his feet 
 Jwala-Singh felt the quiverings of the solid cliff. 
 
 "It is, indeed, the Devil s throat," he murmured, draw 
 ing off to the place he had occupied before, and a Devil s 
 throat it seemed to be, with those gasping regurgitations 
 and sudden slimy swallowings a hideously convulsed 
 throat, choked with foam and froth and incessant tur 
 moil. 
 
 Just then, however, the Hindu s quick ear caught an 
 other sound, that of hoofs swiftly approaching over the 
 elastic heath, and, quitting the shadow of the tower, he 
 advanced in the golden afternoon sunlight at the precise 
 instant when Rouanez reined in Sacripant. 
 
 She did not speak, but jumped from her saddle, and 
 
 184 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 leaving him to fasten the emergency bridle-strap to an 
 iron ring in the inner tower wall, sat down on a flat stone 
 with her back toward the grumbling precipice. Her face 
 was pale and set with the anger she had not yet succeeded 
 in subduing. 
 
 "Here we are safe," the Sikh said, emerging from the 
 tower and taking his stand before her. "You can talk 
 now, my lady, to your servant." 
 
 But Rouanez seemed in no hurry to begin, and for some 
 time she remained motionless, her eyes fixed on the dis 
 tant dip in the capricious cliff-line, where the square, 
 pink tower of Fort Rozkavel could still be distinguished. 
 At last she breathed an impatient sigh and turned to her 
 companion. Slowly, but without once pausing, she gave 
 her attentive hearer a short history of Brittany s troubles, 
 ending in a clear and concise expose" of her plan to remedy 
 the evils from which her land and her people suffered. 
 
 "And so," she concluded, in Urdu, for she had lived 
 in India for several years, and the narration, beginning 
 in English, had dropped unconsciously into the native 
 speech, "and so this is the sum of the matter. We are 
 a small people, but we have been a people from the be 
 ginning of time, and would fain keep to the ways and 
 customs of our forefathers. You of the Khalsa should 
 understand this thing." 
 
 "I do, indeed, understand," he replied, gravely, in the 
 same tongue, "and it is a good cause; for it is good to 
 maintain old customs, and it is not meet that the base- 
 born should be the masters. But" and he salaamed 
 superbly "it needed not that my lady should have told 
 these matters. Am I not her servant to do her bidding? 
 Have I not eaten of her bread and dwelt in her shadow 
 these many years? There is no more to say." 
 
 Rouanez rose and gave him her hand. "Thank you, 
 
 185 
 
Jwala-Singh," she said, simply. "I expected nothing 
 less from you." 
 
 She turned toward the Infern, and, walking slowly to 
 the dizzy rim, stood gazing down into the gulping well, 
 her slim form swaying slightly in the strong wind. In 
 two steps Jwala-Singh was beside her and caught her 
 arm, as once Olier had done on the top of the sand-bluff 
 near Rozkavel. 
 
 "I am not troubled with vertigo," she said, smiling 
 for the first time. "But it is an ugly place, is it not?" 
 
 "A good burial-place for enemies," the Sikh murmured, 
 his glittering eyes following the ceaseless motion of the 
 water; and unconsciously quoting Hanvec, he added: 
 "It must not easily give up its dead." 
 
 "They say it does after a while," she replied, stepping 
 back upon the path; "but they say so many things about 
 it." 
 
 A little color had returned to her white face, and her 
 expression was more calm and controlled as she re 
 mounted and, nodding to her stately retainer, cantered 
 away, leaving him there gazing after her with eyes lighted 
 by unswerving devotion and loyalty. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Indeed you spoke no word, and your true eyes 
 
 Told but of laughter and of kindly things; 
 Clear Honor wore you for a poor disguise, 
 
 And Simpleness, and all she with her brings. 
 I had not thought to sue; I saw you only 
 
 As might a boatman on a midnight mere, 
 See on the velvet surface, black and lonely, 
 
 A friendly planet stooped, and floating near. 
 But as a bell sharp-smitten doth awake 
 
 Her kindred metal dreaming in the spire, 
 Bronze answering murmurous bronze until they make 
 
 Sweetest accord as of an heavenly choir, 
 So, though I dreamed I heard your bitter cry, 
 My soul stood forth and answered, " Here am I." 
 
 Hidden Accord. M. M. 
 
 OLIER and Rouanez were taking after-dinner coffee on 
 the balcony in the lilac-and-amber light of an astonishing 
 sunset. The day had been warm for Brittany, where in 
 tense heat and intense cold are alike unknown, and the 
 little aerial terrace, with its half-raised awning of white 
 and pink, its comfortably cushioned cane furniture, and 
 the great clusters of roses filling its green-bronze jardi 
 nieres, looked invitingly fresh and pleasant. 
 
 "How you will hate leaving all this!" Olier said, ab 
 ruptly, sweeping one hand comprehensively in front of 
 him, and Rouanez, who had been absent-mindedly pluck 
 ing the fragile petals from the big rose-bowl on the little 
 table before her, stared at him in surprise. 
 
 "Why should I leave it all?" she asked, resuming her 
 occupation with quickened fingers. 
 
 187 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Because whichever way the cat jumps, you will not, 
 I fancy, be able to continue living here." 
 
 "Your mode of expressing yourself is of an elegance 
 which paralyzes one s power of repartee," she commented. 
 "But I must nevertheless assure you that the cat s antics 
 will in all human probability have scant influence on my 
 possession of Fort Rozkavel, since in any case it will re 
 main for me the real Cradle of the Rose." 
 
 "It s pink enough for that, at any rate," he said, al 
 most irritably. 
 
 "So is this," she countered, suddenly dashing a hand 
 ful of petals at him, so that for a moment he was blinded 
 by the fragrant shower. " You are in an ungracious mood 
 to-night, it would appear." 
 
 He laughed a curious, constrained laugh, and slowly 
 began to gather the strewn flower-silk from the table-edge 
 without speaking. 
 
 "What ails you?" Rouanez impatiently interrogated. 
 "Have you received bad news?" 
 
 "No, not in the least. That s a queer chain you are 
 wearing. I never saw anything like those parti-colored 
 stones." 
 
 "Parti-colored nonsense!" she exclaimed, slipping the 
 long, glittering sautoir from her neck and holding it out 
 to him. "These are kunzites, my eager searcher after 
 knowledge given to me in America by a very charming 
 savant, and those," she added, pointing mischievously at 
 the intervening brilliants, "are the ordinary diamonds 
 of commerce." 
 
 "Really! You surprise me!" he replied, vainly trying 
 to enter into her mood. " Kunzites . . . well, they are 
 parti-colored rose-shot lilac at the edges, rose in the 
 middle, but altogether exquisite, and strikingly original." 
 
 " Have it your own way. I d have been simpler of de- 
 
 iSS 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 scription myself, and called them crystallized chatoyancy. 
 But since you wish it, let them by all means be parti 
 colored." 
 
 " Crystallized chatoyancy is certainly extremely sim 
 ple and unadorned language," he remarked, handing the 
 chain back to her. "Will you accept a cigarette in re 
 turn for your kindly information?" 
 
 "Yes, on condition that you leave off contradicting for 
 a full hour. The habit is gaining on you, Olier, and it 
 would be wise on your part to grapple with the evil 
 before its roots have gone too deep for painless extrac 
 tion." 
 
 "I will endeavor to follow your most excellent advice," 
 he gravely retorted, rising to light her cigarette. 
 
 "While you are on your feet, would you mind shutting 
 those windows," she said, glancing behind her. "I have 
 particular reasons for seeking strict seclusion to-night." 
 
 "More so than ordinarily?" he questioned, obeying or 
 ders with his customary alacrity. 
 
 " Considerably more so. And oh ! while you are about 
 it, pick up that wonderful warming-pan and lean the 
 handle against the fastening of the farthest window, so 
 that it will fall with a clatter if the fastening is touched." 
 
 Olier swung round in bewilderment. 
 
 "Warming-pan . . . window . . . fastening . . . clatter ..." 
 he said, helplessly. "What are you talking about?" 
 
 She gave one of her old merry laughs and, getting up, 
 walked toward him. 
 
 " Don t you see there in the corner that guitarry-looking 
 brass instrument? It s a genuine Louis XIV. warming- 
 pan I bought from a farmer a few days ago; a bona-fide 
 antique, which gives it a clear title to help our cause. 
 Here, let me show you." 
 
 She bent, picked up the shining object, and, adjusting 
 
 189 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 its long ebony handle in the round loop of the window- 
 bolt, smiled triumphantly up at him. 
 
 "But that s a monk . . . a good, old-fashioned monk !" 
 Olier exclaimed, with recaptured lightness. "Lord, how 
 I used to laugh at my grandmother s story about a similar 
 homely utensil." 
 
 "Tell me," Rouanez commanded. "We are both bad 
 ly in need of a laugh." 
 
 "Oh! It s a silly yarn. You know the grandparents 
 used to receive a good deal during the hunting season. 
 Also they were exceedingly pious people, especially Grand 
 mamma." 
 
 " I remember her. What a beautiful antiquity she her 
 self became, with her perfect features and tall, slender fig 
 ure! Go on, Olier." 
 
 "Of course the wandering religious were always greeted 
 enthusiastically at Kremarze , and made much of, until 
 one fine autumn night or rather a very cold and rainy 
 one, to be correct, when the house was full of guests. My 
 grandmother had shortly before brought a new maid from 
 distant parts, where she had been visiting friends, and 
 soon after dinner she sent for the girl in question, and 
 said: It is so raw this evening that I wish you would 
 personally see that the monk is passed through all the 
 beds, so that the sheets will not be too cold. An hour 
 later Grandmamma caught sight of her maid standing 
 within a little side door and signalling desperately to 
 her. What is it, Celine? she asked, hurrying across the 
 room toward the distressed damsel. Is anything amiss ? 
 Oh yes, Madame la Comtesse, she sobbed, the monk 
 refuses to get into any more beds . . . and . . . and he has 
 excommunicated me for . . . playing pranks upon him! 
 Monk? What monk? Grandmamma gasped. Are you 
 crazy, girl? And then little by little she drew from 
 
 190 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 her the story of how a begging monk who had sought 
 refuge from the storm, and had been served dinner in a 
 small refectory opening from the kitchen, had been con 
 ducted by orders of Madame la Comtesse, to that high 
 and mighty chatelaine s own room, and a dainty couch, 
 all lace and satin. He was not surprised, it seemed, at 
 being routed out of this ten minutes later, for, as he told 
 Celine, he had thought at the time that she was making 
 a mistake. But he began to be annoyed when the same 
 thing happened again, and finally, when he had just suc 
 ceeded in dozing comfortably off in the last of seven suc 
 cessive beds, only to find that his travels were not yet 
 done, the remnants of his temper broke into bits, and the 
 thunders of the Church descended upon poor Celine." 
 
 Rouanez was wiping the tears from her eyes. 
 
 "Dear me!" she cried. "I am glad I bought that 
 warming-pan. I wouldn t have missed that story . . . 
 But how did your grandmother pacify the brown 
 robe ?" 
 
 " With difficulty, I believe. The rooms were not heated 
 at Kremarze then, and he had not enjoyed the experience. 
 Indeed, I think that no other member of his particular 
 confrtrie ever passed our doors again, much to Grand 
 mamma s grief; although she never could speak of the 
 event without making herself ill with laughing." 
 
 "I sympathize with your grandmother," Rouanez de 
 clared. "And yet nothing is so wholesome and invigorat 
 ing as a real bona-fide laugh. My doctors tell me that it 
 is better for any ailment than a pint of medicine. Indeed, 
 this little intermezzo has given me strength to proceed to 
 business now. I was really feeling absolutely averse to 
 it this evening. So draw up your chair; I have some 
 thing to tell you." And in a lowered voice she communi 
 cated to him her discoveries with regard to Graf ton, and 
 
 191 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 her subsequent talk with Jwala-Singh, a little modified 
 in one portion only. 
 
 "Have I done right?" she asked, in conclusion. "It 
 seemed the safest way. But perhaps you won t think 
 so?" 
 
 "You have done perfectly right, as usual," he replied. 
 " Personally I have a real esteem for Jwala-Singh. And 
 as to Graf ton, the strangest thing about his performances 
 is that he is acting or so it seems to me from an exag 
 gerated sense of duty and loyalty. Poor old idiot! It 
 is a nuisance one can t spirit him away, nevertheless." 
 
 "The result of all this, Olier, is that we must hasten 
 the end as much as we can. What remained of my peace 
 of mind is gone, and," she added, with a queer little break 
 in her voice, "I hate being watched. The idea that this 
 old idiot has his eye or his ear glued to every key-hole 
 in turn drives me wild. It frightens me more than twenty 
 gun-muzzles pointed straight at me would do." 
 
 "I understand that. But, Lady Clanvowe, you must 
 conquer the feeling for a little while longer . . . you really 
 must!" 
 
 He began the sentence calmly enough, but toward the 
 end his voice struck a strange note of harshness wholly 
 foreign to the words. Then rising suddenly, he walked 
 to the balustrade of the balcony and stood gazing at the 
 now brilliantly moonlit waves with unseeing eyes. 
 
 "I wish to God," he said, fiercely, "that I had never 
 let you embark on this scheme! What matters the hap 
 piness of all the rest?" 
 
 She, too, had risen, and, joining him, she glanced at his 
 set, white face. 
 
 "Why, Olier!" she remonstrated; "it is not like you to 
 talk like that!" 
 
 He had turned away, and anxious to discover what 
 
 192 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 vexed him, she put her hand on his arm to draw him 
 around ; but at the touch he started violently, and grasp 
 ing her slender wrist with fingers cold as ice, he positively 
 flung her hand from him. 
 
 " Leave me alone!" he said, roughly, and the autocratic, 
 self-willed woman, accustomed all her life to the utmost 
 deference, and splendidly able to compel it always, felt 
 no anger, but a sudden pang of dismay clutching at her 
 heart. 
 
 "I have done a pretty piece of work!" she thought, like 
 a flash. "God! What can I say now to help him out?" 
 And her little mocking laugh was somehow misleading 
 enough to save the situation, as she dropped him a low 
 courtesy. "When Monseigneur has recovered his tem 
 per," she gayly pronounced, "we will resume our argu 
 ment." 
 
 Had he looked at her then he would have seen that she 
 was of an absolute pallor, but her brave, blue eyes did 
 not flinch. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Lady Clanvowe," he stammered, 
 with pitiable shamefacedness. "I cannot imagine what 
 made me act with such abominable rudeness." 
 
 "I can," she said, quietly. "We have all of us racked 
 our nerves past endurance lately, and this last contre 
 temps, coming on the top of the rest, is enough to make 
 anybody angry. Besides, between comrades-at-arms one 
 must not be too touchy." 
 
 In her heart she was passionately praying that he would 
 go away and give her time to readjust her thoughts. Fort 
 unately for her, a similar desire on his part made him 
 equally anxious to be alone, and with the help of her grace 
 ful raillery anent what she dubbed "his unbearable boor- 
 ishness to-night," he managed to shorten by an hour his 
 usual after-dinner lingerings, without, as he fondly hoped, 
 
 13 I 93 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 arousing her suspicions, and left her waving him a smiling 
 " Au revoir a demain!" from her rose-garlanded balcony. 
 
 Hardly had he disappeared than the mask fell from 
 her suddenly drawn and haggard features. "A pretty 
 piece of work ... a pretty piece of work!" she repeated, 
 again and again to herself, pacing back and forth like a 
 caged animal, her hands clinched at her sides. "And an 
 old hag like me, too! I, who never, never for a second 
 dreamed such a thing possible." She paused, looked 
 around her from the starry-blue vault curving about the 
 ocean-rim to the scattered leaves at her feet those same 
 delicate petals she had mischievously pelted him with 
 and then rushed across the flagged flooring to the fur 
 thest window, which she wrenched open, displacing the 
 guardian warming-pan with a deafening clatter, and fair 
 ly ran through the softly lighted "den" to her dressing- 
 room, where on the broad, lace -shrouded toilet -table a 
 tall lamp burned brightly. 
 
 There, sitting in front of the faithful clearness of her 
 mirror, she bent forward, her chin in her palms, and 
 stared angrily at herself until her eyes ached and slowly 
 filled with tears. One by one the big drops glided down, 
 falling with tiny splashes on the perfume-boxes and gold- 
 backed hair-brushes, and through their crystal shine she 
 still tried to pick herself to pieces. "An old woman! An 
 old woman!" she whispered, wearily. "But what am I 
 doing here taking mental notes so as to be able to write 
 my own passports?" Her unconquerable bent toward 
 self-mockery was as keen as ever. "I can t even see my 
 self any more, and it would read as they all do: Round 
 face, round chin, medium nose, medium forehead medium 
 everything else! " She flung out of her chair, and returned 
 to the balcony, drying her angry tears with her small 
 fists, as babies do. 
 
 194 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 After a while she grew calm enough to resume her great 
 arm-chair and review the past weeks with something like 
 method and order, but seek as she would she could not 
 discover a single act on Olier s part a look or a word 
 that might have served her as a warning. Of course the 
 boy had been attentive to her wishes, he had shown pleas 
 ure in being with her, and had danced pretty constant 
 attendance; but every man she had ever met had done 
 that more or less. She was used to it. Why, even in her 
 servants she had always been aware of something that 
 strongly resembled involuntary homage, and her sailors 
 obviously adored her, and vied with each other in "jump 
 ing extra lively" when she spoke. How could she have 
 noticed the difference with this calm, self-possessed boy, 
 who had never permitted himself even a gesture of ex 
 cessive empressement ? She was not to blame. That she 
 was forced to admit. But what mattered it since the 
 evil was done? And what evil! Had she not been so 
 sincerely attached to him, perhaps her present grief would 
 have been lessened. A surpassingly lovely woman, an 
 irresistible charmeuse like her, does not go through life 
 without damaging many hearts and knowing that it is 
 so, becoming resigned to the inevitable. But he was dif 
 ferent. He was all alone in the world, and so pathetically 
 young and whole-hearted. He had given up his beloved 
 career, and now with his grand old name and no money 
 or very little of that, at least his empty life and impos 
 sible love, what would become of him ? 
 
 If the insurrection which he and she had brought about 
 succeeded, would the greatest honors a place at the 
 King s side even console such a nature as his ? And if it 
 failed? She in any case must disappear. Lady Clan- 
 vowe, the wife of a British Ambassador for that dis 
 tinction was to follow closely upon Sir Hubert s return, 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 as she knew had no title to a tabouret at the Court of 
 France, even should that Court, owing to her, be reborn 
 from dead ashes. And again, if failure rewarded their 
 efforts? It was maddening to so much as think of that 
 alternative, and Rouanez, as Olier had done earlier, gazed 
 at the dark, silvered waves without in the least per 
 ceiving that they were dancing and singing musically 
 there below. 
 
 One thing was certain. She must never let him guess 
 that she knew his secret. They were bound to spend the 
 next weeks together almost constantly there was no 
 help for that. And so it would be the duty of every 
 minute to avoid this of all other dangers. 
 
 She rose with a weary sigh, and shivered in the cool 
 breeze preceding dawn. Then slowly, with the dragging 
 step of utter exhaustion, she went to her room. More 
 slowly yet she undressed, and drew out one by one the 
 shell forks from her hair, until the long braids slipped 
 down over her pale-blue peignoir. Still lost in heavy 
 thought, she loosened first one braid and then the other, 
 and shook out the royal ermine mantle that fell far below 
 her knees, lustrous and shining, almost luminous. Then 
 with a sudden sob she threw herself across the foot of her 
 bed, and burying her face in the perfumed silky mass, lay 
 quite still and sleepless until sunrise. 
 
 Olier, too, did not sleep much that night. He had 
 driven his dog-cart home at break-neck speed, only to 
 find that he did not know what to do with the hours left 
 to him before it would be time to resume his daily routine. 
 He was shaken by a furious anger against himself, as he 
 quickly paced up and down the dim garden walks all gray 
 with dew, and it was only when dawn began to show a 
 rosy gleam through the interlaced branches of the sur 
 rounding trees that sheer fatigue made him pause. Still 
 
 196 
 
A CORXKR OF THE MAXOIR OF KRKMARZK 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 he did not feel like going in-doors, and after some more 
 aimless loitering sat down on the curb of the old verdure- 
 smothered well in the north parterre to resume his stormy 
 meditations. 
 
 Never until that evening had he clearly realized that 
 he loved Lady Clanvowe, for her elder-sister almost 
 motherly attitude toward him had deceived him into 
 believing that his own feelings, if never filial, were 
 brotherly although now the idea made him laugh 
 suddenly, in a way which it was not good to hear. He 
 cudgelled his tired brain to reconstruct the wretched 
 scene on the balcony, hoping against hope that she had 
 given no serious importance to his unexplainable conduct. 
 Unexplainable ? A cold shiver ran between his shoulders. 
 Too easily explained, alas, if she used only half her ordi 
 nary shrewdness; in which case he, Olier de Frehe l, had 
 proved himself unworthy of her perfect trust, of her de 
 licious tone of affectionate camaraderie; unworthy even of 
 remaining her friend and "lieutenant," as he had been so 
 proud to term himself. 
 
 But surely if she had put the true meaning on his brutal 
 outbreak, she could not have joked him about it as she 
 did even she could not possess such mastery over her 
 self; for he knew how intolerant she was of what she once 
 or twice had contemptuously alluded to as "the passions." 
 To this well-poised, wholesome-minded woman, no man 
 in his senses would dare, he reflected bitterly, to make 
 such an expos6 of his feelings as he had been on the verge 
 of doing. And yet his love for her was pure and lofty, 
 if ever love was. But even if it were so she was unap 
 proachable, and usually so impulsive that a mere hint in 
 that direction would, he firmly believed, have been enough 
 to make her dismiss him from her presence as she would an 
 insolent lackey. 
 
 197 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Perhaps then perhaps there was a chance that, wrought 
 up by their previous discussion, she had really ascribed 
 the miserable incident to an ill-bred but nevertheless par 
 donable fit of temper. Anyhow, he would soon know, for 
 the exigencies of their great undertaking forbade his keep 
 ing away, had not the most ordinary common-sense dic 
 tated until further enlightenment at least the abso 
 lute necessity of making no change in his manner of 
 coming and going at Rozkavel. 
 
 He saw suddenly, too, why Arzur s outspoken admira 
 tion for Rouanez had galled him past endurance; why 
 he had always so carefully avoided glancing at Sir Hu 
 bert s photograph on her desk; why even his old friends, 
 de Masserac and Kerhardec, had become obnoxious to 
 him. Jealous? Oh yes; he was jealous of every being 
 and object upon which her eyes rested for a moment 
 kindly! 
 
 He rose brusquely, and a few faded rose-petals fluttered 
 from within his sleeve, where they had dropped when she 
 flung her two little fistfuls at him, and fell on the gravel 
 at his feet, reminding him once more of the exquisite hours 
 they had spent together. He bent, gathered them up 
 tenderly, and holding them in the hollow of his hand, ran 
 up to his room, where he spent half an hour placing them 
 to his satisfaction in a little, old, rock-crystal locket he had 
 worn in nursery days; then slipping the thin gold chain 
 round his neck, he lay down on the sofa, still gazing at 
 the childish trinket with suddenly child-like eyes, and fell 
 without knowing it into a dreamless sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 The cellar-stock, though lacking in the signs 
 
 Of cultured choice, could make the rustic glad 
 And something over; two rough country wines, 
 
 "P tit bleu" and "p tit vin blanc," were to be had, 
 
 And fiery "calvados," the spirits bad 
 Off dissolute potatoes; but indeed 
 
 Their cider was clear nectar, oversprad 
 With lightest froth, begot of many a bead 
 Sprinkling from depths more fragrant than a clover mead. 
 
 Here of an evening if you knew their speech 
 
 From big, grave, red-haired fellows you could hear 
 
 (Saboted, Chouan-hatted, broad of breech) 
 How went the salt-crop in the marshes near, 
 If the sardines had failed, and how the year 
 
 Promised of harvest. While they drank amain 
 All were on good behavior, under fear 
 
 Of stalwart escort or if need be, twain 
 
 To brawl at large, or slumber in the moonlit lane. 
 
 The hostess helped her lord to make them go 
 (A strapping man to lift four hundred- weight) ; 
 
 Not ill of face or figure she, although 
 
 A fine moustache had come to her of late, 
 Suiting her thews of Anak; but that Fate 
 
 Had given them one only child whose dower 
 Of beauty was a thing to conquer hate, 
 
 Made those to wonder who forget the power 
 
 Oft lent to rudest rocks, to grow a lovely flower. 
 
 Her features purely proud and sweetly sad, 
 And blue her eyne as skies have never been, 
 
 No sabot but a small black slipper clad 
 
 Her graceful foot, her hair was amber sheen, 
 iqg 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 She stood a lily, and she moved a queen: 
 Merely her wordless presence stopped a fight 
 
 More than her forebears tongues and fists, I ween, 
 And faces shamed to red that erst were white; 
 And this "vierge de missel" Vamezel Enora hight. 
 
 The Breton Inn. M. M. 
 
 MONSIEUR ANTOINE FLOCHARD had not forgotten nor 
 forgiven the undignified manner in which his worthless 
 bones had been saved by the unexpected intervention of 
 what he called "one of those boors of peasants." There 
 is nothing so sweepingly complete as the contempt of the 
 lower middle-classes for the simple-minded toilers of the 
 fields; and the gifted Flochard, whose progenitor had 
 been a drunken mechanic much given to pummelling his 
 wife and family, was not behind-hand in declaring, when 
 he could do so without prejudice to his political objects, 
 that next to the nobles, none were so pestilential as those 
 who sought a precarious living from mother earth or the 
 depths of the sea. This rancor was, of course, quite un 
 abated by recent events, and he promised himself ven 
 geance upon the populations of Rozkavel, Kremarze", and 
 even distant Laoual, as soon as his all-powerful patron, 
 Senator Dulac, arrived upon the scene. 
 
 Meanwhile, having fully recognized the perils attending 
 his propaganda, he restricted his efforts to the ordering 
 and "embellishment" of Castle Rozkavel, including a 
 reckless partitioning of the grand old halls and lordly 
 salons into box-like little rooms, lined as real bonbon- 
 boxes are, with gaudy satins, and crowding the same with 
 that horror of all modern horrors, plush and gilt furniture. 
 He was only obeying orders, it is true, but his own taste 
 and Madame Dulac s being trained around the same un 
 compromisingly bourgeois prop, his small eyes sparkled 
 with appreciative delight as he saw one grotesque mon- 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 strosity added to another; and when, finally, the whole 
 magnificent interior of the six-hundred-year-old Chateau 
 had been scraped and polished, varnished and lacquered, 
 hung with glaring draperies, and coated with meretricious 
 bullion until not one square inch remained to spoil, he 
 felt that he, indeed, had more than fulfilled his honorable 
 mission, and sat himself down to wait as patiently as he 
 could; with the help of innumerable fat, black cigars, 
 and almost as numerous bottles of costly liqueurs for the 
 provisioning of the vast cellars had not been neglected by 
 this thoughtful soul. 
 
 Another and by no means negligible pastime was af 
 forded him in his luxurious solitude by the daily reports 
 of the two shady ex-police agents whom he had imported 
 from Paris after his mishap at Kerdikan s inn. Carefully 
 instructed by him in the way they should go, and dis 
 guised as stablemen, these worthies, scarcely more cour 
 ageous but considerably shrewder at such a game than 
 Flochard, mixed with the frequenters of neighboring cab 
 arets as often as they could in quest of news. This 
 had been scanty hitherto, for even when drunk a Breton 
 remains unpleasantly cautious and close-mouthed. Still 
 that detail was not of a nature to embarrass two such 
 wide-awake persons as Messieurs Perron and Luvel, and 
 since what they did not actually discover they invented, 
 their delations suffered neither in bulk nor interest, and 
 filled the Senator s secretary with joy. Indeed, the 
 pseudo-grooms played their parts creditably, abusing their 
 august employers, as real servants take untiring satis 
 faction in doing, bawling aloud about Monsieur s parsi 
 mony, Madame s false hair and sadly real if now outlawed 
 pranks one would have sworn this gave them as much 
 pleasure to do as if they hadn t been paid for it and in 
 short deceiving their hearers as to their status ... all 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 excepting that curious little bundle of natural astuteness, 
 Korneli, surnamed Keleren, or " Will-o -the-Wisp," and 
 one of the Royalist party s most active agents. 
 
 From the day when Rouanez had bidden him watch 
 Antoine Flochard, Antoine Flochard had been watched 
 with a completeness little short of the marvellous, and 
 the advent and import of the two ex-police spies had not 
 remained a secret to Korneli for a single minute. "They 
 have as good an opinion of themselves as if they had 
 lighted up the sun with their own little pocket tinder- 
 boxes," he had told Rouanez, when signalling their pres 
 ence at old Rozkavel, "but Lilik" Korneli was fond of 
 calling himself soft-sounding pet names when in a good 
 humor "has a tinder-box of his own to set fire to their 
 paper castles!" At which Rouanez had laughed, and ad 
 vised him to turn incendiary as speedily as possible. 
 
 A few nights later Korneli Keleren, his face buried in 
 his arms, was slouching half across the clumsy black oak 
 table of the old inn on Rozkavel high-street, apparently 
 fast asleep, for his well-knit frame seemed utterly relaxed, 
 and now and again a smothered snore gave further evi 
 dence in favor of this theory. This inn, which bore in 
 scribed both in French and Breton on a once brilliantly 
 azure-and-white board fastened to the door-lintel the 
 extraordinary and misleading appellation of Au Rendez 
 vous des Amiraux, had been kept by two women, mother 
 and daughter, since the untimely death of the head of the 
 house, from an over-consumption of his own wares, some 
 five years before. There was also a tobacconist s shop 
 attached to the establishment, and this being throughout 
 France a highly prized governmental monopoly, is usual 
 ly granted only to those who have deserved it by faithful 
 service. In the present case, however, the modest Debit 
 de Tabac presided over by pretty Enora, while her mother 
 
 202 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 dispensed liquid refreshment in the inn proper, had been 
 bestowed upon the family many years before the existing 
 political state of affairs indeed, as far back as the dig 
 nified rule of the long-regretted President Carnot, which 
 would have excused the two women for entertaining any 
 feeling they chose for his successors had they not been 
 far too busy to think of the matter at all. As it was they 
 were doing well, for tobacco and drink are always the 
 most remunerative of comestibles. Nor did they greatly 
 feel the want of a man to help in the business, since 
 Mother Roparz was always equal to the task of reducing 
 to silence the most unruly brawler, and Enora s extraor 
 dinary beauty attracted customers from far and wide. 
 
 This daughter of a long line of village publicans the 
 Roparzes had kept that little inn, father and son, for over 
 a hundred years belonged to a type now rarely met with 
 outside the pages of an illuminated missal, and which 
 seemed doubly startling in the smoky atmosphere of 
 that dusky drinking-place. Pale and delicate, with that 
 purity of profile which is ascribed by tradition to the 
 Madonna, but is seldom realized by painters, ancient or 
 modern, she had a perfectly oval face, a lovely, grave little 
 mouth drooping ever so slightly at the corners, and gold- 
 lashed lilac eyes lilac as the hare-bells are, with no hint 
 of blue or gray in the clear, candid iris while the golden 
 eyebrows, pencilled down the centre with a single darker 
 line and set curiously high above the orbit, lent to the whole 
 countenance beneath its narrow bandeaux of pale blond, 
 almost amber-colored hair, and the severe white folds of 
 the unadorned coiffe, a touch both archaic and pure. The 
 girl literally breathed purity, and her manner of doing 
 anything, whether she was filling with coarse pipe-tobacco 
 the little twists of rough paper which she sold for one sou, 
 or busying her slender, aristocratic fingers with the piece 
 
 203 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 of knitting that Breton women invariably carry in their 
 apron-pockets and drag forth immediately they have a 
 spare second, made the employment a dignified and fitting 
 one. Also she loved flowers, as a tenderly-cared-for row 
 of geraniums and veronicas on the wide window-sill be 
 hind her abundantly proved. 
 
 "She has tastes that don t go with her rank," the 
 mother often proudly explained; and this being so, the 
 worthy woman took care to spare her daughter all the 
 rude work of the establishment, preferring to see her sit 
 in her dainty kerchief and immaculate apron behind the 
 narrow counter than to be herself relieved of any task 
 which she deemed unsuitable for Enora. 
 
 Only a couple of fishermen, besides the slumbering 
 Korneli, were just then occupying the drinking-room of 
 the inn; and those two were lazily shuffling a pack of 
 greasy cards while sipping the usual bolees of cider well 
 laced with coarse spirits. They had just returned from 
 a fairly satisfactory day s herring-fishing; hence the un 
 wonted treat which they slowly and silently enjoyed to 
 the full. Bending over the iron pot simmering on a dull 
 turf fire, Mother Roparz paid not the slightest attention 
 to her guests. She was a tall woman, who in the long 
 ago had been admired for the regularity of her features 
 and the brightness of her blue eyes; but age had some 
 what too strongly emphasized the heroic lines of her 
 figure, and of late years a small mustache had added 
 much superfluous virility to her already rather forbidding 
 exterior. Her really Herculean strength stood her in 
 good stead with her often difficult customers, who re 
 spected her fists almost as much as they dreaded her 
 tongue-lashings. 
 
 Suddenly the half-door was pushed open, and two men 
 wearing the gaiters, tweed breeches, and striped, long- 
 
 204 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 sleeved waistcoats of well-found stablemen slouched in, 
 chewing spears of straw in the approved fashion of their 
 kind. 
 
 "Hallo, Mother Roparz!" cried the burlier of the two, 
 a square-jawed individual, whose rubicund nose was the 
 meanest of libels if he were not an habitual drunkard. 
 "We ve got ten minutes to spare from their infernal 
 boutique, and we thought we d come and take a pull at 
 your A No. i spinach-juice. But be quick about it, be 
 fore that hollow-stomached Flochard discovers our ab 
 sence, or he ll be sending the stable-cleaner after us 
 damn him!" 
 
 Mother Roparz, who spoke and understood French 
 passably, although she made use of this advantage only 
 when unable to avoid it, and then but grudgingly, shook 
 the last fagot twigs from her apron into the fire she had 
 been reviving, and crossing over to a sort of small, zinc- 
 covered bar in the corner, reached for a bottle of absinthe 
 and two glasses, which, together with a stone jug full of 
 well-water, she placed before the horsey gentlemen, sprawl 
 ing side by side on the end of the bench where Korneli 
 still audibly slumbered. 
 
 "Pass the ingredients to me," the thinner and until 
 now less assertive groom said, in an odiously raucous 
 voice. "There s no one like yours truly for beating a 
 parrot battre un perroquet means in France to mix sci 
 entifically that exquisite-hued but deadliest of all bev 
 erages, which they call there I Aperitif, with a big A 
 and Perron, for the red-nosed one was no less a person 
 age, eagerly complied with his comrade s request, and 
 fell to watching the delicate operation with covetous, 
 blood-shot eyes. The quick little tap-tap of spoon against 
 glass no doubt accomplished what the noisy entry of the 
 aggressive couple had failed to do, for Korneli ceased 
 
 205 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 snoring, raised his head with a loud, dismal yawn, and 
 began to stretch himself like one painfully cramped. 
 
 " Eh, L Enrhume!" * Perron cried, slapping the youth on 
 the shoulder. "Been hugging Mamma Roparz s cognac 
 bottles too tight?" 
 
 Korneli yawned once more cavernously, and fixed his 
 sleepy blue eyes stupidly on his gay interlocutor, but 
 forbore to answer. 
 
 "You re a good one," the latter resumed, "to come 
 and spend your hard-earned sous here as soon as they ve 
 been doled out to you. Why don t you try and get a 
 job at our shop? The head gardener might find some 
 thing for you to do, and you wouldn t need to be up all 
 night long raking salt." 
 
 Korneli half turned away from the absinthe-drinkers. 
 "It isn t my idea to be any man s servant," he said, 
 gruffly. "Better earn less and be on one s own." 
 
 "Bah!" Luvel exclaimed, still bending over his task, 
 jug in hand. "It s with such ideas that one remains 
 poor. Look at us! D you think we fancy slavery bet- 
 ter n you do? Not a bit of it. But my maxim is to 
 scrape the bourgeois first, last, and all the time. And 
 mind you, one can do a lot of scraping in a gold-lined 
 thieves cave like ours." 
 
 "Possible. But it takes clever chaps like you to do 
 the scraping. I wouldn t know how." 
 
 "Sacre farceur!" Perron interposed. " It s easy enough 
 to learn. We d soon show you the ropes. Want to try?" 
 
 "You must have too much for yourselves, if you re so 
 set on sharing," Korneli muttered. "It ain t natural to 
 be so generous ... or perhaps there s some dirty business 
 you want me to do." 
 
 * Literally, " man with a cold " about equivalent to " sleepy 
 head " or " numskull." 
 
 206 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Both grooms shrugged their shoulders with one accord, 
 and equal contempt for such crass imbecility. 
 
 "If it was that," Perron candidly admitted, "we d keep 
 it for ourselves. It s too well paid to be passed over to 
 some one else." 
 
 "I don t know," Korneli drawled, carefully stuffing 
 some shreds of tobacco into his short clay pipe. "A 
 while ago a lad from hereabouts was caught like that . . . 
 promised clean work and then set to spy ..." He spat 
 sideways on the hard-beaten earthen floor. "Yah! ... to 
 spy, no less, on some harmless good people who had taken 
 a fine house for the bathing-time, Morgat way, and had 
 a big boat of their own, too, fitted up grandly." 
 
 The two agents had pricked up their ears and put down 
 their glasses at the word Morgat. 
 
 "What sort of parishioners were they?" Perron asked, 
 in a suddenly quickened, eager voice, which caused his 
 mate to look at him with angry warning. 
 
 "I ve told you ... a good sort, specially the mother . . . 
 she was a thundering fine one she was, with a big nose 
 and eyes like a hawk s. A Countess, too," he concluded, 
 dragging on the two syllables of the title as if they tasted 
 good. 
 
 "You bet ... I know who you mean now!" the irre 
 pressible Perron cried. " Hadn t she got a name the same 
 as a city . . . think well ... of a very great city . . . the 
 biggest in . . ." 
 
 "Aw! Shut up," the exasperated Luvel here roughly 
 interrupted. "What does it matter to us who she was?" 
 
 Among Perron s less objectionable qualities, there shone 
 with subdued lustre a great delight in teasing; and now 
 under the influence of his second glass of absinthe he re 
 fused to be downed. 
 
 " Course it does!" he stated, with one finger raised 
 
 207 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 knowingly to the side of his nose, and a leer of intense 
 malice. " Course it does. Don t it, L Enrhume?" 
 
 " If it s to me you re talking, I can tell you I don t care 
 a damn what she was called," Korneli said, rising to go 
 and light his pipe by the aid of a brand from the hearth. 
 " What does it matter, anyhow, one way or the other ?" 
 
 "Think well," persisted Perron, who, having already 
 imbibed before coming to the inn, was now getting drunk. 
 "Wasn t it the name of a great city ... of the greatest 
 city in . . ." 
 
 " Maybe, maybe," Korneli observed, with crushing indif 
 ference, "or maybe not. I don t remember." 
 
 " But I do," Perron cried, triumphantly. " I remember 
 very well indeed; and what s more, if that thundering 
 fine woman had only been her own son she would not have 
 come there for nothing either as they say he did, once 
 or twice, on his yacht during his mother s stay. He 
 mustn t have inherited those famous hawk s eyes of hers, 
 nor much of her grit neither; and he isn t by half as up 
 standing as his little brother, who s at least a wide-awake 
 rabbit. It s a poor look-out for a would-be King to be 
 content to sit in a corner watching his country from across 
 the water. No wonder with such a sleepy leader that 
 those stinking aristos should all have collapsed, though 
 there are some who do say " But here a slender hand 
 dropped smartly on his shoulder, and facing round he 
 found himself confronted by what but few in Rozkavel 
 village had ever seen: dainty little Enora Roparz in a 
 red fury of wrath. 
 
 "Hold your tongue, you foul-mouthed land-crab!" she 
 stormed. "Hold your tongue! You ve said more than 
 enough already. And don t you ever presume to speak 
 again like that under our roof, or else you ll be sorry for 
 it!" The French syllables borrowed a strange intensity 
 
 208 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 from her unaccustomed lips, and she managed to make 
 her meaning exceedingly plain. Even Perron s befuddled 
 brain could not misunderstand, and he instantly began 
 to apologize though in terms that might perhaps have 
 been better chosen. 
 
 "All right, all right, you little Royalist spitfire. he 
 hastened to say. "I m sure I didn t know you were 
 stuck on His High Mightiness, nor for the matter of that, 
 that you d ever clapped eyes on him." 
 
 " Neither I have," she contemptuously interrupted, "but 
 it isn t for a drunken good-for-nothing like you to make 
 free with such people s names, and you sha n t do so when 
 I m about. Yes, yes, Mammik!" she exclaimed, in a dif 
 ferent tone, as at the sound of her voice Mother Roparz 
 came hurrying out of the near-by scullery. "I m going 
 back to my niche; don t bother about me." And turn 
 ing with a last gesture of disgust from the group by the 
 table, she walked away, leaving her amazed parent 
 arms upraised above her coiffe muttering in incoherent 
 Breton: "Didn t I always say that she has ideas that 
 don t go with her rank? But Holy Virgin Mary, what 
 ails her to-night?" Then she strode toward the drinkers. 
 
 "You ve understood, I fancy, what my daughter has 
 told you!" she said, fiercely. "For myself I don t give a 
 rotten strand of hemp what you say or think; but she s 
 not to be annoyed; and if you try that game again I ll 
 spit in my hands and bundle both of you into the gutter 
 before you can so much as set your caps straight. So 
 mend your mariners if you know what s good for you!" 
 She too meant no idle threat, as the pair of muscular fists 
 she shook under Perron s brandy-nose amply testified, 
 and the prudent Luvel hastened to attempt her pacifica 
 tion. 
 
 "Cool down, cool down, Mamma Roparz," he coaxed. 
 *4 209 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "It s only Perron s nonsense. He s a bit of a joker when 
 he s had enough liquid; otherwise he d be the last to go 
 against any lady s political opinions in her presence at 
 least." 
 
 "I m not a lady, and I haven t any political opinions," 
 the formidable widow thundered. "Poor, unprotected 
 women like me don t get time to meddle with such. But 
 just the same, you behave yourselves when you re here, 
 my men, that s all!" And still grumbling, she turned 
 heavily on her clattering wooden heels and followed 
 Enora into the little partitioned Debit. 
 
 " It s all your fault, you cursed imbecile," Luvel growled, 
 angrily, in Perron s ear. "What d you want to come rav 
 ing here about your mothers that should be their own 
 sons, and the rest of that balderdash? You re drunk, 
 that s what you are, and we d better be moving on before 
 you do worse!" 
 
 But Perron, who during the altercation had been rapid 
 ly swallowing another of his favorite opalescent mixtures 
 to bolster up his startled feelings, received the proposal 
 in a sour spirit. 
 
 " Go home if you like," he said, thickly, bending further 
 over the glass he was cuddling, "or to Hell if you like 
 that better. I m for comfort first and bed afterward. 
 Keep your dirty paws off me, will you?" he added, squirm 
 ing in Luvel s grasp. "I won t go with you now, burn 
 your eyes! And what s more, I ll say what I please about 
 Pretenders who don t pretend the right way and Pre 
 tenders who do; d you hear?" He was as red as a 
 turkey-cock now, and his wicked little eyes blazed so 
 fiercely that Luvel let go of his coat-collar rather abrupt 
 ly, dreading a rough-and-tumble with him even more than 
 a continuance of his imprudent disclosures. After all, 
 the rough-and-tumble might mean a rent in his precious 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 skin, while the indiscretions would later on be visited on 
 the culprit s own head. Besides which, Korneli was far 
 too dull, he thought, to have understood, the two women 
 were now out of ear-shot, and the card-playing fishermen 
 had fortunately long since departed. 
 
 "Oh, let s stay on by all means!" he acquiesced, mag 
 nificently. "I m not set on carrying you back by main 
 force. I ll even stand you another drink to show there s 
 no hard feeling." His policy now was to thicken the 
 cloud obscuring Perron s brain as speedily as possible, and 
 in order to hasten this desirable end he turned amiably 
 toward Korneli and asked him to join them. 
 
 "No, thank you," the youth replied; "I don t care for 
 the taste of absinthe. If it were cognac now, I don t 
 know but what I would perhaps take a hornful, but no 
 poison for me, I say." 
 
 " The baby s right !" Perron gleefully exclaimed. "Cogn 
 ac s the thing to give us tone," and he began calling 
 loudly for Mother Roparz to bring him some of her best 
 "potato sap," an order which filled Korneli with hope, 
 for he knew the effect that the fiery stuff would produce 
 on top of those copious draughts of absinthe. 
 
 "You never told us," Perron re-began, nudging Korneli 
 fraternally in the small ribs, "what happened to your 
 good friend the spy. Wasn t he paid for his pains?" 
 
 "Oh! don t let s talk about him," Korneli grumbled. 
 " He wasn t to blame, since he didn t know what they 
 were hiring him for. But in spite of that his people 
 wouldn t recognize him afterward, and he signed on a 
 deep-sea trawler, so as to keep away from home." 
 
 " Plague and pestilence! You re a squeamish lot round 
 here; a mighty . . . what d you call it ... par . . . ticular 
 crowd of aristos! No wonder they re afraid of Brittany if 
 all of you are . . . like that." Perron stuttered, tumbling 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 over his words, and leering at Korneli. "D you know 
 that Princess who who roosts all alone ... at ... I 
 can t recall the name of the blasted place . . . you tell, 
 Luvel . . . Fort . . . Fort . . ." 
 
 "Rozkavel," Luvel said, suddenly, with surprising 
 promptness and obliging good-nature, for in encouraging 
 his friend to drink deep he had trapped himself unaware, 
 and had now reached that degree of mellowness which 
 loosens tongues and principles with like ease. 
 
 "That s it, RozRoz Rozkavel!" 
 
 "The English lady?" Korneli promptly interposed. 
 "They say round here she s crazy." 
 
 Perron, lying almost entirely across the table, began 
 to rock himself waggishly from side to side. "English 
 and crazy crazy and English some think it s one and 
 the same thing . . . but Here he unexpectedly 
 straightened up, banged his two fists on the edge of the 
 table with such violence that two glasses and the brandy- 
 bottle now three-quarters empty toppled over on their 
 sides. "But I have a ... good . . . n-n-notion that she is 
 neither the one n-n-nor the oth-other. I tell . . . you" 
 he rose to his unsteady feet, swaying jerkily backward 
 and forward, and victoriously concluded "I I I ve 
 g-got a lit ... tie ... idea!" 
 
 "Pas de b&tises!" the momentarily sobered Luvel fiercely 
 whispered, and taking him by the arm, he dragged him 
 bodily out of the house, muttering a torrent of abuse in 
 his face. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Mysterious in the mist-light milky-clear, 
 
 Spread by a shrouded moon, the marshes lay, 
 And islanded with salt-mounds there and here 
 
 Slept the broad glimmering level silver-gray. 
 
 All blackly cross-barred with thin banks of clay, 
 It seemed a pale abysm, covered in 
 
 With a huge grate, whereon till Judgment Day 
 Strange fiends and spirits unassoiled of sin 
 Trooped hideous, but forbore to make their hellish din. 
 
 A briny violet odor filled the air 
 
 When any wandering night wind drowsily 
 
 Dulled at a breath those mirrors still and square, 
 And swift and still as though by gramarye 
 Moved the black shapes in files of four or three 
 
 This way and that about their labor drear, 
 With uncouth burdens laden heavily, 
 
 And some with poles seemed puddling the mere, 
 
 And ape-like others clomb the white mounds shining near. 
 
 And if perchance a shadow spoke or screamed 
 
 A seldom jest or message, therewithal 
 Part of the vast inhuman night it seemed, 
 
 As might a frog s cry or a heron s call, 
 
 And down the silence settled like a pall 
 Of heaviest loom, and through her velvet sway 
 
 A murmur from the dead stars seemed to fall, 
 Or from one s throbbing heart one could not say 
 And morning seemed a dream, and wondrous far away. 
 
 The Salt Workers. M. M. 
 
 OUTSIDE, the night had lightened to the whiteness of 
 falling snow, thanks to the sudden rising of one of those 
 filmy summer mists which on that coast envelop every- 
 
 213 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 thing in the daintiest of semi-transparent veils, and which, 
 though not really hiding any object from view, yet, on 
 account of their distortion of distance and perspective, 
 are to be classed among Nature s most misleading freaks. 
 The squat granite houses on both sides of the village 
 street seemed gigantic, and their unambitious chimneys 
 looked twice the usual size, while the gauze-shrouded 
 dunes behind loomed like dream-mountains against the 
 pale sky, where a small moon was doubtless hanging mis 
 chievously out of sight to add by its deadened gleam to 
 the bewilderment of home-goers. 
 
 "Damn this trick-box of a country!" Luvel growled, 
 endeavoring to pilot his unsteady companion through 
 these uncharted seas of luminous fog. "Hold up, you 
 swine, you re breaking my arm. D you think I can stand 
 your full weight?" And he gave the swaying Perron a 
 savage dig in the ribs. 
 
 Unused as yet to the confusing criss-cross tracks that 
 zigzag through the heather and twist in and out of the 
 sand-hills, his own imperfect sobriety caused him to mis 
 take the path leading to the vast stretch of salt-marsh 
 belonging to the Kremarze domain for that winding tow 
 ard Rozkavel Castle; and dragging Perron after him, he 
 labored on, quite oblivious of his error, but waxing more 
 and more profane as one hazily remembered landmark 
 after another failed to materialize waxing drunker, too, 
 for his last hasty drink was taking effect. 
 
 The salt season was at its height, and in the dip of the 
 dunes, where the great stretch of shallow water neatly 
 banked for the purpose of evaporation into small check 
 ered squares connects here and there by wooden sluices 
 with the vast tidal reservoirs from which these ceillets de 
 marais are flooded when need arises, the tiny mud-dikes 
 were crowded with workers, moving swiftly back and 
 
 214 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 forth and bearing their heavy burdens with the ease that 
 is only to be attained by a life-long training. The vapor 
 ous mist did not worry them, but when all at once Luvel, 
 by now almost exhausted, debouched upon the broad, 
 low embankment half encircling the "salt- field," the 
 spectacle of what might have seemed even to less tipsy 
 eyes an endless military camp, studded with preposterous 
 tents between which an army of giants rushed wildly, 
 brandishing uncouth weapons above their monstrous heads, 
 sent him with a howl of terror to the hard-bake ridge on 
 top of Perron. 
 
 "That comes from meddling with this hellish land!" he 
 groaned, staring in horrible fascination at the towering, 
 fog-distorted peaks, some ghostly white, others those 
 where the mounded salt had already been coated over 
 with protecting mud dark and threatening on their mys 
 terious island platforms; and at the inhuman shapes 
 storming position after position along the glimmering 
 level, to rush off again at an always undiminished speed, 
 constantly breaking and reforming their satanic ranks. 
 
 Luvel s moans were sobering Perron, and after a little 
 that able secret agent struggled to a sitting posture and 
 demanded in no uncertain accents what was up. There 
 was, he argued, with rapidly clearing discernment and 
 much justice, no sense in making the night hideous with 
 discordant sounds such as now fell upon his, Perron s, 
 ears, and he further marked his disapproval of the per 
 formance by offering to fight the offender then and there, 
 single-handed. But at this point of his discourse, having 
 painfully regained the perpendicular and cast a challeng 
 ing eye around him, he collapsed ignominiously, and lay 
 panting and sweating beside his unhappy comrade. 
 
 "Oh! Oh! Oh!" he gurgled. "What did that old 
 hag put in the absinthe?" And in a shuddering whisper 
 
 215 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 added: "Are we dead already . . . poisoned? I don t 
 s-s-sup-pose, Luvel . . . you ll . . . deny . . . that this 
 place 1-looks . . . unc-c-commonly like . . . Hell!" 
 
 For a few minutes more the two boozers squirmed and 
 rocked themselves to and fro in thei r terror. But little 
 by little, the sharp, briny air of the marshes aiding, they 
 grew calmer, and began to regain the use of their scat 
 tered intellects. Of course they had been drinking too 
 much more especially Perron, as the candid Luvel did 
 not hesitate to assure him but they were still in the 
 land of the living; no doubt of that. Ordinary reason 
 proved it. This was earth upon which they sat, and that 
 thorny bush near by was real enough ; for on being fum 
 bled by an experimental hand it proved its genuineness 
 with absolutely Breton ferocity. 
 
 "You blasted idiot !" Luvel suddenly exclaimed. " Don t 
 you see where we are? Why it s the marais-salants, and 
 you accuse me of not seeing straight! But what did you 
 bring me here for, I want to know . . . what for ? What 
 for? Eh? Can you tell me why?" 
 
 Perron, though beginning dimly to realize that he had 
 made a considerable fool of himself, felt that his entire 
 ignorance as to how he got there was a strong point in his 
 favor, and proceeded to enlarge upon this. But Luvel, 
 bent only on repairing his own blunders as speedily as 
 possible, rose and plodded off unsteadily in the direction 
 whence he had come, without so much as deigning to 
 answer, leaving him to follow, as best he might, through 
 the clinging sand of the dune. After all, he was not sorry 
 to have proofs in hand of Perron s unreliability; for had 
 he not been forced to support him, and prevent him from 
 falling down at every step, he would not have missed the 
 road, and all this would have been avoided. Moreover, 
 there was no knowing what harm those partial disclosures 
 
 216 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 at the Rendez-vous des Amiraux might not yet cause. He 
 did not want to lose his job by an unduly chivalrous gen 
 erosity toward his brother spy. Possessed with thoughts 
 that ran uncertainly along these lines, he kept doggedly 
 on until he had once more reached the firm high-road. 
 Then he paused and glanced back along the deep rut, 
 clouded as far as eye could reach with soft, drifting masses 
 of what a more poetical mind might have found uncom 
 monly similar to faintly silvered tulle. 
 
 "Sacre nom de nom!" he grumbled, straining his eyes. 
 "Where has he got to?" His gaiters and shoes were full 
 of fine sand, his head ached abominably, and from second 
 to second his ill-temper increased, until he felt ready to 
 strangle Perron the instant he appeared. But no such 
 chance was granted him, and finally, beginning to feel 
 unaccountably creepy alone in this ghostly landscape, he 
 started his tired limbs upon the road again. Let Per 
 ron get home by himself, since he was not man enough to 
 keep up with him. And casting fearful glances at every 
 clump of furze, he made what haste he could in the direc 
 tion of Castle Rozkavel. 
 
 Meanwhile, far down a contiguous sand-lane, the second 
 ex-ornament of the Rue de Jerusalem lay at full length, 
 his back propped against a convenient mound, gazing 
 up at the shrouded heavens "laughing to the Angels," 
 as the paludieres toiling a quarter of a mile farther on say 
 of the expressionless skyward grins of new-born infants. 
 Only half sobered, the effort of his relaxed muscles to 
 battle against the yielding, crumbling sand had proved 
 too much for him, and with the sublime insouciance of 
 confirmed tipplers he had soon given up the struggle, 
 pulled from his hip-pocket the flask with which, being a 
 man of precaution, he invariably ballasted himself, and, 
 tipping it to the proper angle, drained it to the last drop, 
 
 317 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Now, as it happened to be three-parts full, the effect was 
 such that in five minutes not even the crash of heavy 
 ordnance could have aroused him from his deathlike tor 
 por. Corpselike indeed was the picture he presented in 
 the milky mist-light, and a moor-rabbit stopped his scamp 
 ish gadding long enough to focus a round, unblinking 
 stare on this fragrant intruder upon his domain, then 
 with a sardonic twist of his inquisitive nose and a fare 
 well flourish of his white scut, decamped in search of more 
 edifying spectacles. 
 
 In the broad inlet beyond the opening of the dune- 
 path the midnight tide was rising calm and quiet under 
 its curtain of shifting gauzes, stealing inch by inch upon 
 the whispering sand. Gradually the muffled silence was 
 broken by a faint approaching sound of footsteps crunch 
 ing slowly along the stretch of fine gravel that edged the 
 beach in the direction of the Fort. It was evident that 
 whoever it might be indulging in this belated promenade 
 was in no hurry. Indeed, the footsteps paused once or 
 twice, for the time a man might take to leisurely survey 
 his surroundings; and once the crack of a match scraped 
 upon metal was followed by the smell of an excellent cigar 
 oozing through the mist. The minutes passed. Little 
 by little the vapor-gorged moon, a core of clearer radiance 
 toward the west, was triumphing over her enemy, and 
 all at once over the edge of the retreating fog-bank she 
 cocked one sarcastic eye full upon Grafton, according to 
 his now inveterate habit waiting up for Lady Clanvowe. 
 
 Just what purpose he was serving he would have found 
 it even more difficult to explain now than earlier in the 
 game. To-night, for instance, he knew, without the pos 
 sibility of a doubt, that his mistress was safe aboard the 
 "Kestrel," under the double protection of Penruddock 
 and her faithful Jwala-Singh. He had been from the first 
 
 218 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 striving to satisfy a warped and greatly magnified sense 
 of responsibility, to compliment the unconscious pose 
 that marred his genuine devotedness, and to stifle a grow 
 ing sense of unwarrantable curiosity, by telling himself 
 that whatever happened he would be found at his post; 
 but just now unusual qualms were disturbing his extreme 
 self- righteousness ; perhaps because the above-mentioned 
 curiosity had become so obvious that he was unable to 
 disguise it decently under an extenuating name ; perhaps 
 merely because that very morning Lady Clanvowe had 
 done him another of those thousand and one nameless 
 little kindnesses that the real aristocrat is wont to lavish 
 impersonally upon his or her dependents. Perhaps again, 
 it was simply because during the past few hours he had 
 had more than ordinary opportunity to view his conduct 
 in a more judicial light. He felt, indeed, singularly down 
 hearted and uncomfortable at that moment, pacing up 
 and down there beneath the moon, alone in the mist with 
 the accusing sea. It would seem that he had stumbled 
 all at once upon the unpleasant meaning that attaches to 
 the word "spy," even when, as was the case with him, it 
 is plausibly allied to the most excellent of motives. 
 
 At the same time, through all this remorse on the moral 
 count, a strong sense of personal grievance was making 
 itself felt, and for the first time in his life he was inclined 
 to self-pity, because the splendid isolation of his position 
 in the family, and his duty to his master and mistress, 
 forbade him to ease his overwrought mind by confiding 
 in somebody. Now, when a man begins to regret the re 
 straints of scruple he is within measurable distance of 
 breaking them. Grafton, in fact, was bursting with his 
 subject, and in a dangerously communicative mood. 
 
 Again he paused, removed his cigar from his mouth, 
 and glanced uncertainly about him. In a few seconds the 
 
 219 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 whole scene had changed : the mist, with the sluggish and 
 fitful breeze, newly risen, was drifting westward, while the 
 disburdened sea breathed deeply in her recovered free 
 dom, and was, as the Breton sailors say, "illuminating 
 from underneath." As far as the eye could reach the 
 calm waters, which all day had been of the blue of molten 
 turquoise, were now rolling every smooth undulation in 
 exquisite glowworm tints of frozen fire. The deeps of 
 the ocean seemed to be brewing the wonderful greenish 
 light, and everywhere along the surface tiny flames 
 millions of fairy wicks sprinkled forth, burned a few 
 seconds, and blew out, to be replaced by others as short- 
 livedly brilliant across the immense phosphorescent mir 
 ror. The sight was one seldom equalled in non-equatorial 
 regions; but Grafton, who was not an admirer of nature 
 in any of its moods, saw in it only a fresh outrage an 
 other evil trick of this heathenish country and turned 
 away from the beautiful spectacle with a rare and un 
 comfortable superstitious thrill. 
 
 As he did so he saw in a now clear-lit sand-lane running 
 up from the shingle a human form flat on its back, with 
 arms and legs a-sprawl in that curiously flaccid fashion 
 which no ordinary sleeper adopts; and seized again on 
 the instant by his wildest apprehensions, Grafton, who 
 to do him justice was no coward, made hastily for the 
 spot and bent over the estimable Perron. 
 
 It was a great relief to find it was nobody from the Fort ; 
 but then the question still remained, what was the matter 
 with the man ? The blotched, chap-fallen face, the irregu 
 lar breathing, the empty flask hard by, and the pungent, 
 all-pervasive aura would have assured most people as to 
 the diagnosis. But Grafton, who liked certainty in small 
 as in large things, and had helped sometimes in sick- 
 nursing, knelt on one knee ; and discovering the weak and 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 fluttering pulse of profound alcoholic coma, felt all the 
 concern of the Good Samaritan for this person who had 
 so considerately proved to be a mere stranger. 
 
 "It can t be merely the drink," he soliloquized, survey 
 ing the disgustful carcass. "Perhaps he has been hit on 
 the head by one of those savages about here. He don t 
 look like a native, anyhow ... a groom by his clothes . . . 
 an English one like as not . . . poor devil, from the old Hall 
 on the hill ; and if so I can t leave him lying here." 
 
 His patriotism once awakened by the unmistakably non- 
 Breton appearance of those smart tweed breeches and 
 gaiters, Graf ton easily rose to the occasion, and turning 
 on his heel with surprising quickness for so dignified a 
 personage, marched off in the direction of the dismantled 
 guard-house half a mile away, which Lady Clanvowe had 
 caused to be transformed into a roomy and comfortable 
 substitute for the absent stables. This was perched on a 
 rock fifty yards or so from the little Fort, but was not too 
 difficult of access even for carriages, provided these were 
 not of a very ambitious kind. As a matter of fact only 
 a light phaeton and a dog -cart had been brought, and 
 no coachman at all, since the head-groom "Sacripant s 
 nurse," as Lady Clanvowe called him was a very effi 
 cient and reliable man, well able to take charge of so 
 succinct a summer outfit. To Mervin and his under 
 strappers "Mr. Grafton" was a person of no mean im 
 portance, and the latter never doubted that he would find 
 in them willing assistants to convey his new-found pro- 
 tdge" under cover and administer first aid to the injured. 
 Great was his astonishment, therefore, when Mervin, 
 aroused by repeated poundings upon his door, flatly re 
 fused to bear a hand himself or allow his men to co 
 operate in the rescue. 
 
 "Hi m sorry, Mr. Grafton," the worthy head-groom ex- 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 plained, "but er ladyship as given strict borders as to 
 hour getting acquainted with any hother stablemen in 
 these parts; and since she as been so thoughtful as to 
 allow us double rations of beer to avoid gadding, it 
 wouldn t be right, Mr. Grafton, sir, for us to so much as 
 squint in the direction of a comrade, ooever e might be 
 British or hotherwise." 
 
 "Don t be an ass, Mervin," the irritated Grafton inter 
 posed. "There can be no harm in letting him sleep off 
 his liquor here, on a bundle of straw, if he s only drunk. 
 You can pack him off at sunrise before the household is 
 stirring. And if he s hurt, as I believe he is, I ll make 
 myself responsible to her ladyship. You know very well 
 she s not one to object to our helping a fellow-creature." 
 
 "That s hall very well, Mr. Grafton," Mervin said, 
 scratching his sleek head; "but borders is borders, and 
 Hi m not going to hoverlook mine for hanybody. Hi ll 
 go with you, owsomever, and give a squint to your pre 
 cious corpse, although Hi m blessed if Hi know what good 
 that ll do either you or it." 
 
 Had such an incident happened near Clan vo we Hall, 
 Grafton would in all probability have asserted himself in 
 a wholly different manner. But though inclined by long 
 habit to have his own way, his troubled conscience ad 
 vised him not to attract Lady Clanvowe s attention just 
 then by going counter to her slightest desires, and though 
 grumblingly and with a sour visage, he accepted Mervin s 
 offer. 
 
 "Urt?" the latter contemptuously exclaimed, as soon 
 as with the help of a stable-lantern he had closely in 
 spected the object under discussion. "Hi m surprised at 
 you, Mr. Grafton; hit s a drunk; an uncommon fine 
 drunk to be sure, but just a drunk. Fancy you thinking 
 e was urt!" 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Well, drunk or hurt or otherwise, he can t stay here 
 all night," Grafton angrily retorted. "If he was one of 
 those brutes of peasants, well enough. But seeing that 
 he may be an Englishman, I feel it my duty to afford him 
 some protection." 
 
 Mervin stepped back a pace and considered his hier 
 archical superior with undisguised disapproval. 
 
 " Hi wouldn t boast of is being one of hus, Mr. Grafton, 
 that Hi wouldn t if Hi was you. But since you re so per- 
 tickler about the beast s precious ealth, you take a old of 
 is feet, Hi ll take the shoulders, and we ll lay im as tender 
 as a babe in that ere mud-sty yonder, where the coast 
 guards shelter in bad weather. Hit s too good for the 
 likes of im, hany ow." 
 
 Grafton turned and surveyed the small, dome-shaped 
 mud-hutch at which Mervin was pointing, that strongly 
 resembled a beaver s lodge. He knew, from having more 
 than once peeped inside, that there was clean straw on 
 the flooring of hardened mud, and, satisfied that Mervin 
 would concede no more, he yielded and not a minute 
 too soon; for just at that moment there rose from the 
 inlet below a sound of oars, precise and regular as though 
 the long blades were being handled by man-o -war s-men. 
 Then a clear command followed, and the sharp keel of a 
 canot scraped bottom. 
 
 "You needn t come any further, Penruddock. Jwala- 
 Singh will look after me," came in Rouanez s prettily- 
 modulated voice. 
 
 Mervin and Grafton had crept into the douanier s hut 
 by now, and were crouching there like two school-boys 
 afraid of being discovered in an act of flagrant disobedi 
 ence; Grafton inwardly cursing his luck, and Mervin, in 
 wardly also, cursing Grafton for having led him into such 
 a scrape. Suppose her ladyship were to come up by 
 
 223 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 that way instead of along the beach now! Surely the 
 stertorous snores of their unappetizing salvage could not 
 escape her sharp hearing, and then . . . ! Fortunately for 
 them this did not happen, and in a little while the cul 
 prits heard the canot being pushed off, and the grating 
 of Lady Clanvowe s and Jwala-Singh s steps diminish and 
 finally die away on the shingle. 
 
 "Don t tell her ladyship, Mervin, there s a good-fel 
 low!" Graf ton actually stooped to implore, as soon as he 
 was reasonably certain that their mistress and her "body 
 guard" were safely housed. 
 
 " Of course Hi won t," the other grumbled. " But if you 
 hever catch me at such a gime again, Mr. Grafton, Hi m 
 willing to become a Turk." With which dark threat the 
 head-groom marched off, leaving a thoroughly humili 
 ated and crushed Grafton to minister as best he pleased 
 to the limp and comatose Perron. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 Fitly you wear above your breast of snow 
 
 Jewels of old and blossoms of to-day, 
 Lights that the lapses of the ages know. 
 
 And buds new-blown, and dewy on the spray. 
 Of old your beauty is, the crown of Song 
 
 Beareth a thousand such in golden rhyme, 
 But your pure essence is of labor long, 
 
 Tis the last dream that witched the sleep of Time. 
 Oft has this loveliness to make or mar 
 
 Burned on Ilyssus or the elder Nile, 
 In your clear wisdom I can read how far 
 
 Your soul has journeyed since that early while, 
 Then in your heart I glimpse, a vision true, 
 What never was before, and that is You. 
 
 The Essence and the Vase. M. M. 
 
 THE large, tentlike awnings of the Hotel de Tremoer at 
 St. Malo were drawn down to within an inch or so of the 
 carven ledges of its broad balconies, effectually concealing 
 the fact that although the family was naturally out of 
 town as it behooves great families to be in summer 
 yet the casements beneath their half-lowered, inner silken 
 blinds were suspiciously wide open. 
 
 Inside, the splendid house was in its all-enshrouding, 
 warm-weather attire of brown holland and gauze, much to 
 the detriment of the general aspect, as the Tremoer paint 
 ings and tapestries were celebrated. But the main draw 
 ing-room showed signs of having been hastily prepared 
 for some particular occasion, for flowers in fresh and 
 fragrant profusion overflowed from every available jar- 
 is 225 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 diniere or vase, and here the priceless tapis de la Savon- 
 nerie, woven with the family armorial bearings, as well as 
 the unique furniture embroidered in small-stitch, were 
 freed from their disfiguring envelopes. The immense apart 
 ment opened only on the Com d honneitr, thus making it 
 possible to leave the tall French windows frankly un 
 closed without danger of detection, and in the embrasure 
 of one of these, gazing idly down upon the large fountain 
 lifting its complicated sculptures from the middle of this 
 secluded patio, stood Arzur s mother, the Marquise de 
 Tremoer. Tall and still slender as a girl, she carried her 
 fifty years with absolute unconsciousness, and had it not 
 been for the two or three ribbons of silver which undulated 
 through the heavy chestnut braids wound coronal fashion 
 about her proud little head, a girl she would have seemed 
 almost, so smooth was the tea-rose complexion and so 
 pure the contours of a face which had but one fault, 
 and that too much habitual gravity. Just now, however, 
 there was a happy light in her dark-green eyes, vos yeux 
 d emeraude, as her ever lover-like lord called them; and 
 suddenly she began to sing, in soft, rich, mezzo-voce, a 
 ballad of the long ago : 
 
 "Met arru ez bo ar mandat,* 
 E-touez ar botred vad 
 
 Da dennan d ar billet, en favcur ar Roue 
 Doue da gonzolo neb a digwezo d he !" 
 
 The last line was uttered with a little mocking accent, 
 plainly showing that the Royalist Great Lady scorned even 
 in this musical trifle the idea that any one could need con 
 solation for serving one s King. 
 
 *"Mais il est arrive I ordre, 
 
 (II est arrive) parmi les bons gars, 
 (L ordre) de tirer au sort four le service du Roy 
 Dieu console ceux a qui il echerra!" 
 226 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Da dennan d ar billet, en favcur ar Roue 
 Douc da gonzolo neb a digwczo d lic /" 
 
 She repeated, derisively scanning the words again, and 
 then paused with an involuntary start as she thought of 
 her husband and her five sons, engaged even now in a 
 precarious Legitimistic uprising. A couple of impudent 
 sparrows who had just flown over the high-gabled roofs 
 of the Hotel were loudly quarrelling en the fountain- 
 margin, and she bent farther out to watch them pecking 
 viciously at each other. "Street rowdies," she mur 
 mured, with an amused laugh, "but they are plucky lit 
 tle devils!" And so absorbed was she that she failed to 
 hear a door swing open behind her and a quick footstep 
 on the thick carpet. 
 
 "Caught you spying, too!" Arzur s gay voice rang out, 
 as he threw his arms around her slim waist and kissed her 
 pretty little ear. 
 
 "You frightened me!" she cried, half angrily. "You 
 know I don t much like those pleasantries." But her 
 eyes were already relenting as she looked up at her stal 
 wart last-born her Benjamin. 
 
 "You frightened, M man? That s what I ll never be 
 lieve," the lad expostulated. "You re the bravest sol 
 dier of us all. It s you who should be Rouanez s chief of 
 staff instead of any of us." 
 
 "You call her Rouanez ?" Madame de Tremoer inquired. 
 
 "Oh! Not to her face, of course, although I m often 
 tempted to do so. She s such a gamin," Arzur impudent 
 ly declared, his dark eyes dancing with mischief. "We re 
 all in love with her, M man, including P pa himself. If 
 I were you I d look out." 
 
 The Marquise shrugged her shoulders. " My poor baby," 
 she remonstrated, "when will you begin to be serious? 
 Surely the time has come to try." 
 
 227 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " Not a bit of it. It s now, on the contrary, that we feel 
 like being merry. Has Grandpere already come ? There s 
 one who s jolly Grandpere, in spite of his seventy-six 
 years; you and he resemble each other as much as two 
 raindrops." 
 
 "No, he has not arrived yet; I don t expect him till 
 after dark; a little while only before the others." 
 
 "And they will be here when the others?" 
 
 "You know that as well as I do. Just before your be 
 loved Rouanez and her . . . guest." 
 
 "What a lark it will be! We are getting on famously 
 M man, aren t we ? I wish it wasn t risky to go for a tour 
 on the promenade. Perhaps I d meet our worthy Mayor, 
 which would give me an opportunity of staring solemnly 
 at him. Poor man! if he only guessed what a coup 
 he could make here to-night!" Arzur jubilated, dancing 
 a spirited pas-seul all around his mother. "My Lady 
 Clanvowe, the wife of the illustrious British diplomat, sailed 
 into St. Malo harbor on her palatial yacht Kestrel last night 
 to visit our ancient city, always so fascinating to foreigners. 
 Accompanying her was her husband s relative, Lord Alpaca, 
 equally interested with herself in antiquities." He inter 
 rupted his corybantic exercises to declare, pompously: 
 "That s what we may read to-morrow morning in the 
 columns of the Petit Malouin." 
 
 "Oh, Arzur!" Madame de Tremoer exclaimed. "Lord 
 Alpaca!" 
 
 "Well, isn t his real and ancient cognomen the time- 
 honored equivalent ? You never appreciate my small wit 
 ticisms, M man. I think Lord Alpaca sounds splendid. 
 It might have come straight from the pages of one of 
 poor old Ouida s novels." 
 
 "I do hope everything will go well," the Marquise in 
 terrupted, with a little frown of worry. "It would be 
 
 228 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 horrible if the meeting were discovered here in our 
 house." 
 
 "We would have to stand a siege, like Fort Chabrol, 
 and defend Lord Alpaca to the last ounce of our blood." 
 
 "Don t talk of that farce!" she chided, really angry this 
 time. "It is unbearable to think that our cause was 
 made ridiculous by those grotesque people!" 
 
 "Grotesque is severe," he interposed. "They meant 
 kindly, poor souls, I don t doubt, although the details as 
 furnished by the press did not redound to their credit. I 
 can just remember how the brothers and I laughed at 
 their sausages and sardines, and other siege delicacies. I 
 was a little shaver then, but I remember it all quite well. 
 Doesn t it strike you, M man, that we in bulk, that is 
 have not displayed much heroism until Rouanez and Olier 
 showed us the true road here lately?" 
 
 Madame de Tremoer had seated herself on a low otto 
 man before the window. The eyes she raised to him were 
 grave again now, and when she spoke all mirth had gone 
 from her voice. 
 
 "One must never judge others too severely, Arzur," 
 she said, slowly. "It is not death, a quick, brave death 
 in the field, that has cowed so many, but that far more 
 terrible thing: exile from all that one loves, and," she 
 added, impelled by strict justice, "confiscation of one s 
 old homes, too. It is not very noble, perhaps, to feel like 
 that; but still I should like you to see the matter in its 
 true light, Arzur." 
 
 The lad also had grown serious, and drawing forward 
 a pile of cushions he settled his elbow upon the ottoman 
 beside his mother. 
 
 "You see," she continued, "it is not as if the . . . the 
 King had seemed to expect us to achieve success for him. 
 There has been a hint of laisser-aller in that quarter, too, 
 
 229 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 perhaps, and this was not as encouraging as it should have 
 been. Also of late years I mean during the past twenty 
 or so several Royalist conspiracies have been killed, 
 more by ridicule, unfortunately, than by anything else. 
 In 1889, for instance, the list of so-called Legitimistic 
 conspirators scarcely included a single old patrician name, 
 but was composed of mere rabble, searchers after sensa 
 tion, esbrouffeurs, people who had nothing to risk or to 
 lose, while later on during Monsieur Loubet s term of 
 office even foreigners, male and female, proclaimed them 
 selves Royalists because they thought it looked chic to 
 identify themselves with a movement they had not the 
 figment of a right to join. It was lamentable, and the 
 cowardly attack upon the aged President of the Republic 
 by a band of crack-brained members of the smart set " 
 she pronounced the two words with bitter contempt 
 "did more to strengthen the Republic than one might 
 think. Such degrading nonsense and pusillanimous ab 
 surdity! Do you think that such people as ourselves or 
 the de Frehe"ls, the de Kerdrens, the de Brissacs, the de 
 Noailles, de Rohans, or Doudeauvilles could identify their 
 blazons with comedies of that kind?" She paused again, 
 and a little more hurriedly resumed : 
 
 "The Marquis de Lur-Saluces a true Royalist in heart 
 and soul, this one nevertheless took the precaution, be 
 fore he involved himself in the affair which brought him 
 and other monarchical leaders before the Senate on 
 charges of treason in 1892, of transferring his estates and 
 property to his brother; and in this way, although con 
 demned to exile, he escaped the penalty of confiscation. 
 We have not imitated him, Arzur, and this is only one 
 more reason why we should do all we can to succeed this 
 time." She laughed with suddenly recovered cheerful 
 ness, and concluded: "I trust that your father and I 
 
 230 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 would worthily follow in the footsteps of the emigres of 
 93. But still I must admit that I do not see you giving 
 dancing lessons in London, or your brothers making salads 
 at a guinea a bowl for the Guildhall banquets." 
 
 Arzur remained silent for a second, and then in almost 
 his usual bright manner took up the joke. 
 
 "I would be a splendid dancing-master, M man; don t 
 you think so?" he asked, smiling up at her. 
 
 "Very probably; but I prefer to see you belong to the 
 King s Household." 
 
 "The King . . . le Roy . . . with a l y and not an i, of 
 course; it sounds good," he mused, twirling between his 
 fingers the end of her white satin waist-ribbon. "I won 
 der whether he really, really wishes to be the King with 
 a y and not an * and plant the dear old white flag 
 and the Fleur-de-Lys where something so different flut 
 ters now?" 
 
 " Why, Arzur! Of course he does. How can you doubt 
 it ? He is a very brave ... a very fine character . . . the 
 fibres have been ever so slightly relaxed, I dare say, 
 by long waiting long discouragement but I who have 
 known him all his life can assure you that he will be a 
 good King. As to his brother, he is altogether delicious, 
 a lovable dare-devil, with the real Family spirit, the real 
 Family features, and the real Family manner of ever so 
 long ago .... Oh yes, a Prince - Heritier de derriere les 
 fagots. Quite that; I am not exaggerating." 
 
 Twilight was falling, and the great room was slowly 
 filling with shadows, while over the encircling walls of the 
 Cour d honneur a fresh breeze blew in from the sea, stir 
 ring the lace curtains and scattering the somewhat heady 
 perfume of a mass of white lilies grouped on a near-by 
 console. 
 
 "Heigho!" Arzur said, rising and stretching himself. 
 
 231 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " I must go and make myself presentable, M man, or what 
 would Lord Alpaca think? Are you going to remain as 
 you are, or must you add what you call a few touches?" 
 
 "I ll remain as I am, without any touches at all. Don t 
 you think this well enough?" 
 
 He caught her little hands, drew her to her feet, and 
 in the failing gray and golden light gravely examined the 
 exquisite lace Princess gown, clasped across the breast 
 by one single large diamond Fleur-de-Lys. 
 
 "I hadn t seen you well!" he cried. "You are perfect 
 . . . perfect as you always are; and Lord Alpaca will rinse 
 his eye when he sees you." 
 
 The Marquise looked imploringly at him. "Please, 
 please, Arzur. Do be correct this evening at least! Re 
 member you are a Royalist leader now." A little faint 
 smile quivered on her lips, in spite of her efforts to be im- 
 impressive, and the lad, detecting it, burst forthwith into 
 the Chceur des Conspirateurs, mincing his way toward 
 the door in an inimitably comic fashion, keeping time to 
 the music with pointed toes, and holding the outer seams 
 of his trousers as ballet-dancers do their skirts. On the 
 threshold he stopped, pirouetted, and blowing a graceful 
 kiss from the tips of his long, brown fingers, dived head 
 first beneath the drooping Louis XIV. baldaquin of the 
 portiere. 
 
 "On dime ce qui est crdne en France!" she murmured to 
 herself, "and those youngsters are all ires crane, it can t 
 be denied." Then, since under the circumstances no 
 servants had been brought, she got up to light the few 
 heavily-shaded lamps which must suffice to brighten after 
 a fashion to - night s gathering, and to prepare with her 
 own hands such refreshments as it had been possible to 
 smuggle into the supposedly closed house. 
 
 Fortunately there was to be no moon, and as the older 
 
 232 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 quarters of St. Malo are not as yet illumined with ultra 
 modern brilliancy, the approach to the Hotel de Tremoer 
 was comparatively speaking safe; more especially since 
 the bathing season brings to the picturesque little town a 
 large influx of visitors, mostly English and Americans, 
 who seek in the hostelries of Parame, Saint-Servan, or 
 even of the newer St. Malo proper, the illusion of having 
 spent a summer in poetical Brittany, and go away in the 
 firm belief that they have seen the true thing. To-day 
 these Divroidi * would unwittingly serve the Legitimistic 
 cause, for the scanty police force had not time just then 
 to look every new-comer over, and thus, the darkness 
 aiding, twenty-five or thirty persons one after the other 
 would be enabled to reach the Rue Broussais unobserved. 
 
 A little before midnight that fateful hour equally be 
 loved by novelists and evil-doers they were all assem 
 bled in the shadowy, flower-decked drawing-room, waiting 
 for Rouanez and her party. There was no sign of ner 
 vousness detectable in those various sympathetic groups, 
 and several times subdued laughter greeted the mordant 
 sallies of that surprisingly youthful septuagenarian the 
 Due de Porskear, who, to believe Arzur, was so much like 
 his daughter de Tremoer. Nor was the boy far wrong in 
 saying this, for there was more than an ordinary resem 
 blance between those two, in character and manner, as 
 well as in feature. 
 
 "It runs in our family to remain young forever," the 
 Duke was just explaining to a friend whom he had not 
 seen for years. "Look at Gwennolaik," and he pointed 
 toward his daughter, chatting near a half-closed window 
 with the Marquis de Laoual. "Doesn t she still remind 
 you of what she was at twenty?" 
 
 * Strangers. 
 233 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "She looks like a tall Ascension Lily," the other said, 
 softly. "Gwennolaik has always been in my opinion 
 the incarnation of what a Royalist Great Lady should be. 
 There are, by-the-way, few left nowadays," he added, 
 with a little sigh. "I wonder why. Because, after all, 
 bon-sang ne pent mentir." 
 
 The handsome old man at his side laughed. "How 
 much real, unadulterated bon-sang do you fancy remains ?" 
 he asked. " Machine-made, cotton-warped aristocrats are 
 the order of the day. All -silk goods are almost impos 
 sible to find now. And then the younger generation 
 the feminine younger generation more especially has 
 been bitten by the demon of haste and hurry, tinsel glit 
 ter and showy sensationalism. Women have no longer 
 time to be well-bred; they must be in the front row. 
 They automobilize and balloon, and rush from one ex 
 aggerated toilet into another, to appear in all sorts of 
 places where they have no business to be. In their ardor 
 to emulate the worst of men, they have lost both their 
 delicate femininity and the strength and resiliency which 
 made the heroines of Chouan days. But what will you? 
 It is what they call progress, with effeminate men and 
 hysterically unsexed women as a result. Still, as you 
 say, there are a few. . . . Wait! . . . You are going to see 
 presently another jewel of genuine lustre: a surprising 
 revival of the charm of other days, plus something ex 
 quisite, all her own Rouanez de Rozkavel. And, talk 
 of the angels," he added, quickly rising, "here she is!" 
 
 Between the pale brocade folds of the portiere came 
 Lady Clanvowe with, at her side, a remarkably tall, dark, 
 handsome youth, lithe and straight and active of build 
 in his tweed travelling - suit, which commonplace attire 
 did not quite succeed in satisfactorily modernizing a face 
 and form that seemed to belong to another age a remote 
 
 234 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 and very admirable age, when men were men, in the finest 
 acceptation of the word. 
 
 Everybody had risen, and Rouanez s simple " Voila 
 Monseigneur" bowed every head in silent salutation. 
 Madame de Tremoer had come forward, and as the last 
 arrival kissed her hand she looked affectionately at him, 
 for she had dandled him on her lap shortly after his ap 
 pearance in this disappointing world twenty-four years 
 before. 
 
 "You have grown still taller since our last meeting," 
 she whispered, retaining his ringers within her own, and 
 leading him toward the others. "That s very nice of you, 
 and very clever, too." 
 
 He laughed, "Very clever; why?" 
 
 "Because the French, who are supposed to be among 
 the smaller races, naturally adore a lofty stature," she 
 explained, and, drawing back, left him to greet the rest 
 with a deeper expression in his lingering smile, while she 
 herself turned to Rouanez. 
 
 "How did you manage?" she asked that efficient in- 
 troductress of Personages. " Did the sapient Penruddock 
 notice anything?" 
 
 "The sapient Penruddock was satisfactorily kept in 
 total ignorance of the honor done the Kestrel, " she re 
 plied, gayly. "But I must admit being glad to have my 
 supposed relative here safe and sound. He has such un 
 comfortably telltale features, and he is known all over the 
 world France included." 
 
 "Yes, that is a pity. But we can smuggle him out 
 again to-morrow on the night tide. Laoual s yacht is 
 coming on purpose. Meanwhile the boys and I will turn 
 cooks, valets, and major-domos. Unfortunately, it was 
 impossible to bring servants or decent provisions." 
 
 "Olier is bringing the last," Rouanez gleefully an- 
 
 235 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 nounced, "in a disgraceful canvas bag, under cover of a 
 coat negligently thrown over his arm. Lamb chops in 
 quantities, and a lordly steak, and lots of unimpeachable 
 peaches, and a mass really a mass of cold meats, foie- 
 grasse, and other agreeable things, with delicious little 
 crisp breads, not to mention 
 
 "Enough! Enough!" Madame de Tremoer expostu 
 lated. "Poor, dear Olier! Monseigneur must have in 
 herited the illustrious appetites, too, if he is to do justice 
 to all this forethought." 
 
 They were both rocking to and fro in a smothered burst 
 of merriment that put to flight all thought of the only too 
 real gravity of the moment, when at the sound of a step 
 in the gallery outside the door near by, they hastened to 
 join on the landing the sorely -burdened Olier, whose ap 
 pearance much to his astonishment seemed only to re 
 double their mirth. In a lew minutes, however, they all 
 three re-entered the extemporaneous council-room, their 
 faces duly serious, and joined the group that had formed 
 around Monseigneur. 
 
 "I do not see," the latter was just saying, "why we 
 should be kept both out of the dangers and the expenses 
 of the undertaking. We can afford especially I to 
 pay with our purses and persons." This "especially I" 
 brought a smile to every lip; there was so much eager 
 ness in the tone, so much genuine desire to join the pros 
 pective melee; also it was well known that this youthful 
 Prince was the richest member of his family, having fallen 
 heir, while still a mere boy, to his august grandfather s 
 plentiful millions. "My brother," he continued, "was 
 deeply grieved not to accompany me. He would, I 
 know, feel touched to the heart by so much devotion and 
 loyalty. But naturally, since your verdict was unani 
 mous as to the unwisdom of his risking recognition, he 
 
 236 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 bowed to its severity. He made, however, a special 
 point of insisting that at any rate we both should take 
 up our due share in the enormous expenses already en 
 tailed." 
 
 "Not to be thought of, Monseigneur!" Rouanez said, 
 in her quick, decisive tone. "We do not wish to begin 
 by impoverishing our Kings. Besides, the thing may fail ; 
 and in that case it is only fair that the originators alone 
 should suffer." 
 
 "I do not see why," was the prompt response. "You 
 want, it seems to me, to take upon yourself, my Lady 
 Rouanez, all the fatigues, all the troubles, all the dangers, 
 and leave us ultimately nothing but the honors of the 
 game." 
 
 "Those are primordially yours," she said, quietly. 
 "Don t you see, Monseigneur, that if you get your heads 
 broken in the fray, after emptying your purses, there will 
 remain but a sadly diminished outlook for the future of 
 Royalty?" She had stepped close to him now, and was 
 looking beseechingly at the resolute face towering so high 
 above her own. "Please, Monseigneur, please let us do 
 what we have planned. We wanted to acquaint you with 
 all the details of those plans, and writing was not possible, 
 since our main effort has been to avoid that of all things. 
 Indeed," she explained, in a lower voice, "if the plot were 
 discovered, even at the last minute, nobody could pos 
 sibly be compromised; probably nobody either seized or 
 punished, save those clumsy enough to be caught in some 
 undeniable act. We pride ourselves greatly on this. No ! 
 I can guess what you are about to say, Monseigneur you 
 must go back for a little while. I know you don t like it, 
 but yet must you do it." 
 
 His eyes were curiously softened as he listened, and 
 two or three times he moved his hands restlessly. 
 
 237 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You want to make cowards of us?" he asked at last, 
 with a queer little smile. 
 
 Her clear laugh was echoed by every person in the 
 room. 
 
 "That alone seems beyond even Rouanez s power, 
 Monseigneur," the Duke de Porskear said, dryly, and the 
 Prince flushed with sudden pleasure at the spontaneous 
 homage of that ripple of sincere amusement from those 
 true connoisseurs of courage. "Our Kings have had 
 their faults, some have had more than their share," the 
 original old aristocrat resumed, "but a lack of pluck has 
 never been counted among them nor never will. All 
 who have eyes to see can assert that even now." And to 
 temper his outspokenness he let his hand rest lightly for 
 a second upon the square, tweed-clad shoulder on a level 
 with his own. 
 
 "Lese-MajesteT 1 Madame de Tremoer whispered in her 
 father s ear. "Lese-Majeste"! Vous n en faites jamais 
 d autres! But to work now " turning to the others "it 
 is getting late; and we have much to do before Rouanez 
 and I, as the sole representatives of a weaker and more 
 frivolous sex, go and broil chops and steaks down-stairs." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 Love, let us turn our gaze to what may be; 
 
 With you but little would I need to live, 
 But oh, it is a bitter thing to see 
 
 Treasures it never will be mine to give! 
 I cannot bear to feel your secret eyes 
 
 Dwell on some beauty closed as in a shrine, 
 Knowing that instant I may not arise 
 
 To say, "Thou askest, and the boon is thine." 
 And yet, and yet, there is an after glow; 
 
 Once has the vision fled beyond our view, 
 Almost I would not wish it were not so, 
 
 For then I could not bear the pain with you. 
 For you I could wish all things, and befall 
 The worst, with you could meet the loss of all. 
 The Unattainable. M. M. 
 
 "Ix went splendidly. Not a hitch anywhere, except 
 ing just at the last, when he positively balked claimed 
 that it was after all his right to be with us and help set 
 fire to the fuse. Then for a moment I was really fright 
 ened, for it looked two to one against getting him away." 
 
 "You can t blame him for resenting being sent back to 
 the delights of verdant parks and velvety lawns, when ev 
 ery gray Breton rock and green Vendeen hillock is already 
 bristling with bayonets. How d you like it yourself?" 
 
 Olier did not answer, and kept plodding along the 
 crumbling sands below the semaphore at Rouanez s side, 
 his head half averted. 
 
 It was an exquisitely veiled Breton morning, perfumed 
 by a light breeze, which, having flirted all night with the 
 
 239 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 gorse and heather and whin of the lande, was now hurry 
 ing oceanward laden with fragrance. The tide was falling, 
 and the endless belt of red-and-gray rocks, bare to their 
 weed-grown bases, seemed draped with golden-brown ivy, 
 while in the middle distance whole flocks of sea-larks, like 
 animated puffs of foam, danced above the snowy fringes 
 of the scampering wavelets. The usually grim landscape 
 was smiling indeed, and so curiously diffused was the 
 softened sunlight that the off-shore reefs took on rounded 
 outlines, and an aspect as of heaping mounds of freshly- 
 gathered violets floating on the pale, flax-blossom azure 
 of the water. 
 
 "It is good to see, this old Breton land of ours, is it 
 not?" Rouanez began again, and she paused to inhale 
 deeply two or three times before continuing. "Such air 
 is to be found nowhere else." 
 
 "No, nowhere else," he acquiesced, still without turn 
 ing his head, and his dark-gray eyes changed for a mo 
 ment to that clear blue-green transparency seen only in 
 those of the great unresting birds of the open sea. 
 
 "You are pleased to be laconic this morning," she could 
 not help saying, a little irritably. "I had thought that 
 this little expedition in search of the commonplace and 
 toothsome langoustes * of commerce would brighten you 
 up; but not at all. . . . Yes, no! ... No, yes! . . . That s 
 all I get for my pains." 
 
 "Wait till we are face to face with the delicacies afore 
 said, and you ll see me on the broad grin," he assured her, 
 in the tone of forced banter which of late had only too 
 often struck her unpleasantly when alone with him. 
 " And here is the commodious road we must needs ascend 
 if we are to reach the guardian s block-house to-day," he 
 
 * Spiny lobsters. 
 240 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 added, pointing to a succession of rude notches cut in the 
 scarcely - sloping cliff wall, and forming a zigzag three- 
 hundred-foot ladder from bottom to top. 
 
 "We ll do so at once," she announced, passing in front 
 of him to put her words into instant execution. Her 
 short, white drill skirts were eminently well suited for 
 such work, as were her low-heeled tan shoes a foot like 
 hers could afford to disdain stilt-shaped size-diminishers 
 and Olier watched her mounting easily from ledge to 
 ledge, followed by her scrambling dogs, with a wonder 
 that familiarity had never yet dulled. 
 
 "Aren t you coming?" she called back, pausing half-way 
 up, and as if suddenly awakened from a dream he took 
 the perilous steps two at a time in his hurry to rejoin her. 
 "You ll break your neck," she warned him, resuming the 
 rough climb, but she smiled to see him reach the top as 
 soon as herself after all. Neither seemed in the least out 
 of breath, and following the bend of the cliff, they hurried 
 over the short salt turf, studded with tough little faintly 
 rose-colored ceillets de falaise, to the small, square guard 
 house where the telegraph and semaphore men lived. 
 Thick-walled and massive was the official building, flat- 
 roofed and whitewashed and trim, beneath the towering 
 mast whence the signals are displayed, and the tiny gar 
 den girdled with big blocks of stone was kept with a 
 minute care that betrayed the long hours of leisure the 
 two employes were at liberty to bestow upon it. As 
 Olier opened the bright, green-painted iron wicket a man 
 wearing the gold-buttoned blue-serge and gold-banded 
 cap of his office came hurrying to meet them. 
 
 "Good-morning, Chef," Olier cried, and Santeik, first 
 in command of the post, gave him back the cheeriest of 
 greetings, for he was a Breton, too, born some forty-odd 
 years before on the lands of Kremarze. 
 
 16 241 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "How s business?" Olier asked. "I have brought 
 Miladi to choose some langoustes. Got any freshly-caught 
 ones?" 
 
 "From this morning, man Lieutenant," the ex-sailor 
 answered, "fresh as the eye, and if you ll come this 
 way " preceding them along a small path strewn with 
 sifted gravel, and bordered on each side by a tiny palisade 
 of firmly-planted scallop shells, beyond which blossomed 
 thickly a miniature hedge of those pretty pink-and-white 
 little flowers called coquillages, and which look their name. 
 
 "What a pretty thing you manage to make of your 
 garden!" Rouanez said, in French; for it was certainly 
 not to a Government servant that she was going to betray 
 her knowledge of Breton. "It is as fresh and dainty as 
 the morning itself." 
 
 The guardian s good-natured face beamed with gratifi 
 cation. 
 
 "It s our only amusement," he murmured, as if apolo 
 gizing; "and we have many idle moments to give to 
 gardening, since of course we cannot absent ourselves, ex 
 cepting once a month each, for a whole day. Would Ma 
 dame care," he added, emboldened by her winning smile, 
 "to see our new baby? My wife would be honored." 
 
 "A new baby!" she exclaimed, delighted. "How young 
 is it?" 
 
 Olier, smiling at her way of expressing herself, fell back 
 to let her follow Santeik beneath a neat wire arch 
 where a thriving colony of white sweet-peas displayed, 
 as Rouanez remarked, hundreds of broad-winged little 
 Breton coiffes fluttering in the wind through the white- 
 curtained glazed door, and finally into a white-wainscoted 
 living-room fragrant with dainty cleanliness. Everything 
 there shone, from the snowy walls and ceiling, filleted 
 with pale green just as on board ship, to the elaborately 
 
 242 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 waxed cherry-wood furniture, the little mantel - piece 
 on which two big, rose-hued conch-shells flanked a great 
 branch of madrepore coral brought back by Santeik 
 from the South Sea Islands some years before, and the 
 few spotless saucepans hanging from brass hooks in a 
 corner near the tiled cooking-stove. The two low, square 
 windows opened directly upon the immensity of sea and 
 sky, for so close was the little poste to the cliff brink that 
 from within, except one bent clear over the sill, the im 
 pression received was that one had reached the edge of 
 the world the very last foothold above eternal and un 
 fathomable space. 
 
 All this, however, Rouanez noticed only a little later, 
 for she had instantly gone to where an osier cradle rocked 
 softly to and fro under its protecting green-and-white 
 calico curtains. The young mother had risen, her hand 
 still moving mechanically to and fro on the rim of the 
 skiff-shaped basket, her pretty face, a little thinned and 
 paled by recent maternity, flushing delicately beneath the 
 spreading wings of a coiffe that might have been cut from 
 the pattern of those perfumed little flowers, nodding out 
 there in the garden around their green-painted arch. 
 
 Rouanez held out her hand. "God be with you," she 
 said, after the fashion of the country. "Monsieur de 
 Frehe"l and I have come to see your baby. Is it asleep?" 
 
 "Not quite," Madame Santeik shyly admitted, dim 
 pling into smiles, and throwing back the tiny coverlet 
 she lifted the little one from its downy nest. 
 
 "Look, look, Olier; it is in swaddling-clothes!" Rou 
 anez cried, taking it from its mother. "It s just like a 
 big Christmas doll, and bronzed, too, as if it had already 
 circumnavigated the universe." She was holding it with 
 instinctive cleverness. "A real sailor - baby," she con 
 tinued, turning to the father, who was trying hard not to 
 
 243 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 betray too much foolish pride. "A Breton sailor - baby 
 the nicest of all!" 
 
 Olier had approached, and was gazing dreamily at the 
 small, round face nestled in the crook of Rouanez s arm. 
 "Yes," he said, softly, "he does look like a little mousse* 
 already, doesn t he? All the Santeiks are born sailors. 
 But, Lady Clanvowe," he added, suddenly, "if you want 
 to go home by the shingle we ll have to hurry; the tide 
 is rising." 
 
 She glanced up at him, almost annoyed. "All right, 
 go and choose those langoustes then. I ll stay here mean 
 while." And as soon as the two men had left the room 
 to go in search of the delectable crustaceans awaiting 
 their fate in a neighboring shed, she accepted the chair 
 Madame Santeik had been offering to her for the past five 
 minutes, but without relinquishing the baby, which she 
 established on her lap. 
 
 "Has Madame no children of her own?" the young 
 mother asked, on polite conversation bent. 
 
 Rouanez, who was gently touching the satiny-brown 
 cheek with the tip of one finger, did not look up. 
 
 "No," she answered, abruptly. 
 
 "It s a pity," the other said, "Madame seems so fond 
 of them." This time there came no reply at all, and 
 taking silence for consent the guardian s wife drove her 
 point home. "They are a comfort," she explained, in 
 the slightly sing-song tone of Bretons talking French. 
 "A care; yes, but what does that matter? All the time 
 before his birth I kept feeling happier and happier. 
 Whenever I went out to walk on the cliff there was a little 
 white bird flitting a few yards in front of me. Oh, I 
 knew him well; it was always the same . . . and it sang 
 
 * Ship s boy. 
 244 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 so sweet! They do say around here that they are the 
 souls waiting to come and dwell in the babies those 
 little white birds. And now I believe it; because, since 
 my Bernez is born I see that one no more." She paused, 
 her blue eyes fixed on the square of azure framed by the 
 window, and as if all her timidity had flown away like 
 the white bird of legend, she went on : " Now I am hap 
 pier still. I could dance on the tops of the ripening 
 wheat, I feel so light-hearted. Oh yes; it is unlortunate 
 Madame does not know that joy, because it is the great 
 est, surely. But it is not too late. Madame should make 
 a novena to Our Lady of La Clarete." 
 
 Rouanez was bending so low over the now peacefully- 
 sleeping infant that nothing but the pompon of her white 
 beret could be seen. Seized with remorse, the young 
 housewife rose quickly. No doubt she was boring Ma 
 dame with her nonsense. 
 
 "Won t Madame accept a glass of something? We 
 have a nice cool well, and with a drop of red wine to cor 
 rupt the water " 
 
 This hospitable offer, coming on top of the rest, nearly 
 ripped apart the last shreds of poor Rouanez s self-control. 
 
 "No, no, I must be off. Thank you ever so much," 
 she exclaimed, hurriedly relinquishing the little bundle 
 she had held with such curious tenderness. Then, slip 
 ping her fingers inside her collar, she drew out a thin 
 gold chain, to which was attached a pearl-rimmed enamel 
 medal, and hastily put it about the baby s neck. "That 
 may bring him luck," she murmured, and was out of the 
 house before the enraptured mother could utter a word 
 of thanks. 
 
 Outside the garden wall Olier and Santeik were endeav 
 oring to overpower two superb blue-armored langoustes, 
 and to thrust them into a reed basket; so she crossed 
 
 245 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 over to the iron - stanchioned foot of the semaphore- 
 mast. The swaying rope-ladder, with its gleaming rungs 
 and thick hempen uprights narrowing gradually in per 
 spective as they climbed higher and higher toward the 
 tiny round platform away up there in the sky, interested 
 her. What a view one must have from that point ! Her 
 mood was odd and unsettled just then, and in another 
 instant she was running up, sailor fashion, her white 
 skirts too snugly fitted to flutter in the wind, and her 
 light form scarcely causing the ladder designed for heavy 
 men even to swing. From the middle of the "main-top," 
 as Santeik called it, another mast, slender as a flag-pole, 
 rose, and as soon as her foot had touched the boards she 
 clasped this lightly with one arm and looked out to sea. 
 More than four hundred feet below a flock of gulls showed 
 smaller than a handful of petals fluttering above the 
 water, and even Feal and Furbuen, sagely awaiting her 
 on the sun-tanned grass of the cliff-edge, seemed humil- 
 iatingly diminished, while Olier, Santeik, and Kerlaz, the 
 other guardian, still bending over their laughable task, 
 looked like marionettes from that distance. 
 
 But all at once the fun was driven out of them by a 
 startled exclamation from Kerlaz a new recruit coming 
 from a distant part of Brittany, and as yet unacquainted 
 with Olier who cried, suddenly: 
 
 "Look at your wife, Monsieur, aloft there! She ll kill 
 herself!" 
 
 Olier s face blanched, in spite of his knowledge of 
 Rouanez s prowess in the rigging, for this was a different 
 matter. That sheer depth of thin blue air from the top 
 of the mast to the bottom of the cliff was a thing to 
 make-even a trained topman giddy at first. 
 
 "God!" he whispered through dry lips, and, dropping 
 langoustes and basket, raced to the ladder, up which he 
 
 246 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 literally flew; the two others watching him from below, 
 with, as they later declared, their hearts in their mouths, 
 for that little white silhouette poised upon its small, 
 wavering foothold looked light and delicate enough to 
 make one dread its being blown into space like thistle 
 down. 
 
 Olier had reached the last rungs before it occurred to 
 his almost frozen brain that to step upon the platform 
 without warning was to court disaster, and, pausing, he 
 called softly and unsteadily: 
 
 "Lady Clanvowe! Lady Clanvowe!" 
 
 She turned, and, catching sight of his face peering just 
 above the scant edging of oak, laughed. 
 
 "Come to see the view?" she calmly asked. 
 
 "No, to fetch you down," he managed to say, without 
 betraying further emotion, adding as she seemed to hes 
 itate : 
 
 "Please it s getting late." 
 
 Unhurried by the reminder, she gathered her skirts in 
 one hand and backed quietly toward the ladder. "Go 
 down first," she commanded. And he obeyed; but, slip 
 ping underneath the slowly oscillating rungs, risked some 
 thing few would have dared by descending hand under 
 hand on the reverse side, so as to face her all the time 
 and cut her off from the view of the void. But she guessed 
 the stratagem, and a little frown of displeasure gathered 
 between her eyebrows as she nimbly accomplished her 
 part of the task. 
 
 "I m not overfond of being treated like an irresponsible 
 idiot," she said, shortly, as they took ground at the same 
 time; and, turning her back upon him, she nodded to the 
 guardians, whistled up her dogs, and sauntered toward 
 that other perilous descent leading to the beach below. 
 
 "Not there!" poor Olier entreated, catching up with 
 
 247 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 her, basket in hand. "The tide has turned quite a while 
 ago. Let s go by the cliff path." 
 
 Unfortunately Rouanez was for once beyond being 
 reasoned with in fact, quite perversely unmanageable; 
 and, ungraciously inviting him to go by the upper road if 
 he so desired, continued to go down the face of the falaise, 
 not moved even by the dangerous antics of her usually 
 tenderly considered dogs. 
 
 "What is the matter with her?" Olier thought, meekly 
 following, though fully aware that to return to Rozkavel 
 by the shore was just now more than risky. "I ll hurry 
 her along somehow," he decided, "if she ll only let me." 
 This, however, he doubted, in view of her to him com 
 pletely new and unexpected unruliness. Indeed, he ex 
 pected to receive shortly another hint as to the wisdom 
 of minding his own business. But, much to his surprise 
 and relief, she began to talk in the most unconcerned and 
 natural fashion as soon as they reached the sands, and 
 without making the faintest allusion to what had just 
 happened. 
 
 "Give me the other handle of the basket," she said, 
 after a while. "We can sling it between us. I hate to 
 see a man carrying something." 
 
 "Excuse me, Lady Clanvowe," he demurred. "And 
 we mustn t stop to argue. As it is, I am afraid that we 
 will have to double the pace if we mean to get past the 
 point dry-shod." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and with a quick motion of 
 the arm caught the basket-handle nearest to her, and, 
 grasping it tightly, began to run. 
 
 "One doesn t prevent the other," she explained. "We 
 can argue, hasten, and share the ridicule of this basket 
 simultaneously. And the dogs are delighted. See them 
 
 go!" 
 
 248 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Her teasing smile was irresistible, and Olier gave in to 
 this new mood with suspicious promptness; all the more 
 so since he noticed that the feathery crests of the in 
 coming breakers were already showing above the sharp 
 ridges of the reef which cuts the shingle in two half 
 way between Rozkavel and the semaphore. Growing in 
 height as it nears the shore, this reef becomes a rock- 
 spur, similar to those beyond the semaphore near the 
 cavern which served the Royalists as a secret meeting- 
 place, and near the point where it merges into the cliff 
 proper it is pierced by two lofty arches of so precise and 
 symmetrical a sweep that one might think some super 
 human chisel had done the work, rather than the silky 
 impact of water repeated during uncounted centuries. A 
 second and similar spur faces this one, three hundred yards 
 farther on, and between the two is what is known as the 
 "Chapel Cave," although no trace of a legend connecting 
 any sort of religious ceremony with it, even during the 
 Reign of Terror, can be found. It is a curious place, this 
 grotto; for, strangely enough, the red or gleaming gray 
 granite of the cliff yields the pas all along that ledge to 
 a deep stratum of slate-blue, almost navy-blue, basalt, 
 profusely veined with glittering tin. The floor of the 
 cave slopes rather sharply up for a hundred feet or more, 
 so that, although the entrance is magnificently high, the 
 upper end which, by-the-way, narrows to the width of 
 an ordinary drawing-room and is carpeted with fine, white 
 sand is comparatively low-roofed , and lies beyond the ^ 
 reach of all but the highest tides. 
 
 Still running, the two passed beneath a lordly arch of 
 the first mighty buttress, when Rouanez, a little ahead 
 of Olier, felt a drag upon her arm, and, turning to see 
 what caused it, found that he was looking toward the 
 further one with fixed eyes. 
 
 249 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "What s up?" she asked, irritably. "Something more 
 to worry about?" 
 
 "Yes," he said, stopping short. "The tide has caught 
 us, and we ll have to stop in the cave for three hours be 
 fore we can pass. The dogs are better off they ve got 
 through." 
 
 A flush of extreme annoyance rose to her face, but an 
 noyance with herself alone this time, for she saw now 
 what her headstrong mood had done for her. Three 
 hours imprisoned in this poetical grotto with the man 
 whom she knew beyond the possibility of a doubt loved 
 her, and who, although she was justly convinced would 
 never tell her so, she had yet studiously avoided to meet 
 on awkward ground since the night of the rose-shower. 
 
 "Can t we climb up somewhere?" she demanded. "Or 
 else go back to the semaphore?" 
 
 "No," he replied, a trifle abruptly. "This is the high 
 est part of the shore a sort of camel s-back, as you well 
 know and the sea is already on both sides of us?" 
 
 "Oh, well, then," she murmured, fighting hard to re 
 tain her temper, "let s wait. It s a fearful bore. But 
 grumbling won t mend anything." 
 
 "I m not grumbling," he was on the point of saying, 
 but the mere set of her shoulders as she walked toward the 
 shell -strewn antechamber of the grotto warned him to 
 make no comments. Indeed, the pronounced crunching 
 of her little heels on the loose pebbles was ominous, and, 
 bearing the no -longer -disputed basket, he hastened to 
 follow. 
 
 For a few moments neither spoke. She had seated her 
 self at once on a conveniently flat bowlder just within the 
 entrance, and he was asking himself how he could break 
 a silence that threatened to become oppressive, when he 
 suddenly heard her laughing. Not mockingly or even 
 
 250 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 nervously, but with the delicious joyousness that char 
 acterized her usual laugh by no means one of her least 
 seductions. 
 
 "Oh, dear!" she cried, tremulously. "And I thought I 
 had conquered all feminine smallnesses ! Behold the down 
 fall of my dearest illusions! and give me a cigarette." 
 
 Olier was looking at her in such utter stupefaction that 
 once again she burst into a long, rippling peal of mirth. 
 
 " Please don t stare at me like that," she gasped at last. 
 " I can t help the quickness of my changes of mood. I was 
 born that way long ago." 
 
 It was Olier s turn to shrug his shoulders, though he 
 did this so unobtrusively that she could let the gesture 
 pass conveniently unnoticed. But she sat up and frowned 
 incredulously when upon her quick, musical ear fell the 
 softly whistled refrain of an old catch. The words she 
 knew well : 
 
 "Long ago? I don t know, 
 And, what s more, I don t care." 
 
 Was this deliberate impertinence, or was the action 
 merely unconscious and mechanical? His profile, which 
 was all she could see of him just then, was of disarming 
 innocence, and he seemed so fully occupied with search 
 ing in his pockets for cigarette-case and match-box that 
 she turned away her eyes as if the distinctly significant 
 tune meant nothing to her at all. In another moment 
 she had accepted cigarette and light with the customary 
 little friendly nod, delaying, however, as much as pos 
 sible the necessity of beginning to while the time away 
 by conversation. 
 
 Three hours . . . that certainly was a terribly long spell 
 under the circumstances, and she was just deciding to 
 embark upon an absorbing discussion of their joint duties 
 
 251 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 in the immediate future, when Olier, still standing beside 
 her, suddenly pointed to a spot half a mile or so from the 
 last fang of the farthest reef. 
 
 "There seems to be another one of those confounded 
 weed-mattresses floating out to sea," he said. " Of course 
 they are more accountable here than on the sand beaches 
 of Kremarze"; but, none the less, they give me the horrors 
 since last spring." 
 
 "Weed-mattress? What are you talking about?" she 
 asked, eagerly, glad that he had found a subject of con 
 versation for himself. 
 
 Intently gazing at the slowly vanishing stain upon the 
 ocean s sumptuous blue mantle, he forgot that he had 
 always avoided telling her of his narrow escape, and al 
 most before he knew it he was relating it in full. 
 
 "It was no fun, I assure you; and, although I am 
 thoroughly ashamed to own as much, truth compels me 
 to confess that it took me days to get over it." 
 
 He was telling his story with the unconsciously dra 
 matic force of perfect simplicity, and, as he came to de 
 scribe the grip of those thousand writhing tentacles, her 
 hand was quickly stretched toward him. 
 
 "Why did you never tell me that before?" she inter 
 rupted, roughly, and there was an alteration in her voice 
 which made him turn in astonishment. But already the 
 dread of any emotional situation between them had tri 
 umphed, and her face was so calm, her hand so quiescent 
 in her lap, that he thought he must have been mistaken. 
 
 "Why should I have done so?" he questioned. "You 
 have had quite enough coast stories related to you lately. 
 Indeed, I wouldn t have done so now, but for the passage 
 of this replica of my death-trap out there." 
 
 "I see," she said. "A mere coincidence. And tell 
 me, are such surprises frequent around here? You see, I 
 
 252 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 was a child when I left Rozkavel, and do not remember 
 ever hearing of them then." 
 
 "Frequent? No, not at all. As a matter of fact, they 
 are fortunately rather rare. But still they happen. And 
 when one comes to think of it although as a means of 
 decease the process is apt to be tediously slow the idea 
 of such a shroud, and a final resting-place upon a bed of 
 gorgeous sea-flowers somewhere below, has nothing re 
 pulsive to a sailor. It sounds pleasanter, somehow or oth 
 er, than six feet of brown earth and half a dozen planks." 
 
 "You are a cheerful companion," she dryly remarked, 
 "and your views of death are interesting, although some 
 over-particular people might be inclined to find them try 
 ing. Personally I do not object to them, seeing that 
 final dissolution as far as the mere body is concerned 
 does not in the least alarm me. One should not worry 
 unduly over the disposal of a cast-off garment." 
 
 Olier swung about quickly on the rock whereon he sat 
 cross-legged. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lady Clanvowe, but you must be 
 used by now to hear me talk like a fool. It looks as if I 
 couldn t help doing so every time I open my mouth 
 lately." 
 
 She pushed the langouste basket suddenly with her foot, 
 and with almost more than her usual irrelevancy made 
 it serve as a theme for her next sentence: 
 
 "Do you think those lobsters are still alive?" 
 
 "Not the least possible doubt about it," he answered, 
 after a cautious glance beneath the lid. "They are, I 
 can assure you, enormously wide-awake." 
 
 "This being so, we will liberate them at once," she an 
 nounced, getting briskly up to put her merciful design 
 into execution. " Here comes a fine big wave to meet 
 them. Untie them quick, Olier untie them!" 
 
 253 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Indeed, the waves were chasing one another in the most 
 lively manner up the steep incline, but both the prisoners 
 in the Chapel Cave knew that they would pause in their 
 pursuit when they had approached within about ten 
 yards, except the wind should suddenly veer, in which 
 case it might be necessary to pass a long and difficult 
 hour within the low -roofed, narrow niche forming the 
 very uppermost end of that admirable blue -and -silver 
 grotto. But the wind would not veer at least, Rouanez 
 hoped desperately that it would not, as she shook the two 
 langoustes into the fringe of the wave, where they stood 
 stock-still, from astonishment, no doubt, before scuttling 
 backward after the retreating freshness of the water, and 
 finally plunging out of sight side by side. 
 
 "A good deed," she said, merrily waving her wet hands, 
 from which the drops fell like a shower of diamonds. "A 
 good deed. And good deeds bring good luck." 
 
 "If that is true," Olier put in, "you should be exceed 
 ingly lucky, Lady Clanvowe ; for if anybody ever had the 
 habit of the helping hand, it is you." 
 
 "Oh! I don t know about that," she said, with so 
 faint a tinge of weariness in her voice that only he would 
 have noted it. " Honestly, I think that it is sheer cow 
 ardice on my part to pull people out of trouble." 
 
 "Cowardice?" he exclaimed. "How do you make that 
 out, please?" 
 
 "Very simply," she retorted, drawing back from a 
 spreading hem of foam. "I cannot bear to see anybody 
 suffer, even when the somebody is displeasing to me, and 
 so, sooner than look on with crossed arms ..." 
 
 Olier laughed. "You are capable of risking bone and 
 sinew to spare yourself so ungracious a sight. Your cow 
 ardice, like your much-vaunted selfishness, is of a curious 
 brand." 
 
 254 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 The sea was rising very fast, and the band of shingle 
 between falaise and ocean was almost entirely covered 
 already. Another and livelier wave came hurtling against 
 the jagged block of basalt that flanked the magnificent 
 portal on the right, and sent a splashing shower full in 
 their faces, then, with a musical clittering of tiny pebbles, 
 slid downhill to melt once more into the foam-feathered 
 green and blue whence it came. 
 
 An anxious look suddenly replaced Olier s amused ex 
 pression. At this season, and with the wind in that di 
 rection, the water ought not to reach as high up as it was 
 already doing, and, seizing the moment when a high- 
 banked comber resurged with corresponding ampleness, 
 he ran out of the grotto, and, springing upon a rock close 
 by, took a quick survey. Rouanez was herself too good 
 a sailor not to guess his purpose, as the little frown bring 
 ing her straight, dark eyebrows together testified; but 
 she did not move, and went on watching the ivorine veil 
 at her feet bubble itself into the spongy sand without so 
 much as glancing in his direction, even when she heard 
 him hastily redescend and scramble back from projection 
 to projection amid a pursuing welter of lashing froth. 
 
 "By all that is devilish," he cried, landing ankle-deep 
 beside her with a final vigorous jump, "the wind has gone 
 about without rhyme or reason, and we ll have to stow 
 ourselves away on that last hospitable ledge up there if we 
 don t want to sit up to our necks in water for an hour." 
 
 "That s all right," she said, carelessly. "As long as the 
 ledge remains, we shouldn t complain. I have been struck 
 lately by the amazing talent we display for getting into 
 useless scrapes. There is a guileless imbecility about our 
 doings which could scarcely be surpassed." 
 
 Olier had mechanically picked up the empty basket, and 
 was walking immediately behind her up the smooth incline. 
 
 255 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "When I say we, I am wrong," she corrected over her 
 shoulder, in the same indifferent tone. "To-day I should 
 speak for myself alone, since it is only fair to admit that 
 you made yourself as disagreeable as possible about my 
 selecting this road. I therefore take back half of the 
 speech and add my humble apologies to the remainder." 
 
 He could not help thinking that she looked anything 
 but humble as she swung herself up to a seat on the divan- 
 shaped ledge barring the furthermost end of the cave, 
 and according to her habit began to swing her little feet 
 backward and forward. Indeed, in anybody else he might 
 have resented a peculiar shortness, almost a sulkiness, of 
 intonation that he had never been treated to before. 
 
 "I am sorry," he said, penitently, "to have made my 
 self disagreeable, but I hope you did not think I would 
 take my revenge by saying I told you so it s a cheap 
 pleasure I never could appreciate." 
 
 "I didn t think you would. It s too feminine alto 
 gether for you. Your misdemeanors have backbone, at 
 least. But I m in a vile temper, so don t let s argue about 
 anything. Tell me a sea story; this is a fitting scenario." 
 
 "Why will you persist in maligning yourself?" he asked, 
 warmly, standing on the fast-dampening sand a yard or 
 so from her throne. "Your tempers are only the little 
 gusts upon the surface. Beneath there always lies the 
 beautiful, clear deep of endless goodness and patience." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she exclaimed, a trifle irritably. 
 "Beneath there always remains my indestructible bias, 
 my dislike of humanity, my disgust of pretty nearly every 
 body and everything that isn t pure nature. But your 
 feet are getting wet, and the next wave will swamp you. 
 Come up here!" 
 
 The order was too peremptory to be disregarded, and 
 Olier, just as the prophesied wave came swashing into the 
 
 256 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 grotto, leaped to a place of safety on the other end of the 
 ledge. 
 
 "Agreeable!" he commented, glancing down at his 
 white canvas shoes and flannel trousers, where little spat 
 ters of foam sparkled. "Anyhow, this is the worst that 
 the tide will accomplish. In half an hour it will be on 
 the turn, and, after all, it throws a pretty light in here, 
 doesn t it?" 
 
 The whole high-arching space had gradually become 
 filled with singularly soft, glauque reflections, mysterious 
 and charming, that bathed the dark ruggedness of the 
 stone in moving pale gold, as roller after roller, trans 
 pierced by brilliant sunlight from behind, rose across the 
 entry, balanced, and fell thunderously, awakening mur 
 murous vault-like echoes, and spreading from wall to wall 
 a short-lived pool of troubled, gold-shot aquamarine. 
 
 Apparently Rouanez was not poetically inclined at that 
 moment, for she did not condescend to corroborate the 
 statement by so much as an appreciative glance, and, as 
 though she had not even heard it, went on: 
 
 "It s true, too. One gets more and more exasperated 
 as the years accumulate. Men seem with few exceptions 
 to be all selfish, brutal, licentious, and money-grabbing, 
 while women more than match them in craftiness and 
 egoism, adding thereto coquetry, insincerity, mendacity, 
 cowardice, and an utter absence of wholesome tastes or 
 even ordinary moral sense." 
 
 Olier, staggered by this unaccountable sortie, was star 
 ing helplessly at her. 
 
 "Wait till you re older and you ll see!" she continued, 
 truculently. "Try and do a service to anybody; they ll 
 bite you to the bone in acknowledgment. Lend money 
 and you ve made an enemy; give it, and you ll find that 
 nothing but the sour dregs of your kindly deed will be 
 17 257 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 your portion. The first thing a drowning creature does 
 when you attempt a rescue is to try and drag you under 
 that takes place every time, whether in water or other 
 wise. And so one naturally leaves all one s illusions by 
 the roadside, as sheep do their wool. Bah! It s enough 
 to make one escape to a desert island and pull it in after 
 one s self." 
 
 "You do not look at life through rose-colored glasses 
 to-day?" the puzzled Olier hazarded. 
 
 "When one begins to feel the need of spectacles, pink 
 is not the hue one generally chooses," she tersely replied. 
 "I ve had enough of humanity for a while, I can assure 
 you, and, whatever happens, I will give myself a real rest 
 after our great affair is settled one way or the other. The 
 number of people I have mentally consigned to the devil 
 during the past years, and who have nevertheless been 
 left on my hands probably because the Satanic markets 
 were already overstocked is incalculable. I m tired of 
 it all." 
 
 She turned her head sharply away, and fixed her eyes 
 moodily upon the bluish gloom of the jagged fissure be 
 hind them. "He ll not extract much material for sen 
 timentality out of to-day s conversation," she thought, 
 viciously, for her harsh mood was not entirely assumed. 
 And at that moment Olier leaped to his feet, made a des 
 perate lunge, and drew her up and backward just as a 
 mass of pale-green water crashed against the ledge and 
 leaped frothing over it to cascade heavily down on the 
 other side. 
 
 "That was a close shave!" he said, a little breathlessly, 
 utterly unconscious that his arm was still about her shoul 
 ders and that he was holding her close to him. 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, in a voice suddenly calm and even, 
 "it was." 
 
 258 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 She quietly disengaged herself, bent over to watch the 
 wave slide tumultuously out of the cave, and then, as 
 coolly as if the whole incident had been the most natural 
 thing in the world, stepped back into the crevice and 
 began to climb between its narrowing walls upon the in 
 equalities of the dusky rock. 
 
 "I don t think," she called out to him, "that the water 
 will follow us here, and, as you say, the tide is on the turn. 
 Still, I did not expect it would have done quite as much 
 as it has." 
 
 "Neither did I," he muttered, with an angry glance at 
 the sea, dancing beyond the lowering archway in its gold 
 and azure gala -robe. Nothing could have been more 
 unwelcome to him than the awkwardness of these hours, 
 and he set his teeth as he rejoined her in two bounds up 
 the uncomfortably narrow couloir. There certainly was 
 no sense in being thus imprisoned together, he reflected 
 bitterly. Matters were difficult enough for him without 
 such uncalled-for complications, and, raising his eyes as if 
 looking for a means of escape toward the slanting flue- 
 like shaft of the crevice, he suddenly gave an incredulous 
 exclamation : 
 
 "Can this be light? See, Lady Clanvowe! Don t you 
 notice a bit of imitation sunshine far up there?" 
 
 She slipped past him, and, looking in the direction in 
 dicated by his pointing finger, stood for a minute without 
 speaking. 
 
 "Yes," she said at last. "But not imitation; the real 
 thing shining through underbrush of some sort broom 
 or blackberry bushes. It may be another way out. But 
 in that case it is queer smugglers didn t discover it and 
 make it practicable long ago." 
 
 "Too near the semaphore," he explained. "It is still 
 more extraordinary that I never discovered it myself. 
 
 259 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 I ve been a long way up this chimney several times as a 
 boy, and yet I never saw the least gleam of light ahead, 
 or anything to tempt me farther. Perhaps it was then 
 completely overgrown at the top. Wait here, please. I ll 
 investigate." 
 
 She drew back against the rock-wall to let him pass 
 on, and, herself standing on a broad projecting knob, 
 watched him climb further and further up and in. 
 
 "Good boy!" she murmured, softly. "Good, honest 
 boy!" And there was a very tender little smile on her 
 lips. 
 
 In a comparatively short time he was there again, 
 grimy and slightly dishevelled, but with an expression of 
 relief on his handsome face which she read as plainly as 
 if he had spoken. 
 
 "There is a way," he said, almost gayly. "It is not 
 easy, nor particularly clean, either. But if you don t mind 
 spoiling your dress we can try it. Else we shall be here 
 another hour and a half at least." 
 
 "God forbid!" she said, fervently, and then hoped he 
 had not heard this candidly rude remark, for he was al 
 ready preceding her into what, now that she had entered 
 the cleft behind him, was almost total darkness. 
 
 Even to a sailor like herself the road was indeed not an 
 easy one, and Olier, who had just gone over it, wished he 
 could facilitate it for her, but wisely forbore to say so. 
 However, though scratched and somewhat bruised, they 
 managed at last to reach the long, narrow outlet, concealed, 
 as Rouanez had surmised, by a thick patch of broom and 
 a sort of evergreen bush which bears so unequivocal a 
 name in Breton and French alike that it may as well re 
 main anonymously useful here. Through this they forced 
 themselves to the open air on the brow of the falaise. 
 
 "Ouf!" Rouanez murmured, pushing from her temples 
 
 260 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 the little silver curls, damp and disarranged by the rough 
 branches of that unsociable bush "Ouf! I m glad we re 
 here." 
 
 "So am I," Olier echoed. "But you are a wonder, 
 Lady Clan vo we. There isn t another woman in the 
 world who d have negotiated that stifling stone ladder 
 as you did not even a professional acrobat." 
 
 She laughed outright. Now that they were in the open 
 she could afford to be herself once more. "Compliments 
 again? And as usual so artlessly conceived. You are in 
 curable! But do you realize that all our trouble has not 
 been quite in vain to-day?" 
 
 " How so ?" he asked. 
 
 " Well, it seems to me that we have stumbled stumbled 
 is exactly the word upon a nearer way of escape from 
 cliff to beach which is not to be despised or overlooked in 
 our present situation. Don t let s disturb this unmen 
 tionable overgrowth more than we can help. It 11 con 
 tinue to guard the secret for us. And now I think we 
 should try to tidy ourselves up a bit. We are not to our 
 advantage!" she added, glancing ruefully at her torn and 
 crumpled skirts. "Just think what the sanctimonious 
 Graf ton will say if he sees me like this!" 
 
 "Oh! A la guerre comme a la guerre! Anyway, we 
 don t look so awful, after all, especially you. Besides 
 which, damn Graf ton!" he concluded, to himself. But 
 she heard and broke into another laugh as they cau 
 tiously edged their way through the salt-coated clump of 
 verdure. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Like breedeth like; but Nature may to scorn the ages flow 
 Root in forgotten Wrong, or Good deflowered long ago: 
 Thus may old stocks deny their race, and greet the laughing 
 
 morn, 
 The fig upon the thistle-spray, the grape upon the thorn. 
 
 Atavism. M. M. 
 
 SENATOR DULAC, clad from head to foot in pale mus 
 tard-colored English tweeds, which he deemed eminently 
 suited to confer distinction upon the wearer, his com 
 fortable stomach held in bondage by a truly pastoral 
 cream-hued waistcoat, brocaded gayly with rosebuds, 
 and the brilliant ensemble topped by a rakish Panama 
 that had cost much and didn t look it, was taking a first 
 survey of his new estate. According to his lights, he 
 looked the complete country magnate, the man who is 
 owner of the soil but not of it; and certainly no detail 
 had been omitted which could aid in the interpretation 
 of this flattering role, from the rural suggestions bound 
 to emanate from a scarf of spring-leaf green, whereon 
 sparkled a bunch of grapes, each berry a needlessly large 
 ruby, to the striped silk socks and tight patent-leather 
 pumps encasing his hopelessly flat feet. In one hand he 
 carried jauntily the slenderest of bamboo canes, adorned 
 with turquoises, and in the other a cigar of expensive 
 corpulence, cravatted with gorgeous red and gold. 
 
 Arriving only that morning, the over-combed and 
 pomatumed gardens had already furnished him an op- 
 
 262 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 portunity to display his lordly authority; and the bri 
 gade of helpers whose duty it was to pursue relentlessly 
 every vagrant leaf or twig, had without loss of time been 
 severely taken to task for having overlooked a cluster of 
 acorns that even now were sprawling unashamed on the 
 south lawn. 
 
 "It is really extraordinary what trouble one has to be 
 well served nowadays," he pompously declared. "Look 
 at those calladiums; they are not set at equal distances. 
 I would bet a hundred francs that the spacing is radically 
 faulty." 
 
 "I had no idea," a laughing voice replied, "that you 
 were so well up in horticulture. Your treasure of a head- 
 gardener will have to look to his laurels." 
 
 The Senator turned on his heel and stared at his younger 
 son with pitying tolerance. 
 
 "Before becoming a landed proprietor," he sharply re 
 torted, "I took the trouble of visiting a number of justly 
 celebrated parterres, in order to see with my own eyes 
 how the trick was done." 
 
 "My compliments!" Pierre Dulac gravely approved. 
 "That is what I call taking one s duties seriously." 
 
 "A reproach one will never address to you," was on 
 the elder man s tongue, but he checked the impulse, as 
 he often did in the presence of this stalwart son of his 
 so diametrically different from his other children who 
 had a knack of inspiring in him a discomfort that was 
 frequently akin to respect, a feeling that few persons had 
 ever evoked in the breast of this brazen politician. 
 
 How in the world this good-looking, straightforward, 
 and altogether prepossessing young man came to be the 
 son of his parents was one of those marvels into which it 
 is perchance better not to pry too deeply ; but at any rate 
 he bore no resemblance, physical or moral, to either of 
 
 263 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 them, a fact which should have filled him with profound 
 gratitude. Just then, his hands thrust into the pockets 
 of his white flannel jacket, his tennis cap set well back 
 from his forehead, he was contemplating the Senator s ele 
 gant array with ill-disguised amusement; the immaculate 
 pumps seemed especially to fascinate him, and two or 
 three times he squinted sideways at them admiringly. 
 
 "What are you staring at?" his father asked at length, 
 in the faintly uncomfortable tone which no one but 
 Pierre ever heard. 
 
 "Your escarpins," the other frankly admitted. "They 
 hurt one s eyes, they re so brilliant." 
 
 "Well! You didn t expect me to wear cowhide boots 
 to walk in my park ? That s well enough for those poseurs 
 and starvelings around here who call themselves gentle 
 men-farmers and are neither the one nor the other. Hap 
 pily I can afford to hire men to do the drudgery of my 
 estates." 
 
 Pierre said nothing. When his father mounted his 
 high-horse, as he irreverently called it, silence was ad 
 visable, and he therefore contented himself with follow 
 ing him around the criticised calladium-bed and down 
 an overarched rose-path to the lake. This lake had but 
 lately been a thing of beauty, with its frame of silver wil 
 lows, and undulating bordures of forget-me-nots, irises, 
 and pond-lilies a picturesque bit of nature at its best, 
 because left to its own sweet will. Now, however, thanks 
 to Antoine Flochard s ministrations, it had been trans 
 formed into what real-estate advertisers describe as an 
 "ornamental sheet of water," and with its newly scraped 
 stone pier once velvety with delicious green moss its 
 boat-house varnished and painted like a Nuremberg toy, 
 it looked ashamed of itself. 
 
 "Ha!" Dulac approvingly exclaimed. "Here at least 
 
 264 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 my orders have been carried out properly. You have no 
 conception what a mess the place was in before." 
 
 "Oh, but pardon me, I saw it last year and admired 
 it," Pierre said, regretfully. "Couldn t you at least have 
 spared us the crimson - and - gold weather-vane on that 
 freshly scoured roof there? Really, the only thing the 
 place lacks is a row of mirror-glass globes set along the 
 edge of the terrace on ornamental cast-iron stanchions." 
 
 "They are already on the way," replied his father, curt 
 ly. "I received the invoice from Nantes this morning. 
 An extra large size, made specially to order. One of 
 Flochard s neatest ideas, I think. Many of the improve 
 ments in and out of the house are to be credited to his 
 excellent taste." 
 
 "I do not doubt it for an instant." 
 
 "You don t seem convinced." 
 
 "Oh! It is necessary to seem convinced?" 
 
 "Certainly. Flochard has proved quite invaluable here 
 recently in many respects. He is a very remarkable young 
 man; but you never did him justice." 
 
 "I do, my dear father, full justice," Pierre said, quietly. 
 " It is you who are mistaken, I fear, in your valuation of 
 the fellow. And I can hardly think, for instance, that 
 it is also owing to your orders that he has managed to 
 make himself hated for leagues around, or that he has 
 engaged some of the low types who swagger in your 
 stables there are two grooms, for instance 
 
 The Senator had turned slightly away, and seemed ab 
 sorbed in the contemplation of the scrupulously cleansed 
 water, shining like silver over its bed of golden sand a 
 veritable millionaire s lake this, metallic and costly look 
 ing, like the rest of the establishment. 
 
 "How do you know that he is hated?" he asked, ab 
 ruptly, but without facing round. 
 
 265 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You must remember that I have been here over a 
 week now long enough to notice, at any rate, that far 
 from smoothing your path for you, the invaluable Flo- 
 chard has soured an already sufficiently acid neighbor 
 hood. The first time I rode across the lande to Rozkavel 
 village and Kremarze", I was convinced of the disgust 
 with which our arrival fills the people." 
 
 "They had better try and show it before me!" the 
 Senator cried, turning a surly countenance toward his 
 too-perspicacious offspring. "A pack of ragged, potato- 
 fed beggars! I ll teach them!" 
 
 Pierre raised his shoulders imperceptibly. His sire s 
 angers, like his sire s pretensions, left him cold. But he, 
 in his good-natured, light-hearted way, always disliked to 
 see him make a fool of himself, and determined to do 
 what he could to counterbalance Flochard s unhappy in 
 fluence. 
 
 "You ll scarcely achieve much by violence with Bre 
 tons," he judiciously remarked. "They are not so bad 
 when one knows how to take them. But if you re going 
 to display your democratico-autocratic side to them, 
 you re done. If I understand right, you are anxious to 
 play a certain role here, to assume certain dignities. 
 Well, then, you should begin by making yourself popular 
 with the villagers . . . and . . . especially try to make them 
 forgive you your wealth." 
 
 "Forgive me my wealth!" Dulac senior said, aghast. 
 "Forgive my wealth! What do you mean by that?" 
 
 "Just what I say. You are occupying the place of a 
 man who is still remembered here, though he s been dead 
 a good many years. He was not rich, but . . . well, I d like 
 to think that some day the old women in the chimney- 
 corners would speak of me as I ve heard they speak of 
 him. Yes, I mean the Marquis de Rozkavel. You are 
 
 266 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 more like the Marquis de Carabas now, since you own 
 half the countryside already and are buying more of it 
 every day. But unfortunately the good-will of your vas 
 sals is not included in the bargain. There you will be 
 in need of a different kind of coin. Lord! I speak like 
 a financial oracle ! But in any case, my good father, don t 
 listen to Flochard if you care for success." 
 
 The Senator was slowly poking holes with the end of 
 his splendid bamboo in the shorn velvet of the bank. 
 His expression was extremely sulky, and two or three 
 times he opened his thick lips as if to speak, but presum 
 ably thought better of it, for during the space of quite 
 five minutes absolute silence reigned. At last, with a fa 
 miliar hunch of his heavy shoulders, he ceased disfiguring 
 the smoothness of the soft emerald grass, and said, roughly : 
 
 " I know what I am about, and I don t want the advice 
 of a boy with milk still hanging to the end of his nose." 
 
 Pierre laughed. "As you like," he said, lightly. "I 
 thought you wished to take root here, though the soil is 
 markedly unfavorable for vegetation of our sort. But if 
 you are going to be satisfied to do like the marionettes 
 three little turns and then good-bye it s of course your 
 own affair. Upon which I may as well draw your atten 
 tion to the fact that it is twelve o clock, and that neither 
 my mother nor your priceless butler like luncheon to be 
 kept waiting." 
 
 "It s astonishing," the Senator said, bitterly, "how lit 
 tle you seem to appreciate the advantages of your posi 
 tion as my son; vegetation of our sort, indeed. You 
 make me sick. D you imagine that every lad of your age 
 has such an allowance as yours, rides such horses, or en 
 joys such luxuries as surround you ? You ve only got to 
 ask for a thing and it s yours, without doing a stroke of 
 work." 
 
 267 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 " That s something I have long wanted to speak to you 
 about," Pierre hastily interrupted. He was quite serious 
 now, and all hint of persiflage had vanished from his voice. 
 "You have been very generous to me, and have afforded 
 me the best of education and opportunities, but now the 
 time has come for me to make you some return, at least 
 in so far as I can do it by choosing a career for myself 
 and ridding you of a portion of what I cost you." 
 
 The Senator stopped short and stared at his son. The 
 luncheon-bell might have rung itself cracked for all that 
 these preoccupied people cared. 
 
 "What flea is biting you now?" he asked, angrily. 
 "Can t I say a word to you without your flying off the 
 handle like a lunatic ? Have I asked you to do anything 
 but He was on the point of saying "live like a gen 
 tleman," but stopped in time; why, it would have troubled 
 him to explain. 
 
 "Certainly not. But now that my military service is 
 done, I think that I should prefer to be occupied in some 
 way." 
 
 "And would it be indiscreet to ask you what you con 
 sider yourself fit for? Diplomacy, perhaps, or 
 
 "Diplomacy? No. I do not recognize in myself any 
 aptitude for poodle tricks, such as are expected of young 
 attaches bow and scrape, flirt with dowagers, and lead 
 cotillons decidedly not." 
 
 "The army, then?" Dulac mockingly demanded. 
 
 "The army as it is now in France? No." 
 
 None better than Senator Dulac knew what was meant 
 by that "now," and he winced a little as he heard it. 
 
 "You are difficult to please," he sneered. "But since 
 both army and diplomacy fail to meet with your ap 
 proval, perhaps you will tell me upon what branch of 
 science or art you have deigned to cast a favorable eye. 
 
 268 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Or do you, perhaps, desire to emulate your elder brother s 
 performances on the Stock-Exchange?" 
 
 His father s tone was probably beginning to grate upon 
 Pierre; for his silent reply to the last proposition was 
 this time a most unmistakable shrug of contempt. 
 
 "I see," the Senator translated, "that also is beneath 
 Monsieur s dignity." 
 
 "Not in the least; but, on the contrary, much above 
 my talents. I admire simpler callings, that s all. In fact, 
 I think I have a weakness for railroading." 
 
 "Railroading? Railroading what, or who?" 
 
 "Plain freight-cars if necessary at the outset, and, sub 
 ject of course to your sanction, I shall start from the 
 lower end of the profession this very autumn, and ex 
 patriate myself to do so, if need be." 
 
 "Begin as a coal-shoveller, like an American million 
 aire s son? You are indeed ambitious!" 
 
 "Eh! Eh! Some of them have done pretty well from 
 that beginning, or so I ve heard," Pierre said, in the tone 
 of banter that he was apt to employ for the discussion 
 of subjects that touched him nearly. "There is no shame 
 whatsoever in making use of one s hands, is there ? And 
 I have no objection to overalls as a disguise. It beats a 
 Spanish cloak and a sombrero any day," he cheerfully 
 concluded, opening the small iron gate that separated the 
 gardens from the park and falling back to let his father 
 pass. 
 
 The Senator s face was a study. For many years he 
 had not encountered so puzzling a problem. That there 
 was more than met the eye in all this he never doubted, 
 but what it could be he failed to see, and, counselled by 
 the innate prudence which had helped him more than 
 once during his checkered career, he forbore from pur 
 suing his investigations until more certain of his ground. 
 
 269 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "We ll return to all this nonsense at a fitter moment," 
 he said, gruffly. "And meanwhile keep your noble as 
 pirations to yourself; d you hear?" 
 
 Pierre nodded and followed his perturbed parent up the 
 noble flight of steps leading to the dining-room, where 
 Madame Dulac and her son and daughter-in-law were 
 already seated at the table. 
 
 Olier had not darkened the picture when describing 
 the present chatelaine of Rozkavel to Rouanez. She was 
 all that he had said, and much more besides, that he had, 
 perhaps from a feeling of respect for his hearer, avoided 
 to mention. A terrible woman, indeed, in the full ac 
 ceptation of the word, of a semi-veneered coarseness of 
 body and mind to set the teeth on edge, and with scarcely 
 a quality, be it ever so small, upon which to base a valid 
 excuse for her existence. With money had come am 
 bition of quite an inordinate sort. But since money had 
 been powerless to purchase tact, or even the faintest pos 
 sible social polish, she remained to-day what she always 
 had been utterly unacceptable, even in the least exigeant 
 bourgeois circles. 
 
 The purchase of Castle Rozkavel had been her idea, 
 for she had imagined that in this impoverished corner of 
 France which is not of France, though that she did not 
 realize the length of her husband s purse would tell. 
 Poor Poteau had not known how to make use of his op 
 portunities, as she took care to tell her daughter-in-law 
 twenty times a day. And when young Madame Dulac, 
 nee Poteau, who was not a bad little soul, timidly tried 
 to point out facts that had come under her own obser 
 vation during the few weeks which she used to spend at 
 Rozkavel every year, facts that held out no encourag 
 ing prospect, they were swept aside by the older woman 
 as mere worthless dross. With her lord s political and 
 
 270 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 financial omnipotence, and what she considered her own 
 inimitable savoir-faire, she felt confident of her ability to 
 bowl over those proud-stomached nobliaux, and revenge 
 herself for the galling oblivion to which she and her amaz 
 ing toilettes had been relegated during previous trips 
 about the old Duchy, when accompanying the Senator 
 on his electoral visitations. Oh! if she ever could hold 
 them by the throat, those cold-blooded, emotionless men 
 and women who seemed content to live the year round 
 in their dilapidated manoirs, upon sordidly narrow in 
 comes! Until now this pleasing opportunity had not been 
 granted her, however; but, as she elegantly expressed it, 
 with patience one ends by weaving silk from a sow s 
 bristles ! 
 
 "Where have you two been?" she asked, acidly, as her 
 husband and son entered the room. 
 
 "For a little tour around the gardens," the Senator 
 answered, seating himself opposite to her, while Pierre 
 took the chair beside his sister-in-law, and glanced in 
 astonishment at his mother s tea -gown a "creation" 
 of crimson and bullion, which, but for an ermine border 
 and a few golden bees, strikingly resembled the corona 
 tion robe of the first Napoleon. The most flamboyant 
 youth could hardly have carried it off, and it only served 
 to show with cruel emphasis the wreck that evil years 
 had made of her brutal beauty. 
 
 The five covers were laid on a lace-bordered cloth, but 
 on the silk-embroidered centrepiece of doubtful freshness 
 there was no flower-filled jardiniere or any of those pretty 
 little contrivances of silver and crystal which so greatly 
 enhance the enjoyment of a meal. Such small customary 
 daintinesses were alike unknown to Madame Dulac and to 
 the curious breed of servitors who in a long and loud suc 
 cession attempted the taming of that shrew. 
 
 271 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You might have remembered that I am going to make 
 calls this afternoon," she now said, thrusting a wedge of 
 bread so energetically into her soft - boiled egg that a 
 Vesuvian eruption immediately followed. 
 
 "Make calls?" the Senator asked, in astonishment. 
 "But upon whom? We are miles from anywhere, as you 
 very well know, and, moreover 
 
 Here he stopped, overawed by a ferocious frown from 
 his worser half and a glance indicating the insolent-look 
 ing butler and his two silk-stockinged assistants, whose 
 countenances, it must be owned, would have contributed 
 to the adornment of any jail, foreign or domestic. 
 
 "With the motor-car, distance no longer exists," she 
 affectedly recommenced. "I have here a list of the 
 chateaux nearest to ours, and these will suffice for to-day." 
 
 "More than suffice," said Pierre, beneath his breath, 
 and his sister-in-law, who was in the act of drinking 
 claret - and - water, choked herself with disastrous results 
 to her sumptuous morning-gown. 
 
 She was not pretty; but her round face was rosy and 
 pleasant, and she obviously deserved a better fate than 
 to have become the wife of the puffy, sallow-skinned in 
 dividual whose name she bore, and who for unredeemed 
 commonness ran a neck-to-neck race with his overpower 
 ing mother. 
 
 " I don t see what there is to laugh about," this pleasing 
 personage remarked, bending half across the table to 
 reach the butter-dish. His early youth had been less 
 gilded than his very much younger brother s, and had 
 lacked the present staff of footmen. 
 
 "Agenor!" Madame Dulac reminded him; "Jean will 
 pass you what you want." That distinguished function 
 ary had tardily precipitated himself, and was presenting 
 the desired lubricant with inimitable condescension. 
 
 272 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Nothing in particular," Pierre responded, ignoring 
 the interruption and looking askance at his brother, "ex 
 cepting that our ladies will probably find no one at 
 home." 
 
 Madame Dulac turned upon the son whom she fre 
 quently described as a hopeless dolt a pair of eyes like 
 pink-rimmed jet buttons, but emitting a vicious glitter 
 that no jet, be it ever so assiduously polished, could hope 
 to rival. 
 
 "And why that, if you please?" she sourly demanded. 
 
 "Because the whole Breton race is chiefly remarkable 
 for its lamentable lack of sociability," he coolly rejoined, 
 helping himself to salad. 
 
 "Oh, indeed! We must teach them better manners, 
 then!" she muttered, still glaring at him. "There are 
 always means when one has the whip-hand." 
 
 She would have said more, but, catching her husband s 
 eye, she stopped abruptly, and, addressing him in a less 
 rasping voice, announced that she would begin her tour 
 by stopping at Fort Rozkavel, to leave cards at least 
 upon that poseuse Miladi Clanvowe, who had so greatly 
 impressed the Senator. 
 
 "You will decidedly waste your time there," the latter 
 said, with a certain grim enjoyment. "Your cards may 
 or may not be acknowledged, but never will you be al 
 lowed to pass the iron door of that little Fort." 
 
 A flush of richest wine-color swept over Madame s cross- 
 grained countenance. 
 
 "That s what we shall see!" she said, furiously. "A 
 creature whom Flochard tells me is no better than she 
 should be, and spends the clearest of her days and nights 
 careering round the country alone with young men. That 
 husband of hers must assuredly have a wide sleeve!" 
 
 "If Flochard is well informed," the Senator put in, 
 
 18 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 austerely, "I am surprised, Anais, to find you desirous 
 of making her acquaintance." 
 
 For a moment Madame Dulac hesitated between treat 
 ing Monsieur Dulac s lead with the contempt it assuredly 
 must deserve as coming from him, or returning it in 
 accordance with her habitual virtuous pose ; but, deciding 
 to do neither, and speaking, as the French say, from the 
 top of the head du kaut de la tete she answered, al 
 most civilly, to her audience s extreme astonishment: 
 
 "Of course, of course, in ordinary cases you would be 
 right. But these English great ladies have curious ideas 
 about morality, so different from ours in France. One 
 cannot judge them by the same standards. And," she 
 concluded, in a sudden burst of frankness, "I m dying to 
 see what she looks like." 
 
 "There we are!" the irrepressible Pierre murmured. 
 "That s more like it." And, having finished his dessert, 
 he availed himself of the lax decorum presiding at the 
 Dulac board to rise and walk out of one of the tall French 
 windows opening directly upon the great stone terrace. 
 
 "Thank Heaven," he thought, "I shall soon be far 
 from all this. I may be a revoltingly undutiful son, but 
 I cannot get used to their ways. No, I can t!" He 
 strode wrathfully off toward the stables, disregarding a 
 call in his father s most peremptory tones, and, kicking 
 the gravel irritably before him with the toes of his well- 
 fitting brown shoes, entered the "yard." 
 
 There the most amiable disorder reigned. The staff 
 was evidently dining somewhere in the basement of the 
 great house, and the place was deserted. Through the 
 yawning doors of coach-rooms and garage were to be seen 
 rows of costly equipages and automobiles laden with dust, 
 their canvas coverings heaped beside them on carelessly 
 swept floors, dried mud adhering to more than one set of 
 
 274 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 wheels, while the saddlery shelves seemed littered chiefly 
 with empty bottles that had never contained either var 
 nish, leather-polish, or blacking. 
 
 "A fine state of affairs!" the young man commented, 
 half aloud. He loved horses, had just served his time in 
 a cavalry regiment, and he reddened with anger when, 
 turning into the long stable, he found the fine animals 
 therein contained scarcely groomed, the mangers and 
 drinking-troughs revoltingly grimy, and all the rest in 
 keeping. 
 
 "Sacre nom de nom!" he exclaimed. "Who is the 
 swine in charge here, I wonder ? Here ! You ! somebody ! 
 is every one dead?" 
 
 Perron, returning toothpick in mouth from enjoying a 
 mid-day meal, washed down with wines that the butler 
 reserved for down-stairs, as too fine to be tossed down 
 the patron s throat, selected this unfortunate moment to 
 stroll into the yard, and was met by a stinging volley 
 of what for politeness sake may be termed "language," 
 for Pierre, though little given to swearing, was by now in 
 a perfectly vile temper. At first Perron, like Brer Tarry- 
 pin, "sot an tuck it," but, the butler s singularly heady 
 brand of after-dinner Madeira aiding, his gorge soon rose 
 against such mishandling, and with an insolent swagger 
 he delivered himself of the following surprising sentence: 
 
 "Go tell that to the right man. I m not here to do 
 that kind of dirty work." 
 
 Pierre ran his eyes from the gaitered legs to the tweed- 
 capped head of the horsy personage confronting him, and 
 then ran them down again. 
 
 "You are not here to groom horses?" he asked, in a 
 tone lowered suddenly by amazement. 
 
 "Certainly not," Perron calmly declared. 
 
 "What are you paid for, then?" 
 
 275 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Perron hesitated for the fraction of a very short second. 
 He had been cautioned against revealing to anybody his 
 real status. But here was, after all, a son of the house a 
 Dulac, no doubt tarred with the same brush as the rest of 
 the pestilential brood. Why, then, let himself be treated 
 like a common menial when one word would take down 
 this young cockerel a peg or two? 
 
 "I s pose I shouldn t rightly tell you," he said, throw 
 ing a searching glance over his shoulder; "but I have 
 been engaged that is, my mate and I have been en 
 gaged to keep an eye on the ci-devants around here. 
 We re grooms only as far as the rig goes. Yes, sir" 
 this in English, which the wretch spoke very well, and 
 cultivated just then as in graceful accord with his Char 
 acter for the time being "yes, sir, grooms only as far as- 
 the rig goes, I m happy to say." 
 
 "You are a spy, then?" Pierre was not inclined to 
 mince matters. 
 
 "I say, there s no occasion to call everything by name. 
 I flatter myself that the Rue de Jerusalem harbors worse 
 blood-hounds than yours truly." 
 
 "Possibly. But is it my father who employs you?" 
 
 Perron, tempted by circumstances to wax familiar, un 
 bent amiably. 
 
 "Yes and no. M sieu Flochard is the accredited news- 
 grubber, but you see, Flochard who between you and 
 me and that hitching-post has a wonderful regard for his 
 own skin sent for us to do his work for him." Perron 
 bared his tobacco-stained teeth in a sly smile, nothing 
 having for a long while afforded him more enjoyment 
 than thus to thrust a knife between his superior s ribs. 
 For Flochard had promised more butter than cake, and 
 now seemed inclined to hand his understrappers an all- 
 too-dry crust, thinly spread with mere oleomargarine. 
 
 276 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "We were told to come here as grooms, and we did," 
 he continued, drawing himself up, " but blessed if either of 
 us knows more about a horse than to tell his head from 
 his tail when we look close enough." 
 
 Pierre scarcely listened to this last interesting piece of 
 information. He was staring straight in front of him, 
 with wrinkled brows, not able to make up his mind what 
 to decide. It would not do, he clearly realized, for him 
 to give his father wrong, especially before this slyly 
 watching brute; and yet for no consideration whatso 
 ever could he even tacitly approve the presence, author 
 ized or unauthorized, of a corps of spies at Rozkavel. Of 
 course, his sanction had not been requested, and his dis 
 approval would be as effective as water on a duck s back; 
 but still his whole honest being was in revolt, and, when 
 he at last spoke, there was a certain quality in his voice 
 which made Perron suddenly doubt the wisdom of con 
 fidences. 
 
 "Does anybody besides my father and his secretary 
 know your . . . profession?" he asked, sharply. 
 
 "No, Monsieur," Perron replied, without a trace of his 
 former familiarity or goguenarderie. " Leastways, not ui^- 
 til I told it to you just now," he corrected, evidently eager 
 to conciliate a person who could look so unequivocally 
 fierce. 
 
 "I m glad of that!" Pierre said, raspingly. "And I 
 trust you will be very particular about keeping the mat 
 ter strictly to yourselves, for it is not one that reflects 
 credit upon anybody concerned." And, whirling on his 
 heel, the youngest scion of the House of Dulac left a much- 
 disconcerted man behind him muttering uncomfortably, 
 "Not easy, this particulier not easy at all." 
 
 Meanwhile the aforesaid particulier was making rapid 
 progress toward home, where he still hoped to find his 
 
 277 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 father. He wanted an explanation, and that at once. 
 For broad as his conception of the paternal methods had 
 always been, this was too large a morsel to be swallowed 
 by a youth whose honorable nature had always been more 
 or less at war with his surroundings.. Unfortunately, the 
 Senator was closeted with the Mayor of the nearest little 
 town, and somewhat cooled by the delay, Pierre deter 
 mined to look further into the matter before speaking. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 Such as you give me I cannot return, 
 
 After its measure must each heart repay; 
 Night s altar hath but twinkling stars to burn 
 
 To the full glory of her Lord the Day: 
 Also the Sea that gray as barren sand 
 
 Drinks her deep draughts of sun-warmth undenied, 
 Till the soft mist lies like a hushing hand 
 
 On her unquiet tossings far and wide 
 When the clear dark her beauty would disclose 
 
 And she would wear her royallest attire, 
 Has but the sprinkled phosphor-flame, and glows 
 
 Limning her breaking crests with frozen fire. 
 Yet can the gray Sea chant a strain divine; 
 Would that the fulness of her song were mine! 
 
 Unequal Measure. M. M. 
 
 ANGRY and sore, Pierre once more descended the ter 
 race steps and strode across the lawn, just as his mother s 
 motor-car, containing that lady herself, in her most daz 
 zling plumage, and her little daughter-in-law almost equal 
 ly magnificent, whirled down the avenue on its punitive 
 expedition among the natives. 
 
 "I hope they ll be despoiled to-day of any desire to 
 recommence," the undutiful son muttered as he reached 
 a side entrance, and, passing out of the gardens upon the 
 open lande, made off in the direction of the shore. He 
 felt in need of a long, lonely walk to recover his equanimi 
 ty, and for the next hour or so he put his long legs to a 
 severe test. The end of this summer afternoon was mar 
 vellously clear and beautiful, sea and sky flew the same 
 
 279 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 azure pennants, and in the offing a flotilla of becalmed 
 sardine-boats alone gave a faint tinge of humanity to the 
 unpeopled vastness of Nature. 
 
 It was not the first time that Pierre had visited Brit 
 tany. Twice before he had stayed for a few weeks with 
 the Poteau family, and on both those occasions had keen 
 ly enjoyed himself, having instinctively understood and 
 appreciated a land which admits of no faint affection or 
 lukewarmness of feeling toward itself holding the bal 
 ance sternly between hatred and love. The path he now 
 followed was, however, new to him, for he had never gone 
 so far on foot toward the cliffs, but the pungent fragrance 
 of the sea was drawing him on, and since a few minutes 
 a large, heavy sound rising and falling on the light wind like 
 sof t , unsteady thunder, and seemingly proceeding from some 
 point a mile or so ahead, had begun to arouse his curiosity. 
 
 What could it be? Not the surf beating against the 
 rocks, since the ocean was almost as calm as an Italian 
 bay just now; also the subdued rumble was neither regu 
 lar nor continuous enough for that, and seemed to leap 
 feverishly, unequally, like some hurried gigantic pulsa 
 tion, quite different from the placid, soothing throb of 
 summer waves. Withal, it was an insidious elemental 
 sound, that a preoccupied ear might long refuse to per 
 ceive, and Pierre had probably been hearing it for a con 
 siderable time before it focussed his attention. But now 
 he paused to listen more at ease. Unable to decide as to 
 its character, however, he turned in what he judged to 
 be its direction, leaving the cliff path and striking out 
 across the heather, punctuated here and there by pale- 
 gray rocks rising peaklike from mounded gorse and black 
 berry bushes, the long branches of which wound them 
 selves in the most amazing loops and knots from point 
 to jagged point of the rough supporting stone. 
 
 280 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 All at once as he strode along a thin human cry, faint 
 but piercing, cut through the mysterious grumble, which 
 had been steadily growing louder, and once or twice had 
 swelled into a hollow, churning roar. It made his heart 
 jump, that cry, coming so suddenly upon the inhuman 
 solitude, and, when it came again, his feet of their own 
 accord seemed to pick themselves up and fly, for it had 
 struck the unmistakable note of agony and appeal. At 
 the same moment he became dimly aware of a figure 
 running along the converging edge of the cliff at a dis 
 tance so great that it looked as yet scarcely bigger than 
 a large doll, but, as their combined efforts diminished the 
 separating space, he saw that it was that of a woman 
 wearing a white gown; something white, too, on her head, 
 though certainly not a coiffe. She was preceded by a 
 couple of dogs, one big and dark, galloping shoulder-high 
 through the gorse, the other a darting, intermittently 
 seen speck of white that could only be a bull-terrier. 
 
 Just then the mild sunset air was rent again by that 
 piercing scream, and Pierre caught the flutter of the white 
 skirts flying toward the cliff-point and the crumbling 
 walls of a dismantled little tower, as he himself, redoub 
 ling his speed, raced past a viciously projecting granite 
 fang, cleared another at a bound, and brought up with an 
 exclamation of dismay on the very lip of the Hell of 
 Plogonak. Not ten yards from him the white figure was 
 already crouching half over the ghastly edge, while ten 
 feet below it another smaller form, clinging desperately to 
 a slowly uprooting bush, hung suspended. 
 
 "Have you a rope, or something?" The breathless 
 question did not even surprise Pierre under these circum 
 stances; he instinctively began to search his pockets as 
 if accustomed to carry there a few fathoms of cable ; and 
 suddenly, with quick fingers, he started to unwind the 
 
 281 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 very long silk sash he wore, Fa^a-fashion, about his mid 
 dle with his suit of summer flannels. The boy in such 
 dire peril of his life had ceased shrieking, and raised the 
 eyes of a tortured animal toward his possible rescuers. 
 
 "Quick! Quick!" she cried, and with a furious jerk 
 Pierre tore apart the strong silken fringes that he had 
 succeeded in tangling inextricably. 
 
 "Give it to me!" she ordered, without even looking 
 at him. "Quick!" And here, manlike, he tried to take 
 command of the situation. 
 
 "Please let me do it!" he pleaded. But, half raising 
 herself from her dangerous position, she snatched the 
 scarf from him. 
 
 "You wouldn t know how. I ll lie flat over. You lie 
 flat behind me ... on your face . . . hold my ankles, and 
 hold them tight! Quick, now! the bush is giving!" 
 
 There was something so peremptory in the quality of 
 her tone, joined to a note of such habitual authority, that 
 Pierre was silenced and did exactly as he was bidden. 
 He had had neither time nor opportunity to scrutinize 
 his strange fellow-rescuer, but when at this last moment 
 she for a second glanced up at him he was startled by 
 the loveliness of the face under its tangle of silver curls, 
 and the white beret tilted backward by the wind of her 
 flight. 
 
 Swift as thought she accomplished her difficult manreu- 
 vre, while he conscientiously "held on" to the trimmest 
 ankles he had ever seen. Then he heard her voice, no 
 longer abrupt and impatient, but quietly persuasive and 
 reassuring, as she told the terrified boy what to do. He 
 could not plainly distinguish what she said, for the Hell 
 below them had again begun to growl and ravin for its 
 prey in a wild-beast exasperation that made every other 
 sound indistinct, though in a second he could have sworn 
 
 282 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 that the cajoling French syllables had been abandoned 
 for the stern gutturals of quite another tongue. But this 
 was not the moment for certainties of any kind, and, 
 stretched out at full length in the most undignified of 
 sprawls, his feet hooked around a stone projection of 
 some kind that offered itself conveniently behind him, he 
 went on clasping the silk-clad ankles, and wondering what 
 degree of ridicule he was destined to reach. 
 
 "Crawl backward and pull me with you . . . slowly!" 
 The words roused him from his absurd cogitations, and 
 he obeyed unhesitatingly, as most people did when Rou- 
 anez used that particular tone; wriggling slowly like a 
 snake, and dragging her gently but continuously along 
 with him until she called "Halt!" and there was another 
 pause. 
 
 "I am entirely on the rock now," she announced. 
 " You can let me go ... then come here . . . quick . . . for 
 my arms are being wrenched out of their sockets." The 
 voice, notwithstanding this alarming declaration, was 
 surprisingly steady, and Pierre, jumping up, thought: 
 "Whoever that woman is, she is a marvel." 
 
 How she had managed it all he never knew; but when he 
 stood up behind her he saw that she was supporting nearly 
 the full weight of the twelve-year-old lad at the end of 
 the stoutly woven scarf. 
 
 "If you are not dizzy, go ... to ... the edge," she said, 
 a little breathlessly now, "grasp the scarf below my 
 hands, and haul." 
 
 Once more Pierre did just exactly what he was told, 
 without either hesitation or clumsiness, and in a min 
 ute more the shuddering, gasping boy lay on the tough 
 grass between them, his livid face thickly glazed with 
 sweat. 
 
 " What a tiresome child you are, Azen Cradek, to give 
 
 283 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 us all that trouble ! Rouse up now ; it s all over. There s 
 no occasion for you to faint." 
 
 This easy fashion of taking things after what had just 
 passed was so original that Pierre came instantly to the 
 conclusion that this could be no other than the Lady Clan- 
 vowe of whom he had already heard so much, and just 
 then, too, she took his opportune presence upon the scene 
 into consideration. 
 
 "We are very much obliged to you," she said, standing 
 slim and straight before him, although he noticed that 
 the hands hanging at her side were trembling. "With 
 out you we probably would both be in there now." 
 
 Pierre stared at the perfect oval face lit by those mar 
 vellous dark-blue eyes, at the delicate little nose and per 
 fect mouth perhaps slightly tremulous, but so slightly 
 and found nothing at all to say; while she, having at 
 last a chance to scan this tall, square-shouldered youth, 
 of decidedly pleasing appearance, did so in two keen, 
 searching glances, and then, bending over the cause of all 
 the "trouble," as she called it, took hold of his collar and 
 unceremoniously dragged him to the perpendicular. 
 
 "Aren t you ashamed of yourself?" she asked. "A 
 Breton mousse to first let himself tumble over a cliff, 
 and then shake like a woman for fright . . . afterward, too, 
 when it s of no earthly use!" 
 
 "Some women " Pierre began; but the boy, to whose 
 freckled countenance a bit of color had returned, was 
 stammering excuses and explanations in unmistakable 
 Breton, a torrent of incoherent, incomprehensible words 
 to Pierre at least for at first Lady Clanvowe assuredly 
 it must be she nodded as if she understood. Then she 
 turned with a curious little flush, of anger one might have 
 thought, and said curtly in French: 
 
 "Get along with you, since you can t speak an in- 
 
 284 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 telligible language to-day. Run home to your mother." 
 And in the most self-possessed fashion she shook out her 
 skirts and again bent her searching orbs upon Pierre. 
 
 "To whom," she asked, courteously, "am I indebted 
 for such excellent help?" 
 
 "My name is Pierre Dulac, and I am only sorry that 
 you should have had to do all the work, Madame," he 
 answered, and bowed a trifle shyly, for the almost im 
 perceptible recoil caused by his name had not been lost 
 upon him. 
 
 "The son of the Senator?" she asked again. 
 
 "Yes the younger son." 
 
 "Well, Monsieur, you have done me a service to-day 
 that I am not likely to forget; also I want to apologize 
 for my curtness with you awhile ago. You will under 
 stand that this was one of those occasions when polite 
 ness comes last." 
 
 "And courage first," he said, with a look of undis 
 guised admiration that had yet nothing offensive in it, 
 "first and last too," he concluded, "for your hands and 
 arms must be excruciatingly painful." 
 
 "Excruciatingly is exaggerated," she smiled, suddenly 
 speaking with winsome informality, and displaying her 
 two little palms. A few drops of blood were slowly 
 trickling from the fingers cut by the collection of rings 
 she wore. 
 
 "Oh, Madame, you have indeed hurt yourself!" he ex 
 claimed. "I am so sorry." 
 
 She laughed outright. "You are too easily alarmed, 
 Monsieur. When one goes in as I do for all sorts of 
 nonsense one should discard vain adornments." She 
 was sponging the blood with a scrap of handkerchief too 
 small for the task, and he drew from his pocket an un 
 folded one. 
 
 285 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "May I," he ventured, "offer you this?" 
 
 "Yes; thank you very much; it will be much better 
 than mine," she replied, tossing the lace -edged bit of 
 batiste, with its cherry-colored stains, over her shoulder 
 into the churning depths of Plogonak. "But really I 
 am shamefully abusing your kindness of heart. Here, 
 while you are about it, would you mind holding these 
 for me?" 
 
 With a tiny grimace of pain she slowly drew the big 
 gems from her rapidly swelling fingers, laying them one 
 by one in his hand. "I think," she added, "I ll go down 
 to the beach and soak these excruciating wounds in 
 sea- water a sovereign remedy for us sailors." 
 
 "You are Lady Clanvowe, then?" Pierre asked, in turn. 
 
 "Yes, but how do you know that Lady Clanvowe and 
 a sailor are practically one and the same thing?" 
 
 He smiled beneath his small, fair mustache. " Every 
 body knows that," he answered. "But I was sure of it 
 almost before your last remark. Will you allow me to 
 accompany you as far as the beach?" 
 
 "Certainly, and it will procure you the doubtful ad 
 vantage of becoming acquainted with another unsociable 
 neighbor," she added, smiling. "For if my nautical 
 eye does not deceive me, that is Olier de Frehel striding 
 along the lower path yonder." 
 
 "I am afraid Monsieur de Frehe"l will scarcely like my 
 being forced upon him," Pierre said, drawing back slight 
 ly. "The name of Dulac is not . . . what shall I say? . . . 
 appreciated around here." 
 
 Rouanez turned and glanced up at him curiously. In 
 her expressive eyes he read as plainly as if she had spoken : 
 " How do you come to be rowing in that galley?" Then 
 her long, dark lashes closed down over that tell-tale gaze, 
 and she quietly walked on. 
 
 286 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Monsieur de Frehe"l, like myself, is not in the habit 
 of coloring his opinions at a public dye-vat." 
 
 "That being the case," Pierre remarked, "I think I 
 will go on with you, Madame, because otherwise. . . ." 
 He left the sentence unfinished, and followed her down 
 one of those disconcertingly steep rock-slides which, a 
 mere pleasantry to her, were newer to him, and conse 
 quently worthy of his undivided attention. Not for an 
 instant led into the mistake of offering her his help, cb- 
 viously futile under the circumstances, he landed on the 
 shingle immediately behind her, and smilingly received 
 her compliments upon his "promising" manner of ne 
 gotiating this new difficulty. 
 
 "You will become acclimatized here in no time," she 
 assured him, already kneeling at the edge of a tiny pool 
 with her hands in the water. "And that is not easy for 
 most people to do." 
 
 "I am afraid," he rejoined, "that the one thing need 
 ful for the accomplishment of your flattering prophecy, 
 Madame, is just what I lack I mean opportunity for 
 I have decided recently to begin fending for myself in a 
 less poetical country." 
 
 Why he was telling her this he could not have ex 
 plained, even to himself; but the fact remains that he 
 did tell her, and in a tone which spoke clearer and louder 
 than his words. 
 
 "Ah!" was all she said in reply; and yet he felt that 
 she understood and approved, which on such short ac 
 quaintance meant volumes in favor of that fifth sense 
 which some privileged beings possess, and which for want 
 of a better term may be called insight. 
 
 Olier, greatly puzzled, and perhaps who knows? a 
 little disquieted, to see her chatting, apparently in the 
 friendliest spirit, with a total stranger who even at a dis- 
 
 287 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 tance looked rather prepossessing, had meanwhile quick 
 ened his pace with such excellent effect that he was close 
 upon them now, and spared Pierre any further private 
 explanations, creating a diversion extremely welcome to 
 Rouanez, since the difficulties of continuing the conversa 
 tion along such lines were easily foreseen. 
 
 Pierre, who was no stranger to Olier s reputation for 
 a stand-offishness even more marked than that of his 
 cKss in general, was agreeably surprised by this meeting. 
 He sat with those two on the rocks discussing the late 
 adventure which in the rendering by Rouanez became 
 somehow or other inimitably humorous and seemed 
 outwardly as gay and light-hearted as his new acquaint 
 ances. Yet all the while he felt a dull resentment grad 
 ually rising within him at Fate s unjust ordering of his 
 affairs. For here were people of a stamp never before 
 encountered, but already understood and appreciated, 
 and who seemed to return both these feelings. And yet 
 he keenly and bitterly realized that once he had turned 
 the angle of the cliff yonder, where the great rocks de 
 ployed like skirmishers into leaping sea-froth, they would 
 be utterly lost to him. They on one side, he on the other 
 in more senses than one, alas ! and this barrier, in the 
 most ordinary loyalty to his parents, he could not cross 
 again. 
 
 His face was clouded when he rose to go, and Rouanez, 
 who had risen also, glanced at him for a moment sym 
 pathetically before speaking. Then, in her peculiarly 
 gracious and impulsive way, she said, quickly: 
 
 "I don t want you to feel hurt, Monsieur, by my not 
 asking you to call upon me, and especially do I wish you 
 to understand that under other circumstances I would 
 deem it a genuine pleasure to have you do so. You may 
 have heard that I make or return no visits whatsoever, 
 
 288 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 having come here for a thorough rest. Olier de Frehel has 
 been the only exception to my rule, and this only because 
 I knew his parents intimately . . . during the late Count 
 de FreheTs diplomatic wanderings through Europe. My 
 husband was on two or three occasions accredited to the 
 same courts." She paused, and, underlining her words 
 with a kindly look, added, "Remember that personally 
 I should like to number you among my friends." 
 
 Pierre was touched, and had the good sense not to con 
 ceal it. 
 
 " I understand, Madame," he said, simply, "and I thank 
 you. If ever which is not very probable I could again 
 be of some service to you, it would make me happy." 
 And, bending over her hand, he touched it with his lips, 
 turned, and walked quickly away. 
 
 " A remarkably nice boy !" Rouanez commented. " How 
 in the mischief can he be Dulac s son?" 
 
 "There are some," Olier began, "who assert that 
 But just then Pierre ran back toward them, red with 
 confusion. 
 
 "Really, Miladi," he said, stammering a little in his 
 embarrassment, "I do not know how to apologize for 
 my stupidity. I was carrying off all your rings!" 
 
 Rouanez and Olier burst out laughing at his concern, 
 as he nervously extracted the sparkling handful from his 
 pocket and anxiously asked if "they were all there?" 
 
 "He s an uncommonly decent chap," Olier observed, 
 thoughtfully, in belated answer to her previous remark, 
 as they watched Pierre s active form disappear behind a 
 projection of the falaise. "And thank God he was there 
 to help you, since you will insist upon risking your life 
 on every possible occasion." 
 
 "Was I to let old Mamm-Goz Cradek s hopeful grand 
 son tumble into Plogonak?" she asked. 
 19 289 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 "Better a hundred hopeful Cradeks than you!" he 
 answered, impatiently. "I should never leave your side 
 for a minute. And yet even when I am there you man 
 age to run into constant danger. It is enough to drive 
 one wild to watch you at that game." 
 
 Her clear laugh made him look up in astonishment, for 
 lately somehow it had lost some of its contagious joyful- 
 ness. 
 
 " Don t be a fool," she said, lightly. " Are we not going 
 to face far greater risks in a few days, you and I ?" 
 
 "Ye-es," he grumbled. "Yes, I suppose one must call 
 them greater, although that little whirlpool yonder is not 
 half bad in its way. But for those we are prepared. We 
 expect them, and we will meet them together." 
 
 Here was a line of thought which it was better to break 
 through at once, considered Rouanez, and with a cool 
 ness of tone perhaps a little overdone, she launched her 
 self headlong into a deep explanation about the last orders 
 to be given, the last details to be attended to, Olier listen 
 ing attentively or so it might be supposed from the per 
 fect gravity of his expression, although his eyes seemed 
 just then strangely vacant and lost to present surround 
 ings. 
 
 "Hanvec has done wonders," Rouanez was saying, 
 her own blue orbs fixed on the soft heave of the sea, her 
 hands clasped idly in her lap, where the rings returned 
 by Pierre lay carelessly between the folds of her dress. 
 "We owe more recruits to him than to almost any one 
 else, among the peasants and fishermen at least. Keben, 
 too, has been remarkably active, he is so impossible to 
 tire out, either physically or mentally; and even Dame 
 Isilt came off her stilts lately to aid us in the arrangement 
 of minor details. Oh, ours is a reliable crew, Olier, and 
 we might well be proud of it." 
 
 290 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "I believe we are," he retorted, "and with good rea 
 son. Would you ever have thought that Arzur could 
 have sobered down as he has . . . and Masserac, whom we 
 used to laugh at so unmercifully; why, he is transformed 
 positively transformed." 
 
 She was still absently gazing at the smooth undulations 
 slowly turning from shadpwless blue to a deeper tone of 
 sapphire, netted with warm gold by the rays of a misty 
 sunset. 
 
 "Yes," she said, dreamily, "they are all and every one 
 doing the cause stout service. Korneli told me yesterday 
 that the Roparz women, in imitation of pur old Kerdikan, 
 have made their inn a sort of headquarters for the Royal 
 ists. Little Enora, it appears, has thrown herself heart 
 and soul into the work, and as that child s heart and soul 
 are faithfully mirrored in the purity of her lilac eyes, you 
 can judge what she accomplishes. It is extraordinary 
 . . . extraordinary!" 
 
 "No, perfectly natural," Olier corrected, with curious 
 emphasis. " Perfectly natural since all these sentiments 
 that you are admiring so guilelessly have been awakened 
 and fostered by you. Would even the Tremoers, would 
 Keben and his grandmother, Masse rac, Laoual, or Hanvec 
 himself, have stirred a finger but for your appearance 
 among them? And what about me before you came 
 with my slack nerve and fallow brain spending my time 
 in profitless regrets and impossible schemes ? But where 
 is the use of trying to show you all you have done ... to 
 return to you one-millionth part of the feelings you have 
 inspired?" He paused, and, without turning her head 
 toward him, she said, as if roused from some far-away 
 dream : 
 
 "The least said about all that the better." There was 
 faint annoyance in her tone, and he did not attempt to 
 
 291 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 refute her statement. "We are all but ready now," she 
 continued, "which, after all, is the chief thing. In a week 
 ten days at most the signal can be given, and then 
 A Dieu vat as they have not yet given up saying here 
 ... for the rest is in His hands." 
 
 Still he remained silent, and she began, a little hurriedly: 
 "I hope that this young Dulac won t make mischief 
 unintentionally, of course. His parents are here; also his 
 brother a shady boursier that one, it appears, mean and 
 ugly and vulgar beyond all conception. I am told that 
 they have determined to subjugate the whole country 
 side. You say I am always starting for the conquest of 
 a star. Their ambitions are more earthly, and no canail- 
 lerle would be too great for them to perpetrate in the 
 achievement of their purpose. Ah! Perhaps it would 
 have been wiser under the circumstances to have re 
 ceived them to have been less stiff-necked. God only 
 knows what they are capable of! I can only hope that 
 Monsieur Pierre did not notice the few words of Breton I 
 was forced to use in order to urge Azen on to a last effort, 
 just as the accursed bush he hung from was parting com 
 pany with the cliff. That might prove inconvenient. 
 You know how the least spark can sometimes start a 
 blaze from frontier to frontier. Fortunately, Plogonak 
 was making such an infernal racket that probably he 
 could not tell the difference. Besides though I may 
 be mistaken somehow or other I have a premonition 
 that no harm will come to us through this lad of the 
 honest eyes. I am tempted, in fact, to accept the 
 Chronique Scandaleuse s verdict. Those eyes are not of 
 the Dulac type." 
 
 "As usual, you must be right," he replied at last. "I 
 was agreeably impressed by him, too, and I don t think 
 he is the sort to boast of his adventure. If he is the man 
 
 292 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 we think he is, he probably holds his family at arm s- 
 length. Perhaps he won t even mention it at all." 
 
 "That, of course, would be the best thing that could 
 happen for us in every respect," she admitted. " Because 
 there are moments when an uncomfortable foreboding 
 comes over me, Olier; superstitious you would call it, 
 probably. We have succeeded too completely, so far. 
 It is not quite natural, for there has really been no hitch 
 of any sort no serious hitch, I mean has there?" 
 
 "I cannot say there has," he said, slowly. 
 
 "That s just it. I would feel much more reassured if 
 some minor contretemps had come to rob us of any pos 
 sible over-confidence. At least we can be thankful that, 
 even if we failed at the eleventh hour, nobody would be 
 endangered, no lives risked, since the last signal alone 
 will throw down each individual mask." She shivered 
 a little, and paused abruptly. 
 
 "You," he indignantly protested "you try to make 
 me believe that there is anything on earth that can dis 
 quiet or alarm you? Do you for a second imagine that 
 I ll swallow that?" He gave a sudden short laugh, more 
 expressive than any words, and resumed: "Read the 
 daily papers if you wish to see how circumstances are 
 fighting for us. The Labor Unionists and the Govern 
 ment have at last come to actual blows. The hour is 
 near when labor and capital will be completely at logger 
 heads, and everybody sees what the consequences of such 
 a state of affairs must necessarily be. How did Louis 
 Napoleon reach the Imperial Throne, if you please?" 
 
 "Through a sewer full of blood and mud," she said, 
 curtly. 
 
 "Yes, that is true. But would he have had even that 
 uninviting opportunity if the Second Republic had not 
 been compelled to jettison all its laboriously acquired 
 
 293 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 popularity, in order to subdue the hordes of revolted 
 workmen that constituted a national danger? General 
 Cavaignac made full use of his powers then . . . and the 
 glorious brand-new principles of anti-militarism, equality, 
 fraternity, and the rest were rather ruthlessly trampled 
 under foot, were they not?" 
 
 "Assuredly." 
 
 "And," he went on, speaking for the first time in her 
 knowledge of him with a youthful enthusiasm she had 
 scarcely believed him capable of displaying openly "and 
 if, instead of a Louis Napoleon, France had found at 
 its head a real man a real King born to the task 
 strong and unyielding, but whose heart beat in unison 
 with that of his people, who understood their needs and 
 knew how to rekindle their loyalty and their pride, would 
 not France have come to her own then?" 
 
 Rouanez gave a long, shuddering sigh. 
 
 "Yes," she murmured, "of course. But for such deeds 
 a Henry IV. is needed. Not," she added, "that I do not 
 think highly of our Prince, both aS a man and as a future 
 sovereign. He has not always been well surrounded or 
 well counselled, but he is plucky he showed that often 
 enough during his dangerous explorations and never 
 loses his head a good trait that for a King of France! 
 He has a high ideal of right and justice, a limitless ca 
 pacity for hard work oh, he will surprise many people 
 when he comes into power. Besides, he is manly, well- 
 set-up, and good-looking, which still counts for much with 
 the French, and he can look very royal indeed when he 
 chooses. Also, he has had the good sense not to make 
 a mesalliance. But one s times, after all, are one s only 
 opportunity, and ours are scarcely as favorable as former 
 days." 
 
 "The times are what they are made to be!" he ex- 
 
 294 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 claimed. "Talk about the will of the majority! It has 
 always been the organized and militant minorities that 
 have moved the world. The masses have never done more 
 than shout the catch-words of the hour. And remember 
 how abject the situation is here in France. If things get 
 a trifle worse something is bound to happen, anyway. 
 So, even if we fail, somebody will succeed soon. But we 
 won t fail! We will all put our shoulders to the wheel, 
 and, never fear, the Saints helping, we will unmire the 
 monarchical car." 
 
 She turned about, swift and graceful, and for the first 
 time looked full at him. 
 
 "If they all feel as you do," she cried, with a sudden 
 happy little smile, "we cannot fail; not even in the face 
 of a thousand treacheries." 
 
 "That s an ugly word," he said, impatiently. "What 
 made you think of treachery? Surely there is no one in 
 our ranks who could have suggested such a thought to 
 you?" 
 
 "You know very well that there is not. We are all as 
 White as snow." 
 
 "Grafton, then?" he asked, quickly. 
 
 "Grafton is a fool, a prig, a kill-joy if you like; but 
 for two reasons he could never turn traitor. First of all, 
 because, knowing nothing, he can betray nothing; and 
 secondly, because, even with all his defects, he is a 
 strictly honest and incorruptible man. No, it is mere 
 ly a phase of the feeling that I mentioned awhile ago. 
 Grafton was not in my mind; nor, for the matter of that, 
 any one else in particular. Of course, I wish I had never 
 brought him here, for he has bothered me more than I 
 can express, especially before Jwala-Singh took him in 
 charge. I devoutly hope, for Graf ton s sake, that Jwala- 
 Singh will never have a serious cause of complaint against 
 
 295 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 him, for my body-guard has a somewhat relentless nat 
 ure." 
 
 "I can easily believe that," he answered, with convic 
 tion. "And now just look at that sky!" 
 
 The sun, sinking through thinly diffused vapors, was 
 floating just awash upon the glowing water, a sphere of 
 blood-red magnificence, from which great rays of crim 
 son-gold smote fiercely upward. So intense was the col 
 oring that the cloudless heavens and sea were alike 
 slowly becoming masked in sombre flame, and their eyes 
 blinked as they watched the transformation of all the 
 pensive beauty of that late summer afternoon into such 
 a vision of infernal splendor as scarcely seemed to belong 
 to the world at all. 
 
 "In ei ^hteen-seventy," she said, softly, shielding her 
 blue gaze beneath both hands, "I remember being carried 
 out of my bed, little more than a toddling baby then, to 
 see a sky just like this one. There was no sun, of course, 
 for it was ten o clock at night, but half the heavens and 
 half the sea were of that same color. The peasants said 
 it was an omen a bad omen it proved to be. Eighteen- 
 seventy," she repeated "a long, long time ago." 
 
 She was watching between her interlaced fingers the 
 face of the man at her side. Would he understand now 
 what long years separated his youth from hers ? But not 
 a muscle of the steady countenance moved, the loyal, 
 deep-gray eyes kept looking straight ahead, without the 
 faintest change of expression, and the sun slipped out of 
 sight before he spoke again. 
 
 "A bad omen then, a good one now," he said, simply. 
 "A good omen for our Cause and our King, and for you 
 and me, too. The best of all; I feel it." 
 
 She rose very slowly, holding the rings that seemed 
 all turned into rubies by the lingering splendor above 
 
 296 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 within a fold of her white skirt, and there was something 
 in the eyes bent upon them which it was perhaps a pity 
 probably a blessing that he did not see. 
 
 "Let us hope so," she said, lightly, evidently busy be 
 yond all more serious concerns with the sand that ad 
 hered to the hem of her skirts. 
 
 That evening when he had left her, after a late dinner, 
 during which they had both been more silent than usual, 
 she stood for a long while on her balcony, lost in the won 
 der of the phosphorescent sea, which, as on the night 
 when it had so greatly disturbed Graf ton, was doing its 
 best to prove to poor purblind humanity that there is 
 even here below a silver selvage to the dark a foretaste 
 of some unfathomable reward for all we must first en 
 dure. All the doubts and restless dreads of the earlier 
 day had left her; she was no longer heavy-hearted or 
 distressed, and, suddenly stretching out both arms straight 
 in front of her, she gave one of her little laughs. 
 
 "A good omen!" she said, aloud. "The best of all!" 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 Silence doth keep her temple, hushed with stars, 
 The winds are all her worshippers, and lo! 
 
 The red moon, sinking to the western bars, 
 Swings like a heavy censer, soft and slow. 
 
 La Chanson de la Bretagne. 
 
 " TO-MORROW? . . . To-morrow?" Rouanez twice re 
 peated, questioningly, to herself, laying down upon the 
 balcony ledge the violin from which for over two hours 
 she had been drawing the music that never failed to 
 soothe her unrest. 
 
 To-morrow, indeed, the signal would at last be given, 
 and although, there was a certain sense of exultation in 
 her heart at the thought of the splendidly accomplished 
 task, yet tears were not as far from her brave eyes as 
 they usually remained even in her darkest moods, when 
 she recalled that after to-night the long, unforgettable 
 months she had spent at Rozkavel were at an end. Her 
 place henceforth would be either at Clanvowe Hall or 
 else in the foreign capitals to which her husband would 
 be accredited, and of the recent experiences which had 
 made weeks fly like days, and hours like minutes, there 
 would remain little indeed to increase the pleasure of liv 
 ing, unless success should crown all those united efforts 
 that she had set in motion, and the satisfaction of having 
 rescued her people from many undeserved miseries could 
 be hers. That was something, of course a great deal, 
 even and yet, as she touched the chords of her violin 
 
 298 
 
THE CRADLE OP THE ROSE 
 
 absent-mindedly with one idle finger, she sighed wearily 
 once or twice. 
 
 The weather was rather mournful, too, this evening, 
 gray and sleepy, with masses of thin, silvery fog drifting 
 about in the offing, through which the graceful silhouette 
 of the " Kestrel " riding at anchor a good bit further up 
 the coast could intermittently be divined for a moment. 
 Olier and, for the first time, Arzur were coming to dinner, 
 in order to decide about one or two final details, and, in 
 the hope that the mist would rise after sundown, Rouanez 
 had ordered Captain Penruddock to have the canot in 
 readiness if a flare should be set off from the Fort. A 
 short cruise would be soothing, perhaps, to more or less 
 strained nerves, and also she had always promised Arzur 
 to show him the yacht, without hitherto finding a con 
 venient moment for it. 
 
 "I must go and dress," she now thought. "This may 
 very well be my last dinner at Fort Rozkavel, and a lit 
 tle more ceremony than usual seems appropriate." But 
 still she lingered, straightening the flowers in one or two 
 of the big bronze bowls screwed to the stone ledge, pat 
 ting the dogs lying at full length on their luxurious cush 
 ions, and finally becoming so absorbed in the pages of a 
 book she had picked up at random, that she went on 
 reading it, half kneeling on her basket -chair with the 
 volume resting on the curved back, until the deep-voiced 
 clock in the neighboring "den" roused her with a start 
 of surprise to the knowledge that she had left herself 
 hardly sufficient time, after all, to get into something 
 more elaborate than one of her usual plain white even 
 ing gowns. 
 
 Haste was not detrimental to her, however, as far as 
 general results went, for when she stepped again on the 
 balcony to meet her two guests she had succeeded even 
 
 299 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 beyond her purpose, and looked so lovely that Arzur 
 actually gasped. 
 
 "I am so sorry to be late," she apologized. "Olier will 
 tell you, Arzur, that I am generally not so rude." 
 
 Olier was apparently not inclined to say anything just 
 then, for he was gazing at her from a shadowy corner, 
 beyond the lamp already lit on the little table, as if he 
 had never seen her before. Could this be the "comrade" 
 who had wandered all over the lande and beach with him, 
 who had run up the semaphore-mast like a boy, and, 
 wrapped in oil-skins and sou wester, taken charge of the 
 "Kestrel" in the worst squalls? Often and often he had 
 dined with her here, and had sat at table opposite that 
 slim, white-clad figure, but on none of those occasions 
 had he seen what he saw now before him the great lady, 
 and nothing but that ... a comb of aquamarines set high 
 in her diadem of silver braids, her long train of snowy 
 gauze giving her additional height, and rope upon rope 
 of pearls, large and soft and iridescent, like little misty 
 moons, falling about her dazzling throat. It could not 
 be Rouanez, he felt, with a sudden ache at the heart. 
 No! It was Lady Clanvowe, the future Ambassadress 
 . . . and his "comrade" was no more! 
 
 Fortunately for him, Arzur s exuberant exclamations 
 about his chbre petite Madame s magnificence gave him 
 opportunity to pull himself together, and when the run 
 ning fire of teasing and repartee, which often turned into 
 a regular skirmish the greetings exchanged by those two, 
 came to an end, Olier was to all outward appearances 
 himself again; a little colder, a little quieter, perhaps 
 but then he was never very boisterous and so he could 
 flatter himself that this new pain, added to another bit 
 ter one which never altogether left him now, would pass 
 unnoticed. 
 
 300 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Do you think, Olier," Rouanez asked him, just as 
 Grafton, more solemn and imposing than ever, advanced 
 to announce dinner "do you think we can go out on 
 the yacht later?" 
 
 He turned before offering her his arm, and, bending his 
 tall form to glance beneath the pink-and-white scallops 
 of the balcony awning, scanned the weather. 
 
 "Well," he said, doubtfully, "the fog is still there, but 
 it is early yet, and it may blow away by ten o clock; so 
 if you really want to go " 
 
 "Yes," she answered, "I really would like to. It s sad 
 here to-night, for some reason or other." 
 
 The dining-room, with its flowers and crystal and 
 silver, lighted by many pink-veiled lamps, was, however, 
 anything but sad, and Arzur s laughing voice and boyish 
 gayety contributed not a little to drive off any possible 
 hint of melancholy, all the more so, indeed, since before 
 the servants the talk could only be of every-day topics, 
 which were wittily discussed or turned into ridicule now 
 and again with incomparable drollery by Rouanez and 
 this youngest of all her admirers. 
 
 Nobody watching the scene would ever have dreamed 
 that here were three prime movers in an undertaking 
 involving countless lives and the future of a great coun 
 try; and be it said to their credit there was nothing 
 forced in their attitudes or their words, excepting per 
 haps in the case of Olier, and that for very private 
 reasons, indeed, which in no manner concerned the 
 heavy political responsibilities weighing upon his shoul 
 ders. 
 
 The mist had thinned considerably when at Arzur s 
 particular request they came back to the balcony for 
 coffee, as being more comfortable than any other place, 
 and so much so did it prove that for a moment Rouanez 
 
 301 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 questioned the wisdom of putting her plan into execution 
 at all. 
 
 "Let s wait awhile, anyhow," she said, nestling into 
 her arm-chair. "We needn t go before eleven, in any 
 case, and you are right, Arzur it is pleasant here." 
 
 "I am always right," he gravely declared. "Don t 
 you know that? But if I am to grant you a reprieve 
 from those more arduous nautical duties which you ap 
 pear to disdain so greatly to-night, you will have to 
 bribe me." 
 
 "What now?" she asked, laughing. "Do you want me 
 to delegate the command of the " Kestrel " to your abler 
 hands when we go aboard?" 
 
 "Not much! I am a land-crab, if ever there was one. 
 What I demand as my due is that you shall play for me. 
 I have never heard you." And, pleading in good earnest 
 now, he concluded: "Please, dear little Miladi, please. 
 Don t refuse me the first boon I ask." 
 
 "Play like that, immediately after a heavy dinner?" 
 she mischievously objected. 
 
 "A heavy dinner! You did not eat enough to break 
 the fast of a butterfly. Ah, if I were your chef I would 
 hand in my immediate resignation to so unepicurean a 
 mistress." And, pouncing on the violin-case, he dropped 
 on one knee, holding it aloft like a viaticum to present 
 it to her. 
 
 "If I must, I must," she said, lifting the priceless in 
 strument from its bed of ancient brocade and rising to 
 take up her favorite position when playing without ac 
 companiment half turned from her small audience and 
 leaning lightly against the broad-ledged balustrade. 
 
 Olier had retreated once more into the shadow ; Arzur, 
 absolutely serious for once, sat bolt upright on the pile 
 of cushions where he had unceremoniously lounged until 
 
 302 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 then, and as usual, without even the slightest flutter of pre 
 luding notes, the star-song began. But, as was not usual 
 when others were present, she let her thoughts clothe them 
 selves transparently in harmonies that melted from one 
 exquisite shade to another in a continuous delight of 
 tremulous sound, sad and gay, slow and rapid, without 
 a break, as she rendered with that inimitable touch of 
 hers wellnigh all the phases of her innermost feeling during 
 the past few months forgetting more and more that she 
 was not alone, and so sunk in her marvellous improvisation 
 that the violin itself no longer existed for her, and she 
 scarcely felt it moan or laugh beneath her caressing ringers. 
 
 Nearest the human heart! Ah, surely so, for this was 
 the voice of her very soul they were hearing that night, 
 although she herself did not know, for she was not one con 
 sciously to give it utterance, even before those two dearest 
 friends. Olier s eyes were hidden under his hand; Arzur 
 was white to the lips not very steady lips, indeed as 
 he listened to this full tide of harmony gathering itself 
 as the sea gathers to a wave; lifting high in passionate 
 crescendo, to plunge downward in sonorous cadences 
 that were like moving light upon dark waters. Neither 
 Rouanez, drifting far away on the wings of her dream, 
 nor those two rapt listeners who scarcely dared to breathe 
 for fear of breaking the thrilling charm of it all, noticed 
 the tall form of Jwala-Singh suddenly obscure the lamp- 
 shine from the French window behind them. 
 
 Never during all his long and loyal years of service had 
 he ventured to come unsummoned yet now he hastily 
 crossed over to where his mistress stood and actually 
 touched a fold of her dress. 
 
 With eyes widened by anxiety she turned, and at the 
 sight of his face let her beloved violin clatter unheeded 
 to the stone floor. 
 
 33 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "What is it?" she whispered, bending forward, every 
 nerve on the alert, and the Sikh answered in the curt 
 tone of one who knows there is no time for stately for 
 malities : 
 
 "There is a man a gentleman who brings news. 
 Pierre Dulac that is the name he gave, and he said he 
 must be received at once." 
 
 " Pierre Dulac ? Pierre Dulac ! Show him up instantly 
 . . . yourself, Jwala-Singh !" 
 
 Her voice was crisp and masterful now, and Jwala- 
 Singh, who had been a trooper of the Queen, drew him 
 self up, gave the military salute, wheeled and retired. 
 There was something in the instinctive action like the 
 flash of a drawn sword to the three silent people waiting 
 there, they knew not yet for what. In an instant the 
 Sikh was back again, effacing himself on the balcony 
 threshold before Pierre Dulac, breathless, hatless, and in 
 an evening-dress that bore unmistakable witness to some 
 mad race through dew-laden gorse and brambles. 
 
 "Speak in peace," came from Jwala-Singh, "I guard 
 the door." 
 
 "From the inside, then," Olier, once more keen and 
 ready, commanded, and for the second time Jwala-Singh 
 touched his turban in stiff salute. 
 
 Pierre, holding one hand to his left side, was leaning 
 heavily on the table with the other. 
 
 "You must go ... at once . . ." he gasped. "You, 
 Madame, and these gentlemen . . . the gendarmes may 
 be here any minute." 
 
 Rouanez was looking at him so intently that her eyes 
 seemed almost black. 
 
 "The gendarmes? What for?" she asked, sharply. 
 
 Pierre gave a quick gesture, which swept away all 
 further possibility of equivocation. 
 
 34 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "You have been betrayed," he hurriedly exclaimed. 
 "There is no time to explain. One of your servants has 
 been talking innocently perhaps and to-night I over 
 heard by chance Perron and Luvel the two spies dis 
 cuss the whole thing. I jumped on a horse to come and 
 warn you ... he is a mile back in a ditch with a broken 
 neck . . . and then I ran the rest of the way." 
 
 From the coffee-tray Arzur caught up a glass of liqueur- 
 brandy, and silently held it out to him. 
 
 "Drink it, Monsieur," Rouanez urged, and watched 
 him gulp it down gratefully. "Your opportunity to do 
 us service seems to have come swiftly," she added. "But 
 are you certain of what you say? The least mistake 
 would mean so much." She was speaking quietly, al 
 most conversationally, although her extraordinary eyes 
 were still probing his with a persistence that to nine out 
 of ten people would have proved insupportable. He, 
 strong in the truth of his terrible message, met them 
 squarely. 
 
 "Yes, Madame, certain. There is no possibility of 
 error," he said, more calmly now. "As I tell you, these 
 spies became acquainted with one of your household 
 Grafton they called him and made him talk. Since 
 then you have been watched night and day. Flochard, 
 my father s secretary an abject canaille somebody 
 found him out, perhaps, for he s missing since this morn 
 ing secretly summoned cleverer men than Perron and 
 Luvel, whom I suspected of some sort of dirty work 
 but not that not that !" There were tears in his eyes. 
 "Oh!" he cried, suddenly beating his fists violently to 
 gether, "the shame of it all! But what are we doing? 
 You must go now, Madame, just as you are, without 
 wasting another instant and if there are any papers 
 which is what they re after first, it appears !" 
 20 305 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "There are none, Monsieur Pierre none at all. Every 
 one will be safe, thanks to you unless we three are 
 caught, which matters less." She had moved to the 
 table, where lay a long, black, Spanish mantilla, and threw 
 it over her head and shoulders. "Come, Olier; come 
 Arzur," she said, still without a trace of emotion. "And 
 you, Jwala-Singh, go burn the flare to summon the canot. 
 If others see it, it can t be helped. You must stay here 
 and take charge full charge, you understand. Join me 
 in England when you can. Nobody can annoy you. 
 And remember that you know nothing, save that we 
 have gone out on the yacht. For the rest, do in all 
 things as you think best." 
 
 "I will stay with him," Pierre said, simply, as the 
 Sikh, his eyes burning like live coals, ben j ow over the 
 hand she extended to him in farewell and touched it with 
 his lips. 
 
 " No, it s better not. You could do nothing, save com 
 promise yourself and him. You must not be found here. 
 Officially you know none of us. Come, we ll go down to 
 gether." 
 
 She nodded to Jwala-Singh, and passed out, without a 
 look behind. 
 
 Left alone, the Sikh ran down the long hall and 
 through the armory to the window from which the flare 
 was always burned, sent the vivid blue signal to cut its 
 dazzling way through the transparent mist, and sped on, 
 muttering fiercely in his native tongue as he traversed 
 the winding intricacies of other corridors. 
 
 "When they are well away," he said, below his breath, 
 pausing at last before a closed door, "I, who am in charge, 
 will do as I think best!" For half a minute he wait 
 ed, breathing hard; then with calculated violence threw 
 open the door and strode into Grafton s comfortable 
 
 306 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "parlor," where that personage, coatless and ensconced 
 in one deep arm-chair with his feet in another, was dal 
 lying luxuriously with a cigar and a cup of fragrant 
 coffee. 
 
 "Come!" he commanded. Grafton had jumped up as 
 if he had been stung. "Come; my lady needs you." 
 
 "Needs me . . . now . . . what for?" the startled butler 
 stammered. 
 
 "Doubtless she will tell you. There is great trouble, 
 and we are wanted. Make haste it is an order!" 
 
 The conscience that Grafton had been carrying around 
 for some time rendered him peculiarly vulnerable to a 
 sudden and crafty attack; but he was neither so startled 
 nor so entirely flustered as not to notice the strangeness 
 of Jwala-Singh s expression and attitude certainly not 
 those of one servant summoning another. And Jwala- 
 Singh had never been his friend. 
 
 "Where is my lady?" he questioned, trying to gain 
 time by the slowness with which he slipped his shaking 
 arms into his coat-sleeves ; but the other, who had no in 
 tention of allowing him to collect his wits, entered into 
 no explanations. 
 
 "By now she has gone out upon the cliff -path," he 
 said, fiercely. "And if you don t come this instant, I 
 drag you!" 
 
 This did not look like an idle threat, and in another 
 instant Jwala-Singh was dexterously steering his bewil 
 dered companion through the maze of corridors, down 
 stairs and across the yard. The iron door clanged heavily 
 after them, and they were out upon the open lande. 
 
 For a little while longer Grafton allowed himself to be 
 urged on, but the loneliness of the narrow heather-track, 
 empty of everything save trailing wreaths of fog, soon 
 made him slacken his pace. 
 
 37 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Can t you tell me at least what has happened?" he 
 asked, peevishly, his voice decidedly unsteady from the 
 unwonted rapidity of the pace and an increasing fear 
 which was beginning to take him by the knees. 
 
 " There is no need," Jwala-Singh replied, curtly. " You 
 will very presently discover." 
 
 The ring of triumph in the voice was in itself a warn 
 ing, and Grafton came to a full stop. 
 
 "Now, look here," he cried, vainly trying to reassume 
 his usual impressiveness, "I am not under your orders. 
 You say my lady wants us. Well and good. But I will 
 not go a yard further until you tell me what s hap 
 pened." 
 
 They were already out of sight of the Fort, over a 
 shoulder of the moor. A red old moon was rising some 
 where unseen behind the fog, and the two men could 
 almost clearly discern each other s faces. That of Graf- 
 ton was ghostly white now, the Hindu s darkly impla 
 cable, and for a second they confronted each other with 
 out a word. Ahead of them a low, pulsating sound 
 troubled the gray gloom, but neither heeded it just then, 
 not even Grafton, who, if he heard it at all, mistook it 
 for the beat of his arteries pounding in his ears. It was 
 too soon yet to use force, Jwala-Singh realized; a call, 
 a cry from Grafton, might bring the gendarmes, who, if 
 that young man just now had spoken true, might well 
 have reached the Fort. He decided to curb his impa 
 tience a little longer, though this was hard to do. 
 
 "I will explain as we go," he temporized. "Only you 
 must make haste. You must!" 
 
 A little reassured, Grafton started off again, and hu 
 mored the other to the point of hurrying as fast as his 
 trembling legs would allow. 
 
 "My lady has been trying to free her country," Jwala- 
 
 308 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Singh presently forced himself to say. " But some treach 
 erous hound betrayed her, and the soldiers will besiege 
 the Fort. Do you understand?" 
 
 Assuredly Grafton did understand, and a moan of hor 
 ror came from his ashen lips. Indeed, the blow was so 
 severe that he tottered and would have fallen had not 
 the Sikh seized his arm and held him up. Once or twice 
 a vague idea that his mistress s erratic doings might be 
 connected with politics had passed through his mind, 
 though without dwelling there, but now he saw what he 
 had done, and he felt the very earth rock beneath his 
 feet. 
 
 "Ha!" said his captor. "You know that treacherous 
 hound, I think." And, quite indifferent to further con 
 sequences, he began to drag the unresisting man onward. 
 But suddenly Grafton put out his remaining strength and 
 held back. 
 
 "I don t!" he snarled, weakly. "You lie, you black 
 beast!" 
 
 Jwala-Singh did not speak; he made a quick gesture, 
 and Grafton found himself looking down the muzzle of a 
 revolver. 
 
 "Come on!" Jwala-Singh commanded, and Grafton, 
 wondering whether this could all be real, or merely some 
 hideous nightmare, did not dare to disobey, though his 
 limbs nearly refused to support him. Every word he had 
 let Perron coax out of him during several "chance" 
 meetings on the beach when he, Grafton, went to smoke 
 his post - prandial cigar, seemed now burned into his 
 stricken brain. But how much of this did Lady Clan- 
 vowe know? how much that devil, now half carrying 
 him, as one might a drunken man, along the misty path ? 
 His mouth was dry, as if filled with sand; before his eyes 
 tiny wheels of fire danced; and the strange throbbing 
 
 39 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 sound was now in his head, now outside, and now some 
 where in front of him along the cliff, rising and fall 
 ing, like a sinister accompaniment to the whirlwind of 
 thoughts that were driving him mad. 
 
 He felt he must try and find out more before overtak 
 ing his mistress, but he had not breath enough left to 
 speak just then, and he let Jwala-Singh drag him up a 
 heather-clad rise toward what looked like a ruined tower, 
 though his eyes were too dim to be sure of what he saw. 
 Then suddenly the strange noise that had gone far away 
 rose in a choking growl at his very feet, where the solid 
 earth gave downward to a gulf of gray darkness and ap 
 palling sound. 
 
 "My God!" he shrieked aloud, with a recoil of all his 
 miserable, shivering body, sure now of the vengeance that 
 was overtaking him. He was no coward, although no 
 longer young and nearly spent with the horror and 
 exertion of the last half-hour. Starting backward, with 
 a supreme effort he gained his freedom for a second and 
 tried to throw himself upon his formidable adversary, but 
 Jwala-Singh was too quick and cool for him, and meeting 
 the rush with a forward step and a bent body he locked 
 his arms about the other s loins, straightened himself with 
 a tremendous heave, and over his head Grafton flew like 
 a stone into the abyss. 
 
 For one instant there was a dark blotch against a white 
 upboiling of water far below, then with a hideous, de 
 vouring gulp the whiteness was gone also, and only rum 
 blings of the inner depths rose to the panting watcher from 
 the black mouth of the pit. 
 
 "It is well done," Jwala-Singh muttered, licking his 
 dry lips. He spat downward into the ghastly chasm, 
 and, turning on his heel, left the Hell of Plogonak, run 
 ning swiftly. 
 
 310 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 And, though he did not know it, far away beyond Castle 
 Rozkavel another avenger had left his completed work, 
 where Antoine Flochard lay at the bottom of a lonely 
 ravine, his scheming brains laid bare by a blow from old 
 Hanvec s heavy sabot. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 The long, gray weed of the nether ooze, where the blind, slow 
 
 currents glide, 
 Cares not at all mid the sea-blooms tall that such are to him 
 
 denied; 
 "They flow r more fair in the upper air, unbathed of the ocean 
 
 dews, 
 And they come to shine in my tangled vine," quoth the weed 
 
 of the nether ooze. 
 
 " There s a prouder red than the corals spread where my tendrils 
 
 flow and furl, 
 And a jewelled white that the green sea-light ne er glimmered 
 
 upon a pearl." 
 Then he rose at the rocking ground-swell s call where the wave 
 
 her foam-flake strews. 
 "At fitting hours do I cull my flow rs," quoth the weed of the 
 
 nether ooze. 
 
 And he spread such nets as the fisher sets, a snare of a floating 
 
 twine, 
 All lithely leaved to the lift and heave of the blowing starlit 
 
 brine; 
 " Tis a couch of rest for a troubled breast, and Beauty will not 
 
 refuse. 
 Let others weep, it is time for sleep," quoth the weed of the 
 
 nether ooze. 
 
 For his prey was nigh, and with ne er a cry the cling of his mesh 
 it bore, 
 
 (Death could not be in the kindly sea it crept to the heart be 
 fore) , 
 
 Then he closed, and drew on his cordage true as the careless 
 fishers use, 
 
 Life, love, and grace to the still embrace of the weed of the nether 
 ooze. 
 
 The Flowers of the Weed. M. M. 
 312 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 As they passed through the outer hall Olier snatched 
 up a long storm-coat and threw it upon Rouanez s shoul 
 ders to conceal her white dress, the train of which she held 
 bundled under her left arm. Pierre s manner even more 
 than his words compelled haste, and the short pause ne 
 cessitated by the withdrawal of the heavy bars which, af 
 ter admitting Pierre, Jwala-Singh had securely replaced, 
 seemed strangely exasperating. 
 
 "You had really better come no further with us," 
 Rouanez whispered to Pierre. " You have risked enough 
 already. Good-bye, and God bless you!" 
 
 " Let me come as far as the beach," he pleaded. " Per 
 haps three will not be too many to help you." 
 
 But as usual she was quite determined. 
 
 "No, please don t. Run home at once by the upper 
 lande path. It won t do in any case for you to be 
 found here. Jwala-Singh will say that we are out yacht 
 ing it s the only safe thing." 
 
 She pressed his hand, and, passing through the half-open 
 donr, was lost in the deep shadow of the Fort wall. 
 
 The fitful breeze, which since sundown had played with 
 the lazy trails of summer fog, was gently sweeping clear 
 the shores of the bay as Rouanez and her two lieutenants 
 reached the narrow path forking toward beach and moor 
 behind the stables, when suddenly from the sands the 
 dull gleam of steel a mere hint of steady gray against 
 all that soft moving grayness caught Olier s trained 
 eyes. 
 
 "The gendarmes!" he said, with an odd catch in his 
 voice, and, scanning the irregular outline of the heather- 
 fields above, added: 
 
 "On both sides, too. Well, we must run on, that s all!" 
 
 "The cave!" Rouanez whispered. "That s our only 
 chance to reach the water. Quick! Come along!" 
 
 313 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 In an instant they -were running at full speed, Olier 
 on one side, Arzur on the other, of that resolute, little, 
 dark figure in the direction of the overgrown opening 
 discovered so opportunely a week or so before, never 
 pausing to breathe, for a faint echo of voices seemingly 
 drifting back from the Fort glacis urged them to do their 
 best. 
 
 At last the inky patch of bushes began to silhouette 
 itself upon the constantly moving background of vapor, 
 and they slackened their pace a little. 
 
 "Have you any matches?" Olier asked, a little breath 
 lessly, of Arzur, who had moved up to the front, both on 
 account of the narrowness of the track, and to scout for 
 possible obstacles. 
 
 "Yes, a boxful," he answered, promptly. 
 
 "Give them here. I ll go down first, and when I show 
 a light hand her down to me." 
 
 A day or two before he had shown Arzur the mouth 
 of the old souffleur, and the lad nodded his perfect com 
 prehension of the order. 
 
 They were in the thicket now, and, grasping the ca 
 pacious silver box which, having only recently begun to 
 smoke, Arzur considered it a proud privilege to sport, 
 Olier slipped into the opening of the grim "chimney" and 
 disappeared. 
 
 There was a curious lump in Arzur s throat, not brought 
 there by self-pity, but by the sight of the brave woman 
 who, without a murmur of complaint, was coolly tearing 
 off the skirt of her long-trained gown. 
 
 "There!" she said, letting the frothy billows of lace 
 drop about her feet like a circle of snow. "It s much 
 better like this." And she actually gave one of her lit 
 tle, low laughs as she shook out the silky folds of her 
 underskirts, and, rolling the discarded draperies into a 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 ball, thrust them out of the way among a tangle of roots 
 and branches. Just then a feeble glow outlined the nar 
 row chasm before them, and Olier s voice, scarcely raised 
 above a whisper, came floating up. 
 
 "Lower her down!" it said, and Arzur, catching Rou- 
 anez firmly beneath the shoulders, let her slip into the 
 arms out-stretched to receive her. 
 
 It was pitch-dark in the twisted cleft now, and a dank, 
 briny freshness rose between the salt-grimed walls, but 
 luckily no strong air-current, so with the aid of a match 
 scratched now and again on the rough granite, the task 
 of descending to the bottom of this ungainly staircase 
 was not as difficult as Olier had feared, thanks especially 
 to the silent, clever, unhesitating fashion in which Rou- 
 anez accomplished her share of it. 
 
 When they took ground on the fine, firm sand of the 
 Chapel Cave, they saw that the falling tide had already 
 laid bare the lower beach, which left them no doubt that 
 in less than half an hour the " Kestrel s " canot, supposing 
 they could still intercept it, would be unable to approach 
 the outer rim of rocks. After a short consultation, there 
 fore, they left the grotto, turning to the right under the 
 cliff, and, profiting by every band of shadow thrown by 
 the capricious rock formation, began to make their way 
 toward the point of the western spur the longer of the 
 two. It was slippery work, for the wet sea-weed offered 
 no hold to feet inadequately shod, and yet a fall might 
 have been followed by such grave consequences that they 
 forced themselves to be extraordinarily careful, in spite 
 of their eagerness to reach the end of the long chain of 
 bowlders before the boat went past. Fortunately the 
 flight thus far had consumed but an inconsiderable time, 
 and, hoping that the fog had delayed the canot, they pulled 
 up alongside the tallest and most uncouth rock of all a 
 
 315 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 toothlike cone bearded with dark weed, terminating the 
 grim range and flattened themselves against it. 
 
 Certainly no three pairs of ears ever listened with bet 
 ter will for the least hint of oar-blades in the water, or 
 three pairs of eyes sought more keenly to pierce the 
 fluctuating dimness of a veiling mist. For a moment they 
 thought they could just distinguish the "Kestrel s" riding- 
 lights above the hazy outlines of the point beyond, but 
 certainty of vision was impossible, and again they fell silent, 
 until a hardly perceptible cadence, unmistakable to sailors, 
 made Rouanez suddenly touch Olier s arm and whisper: 
 
 "The boat!" 
 
 "Yes," Arzur said, instantly, "and I m going to stop 
 it before it goes by." 
 
 He kicked off the wreck of his patent-leathers, tore 
 out of his dress-coat, and let his lithe body slip without 
 a sound into the dimness creaming at their feet. 
 
 "Don t hail them till you are quite close!" Olier warned 
 him, bending over the place where he had vanished, and 
 where a scarf of mist fluctuated to and fro as if purposely 
 concealing him from view. 
 
 "Only a little longer now," Olier murmured, rejoining 
 Rouanez. "He swims like a fish, and he can t fail." 
 
 "Yes," she whispered back, "but the gendarmes are 
 not always as stupid and clumsy as their reputation. 
 Perhaps they will be here first." And, like an echo of her 
 own shrewdness, a sound of awkward boots crunching 
 heavily on the shingle became audible some two hundred 
 yards away along the beach. There was a pause, and 
 then the sound came nearer. 
 
 "Here they are!" she said, without a trace of surprise 
 or disquietude. "We must swim, too, Olier." 
 
 He ground his teeth. "Can you manage it in those 
 skirts?" he asked, hurriedly. 
 
 316 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 She let fall her cloak, and, gliding down the thick, 
 leathery mantle of broad-ribboned kelp, dropped into 
 the water, followed instantly by Olier. 
 
 "Right ahead, and go slow," he explained, advancing 
 with long, easy strokes as close to her as he could with 
 out hampering her. 
 
 The night was so calm that even the soft wash of the 
 drowsy tide against the base of the skerry behind them 
 now seemed unduly loud; yet the breeze was freshening 
 a trifle, for a wide curtain of shining mist passed over 
 their heads, rolling upon itself like smoke and leaving a 
 clear lane through the shrouded night. 
 
 Again the sound of advancing men was wafted toward 
 them, and suddenly a voice raised to its highest pitch 
 called out: 
 
 "La, mon Officier . . . beyond the rocks . . . !" 
 
 Olier smothered a curse. "They re going to shoot!" 
 he muttered, and, grasping her by the shoulder, went 
 under with her just as the word "Fire!" streaked the 
 darkness with bright flame, and a shower of lead tore the 
 water where the two swimmers had been. And then the 
 capricious fog rolled back again, and in momentary 
 safety the two heads reappeared still further out. 
 
 "That was a near thing," Olier grumbled as soon as 
 he could speak. He still held Rouanez, who was push 
 ing her hair from her eyes. "Where in thunder can that 
 boat be?" 
 
 Accustomed as they both were to the sea, their short 
 submersion had not troubled them much, but the posi 
 tion was a terrible one none the less, in spite of their trust 
 in Arzur and Penruddock. In a few minutes more they 
 had made further progress, and in that uncertain light 
 were practically out of reach of the gendarmes carbines, 
 
 317 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 even if the mist should lift again. But what if the boat 
 failed to find them? 
 
 "Try to float," he advised, his very heart wrung with 
 pity and admiration by that steady pluck which not 
 once had weakened. 
 
 "I don t like to float; it makes me dizzy." 
 
 "Not if you lean your head on my out-stretched arm; 
 try!" he pleaded, well aware that she must be almost 
 exhausted, though she would never own it, and, with an 
 obedience which touched him more deeply still than all 
 that had gone before, she turned and did as she was 
 told. 
 
 "There," he whispered, trying to make his voice sound 
 cheerful, "we are awfully comfortable." 
 
 He knew that she was smiling, which intuitive knowl 
 edge came near to breaking him down utterly, and he was 
 vaguely conscious of the taste of blood in his mouth as 
 he brought his teeth upon his lower lip to keep back the 
 words that must not be spoken. He could scarcely dis 
 tinguish her delicate profile faintly outlined against the 
 dull water, but the touch of the little head pillowed on 
 his arm made him wince; it had something so inex 
 pressibly childlike and confiding. 
 
 So they lay, saving their strength, slowly rocked by 
 broad, almost imperceptible undulations, and above them 
 once or twice the mist parted upward to the quiet stars 
 and softly closed again. 
 
 Beyond the fog, once more thickening to a cloud upon 
 the bay, Arzur was clinging to the gunnel of the boat 
 gasping out his story to Penruddock, who had come him 
 self to fetch his Captain. 
 
 * * Hs * * * * 
 
 "Are you dizzy?" Olier asked, presently. 
 
 318 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 "No, not at all." 
 
 In a little while she stirred uneasily, as if to try 
 and relax the swathing folds of her saturated garments, 
 that seemed to cling more and more heavily about 
 her. 
 
 " What is it?" he asked again. 
 
 "Nothing much, only these silly skirts twining them 
 selves around my ankles," she hesitatingly admitted, but 
 in a moment more, her voice altered for the first time, 
 she cried out: 
 
 "It is not that. We are caught in something there s 
 something moving under us!" 
 
 His thicker garments and perhaps the disposition of the 
 tangle had prevented him from noticing it sooner, but 
 now a shudder shook him from head to foot. He knew 
 and recognized that soft, insidious clutch. 
 
 "The weed!" he gasped, tightening his hold upon her. 
 "The weed!" A prickling, blistering sound came from 
 the water all around. 
 
 She understood at once, in a flash that left her trem 
 bling, too, but she did not try to struggle. 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, "the weed!" 
 
 "Don t move, Rouanez for your life, don t move!" he 
 implored. It was the first time her name had ever passed 
 his lips. 
 
 She shifted her head ever so gently on his arm, with a 
 little, tender, fearless smile. "Why should I?" she said, 
 very low, and with that undying self-mockery which was 
 her second nature she added: "The best of omens for 
 you and me?" 
 
 Then, and then only, the iron reserve that had held him 
 in its grasp for all those months gave way. "Yes, the 
 best," he cried, with a sob, drawing her passionately to 
 him. "The very best!" 
 
THE CRADLE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Her face was hidden on his heart now and, with a 
 slight swirling of the surface, the weed went down. 
 ******* 
 "Olier! Olier!" Arzur was calling softly from the bows 
 as the boat slid noiselessly through the curling mist- 
 wreaths. But no answer reached him across the silky 
 hollows of the sea. 
 
 THE END 
 
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