Bppletons' Uown an& 
 Country 
 
 No. 187 
 
 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY
 
 IN THE DAY OF 
 ADVERSITY 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE HISPANIOLA PLATE, THE ADVENTURES OF VISCOUNT ANERLY, 
 
 HIS OWN ENEMY, THE DESERT SHIP, A GENTLEMAN-ADVENTURER, 
 
 THE SILENT SHORE, ETC. 
 
 " If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy 
 strength is small " PROVERBS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 
 1896
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, 
 BT D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THOSE who are acquainted with the delightful 
 Memoires Secrets de M. Le Corate de Bussy Rabutin 
 (particularly the supplements to them), and with Rous- 
 set's Histoire de Louvois, will, perhaps, recognise the 
 inspiration of this story. Those who are not so ac- 
 quainted with these works will, I trust, still be able 
 to take some interest in the adventures of Georges 
 
 St. Georges. 
 
 J. B.-B.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. "THE KING'S COMMAND" 1 
 
 II. HOSPITALITY ! 10 
 
 III. IT is THE MAN 18 
 
 IV. " HER LIFE STANDS IN THE PATH OF OTHEES' GREED " 27 
 
 V. THE GRAVEYARD 34 
 
 VI. A LITTLE LIGHT 44 
 
 VII. A REASON 53 
 
 VIII. DRAWING NEAR . . . . , . . . .62 
 
 IX. A ROYAL SUMMONS 71 
 
 X. MADAME LA MARQUISE 80 
 
 XI. THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY .... 89 
 
 XII. LOST 96 
 
 XIII. DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK 105 
 
 XIV." I MUST SPEAK ! " 114 
 
 XV. THE MINISTER OF WAR 123 
 
 XVI. PASQUEDIEU ! 132 
 
 XVII. " KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL!" 140 
 
 XVIII. LA GALERE GRANDE REALE 149 
 
 XIX. "A NEW LIFE" 158 
 
 XX. " HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 166 
 
 XXL MAY, 1692 175 
 
 XXII. LA HOGUE 183 
 
 XXIII. THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 191 
 
 vii
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. p AO B 
 
 XXIV. ON THE ROAD 199 
 
 XXV." I KNOW YOUR FACE " 207 
 
 XXVI. IN THE SNARE 216 
 
 XXVII. ANOTHER ESCAPE 224 
 
 XXVIIL THE FLEUR-DE-LIS 231 
 
 XXIX. FAREWELL HOPE 240 
 
 XXX. " IT is TRUE" 248 
 
 XXXI. ST. GEORGES'S DOOM ...... 256 
 
 XXXII. THE LAST CHANCE 265 
 
 XXXIII. THE DAY OF EXECUTION 274 
 
 XXXIV. " I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER " . . .283 
 
 XXXV. AT LAST ......... 291 
 
 CONCLUSION . 300
 
 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 THE FIKST PERIOD. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "THE KING'S COMMAND." 
 
 ALL over Franche-Comte the snow had fallen for 
 three days unceasingly, yet through it for those three 
 days a man a soldier had ridden, heading his course 
 north, for Paris. 
 
 Wrapped in his cloak, and prevented from falling 
 by his bridle arm, he bore a little child a girl some 
 three years old on whom, as the cloak would some- 
 times become disarranged, he would look down fondly, 
 his firm, grave features relaxing into a sad smile as 
 the blue eyes of the little creature gazed upward and 
 smiled into his own face. Then he would whisper a 
 word of love to it, press it closer to his great breast, 
 and again ride on. 
 
 For three days the snow had fallen; was falling 
 when he left the garrison of Pontarlier and threaded 
 his way through the pine woods on the Jura slopes; 
 fell still as, with the wintry night close at hand, he 
 approached the city of Dijon. Yet, except to sleep at 
 nights, to rest himself, the child, and the horse, he had 
 gone on and on unstopping, or only stopping to shoot 
 
 i
 
 2 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 once a wolf that, maddened with hunger, had sprung 
 out at him and endeavoured to leap to his saddle; 
 and once to cut down two footpads perhaps poor 
 wretches, also maddened with hunger who had striven 
 to stop his way. 
 
 On and on and on through the unceasing snow he 
 had gone with the child still held 'fast to his bosom, 
 resting the first night at Poligny, since the snow was 
 so heavy on the ground that his horse could go no 
 further, and another at Dole for the same reason, 
 until now he drew near to Dijon. 
 
 " A short distance to travel in three days," he mut- 
 tered to himself, as, afar off, his eye caught the gleam 
 of a great beacon flaring surlily through the snow- 
 laden air the beacon on the southern watchtower of 
 the city walls " a short distance. Yet I have done my 
 best. Have obeyed orders. Now let me see for further 
 instructions." 
 
 There was still sufficient light left in the wintry 
 gloom to read by, whereon, shifting the child a little as 
 he drew rein it needed not much drawing, since the 
 good horse beneath him could hardly progress beyond 
 the slowest walk, owing to the accumulated snow he 
 took from his holster a letter, and, passing over the be- 
 ginning of it, turned to the last leaf and read : 
 
 " At Dijon you will stay at the chateau of my good 
 friend and subject the Marquis Phelypeaux, avoiding 
 all inns ; at Troyes, at the manoir of Madame la Mar- 
 quise de Roquemaure; at Melun, if you have to halt 
 there, at the chateau of Monsieur de Riverac. Between 
 these, if forced to rest, you are to select the auberges 
 which offer ; but at these three towns you are to repose 
 yourself as stated. Above all, fail not to present your-
 
 "THE KING'S COMMAND." 3 
 
 self at the manoir of Roquemaure. The marquise will 
 deliver to your keeping a message for me. Therefore, 
 be sure you travel by the route indicated, and not by 
 that which passes by Semur, Tounerre, and Sens. On 
 this, I pray God to have you, M. Georges St. Georges, 
 in his holy keeping. Written at Paris, the 9th of 
 December, 1687. 
 
 l Louis. Soussigne, Louvois." 
 
 " So," said M. Georges St. Georges to himself, as he 
 replaced the letter in his holster, " it is to the Marquis 
 Phelypeaux that I am to go. So be it. It may be bet- 
 ter for the child than at an inn. And I cannot gossip, 
 or, if I do, only to my host, who will doubtless retail it 
 all to the king." Then addressing himself to the watch- 
 man on the southern gate, he cried : 
 
 " Open there, and let me in ! " 
 
 " 'Tis too late," the man replied, looking down at 
 him through the fast-gathering night. " None enter 
 Dijon now after four of the evening. Ten thousand 
 devils ! why could you not have come half an hour 
 earlier ? Yet there is a good auberge outside the walls, 
 and - " 
 
 " Open, I say ! " called up the horseman. " I ride by 
 the king's orders, and have to present myself to the 
 Marquis Phelypeaux. Open, I say ! " 
 
 ".Tiens I " exclaimed the watchman, peering down at 
 him through the gray snow and rime with which was 
 now mixed the blackness of the oncoming night. " You 
 ride in the king's name and would see the marquis. 
 Vest autre chose f Yet I must be careful. Wait, I will 
 descend. Draw up to the grille of the gate." 
 
 The horseman did as the watchman bid him, looking 
 down once at the child in his arms, whose face had be-
 
 4 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 come uncovered for a moment, and smiling again into 
 its eyes, while he muttered, " Sweet, ere long you shall 
 have a softer couch " ; then, as the grille opened and 
 the watchman's ruddy face all blotched with the con- 
 sumption of frequent pigeolets of Macon and other 
 wines appeared at the grating, he bent down toward 
 him as though to submit his own face to observation. 
 
 " Your name and following ? " grunted the man. 
 
 " Georges St. Georges. Lieutenant in the Chevaux- 
 Le'gers of the Nivernois. In garrison at the Fort de 
 Joux, between Verri^res and Pontarlier. Recalled to 
 Paris by order of the king. Ordered to visit the Mar- 
 quis Ph61ypeaux. Are you answered, friend ? " 
 
 "What do you carry in your arms? It seems pre- 
 cious by the way you clasp it to you." 
 
 " It is precious. It is a child my child." 
 
 "Tiens! A strange burden for a soldier en route 
 from the frontier to Paris. Where is the mother ? " 
 
 " In her grave ! Now open the gate." 
 
 For answer the bolts and bars were heard creaking, 
 and presently one half of the great door swung back to 
 admit the rider. And he, dismounting, led his horse 
 through it by one hand, while with the other he clasped 
 his child to his breast beneath the cloak. 
 
 Standing in the warder's lodge was a woman doubt- 
 less his wife who had heard the conversation ; for as 
 St. Georges entered she came forward and exclaimed 
 gently : 
 
 ** A cold, long ride, monsieur, for such as that," and 
 she touched with her finger the rounded back of the 
 child as it lay curled up on his arm beneath the cloak. 
 Then, still femininely, she went on : " Ah ! let me see 
 the pauvrette" and without resistance from him she 
 drew back the cloak and gazed at it. " Mon Dieu ! "
 
 "THE KING'S COMMAND." 5 
 
 she exclaimed, " a pretty little thing. Poor little bebe. 
 And the mother dead, monsieur ? " her eyes filling with 
 tears as she spoke. 
 
 "Dead," he replied "dead. In giving birth to 
 her. I am father and mother both. God help her ! " 
 
 The woman stooped down and kissed the little thing, 
 whose soft blue eyes smiled up at her ; then she said : 
 
 " The Marquis Phelypeaux is a solitary dwelling 
 alone. There is little provision for children there. 
 What will monsieur do?" 
 
 " As I have done for three years attend to all its 
 wants myself. There is none other. It had a nurse in 
 the fort ; but I could not leave it nor bring her with me. 
 In Paris I may find another. Now tell me where the 
 house of this marquis is?" and he made a movement to 
 go forward. 
 
 "And its name, monsieur?" the kindly woman 
 asked, still touched with pity for the little motherless 
 thing being carried on so long and cold a journey. Two 
 or three of her own children were already in their beds 
 of rags that were none too clean, but they, at least, were 
 housed and warm, and not like this one. 
 
 "Her name," he replied, "is Dorine. It was her 
 mother's." Then turning to the warder, who stood by, 
 he exclaimed again, " Now direct me to the marquis's, 
 I beg you." 
 
 The man's method of direction was to seize by the 
 ear a boy who at that moment had come up he was 
 one of his own numerous brood and to bid him lead 
 the monsieur to the marquis's. 
 
 " 'Tis but a pistol shot," he said, " at the foot of the 
 Eampe. Be off ! " to his son, " away ! Escort the gen- 
 tleman." 
 
 Certainly it was no great distance from the southern
 
 6 IX THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 gate, yet when Monsieur St. Georges had arrived there, 
 still leading his horse by one hand and carrying his 
 precious burden by the other, or by the other arm, the 
 house had so .deserted a look that it seemed as though 
 he was hardly likely to be able to carry out the orders 
 of the king and his minister to quarter himself upon 
 the marquis instead of going to an inn. Therefore, he 
 gazed up at the mansion before which he stood waiting, 
 wondering what kind of man was this who dwelt in it. 
 
 The house itself was large and vast, having innumer- 
 able windows giving on to a large, open, bare place in 
 front of it, while the great porte cochere had a lock 
 which looked as though it would resist an attack either 
 of battering rams or gunpowder if brought against it. 
 But the blinds, or shutters, were all closed ; the great 
 door itself looked as though it had not been opened for 
 a century ; the knocker a Christ upon the cross ! as 
 though it had not been raised for as long a time. 
 
 " Ph61ypeaux," muttered St. Georges to himself. 
 " Phelypeaux ! I know the name ; what do I know of 
 him ? Let me think. Ha ! I have it. A soldier like 
 myself. Also another, a brother, .a priest, Bishop of 
 Lodeve which is my host, I wonder? For choice the 
 soldier, if all is true of the bishop that is told. Mon 
 enfant" turning to the urchin, " is the marquis soldier 
 or divine?" 
 
 The boy laughed, then said : 
 
 " Divine, monsieur. But en retraite. Oh ! avez pa 
 they say droll things. Only I am young I do not 
 know." Whereon he grinned. Then he exclaimed : 
 44 Voila ! the door is opening." 
 
 It was, in truth, or rather a wicket in the door large 
 enough to admit a man who should stoop, or the urchin 
 by the side of St. Georges ; but certainly by no means
 
 "THE KING'S COMMAND." 7 
 
 large enough to admit of the passage of his horse if that 
 was also to be entertained for the night. 
 
 At that wicket appeared a face, wine-stained and 
 blotchy, but not so good-humoured-looking as that of 
 the watchman at the southern gate. Instead, a scowl- 
 ing face, as of a man on whom good liquor had no im- 
 proving effect, but, rather, had soured and embittered 
 him. 
 
 " What want you ? " he asked, staring out moodily 
 at the soldier before him and at his horse, and observ- 
 ing the great sword, hat, and cloak of the former with 
 beneath the latter its burden ; and also the military 
 trappings of the steed. " What want you ? " 
 
 " An audience of the marquis. By order of the 
 king. Also food and lodging by the same authority. 
 Ma foil if I had my way I should not demand it. 
 There is a good auberge over there to all appearances," 
 nodding his head toward the white-walled inn on the 
 other side of the place, before which hung a bush and 
 on which was painted the whole length of the house : 
 " IS Ours de Bourgogne. Logement a pied et a clieval" 
 " Doubtless I could be well accommodated." 
 
 " Take your horse there, at any rate," said the sour- 
 faced man ; " there is no accommodation for it. Then 
 come back. We will see later about you." And turn- 
 ing to the boy he cried, gesticulating with his hands : 
 " Va fen. Be off ! " 
 
 The lad did not wait to be bidden a second time to 
 depart, but scampered across the open place, while St. 
 Georges, regarding the morose-looking man in front of 
 him, said : " My friend, neither your courtesy nor your 
 hospitality is of the best. Does your master bid you 
 treat all who come to visit him in this manner ? " 
 
 " I am obeying my master," the other replied ; " the
 
 8 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 only one I acknowledge when I parley with you. Show 
 me your warrant, however, for coming to this house." 
 
 " There it is," replied St. Georges ; " take it to your 
 master, bid him read it, and then bring me whatever 
 message he may send me. Perhaps" regarding the 
 servitor through the wicket, as he gave him the paper 
 " if the master is like the man I had best wait until he 
 has read the king's letter ere I seek shelter for my 
 horse. It may be that I shall have to demand it for 
 myself also at the inn." 
 
 Then, to his amazement, he saw that the other had 
 opened the leaves of the kfng's letter and was calmly 
 reading them. "Fellow!" he exclaimed, "how dare 
 you make so bold? You read a letter from the king 
 to me to be shown to your master " 
 
 "Pish!" replied the other. "Be silent. I am 
 Phelypeaux." 
 
 "You!" exclaimed the soldier, stepping back 
 " you ! " and his eye fell on the rusty-brown clothing 
 of the man half in, half out, the wicket. " You ! " 
 
 " Yes, I. Now go and put your horse up at the inn. 
 Then come back. But stay what have you beneath 
 your arm ? " 
 
 " A child." 
 
 "A child! Does Louis think I keep a nursery? 
 What are we to do with the child while you stay here?" 
 
 " I will attend to that. If you give me a bed the 
 child will share it, and if you have some white bread 
 and milk it is enough for its food." 
 
 " Best get that at the ' Ours,' " replied he who said 
 he was Phelypeaux. " Bread I have, but no milk. Ma 
 foil there is no babes' food here. Now, I counsel you, 
 go seek the inn. Your horse may take a chill. Then 
 comeback. And" as the soldier turned to lead his
 
 "THE KING'S COMMAND." 9 
 
 animal across the snow-covered, deserted place " leave 
 the child there. The patronne is a motherly creature 
 with half a dozen of her own brood. 'Twill be better 
 there than here. Ring loudly when you return I am 
 somewhat deaf," and he banged the wicket in St. 
 Georges's face. 
 
 " Humph ! " muttered the latter, as he crossed to the 
 inn ; " the counsel is good. That seems no place for a 
 child. Yet, how to leave it ? Still, it is best. It has 
 slept often with its nurse ; maybe will sleep well at the 
 inn. Well, let me see what the patronne is like." 
 
 He entered the yard of the " Ours " as he meditated 
 thus, engaged a stall for the animal, saw it fed and 
 rubbed down, and, then taking his pistols and the 
 king's letter from the holsters and putting them in his 
 belt, entered the hostelry and called for a cup of wine. 
 And, seeing that the woman who served him evidently 
 the mistress from the manner in which she joked with 
 one or two customers and gave directions to a ser- 
 vant was a motherly looking woman, he asked her 
 if the child he carried would be safe there for the 
 night? 
 
 " A child," she exclaimed, " a child, and in the arms 
 of a soldier ! Why, sir, whence come you with a child ? 
 Mon Dieu ! Of all burdens, soldiers rarely carry such 
 as that." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I carry such a one. I am on the 
 road from Pontarlier to Paris with my child, and I 
 sleep to-night across the way at the Marquis Phely- 
 peaux's. It seems there is no accommodation there for 
 infants." 
 
 " Hein ! " screamed the woman, turning to the cus- 
 tomers in the place ; " you hear that ? " Then address- 
 ing herself to St. Georges, she continued : " You speak 
 2
 
 -10 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 well, monsieur ; that is no place for children. Ma foi ! 
 the old scelerat would be as like to eat it." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HOSPITALITY ! 
 
 " WHO, then, is Phelypeaux ? " asked St. Georges as 
 he sat himself down in front of the great kitchen fire 
 the kitchen serving always in a Burgundian inn as the 
 general place of assembly and serving room. " Who is 
 Phelypeaux ? " 
 
 "Monsieur does not, in truth, know?" she replied, 
 with a glance at the customers one a mousquetaire, 
 himself en route to Bar to join his regiment, and the 
 other evidently a shopkeeper of the place. The former 
 had risen and saluted St. Georges as he entered, seeing 
 by his accoutrements and lace * that he was an officer, 
 and now he joined in the conversation deferentially. 
 
 " In truth, monsieur, he is a rarity, an oddity. He 
 is priest and bishop both " 
 
 " So," interrupted St. Georges, " he is the Bishop of 
 Lod6ve. I have heard of him. He has a brother, I 
 think, comrade, who follows our profession." 
 
 "That is true, monsieur. One who will go far. 
 'Twas but last year the king sent him ambassador to 
 Cologne ; now they say he goes to Turin." 
 
 " So, so. But this one here this bishop ? And if 
 Bishop of Lodeve, what does he do in Burgundy? " 
 
 * The various chevaux-legers had not as yet been put by Louis 
 into uniform, as was the case a few years before, with most of tho 
 French regiment-.
 
 HOSPITALITY! 11 
 
 "Villainies, sceleratesses" interrupted the hostess, 
 turning away from the fowl she was basting on the spit 
 and emphasizing her remarks with her great wooden 
 spoon. " Oh ! figure to yourself he is a villain. Ma 
 foi, oui! A bishop! Ha! A true one. Boasts he 
 believes not in a God, yet rules Languedoc with a rod 
 of iron since Cardinal Bonzi fell off his perch ; enter- 
 tains the wickedest mondaines of Louis's court as they, 
 pass through Lodeve ; has boys to sing to him while he 
 dines and and But there," she concluded as she 
 turned to the fowl again ; " he is a Phely.peaux. That 
 tells all. They are sacred with the king." 
 
 "But why?" asked St. Georges, as he rose from 
 his seat "but why? What does he here if he rules 
 Languedoc, and why should Phelypeaux be a charmed 
 name? Tell me before I go." 
 
 He had made arrangements with the good woman 
 to leave his child there for the night, she swearing by 
 many saints that it should sleep with her own and be as 
 carefully guarded and as precious as they were. So he 
 had confided it to her care, saying : " Remember, 'tis 
 motherless, and, besides, is all I have in the world, all 
 I have left to me of my dead wife. Remember that, I 
 beseech you, as you are a mother yourself " ; and she, 
 being a mother and a true one, promised. Therefore it 
 was now sleeping peacefully upstairs, its little arms 
 around the neck of one of her own children. 
 
 " Why, monsieur, why is he here and why does he 
 bear a charmed name?" repeated the other customer, 
 the fion bourgeois, joining in the conversation for the 
 first time. " I will tell you. First, he comes regularly 
 to take his rights of seigniorage, his rents, his taxes, his 
 fourths of all the produce of his vineyards and arable 
 lands on our Cote dlOr. They are rich, these Phely-
 
 12 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 peaux ; have been ever since the days of Charles the 
 Bold, and they are greedy and grasping. Also they are 
 great and powerful they are of the Pontchartrain blood, 
 and are of the court. One was minister to the late 
 king under the cardinal. And for being bishop, tiens ! 
 he was priest under Mazarin, who had been a cavalry- 
 man, as monsieur is himself. It was Barberini who told 
 him the gown was better than the sword. And it was 
 Mazarin who made Phelypeaux bishop. To silence him, 
 you understand, monsieur to silence him. He knew 
 too much." 
 
 " What did he know ?" asked the soldier, lifting his 
 cup to his lips for the last time, though with his eyes 
 fixed on the bourgeois as he spoke. 
 
 " Ha ! he knew much. The king's first love for La 
 Beauvais his first love then for Marie de Mancini and 
 for La Mothe Houdancourt. Also he knew Turenne 
 and Conde and also much more than the world knew 
 or will ever know." 
 
 " Turenne and Conde ! " St. Georges echoed. " Two 
 great captains. Two great rivals and friends ! So ! 
 Perhaps he will tell me something of them to-night. 
 They are names for a soldier to respect. Bon soir, la 
 compagnie" and he made toward the door. 
 
 They wished him good-night, the hostess telling him 
 to have no fear, the child should be well attended to, 
 and the mousquetaire saluting him ; then the latter said : 
 " Monsieur rides north again to-morrow, as I heard him 
 say. I too go forward to Bar. 'if monsieur permits, 
 and since the roads are bad and often infested with vile 
 characters, I will ride part way with him." 
 
 St. Georges looked at the young man ; observed his 
 stalwart frame as big as his own his honest face and 
 clear gray eyes, the former ruddy with many a march
 
 HOSPITALITY ! 13 
 
 and much exposure ; then he said : " Soit ! We will 
 ride together ; Bar is more than twenty leagues on the 
 journey I have to make. "We must part before it is 
 reached. Still, let us set out together. At what hour 
 do you leave ? " 
 
 "As soon after day break as possible, monsieur, if that 
 is convenient." 
 
 " It shall be. I will quit Phelypeaux at the dawn." 
 Then St. Georges added aside: "Comrade, I leave here 
 in the inn the two things dearest to me in the world 
 my child and horse. I confide them to you. Will you 
 accept the trust until the morning ? " 
 
 " With the greatest will, monsieur. Trust me. Ere 
 I sleep to-night I will see that all is well with both. 
 You may depend on me." 
 
 " So be it," replied St. Georges. " I do depend on 
 you. Farewell till dawn," and he strode across the 
 great, gaunt place, on which the snow still fell and lay. 
 
 " ' King loud ! ' the old man said," he muttered to 
 himself ; " well, here's for it," and he pulled a peal on 
 the bell chain hanging by the side of the door that 
 might have waked the dead. Then, as he stood there 
 musing on why the king should have given him orders 
 to put up at such a place as Phelypeaux's instead of 
 enjoying the solid, if rough, comfort of a Burgundian 
 inn, the wicket opened again and the old man's sour 
 face appeared once more at it. 
 
 " So ! " he said, " you have come back. And I per- 
 ceive you have left the child behind you. 'Tis well. 
 We have no room for children here. Come in, come 
 in," he added snappishly. 
 
 Obeying an invitation given in none too warm a tone, 
 St. Georges stepped through the wicket into the court- 
 yard of the house a place filled with snow that had
 
 14: IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 lain there and increased since the first flake had fallen 
 until now, and through which a thin path or track had 
 been trodden from the great doorway to a smaller one 
 that admitted to the house. 
 
 " You perceive," remarked Phelypeau, " this is not a 
 luxurious halting for you, monsieur. Still, the chevaux- 
 Ugers are doubtless used to an absence of luxury." 
 
 " The chevaux-Ugers can make shift with anything," 
 replied the soldier. And shrugging his shoulders as he 
 spoke, he said : " Monseigneur FEveque, why do you im- 
 agine his Majesty has instructed me to become your 
 guest for a night ? " 
 
 He spoke without any of that respect usually shown 
 to exalted members of the Church in the days of Louis 
 XIV a monarch who considered himself a religious 
 man, and demanded that the most scrupulous reverence 
 should be paid to all things ecclesiastical. But, in 
 truth, the Bishop of Lodeve was known to be a scandal 
 to the sacred calling he belonged to; and now that 
 Georges St. Georges was aware that he was face to face 
 with the man himself, he refused to testify a respect for 
 him that he could not feel. 
 
 " Humph ! * Monseigneur 1'Eve'que ! ' Ha ! So you 
 know me?" St. Georges nodded, whereon the other 
 went on : 
 
 " Why the king has sent you to me ? Eh ? Per- 
 haps because he thinks I am a good host, and because 
 he loves his troops to be well treated. So I am a good 
 host only it is when I am in Languedoc. Here, mal- 
 heureusement, I must be perforce a bad one. I have no 
 servants but those I have brought with me, and one or 
 two women who look after the chateau during my ab- 
 sence." 
 
 He had by this time opened the door into the house
 
 HOSPITALITY ! 15 
 
 and escorted his visitor into a large, desolate-looking 
 saloon, on the walls of which the damp hung in huge 
 beads and drops, and in which there was a fireplace of 
 vast dimensions that gave the appearance of never hav- 
 ing had a fire lighted in it for years. Yet before this 
 fireplace there stood two great armchairs, as though to 
 suggest that here was a comfortable, cosey spot in which 
 to sit. 
 
 " "We'll soon have a fire," said this strange creature, 
 whereon he went to a corner of the room in which hung 
 some arras, and, thrusting it aside, brought forth a 
 handful of kindling wood, two or three green, newly 
 cut logs of different sizes, and some shavings, to which 
 he applied the tinder after he had thrown them all pell- 
 mell into the grate together. Then, when the smoke 
 which arose from the damp green wood had thoroughly 
 permeated the whole of the room, he looked round at 
 St. Georges and said : 
 
 " You were gone some while to the ' Ours.' Did 
 you sup there ? " 
 
 " Nay," replied the other, glancing at him through 
 the smoke and by aid of the single candle by which the 
 room was illuminated, for it was now night. " Nay, 
 monseigneur, I thought to sup with you." 
 
 "And so you shall," exclaimed Phelypeaux, with an 
 assumed air of hilarity "and so you shall. Only I 
 cannot entertain you as in Languedoc. Now, if we 
 were there " 
 
 " Well," said the soldier, " we are not. "We are in 
 Burgundy. The land of good cheer. We must take 
 what Burgundy offers." 
 
 " Helas ! it offers little. At least in this house. 
 However, I will see." Saying which he opened a door 
 at the other end of the room, and calling, " Pierre,
 
 16 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Pierre ! " loudly, he cried out, after a harsh voice had 
 answered him from some distant room : " Bring some 
 supper for Monsieur St. Georges and myself. For Mon- 
 sieur St. Georges and myself. You understand ! For 
 Monsieur St. Georges and myself." 
 
 " Why emphasize ' Monsieur St. Georges ' so strongly, 
 monseigneur ? " the other demanded. " The respected 
 servitor can hardly care much whether he bring supper 
 for you and Monsieur St. Georges or for you and Mon- 
 sieur the dev I beg your pardon, monseigneur." 
 
 The Bishop of Lodeve laughed a kind of grim, 
 uncanny laugh as St. Georges said this, then he re- 
 marked : 
 
 "Surely you don't believe in in the gentleman 
 you were about to mention. Let me see, there is a 
 musty proverb that he who sups with that personage 
 needs a long spoon. Well, I would not sup with him 
 if he exists. Our supper will be none too profuse as it 
 is," and again he laughed. 
 
 So, indeed, it seemed, judging by what Pierre 
 brought in later. The soup, served in a handsome 
 silver tureen, whose antique form and chasings must 
 have dated back to the days of Henri de Navarre at 
 latest, was so thin that it was nothing but boiling water 
 with a greasy flavour, and St. Georges twisted his long 
 mustaches with dismay as he gazed into the stuff be- 
 fore him. Moreover, the bread with which he endeav- 
 oured to fortify this meagre commencement was half 
 baked, so that it was of the consistency of dough. Next, 
 the meat which was brought to table must have been 
 unkilled at the time he rode into Dijon, so tough and 
 tasteless was it ; and the wine was a disgrace to France, 
 let alone to Burgundy, where every peasant can obtain 
 a drink that is palatable if weak. And, to add to the
 
 HOSPITALITY ! 17 
 
 other miseries of this regale, the tablecloth and nap- 
 kins were so damp that, affected by the tureen and 
 plates, which were hot if they possessed no other virtues 
 such as eatable food upon them they smoked so 
 much that the guest could scarcely see his host across 
 the table. 
 
 " Not the fare of Languedoc," this worthy divine 
 muttered, once or twice, " not the fare of Languedoc. 
 Ah, Monsieur St. Georges, you must come and see me 
 in my bishopric if you want to live well. I can give 
 you a good supper there." 
 
 " So I have heard, monseigneur. With many other 
 things as well. Music, I hear, accompanies your feasts ; 
 the voices of silver-tongued lads " 
 
 " Ha ! " chuckled the other, " you have heard that. 
 Well, why not ? The choir is lazy, and since it costs 
 me nothing may as well sing at my table. Now, since 
 I cannot persuade you to eat more," St. Georges having 
 pushed his plate away from him with an action of dis- 
 gust, " let us have a little talk. Pierre, go away ; we 
 wish to be alone. Though stay first of all bring a 
 bottle of the old clos from the buffet the old clos, 
 you understand, the '7.9 bottling." 
 
 The cavalryman wondered if the "old clos" was 
 likely to be any better than the vinaigrous stuff he had 
 just been treated to, and sat waiting its arrival with 
 curiosity, if not impatience. Meanwhile, he regarded 
 his host from under his eyelids as well as he could 
 through the mist made by the still steaming napkins, 
 and also by the wet, hissing logs which spluttered and 
 reeked in the grate close by which the table had been 
 drawn up. The old man, he saw, was perfectly cog- 
 nizant that he was being observed ; occasionally from 
 under his eyelids he would shoot a glance in his turn at
 
 18 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the great form of the * chevau-Uger near him, and 
 would then smile in what he evidently intended to be 
 an engaging manner; while at other times he would 
 swiftly remove his eyes and gaze meditatively into the 
 green wood that smouldered on the andirons. 
 
 Then Pierre came back with a bottle that appeared, 
 outwardly at least, to give promise of containing good 
 liquor within it, since it was covered with dust and cob- 
 webs, and, uncorking it and placing two long, thin, 
 tapering glasses by its side, withdrew yet not before 
 Phelypeaux, with that remarkable persistency in men- 
 tioning his guest's name which the latter had previously 
 remarked, had called out : 
 
 "Fill Monsieur St. Georges's glass, Pierre. Fill it, 
 I say. Fill the glass of Monsieur St. Georges. Mon- 
 sieur St. Georges," raising his own, " I drink to you. 
 To your good health and prosperous ride to Paris. And 
 afterward, Monsieur St. Georges afterward." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT IS THE MAN. 
 
 THE wine was good ! "Worthy of whatever clos it 
 had ripened on ! A glass of it went far to repay St. 
 Georges for any discomfort he had suffered during the 
 wretched meal just concluded, and made amends for all 
 that had passed hitherto. As for the Bishop of Lode" ve, 
 he drank two glasses rapidly in succession, smacked his 
 lips, and peered at the ruby liquid held between the 
 
 * Cheval-leger is a modern rendering of the old term.
 
 IT IS THE MAN". 19 
 
 guttering candle and his eye in the most approved fash- 
 ion, and seemed to be making or receiving amends for 
 the miserable meal he had also partaken of, though so 
 sparingly that the soldier thought he must either have 
 made a better one recently or be about to make one 
 later on. 
 
 Then, after he had put three of the logs together 
 which seemed at last as though about to burn with some 
 effect by the summary method of kicking them close 
 to each other with his foot, he said quietly, though quite 
 unexpectedly on the part of the other : 
 
 " His Most Christian Majesty or rather Louvois for 
 him wrote me that I might expect a visit from you on 
 your way from Franche-Comte to Paris." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said St. Georges, looking, as he felt, 
 astonished. After which he added : " Truly, for a poor 
 lieutenant of horse, such as I am, the king seems much 
 interested in my doings. I marvel much that he should 
 be so." 
 
 " Family interest, perhaps ? " said the bishop, glint- 
 ing an eye at him from behind the glass which he was 
 again holding up to the light of the guttering candle. 
 " Family interest is useful at court." 
 
 " Family interest ! " exclaimed the other, pushing his 
 glass away from him. " Monseigneur, it is evident you 
 know nothing of Georges St. Georges, or you would not 
 mention that. Still, how should you know my affairs? " 
 
 " How, indeed ! " replied Phelypeaux, though again 
 there was a flash from the eye " how, indeed ! I I 
 never heard of you until his Majesty said you would 
 honour me with a visit. Yet, Captain I mean Mon- 
 sieur St. Georges, there must be something which 
 guides Louis in sending for you in removing you 
 from the miserable garrison in the Jura to Paris. Ah,
 
 20 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Paris ! " he interjected with an upward glance. " Paris ! 
 Paris ! " But having recovered from this fervent ec- 
 stasy, he continued : " And if not family interest I am 
 a believer in family interest myself what can it be? 
 Unless, of course, you have been selected because of 
 your military promise." 
 
 " Nor can it be that either," replied the guest. " I 
 have been in garrison at Pontarlier for a year, and as 
 for my service, why I have done nothing to distinguish 
 myself. No more than thousands of his Majesty's 
 troops have done nay, not half so much." 
 
 " How old are you, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Thirty-three." 
 
 " Ah," replied monseigneur, " and this is the third 
 day of '88. So you were born in 1655. Ah!" and he 
 leaned back in his chair and muttered to himself, though 
 once he said quite audibly : " Yes, yes. That would do 
 very well." 
 
 "What would do very well, monseigneur?" asked 
 the other, looking at him. 
 
 " Pardon me," replied the bishop, and St. Georges 
 could not help remarking how much more courtly his 
 manner had become by degrees, so that, while heretofore 
 it was quite in keeping with what he had originally im- 
 agined him to be a servitor it was now thoroughly 
 suitable to his position the position of 'a member of an 
 old French family and of a father of the Church ; " par- 
 don me, my mind rambles sometimes when when I 
 throw it back. I was reflecting that that it was in 
 that year I was made bishop. So you were born in 
 1655 ? And how since you say you have none of that 
 valuable family interest did you become a chevau- 
 Uger?" 
 
 " It is somewhat of a story, and a long one. Hark !
 
 IT IS THE MAN. 21 
 
 surely that is the cathedral clock striking. It is too 
 late to pester you with my affairs." 
 
 " Not a jot," exclaimed Phelypeaux " not a jot. 
 Nay, tell the story, and shall we crack another bottle 
 oftheclos? It is good wine." 
 
 " It is, indeed," replied St. Georges, " excellent. Yet 
 I will drink no more. Three glasses are all I allow my- 
 self after supper at the best of times. And, after all, my 
 history will not take long in telling. At least such por- 
 tions of it as I need tell you." 
 
 " Tell me all. I love to hear the history of the 
 young and adventurous, as you are as you must be. 
 The chevaux-legers encounter adventure even in gar- 
 rison," and he leered at him. 
 
 " I have encountered none, or very few. A few in- 
 decisive campaigns against Holland in the year the king 
 gave me my commission namely, fourteen years ago 
 then the Peace of Nimeguen, and since then stagnation 
 in various garrisons. Yet they say the time is coming 
 for war. Holland seeks allies everywhere against France ; 
 soon a great campaign should occur." 
 
 " Without doubt, when his Most Christian Majesty 
 will triumph as he has done before. But why how 
 did you obtain your commission ? You do not tell me 
 that." 
 
 " No, I had forgotten. Yet 'tis not much to tell. 
 My mother an English woman excuse me, Monsei- 
 gneur 1'Eveque, but you have spilt your wine." 
 
 " So, indeed, I have," said the bishop, sopping up 
 the wine which his elbow had overturned by a sudden 
 jerk while the other was speaking, " so, indeed, I have. 
 But 'tis not much. And there is still that other bottle 
 uncorked." Then with a sidelong glance he said : " So 
 your mother was an English woman. Ah ! mon Dieu,
 
 22 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 elles sont belles, ces Anglaises! An English woman. 
 \\\-ll, well ! " 
 
 " Yes, an English woman. Daughter of a Protestant 
 cavalier who left England when the Commonwealth was 
 declared. He had done his best for the king, but with 
 his death he could do no more. So he quitted his coun- 
 try forever." 
 
 " Most interesting," exclaimed the bishop, " but your 
 father, Monsieur St. Georges. Who was he ? Of the 
 St. Georges's family, perhaps, of Auvergne ! Or another 
 branch, of Dauphine ! A noble family is that of St. 
 Georges ! " 
 
 " He was of the branch in Auvergne. A humble 
 member, but still of it. I know no more." 
 
 " No more ? " 
 
 No." 
 
 "Humph! Strange! Pardon me, monsieur, I 
 would not ask a delicate question but but did not 
 the family recognise the marriage of Monsieur St. 
 Georges?" 
 
 "They did not recognise it for the simple reason 
 that they were never told of it. It did not please my 
 father to divulge the marriage to his family, so they 
 were left in ignorance that it had ever taken place." 
 
 "And was Monsieur St. Georges your father a 
 soldier like yourself ? " 
 
 " He was a soldier like myself. And served against 
 Conde." 
 
 " Against Conde. Under Turenne, doubtless ? " and 
 once more he cast a sidelong glance at his visitor. 
 
 " Yes. Under Turenne. They were, I have heard, 
 more than commander and subordinate. They were 
 friends." 
 
 " A great friendship ! " exclaimed the bishop. " A
 
 IT IS THE MAN. 23 
 
 great friendship ! To his influence you doubtless owe 
 your commission, obtained, I think you said, in '74, the 
 year before Turenne's death." 
 
 " Doubtless. So my father said. He died in the 
 same year as the marshal." 
 
 " In battle, too, no doubt ? " Then, seeing a look 
 upon the other's face which seemed to express a desire 
 for no more questioning though, indeed, he bowed 
 gravely at the question if his father had died in battle 
 monseigneur with a polite bow said he would ask him 
 no more impertinent questions, and turned the con- 
 versation by exclaiming : 
 
 " But you must be weary, monsieur. You would 
 rest, I am sure. I will call Pierre to show you to your 
 room. Your child will sleep better at the ' Ours ' than 
 you will do here, since my accommodation is not of the 
 first order, owing to my being able to inhabit the house 
 so little. But we have done our best. We have done 
 our best." 
 
 " I thank you," the soldier said, rising from his 
 chair. " Now, monseigneur, let me pay my farewells to 
 you at the same time I say ' Good-night.' I propose to 
 ride to-morrow at daybreak, and if possible to reach 
 Bar by night. Though much I doubt doing so; my 
 horse is jaded already, and can scarce compass a league 
 an hour. And 'tis more than twenty leagues from here, 
 I take it." 
 
 "Ay, 'tis. More like twenty-five. And you have, 
 you know, a burden. You carry weight. There is the 
 little child." 
 
 " Yes, there is the child." 
 
 " You guard it carefully, Monsieur St. Georges. By 
 the way, you have not told me. Where is its mother, 
 your wife ? "
 
 24 IX THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Again the soldier answered as he had before an- 
 swered to the watchman's wife yet, he knew not why, 
 he felt more repugnance in speaking of his dead wife to 
 this strange bishop than he had when addressing either 
 that simple woman or the landlady of the " Ours." But 
 it had to be done he could not make a secret of what 
 was, in fact, no secret. So he answered, speaking rap- 
 idly, as though desirous of getting his answer over : 
 
 " She is dead. Our existence together was short. 
 We loved each other dearly, but it pleased God to take 
 her from me. She died a year after our marriage, in 
 giving birth to the babe." 
 
 Phelypeaux bowed his head gravely, as though, per- 
 haps, intending thereby to express sympathy with the 
 other, and said, " It was sad, very sad." Then he con- 
 tinued : 
 
 "And madame pauvre dame! was she, too, Eng- 
 lish, or of some French family ? " 
 
 " She was, monseigneur, a simple French girl. Of 
 no family such as you, monseigneur, would know of. 
 A girl of the people, of the bourgeoisie. Yet I loved 
 her; she became my wife, and now now" and he 
 looked meditatively down into the ashes of the (by this 
 time) charred and burnt-out logs " I have no wife. 
 That is all. Monseigneur, permit me to wish you good- 
 night." 
 
 The bishop rang the bell, and while they waited for 
 Pierre to come, he said : 
 
 " You asked me, Monsieur St. Georges, this evening, 
 why his Most Christian Majesty should have thought 
 fit through Louvois to direct you to stay at my house in 
 Dijon ? I shall not see you to-morrow ere you depart ; 
 let me therefore be frank. The king and Louvois 
 also are in correspondence with me on a political mat-
 
 IT IS THE MAN. 25 
 
 ter, which must not even be trusted to the post, nor to 
 courier, nor messenger. Nay, we do not even write 
 what we have to say, but, instead, correspond by words 
 and signs. Now, you are a trusty man you will go far 
 ' already I see your captaincy of a troop looming up 
 before you. Therefore I will send by you one word and 
 one alone. You cannot forget it, for it is perhaps the 
 simplest in our or any language. You will convey it ? " 
 
 " I am the king's servant. What is the word, mon- 
 seigneur ? " 
 
 "The word 'Fes.'" 
 
 " The word ' YesJ " the chevau-Uger repeated. " The 
 word ' Yes: That is it ? No more ? " 
 
 " Nothing more. Simply the word ' Yes. 1 Yet stay, 
 remember my instructions. The word is sent as much 
 to Louvois as to the king. It is a common message to 
 both. And there is one other thing. The Marquise de 
 Roquemaure is also concerned in this matter ; she will 
 without doubt ask you what the word is I have sent. 
 And, monsieur, there is no need of secrecy with her. 
 You may frankly tell her." 
 
 Again with military precision the other made sure 
 of his instructions. 
 
 " I may say that the word you send is ' Yes ' f " 
 
 " Precisely." 
 
 " I shall remember." 
 
 And now, Pierre coming in, the bishop bade him 
 farewell and good-night. 
 
 " The bed, I trust," he said, addressing the servant, 
 " is as comfortable as may be under the circumstances. 
 Also properly aired. For Monsieur St. Georges must 
 sleep well to-night. He rides to Troyes to-morrow or 
 as far upon his road as he can get. He must sleep well." 
 
 " So ! he rides to Troyes to-morrow," repeated the
 
 26 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 domestic, surlily " to Troyes, eh ? And at what hour 
 does Monsieur St. Georges set forth? I must know, so 
 that he shall be called." 
 
 " At daybreak," St. Georges replied. 
 
 The man led him after this up. some great stairs, 
 evidently the principal ones of the mansion, and past 
 what were the chief salons, holding the lantern he 
 carried above his head all the way and casting thereby 
 weird shadows on to walls and corners. Then up an- 
 other flight they went their feet echoing now on the 
 bare, uncarpeted stairs, and so along a corridor until at 
 the end the man opened a door and ushered the guest 
 into a moderately sized room very sparsely furnished in 
 all except the bed, which was large enough for three 
 men to have slept in side by side. Next, lighting a 
 taper which looked as though it might burn ten min- 
 utes but not longer, he gruffly bade St. Georges " Good- 
 night," and, saying that he should be called before day- 
 break, he strode away, while the other heard his heavy 
 footfall gradually grow fainter and fainter until, at last, 
 there was no further sound in the house except the 
 banging of a door now and again. 
 
 "Norn (Fun chien!" exclaimed the soldier, as he 
 unbuckled his spurs, drew off his long riding boots, 
 and, unsheathing his sword, laid it along the side of the 
 bed nearest the wall, " this is a pleasant hole for a man 
 to find himself in." And throwing himself on the bed, 
 and discovering that, as he drew the counterpane up 
 about his shoulders, it was so short that it did not reach 
 below his knees, he wrapped up the lower part of his 
 body in the great cloak in which he had carried the 
 child all day, and so, shivering with cold, went at last 
 to sleep. 
 
 Down below, while this had been going on, Pierre
 
 "IN THE PATH OP OTHERS' GREED." 27 
 
 had rejoined his master, and, standing before him, was 
 answering several questions put with great rapidity. 
 
 " Your horse is sound ? " the bishop asked, as now 
 he partook of a glass out of the second bottle. 
 
 " Ay, it is sound," replied the other. " It has not 
 left the stable for three days." 
 
 " You can, therefore, ride forth to-morrow." 
 
 " Further than he can, weather permitting." 
 
 " Good. Therefore ride ahead of him until you 
 meet the Marquis de Eoquemaure. Then you can 
 deliver to him a message somewhat similar to the one 
 he will deliver to the mother of the noble marquis." 
 
 " What is the message ? " 
 
 " The message he will deliver to madame la marquise 
 if he is fortunate enough to see her is the word 
 ' Yes.' The message you will deliver to her son, whom 
 you must see, is also ' Yes.' And, if you can remember, 
 you may also say to the marquis, ' It is the man.' Can 
 you remember?" 
 
 " Without doubt I can. The words are : ' Yes. It is 
 the man.' " 
 
 " Those are the words." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " HER LIFE STANDS IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED." 
 
 AWAKENED in the dark of the morning by a loud 
 knocking on the door, St. Georges sprang off the bed 
 and called lustily to know who was there ? 
 
 " It is near dawn," a female voice answered. " Mon- 
 sieur was to be awakened."
 
 28 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 "Where is the man called Pierre?" asked St. 
 Georges, perceiving that the tones were not his gruff 
 ones. 
 
 " He has gone forth to one of the bishop's farms at 
 Pou illy. He bade me call monsieur." 
 
 " And the bishop ? " 
 
 " Monseigneur is not yet risen. There is a meal 
 prepared for monsieur below, if he will partake of it." 
 
 Monsieur so far partook of it on descending after 
 he had made a rapid toilet, cleaned his sword by passing 
 the folds of his cloak over it, and (good soldier as he 
 was !) having said a prayer at his bedside ere leaving the 
 room as to drink a cup of thick, lukewarm chocolate. 
 But beyond this he would wait no longer, being very 
 anxious to regain the custody of his child. Also he 
 thought that the " Ours" would offer a more satisfying 
 meal than that now set before him, which, in truth, 
 was nothing but the selfsame chocolate, some bread, 
 and a half-finished saucisson which did not look par- 
 ticularly appetizing. 
 
 Therefore he tossed on the table a silver crown to 
 the miserable-looking old woman who had called him, 
 and who afterward escorted him downstairs, and, fol- 
 lowing her across the more than ever snow-covered 
 courtyard, emerged on to the great plack. 
 
 And still, as he observed, the snow fell, must have 
 been falling all night, since it lay upon this open space 
 in great tussocks, or mounds, while across the place 
 itself no footmark was to be seen. It was, indeed, as 
 though a vast white sea stretched from the house of 
 Phelypeaux over to where the " Ours " stood. 
 
 Beneath a dull leaden canopy of cloud the wintry 
 day was, however, coming ; from the chimneys of the 
 inn he could see the smoke, scarcely more dull and
 
 "IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED." 29 
 
 I 
 
 leaden than that canopy itself, rising ; at the door of 
 the inn he saw the mousquetaire standing, looking up 
 at what should have been the heavens. 
 
 " Is all well ? " he asked as he drew close to him now. 
 " Have you seen the child ? " 
 
 " All well, monsieur," the other replied, saluting as 
 he spoke " all well, both with child and horse. Yet, 
 ma foil what a day for a journey! Must monsieur, 
 indeed, continue his ? " 
 
 " Ay ! " replied St. Georges, " I must. My orders 
 are to pause no longer than necessary on the route to 
 Paris, to report myself to the Minister of War, the 
 Marquis de Louvois." Then turning to the mousque- 
 taire, he asked : " What are your orders? Do you ride 
 toward Bar to-day?" 
 
 " Since monsieur proceeds, so do I. Yet I doubt if 
 we get even so far as Bar. del I will the snow ever 
 cease to fall ? " 
 
 But in spite of the snow, in half an hour both were 
 ready to set out. The little child, Dorine, had slept 
 well, the patronne said, had lain snug and close with 
 two of her own all through the night, while she had 
 seen to its nourishment and had herself washed and 
 fed it. 
 
 " Heaven bless you, for a true woman," St. Georges 
 said, " Heaven bless you ! " 
 
 But the woman would hear of no thanks ; she reiter- 
 ated again and again that she was a mother herself and 
 had a mother's heart within her ; she only wished mon- 
 sieur would leave the little thing with her until he came 
 back ; she would warrant it should be well cared for 
 until he did. 
 
 " I doubt my ever coming back this way," he said, 
 as he ate his breakfast a substantial one, far different
 
 30 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 from that which the bishop's servant had been able to 
 set before him and she ministered to his wants, " un- 
 less the future war rolls toward Burgundy. I am en 
 route for Paris, and Heaven only knows where to after- 
 ward." 
 
 " Find a good home for her, monsieur," she said, " a 
 home where she may at least be safe while you are away 
 campaigning. Nay," she continued, " if I might make 
 so bold, meaning no offence, find a new mother for her. 
 It would be a sad life for her even though monsieur 
 followed a stay-at-home existence; 'twill be doubly 
 hard when you are separated from her." 
 
 But St. Georges only shook his head and said mourn- 
 fully there was no other wife for him ; a statement from 
 which she dissented vehemently. Then she asked : 
 
 " Does monsieur know of any one in Paris to whom 
 the little Dorine might be confided ? If not," she con- 
 tinued "she intended no liberty! she could recom- 
 mend one with whom it would always be safe. A woman 
 of Dijon like herself, married and settled in Paris ; mar- 
 ried, indeed, to a cousin of her late husband, who, rest 
 his soul ! had been dead eighteen months. This woman's 
 husband was a mercer in a large way of business in the 
 Rue de Timoleon, lived well, and had children of his 
 own ; it would be an abri for the child if monsieur cared 
 to consider it." 
 
 " Care to consider it ! " exclaimed St. Georges, " why, 
 it is the very thing I should wish." Then he paused a 
 moment, reflecting deeply and looking round the kitch- 
 en, as though to see that they were alone, which they 
 were with the exception of the mousquetaire, who sat 
 by the great fire warming himself. 
 
 " Hark you,' dame," he said, lowering his voice a 
 little, though not from any fear of the mousquetaire
 
 "IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED." 31 
 
 hearing, but more from instinct than anything else. 
 " You have done me one great kindness in being so 
 tender to my poor little motherless babe. Will you an- 
 swer me, therefore, a question? Will will suppose, I 
 would say, that I wished the whereabouts of this, my 
 child, unknown to any one would she be safe in the 
 house of this mercer you speak of? Also if you 
 should be asked by any one high or low, here in Dijon 
 if, par hasard, you know, or could guess, had indeed 
 the faintest suspicion, where that little child might be 
 would you hold your peace ? Would you let this be a 
 secret locked only in your own honest heart? " 
 
 " Would I ? Ay, monsieur, I would ! Your child 
 has slept with my little fillettes ; when I went to arouse 
 them ere dawn they all lay cheek to cheek, and with 
 their arms entwined. She is as one of mine, therefore ; 
 she shall be as sacred. Je lejure." 
 
 " Give me your friend's name and address," St. 
 Georges made answer. " What you have said is enough. 
 I trust you as I should have trusted her dead mother." 
 And he took his tablets from his pouch as he spoke. 
 
 " Write," said the woman, " the name of Le Sieur 
 Blecy, 5 Rue de Timoleon. That is sufficient. His 
 wife Susanne will arrange with you for the safety of the 
 little one when she knows that I have sent you." 
 
 " But," exclaimed St. Georges, " can you give me no 
 line, no word, to her or him ? Surely she will not accept 
 me on my own assurances. Besides, 'tis much to ask. 
 She will scarcely receive my child into her house, into 
 her family, without some proofs from you." 
 
 "How," exclaimed the woman, "can I send such 
 proof ? I can not write alas ! I can not even read." 
 She blushed as she spoke though truly she need not 
 have done so, since in all Burgundy, in the days of
 
 32 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Louis le Dieudonne, not one in a hundred could do more 
 than she and he himself reddened at having so put her 
 to shame, and muttered some sort of excuse under his 
 thick mustache. 
 
 " Send some trifle that she will recognise some little 
 thing she will know to have been yours," exclaimed the 
 mousquetaire from his seat in the chimney-piece. " She 
 will know that." 
 
 " Ha ! " she said, recovering instantly from her con- 
 fusion, " and so I will." Then, casting her eyes round 
 the great stone-floor kitchen and seeing nothing therein 
 that she could send to her friend, she ran up the stairs 
 and came back bearing in her hand a little missal, with 
 her name written in it. 
 
 "It was given to me by Susanne's mother on my 
 wedding day, she saying that, though I could not follow 
 the service with it, my children might learn to do so 
 as they shall ! as they shall ! " 
 
 St. Georges took the book a tiny one and put it 
 in his pouch. also, along with his tablets; then he said 
 to the mousquetaire : " Friend, if you have still a mind 
 to depart x let us set out. Yet I would not take you from 
 your comfortable nook if duty does not make it abso- 
 lutely necessary for you to go." 
 
 " I will go," the other said, springing to his feet. 
 " All is ready ; my horse has rested for two days ; at 
 least we can get some distance on our route. Come, 
 monsieur, let us away." 
 
 Therefore St. Georges paid the reckoning due, not 
 forgetting among other things to give the woman's 
 children who were now all up and ready for their 
 breakfast some little sums to buy things with; and 
 so he bade the woman farewell, thanking her again 
 and again for her goodness, and promising that he
 
 "IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED." 33 
 
 should certainly seek the Sieur de Blecy on his arrival 
 in Paris. 
 
 " Also," he said, as he shook her by the hand, " I 
 shall find some means of letting you know of her wel- 
 fare. Burgundy is far from Paris, yet there is always 
 continuous passing to and fro from one to the other 
 you shall hear from me." 
 
 " I hope so," she said, " and, tenez ! De Blecy is 
 himself of Burgundy ; his old mother lives near here 
 not a league away send through him. He corresponds 
 often with her and others. A word to me will reach. 
 Farewell, monsieur ; farewell, mousquetaire. Adieu ! " 
 
 Yet the last word was not said ; for while the soldier 
 went into the inn yard to fetch the horses and St. 
 Georges brought down from the room she slept in his 
 little child who prattled in her baby way to him while 
 her soft blue eyes smiled up in his and wrapped it in 
 his great cloak preparatory to mounting the block be- 
 fore the inn door, she asked : 
 
 " Why, why, monsieur, do you desire that no one 
 should know where she is ? Why keep her existence a 
 secret ? Surely there are none who would harm so inno- 
 cent a little thing as that ? " 
 
 He paused a moment, looking down at her from his 
 great height as though meditating deeply; then he 
 said : 
 
 " I will trust you fully. I wish her whereabouts not 
 her existence, that is already known kept secret until 
 the time comes that either she shall be in safety out of 
 France or I can be ever near to guard and watch over 
 her ; for her life after mine stands in the path of 
 others' greed perhaps of others' ambition. My life 
 first, then hers. I know it, have known it long ; until 
 a day or so ago I thought none other knew it "
 
 3-J. IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 "And?" she asked, glancing up at him, while she 
 stole her hand into the folds of his cloak and again 
 softly patted the child's little dimpled cheek 
 "and ?" 
 
 " And," he continued, " I am sure now that against 
 her life, or at least her liberty, some attempt will be 
 made as it will against mine. That," he said, sinking 
 his voice to a whisper, " is why I am recalled to Paris. 
 Farewell!" 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE GBAVEYAKD. 
 
 BY the time that the wintry night was about once 
 more to close in upon them they were nearing Aignay- 
 le-Duc, having passed through the village of Baigneux 
 some two or three hours previously. 
 
 A change in the weather had set in ; the snow had 
 ceased to fall at last; right in their faces from the 
 north-northwest there blew a cold, frosty wind ; from 
 beneath their horses' hoofs there came a crisp sound, 
 which told as plainly as words that the soft, feathery 
 snow was hardening, while the ease with which the 
 animals now lifted their feet showed that the travelling 
 was becoming easier to them every moment. 
 
 " Courage ! courage ! " exclaimed St. Georges ; " if 
 we proceed thus we may reach Chatillon-sur-Seine to- 
 night. What think you, Boussac ? " 
 
 On their road the men, as was natural between two 
 comrades of the sword, had become intimate, St. Georges 
 telling the mousquetaire some of that history of his life 
 which will be unfolded as these pages proceed, while the
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 35 
 
 other had in a few words given him his own. His name 
 was Boussac Armand Boussac the latter drawn from 
 a little village or town in Lower Berri, wherein his 
 father was a petit seigneur. 
 
 " A poor place, monsieur," he said, " a rock fortified, 
 however, strongly and with a castle almost inaccessible 
 except to the crows and hawks. A place in which a 
 man who would see the world can yet scarce find the 
 way to study his fellow-creatures. Ma foi, there are 
 not many there ! A priest or two those always ! some 
 farmers whose fields lie at the foot of the rock, some 
 old crones who, no longer able to earn anything in those 
 fields, are kept until they die by those who can. And 
 on the rock a few soldiers drawn from the regiment of 
 Berri men who eat their hearts out in despair when 
 sent to garrison it." 
 
 " A cheerful spot, in truth ! " said St. Georges, with 
 a smile ; " no wonder you left the rock and sought the 
 mousquetaires. And I see by your horse that you are 
 of the black regiment.* How did you find your way 
 to it ? " 
 
 " Easily. I descended once to Clermont, having bade 
 farewell to my father and intending to join the Regi- 
 ment de Berri, when, lo ! as I entered the town, I saw 
 our grand seigneur of Creuse in talk with an officer of 
 the Mousquetaires Noirs. Then as I saluted him he 
 called out to me : ' Boussac ! Boussac ! what have you 
 crossed the mountains for and come to Clermont ? ' 
 ' Pardie ! ' I replied, ' monsieur, to seek my fortune as 
 a soldier. I hear there are some of the Regiment of 
 Berri here. And the arriere-lan is out, the summons 
 
 * " Les mousquetaires tiraient leur noms de la couleur de leur 
 chevaux." St. Simon.
 
 36 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 made.' ' And so it is,' replied the seigneur, ' only the 
 Regiment of Berri is complete, has all its complement. 
 Now, here is the colonel of the mousquetaires ; if he 
 would take you, why, your fortune's made. Ask him, 
 Boussac. Ask him.' So, monsieur, I asked him, tell- 
 ing him I could ride any horse ; would do so if he 
 brought one; knew the escrime ma foil many a time 
 had I fenced in the old castle with those of the regi- 
 ment; was strong and healthy, and, voila! it was done. 
 Even the Mousquetaires the king's own guard, the 
 men of the Maison du Roi were recruiting it needed 
 only that one should be of gentle blood, as the Boussacs 
 are. So, monsieur, I am mousquetaire ; have fought 
 when they fight; we, of Ours, were at Mulhausen, 
 Turckheim, and Salzbach " 
 
 " Did you see Turenne killed ? " asked St. Georges, 
 turning on his horse to look at his comrade. 
 
 " Nay, not killed, but just before the battle. Ah ! 
 he was a soldier ! " Then he went on with his recollec- 
 tions, finishing up by saying : " But, alas ! since then the 
 peace has come, and we have naught to do but to dance 
 about the galleries of Versailles and be in attendance 
 on the king and his court. That," he said, patting his 
 horse's coal-black neck, " is no work for a soldier." 
 
 " It will change ere long," said St. Georges, " if all 
 accounts be true. Louis is threatened from all sides by 
 the Dutchman, William, above all. It will come." 
 
 " Let us hope so, monsieur. Peace is no good to us." 
 
 " No ! peace is no good to us. My only hope is, 
 England may not be drawn into the game." 
 
 " And wherefore, monsieur ? " 
 
 " I am half English my mother was of that coun- 
 try. To draw a sword against the land that gave her 
 birth would be no pleasure to me."
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 37 
 
 " Yet, on the other and the greater side, mon- 
 sieur is French. How should you decide, therefore, if 
 war comes ? " 
 
 St. Georges rode on silently for a little while ere he 
 answered this question, and the mousquetaire could see 
 that he was pondering deeply. Then he seemed to 
 shake himself clear of his doubts, and said : 
 
 " My allegiance is to France. I have sworn fidelity 
 to the king. To him consequently I belong. If, there- 
 fore," he continued, " my fidelity to him brings no harm 
 to one whom I love best of all in the world " and 
 Boussac saw his arm enfold more closely the little child 
 he carried " I draw my sword for him." 
 
 " Can your fidelity do that bring harm to her ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " It might," replied the other, " it might. In serv- 
 ing 'Louis, in serving France, it Vnay be that I put her 
 in deadly peril. But as yet, Boussac, I can tell you no 
 more." 
 
 That Boussac was bewildered by this enigmatical 
 remark he could plainly see. The soldier had wrinkled 
 his brow and stared at him as he made it. Now he 
 rode quietly by his side, saying no further word, yet 
 evidently turning it over in his own mind. And so, as 
 they progressed, the night came nearly upon them, and 
 had the weather not now changed altogether and be- 
 come fine and clear, there would have been no day- 
 light left. 
 
 Suddenly, however, as they rode thus silently but 
 at a good paqe for the frosted snow on the path or 
 road shone out clear and distinct now to their and 
 their horses' eyes in spite of the oncoming night St. 
 Georges became sure of what at first he had only 
 imagined namely, that Boussac suspected something,
 
 38 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 was watching for something perhaps an ambush or an 
 attack. 
 
 " What is it?" he asked in a low voice, as the mous- 
 quetaire tightened his hand upon the rein of his horse 
 and, bending forward over its jet-black mane, peered 
 into the bushes of the side on which he rode ; and also 
 he noticed that his comrade put his hand to his long 
 sword and, drawing it an inch or two from its scabbard 
 once or twice, loosened it. " What is it, Boussac ? " 
 But as he spoke he, too, made his weapon ready in the 
 same way. 
 
 "Take no notice," muttered the mousquetaire, " ride 
 straight ahead, look neither to left nor right. Yet 
 listen. All day from the time we were a league outside 
 of Dijon ma foil" in a loud tone that might have 
 been heard fifty yards off, "a fine night, a pleasant 
 night for the season ! " then lowering it again, " a man 
 has tracked us, a man armed and masked, or masked 
 whenever we drew near him si, si, monsieur " ; again 
 in the loud voice assumed for the purpose, " the vin du 
 pays, especially of Chantillon, is excellent ; a cup will 
 cheer us to-night." 
 
 " Doubtless," replied St. Georges, in a similar voice ; 
 then sinking it, he asked beneath his teeth, " Why not 
 warn me before ? " 
 
 " Oh ! red wine, monsieur, above all," replied Bous- 
 sac, loudly. " There is little white grows here." Again 
 lowering his tone : " I feared to distress, to alarm you. 
 You had the child. Now I am forced to do so. He has 
 been joined by five others at different points since we 
 passed Flavigny. All armed and all masked. Yes," 
 in the loud voice, " and with a soupe a Toignon, as mon- 
 sieur says. They are around us," sinking it again. " I 
 judge they mean attack. Well, we know we are soldiers :
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 39 
 
 they should be brigands, larrons ! Shall we encounter 
 them, give them a chance to show who and what they 
 are?" 
 
 " Ay," said St. Georges. " Observe, here is a small 
 church and graveyard ; wheel in and let us await them. 
 I see them now, even in the dusk." 
 
 Swiftly, as on parade, the order was given, and 
 as swiftly executed. The black horse wheeled by the 
 side of the chestnut of the chevau-Uger into the open 
 graveyard the gate of the place hung on one hinge 
 down toward the road from which the church rose 
 somewhat and then St. Georges in a loud voice 
 said: 
 
 " Halt here, comrade. Our horses are a little blown. 
 We will breathe them somewhat." 
 
 It was a wretched, uncared-for spot into which they 
 had ridden, the church being a little, low-built edifice 
 of evidently great antiquity, and doubtless utilized for 
 service by the out-dwellers of Aignay-le-Duc, which lay 
 half a league further off, and some sparse lights of 
 which might be now seen twinkling in the clear, frosty 
 air beneath a young moon that rose to the right of the 
 village. In the graveyard itself there was the usual 
 heterogeneous accumulation of tombstones and memo- 
 rials of the dead ; here and there some dark-slate head- 
 stones ; in other places wooden crosses with imitation 
 flowers hanging on their crossbars, covered with frozen 
 snow ; in others, huge mounds alone, to mark the spots 
 where the dead lay. 
 
 " Not bad," said the mousquetaire, as he glanced his 
 eye round the melancholy spot, " for an encounter, if 
 they mean one. Steady, mon brave," to his horse, 
 " steady ! Ah ! here comes one. Well, we have the 
 point o' vantage. We are in the churchyard ; they have
 
 40 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 to come up the rise to attack us. Feste ! what can they 
 want with two soldiers ? " 
 
 St. Georges arranged his child under his arm more 
 carefully, gathered his reins into the hand of that arm, 
 and then, with the other, drew his long sword it glit- 
 tered in the rays of the young moon like a streak of 
 phosphorus ! and was followed in this action by Bous- 
 sac. After which he whispered : " See ! All six are 
 coming. Which is the one who, you say, followed us 
 from Flavigny ? " 
 
 " He who hangs behind all the others. The biggest 
 of all." 
 
 As the mousquetaire answered, the men of whom he 
 had spoken, and who had gradually come from behind 
 the hedges and trees that grew all along the way, formed 
 up together, five of them being in a body behind one 
 who was evidently their leader and who rode a little 
 ahead. And all were, as Boussac had said, masked, 
 while one or two had breastpieces over their jerkins 
 and some large gorgets. As for the leader himself, he 
 wore what, even for the end of the seventeenth century, 
 was almost now obsolete, a burganet with the visor down. 
 
 As he advanced until his horse's head was where the 
 graveyard gate would have been, had it hung properly 
 on its hinges and been closed, he spoke, saying while 
 his voice sounded hollow by reason of the band of steel 
 which muffled it : " Who are you who ride on the king's 
 highroad to-night? Soldiers, I see, by your accoutre- 
 ments, and one a mousquetaire. Answer and explain 
 why neither are with your regiments." 
 
 " First," replied St. Georges, " answer you, yourself. 
 By what right do you demand so much of a chevau-leyer, 
 whose cockade is his passport, and of a mousquetaire 
 who is of the king's own house ? "
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 41 
 
 " I represent the governor of the territory of Bur- 
 gundy, and have the right to make the demand." 
 
 " That we will concede when you give us proof of it. 
 Meanwhile, take my assurance as an officer that we ride 
 by the king's orders. That order I carry in my pocket 
 for myself ; my comrade goes to join the Mousquetaires 
 Noirs at Bar." 
 
 " Still we must see your papers." 
 
 " As you shall," said St. Georges, " when you produce 
 your own. Otherwise we intend to proceed to night to 
 that village ahead." 
 
 " You do ? How 'if we prevent you ? " 
 
 " Prevent ! " echoed St. Georges, with a contemptu- 
 ous laugh. " Prevent ! Come, sir, come. You are no 
 representative of the governor, as you know very well. 
 He scarcely, I imagine, sets spies, such a.s that skulking 
 fellow behind you, to track the king's soldiers from 
 village to village, from daybreak to night." Then rais- 
 ing his voice authoritatively, he said : " Stand out of 
 our way ! Boussac, avancez ! " and he urged his horse 
 forward to the leader so that the animals' heads touched. 
 
 " So be it," exclaimed the other, and, turning his 
 head to those behind, the two comrades heard him say : 
 " The bait takes. Fall on." 
 
 In an instant the melee had begun in another St. 
 Georges knew what he had from the first suspected. It 
 was his life and the life of his child that was aimed at ! 
 
 All hurled their horses against him except the 
 sixth man, he who had tracked them all day, and who 
 now, masked and with his sword drawn, sat his horse 
 outside of the fray, looking on at what was being done 
 by the others. 
 
 The leader dealt blow after blow at St. Georges with- 
 out effect, owing to the latter's skilful swordsmanship ; 
 4
 
 42 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the remaining four directed theirs at the arm which 
 bore and shielded the child, and which, had Armand 
 Boussac not been by, would have been pierced through 
 and through. But the adroit swordsman perceived the 
 intention of these murderers the would-be murderers 
 of a little child ! and foiled them again and again, 
 beating off their weapons with his own, and at the same 
 time losing no opportunity of attacking them. And so 
 far was he successful that already he had put two hors 
 de combat. One was by now off his horse, lying across 
 a snow-covered grave which was rapidly becoming red 
 from the blood that poured from his lungs, through 
 which the mousquetaire's sword had passed two minutes 
 before; the other, lying forward on his horse's neck, 
 was urging the animal out of the press of the fight. 
 
 And now the odds were but three to two for still 
 the man who took no part in the attack sat on his ani- 
 mal's back, and, indeed, from the glances he cast round 
 him appeared to be meditating flight. 
 
 Yet withal they were unequal odds, especially since 
 their three antagonists were skilful swordsmen, the 
 leader in particular wielding his weapon with remark- 
 able craft. Moreover, by his possession of the burganet 
 he wore, the odds were still greater in his favour it had 
 saved his life more than once already from the blows 
 dealt at his head by St. Georges. 
 
 Yet now those odds were soon further diminished 
 the chances became at last equal. As one of the two 
 followers thrust at the arm of the chevau-Uger, mean- 
 ing to strike the burden he carried beneath, Boussac 
 with a quick parry turned his weapon off, and thus glid- 
 ing it along his own blade, brought its hilt with a clash 
 against his own. Then in a moment the mousquetaire 
 had seized the sword arm of his antagonist, and, holding
 
 THE GRAVEYARD. 4.3 
 
 it a moment, struck through the man's body with his 
 own weapon, which he shortened in his grasp. A second 
 later the fellow was writhing on the ground beneath the 
 feet of the various steeds, and helping to crimson the 
 snow, as the others had done who had fallen previously. 
 
 " Pasquedieu ! " the comrades heard the leader mutter 
 through the bars of his helmet, " we fail." Then, as he 
 and St. Georges wheeled around on their horses, while 
 still their weapons clashed and writhed together, he 
 shouted to the man who had taken no part in the af- 
 fray, " Hound ! cur ! come and render assistance ! " 
 
 " Ay," exclaimed Boussac, " come and render him as- 
 sistance. The chances are even without you. We shall 
 defeat him ere long if you assist not ! " and with a mock- 
 ing laugh he again attacked his own particular adversary, 
 taking heed at the same time to insure that no thrust 
 nor blow of his should strike the precious burden under 
 St. Georges's arm. 
 
 In truth, the fellow skulking on the horse seemed to 
 think that matters tended in the direction indicated, 
 for, instead of responding to the leader's orders, he shook 
 up the reins of his own horse, and in a moment had 
 vanished into the night, leaving the four combatants 
 equally matched except that on the side of St. Georges 
 and Boussac there was the child to be protected. 
 
 And now those four set grimly to work though had 
 there been an onlooker of the fray in that deserted 
 churchyard he would have said that the defenders, and 
 not the attackers, had most stomach for the fight ! St. 
 Georges, his blood at boiling point at the assaults made 
 on his little child now screaming lustily at the noise 
 and clash of steel, and perhaps at the unwonted tossing 
 about to which it had been subjected fought determi- 
 nately, his teeth clinched, his eyes gleaming fire. He had
 
 44 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 sworn to kill this assassin, who had led his band against 
 him. He meant to kill him ! 
 
 Yet it was hard to do the other was himself a 
 swordsman of skill. But, skilful as he was, one good 
 thing had now happened : neither he nor his follower 
 could any more threaten harm to the little Dorine ! 
 They had sufficient to do to protect themselves from the 
 two soldiers to protect themselves from the blows and 
 thrusts that came at them ; so that, at last, they were 
 forced to retreat down the slope to the road driven 
 back by the irresistible fury of St. Georges and his fol- 
 lower. And, eventually, seeing that he had got the 
 worst of it, the leader, after one ineffectual thrust at his 
 antagonist, wheeled his horse round and, with a cry to 
 the other to follow him, dashed off down the road in the 
 same direction that the man who had skulked all 
 through the fight had taken. 
 
 Yet such an order was more easily given than obeyed, 
 since, at the moment he uttered it, Boussac had by a 
 clever parry sent the other's sword flying out of his 
 hand, while, an instant afterward, he dealt him such a 
 buffet with his own gantleted hand as knocked him 
 off his horse on to the top of those lying on the ground 
 beneath. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A LITTLE LIGHT. 
 
 THE first thought of both the victors was to see to 
 the child, who, while still screaming piteously, was un- 
 harmed though a deep cut in St. Georges's sleeve and, 
 as he afterward found, a slight sword thrust in the fore-
 
 A LITTLE LIGHT. 45 
 
 arm, showed how great had been her peril and how near 
 her little body to being pierced by one of the ruffians' 
 swords. Still she was safe, untouched, and her father 
 muttered a hasty thanksgiving to God,as he found such 
 was the case. 
 
 Then they addressed themselves to Boussac's van- 
 quished antagonist the last living and remaining rem- 
 nant of their foes. For of those who had been overcome 
 earlier in the fray, all three were dead, lying stark and 
 stiff on the frozen ground across the graves where they 
 had fallen. As for him, the living one, he presented as 
 ghastly a spectacle as they who were gone to their doom 
 sitting up as he now did, and endeavouring to stanch 
 the blood that flowed from his lips and nose in conse- 
 quence of the blow dealt him by Boussac. 
 
 " Stand up," said St. Georges, as he towered over 
 him, his drawn sword in his hand, while by the light of 
 the moon, such as it was, he was able to see the fellow's 
 face. " Stand up and answer my questions." 
 
 "What are you going to do to me?" asked the 
 man, staggering to his feet at the other's command. 
 
 " Hang you to the nearest tree," replied St. Georges, 
 " in all likelihood. Especially if you trifle with me. I 
 will have the truth from you somehow. Now, spadas- 
 sin, the meaning of this attack. Quick ! " 
 
 " Monsieur, I know no more than you monsieur, 
 j " 
 
 " No lies. Answer ! " and he lifted his arm and 
 drew his sword back as though about to plunge it into 
 the other's throat. " Answer, I say ! Who are you all, 
 you and this carrion here ? " and he spurned the dead 
 with his foot. " Above all, who is the fellow in the 
 antique morion, the man who takes double precautions 
 to guard his head and, ma foil to hide his features !"
 
 46 I N THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Again, I say monsieur, I know not. Nay, nay," he 
 cried, seeing once more the threatening aspect of the 
 other, and again the sword drawn back. " Nay, I swear 
 it is the truth. Let me tell my tale." 
 
 " Tell it and be brief." 
 
 "Monsieur," the man, therefore, began, as St. 
 Georges stood in front of him and Boussac never took 
 his eyes off his face, while at the same time he held the 
 horses' reins, "there came into our village not this 
 which you see down there, but Keccy, two leagues off 
 yesterday the man you call the leader, he who wears 
 the burganet. And accompanied by one other this," 
 and he looked down at the dead men lying across the 
 graves and touched one with his toe, thereby to indicate 
 him. " Then," the fellow went on, " when he had 
 drunk a cup and made a meal he spake to us sitting 
 round the fire ; to him, Gaspard," pointing to a dead 
 man, " and to him, Arnaud," pointing to another, " and 
 said that he and his follower were in search of a brigand 
 riding to Paris from the Cote d'Or who had stolen a 
 child from its lawful parents a child, he said, whom 
 the brigand desired to make away with, since it stood 
 between him and great wealth." 
 
 "He said that?" 
 
 " Ay, monsieur, and more. That he must save the 
 child at all costs, wrench it away from the man who 
 had it." 
 
 " Now," exclaimed St. Georges passionately, " I know 
 you lie ! Neither he nor you endeavoured to save it, to 
 wrench it away from me. On the contrary, all aimed 
 at that harmless child's life, endeavoured to stab it 
 through my cloak, under my arm. Villain ! you shall 
 die," and this time he made as though he would indeed 
 slay the fellow.
 
 A LITTLE LIGHT. 4.7 
 
 " No ! no ! monsieur ! " the man howled, overcome 
 with fear of instant death death that seemed so near 
 now " hear my story out ; you will see I do not lie. It 
 was not until later when he had bought us that we 
 knew what he truly wanted. Let me proceed, monsieur." 
 
 " Go on ! " said St. Georges, again dropping the 
 point of his weapon. 
 
 " Also, he said," the man continued, " that he needed 
 more men to make certain of catching him and hauling 
 him to justice and releasing the child. Those were his 
 very words. And he asked us, Gaspard, Arnaud, and 
 myself, if we would take service with him. We looked 
 strong and lusty, he thought soldiers, perhaps. If we 
 would take part in the undertaking there were fifty 
 gold pistoles for us to divide. Was it worth our while ? 
 We said, Yes, it was worth our while ; we were disbanded 
 soldiers of the Verdelin Regiment our time expired, 
 and we looking for a fresh recruiting. If what he said 
 was true that we were wanted to arrest a kidnapper 
 we would join. But for no other purpose. Then he 
 swore at us, told us we were canaille, that he explained 
 not his movements nor made any oath to the truth of 
 his statements ; there was a bag of pistoles, and if we 
 had horses and weapons but not without he would 
 employ us. So we took service. Arnaud had two 
 horses at his mother's farm ; he lent one to Gaspard, I 
 borrowed mine for two ecus. Voila tout." 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked St. Georges quietly. 
 
 " All of importance. The pact was made, and then 
 he said we must, this morning, move on toward Aignay- 
 le-Duc. Le Brigand as he called monsieur would 
 pass that way to-night, he thought. But, later on, he 
 would know. A messenger from Dijon would arrive to 
 tell him."
 
 48 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " A messenger from Dijon ! " Both St. Georges and 
 Boussac started at this and looked at each other in the 
 uncertain light. A messenger from Dijon ! Who could 
 it be ? Who was there who knew of St. Georges's where- 
 abouts ? Yet, as the man spoke, they guessed that the 
 fellow whom Boussac had noticed, who had tracked them 
 all day, mostly masked, must have been that messenger. 
 
 " He came at last," the narrator continued, " an hour 
 or so before monsieur and his companion. And he told 
 us that there were two, so that we had to do more than 
 we had undertaken. Yet, we thought not much of that. 
 We were five to two, for he, the messenger, averred he 
 would take no part in the fight unless absolutely neces- 
 sary. He was not well, he said ; he had ridden all day 
 fighting was not his business ; he was a messenger, not a 
 soldier. So our employer cursed him for a poltroon, but 
 told him he might stand out of the attack. We were 
 five without him that was enough." 
 
 " Go on," said St. Georges once more, seeing that 
 again the man paused as though his narrative had con- 
 cluded. " Go on. There is more to be told." 
 
 " But little, monsieur. Only this. As you wheeled 
 into this graveyard he gave us one final order. ' They 
 will resist,' he said, ' therefore spare not. Dead or alive 
 they must be taken. Child and man. Dead or alive. 
 You understand ! ' ' 
 
 " And it was for that reason that all endeavoured 
 to plunge their swords into this innocent child ! My 
 God ! " And St. Georges paused a moment ere he went 
 on ; then he said to Boussac : " What shall we do to 
 him ? He merits death." 
 
 " Ma foil he does," replied the mousquetaire, while 
 he grimly added, " For my part, I am willing to execute 
 it on him now."
 
 A LITTLE LIGHT. 49 
 
 At this sinister remark, uttered with the callousness 
 which a brave soldier would naturally feel for the exist- 
 ence of such a creature, the other flung himself on his 
 feet before them and began to howl so for mercy that 
 St. Georges, more for fear that he would call the atten- 
 tion of some who might be about the village than aught 
 else, bade him cease the noise he was making or he 
 would indeed take effectual steps to stop it. Then, 
 when this remark had produced the desired effect, 
 namely, a cessation of the man's shouts, though he 
 whimpered and whined like a beaten hound, the other 
 continued : 
 
 " In spite of your villainy, of your assaults on one so 
 harmless as the child I carry, you are too vile for us to 
 stain our weapons with your blood. Yet, what to do 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Throw him in there," said Boussac with sang froid. 
 " That will keep him quiet for some time at least," and 
 he pointed to an open grave which yawned very near 
 where they stood, and into whose black mouth he had 
 been peering for some time. He added also : " It will be 
 his only chance of ever occupying one. Such as he end 
 by hanging on roadside gibbets or rotting on the wheel 
 they have been broken upon the peaceful grave is not 
 for them." 
 
 St. Georges turned his eyes to the spot indicated, ex- 
 claiming that it would do very well. It was no newly 
 made grave, he saw, prepared for one who had recently 
 departed, but, instead, an old one that had been opened, 
 perhaps to receive some fresh body; for by the side 
 of it there lay a slab that had, it was plain to see, been 
 pushed aside from where it had previously rested, as 
 though to permit of it being so opened. 
 
 " Ay," echoed Boussac, sardonically, " it will do very
 
 50 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 well. Add when he is in as we will soon have him 
 the stone shall be pushed back to keep him safe. Then 
 he may holla loud enough and long : no one will hear 
 him." 
 
 His hollas began again at once, however, for at the 
 terrifying prospect of being thus incarcerated in so 
 awful a manner he flung himself once more on his 
 knees, and bellowed out : 
 
 " Nay ! Nay ! In pity, I beseech you. You know 
 not what you do what terrors you condemn me to. 
 A plague, a horrible one, a sweating sickness, passed 
 over this province a year back it took many, among 
 others him who laid here. He was of Chantillon a 
 seigneur and is now removed by his friends. Mercy ! 
 Mercy ! Mercy ! Condemn me not to this. Think, I 
 beseech you. The grave is infected, impregnated with 
 contagion. Mercy ! Mercy ! Mercy !" 
 
 The fellow had thrust at his child's life St. Georges 
 remembered it even as he spoke ! yet, being a brave 
 soldier himself, he could not condemn the ruffian to such 
 horrors as these. Revenge he would have taken earlier, 
 in the heat of the fight; would have killed the man 
 with his own hand, even as he would have killed that 
 other, the leader, had the chance arisen ; but this was 
 beneath him. Therefore, he said : 
 
 "Bind him, Boussac, to this old yew. Bind him 
 with his horse's reins and gag him. Then he must take 
 his chance the night grows late. We must away." 
 
 It was done almost as soon as ordered, the mousque- 
 taire detaching the coarse reins of the man's horse 
 which was itself wounded and seemed incapable of 
 action and lashing him to the tree, while he took one of 
 his stirrup leathers and bade him open his mouth to be 
 gagged.
 
 A LITTLE LIGHT. 51 
 
 " To-morrow," he remarked to the unhappy wretch, 
 " at matins you may be released. Meanwhile, heart up ! 
 you are not alone. You have your comrades for com- 
 pany." And he glanced down at the others lying still in 
 death. 
 
 " Stay," said St. Georges, " ere you put the gag in his 
 mouth let me ask him one question. Who," turning to 
 the shivering creature before him, "who was your 
 leader ? Answer me that, and even now you shall go 
 free. Answer ! " 
 
 For a moment the man hesitated doubtless he was 
 wondering if he could not invent some name which 
 might pass for a real one, and so give him his freedom 
 then, perhaps because his inventive powers were not 
 great, or which was more probable his captor might 
 have some means of knowing that he was lying, he an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I do not know. I never saw him before." 
 
 " You do not know, or will not tell which?" 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 " "Whence came he to your village ? From what 
 quarter ? " 
 
 " The north road. The great road from Paris. He 
 had not come many leagues ; his horse was fresh." 
 
 " So ! What was he like ? He did not wear his 
 burganet all the time when he ate, for instance." 
 
 " He was young," the man replied, hoping, it may 
 be, that by his ready answers he would earn his pardon 
 even yet, " passably young. Of about monsieur's age. 
 With a brown beard cropped close and gray eyes." 
 
 " Is that all you can tell ? " 
 
 " It is all, monsieur. Ayez pitie^ monsieur." 
 
 " Gag him," said St. Georges to Boussac, " and let 
 us go."
 
 52 IN* THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 So they left the fellow gagged and bound, and rode 
 on once more upon their road, passing swiftly through 
 Aignay-le-Duc without stopping. 
 
 " For," said St. Georges, " badly as we want rest, we 
 must not halt here. To-morrow those dead men will 
 be found, with, perhaps, another added to their num- 
 ber if the frost is great to-night, as it seems like to be. 
 We must push on for Chatillon now, even though we 
 ride all night. Pray Heaven our horses do not drop on 
 the road ! " 
 
 So through Aignay-le-Duc they went, clattering up 
 the one wretched street, their animals' hoofs waking 
 peasants from their early slumbers, and the jangling of 
 their scabbards and steel trappings arousing the whole 
 village. Even the guet de nuit who because it was his 
 duty to be awake was always asleep was roused by the 
 sound of the oncoming hoofs, and, rushing to his cabin 
 door, cried out, " Who goes there ? " 
 
 " Chevau-Uger en service du roi," cried St. Georges ; 
 and " Mousquetaire de la maison du rot," answered 
 Boussac ; and so, five minutes later, they had passed the 
 hamlet and were once more on their road north. 
 
 " Yet," said St. Georges as, stopping to breathe their 
 horses, he opened the cloak and gazed on his sleeping 
 child, " I would give much to know who our enemy is 
 who the cruel wretch who aimed at your innocent little 
 life. ' A young man with a fair beard and gray eyes ! ' 
 the ruffian said. Who, who is he ? " 
 
 And, bending over, he brushed her lips with his 
 great mustache. 
 
 " My darling," he whispered, " I pray God that all 
 attacks on you may be thwarted as was this one to- 
 night; that he may raise up for you always so stout 
 and true a protector as he who rides by my side."
 
 A REASON. 53 
 
 " Amen ! " muttered Boussac, who among his good 
 qualities did not find himself overwhelmed with mod- 
 esty. " Amen ! Though," he exclaimed a second after, 
 " he who would not fight for such an innocent as that 
 deserves never to have one of his own." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A KEASON". 
 
 MIDNIGHT was sounding from the steeples of Cha- 
 tillon as the soldiers rode their tired beasts across the 
 bridge over the Seine and through the deserted street 
 that led up to the small guard-house, where, Boussac 
 said, would be found the Governor of the Bailliage with 
 some soldiers of the Montagne Regiment. 
 
 As they had come along they had naturally talked 
 much on the attack that had been made upon them 
 outside Aignay-le-Duc, and St. Georges had decided 
 that, as Chatillon was the most important town on this 
 side of Troyes, it would be his duty here to give notice 
 to any one in authority of that attack having taken 
 place. 
 
 " For," said he, " that it was premeditated who can 
 doubt? The leader spoke of me as a brigand who had 
 stolen a child, while he himself was the brigand who 
 desired to steal my child. Then, see, Boussac, we were 
 followed or preceded from Dijon by that man who 
 warned him we were coming merciful heavens ! who 
 could he have been ? so that it shows plainly that I am 
 a marked man. Marked! tracked! known all along 
 the route."
 
 54: IN T THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " But why ? Why ? " interposed Boussac. " Why is 
 your life, the life of the pauvrette, aimed at? Across 
 whose path do you and she stand ? " 
 
 "That I can but guess at," replied the other; 
 "though I have long suspected that I have powerful 
 enemies to whom my existence was hateful." Then, 
 since their tired horses were now walking side by side 
 across a wide plain, at the end of which rose Chatillon, 
 he leaned over, and, putting his hand on the mousque- 
 taire's saddle, said gravely : 
 
 " Boussac, you have shown to-night the true metal 
 you are made of. Listen to me; hark to a secret; 
 though first you must assure me you will never divulge 
 to any one that which I tell you until I give you leave. 
 Will you promise ? " 
 
 " Ay," replied Boussac. " I will." Whereon he 
 stretched out his own hand, drawing off first the great 
 riding gantlet he wore, and said, " There's my hand. 
 And with it the word of a brother soldier, of a mous- 
 quetaire." 
 
 "So be it," taking the offered hand in his own. 
 " Listen. I believe that I am the Duke de Vannes." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Boussac, "you the Duke de 
 Vannes ! Mon Dieu, monsieur, this is extraordinary. 
 But stay. You bewilder me. Your name is St. Georges 
 if it is as you say, it should be De la Bresse. I knew 
 him your father. He died at Salzbach the same day as 
 Turenne did. And you believe do you not know ? Or 
 or did or was " 
 
 " Stop there, Bonssac. I can suppose what you are 
 going to say. To ask if my mother was well, no mat- 
 ter. But be sure of this : if I am what I think, I arn his 
 lawful son. His heir, and myself a De Vannes, the De 
 Vannes."
 
 A REASON. 55 
 
 " But ' what you think ! ' ' what you believe yourself 
 to be ! ' Do you not know ? " 
 
 " No. I may be his son, I may in truth be only Mon- 
 sieur St. Georges. Yet yet this attack on me and 
 mine points to the presumption that I am what I be- 
 lieve myself to be. The cavalry soldier, St. Georges, 
 and his helpless babe would not be worth waylaying, 
 putting out of existence forever. De Vannes's heir 
 would be." 
 
 " Only again you do not know. Does not a man 
 know whose son he is ? " 
 
 Chatillon still lay far off on the plain through which 
 they were riding ; the flickering flambeaux on its gate 
 and walls were but little specks of light at present, and 
 St. Georges decided that he would confide in the nious- 
 quetaire who had shown himself so good a friend that 
 night. Moreover, Boussac had said he was of gentle 
 blood ; his being in the Mousquetaires proved it, since 
 none were admitted who had not some claim to good 
 birth above all, he wanted a friend, a confidant. And 
 as, in those days, there was scarcely any gulf between 
 the officers of the inferior grades and the soldiers them- 
 selves, Boussac was well fitted to be that friend and con- 
 fidant. Also he knew, he felt now, since the attack of 
 the evening, how insecure his own life was ; he recog- 
 nised that at any moment the little motherless child he 
 bore on his breast might be left alone unfriended in the 
 world. Suppose, for instance, he fell to-night in a sec- 
 ond attack, or ere he reached Paris, in a week, or a 
 month hence. Well ! a mousquetaire whose principal 
 duties were in Paris near the king's person would be a 
 friend worth having ! 
 
 So he told him his tale. 
 
 " My mother, a Protestant cavalier's daughter, was
 
 56 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 in Holland with her father after the execution of the 
 king. As you know, that country was full of refugees 
 from England. There she met my father, ' Captain St. 
 Georges.' But at that time De Vannes was out of favour 
 with the court; he was allied with the party of the 
 Fronde, also he was a Protestant. And I believe he was 
 ' Captain St. Georges,' I believe he was my mother's 
 husband." 
 
 " Always you ' believe,' monsieur. Surely there must 
 be proofs ! Your mother, what does she say ? " 
 
 " She died," went on St. Georges, " when I was two 
 years old suddenly of the plague that spread from Sar- 
 dinia to many parts of Europe. It was because of her 
 memory that I spared that fellow we have left behind 
 from the infected grave. I would not condemn him to 
 the death that robbed me of her." 
 
 " Therefore," exclaimed Boussac, "you gathered noth- 
 ing from her ! " 
 
 " Nothing. I cannot even remember her. Nay, 
 some more years had to pass ere I, growing up, knew that 
 my name was St. Georges. Then, as gradually intelli- 
 gence dawned, I learned from the man with whom I lived, 
 a Huguenot pastor at Montereau, that I had no mother, 
 and that my father was a soldier who could rarely find 
 time to come and see me. Nay, was not often in Paris, 
 and then not always able to make even so short a jour- 
 ney as that to Montereau. Yet," went on St. Georges, 
 meditatively, " he came sometimes, loaded with presents 
 for me which he brought in the coach, and passed the 
 day with us, being always addressed as Captain St 
 Georges by the pastor. Those were happy days, for he 
 was always kind and good to me, would walk out with 
 me hand in hand, would spend the day with me in the 
 Forest of Fontainebleau, hard by, and would talk about
 
 A REASON. 57 
 
 my future. Yet he was sad, too; his eyes would fill 
 with tears sometimes as he looked at me or stroked my 
 hair, and always he asked me if I would be a soldier as 
 he was. And always in reply I answered, 'Yes,' which 
 f seemed to please him. So I grew up, treated with more 
 and more respect mingled with affection from the pastor 
 as time went on ; and, also, I was now taught military 
 exercises and drilled in preparation for my future career. 
 But as the time went on my father came less and less, 
 though he never failed to send ample sums to provide 
 for my education and also for my pleasures. When I 
 asked the pastor why he never came near us, he said he 
 was occupied with his profession, that he was away in 
 the Palatinate with Turenne. Now, at that period, I 
 being then about eighteen, there came frequently to 
 Paris the story of all that was doing in the Palatinate 
 stories that made the blood run cold to hear. Stories of 
 villages and towns burnt, so that never more should that 
 region send forth enemies against Louis." 
 
 " They penetrated further than Paris and Mont6- 
 reau," interrupted Boussac, " ay, even to our out-of-the- 
 way part of France. And not only of villages and 
 towns burnt and destroyed, but of fathers and bread- 
 winners burnt in their beds, women ill treated, ruin 
 everywhere. There were those who said it was not 
 war, but rapine." 
 
 " And so I said," replied St. Georges ; " once even I 
 went so far as to say that I regretted that my father 
 followed so cruel and bloodthirsty a man as Turenne. 
 But the pastor stopped me, rose up in his chair in 
 anger, bade me never say another word against him 
 told me that I, of all alive, had least right to judge 
 him." 
 
 " But," exclaimed Boussac, " this does not show that 
 5
 
 58 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the duke was your father, monsieur. The worthy pastor 
 may have thought it wrong to encourage you in speak- 
 ing ill of one " 
 
 "Nay; listen," said St. Georges. "The year 1674 
 arrived, my twentieth year, when there came one night 
 my commission in the regiment the Nivernois. You 
 have perhaps never seen one of these documents, Bous- 
 sac, but you will ere long, I make no doubt, when your 
 own is made out for the Mousquetaires. Therefore, I 
 will tell you of its strange character and wording. It 
 was that the king, at the request of the Due de Vannes, 
 had been graciously pleased to appoint me to the posi- 
 tion of porte-drapeau in the Nivernois under De Mailly- 
 Sebret a brave man, now dead and that I was to join 
 it in Holland. I did so, and, from that day to this, have 
 prosecuted many inquiries as to why De Vannes should 
 have procured me that commission. But up to now I 
 have never received positive proof that he was my father 
 though still I do believe it." 
 
 "But why, why, why?" asked Boussac impatiently. 
 "A man must have some friend who obtains him his 
 presentation to a regiment even I had our grand 
 seigneur. And I never suspected him of being my 
 father ! " 
 
 " Doubtless you had no reason to do so. Yet, again, 
 listen. De Vannes was killed in 1G75 ; in the same year 
 a month before him died my old friend and pro- 
 tector the one man who had ever stood in the light of 
 a parent to me. His successor found among his papers 
 and chattels a packet addressed to me, and forwarded it 
 by a sure hand to Holland. When I opened it I found 
 therein a miniature of my mother though I should not 
 have known it was she had he not informed me of it 
 and also instructions that I should myself seek out the
 
 A REASON. 59 
 
 Due de Vannes at the first opportunity and boldly ask 
 him who my father was. ' For,' he wrote, ' he can tell 
 you if he will, and he ought in justice to tell you. I 
 would do so only the most solemn promise binds me to 
 keep silence a promise which, had I never given it, 
 would have stood in the way of my ever being to you all 
 that I have been of having my life cheered by you, my 
 dear, dear one.' I was preparing to seek the duke out, 
 had obtained leave to do so and to join Turenne in the 
 campaign, when, lo ! the news came that both he and 
 De Vannes were killed on the same day." 
 
 "And you know no more?" asked Boussac, as now 
 the plain was passed, and from the watch towers of 
 Chatillon they could hear the guard being changed. 
 And also, as they rode up to the gate, the challenge of 
 " Who comes there? " rang out on the frosty air. 
 
 Again the usual answer was given, " Chevau-Leger " 
 and " Mousquetaire," and then, while the bolts were 
 heard creaking harshly in their sockets as .the gate was 
 being opened for them, St. Georges turning to his com- 
 rade said, in answer to his last question : 
 
 " I know no more, though still my belief is fixed. 
 But, Boussac, she at whose manoir I am bidden to stay 
 at Troyes the Marquise de Roquemaure may be able 
 to enlighten me. She was, if all reports are true, be- 
 loved by De Vaunes once, and I have heard loved him. 
 Yet they never married perhaps because they were of 
 different faith and she instead married De Roque- 
 maure, De Vannes's cousin and heir. He left a son by 
 his first wife, who is now that heir in his place. Bous- 
 sac, does any light break in on -you now can you con- 
 ceive why I and my little darling asleep under my cloak 
 should run hourly, daily risks of assassination ay ! 
 even as to-night we have run them ? "
 
 60 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed Boussac, " yes. You stand 
 in the path of " 
 
 " Precisely. Hush ! See, the gate is open. "We may 
 enter." 
 
 The soldiers of the guard saluted St. Georges as he 
 rode in, followed by the mousquetaire, while the officer 
 of the night, after bowing politely to him, held out his 
 hand, as greeting to a comrade. 
 
 " Monsieur has had a cold journey, though fine 
 Heavens ! " he exclaimed, as he saw that the other had a 
 strange burden under his cloak, " what does monsieur 
 carry there ? " 
 
 "A harmless child," St. Georges said, while the men 
 of the garrison gathered round to peer at the little crea- 
 ture whose blue eyes were now staring at them in the 
 rays of the great lantern that swung over the gateway. 
 " My child, whose life would have been taken to-night 
 by five desperadoes had it not been for this honest mous- 
 quetaire who, by Heaven's providence, happened to be 
 riding my road." 
 
 From the soldiers around the newcomers some risen 
 half asleep from their wooden planks in the guard room, 
 some already on duty and with every sense awake to its 
 utmost there rose a murmur of indignation that was 
 not at all extinguished by Boussac's description of the 
 attack in the graveyard, and at the passes made more 
 than once at Dorine under his own guard and the clie- 
 vau-Uger's arm. 
 
 "Grand Dieu!" exclaimed the officer, "five men 
 attack two, and one burdened with a little child 
 under his arm. Of what appearance were these 
 assassins?" 
 
 St. Georges described them as well as he could 
 mentioning in particular the leader, who wore the bur-
 
 A REASON. 61 
 
 ganet, and the fellow who skulked outside the fight the 
 man who, the comrades knew, had brought the news 
 from Dijon that they were on the road. And then from 
 all who surrounded those fresh comers there arose a 
 hubbub, a babel of sound that drowned everything like 
 intelligible question or answer. 
 
 " A man who wore a burganet," one cried ; " a rusty 
 thing that would have disgraced the days of the Bear- 
 nais." " Fichte ! " hissed another, " you have come an 
 hour too late." " 'Twas but at midnight," exclaimed a 
 third, "that he rode through ten minutes of mid- 
 night. And, by good chance for him, it was to-night, 
 since 'tis the last of our New- Year carousals ; to-morrow 
 the town will be closed at dusk as usual." 
 
 " But where where is he gone ? " asked St. Georges. 
 
 " CorUeu ! " exclaimed the officer, " we had no right 
 to ask him, since both this and the other gates were 
 open. Yet, stay; has he left the town yet? It may be 
 not." 
 
 "Ay! but he has, though," exclaimed a boyish - 
 young officer who at this moment joined the group. 
 " In truth, he has. I was at the north gate as he clat- 
 tered up to it, calling out that he must go through. 
 ' And why the devil must you ? ' I asked, not liking the 
 fellow's tone, which sounded hollow enough through the 
 rusty iron pot on his head. * I have been attacked,' he 
 said ; ' nigh murdered by some ruffians, and am wounded. 
 I must get me home.' 'And where is your home?' I 
 asked. ' Beyond Bar,' he replied ; ' for Heaven's sake, 
 do not stop me ! ' Whereon," continued the young offi- 
 cer, " since I had no right whatever to prevent his exit, 
 I let him go, and 'a second afterward the clock struck 
 midnight, and we clapped the gate behind him. Yet, 
 ere that was done, I saw him spurring along the north
 
 62 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 road as though the devil, or a king's exempt, were after 
 him." 
 
 " The north road ! " St. Georges said in a low voice 
 to Boussac. "The north road! You hear? And the 
 north road leads to De Roquemaure's manoir." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 DRAWING NEAR. 
 
 Two days later, when again the wintry evening was 
 fast approaching, St. Georges, by now alone, drew near 
 to the ancient city of Troyes. So near, indeed, had he 
 arrived that its walls and fortifications were plainly 
 visible to him, and from its steeples the bells could be 
 heard, either chiming the hour or summoning the in- 
 habitants to evening worship. Beneath his cloak, as 
 ever, he bore his precious burden, who showed no signs 
 of being fatigued by the long journey she had made in 
 so rough a fashion, but often woke up and, thrusting 
 her little head from out the folds of the cloak, smiled 
 up into the face of her father. 
 
 He had parted with Boussac at Bar, leaving him there 
 surrounded by his comrades of two troops of the Mous- 
 quetaires Noirs, from whom he had received the joyful 
 intelligence that they were soon to move on to Paris, to 
 be quartered at Versailles, while two other troops of 
 the " Gris " were to replace them a piece of news that 
 had given St. Georges almost as much pleasure as it had 
 done to the other. For it seemed to him that, should 
 aught take him away from Paris when he had left the 
 child in the house of the Sieur Blecy in the Rue de
 
 DRAWING NEAR. 63 
 
 Timoleon, there was one faithful friend oil whom he 
 could rely to keep watch over it and see to its welfare. 
 
 " And be sure," said the mousquetaire, " that I will 
 do so. Monsieur St. Georges, we are friends now in 
 spite of our difference in military rank ; we have fought 
 side by side ; if you are not there to guard your child, I 
 shall be. Meanwhile, prosecute your inquiries as to 
 the rank and position ay, and the fortune ! you be- 
 lieve, is yours, and may the good God put you in the 
 right way ! Farewell, monsieur, and Heaven bless you ! 
 You know where I may be communicated with ; let me 
 know also where I may send to you," and he stooped 
 down and kissed the child ere he grasped the other's 
 hand as he prepared to mount his horse. 
 
 "Adieu," St. Georges said, "adieu, friend. You 
 helped me to save her life once. For that I thank you, 
 am bound to you forever. I pray Heaven that, if she 
 should need it, you may be by to do so again." Where- 
 on, with a farewell to his new friend and to several offi- 
 cers and men who had all testified as much interest in 
 him and his charge as those others had done at Chatil- 
 lon, he set forth once more upon another stage of his 
 journey. 
 
 Both at Chatillon and in Bar, which he was now 
 leaving behind, he and Boussac had spoken to those 
 whose duty it was to keep an eye to the safety of the 
 highroads, and had informed the captain of the mare- 
 chausse or mounted patrol of the highroads of the 
 attack that had been made on them. But this official 
 had only shrugged his shoulders and remarked that " it 
 was possible, very possible." 
 
 " Louvois," he said, " is responsible for all. Either 
 he denudes the country of men to send on his cam- 
 paigns, so that none are left to guard it, or, the cam-
 
 64 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 paigns being over, he pours back into it thousands of 
 disbanded soldiers who, for want of aught else to do, 
 become filous and spadassins. What would you ? And 
 according to your own account, monsieur, you and your 
 friend, the mousquetaire, could take good care of your- 
 selves." 
 
 " These were neither filous nor spadassins" replied 
 St. Georges, " or at least the leader was not. Oh ! that 
 I may meet him again, and when I am not encumbered 
 with a harmless child to protect ! " 
 
 " You know him, then, monsieur ? " 
 
 " No. And since he carefully disguised his face as 
 well as protected his head, I may not even assert that I 
 have ever seen him. But I suspect." 
 
 " Tell me the name of him you suspect, and I may 
 do something may call upon him to answer your 
 charge." 
 
 " Nay," replied St. Georges, " that cannot be. For 
 I must not tarry here ; I have the king's orders to ride 
 straight for my destination, halting no more than is 
 necessary ; and so, perforce, I must go on. But should 
 you hear of a man wearing an ancient burganet whose 
 appearance in your neighbourhood seems suspicious, and 
 who " remembering the description given by the man 
 they had gagged and left tied to the tree at Aignay-le- 
 Duc " is young, with a brown beard cropped close and 
 gray eyes, I pray you question him as to his doings two 
 nights ago. It may save your roads from further bri- 
 gandage, and should you confine him for any length 
 of time his life from my sword. For, I promise you, 
 if ever I encounter him again, and am sure of my man, 
 he shall not escape a second time." 
 
 " Mon Dieu!" replied the captain of the mare- 
 chausse, " if he falls into our hands I will warrant him
 
 DRAWING NEAR. 65 
 
 against your sword. If we can but bring his attack on 
 you at Aignay-le-Duc home to him, it will be the wheel 
 and not the sword with which he will find his account." 
 
 " So best. Yet I doubt your catching him, and 
 must believe and hope the punishment he deserves shall 
 reach him through my hand. If it is he whom I think, 
 he is of high position." 
 
 " Many of high position have come to the wheel 
 when in our grip," said the fierce old captain, a man 
 who had followed his trade under Conde. " Ma foil 
 we have great' powers, we of the marechausse, and for 
 brigandage on the king's highway we use those powers 
 swiftly. Poof ! If we catch him and bring his vaga- 
 bondage home to him, he will be broken all to pieces 
 before his position is of any avail." 
 
 So in this frame of mind St. Georges left the old 
 man, and now, as night drew on, he neared Troyes. 
 
 All day he had pondered on the meeting that was 
 before him on the fact that he was about to encounter 
 the woman who had once loved so dearly the man he 
 believed to be his father. For, that he would meet her, 
 stand face to face with her, he supposed was certain. 
 She would scarce let an officer of the chevaux-Ugers 
 stay in her house sent there by the king's orders and 
 not summon him to her presence. Moreover, did he 
 not go there, as that evil-seeming bishop had said, so 
 that he might also hear a word possessing great signifi- 
 cance to both the king and his minister? A word of 
 similar import to the one the bishop had himself sent ! 
 
 " Yet," he pondered, as now the hum from the busy 
 old city reached his ears and he saw its smoke rising in 
 the evening air, " yet, does she know who I am, whom 
 I believe myself to be ? Ha ! " as a thought struck him, 
 " how else should it be? If De Roquemaure, her son, or
 
 C6 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 stepson, knows, then she must know too. And and 
 does she, too, wish me dead and you you, also, my 
 darling," with a pressure of his arm against his burden, 
 " as well ? Mon Dieu ! If that is so, then it is to the 
 lion's jaws I am going in entering this manoir of hers. 
 No matter ! I will do it. It is in the king's name I 
 present myself ; let us see who dares assault his messen- 
 ger. And," he muttered fiercely to himself, "if her 
 whelp, De Koquemaure, is the man with the brown 
 beard the man whose voice I shall know in a thousand, 
 although it reached me before through iron bars he 
 shall have one more chance at my life in spite of his 
 lady mother." And he clinched his white teeth as he 
 reflected thus. 
 
 Knowing what he did, namely, that "the whelp, De 
 Koquemaure," as he had termed him, was heir in a year 
 or two to De Vannes's great fortune, and coupling with 
 that fact that he and his child had been attacked in a 
 neighbourhood at no great distance from Troyes, he had 
 begun on his solitary ride this day to speculate as to 
 whether the whole of his journey, his sudden summons 
 from Pontarlier to Paris, was not some deeply devised 
 plot to remove him out of existence. For, although he 
 had long suspected who and what he was, might it not 
 be the case that those in whose light he stood had only 
 recently learned that such was the case ? And, if such 
 were the fact, what a revelation, what a blow, such 
 knowledge would- be to them ! They had doubtless 
 long looked forward to the enjoyment of the Due de 
 Vannes's wealth ; if they had now discovered that the 
 possession of that wealth might be disputed, what more 
 likely than that they should endeavour to remove for 
 ever from their path the two himself and his child 
 who could so dispute it with them?
 
 DRAWING NEAR. 67 
 
 " Yet," he had mused all through that day, " how 
 know it since I, of all people, have no certain knowl- 
 edge ; how, above all, learn that their opportunity had 
 come ? How know that I who stand between them and 
 their greed should pass upon their way, come across 
 their path? Bah ! " he finally exclaimed, " it is a coin- 
 cidence that I should so travel their road, seek shelter 
 in the house that my father's heir dwells in. It may be 
 that when I see this young De Roquemaure he shall in 
 no way resemble that night assassin who attacked me ; 
 it may be that his mother no more dreams that she is 
 about to see the son of the man she loved than that she 
 will ever see him again in life." 
 
 Yet, even as he so decided, he knew that there was 
 more than coincidence in it. He knew that those who 
 had attacked him and Boussac at Aignay-le-Duc were 
 more than common bravos. Otherwise the child's life 
 would not have been sought as fiercely as his own ; the 
 spy, whomsoever he might be, would not have ridden 
 so many leagues from Dijon to carry the news of his 
 approach. 
 
 Therefore, in spite of his attempted dismissal of all 
 his doubts and suspicions, he resolved that, above all, he 
 would be cautious as regarded one thing his child. 
 She, at least, was under no orders to seek shelter in the 
 manoir; the roof that covered this marquise and her 
 stepson should never be slept under by Dorine. 
 
 " All women's hearts," he murmured, " go out to my 
 motherless babe, strangers though they be. There must 
 be many such in this old city, and one such I will 
 find. If as God help me ! I must suppose, this she- 
 wolf and her husband's son seek our lives, at least 
 they shall get no chance at hers. The mistress of a 
 common inn, a warder's wife, will keep her in greater
 
 68 IN" THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 safety than she may be under the roof-tree of madame 
 la marquise." 
 
 The gates of Troyes were not yet shut the city hav- 
 ing too much traffic with the outlying hamlets to permit 
 of their being closed early so that St. Georges rode in 
 without any formalities beyond replying to the usual 
 questions as to who he was and what was his business, 
 and, passing slowly into the quaint streets, soon came to 
 a great auberge which looked as though suitable for 
 the purpose he required, a shelter for the child. In the 
 vast kitchen, or hall, through whose diamond-paned 
 windows he could see perfectly, he perceived a young 
 bare-armed woman cooking at a large fireplace, while 
 around her at wooden tables sat the usual company of 
 such places men drinking in groups or eating from 
 platters which another woman brought from the first 
 and set before them. So he rode in under the great 
 gateway and called loudly for an hostler to come. 
 
 At his summons a man came forth who, seeing his 
 soldierlike appearance, asked if he desired to rest there 
 for the night, and stated at the same time that the inn 
 was very full. 
 
 " That may be so," replied St. Georges, " yet, per- 
 haps, not so full but that a child can be sheltered here 
 for one night. See, friend," he continued, opening his 
 cloak, " I bear one here who has been carried far by me. 
 Think you the hostess will give her protection ? She 
 needs a good bed sorely." 
 
 As it always was to the credit of humanity the 
 sight of the little helpless thing sleeping on its father's 
 arm roused this man's sympathy as it had roused that 
 of all others. 
 
 "Ma foil" he said, stooping to gaze at it as it 
 lay on that arm, " a rude cradle for la petite. Yet
 
 DRAWING NEAR. 69 
 
 there is no hostess ; the landlord's wife is dead. And 
 why why do you leave it? Why not stay your- 
 self?" 
 
 " I have to present myself to the Marquise de Roque- 
 maure at her manoir. Where is that manoir ? Heaven 
 grant I have not passed it on the road ! " 
 
 " Half a league outside the city to the north, on 
 the Paris road. If you have come from the south, you 
 have not passed it." 
 
 " So ! It is from the south I come. Now, quick, 
 can I leave the child here in safety ? " 
 
 " I will see. Wait." And he went away toward 
 the kitchen, leaving St. Georges standing by his horse 
 easing its saddle, and then holding a bucket of water, 
 which he had picked up, to its thirsty mouth with his 
 disengaged hand. 
 
 Presently the man came back, followed by one "of 
 the young women whom St. Georges had seen waiting 
 on the company a dark girl with her arms bare a girl 
 whose face looked kind and honest. And again with 
 her, as with the others, her heart went out to the little 
 child in the great man's arms. The sense of helpless- 
 ness, of dependence on so unusual a nurse, touched all 
 those hearts, especially feminine ones. 
 
 Briefly as might be he explained to her what it was 
 he required a night's shelter for and watchfulness over 
 the child, he having to visit the Manoir de Roquemaure. 
 Also, he said, he would come back early in the morning 
 to fetch it away. 
 
 " If," said the girl, a little hesitatingly, for she was 
 but a waitress at the inn, " monsieur will intrust the 
 child to me it is a pretty thing, and see see how 
 tired it is ! how it yawns ! then I will do my best. It 
 may sleep with me, and I am used to children. I have
 
 70 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 several little sisters whom I saw to after my mother's 
 death and before I took service." 
 
 "I will intrust it to you most thankfully," St. 
 Georges replied. "Your face is honest, my girl, and 
 true." 
 
 So telling her, as he had told others on his road, 
 that the child was motherless he kissed it, and bade it 
 good-night, saying inwardly, as he ever said when he 
 parted from it, a little prayer that God would guard 
 and have it in his keeping, and so let the waitress take 
 it away. But, because something told him he was in a 
 dangerous neighbourhood, he impressed upon her that 
 she should in no way leave it more than was absolutely 
 necessary ; above all, he begged her and the hostler, who 
 was a witness to the proceedings, to remember that they 
 need say nothing about a child having been left in her 
 care. And they, with many protestations that they 
 would not chatter, assured him that he need be under 
 no apprehension. 
 
 " I take my rest," the girl said, " at the close of day. 
 The child shall not leave me till I rise at dawn, nor, 
 indeed, until monsieur returns. I promise." 
 
 Then he let her go away with it, and busied himself 
 next with his horse, seeing that it was rubbed down and 
 freshened with a feed. "For," said he, patting its 
 flank, " you have another league to do, my friend, ere 
 your rest comes." And the animal being refreshed, he 
 gave the hostler a piece of silver as earnest of more in 
 the morning if he found he had not been chattering, 
 and so made for the North Gate. 
 
 "And now," he said to himself as he passed out, 
 " for the house of the woman De Vannes loved, the 
 house of the man who, I believe, thirsts for my life and 
 the life of my child."
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 71 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 
 
 " La plus cruellc dc toutes les voies par laquclle lo roi fut instruit 
 bien des annees fut celle de 1'ouverture des lettres. II est incroyable 
 combien des gens de toutes les sortes en furent plus ou moins perdus." 
 
 St. Simon. 
 
 A FORTNIGHT before St. Georges had set out upon 
 his long and, as it had already proved, hazardous ride 
 from Pontarlier to Paris, four men were busily em- 
 ployed in a small, neatly furnished cabinet at Versailles 
 a little apartment that partook more of the appear- 
 ance of a bureau, or office, than aught else. 
 
 Two were seated at a table facing each other; be- 
 hind each of these was one of the others, who handed 
 them papers rapidly drawn from portfolios which they 
 carried. Of the men who were seated, the one with his 
 hat on and wearing a costume of brown velvet because 
 already the days were very cold was Louis the Four- 
 teenth ; the other, whose manner was extremely rough 
 and coarse indeed brutal, except when addressing the 
 king himself was Louvois, the Minister of War, osten- 
 sibly, but in reality the one minister who had his fin- 
 gers in all the business of the state. Those standing 
 behind each of the others were Pajot and Rouillier, who 
 farmed the postal service from the crown. 
 
 " Finissons" said Louis, in the low clear voice that 
 expressed, according to all reports, more authority than 
 even the trumpet tones of many of his great command- 
 ers finissons. The morning wears away. What re- 
 mains to be done ? " Then in a rich murmur he said : 
 " It has not been too interesting to-day. My subjects 
 are losing the art of letter-writing."
 
 72 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 On the table there lay five large portfolios bound in 
 purple, leather and impressed with a crown and the let- 
 ters L. E. Also upon each was stamped a description 
 of its contents. On one was inscribed, in French of 
 course, " Letters opened at the Post " ; another " Con- 
 duct of Princes and Lords"; a third bore upon it 
 " Private Life of Bishops and Prelates " ; a fourth, 
 " Private Life of Ecclesiastics " ; and the fifth, " Ileport 
 of the Lieutenant of the Police." 
 
 Furnished thus with these five reports, which reached 
 his august hands and were inspected weekly by his au- 
 gust eyes, Louis considered that the whole of his sub- 
 jects' existences were, if not known to him, at least 
 very likely at some period or other to come under his 
 supervision. What he did not know, however, was that 
 Louvois, who was the originator of the odious system of 
 opening letters sent through the post, did not always 
 show to him those epistles which came first into his 
 own hands. Therefore in this case, as in many others 
 before and after the days of Louis le Dieudonne, the 
 valet was a greater man than his master. 
 
 It was the case now-^as it had often been ! the 
 king had seen some threescore letters marked with the 
 senders' names or initials ; and there was one he had 
 not seen. 
 
 He seemed a little weary this morning nay, had he 
 not been so great a king, as well as a man who had 
 almost every impulse under control, it would almost 
 have appeared that he was a little irritated at the con- 
 tents of the first portfolio, that one inscribed " Letters 
 opened at the Post." " For," he continued, after des- 
 canting on the art of letter-writing which his subjects 
 appeared to have lost, " the responsibility given to the 
 masters of our royal post seems to me, my good Louvois,
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 73 
 
 to be greater than their minds provincial in most 
 cases appear able to sustain. They mark letters from 
 the local seigneurs as worthy of perusal by us in Paris 
 ere being forwarded to their destination, which, in truth, 
 are barren of interest. To wit," he went on, with that 
 delicate irony for which he was noted, " we have opened 
 fifty-five letters, and in not one of them is there the 
 slightest hint of even murmuring against our royal au- 
 thority, no suggestion of resisting our, or the seigniorial, 
 imposts, not even the faintest suggestion of an attack 
 against our royal person. They are harmless, and con- 
 sequently wearisome." 
 
 " I regret," replied Louvois, softening his raucous 
 voice to the tones absolutely necessary when addressing 
 Louis, " that your Majesty finds the system so barren of 
 interest. But, I may with all deference suggest, per- 
 haps, that it has one gratifying result. All these letters 
 are from the most important persons among your 
 Majesty's subjects, yet there is, as your Majesty observes, 
 no one word hostile to your rule or sacred person. The 
 system rny system testifies at least to that agreeable 
 fact." 
 
 " Yes," replied the king, in the calm, unruffled voice, 
 " it testifies to that. You are right. What else is there 
 to do?" 
 
 " But little, your Majesty. Yet, with your permis- 
 sion, something. May I also suggest that Monsieur 
 Pajot and the Vicomte de Rouillier may retire ? " 
 
 Louis signified by a bend of his head that they 
 might do so, whereon the two " farmers," after pro- 
 found obeisances, left the room, and the king and his 
 minister again applied themselves to the work before 
 them. 
 
 It was of a multifarious nature, since it dealt with 
 6
 
 74 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the contents of each of the portfolios, exclusive of the 
 first the one whose contents had been so barren of 
 interest to the king, and which contents would never 
 now arrive at their destination in spite of his Majesty's 
 remark about their being forwarded on. For, since the 
 seals and thread had necessarily to be broken ere those 
 contents could be perused, it would be impossible to 
 send them on to those to whom they were addressed. 
 But what became of them instead, probably Louvois 
 only knew. It may be that they were put away care- 
 fully, to be brought out years afterward, if needed, and 
 when their present harmless contents might, in the 
 movement of time, have altered their nature and have 
 become, if not damning, at least compromising. 
 
 Taking up the second portfolio, marked " Conduct 
 of Princes and Lords," Louvois extracted one paper and 
 read out briefly : " The young Count de Quince has 
 eloped with Mademoiselle le Brun, daughter of a rich 
 mercer in Guise. Her brother, attempting to stop the 
 carriage in which they were setting out for Paris, was 
 slain by the count's body-servant." After reading which, 
 Louvois looked up at his master. 
 
 "Write," said Louis in reply, "that De Quince is 
 not to enter Paris. He is to be arrested at the gate and 
 taken to the Bastille. There he will be judged. Pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 Selecting from the third portfolio two papers, Lou- 
 vois went on : " The Bishop of Beauvais referred in a 
 sermon, delivered three weeks ago, to the birth of 
 Madame de Maintenon in the prison of Niort, and 
 pointed a moral as to how " 
 
 " One may rise by good works," interrupted the king. 
 " The bishop is indiscreet, but truthful. Let it pass. 
 Proceed."
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 75 
 
 " The Grand Prior of Chavagnac entertains daily in 
 Paris many courtesans at his table." 
 
 " Write that he retires at once to his priory. If he 
 refuses, arrest him and bring him before me. Above all, 
 the Church must be kept pure. Continue." 
 
 The work was done, however, since Louvois informed 
 the king that the contents of the fourth and fifth port- 
 folios scarcely needed his attention. Yet, since he knew 
 that Louis would not be satisfied without himself seeing 
 the reports which they contained, he rose, and, bringing 
 each in its turn to the king, placed it before him. 
 
 " So," his Majesty said, when he had glanced at 
 them, ".our morning's work is done and easily done. 
 The reports are meagre, and, in the latter cases, deal 
 with persons better left to the magistrates. Now," 
 as a clock above the mantelpiece struck eleven, " I am 
 expected," and he rose from the table as though to 
 depart. 
 
 "There are a few papers requiring your Majesty's 
 signature," the minister said, "though none of great 
 importance. Will your Majesty please to sign ? " 
 
 " Let me see them," and, as before, the papers were 
 placed before the king for him to read ere affixing his 
 signature. 
 
 He glanced at each ere he did so, but, since he al- 
 ready knew their purport, made no remark as he signed, 
 until, at last, he came to one addressed to " Monsieur 
 Georges St. Georges, Lieutenant des Chevaux-Legers de 
 Nivernois, en garnison a Pontarlier," when he stopped 
 and began to read it all through ; while Louvois, pre- 
 tending to be busy at some other papers, watched him 
 stealthily from under his eyebrows. 
 
 " Georges St. Georges," he said at last " Georges St. 
 Georges I recall the name and that I ordered this let-
 
 76 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 ter to be prepared last week. Repeat the circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Your Majesty will remember that this gentleman's 
 commission was obtained from you by the late Due de 
 Vannes, and that you ordered me to watch his career, 
 and, when the time came, to recommend him to you for 
 promotion, should he have proved himself worthy of it." 
 
 " I remember, although it was some time ago. And 
 also that a month or so ago you told me the time had 
 come for such promotion, and that, therefore, he should 
 be ordered to come to Paris. But, my good Louvois, you 
 have here given orders to Monsieur St. Georges to partic- 
 ularly quarter himself upon the Bishop of Lodve, now 
 at Dijon, upon the Marquise de Roquemaure at Troyes, 
 and, at Melun, upon Monsieur de Riverac. I remember 
 no instructions of that nature, nor do I see any necessity 
 for them. Why should not this officer stay at any inn ? 
 Others have had to do so. Why not he? " 
 
 " Again," replied Louvois, once more glancing fur- 
 tively at his master, " I have to remind your Majesty 
 that, by issuing these orders to Monsieur St. Georges, 
 we are utilizing him as a special courier on behalf of 
 your Majesty, and that he is one who can be trusted 
 since he has no opportunity of betraying us. We desire 
 to know from Phelypeaux the bishop whether the 
 riots in Languedoc are to be feared or not ; whether, in- 
 deed, it is necessary quietly to put into that neighbour- 
 hood any more regiments. St. Georges will bring the 
 word, * Yes,' or ' No.' Far better that, your Majesty, 
 than any letter. Also we desire to know whether in 
 Champagne, and especially in Troyes, the capital of the 
 department, the Flemings from the north and the Lor- 
 rainers from the east are still endeavouring to stir them 
 to revolt. And who better than the Marquise de Roque-
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 77 
 
 maure to send us the word, the one word, 'Yes' or 
 ' No ' ? A fervent loyalist, your Majesty, and devoted to 
 your royal interests." 
 
 " Ay," the king said, " a fervent loyalist." Then, 
 after musing a moment, he said: "'Twas strange she 
 never married De Vannes ; all thought she loved him in 
 those far-off days. And, del! Hortense de Foy was 
 handsome enough to suit any man's taste. I see her 
 now as she was then, beautiful as the morning. Why, 
 I wonder, did she marry De Vannes's cousin and friend, 
 Roquemaure, instead of him ? " 
 
 Louvois shrugged his shoulders though as respect- 
 fully as a man must perform such an action before a su- 
 perior then he said with a slight and also respectful 
 smile, the smile of the dependent : 
 
 " Your Majesty's royal ancestor said, ' Souvent femme 
 varied That may explain why Mademoiselle de Foy 
 married one man, when the world, when even your 
 Majesty," with subtle flattery, " thought she loved an- 
 other." 
 
 " My ancestor knew what he was talking about when 
 he discussed womankind," Louis remarked. " Well, 
 perhaps his saying explains the caprices of Hortense. 
 I have not seen her for years. She rests ever in her pro- 
 vincial manoir. It may be she has changed much her 
 beauty vanished." 
 
 " If so, your Majesty, at least she has transmitted it 
 to her daughter. I have seen Mademoiselle de Roque- 
 maure, and she is beautiful as ever her mother could 
 have been. She was the guest of Madame de Chevreuse 
 last summer." 
 
 " I would I had seen her, too. She would have re- 
 called Hortense de Foy as she was in her youth ; per- 
 haps," with what seemed to the wily minister something
 
 78 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 like a sigh, " my own youth, too." Then changing his 
 tone back to his ordinary one, he asked : " There is a son, 
 the present Marquis de Koquemaure; why does he so 
 rarely come to court ? " 
 
 " He thinks, your Majesty, of but two things : first, 
 the inheritance of the Due de Vannes, of which, through 
 his father, he is the heir on arriving at his thirtieth 
 year ; and, secondly, of his horses and hounds. But when 
 he has attained his majority and has the duke's for- 
 tune, he proposes to present himself to your Majesty. 
 And " 
 
 The speaker was interrupted by a scratching at the 
 door, which brought a smile to both their faces, while 
 Louis, starting up from his chair, exclaimed : 
 
 " del! It is the half hour, and Malice is hungry " ; 
 and, thrusting his hand into the pocket of his velvet 
 coat, he produced come crumbs of cake, which he pre- 
 sented to a little spaniel that rushed in and leaped about 
 him as Louvois opened the door.* Then, turning to 
 the minister, he said : 
 
 "Write to the Marquis de Roquemaure that the 
 king desires his company at court for the fetes of the 
 Epiphany. Also write that he desires that Mademoi- 
 selle de Roquemaure shall accompany her brother, as the 
 king's guests. I would see this beautiful offshoot of so 
 fair a woman as her mother was," and, bending his head, 
 he advance'd toward the door, followed by Malice. But 
 as he was about to leave the room, Louvois observed 
 with great humility that "doubtless his Majesty had 
 omitted, forgotten in his royal recollections of other 
 days, that the letter to Monsieur St. Georges, the trust- 
 
 * " lie roi donner & manger & scs chiens toujours soi-meme."- 
 La Fare, St. Simon, and others.
 
 A ROYAL SUMMONS. 79 
 
 worthy officer who would bring the word from the 
 Bishop of Lodeve, and from the Marquise de Roque- 
 maure, was still unsigned." . 
 
 " Ah ! Monsieur St. Georges," exclaimed the king ; 
 and taking up the pen he wrote his name at the bottom 
 of the last sheet, leaving ro6m only for Louvois to un- 
 dersign it. Then, with many bows from the minister 
 and amid the salutes of the two sentinels outside in the 
 corridor, he passed to Madame de Maintenon's rooms, 
 accompanied by the little spaniel. 
 
 Left alone by himself, Louvois worked at his papers 
 for two hours unceasingly, reading some that were al- 
 ready written, signing and undersigning others among 
 the latter the one to the Lieutenant St. Georges and 
 destroying some. Also, he directed much correspond- 
 ence with the marshals and generals commanding in 
 various parts of France working at this with two sec- 
 retaries whom he summoned. But at last all his volu- 
 minous despatches were finished, closed up, and directed 
 to the different persons for whom they were intended, 
 some to go by the king's couriers and some by the royal 
 post. And among all the correspondence which went 
 forth that night from the minister were two letters, one 
 of which was addressed to the officer commanding the 
 Regiment de Nivernois at Pontarlier, and containing 
 those instructions for St. Georges which bade him repair 
 forthwith to Paris. The other was directed to the Mar- 
 quis de Roquemaure, at his manoir near Troyes, and was 
 as follows : 
 
 " He sets out for Paris the last day of the year or the 
 first of the new one. He may take his child with him. 
 He is ordered to rest at Phelypeaux's, at madame your 
 mother's, and at De Riverac's."
 
 80 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 That was all, the letter containing neither date nor 
 signature. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MADAME LA MARQUISE. 
 
 "A MANOIR !" exclaimed St. Georges, as he halted 
 his horse in front of the place. " More like a fort ! 
 Mon Dieu ! Madame is well installed." 
 
 She was, indeed, judging by the building which now 
 rose before him from the side of the road along which 
 he had come. Unapproached by any path, unsurronnded 
 by any out-towers or fortalices, the Manoir of lioque- 
 maure raised a great stone wall or rampart to the road ; 
 a wall almost blank on this side of windows with the 
 exception of some arrow-slits, and at either end of it 
 one looking south, the other north two tourelles, pene- 
 trated also with oittets at regular distances from each 
 other ; and by each tourelle, on its outer side, a small, 
 high door of antique, Fra^ois Premier style, or even 
 older, through which a mounted man might ride. Doors 
 shut fast on this wintry night, and with no sign of life 
 at either doorways or loopholes, except in so far as a 
 great lantern, swinging on a rope above one of the for- 
 mer and emitting its dull rays, might be said to testify 
 to the place being inhabited. 
 
 " More like a fort ! " again exclaimed St. Georges as 
 he regarded the almost blank wall, " far more ; yet, un- 
 less I am spied on and watched from within, not over- 
 well guarded, though I presume my lady has no foes to 
 guard against. Well, here's for it," and advancing his 
 horse to the doorway he reached out his hand, took the
 
 MADAME LA MARQUISE. 81 
 
 horn that hung on a chain close by, and sounded some 
 notes. Then, while waiting for an answer to his sum- 
 mons, he backed his horse into the middle of the road 
 which bulged out semicircularly in front of the long 
 building, and observed it carefully. "A grim, hard 
 place," he said to himself, regarding it under the rays 
 of the young moon that was now stronger and clearer 
 than when it had shed its feeble rays over the hamlet of 
 Aignay-le-Duc, " and my enemy's stronghold, or I am 
 mistaken. A place in which a man when once en- 
 trapped might find it difficult to fight his way out of. 
 No exit but those doors at either side a cat could hardly 
 slip through the arrow-slits ! and all along beyond 
 either side a wide moat, with palisades on the inner 
 bank. Humph ! "Well, let us see. If my friend in the 
 burganet, or volant-piece, or whatever he terms his rusty 
 headdress, is here, the fight will be inside. So, so! 
 May the end of it be as the other was ! I am at least 
 forearmed." 
 
 As he mused thus firm, determined, and cool, and 
 fearing not to enter this grim abode, since she whom he 
 loved more than his life was safe in the city half a league 
 away he heard the locks being turned in the doorway 
 and saw the door open, doubtless after he had been re- 
 garded from the grille high up in it. Then a man 
 appeared in the open space and, shading his eyes with 
 his hands, looked out at the cavalier sitting there on his 
 horse a man dressed as a servitor in some dark mate- 
 rial, elderly, and with upon his head the serving-man's 
 wig known as la brigadiere. Behind him there stood 
 another almost a boy, and also evidently a servant. 
 
 " What," he asked, " may monsieur desire ? He 
 summons the house somewhat late." 
 
 " To obey the order of his Majesty the king to wait
 
 82 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSFTY. 
 
 upon Madame la Marquise de Roquemaure. Say to her, 
 if she be in her house, that Monsieur St. Georges, of the 
 Chevaux-Legers of Nivernois, has come by order of the 
 king to attend upon madame as he passes on his way to 
 Paris from Pontarlier." 
 
 The man bowed as he heard the words " by order of 
 the king " ; then he said he would carry his message. 
 Would monsieur -be so good as to wait until he re- 
 turned? And monsieur answering that he would do so, 
 the other withdrew, leaving the door open, and the 
 younger servant standing in it, regarding St. Georges, 
 who still continued to cast his eyes over the ancient pile. 
 
 Presently the man came back and said : 
 
 "Madame la marquise bids me say that any one 
 ordered to visit her by his Majesty is welcome. Will 
 monsieur be good enough to enter ? Monsieur doubt- 
 less stops the night a room shall be at his service. 
 Madame and her daughter sup half an hour later ; she 
 trusts monsieur will honour her by joining the repast." 
 
 " Her daughter ! " exclaimed St. Georges ; " she has 
 a daughter ! Indeed ! " Then remembering himself, 
 he replied : " Make my compliments to madame and say 
 that I will join her. Yet, my friend, excuse me to her, 
 too, for the manner in which I shall appear before her. 
 I have ridden far in rough weather ; I am scarce pre- 
 sentable." 
 
 "Madame will understand," the servitor answered 
 respectfully. " As will Mademoiselle Aurelie. Gas- 
 ton," to the younger servant, " take monsieur's horse." 
 
 " And," said St. Georges, " be very attentive to it, I 
 pray you. No soldier ever had a better or a truer one." 
 He would have liked to see it fed and littered down 
 himself, but could hardly insist on doing so ; therefore 
 though he feared he was in the house of a deadly
 
 MADAME LA MARQUISE. 83 
 
 enemy ! he was forced to let the trusty creature, the 
 animal on whose fleetness and strength not only his 
 journey, but maybe his life depended be taken away 
 to some unknown stable. 
 
 " Have no fear, monsieur," said the old man. " Gas- 
 ton loves animals better than his own kind. Even 
 though you were his most hated foe, your beast would 
 be sacred to him." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," replied St. Georges, as the 
 youth, with a smile, led the horse away. Then to him- 
 self he said, " I only hope that, should he know I am 
 his master's enemy, he will be equally good to it ! " 
 
 And now, as he followed the old man it was revealed 
 to him how inappropriate was the name of manoir to 
 this place, it having indeed been, if it was no longer 
 altogether so, a strongly fortified residence, and doubt- 
 less had served as such in bygone ages. An outer court 
 led into a second or inner one, which seemed to con- 
 stitute a hall, since it was roofed and more or less 
 furnished. On the walls hung arms of all kinds, both 
 ancient and of the period of the day, and ranging from 
 battle-axes, maces and two-handled swords, boar-spears, 
 halberds, and crossbows to more modern rapiers, pikes, 
 musketoons, pistols, and blunderbusses.' Also about this 
 court or hall there was much armour, plate, mail, both 
 gambeson and chain, and many headpieces, gantlets, 
 shields, etc. 
 
 " Doubtless," thought St. Georges as he followed the 
 old man past all these and up a broad staircase leading 
 to the first floor ; " it was from this choice armoury that 
 my friend of the burganet drew his protection. Faith ! 
 he had enough to choose from ! " 
 
 Escorted along a passage on this flight, the old man 
 showed him into a room comfortably furnished as a
 
 84 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 sleeping apartment vastly different from that of Phely- 
 peaux at Dijon and informed him that he would re- 
 turn later, in a quarter of an hour, to escort him to the 
 presence of madame la marquise, who would receive 
 him for supper after which and having proffered his 
 services as valet, which St. Georges said he had no need 
 for, he left the room. 
 
 The toilet made by the cavalier was necessarily short, 
 since a soldier en route in those days had to depend 
 upon any attentions to his appearance which he might 
 be able to pay by whatever opportunities came in his 
 way. There were, however, in this room all the articles 
 generally to be found in a country house of the time a 
 large metal basin and ewer of fresh water, some brushes, 
 and a mirror and with these he was able to attend to 
 his hands, face, and hair, to remove some of the stains 
 of travel from his clothes and long brown boots, and to 
 make himself sufficiently presentable. At first, because 
 he was a gentleman and could not suppose that treachery 
 might be intended him, at least before ladies, he had 
 thought to leave his sword behind, but a second reflec- 
 tion prompted him to take it with him. It was true no 
 attack was likely to be made while he sat at meat with 
 the woman whose hospitality he was receiving, but a 
 sword, he reflected, was part of a soldier's dress and 
 therefore not out of place, and it was, perhaps, not 
 safe to leave it behind ! 
 
 Having decided thus and the servitor not being yet 
 returned, he made a slight inspection of his room, as 
 became one who was in a stranger's house, and that 
 stranger a person whose friendliness toward him might 
 if he knew as much as he suspected of his history 
 be doubtful. The room itself was a fairly large one, 
 hung with tapestry representing, as he supposed, scenes
 
 MADAME LA MARQUISE. 85 
 
 from the ancient romancists, and lit by a window let 
 into the upper part of the wall, so high up that no one 
 could see out of it except by standing on the table. Of 
 . doors he could perceive no other but the one by which 
 he had entered ; nor on the floor, which was of polished 
 wood or parquet, was there any sign that entrance could 
 be made thereby such entrance being a not uncommon 
 thing in ancient houses of the type of this manoir. On 
 the walls, let in between the tapestry and either lightly 
 fastened to the panelling or painted thereon, were two 
 full-length pictures one of a man in full armour with 
 his visor up and showing a stern, heavily mustached 
 face ; the other of a young woman in antique costume. 
 
 Satisfied by this inspection made as best might be 
 by the feeble rays of the lamp which the old man had 
 left behind for his use St. Georges sat down upon the 
 chair by the bed and waited for the servitor to come 
 and escort him to his hostess, and meditated a little 
 anxiously, perhaps on what his interview with her and 
 her daughter might bring forth. 
 
 " Is she, I wonder," he thought, " the she-wolf I 
 have pictured her to myself as being ? Does she know, 
 for truth, who and what I am who and what I believe 
 myself to be ? She may ! It may indeed be so. If all 
 reports are true that I have been able to gather and 
 piece together in my remote life, far away from Paris 
 and the world, she loved De Vannes once was his affi- 
 anced wife. What may she not therefore have known 
 of his past ? May know that I stand between this son 
 of her husband and his desire, his succession; may 
 stand, indeed, between her and the enjoyment for her 
 lifetime of what her husband would have enjoyed had 
 he lived. And more far more does she know of the 
 attack on me three nights ago ? Did she encourage
 
 86 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 perhaps prompt that attack? I must watch her, 
 study her for myself ! The time is at hand, surely." 
 
 It was, indeed, for at that moment a knocking at 
 the door told him that the old man had come back for 
 him. And so he went forth, prepared to meet his 
 hostess. 
 
 His conductor led him down the great stairs and 
 back into the great hall ; then he knocked at a door on 
 the left, and, on being bidden to enter, opened the door 
 and ushered St. Georges into the room. 
 
 A room large and vast, hung with great tapestries 
 representing heie battle and hunting scenes with, at 
 the end, a great oriel window over which more tapestry 
 was drawn, but beneath which could be seen the brack- 
 ets, or corbels, supporting it. Near this was the great 
 marble chimney-piece, the jambs richly carved with 
 figures, the mantel six feet from the floor, and in the 
 grate a huge wood fire burning. And by a table in 
 front of this there sat, as he saw by the light of a large 
 clear lamp, two women, one almost old and the other 
 young. 
 
 Coming in out of the -sombre hall, the light of the 
 fire and lamp dazzled him so that at first he could see 
 nothing beyond the fact that they were two female 
 forms which rose at his entrance ; then, while he ad- 
 vanced to meet them as they came forward, he heard a 
 soft voice say : 
 
 " Monsieur St. Georges visits on behalf of his Maj- 
 esty. He is very welcome. Monsieur, let me present 
 you to my daughter, Mademoiselle de Roquemaure." 
 
 In the instant that he was bowing with easy grace 
 before them, and while they in their turn observed the 
 tall, gallant form of the soldier, his long, curling hair, 
 long mustaches, and somewhat weather-worn riding
 
 MADAME LA MARQUISE. 87 
 
 dress, there flashed through his mind the thought: 
 " Can this be the she-wolf who sends her whelp forth 
 to midnight murder? Can she have had a hand in 
 that foul attack?" Then, aloud, he murmured his 
 thanks for her reception, and looking his hostess 
 straight in the face, observed the features of the woman 
 who, as he believed, his father" had once loved. 
 
 Her hair was almost white now, yet rich and beauti- 
 ful, and still with some of the original brown left in it, 
 her eyes soft and clear, her features delicate and telling 
 plainly of the beauty that had been. And as he gazed 
 at the daughter standing by her side a girl but just 
 entering womanhood, a girl whose hazel eyes looked out 
 at him from under her dark lashes, and whose colour 
 came and went as she returned his bow with stately 
 courtesy he knew what her mother had once been like. 
 
 " Monsieur has ridden far," the marquise said, as she 
 motioned him to a seat by the fire where they had been 
 sitting, and regarded him with interest; "has ctime a 
 long, perhaps perilous, voyage from Pontarlier? The 
 roads at this season are none too safe, they say, in spite 
 of the Marechausse. Yet, monsieur is a soldier." 
 
 St. Georges bowed in reply though swift as light- 
 ning there flashed through his mind the thought that 
 the words "perilous voyage" showed that she knew, 
 doubtless, of one great danger to which he had been 
 exposed. Then he replied : 
 
 "As madame remarks, it was long and has been 
 somewhat eventful. Yet, as I have said, I ride in the 
 king's service. It may be that you know that, ma- 
 dame ? " 
 
 " I know," she replied, " that you were to call at the 
 Bishop of Lodeve's ce PJielypeaux! and take from 
 him one word to the king, or to Louvois. Also that
 
 88 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 you are charged to take another word, perhaps a simi- 
 lar one, from me. Is it not so ? " 
 
 Kemembering what the bishop had said, recalling 
 his utterance " There is no need of secrecy ; you may 
 frankly tell her " he answered : " It is so, madame. 
 The bishop has sent the word. It may be that you will 
 eend the same by me when I ride forth to-morrow." 
 
 Her glance rested on him ere she answered. It 
 seemed as if her reply depended on some unknown, 
 subtle something pertaining to his mind or face which 
 she was endeavouring to decipher or understand. Then 
 she let her eyes fall upon the logs burning in the grate, 
 and said : 
 
 " How can I say ? You do not as yet tell me the 
 word the bishop has sent." 
 
 Again he recalled Phelypeaux's remark that there 
 was no need of secrecy. Therefore he answered, " The 
 word that the bishop has sent, madame, is ' Yes.' " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, and again her glance scanned his 
 face half eagerly, half wistfully, while now he noticed 
 that Mademoiselle de Koquemaure's hand stole into hers 
 as she sat by her side. 
 
 " Ah ! It is as I thought : the word is ' Yes.' " 
 
 " That is it, madame." 
 
 " Come," she said, moving from her seat as the old 
 servitor appeared in the shadows far down the room 
 " come ; supper is served. Monsieur St. Georges, I pray 
 you give me your arm "; and she placed her hand on it, 
 and, her daughter following, went with him to the door. 
 Then, ere they reached the corridor, she, looking . up 
 into his face, said quietly : 
 
 " It would be best I I have not the same word 
 to send as Phelypeaux. The one that I shall ask you to 
 carry will be ' No.' "
 
 THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY. 
 
 IT was a vastly different repast from that of the 
 Bishop of Lodeve's which was offered to St. Georges, 
 although the difference consisted more, perhaps, in the 
 manner of cooking and serving than in aught else. The 
 wine, which was excellent though no better than that 
 last bottle from the old Clos did not come in at the 
 end, but cheered the fasting and wayworn man from the 
 commencement ; the viands were in good condition and 
 properly prepared ; the soup was not dishwater, but of 
 a good, sufficient quality. Moreover, here, as in the 
 great salon, a cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, instead 
 of the spluttering, snow-soaked logs that had hissed and 
 smoked in Phelypeaux's house. Also, he had for com- 
 pany two women, each beautiful according to her time 
 of life women soft, gentle, and well bred instead of 
 the cynical bishop of whom all France told strange tales. 
 
 Sitting there, his eyes resting sometimes on the bud- 
 ding loveliness of Aurelie de Roquemaure, sometimes on 
 the mellowed sweetness of the face of the marquise, St. 
 Georges forced himself to discard from his mind the 
 thought which he had now come to deem unworthy 
 the thought that treachery lurked in their bosoms 
 against him that, though the present marquis might 
 be the man who had led the foul and despicable attack 
 on him in the graveyard at Aignay-le-Duc, they had had 
 part or share in it. For, he told himself, to believe this 
 was to believe that there was no faith nor honesty in 
 womankind. 
 
 Yet one thing, at the commencement of the meal, 
 7
 
 90 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 and when the old servant and another had withdrawn 
 from the room, had almost served to keep his suspicions 
 alive. The marquise as far as a woman of rank and 
 high breeding might do so had asked him many ques- 
 tions about himself, while Aurelie, following the rigid- 
 ness which prevailed in French life of the time, sat 
 by, a silent listener, scarce joining in the conversation 
 at all. 
 
 And St. Georges, moved perhaps by the company in 
 which he found himself, and, soldier-like, scorning to 
 conceal any part of his history except that which he 
 deemed absolutely necessary he making no reference 
 whatever to the name of De Vannes told them much of 
 his existence. His career in Holland until the peace ; 
 his lonely life in garrison ; his marriage with a young 
 girl, a daughter of the middle classes; her death, and 
 the little child she had left to his care, were all touched 
 upon by him and listened to attentively indeed, ab- 
 sorbingly. And so, at last, he came to the summons to 
 Paris, to his setting forth, to his stay at Dijon, and the 
 attack made upon him and Boussac. 
 
 To both women this portion of his narrative caused 
 great excitement. For, stately as the marquise was, en- 
 vironed, so to speak, by all the dignity of the haute 
 noblesse of the days of the Great King, she could not 
 prevent her agitation from being apparent to him. Her 
 white, jewelled hand quivered as she raised it to her 
 breast ; her eyes sparkled as they might have sparkled 
 when she was her daughter's age ; while, as for that 
 daughter, her bosom rose and fell with her rapid breath- 
 ing, her colour came and went once she was as pale 
 as death, the next moment her face suffused. 
 
 " The cowards ! " exclaimed the marquise ; " the 
 base, cowardly dogs, to attack two men thus, and one
 
 THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY. '91 
 
 hampered with a defenceless child! Quel tour de 
 Idche ! Oh ! sir, I would to God your brand or that of 
 your brave companion had struck the poltroon, the 
 craven who sheltered himself behind his visor, his 
 death blow! I would to God one of your swords had 
 found out his heart as they found out the hearts of his 
 mercenaries ! " 
 
 The sympathy of this graceful woman sympathy 
 that roused her from the well-bred calmness which was 
 her natural state, to one of almost fury earned the deep- 
 est respect and gratitude of St. Georges ; yet he looked at 
 her almost with amazement as he bowed and murmured 
 some words of appreciation. For there was no acting 
 here, he knew; yet she was De Roquemaure's step- 
 mother, the kinswoman of the man whom he believed to 
 be his and his child's attempted assassin ! 
 
 And Aurelie de Roquemaure, too-^what of her ? A 
 glance from under his eyes showed him that still the 
 beauteous face was agitated as it had been before, that 
 all which her mother had said was reechoed by her. 
 
 Again the marquise spoke, though now she rose from 
 the table as -she did so. 
 
 " Sir," she said, " never rest until that man and you 
 stand face to face, point to point ; since, until that hap- 
 pens, your child's life will not be safe. For you, a man, 
 a soldier, it matters not is best, indeed, that you should 
 meet him and end his miserable existence forever. I 
 pray you may do ere long. And, when you do meet 
 him, slay him like a dog ! It is the only way." 
 
 Still astonished, almost appalled, by her vehemence, 
 St. Georges took the hand she extended him and bent 
 over it, and next, that of her daughter, ere the two 
 passed out of the room. 
 
 " Forgive," said the marquise, " that I should feel so
 
 92 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 strongly. I I have a child myself." Then, after a 
 pause, and turning round as she reached the corridor, 
 she added : " If we do not meet to-morrow ere you 
 return to the city to fetch your child, remember, sir, 
 I pray you, that my answer to the king or his minister 
 is precisely different from that of the bishop. It is 
 'No.'" 
 
 " I will remember, madame." 
 
 Then, with a last glance from each, both were gone. 
 And St. Georges, standing in front of the great fire- 
 place waiting for the old servitor to come and escort 
 him to his room, was more overwhelmed with amaze- 
 ment than he had been at aught which had occurred 
 since he set out from Pontarlier. 
 
 " What does it mean ? " he whispered to himself. 
 " What does it mean ? " 
 
 In a room at the opposite end of the corridor from 
 that where the apartment was situated which had been 
 bestowed on St. Georges, the mother and daughter sat. 
 It was the sleeping-room of madame la marquise, large, 
 vast, and sombre save that here, too, a fire burnt in 
 the grate, and that there were many candles alight in 
 the sconces set about the room. 
 
 And the marquise, lying back in her deep fauteuil 
 before the fire, her face white and drawn, and with tears 
 upon her cheeks, was speaking to her daughter who 
 knelt by her side. 
 
 " The wolf ! " she said, " the wolf ! How know it? 
 How find out? God! I thought that I alone, of all 
 living people, knew, until I divulged my story to you, 
 until I wrote to Louis asking him to do justice to 
 a much-wronged man. Who who has betrayed my 
 confidence? Not the king, surely. Oh! not he, not
 
 THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY. 93 
 
 he ! Nay, more, I doubt if the letter ever reached his 
 hands." 
 
 "Mother," Aurelie said, as she stroked her hand, 
 " there must be some other who knows." 
 
 " There was no living soul on earth. Listen, even 
 you do not know all." 
 
 The girl seated herself against her mother's knee 
 and gazed up into her face. Then she whispered : " Tell 
 me all now, mother. From to-night let me understand 
 exactly with what he is encompassed. Tell me, I beg." 
 
 " You know," the marquise said, " for I have told 
 you often, that the Due de Vannes and I loved each 
 other when we were young yet that we never married. 
 No matter for the reason now it was my fault ! Let 
 that suffice. And we parted he to go his way, I mine. 
 Then, some years later, not many it is true, but still 
 long enough for us to have forgotten what had separated 
 us, we met again, and once more he asked me to be his 
 wife, to renew the love vows we once had made. But 
 it was then impossible. I was affianced to your father 
 the day was fixed, and I had come to admire him, to 
 respect him ; in no case would I have gone back from 
 my plighted word. So again we parted to meet only 
 once more in life." 
 
 The girl touched her hand perhaps who knows ? 
 in admiration of her mother's strength in keeping 
 her vow to the man who was not her first love and in 
 discarding the man who was. And the marquise con- 
 tinued : 
 
 " It was one night a few weeks before he set out to 
 join Turenne in the Palatinate. A great fete was given 
 by Louis to celebrate his birthday at St.-Germain-en- 
 Laye, his birthplace, and it was there we met again. 
 Presently, when both of us were able to escape from the
 
 94 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 great crowd of courtiers, marshals, and ministers who 
 surrounded the king, he told me that he was glad he 
 had met me once more that he wished to confide a 
 secret to me if I would hear it, a charge if I would 
 accept it. At first I hesitated, then when I found 
 it would not thrust against your father's honour" 
 again the girl stroked her mother's hand " I told 
 him he might confide in me. Aurelie, he told me that, 
 embittered by having lost me, he had married in private 
 an English lady, daughter of a refugee, that he had 
 learned to love her, and that death had parted them after 
 a few years of marriage. Also, he told me, she left him 
 a son, whom he had brought up in ignorance of the 
 position that must be his, but that should he return 
 from the Palatinate he meant to acknowledge him. 
 He never did return, and his son has never been ac- 
 knowledged." 
 
 " Why, my mother? " asked Aurelie, with an upward 
 glance. "Why?" 
 
 "Nay, child," the marquise replied. "Think no 
 evil of me. No base thoughts entered my mind. No 
 remembrance that his son stood in the way of your half- 
 brother's inheritance he and your father being osten- 
 sibly De Vannes's heir. No ! no ! no ! But in that 
 hurried interval both he and I had made one fatal slip 
 had committed one hideous act of forgetfulness. He 
 had forgotten to tell me I to ask where this son was, 
 and in what name he was known." 
 
 The girl dropped her hands with a despairing ac- 
 tion into her lap; then a moment later she turned 
 the soft hazel eyes up again toward her mother's face 
 and ' said : " Yet now you know ! You have found 
 out!" 
 
 " Yes, I have found out. That son is the man
 
 THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY. 95 
 
 who sleeps beneath our roof to-night Lieutenant St. 
 Georges." 
 
 "But how? How? How?" 
 
 "Again, listen. For years I sought to find him, 
 made inquiries in every quarter I could think of, asked 
 quietly and cautiously of all who might by chance 
 possess any information. Then, at last, it came from 
 the quarter least to be imagined. From your half- 
 brother." 
 
 "Raoul?" 
 
 "Ay, Raoul, your father's heir also heir to the 
 fortune of the Due de Vannes, as all the world thought 
 and still thinks. He came to me one day three 
 months ago when he had been privately to Paris; for 
 what reason I know not, although I know that his visit 
 was a secret one, since he had not been presented to the 
 king. He came in, I say, and standing before me, he 
 said, ' Madame, who is Monsieur St. Georges ? ' I an- 
 swered that I had never heard of the gentleman be- 
 fore, to which he replied : * 'Tis strange, madame. He 
 is an officer of the Regiment de Nivernois. And his 
 commission was given him by the king at the re- 
 quest of your late friend, shall I say? the Due de 
 Vannes ! ' 
 
 " Aurelie, I fell to trembling then, for I thought to 
 myself, ' I have found his son.' De Vannes had told 
 me that son was being educated for his own profession 
 of arms nay, more, that he sought for him a commis- 
 sion from the king. Meanwhile, Raoul was watching 
 me carefully, so that I disguised as best I could my 
 agitation, while I replied : ' It seems to me you need 
 not to demand information of me. You know of 
 Monsieur St. Georges's existence of the calling he 
 follows. On my part, I have never heard of him be-
 
 96 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 fore ! ' * Nor perhaps,' he replied, ' ever will again ! ' and 
 with that he left me." 
 
 " It must be the man," Mademoiselle de Roquemaure 
 murmured. " It must be he." 
 
 " It is he," the marquise replied emphatically. " It 
 is he. As he stood before me to-night I saw his father 
 in his eyes, in his glance nay, in his bearing. That 
 man is the son of De Vannes is the De Vannes him- 
 self. And if more proof was wanted, is it not forth- 
 coming when we have learned that not only his life, but 
 the life of his child, is thrust against ? His father died 
 without a will, without naming him ; your father was 
 therefore the heir, and after him your brother llaoul. 
 In another year, when he is thirty, De Vannes's wealth 
 is his, if if," and her eyes glistened as she spoke, " no 
 direct heir bars the way. You understand?" 
 
 " Yes," the girl said slowly. " Yes, I understand." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 A CONSIDERABLE hubbub outside the manoir the 
 crying of a woman, and the voices of various men all 
 talking together aroused St. Georges from his sleep as 
 the wintry dawn broke through the fogs and mists of 
 the night. 
 
 " Fichte" he heard the old servitor say, " you are a 
 fool, my girl, to come here and thrust your head in the 
 lion's jaws. Better make off another way ; he will kill 
 you, I warrant, when he hears how you have kept your 
 promise."
 
 LOST. 97 
 
 " Let him," he heard next a woman's voice reply, a 
 voice all broken and rendered indistinct by her tears and 
 sobs, "let him. mon Dieu! " she wailed, "have pity 
 on me ! I would have shielded the little thing with my 
 life. I left it but a few, nay, not ten, minutes, and then 
 then it was gone. Oh, pity me, pity me, mon Dieu ! " 
 
 With a bound St. Georges had flung himself from 
 out of his bed, and was hastily putting on his clothes. 
 For the words of the weeping woman in the roadway, as 
 they rose to his ears above all, the voice which he rec- 
 ognised told him the worst. The child, his child, was 
 missing; the woman below was the one to whom he 
 had confided Dorine overnight. 
 
 Huddling on his garments, therefore, while still he 
 heard arising the voices from a short distance below him 
 (for the first floor of the manoir, on which his room 
 was situated, was not more than twelve or fourteen feet 
 from the ground) and the girl's sobs and weeping as 
 she exclaimed, " Not more than ten minutes did I leave 
 it alone, not more, while I regarded the troops coming 
 in," he descended rapidly to the great hall below. He 
 met no one on his way as he did so doubtless, neither 
 the marquise nor her daughter were yet risen and 
 finding the door in the tourelle with little difficulty, he 
 emerged into the roadway. 
 
 Standing in it were those two whose voices he had 
 already heard the old servitor and the girl from the 
 inn in Troyes and by them was the youth, Gaston, his 
 arm this morning being bound up in a sling, as though 
 he had met with some hurt. He was gazing silently at 
 the girl as she sobbed and wept before the old man, 
 listening evidently with interest to all she said, and 
 with a look of sympathy on his face for the evident 
 distress of mind she was in.
 
 98 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 But now, as St. Georges appeared before her, his faco 
 stern and fierce though already there was on it a look 
 of misery and foreboding she flung herself upon her 
 knees before him in the hard, frost-bound road, and lift- 
 ing up her clasped hands she cried : 
 
 "Oh, monsieur, forgive me, pardon me! I did but 
 leave the child for ten moments, and " 
 
 "And," said St. Georges, his face growing almost 
 darker than before, " it is stolen, or dead ! Is that what 
 you have come to tell me ? " 
 
 " Alas ! alas ! " she moaned, " that it should be 
 so. Stolen, not dead, thank God. Oh, monsieur," and 
 again the coarse, hard-working hands were clasped and 
 lifted up before his face, " ayez pitie^je " 
 
 " Be brief," the chevau-Uger interrupted, taking no 
 heed of her waitings, while the old and young man 
 started at the misery revealed by the changed tones of 
 his voice. " Be brief. I confided my child to you, and 
 you have failed in your trust. Tell me how. Then I 
 may know how to act. Proceed." 
 
 " Oh, monsieur," the poor creature said, wondering 
 that, ere now, he had not torn her to pieces or thrust 
 his sword through her, as would likely enough have 
 been done by many of her own kind under a similar 
 breach of faith "oh, monsieur, my heart is broken, 
 my heart " 
 
 " No matter for your heart," St. Georges interrupted 
 her peremptorily again ; " tell your story at once. At 
 once, I say ! " And again the two standing by wondered 
 that he could master himself so, in spite of his grief ; 
 while the girl, seeing that she had best obey him, told 
 with many sobs, which still she could not repress, what 
 had happened. 
 
 It was in the early morning, she said, and she and
 
 LOST. 99 
 
 the little thing had slept warm and peacefully together 
 oh, so peacefully ! and the time had come for her to 
 arise ; the hostler had come to knock on her door, for she 
 slept heavily. Then he told her, as he stood outside, 
 that a troop of the Vicomte d'Arpajou's regiment was 
 come in and seeking billets in the town; and she, 
 because she was une malheureuse, and also because she 
 had a cousin who rode in the ranks, got up and ran 
 downstairs to get news of him. For his mother had 
 heard nothing of him for many months; they were 
 anxious oh, so anxious ! But it was not his troop, and 
 so, gleaning no news, she had returned to her bedroom, 
 meaning to finish her dressing and to prepare the child. 
 And then, she went on, sobbing again, and with more 
 wringings of her hands and then, oh ! horror, she 
 found the bed empty and the child gone. Gone ! 
 Gone ! Gone ! Oh, it was terrible ! She aroused the 
 other servants with her screams; high and low they 
 sought for it it might have crept even from the bed 
 but, no ! it was gone. And after half an hour's further 
 search, she, feeling demented, had told her master all 
 and how she had taken charge of the child, and had 
 begged him to let her come to the manoir to see its 
 father. Perhaps, it might yet be found, might, because 
 God Avas good, have been found since she had come away. 
 Who knew ? Oh ! she prayed it might be so on her 
 knees she prayed 
 
 " My horse ! " exclaimed St. Georges, turning to tho 
 younger man, Gaston, still standing close by, "my 
 horse, I beg of you ! Lose no time in saddling it. I 
 must go back to the city at once." And turning his 
 head away from them he murmured : " My child ! My 
 little lonely child ! Oh, my child ! " 
 
 They heard his moan, those three standing there
 
 100 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 for now the woman had risen to her feet and they 
 pitied him. The old man shook his head sadly ; he was 
 a father and a grandfather himself; the girl sobbed 
 afresh, and Gaston moved off at once to obey his behest. 
 " My arm is injured," he stammered, seeing that the 
 soldier's eye was on it now ; " one of the horses kicked it 
 last night in the stable; but but I can still saddle 
 your animal. In an instant, monsieur, in an instant," 
 and he moved away. 
 
 Seeing that he was in pain indeed, the lad's face 
 was bloodless and also drawn with suffering and being 
 himself devoured with eagerness to return to the city 
 and seek for his child, St. Georges followed him through 
 the courtyard to where the stables were. And then, 
 noticing that Gaston could not use his wounded arm at 
 all, he saddled his animal with his own hands while the 
 young man stood by helpless, or only able to render him 
 the slightest assistance with his uninjured arm. And 
 when this was done he led the horse forth to the front 
 of the manoir and mounted it. 
 
 " There is no time for me to pay my respects to 
 madame la marquise," he said to the servitor "she 
 will understand my lack of courtesy. Yet, since it is 
 impossible I can continue my journey to Paris even 
 the king's commands must wait now ! I will endeavour 
 not to quit Troyes without bidding her farewell. Will 
 you tell her that, my friend ? " 
 
 The old man said he would that he knew madame 
 would understand and sympathize with him and and 
 but ere he could finish whatever he intended to say, 
 St. Georges had put spurs to his horse and was speed- 
 ing back to Troyes, while following him along the road 
 on foot went the unfortunate servant from the inn, still 
 weeping and bemoaning.
 
 LOST. 101 
 
 The hostler was standing in the gateway of the au- 
 berge as he rode in, his horse already sweating and with 
 foam about its mouth from the pace it had come ; and 
 throwing himself off it St. Georges advanced to the man 
 and asked him if he had heard any news of his missing 
 child. 
 
 " Nay," he replied. " Nay. No news. Mon Dieu I 
 I know not who could have stolen it. 'Tis marvellous. 
 'Twas none of D'Arpajou's troop, to be sure. And 
 there were no others." 
 
 " None lurking about the inn last night none 
 sleeping here who might have stolen into the girl's 
 room when she quitted it? Oh! man, I tell you," he 
 cried, almost beside himself with grief, " there are those 
 who would have tracked it across France to get at it ! " 
 And then, overcome with remorse at having left the 
 child in any other custody but his own, though he 
 had thought it was for the best when he did so, he mur- 
 mured : k ' Why, why, did I not keep it with me ? My 
 arm sheltered it when the attack was made at Aignay- 
 le-Duc ; no worse than that could have befallen it." 
 
 "None lurking about," the man repeated, looking 
 up at the great soldier while he chewed a straw. " None 
 lurking about. Mon Dieu! why did I not think of 
 that before ? " 
 
 " There was one ! " St. Georges exclaimed, " there 
 was one, then ? You saw some man I know it ; I see 
 it in your face. For God's sake, answer me ! Who ? 
 Who was it?" 
 
 But the hostler was a slow man one whose mind 
 moved cumbrously, and again he muttered to himself : 
 " No ! No, it could not be he. It " 
 
 "Could not be whom? Oh, do not torture me! 
 Tell me! Tell me!"
 
 102 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " There was one," the other replied, " who rode in 
 last night, seeking a bed for himself and a stall for his 
 horse. Yet he could have neither here. We were full, 
 and we knew too that D'Arpajou's horse were on the 
 road. So we sent him away to the Cheval Rouge, yet 
 I saw him again late at night in the yard, and, asking 
 him his business, he said that he had lost his glove when 
 here 
 
 " My God ! " St. Georges exclaimed, more to himself 
 than the man. " Was it De Roquemaure ? " 
 
 " De Roquemaure ! " the other exclaimed. " De 
 Roquemaure ! Par hasard, does monsieur mean the 
 young marquis ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. You know him must know him, since 
 his mother's manoir is so near here. Answer me," and 
 in his fervour he grasped the man's arm firmly, " was 
 it he?" 
 
 The hostler wrenched his arm away from the sol- 
 dier's nervous grasp ; then he answered emphatically 
 scornfully indeed : " Was it he ? He ! De Roque- 
 maure? Mon Dieu, no ! Not he, indeed ! " 
 
 "You know him?" 
 
 " Know him 9 Yes. And hate him. A wild beast, 
 un sauvage. See here," and he pointed to his face, on 
 which was a long, discoloured stain or bruise," he gave me 
 that a week or so ago, as he rode out of the inn, because 
 I had not brought his horse quickly enough to please 
 him. Know him? Oh, yes, I know him. And some 
 day, great and strong and powerful seigneur as he is, he 
 shall know me. The seigneurs do not lord it over us 
 always. We shall see ! " 
 
 " Not De Roquemaure," St. Georges mused aloud. 
 " Not De Roquemaure. Great God ! have we more ene- 
 mies than one? Into whose hands has my little babe
 
 LOST. 103 
 
 fallen, then ? " And again he murmured to himself, 
 " Not De Roquemaure ! " 
 
 " No, not De Roquemaure," the man replied, over- 
 hearing him. " Nor one like him. Instead, a stranger 
 to the town a sour, dark-visaged man, elderly. None 
 too well clad nor mounted either, and both he and his 
 beast well spent as though with long travel." 
 
 " Who could it be ? " St. Georges muttered. " Who ? " 
 Yet, think as he might, no light broke in upon him. 
 But, if this man was indeed the one who had kidnapped 
 his child, he felt sure of one thing : he was an agent of 
 De Roquemaure's. It was in the latter's light alone 
 that he arid Dorine stood ! 
 
 Again he questioned the hostler, but all that he 
 could glean was that "the lurking traveller, the fellow 
 who, after being refused the hospitality of the inn, was 
 yet prowling about the stables at midnight, in search 
 if his story were true of a worthless glove, was un- 
 doubtedly a stranger in the city. Than that the hostler 
 could tell him no more. 
 
 " But," said the latter, " why not inquire at the 
 Cheval Rouge 9 there, if anywhere, monsieur may glean 
 tidings of him." 
 
 Clutching at the suggestion he went toward that 
 inn, which was but in the next street a place that 
 turned out to be a frowsy, dirty house, frequented by 
 the humblest travellers only. And here, after describ- 
 ing the man he sought, he gathered the following facts, 
 the stranger's actions since he had put up at the Cheval 
 Rouge being indeed enough to set the tongues of the 
 landlord and landlady wagging directly they were ques- 
 tioned about him : 
 
 For, strange circumstances in connection with a 
 traveller who appeared to be, as he stated he was, dead
 
 104 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 beaten with a long journey whence he had not said 
 he had not been in all night. His bed was still unslept 
 in, his horse still in the stable. He had supped at the 
 ordinary with one or two others, and the landlady no- 
 ticed he had eaten ravenously, as one might who had 
 fasted long; had drunk copiously, too, of petite Bour- 
 gogne, and had then gone out, saying he would be back 
 shortly. Also, one thing was curious. "Mon Dicu I " 
 the woman said, " it was remarkable ! " He had given 
 orders that, after his horse was rubbed down and 
 fed, it was to be kept saddled. He might, he said, 
 have to set forth again at any moment; he was on 
 important business. Yet now, the woman stated, the 
 horse was still in its stall and the man had never re- 
 turned. 
 
 " And his necessaries?" St. Georges asked, after he 
 had told the people of the house as much as he deemed 
 fit. "What of them? His bags, his holsters, where 
 are they? Were they taken to his room or left with 
 his horse ? " 
 
 " Necessaries ! bags ! " the landlord replied, " he had 
 none. And as for pistols well the holsters were empty ; 
 doubtless he had them about him. Perhaps monsieur 
 would like to see the horse ? " 
 
 Yes, monsieur would like to see the horse, and was 
 consequently taken to the stable to do so. It was a poor 
 beast, not groomed properly for some days ; at least, it 
 looked poor and overstrained now, though perhaps a 
 good enough animal when fresh. It showed signs, too, 
 of having been hard ridden. For the rest, it was an 
 ordinary animal of the most usual colour a dark 
 chestnut. 
 
 As to the holsters, they were empty, and in none 
 of the horse's trappings was there aught to give any
 
 DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK. 105 
 
 hint as to who its owner was or whence he had 
 come. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 DE ROQCJEMAURE'S WORK. 
 
 THE weather had changed, the frost was gone, and 
 the night was hot and murky, while rain was falling, as 
 alone, now, alas ! St. Georges mounted the summit of a 
 hill that rose close above Troyes on the road to Paris. 
 
 He had commenced his journey again. 
 
 It was a gruesome spot to which he had arrived on 
 this night an elevation that surmounted a billowy 
 country, over all of which, in the summer time, the 
 vines and corn grew in rich profusion, but which now 
 looked bare and melancholy as the southwest wind 
 swept the rain clouds over it beneath a watery moon. 
 To the left of him there swung, upon the exact crest of 
 the hill, a corpse in chains, with, perched upon its 
 mouldering head, a crow looking for the eyes long 
 since pecked out by others of its brood ! To the right 
 there rose a little wood, through which the wind moaned 
 and sighed onto his face, bringing with it warm drops 
 of rain. 
 
 Involuntarily he glanced up at the thing swinging 
 above his head heartbroken as he was at having had 
 to leave Troyes with his child still unfound, he could 
 not refrain from doing that ! and wondered who and 
 what the malefactor had been who was thus exalted. 
 And as he lowered his eyes from the ghastly mass of 
 corruption, he saw against the gibbet a thicker, darker 
 thing than the gallows tree itself a thing surmounted 
 8
 
 106 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 by a white, corpselike face, from which stared a pair of 
 large gray eyes at him eyes in which, as the. clouds 
 scurried by beneath the moon, the moon itself shone 
 dazzlingly, lighting them up and showing their large 
 pupils. 
 
 The horse saw them too, and started forward a pace 
 or so until reined in by his master's hand, and then 
 whimpered and quivered all over, while its rider, with 
 his own flesh creeping, bent over his saddle and peered 
 toward the dark form surmounted by the pallid face 
 and glaring eyes. 
 
 "Who in Heaven's name are you?" St. Georges 
 whispered, " and why select this ghastly spot to stand 
 in and affright passers-by? What are you, man or 
 woman?" and he leaned still further over his demi- 
 pique to gaze at the figure, though as he did so his right 
 hand stole to his sword hilt. 
 
 "A woman," a voice answered. "A woman who 
 comes here to weep her husband's death. He " and she 
 cast the staring gray eyes upward to the object swing- 
 ing with each gust of the wind in its chains " was my 
 husband. Pass on, and leave me with his murdered 
 remains." 
 
 "Murdered! Rather, poor soul, say executed. Mur- 
 derers slay not thus." 
 
 Slowly the figure left the foot of the gibbet as he 
 spoke, so that he saw she was a tall young woman of the 
 peasant class, clad in dark, poor clothes, and slowly she 
 advanced the few yards that separated them, whereby 
 he could observe her features and notice more plainly 
 the awful whiteness of her face. 
 
 " Murdered, I say ! " she replied, still with the glare 
 in her eyes. " Murdered ! Wrongfully accused, foully 
 tried, falsely condemned. Done to death wickedly as a
 
 DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK. 107 
 
 braconnier. But he was none yet there he swings. 
 God ! that life can be so easily torn from us by the 
 powerful ! " 
 
 " Who, then, has done this deed ? " St. Georges 
 asked, deeply stirred by the woman's wild sorrow, per- 
 haps also by the gloomy surroundings. " Who can do 
 such things as this, even though powerful? " 
 
 "Who?" she replied. "Who? Who but one in 
 these parts? The hound, De Eoquemaure ! " 
 
 " De Eoquemaure ! " St. Georges exclaimed with a 
 start that caused his trembling horse to move forward, 
 thinking that he had pressed its flanks to urge it on, 
 which start was perfectly perceptible to the unhappy 
 woman. " De Roquemaure ! " 
 
 " You know him ? " she asked eagerly, bending her 
 face toward and up to him so that he could see her pale 
 lips lips, indeed, almost as pale as her cheeks " you 
 know him? " 
 
 " I know of him," St. Georges replied. 
 
 "And hate him, perhaps, as I do. It may be, would 
 kill him as I would. Is it so ? Answer me ? " 
 
 Carried away by this strange encounter, and with so 
 strange a third thing near them as that above, which 
 once had life as they had still ; carried away, too, by the 
 woman's vehemence a vehemence which caused her, a 
 peasant, to speak on equal terms with one whose dress 
 and accoutrements showed the difference between them 
 he answered almost in a whisper : 
 
 "It may be," he said, bending down still further to 
 her, "that I shall be doomed to kill him some day. 
 May be that he has merited death at my hands." 
 
 " You hate him ? " 
 
 " I fear I have but too just cause to hate him." 
 
 " As all do ! As all ! He lives," she went on, " but
 
 108 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 to slay and injure others as he slew and injured him," 
 and she half turned her head and cast up her eyes at 
 the miserable relic above her. Then she continued : 
 " Listen. He was no poacher, no thief. But I I his 
 wife was unfortunate enough to fall under the other's 
 notice he sought me you understand? and he" 
 with again the upward glance "resisted his desires. 
 You see the end ! " 
 
 Looking into her eyes, observing her well-defined 
 features, noticing that, except for her awful pallor, she 
 might well be a handsome woman, especially when bright 
 and happy instead of, as now, grief-stained, St. Georges 
 could understand. Then, while also he meditated as 
 to whether this De Roquemaure was a fiend that had 
 taken human shape, the woman went on : 
 
 "Daily almost some fall under his bane. But a 
 week ago a stranger here one carrying a helpless babe 
 was set upon " 
 
 " What ! " and now he felt as though the universe 
 was spinning round. 
 
 " was set upon," she continued, " struck to death 
 he is dying now, or dead " 
 
 " And the babe ? " St. Georges interposed. 
 
 *' Carried off by those who did his bidding." 
 
 " God ! Lost again ! " and the moan he uttered 
 startled the woman out of her own grief. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she asked, her great eyes piercing 
 him. 
 
 " As I believe, that child's unhappy father." 
 
 Aroused by this to forget her own sufferings, even 
 to forget for the moment the dreadful burden borne by 
 the gallows tree, she thrust out her hand and seized his 
 sleeve. 
 
 " Who, then, is the dying man ? " she whispered.
 
 DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK. 109 
 
 " I know not but but for mercy's sake, in mem- 
 ory of the misery you have suffered, in pity for mine, 
 lead me to this man ! You know where he is ; you can 
 do so?" 
 
 " Come," she said. " Come. He is in my hut close 
 by. We were very poor, we had no better. Come. 
 Tie your horse to a tree and follow me." 
 
 Dazed, scarce knowing whether he was awake or 
 asleep and dreaming, he obeyed her, leading the horse 
 away some paces so that it should be no more fright- 
 ened by the horrible burden of the gibbet, and follow- 
 ing her through a thicket. In other circumstances he 
 might have feared an ambush ; now, a thousand hidden 
 enemies would not have held him back. 
 
 She wound her way along a trodden track leading 
 down into the valley below, but went only a few score 
 yards when she stopped outside what was indeed no 
 better than a hut, a wooden building thatched with 
 turf, from a window in which there gleamed a ray of 
 light. And she, placing her ears to the door ere she 
 pushed it open, said to him : " He lives still. -You can 
 ar his breathing. Hark ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " St. Georges said fervently. " Who- 
 ever he may be, he will be able to tell me of the child. 
 Open, I beg you ; open in the name of mercy ! " 
 
 She obeyed him at once, thrusting the door open and 
 drawing him in, and then by the light of a miserable, 
 small oil lamp that nickered on a rude wooden table he 
 saw stretched upon a pallet in a corner of the place the 
 dying man. Also he noticed that the room reeked and 
 was fetid with his hot breath and with another hot, dry 
 odour that he knew was the odour of blood. 
 
 In the shadow of the room St. Georges could see a 
 white face, could also perceive two great staring eyes
 
 HO IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 turned up to the rafters ; he could hear, too, the drawn, 
 labouring breath as it rattled through his throat and 
 chest, accompanied bj a moan as it came forth. 
 
 " Quick ! " he exclaimed, " quick ! The light ! He 
 lives still, but his minutes are numbered. He is dying, 
 dying fast. Where is his wound ? " 
 
 " In the lower part of his body, through him. A 
 sword thrust. I have tried to stanch it, but it flows 
 always. I marvel he has lived so long." 
 
 She brought the oil lamp forward as she spoke and 
 held it near the man, and St. Georges, kneeling down, 
 looked at him. Then with a bound he sprang up 
 again, exclaiming : " He here ! Heaven and earth ! what 
 brings him here? How comes he in this mystery? 
 What what does it mean, what portend ? " 
 
 "You know him?" 
 
 " Yes, I know him." 
 
 The man stretched upon the pallet was Pierre, the 
 Bishop of Lodeve's man-servant ! " 
 
 " Speak ! " said St. Georges to him a moment later, 
 smothering for the time his wonder and astonishment. 
 " Speak if you can. One word from you may alter my 
 whole life, my child's life. Speak ere you die." 
 
 It seemed, however, that he would never speak 
 again. But, also, it seemed as if all consciousness was 
 not gone from him yet as if he recognised the man 
 kneeling once more at his side, while again the woman 
 held the lamp above them. As far as he was able with 
 his failing strength, he endeavoured to shrink from St. 
 Georges while as he did so his eyes, distended either 
 with fear or horror, glared at him. But from his mouth 
 there came no sound but the laboured breathing. 
 
 Again St. Georges besought him to speak; plied
 
 DE ROQUEM ACRE'S WORK. 
 
 him with questions. "Was the child taken from him 
 Dorine ; by whom had it been taken ; how had he whom 
 St. Georges had never seen until he slept at the bishop's, 
 and whom he had left at Dijon, found his way here 
 only to be murdered ? And still no answer came, while 
 once the dying man tried with his feeble hand to push 
 St. Georges away, and still stared' in ghastly horror at 
 him. 
 
 At last the end arrived. The breathing grew faster 
 and faster and more laboured ; it rattled more horribly 
 in his chest ; a spasm convulsed him, and he sank back 
 exhausted, while from his face and throat which were 
 all uncovered a heavy sweat poured. Then suddenly he 
 raised himself to almost a sitting posture with his hands, 
 and, with a rolling glance that seemed to take in all the 
 hut, he sank back slowly again. Yet as he did so his 
 lips moved, and a whisper came from them a whisper 
 that seemed to frame the words " De Roquernaure." A 
 moment after he was dead. 
 
 " Tell me all you know," St. Georges said to the 
 woman a few moments later. " How he came here, 
 how he was set upon and done to death ? I must ride 
 on and on to-night, yet ere long, if I can compass it, I 
 will return to Troyes and never leave it until I have 
 found my child and know all. Tell me." 
 
 " He came here," she said, " five days ago was 
 brought here by me, for I saw him attacked and 
 wounded to the death, as you know now. I was up 
 there by by him who swings upon that hellish gibbet ; 
 the dawn was at hand." 
 
 " The dawn," St. Georges whispered to himself. 
 "The dawn of five days ago, when D'Arpajou's horse 
 rode into the town. The day Dorine was lost."
 
 112 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Then," the woman continued, " through the com- 
 ing day I saw him advancing from the- town upon this 
 road, carrying a bundle under his arm." 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 " Yet not so fast but that two others who had left 
 the gate behind him came swifter than he. One, a 
 man, young and supple, clad in the De Roquemaure 
 russet no need of that to tell me that devil had a hand 
 in what was to be done ; the other, a woman, all in 
 sombre black, a mask upon her face." 
 
 "A woman in it! " 
 
 " Ho ! " said the peasant, " doubt not ! He has his 
 women, too, at his beck and call. Easy enough to find 
 one of the scon rings of Troyes perhaps an innocent 
 girl once, before she knew him ! to do his bidding." 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " Swiftly they came behind him, yet silently, too, 
 the man ahead of the woman, each on different sides of 
 the way, the former outstripping the latter, so fast did 
 he come. Then, at last, the hunted one, this dead one 
 here, knew that it was so; he turned^ and saw he was 
 pursued. At first he made as though about to run for 
 it; then, because, may be, the burden he bore was 
 heavy, he paused. Next he placed the child upon the 
 ground for now I knew, I saw, what it was as he did 
 so and he drew his sword with one hand, took a pistol 
 from his belt and held it in the other, and so awaited 
 his pursuer." 
 
 Again St. Georges said beneath his breath, " Go on." 
 
 " The other came swiftly up, paused once himself 
 perhaps he feared the doubly armed man then looked 
 round at the masked woman, who seemed to say some- 
 thing. Doubtless she urged him on, and again he came 
 forward until he and the fugitives were face to face."
 
 DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK. 113 
 
 " Yes," came from St. Georges's close-set lips. 
 
 " What they said I know not ; I was too far away. 
 But their action was swift. De Roquemaure's man 
 made as though he would seize upon the child lying at 
 the roadside the disguised woman creeping ever nearer 
 when the other fired his pistol at him, and missed. I 
 saw that as the smoke cleared away, for when it had 
 done so they were closely engaged with their swords. 
 Some passes they made ; once it seemed as if the fugi- 
 tive won upon the other, for I saw his blade go through 
 his left sleeve ; then, ere he could recover himself, the 
 other had thrust his sword through his body I heard 
 him shriek ; I saw him fall ! A moment later the 
 woman had snatched up the child and was hurrying 
 back to the city, the man following after her, his left 
 arm hanging straight by his side, as though still from 
 pain. And I ran to this one here and saw that he had 
 got his death. 'Tis strange he died not sooner than 
 to-night. Strange he should linger so long." 
 
 " How got you him here ? " 
 
 " My brother, who hates the De Roquemaures as I 
 do as Godrknows I have cause to do works near here 
 on his farm. I dragged that dead creature, all insensi- 
 ble as he was, into the copse, then fetched Jean, and so, 
 together, we brought him. Say," the woman continued, 
 leaning forward under the lamp to regard the soldier 
 fixedly, " you are a gentleman, an officer of some regi- 
 ment. You can tell me. Is not so foul a crime as this 
 enough to doom De Roquemaure, if brought 'home to 
 him?" 
 
 " If brought home to him, perhaps. But the nobles 
 are powerful. You say that he is so, especially in this 
 neighbourhood." 
 
 " Curse him, yes ! " she replied, her livid lips drawn
 
 1H IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 tight together. " Yet not forever. There are those 
 who will set the snare and trap him yet." 
 
 " I pray God ! " St. Georges replied. " He has 
 wronged many ; surely justice will yet be done." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "I MUST SPEAK !" 
 
 THE Epiphany called in old France, under the 
 Bourbons, la Fete des Rois was drawing to a close, as 
 St. Georges, his handsome face looking very dejected 
 and his heart heavy as lead within him, rode into Paris 
 by the Charenton gate. 
 
 Not so entirely over, however, but that the streets 
 were still crowded with holiday makers of all kinds, 
 with those who were there solely to enjoy and amuse 
 themselves, and also with those who sought to make 
 profit out of the others. Moreover, still from all the 
 towers and steeples the bells rang in honour of those 
 who had died during the past year, so that, as Boi- 
 leau sneeringly remarked, ''Pour honorer les marts Us 
 font mourir les vivants" while from the dark, sombre- 
 looking houses of which the same writer observed 
 that they must have been built by philosophers instead 
 1 of architects, so filthy were they without and so brilliant 
 within were still hung paper lanterns, flags, banners, 
 and all kinds of devices and decorations. 
 
 St. Georges had found it difficult to pick his way 
 through the many obstacles with which the streets were 
 encumbered from the time he left the Bastille and the 
 Rue St. Antoine, and began to approach the more fash-
 
 "I MUST SPEAK!" 115 
 
 ionable part of Paris, the vicinity of the Pont Neuf. 
 Richly gilt carriages of the noblesse and the nouveaux 
 riches passed each other frequently, the inmates of the 
 former disdaining to notice the inmates of the other 
 human nature was the same then as now and threw the 
 January mud upon an extraordinary crowd of foot pas- 
 sengers a crowd composed of ladies with mirrors in 
 their hands ; men with huge blonde or white wigs, who 
 would stop suddenly to take a comb from their servants' 
 hands and arrange their false locks ; others of the com- 
 moner sort selling coffee and chocolate on the footway, 
 another drawing teeth in the open street, two men fight- 
 ing a duel with short swords, a woman and a child pick- 
 ing pockets.* 
 
 Because it was the Epiphany the King's Fete 
 Louis and the court were at the Louvre this year, occu- 
 pying the vast and stately palace on which the Grande 
 Monarque had spent since 1664 the sum of ten million 
 seven hundred thousand francs ; and high festival was 
 being kept. All the court had come with him, includ- 
 ing the wife who was still suspected by some of being 
 the mistress ; the duchesses and countesses who had 
 been mistresses if they were so no longer ; the bishops 
 who were not in disgrace and under the displeasure of 
 De Maintenon ; the numerous offspring by various 
 mothers ; the ministers and officials including Lou- 
 vois. And it was to present himself to the latter first, 
 and afterward to seek audience with Louis, that St. 
 Georges now rode toward the palace. 
 
 " Surely," he thought to himself as he directed his 
 course through the heterogeneous mass in the streets, 
 
 * See engravings of Delia Bella, done at the time and repre- 
 senting such scenes.
 
 116 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " surely when I relate my tale, tell of the terrible blow 
 that has fallen upon me, I shall be forgiven for hav- 
 ing halted on my route. I am more than a week be- 
 hind, have lagged on my road, yet for what a cause 
 what a cause ! Oh, my child, my little Dorine, that I 
 should have had to come away and leave you behind ! 
 My child! My child!" 
 
 Never for a moment since he had left the peasant's 
 hut had his thoughts been absent from that child, never 
 had they ceased to dwell upon the conspiracy that ex- 
 isted without doubt against both him and her. More- 
 over, so intricate, so entangled did all appear that the 
 mesh seemed incapable of being unravelled, and his 
 brain whirled as he endeavoured to pierce the darkness 
 of it all. 
 
 " Let me reflect," he had pondered to himself, as day 
 by day he drew nearer to the capital, " let me try to 
 think it all out, see it clearly. God give me power to 
 do so ! " 
 
 Then he had endeavoured, by going over his life 
 from the commencement, to reduce matters to some- 
 thing short of chaos. 
 
 " That I am De Vannes's son his heir must be ! " 
 he thought ; " it gives the cause, the reason for what 
 follows. This is clear. Also the attack on me, the 
 stealing of Dorine, proceeds from a like cause. And if 
 all that was the duke's his title, his wealth is mine, 
 and, after me, hers, in whose light can we stand, against 
 whose interest thrust, but De Roquemaure's? All this 
 is as clear as day ; it is here the mystery begins. For, 
 first, how does he know this? Next which is more 
 strange how know that on a certain night I should be 
 on the road between two such remote places as Pontar- 
 lier and Paris ? How know, too, that I have my child
 
 "I MUST SPEAK!" 117 
 
 with me, as he must have known, since he mentioned it 
 to the myrmidons he enlisted at Recey ? If I could dis- 
 cover this should ever discover it, a light might break 
 in upon what followed more mysterious still." 
 
 When he had turned this over and over again in his 
 thoughts as mile by mile and league by league he drew 
 nearer the end of his journey, he endeavoured to ar- 
 range and piece together the further, the newer, and 
 fresher mystery of all that had happened since the 
 night he rested under the roof of the De Roquemaures' 
 house. And here his perplexity was even greater than 
 before. 
 
 " He acts alone," he reflected ; " at least without as- 
 sistance from his kinswomen his stepmother and half- 
 sister. For if such is not the case, then viler wretches 
 than they never bore the shape of womanhood. The 
 excitement of the marquise, the noble sympathy of that 
 girl expressed in every glance of those pure eyes, were 
 not, could not have been assumed false ! If so, perish 
 all my belief in woman's truth and honour ! Yet from 
 that very manoir over which she, his mother, rules more 
 than he, for the present at least, came forth two one a 
 man in his garb, the dress of his house the other a 
 woman. For her, though, it is not so difficult of ex- 
 planation ! The murdered peasant's wife spoke of him 
 as having female instruments at his beck and call, and 
 although her companion wore his livery she might be 
 any creature in the city over whom he possessed in- 
 fluence." 
 
 And now, as he reflected, he knew that he had come 
 to the most difficult of all knots to untie, the hardest 
 of all the mystery to be solved. For, arrived so far in 
 his endeavours to unwind the plot with which he was 
 surrounded, he found himself at fault, groping help-
 
 118 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 lessly in the dark, when lie stood face to face with the 
 memory of the man who had been assassinated by De 
 Roquemaure's vassal face to face with Pierre, the 
 Bishop of Lodeve's servant, who at the time he was set 
 upon was in possession of Doriue ! 
 
 One thought alone rose to his mind at first, one only 
 which would have explained his presence on the scene, 
 his possession of the child the thought that the cyn- 
 ical Bishop of Lodeve, the man of whom the whole of 
 France spoke so ill, might in truth have known of some 
 deep-laid scheme for kidnapping that child and have 
 sent Pierre forward or after him to rescue it at all 
 costs, thinking, perhaps, that if abstracted by him, it 
 could be better kept in safety than even by its own 
 father. A wild and visionary idea, in truth, to have 
 entered St. Georges's mind, yet, perhaps, not too remote 
 to suggest itself to an unhappy parent so bereft as he 
 was. But, in a moment, another reflection chased it 
 away. 
 
 " No ! " he exclaimed to himself as the second 
 thought arose. " No ! no ! More like that the fellow 
 Pierre was the messenger from Dijon who put the 
 ruffians on their guard ; who warned them Jhat I was 
 accompanied by the Mousquetaire Noir; that they 
 would have two soldiers to contend against instead of 
 one. The fellow who had tracked us all day, then passed 
 us, and who, masked like the others, had stood out of 
 the fight in the graveyard. So ! so ! That vile bishop 
 is in it, too. Fool that I am to have thought that that 
 sneering, evil priest had ever a kindly thought in his 
 heart. Yet why in it also? Why? why?" 
 
 He could follow his chain of reasoning no more 
 against all his thoughts a blacker wall of impenetrable 
 mystery rose than ever. He was forced to desist from
 
 "I MUST SPEAK!" 119 
 
 thinking, or go mad in doing so. For if this man 
 Pierre was De Roquemaure's auxiliary if, as was un- 
 doubted from the peasant woman's story, he had pos- 
 sessed himself of Dorine on behalf of De Roquemaure 
 why had two other of that villain's myrmidons slain 
 him and possessed themselves of her ? His mind could 
 find no answer to this ; his reasoning ceased ; he could 
 go no further through the maze. 
 
 " God, he knows," he muttered reverently. " In 
 his good time, in his infinite mercy, it may be he will 
 let me know all, too." 
 
 But even as he rode through the crowded streets and 
 drew near the great courtyard of the Louvre he was 
 still thinking thinking always of the web in which he 
 was entangled and of his helpless little child alone, un- 
 happy perhaps ill treated perhaps dead ! There was 
 that day no more heartbroken man in Paris than he. 
 
 As he drew rein at the courtyard door, vast as a 
 cathedral's, there issued from it a great emblazoned car- 
 riage, with arms and crests upon its panels, the four 
 horses drawing it being also richly apparelled with 
 velvet and nodding plumes, and with at the back three 
 footmen who, as was the custom of the time, stood each 
 behind the other on a platform instead of side by side. 
 
 His eye, glancing into the interior of the vast fabric, 
 saw within a woman, young and beautiful, yet with her 
 fair face disfigured as was indeed obligatory on all 
 women who attended the court of Louis with powder 
 and paint, and with mouches, or patches, cut into the 
 various forms of stars, half moons, and so forth. Her 
 dress, too, was gorgeous, being of rich velvet of the 
 colour then known as " pigeon breast," faced with silver 
 brocade and slashed with seams to show the red and 
 silver lace, while the whole was enriched with plain
 
 120 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 satin and watered ribbons, and deep full point lace at 
 breast and sleeves. On her head, though not hiding 
 her much-curled hair, was a rich escoffion of ruby velvet 
 surmounted by pearls, and tied beneath her chin. 
 
 She saw him in a moment, the soft hazel eyes rest- 
 ing full on him saw, too, that he hesitated as though 
 about to draw his horse away out of her range of vision ; 
 then with a look she beckoned him to draw near her 
 carriage door, while through the window at the back of 
 the vehicle she made a sign to the first of the three foot- 
 men to have it stopped against the chaussee. 
 
 And he, scarce knowing what to do whether, in- 
 deed, to content himself with coldly taking off his hat 
 and avoiding her, or to obey her glance, yet instinctively 
 did the latter, and drew up to the window. And in 
 another moment the embroidered glove had been with- 
 drawn from her white hand, which was resting in his, 
 while her eyes scanned his sorrow-stricken face. 
 
 " Monsieur St. Georges honoured our poor house no 
 more," she said, " ere he quitted Troyes. Yet, consider- 
 ing all, it was not strange he should not do so." 
 
 On his guard, since believing though he did in her 
 honour and in her mother's he could not forget she 
 was a De Roquemaure, the kinswoman of the devil who 
 had already worked him so much ill, and might nay, 
 would, if not thwarted work so much more, he re- 
 plied cautiously : '" Considering all,' mademoiselle ; you 
 doubtless refer to " 
 
 " Oh, monsieur," she said, " let there be no more 
 cross purposes. I know I know as though I could see 
 deep into your heart, beneath your gorget, that that 
 you couple us with my brother. And you know," while 
 as she spoke she leaned forward so that her fair yet, 
 alas! painted face almost bent over his sleeve, and her
 
 "I MUST SPEAK!" 121 
 
 clear, starlike eyes gazed into his, " that he is your 
 enemy ; at least, you fear so." 
 
 " I know nothing," he replied, " except that all all 
 in one case suspicion in the other certainty points 
 to him. I know that when one, whose part in the affair 
 I cannot yet unravel, had my child" he said "my 
 child " with a sob in his voice " in his keeping, a 
 vassal of De Boquemaure's, clad in the russet livery of 
 your house, and accompanied by one of his master's 
 lemans, slew him and stole her. I know that." 
 
 " One of his lemans ! " she whispered, while over 
 her face there crept a blush deeper than the court- 
 ordained paint " one of his lemans ! You know 
 that?" 
 
 " I know it," he replied. " Masked, too, as though, 
 foul as she might be, she still had some shame, dreaded 
 to show her face in such proceeding." 
 
 She seemed to be endeavouring to tame some emotion 
 within her ; perhaps, as he thought, to prevent any sign 
 of knowledge on her part escaping from her by accident. 
 Then she said, in a faint voice : 
 
 " Since you know that, you must know more. Oh, 
 my God ! " she exclaimed suddenly so suddenly that 
 he started at her excitement. " I must speak ! Yet, 
 Monsieur St. Georges, remember; it is the man's sis- 
 ter, the child of the same father as himself, who 
 speaks to you. Remember that, I say, and listen. 
 Though he stole your child, though his vassal slew the 
 man who had it in his keeping, though his leman 
 that I should pronounce the word ! assisted that vassal, 
 yet De Roquemaure has not harmed it will not harm 
 it. Do you believe ? " 
 
 " Tell me more. Where is it ? It is mine, mine, 
 
 mine ! " 
 
 9
 
 122 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Do you believe me, Monsieur St. Georges ? me, 
 though I am his sister, a De Roquemaure myself ? " 
 
 His eyes looked back into hers now looked deep into 
 those pure, clear, gray eyes; he hesitated no longer. 
 She was his sister, was a De Roquemaure, yet he be- 
 lieved. 
 
 "Yes," he said, "mademoiselle, I believe. I do 
 believe." 
 
 Beneath the hateful, necessary carmine he saw the 
 true blood show itself as he spoke. He saw the honest, 
 truthful eyes glisten at least no rococo monarch could 
 cause them to be made vile ! he knew that his words 
 had satisfied her. He had an ally, a friend, here. And 
 how powerful such an ally might be ! Yet he contin- 
 ued, his anxiety overmastering all : 
 1 " But in pity, mademoiselle, not so much for me, 
 her father, as her own innocent, helpless little self 
 think of her, poor little babe, in that man's in any 
 man's power ! tell me all you know. Tell me, I im- 
 plore." 
 
 What she would have said, what answered, he could 
 not know. At that moment there came forth from the 
 inner court a troop of the mounted gendarmerie, fol- 
 lowed by an enormous carriage, three times the size of 
 that in which sat Mademoiselle de Roquemaure, covered 
 with gilding. It was the carriage of Louis Quatorze, 
 who was about to proceed to Marly for the night. Nat- 
 urally, therefore, the vehicle in which Aurelie sat was 
 forced to go forward ; naturally, also, St. Georges had to 
 back his horse to the side of the huge gateway,, since no 
 obstruction was allowed to impede the gracious sov- 
 ereign's progress. With a bow they parted, therefore, 
 she giving him one glance that might mean that later 
 on they would meet again, while her carriage proceeded
 
 THE MINISTER OP WAR. 123 
 
 as fast as was possible in the direction of the already 
 fashionable quarter of St.-Germain. 
 
 And he, drawing aside, witnessed the passage of 
 Louis ere he himself proceeded to present himself to 
 Louvois. He saw the king with his great carriage full 
 of ladies, saw the table inside it covered with sweetmeats 
 and fruit, saw the greatest monarch in Europe lolling 
 back alone on one seat, a dog upon his knees. And, as 
 he bowed low before his master, it seemed to him almost 
 as if the king had distinguished him from among the 
 heterogeneous mass of people who thronged the filthy 
 footpath, and had looked at him an instant as though 
 either gazing on a familiar face or wondering where he 
 had seen one like it before. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE MINISTER OF WAR. 
 
 " You come a little late, Monsieur St. Georges," the 
 harsh, raucous, and underbred voice of Louvois said " a 
 little late. Too late by far for an officer selected by his 
 Majesty for special service." 
 
 He turned his back upon his visitor as he spoke, 
 changing the position he had assumed in front of the 
 great fireplace in the room set apart as his cabinet in 
 the Louvre, and seemed now only intent on watching 
 the logs burning in the grate, and of dismissing or in- 
 sulting the chevau-Uger. 
 
 " Perhaps when M. de Louvois has heard my expla- 
 nation of the reason why I am late, have tarried on my 
 road, he may be disposed to overlook my dilitoriness,"
 
 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 St. Georges replied, regarding the back of the roturier 
 minister as he spoke ; and the well-bred tones in which 
 he uttered the words caused Louvois to turn around and 
 face him again. 
 
 They made a strange contrast as they stood there. 
 Both men were more than ordinarily tall, yet both car- 
 ried their height differently. Louvois's was decreased 
 in appearance by the heaviness of his shoulders, his 
 head being deep set between them. St. Georges was as 
 erect as a dart; while, as he faced the man whom, by 
 some innate perception, he regarded as an enemy or, at 
 least, not a friend his head was thrown back, so that 
 his height and uprightness seemed somehow increased. 
 Moreover, the whole appearance of each was in extreme 
 contrast, and that not a contrast in favour of the min- 
 ister. The stained military jacket of the soldier, the 
 long, brown leather boots, the large cavalry spurs, the 
 great bowl-hilted sword, all gave him an appearance 
 of advantage over the sombre, velvet-clad Louvois ; the 
 long, curling hair falling on his shoulders in a thick 
 mass was more becoming than the wig a trois marteaux 
 which Louvois wore outside state functions. And for 
 the rest, the pale yet weather-exposed face of the one, 
 with its long, deep, chestnut mustache, caused the ca- 
 daverous and coarse-cut features of the other the 
 thick, bulbous nose and full, sensual lips to appear in- 
 significant, if not ignoble. 
 
 Louvois had kept him waiting three hours in the 
 anteroom a thing which, however, he would have done 
 in any case and to any one seeking an interview with 
 him, excepting only some scion of royalty, legitimate or 
 illegitimate, one of the king's marshals, or u relative of 
 one of the king's mistresses for he understood as well 
 as any vulgar, important parvenu of to-day, or thought
 
 THE MINISTER OP WAR. 125 
 
 he understood, the value of administering such snubs. 
 And, now that the visitor was admitted* his manner was 
 as insulting and as would-be humiliating as he knew 
 how to fashion it. Moreover, with another trait of vul- 
 garity as common in those days as these, he had bidden 
 him to no seat. 
 
 His behaviour was the ignoble spite of the man who 
 believed he saw in the other the son of him who had 
 consistently ignored his existence the late Due de 
 Vannes. 
 
 " The explanation," he said, in answer to St Georges's 
 remark, and speaking in a voice which he endeavoured 
 to render cold and haughty, but which was, in truth, an 
 angry, bitter one, " will have to be very full, very com- 
 plete, to satisfy his Majesty. You quitted the garrison 
 of Pontarlier on the last night of the last year, riding 
 on special service in the king's name, and you have 
 tarried long on the road in, I imagine, your own serv- 
 ice. Beyond bringing one message that from the 
 Bishop of Lodve you have failed in your duty, sir ; 
 indeed, failed so much that the Marquise de Roque- 
 maure, from whom you were ordered to bring another 
 message, has actually preceded your arrival here. Has 
 passed you on the read and entered Paris before you, 
 though you quitted her manoir before she did ; has, 
 indeed, been able to give an interesting account of you 
 and your supposed adventures." 
 
 " Supposed ! " exclaimed St. Georges quietly " sup- 
 posed ! Does madame la marquise stigmatize them as 
 'supposed,' or does monsieur le ministre, Monsieur de 
 Louvois, apply that epithet to them ? " and as he spoke, 
 with still his head thrown back and his left hand resting 
 lightly in the cup of his sword hilt, he looked very 
 straight into the eyes of Louvois.
 
 126 IN T THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Madame la marquise is a woman ; she believes 
 and tells a story as she hears it." 
 
 St. Georges bent his head for a moment, then as 
 quietly as he asked the previous question, but equally as 
 clearly and distinctly as he had previously spoken, he 
 said : 
 
 " Monsieur Louvois will remember he is speaking to 
 a soldier." 
 
 " Who permits no one, not even the minister of the 
 army, who is his superior, to question his veracity. 
 What he told madame he told as it happened." 
 
 Louvois laughed somewhat sinisterly and wholly in- 
 sultingly, yet for him quietly, after which he said : 
 
 " Monsieur St. Georges is also something else besides 
 a soldier as, indeed, his present manner proclaims. A 
 little of if I may say it without fear of being done to 
 death on my own hearth a bully." 
 
 "A bully!" 
 
 " I fear so, disguised in the uniform of the king. It 
 was bully's work which you performed in the graveyard 
 of Aignay-le-Duc work which if done by others than 
 soldiers would lead to the halter; work which, when 
 done by soldiers, leads generally to a file of their breth- 
 ren to a platoon." 
 
 If St. Georges could have had his way, followed his 
 own bent, it would have been his right hand instead 
 of left which would have grasped his sword, and he 
 would have bidden the minister unsheath his own 
 weapon and answer for his words. Yet, since he was 
 no fool, he saw at once that for some purpose of his 
 own Louvois was endeavouring to anger him, to lead 
 him into an outbreak of irritation, and he refused to be 
 so led, so trapped. Instead, he replied, therefore :
 
 THE MINISTER OF WAR. 127 
 
 " Monsieur is, I think, the father of children himself. 
 A few words will, therefore, show him, prove to him, 
 my excuse. I bore with me my child ; I was set upon 
 by hired ruffians, and in the defence of that child by 
 the aid of another stalwart arm I resisted them, slew 
 some, drove some away, disarmed others. Yet, mo"n- 
 sieur, this was not the worst, not quite the worst, 
 against which I had to contend." 
 
 The piercing eyes of the minister of war were rest- 
 ing fixedly on him as he spoke almost, it seemed, as 
 though he feared what might come next. 
 
 St. Georges proceeded : 
 
 " Not quite the worst. This gang of hired ruffians 
 was led by one, a cowardly hound, who feared to show 
 his face ! by one who so accurately had he been noti- 
 fied, forewarned, of my approach must have received 
 his intelligence from Paris, from some one who knew 
 what my movements would be at the time. Strange, 
 was it not, monsieur le ministre ? " 
 
 Louvois's face seemed less empurpled than before 
 to have turned white ; then, brusquely, as always, he 
 said : 
 
 " You are here, sir, to answer questions, not to ask 
 them. Proceed." 
 
 " From Paris alone," St. Georges continued, " could 
 that intelligence have come, since he was there with his 
 ruffians to meet and intercept me though I should not 
 omit to state that, from the time I left Dijon, there fol- 
 lowed ever in my course another knave, who took to this 
 craven assassin the news that I was not alone. Certain 
 it is, he would have been of no avail, nor have been sent, 
 had not the others known well of my intended journey. 
 Monsieur le ministre, are you sure, do you think, that 
 in your bureau here " the words fell clear and distinct
 
 128 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 as he spoke " there is any foul, crawling creature, say, 
 a low-born clerk, say, some ignoble menial it could 
 have been none with the instincts of a true-born gentle- 
 man of France ! who would have set so deep and foul 
 a plot as this to waylay an innocent man ? " 
 
 He saw and, seeing, knew where one of his enemies, 
 at least, was the slight wince which Louvois gave 
 above all, the minister hated to have it known that his 
 origin had but one or two generations of gentility to it ! 
 and he knew also that he had laid his finger on one 
 knot in the net. Then Louvois spoke : 
 
 "It is impossible that such can be the case. And 
 accusations against persons who have no existence will 
 not save you. You have failed in your duty. Is this all 
 the explanation you have to offer me ? " 
 
 " It is all I have to offer you, monsieur. If it is not 
 sufficient, I must address myself to the head of the army 
 to the king himself." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have little opportunity." 
 Then turning like a tiger toward him, he said : " Your 
 case has been considered during your procrastination; 
 your easily made journey by extremely short and com- 
 fortable stages. Monsieur St. Georges, you are no longer 
 in the army. The king has no further need of your 
 valuable services." 
 
 "What! Dismissed without appeal without " 
 
 " Your appeal is heard and disapproved of by me. 
 Had it been made differently your explanation couched 
 in more respectful terms, had carried with it more con- 
 viction to my mind this," and he handed him a paper, 
 " would have been destroyed instead of being given to 
 you. As it is, read it, and act on it. Otherwise the 
 results will be unfortunate. Observe also the signatures 
 to it. They are neither those of ' low-born clerks ' nor
 
 THE MINISTER OF WAR. 129 
 
 ' ignoble menials ' ; " and he stepped back to the fire and 
 stood regarding his victim. 
 
 Certainly one signature came not under the category 
 of the above terms, it being that of Louis himself ; the 
 other was that of Louvois, and, perhaps, was open to 
 cavil. But St. Georges was immersed in the document 
 itself : beyond the (to him) fatal signature of the king, 
 the other was of scant importance for the moment. 
 
 The paper ran as follows : 
 
 "MONSIEUR ST. GEORGES: Being extremely dis- 
 pleased with you for the manner in which you have 
 tarried on your road from Pontarlier to Paris and have 
 failed in the secret mission on which I employed you 
 namely, to bring me (without more delay than such 
 which might by force majeure arrive) messages from 
 two of my subjects I write you this to say, first, you 
 are no longer an officer in my regiment of the Chevaux- 
 Legers of Xivernosi ; secondly, you are at once to quit 
 my kingdom of France and the dependencies thereof, 
 wheresoever situated. In which, desiring that you fail 
 not at once to obey my second behest, I pray that God 
 will have you, Monsieur St. Georges, in his holy keep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Written at Paris the 15th January, 1688. 
 " Signe Louis. Soussigne Louvois." 
 
 Briefly St. Georges said to Louvois : 
 
 "And if I fail in this second behest, what then? 
 What if I refuse to quit France ? " 
 
 " That I leave you to imagine. Sir, our interview is 
 at an end ; " and he rang a bell as he spoke, and when 
 it was answered by a gorgeous footman, said : . 
 
 " Escort this gentleman to the courtyard."
 
 130 IN* THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 St. Georges, however, made no sign of following the 
 servant, but, instead, advanced a step closer to Louvois, 
 so that when he stood nearer to him than he had hith- 
 erto done, the latter gave unmistakable signs of appre- 
 hension. Yet, seeing that there was no threatening 
 appearance on the other's face and that his sword hung 
 idle and untouched by his side, he said : 
 
 " You do not hear me, sir, it would seem. Our 
 interview is at an end." 
 
 " Not yet," replied St. Georges, very calmly. " You 
 have delivered your decision I refuse to believe it is 
 the king's. And until I receive it from his own lips, I 
 shall neither quit Paris nor France." 
 
 "You will not?" 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " So," replied Louvois in a harsh tone, " that is your 
 decision." Then changing his tone to one which, per- 
 haps, he thought more effective a gentler, more subtle 
 tone he said : " You are, I think, unwise. The king 
 will not see you ; and meanwhile he can find means 
 to exercise his authority, to have his orders executed." 
 
 " The king will see me, I think. Monsieur Louvois, 
 I have a petition to present to his Majesty." 
 
 " A petition ! " 
 
 " Against three of his subjects, all of whom, as I do 
 believe before God, have been engaged in a most foul 
 attempt against me and my child. Monsieur le min- 
 istre, shall I mention the names of those subjects of the 
 king?" and his eye glanced at the servant as he spoke. 
 
 " No, be silent," replied Louvois ; " also I bid you 
 beware what you say, what do. Monsieur St. Georges," 
 he continued, breaking out into one of those heats of 
 rage which were usual with him, while, even as he did 
 so, he roughly motioned the servant at the door to quit
 
 THE MINISTER OF WAR. 131 
 
 the room. " Monsieur St. Georges, do you know the 
 deadly peril in which you stand ? Do you know, I say ? 
 If it pleases me I have enough authority to commit you 
 to the Bastille to-night, to Vincennes, to Bicetre the 
 power to arrest you here in this room. If I summon 
 that servant again, a file of mousquetaires will be sent 
 for ; if I touch this bell " and he pointed to another 
 than the one which he had already rung "they will 
 appear. Monsieur St. Georges, will you quit Paris to- 
 night and France directly afterward, or shall I call in 
 the soldiers ? " 
 
 " Call in the soldiers," the other replied, now thor- 
 oughly desperate, " or the servant, or as many of your 
 following as you choose ! Only ere you do so hear 
 me," and he raised his hand in so authoritative a man- 
 ner that Louvois, who had made a step toward the bell, 
 paused in astonishment. Then St. Georges continued : 
 " I am resolved to obtain an audience of the king to- 
 night, and can do so if not thwarted. My charger is 
 fleeter than the horses of his state carriage ; I can reach 
 Marly as soon as he. To-day is Thursday, le jour des 
 audiences iconnues ; it is my chance. Now, monsieur, 
 shall I see the king to-night unmolested, unprevented 
 by you, or shall I be dragged before him an assassin to 
 plead my cause? A murderer, but a righteous one?" 
 
 " An assassin a murderer ! " exclaimed Louvois, 
 stepping back, while his face blanched. " Explain your- 
 self." 
 
 " Then listen and abstain from that bell till you 
 have heard me " seeing that the other's eye roved to- 
 ward it. " I intend," speaking rapidly, " to see the 
 king to-night or in the morning at latest, and to tell 
 him of the foul plot of which an officer of his chevaux- 
 legers has been the victim ; to ask him if, bearing this
 
 132 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 about me " and he produced from his breast the letter 
 ordering him to leave Pontarlier and travel to Paris " 
 he approves of the manner in which I have been spied 
 upon, tracked, nigh done to death, and robbed of my 
 most precious treasure, my child ; to sue for permis- 
 sion to seek out those who have done this thing and 
 bring them at last to justice. And, M. de Louvois, I 
 tell you face to face and man to man that, if you ap- 
 proach that bell, summon your soldiers until I am out- 
 side this door, they shall find you a dead man when 
 they open it ! Once outside I can answer for myself. 
 Now choose ! " 
 
 And as he spoke his right hand went round to his 
 sword-hilt, while his left raised the scabbard, so that the 
 blade could easily be drawn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 PASQUEDIEU ! 
 
 ST. GEORGES was not, however, destined to arrive at 
 Marly on that night, nor to see Louis and lay his story 
 before him. 
 
 On quitting Louvois he made his way swiftly along 
 the corridor leading from the chamber on the ground 
 floor in which he had been received to the courtyard, no 
 interruption being attempted, as was natural enough, 
 considering that he was leaving instead of seeking to 
 enter the building. The soldiers, gendarmerie and the 
 Suisses as well as the Mousquetaires Gris whose turn 
 it was at the present moment to be in attendance at the 
 Louvre were lounging about the guard room and the
 
 PASQUEDIEU! 133 
 
 great gateway, and they not only did not offer any oppo- 
 sition to his passage, but, instead, seeing about him the 
 signs of a cavalry officer the gorget, long cut-and- 
 thrust sword, great boots, and gantlets saluted him. 
 
 Therefore he passed out into the street since known 
 in the present century as the Rue de Rivoli and re- 
 gained his horse from the guet in whose custody he had 
 left it. 
 
 That he recognised the danger the awful danger 
 in which he had now placed himself, who can doubt? 
 He was a soldier, and he had threatened the assassina- 
 tion of the chief under the king of the army. More- 
 over, he was a soldier who had just been dismissed from 
 that army for failing in his duty, for allowing private 
 affairs harrowing as they were ! to come between him 
 and that duty. Now he was cooler ; he became more 
 clear sighted ; he knew that he had done a thing which 
 would destroy any claim that he might make for the 
 king's sympathy with him. 
 
 " I am ruined," he murmured, looking up and down 
 the street, not knowing which way to direct his horse's 
 steps ; " have ruined myself. Louis will never forgive 
 this when he hears Louvois's story never see me nor 
 hear me. Fool, fool that I am ! I have destroyed 
 everything above all, my one chance of regaining 
 Dorine ! " 
 
 What was he to do? That was the question he 
 asked himself. He had, it was true, avoided instant 
 arrest within the precincts of the palace, but how long 
 could he avoid arrest in whatever part of Paris he might 
 endeavour to shelter himself now ? 
 
 " What have other men done," he pondered, " placed 
 as I am as I have placed myself ? What shall I, a bro- 
 ken, ruined soldier, do? What? what? Turn bully,
 
 134 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 as he 'accused me of being, and cutthroat, bravo, or 
 thief haunter of gambling hells and tripots? No ! no ! 
 no ! I am a gentleman, have always lived like one ; so 
 let me continue to the end. Yet, what to do now ? " 
 
 He threaded his way through the streets, still filled 
 with their crowds of saltimbanques and quacks, though 
 the fashionable world, having seen Le Roi Soleil, had 
 gone or was going home, for the wintry evening was 
 setting in. And as he rode slowly, for his poor beast 
 was now quite spent, he tried to think of what he should 
 do go to Marly at once, that evening, as he had said to 
 Louvois (although with scarcely the intention of doing 
 so, since he doubted seeing the king without prepara- 
 tion), or find a roof for himself and a stall for his horse 
 for the night. 
 
 Then he decided suddenly, promptly, that the for- 
 mer was what he would do. If he could get the king's 
 ear first, before Louvois, he might save himself. Louis 
 was great of heart, in spite of his childish belief in his 
 kingly attributes, of his love of splendour, and his van- 
 ity. Who could tell ? A word with him above all, a 
 word breathed as to whom St. Georges believed himself 
 to be and he was safe. His father had been Louis's 
 companion ; he would not slay the son. Safe even 
 though dismissed the army and stripped of his com- 
 mission able to stay in France, to return to Troyes, to 
 seek and find his darling again ! 
 
 He was resolved ; he would go to Marly that night 
 
 Only how to get there. Marly lay beyond Ver- 
 sailles, four leagues from Paris, and his horse could go 
 no further. The marvel was that it had done so much, 
 and it was only by the most assiduous care and merci- 
 ful treatment by sometimes walking mile after mile by 
 its side, and by resting it hourly that St. Georges had
 
 PASQUEDIEU! 135 
 
 been able to assist it to reach Paris. Now it could do 
 no more. 
 
 However, ere long he espied an ecurie and found 
 that the owner had horses for hire, while one, a red 
 roan with a shifty eye and bright-blooded nostril, took 
 St. Georges's fancy. He knew a good horse the moment 
 he saw one, and read by this creature's points that it 
 would be troublesome for the first mile, and then carry 
 him swiftly for the remainder of his journey. So, leav- 
 ing his own horse though not before he had seen it 
 attended to, fed, and rubbed down, and taken into a 
 comfortable, fresh -littered stall he set out once more, 
 tired, worn, and travel-sore as he was, for his fresh des- 
 tination. Yet he knew his object, if he could attain it, 
 would be worth a hundred times the extra fatigue. 
 And when it was attained he could rest. Time enough 
 then. 
 
 The red roan behaved exactly as he expected it 
 would : it first of all bounded half across the road when 
 once he was in the saddle, knocking down a scara- 
 mouche and a toothd rawer in doing so the latter, 
 fortunately, having no customer in his hands at the mo- 
 ment; it next proceeded sideways up the street, and 
 then, finding it had a master to deal with, danced along 
 in a canter until the West Gate of Paris was reached, 
 after which, and being now sure that its exuberance was 
 useless, it settled down into a long, easy stride, and bore 
 its rider as smoothly as a carriage might toward his goal. 
 
 The moon, which a few nights back had shown be- 
 neath its young rays the corpse hanging on the gibbet 
 outside the city of Troyes, lit up now the road along 
 which he passed, disturbing on his way sometimes a 
 deer in a thicket, sometimes a scurrying rabbit they 
 disturbing, too, the fiery creature he bestrode, and
 
 136 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 frightening it into a swifter pace. Still, each moment 
 brought him nearer to his destination, to the arbiter in 
 whose hands his destiny was held ; and, for the rest, he 
 sat like a rock upon its back. Its gambades could not 
 unseat him. 
 
 So the twelve English miles were nearly passed ; he 
 was on the new road that branched off to Marly the 
 strangest route that any man living in those days ever, 
 perhaps, rode along. On either side it was bordered by 
 small forests of enormous trees, mostly covered with 
 dead branches, since these trees had died unnaturally 
 long months ago, when transported from Compiegne to 
 where they now stood. Also he saw beneath the moon's 
 gleams fountains from which no water could be forced 
 to flow great basins to which water could not be 
 brought, or only brought by depriving Versailles of its 
 natural supply. Louis had thought that he could force 
 Nature uproot trees from one spot, where they had 
 flourished for a hundred years and cause them to flour- 
 ish equally well in another; had imagined that even 
 the waters on which his gondolas, brought from Venice, 
 might float, could be forced into existence at his com- 
 mand. It was a monstrous impertinence offered to 
 Nature, and it cost him four million and a half of livres, 
 with but little profit to any but the frogs and toads. 
 
 There rose now before his eyes where the road 
 branched off in different directions, on the right to 
 Versailles, and, a little to the left, to Marly the white- 
 washed walls of an auberge known as Le Bon Pasteur, 
 a place soon to be pulled down, since Louis had bought 
 out the owner, and was about to build a pavilion upon 
 it But it stood up to this time untouched, as it had 
 done since the days of Henri III long, low, thatched, 
 and weather-beaten, three old poplar trees in front of it,
 
 PASQUEDIEU! 137 
 
 a mounting-block also, and, of course, the usual heap of 
 filth by its side where the stables were. 
 
 Approaching it, he felt the roan stagger beneath 
 him, halt in its strides, then falter ; and, shrewd horse- 
 man as he was, knew that it had either cast a shoe, or 
 had got a stone in one. And as he dismounted close 
 by the inn, though still some twoscore yards from the 
 mounting-block, he heard behind him the clatter of 
 other hoofs coming on, and the light laugh of a woman, 
 also the deeper tones of a man. 
 
 " Pasquedieu ! " he heard the latter say and started 
 both at the exclamation and the voice " you may laugh, 
 ma mie, yet I tell you 'tis so. He will marry her, spend 
 her money on other women as I spend mine on you 
 Morbleu ! whom have we here ? " and the man riding 
 along the road with his female companion pulled up his 
 own horse, as the woman did hers, on seeing another 
 traveller dismounted by the side of, and examining, his 
 animal. 
 
 " Whom ? " exclaimed that traveller, looking up 
 " whom ? One perhaps whom you know. One whose 
 name is Georges St. Georges." Then, vaulting back 
 into his saddle not meaning to be taken at a disadvan- 
 tage he bent forward and looked into the newcomer's 
 face. " Did you ever hear that name before, mon- 
 sieur ? " he asked. 
 
 The face into which he gazed was that of a young, 
 good-looking man, close shaven and with gray eyes that 
 looked at him, as he thought, with terror. He was well 
 dressed, too, in a riding costume of the period, while the 
 woman who sat her horse, peering at him out of the eye- 
 lets of her mask, was also smartly arrayed in a female 
 riding coat of the day, her head covered with a hood. 
 
 " Answer, monsieur," said St. Georges. 
 10
 
 138 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Never," the other replied. " How should I know 
 the name of every person I meet on the road ? " 
 
 St. Georges bent forward over his saddle so that his 
 own face was now nearer by a foot to the man with the 
 gray eyes ; then he said : 
 
 " Monsieur de Koquemaure, you are a liar ! And 
 more, a thief, a kidnapper; also, a would-be assassin. 
 I know you and this, your wanton, here. You have to 
 answer to me to-night for all you have done against me 
 and mine in the past two weeks." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " he heard the woman hiss beneath her 
 mask. " Kill him, Raoul, kill him ! God ! that you 
 should let him live and utter such things ! " And as 
 she so hissed she leaned down and struck at his face 
 with her riding whip. 
 
 " Hound ! " she exclaimed, " you apply that word to 
 me? Tome?" 
 
 " The woman speaks well," St. Georges said, warding 
 off the blow with his arm while his eye rested on her for 
 a moment; "it is a matter of killing. Either you or I 
 have to be killed. To-night ! Do you hear, or are you 
 struck dumb with fear?" 
 
 " No," the other replied, at last, with amazement. 
 " Who are you who, under a name I know not, dare to 
 assault me thus with such opprobrious words ? Nay," 
 turning to the masked woman, who was again mutter- 
 ing in his ear, " have no fear. I will have his blood for 
 it. If he is a gentleman with whom I can cross swords, 
 we fight ere another hour passes." 
 
 "Also," St. Georges broke in, "you are, I perceive, a 
 coward, besides the other things I have charged you 
 with. You know who I am well enough. If not if 
 your memory is as treacherous as your courage seems 
 poor, let me remind you. I am the man whom you at-
 
 PASQUED1EU! 139 
 
 tacked with five others at Aignay-le-Duc ; the man 
 whose child you sought to slay ; the father of the child 
 whom your woman and your man-servant seized away 
 from one who had it in his possession, and whom they 
 slew also, you not appearing on the scene. You are 
 careful of yourself, Monsieur de Roquemaure ! In the 
 first treacherous attack you shielded your head as none 
 other's head was shielded ; in the second you employed 
 a woman and a man-servant to do that which, perhaps, 
 you feared to do yourself." 
 
 Every word he uttered was studied insult, every 
 word was weighed before it was delivered, substituted 
 for any other which rose to his lips if not deemed by 
 him sufficiently galling. He had sworn to kill this man 
 if ever he encountered him again, and he meant to kill 
 him to-night now he had met him. Therefore, since he 
 was resolved he should have no loophole of escape from 
 crossing swords with him, he so phrased his remarks 
 that he must fight or acknowledge himself the veriest 
 poltroon that breathed. 
 
 " But," he continued, " if you still value your hide 
 so much that you dare not meet me, now at once, tell 
 me where you and this woman if it be the same, as I 
 suppose have hidden my child ; lead me to her, and 
 then you shall go free. Only choose, and choose at 
 once." 
 
 He heard the woman mutter to De Roquemaure : 
 "Who is the woman he speaks of, who, Raoul?" while 
 also he saw her eyes glisten again through the mask ; 
 then, as he strove to catch her companion's reply, that 
 companion turned on him, and said : 
 
 " Monsieur St. Georges, as you term yourself, be 
 very sure I intend to slay you to-night. I do not know 
 you, but your insults to me and to this lady, although
 
 14:0 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the ntterances of a madman, have to be wiped out at 
 once. As to the child you mention, and its kidnapping 
 by a servant of mine and a woman bah ! I know not 
 of what you speak." 
 
 " Do you deny that you are Monsieur de Roque- 
 maure ? " 
 
 " I neither deny nor assert. Under that name you 
 have chosen to waylay and insult me. Under that 
 name, since you will have it, I intend to have repara- 
 tion." 
 
 "Do you deny the assault at Aignay-le-Duc ? " 
 
 " I deny nothing, assert nothing." 
 
 " So be it," St. Georges said. " I have made no 
 mistake. Yon are the man. Your voice, your ex- 
 pression condemn you. Your face, though you have 
 shaved off your beard " and he saw the other start as he 
 mentioned this " condemns, convicts you. Deny, there- 
 fore, these two things or draw your sword. We have 
 wasted enough time." 
 
 " We have," the other answered, and as he spoke he 
 dismounted from hia horse, St. Georges doing the same. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL ! " 
 
 THE duel was not, however, to take place in the road, 
 since at that moment, and when both men were prepar- 
 ing to draw their swords, the inn door opened and two 
 persons came forth one evidently the landlord, the 
 other a customer to whom he was saying " Good-night." 
 Then, as he was about to re-enter his house, he saw
 
 "KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL!" 
 
 under the rays of the moon the three others in the road 
 the two men close together and the woman still 
 mounted and came forward toward ihem, peering in- 
 quiringly in front of him. 
 
 "Do messieurs and madame require any refresh- 
 ment ? " he asked, noticing that two of the company 
 were well and handsomely dressed, while the third 
 looked like an officer. " My inn offers good accommo- 
 dation for man and beast. Will monsieur and madame 
 not enter ? " 
 
 " Curse you, no ! " De Eoquemaure said ; " may we 
 not tarry a moment on the road without being pestered 
 thus ? Begone, fellow, and leave us ! " 
 
 But St. Georges interposed, saying : 
 
 " On the contrary, if you have a good room where 
 we can rest awhile and this noble lady" and he saw the 
 woman's eyes sparkle perhaps with hate ! as he spoke, 
 " can be fittingly received, we will enter. My horse has 
 cast a shoe ; have you a farrier near the house who can 
 reshoe it ? It can be done while we drink a bottle." 
 
 " I am one myself," the innkeeper replied. " Mon- 
 sieur may confide his horse to me. It is but a few 
 moments' job, and the fire in the forge is still alive. As 
 for the inn and the wine liein / both are good ; I have 
 a large room, and a bottle of Brecquiny fit for a king." 
 
 " Lead us to it," said St. Georges, " then attend to 
 the horse ; " and as he spoke he threw the reins over the 
 hook fixed in the tree by the mounting-block. " Come," 
 he said, addressing De Roquemaure and the woman in a 
 tone which would awaken no suspicion in the innkeeper's 
 mind. " Shall I assist madame to alight or will you ? " 
 
 Madame, however, slipped off the horse by herself 
 lightly enough, brushing by St. Georges as she did so 
 and whispering in his ear, " If I could help him to kill
 
 142 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 you, I would ! " and so they entered the inn, St. Georges 
 going last. He was a cautious man, this chevau-leycr, 
 and he had seen the little stiletto or wedding-knife, as 
 it was called then in her girdle ; he did not want the 
 owner of those savage, glistening eyes to stab him in the 
 back. She looked capable of doing it, he thought, judg- 
 ing by the sparkle they made behind the mask, and of 
 stabbing the innkeeper afterward to hide her guilt. 
 
 The man led them into a long, low, whitewashed 
 room at the end of a corridor all three noticing that it 
 was some distance from the inhabited part of the house, 
 so that interruption was unlikely a room in which a 
 fire burnt low. 
 
 " Bring the wine," St. Georges said to the man after 
 he had lit the candles in their sconces, " and be quick 
 about it. We have no time to tarry here." 
 
 Five minutes later the bottle of Brecquiny was on 
 the table with three long tapering glasses by its side ; the 
 man had made up the fire so that it burnt brightly, and 
 they were alone ; and St. Georges, having bidden him 
 not interrupt them until they called, walked to the 
 door, locked it, and, coming back to the table, placed 
 the key upon it. 
 
 " There will be two leave this room," he said quietly. 
 " There is the key for those who will require it. Ma- 
 dame is comfortable, I trust," glancing at the woman 
 who was seated at the table, her elbows on it, and her 
 face in her hands, while still the eyes glanced through 
 the holes of the mask at him. " Now, Monsieur de 
 Roquemaure, we have sufficient space for our sword play 
 here. I am at your service," and he unsheathed his 
 weapon. 
 
 The table was close to the fire, a deep chair on cither 
 side of it ; two smaller chairs, in one of which the woman
 
 "KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL ! " 14.3 
 
 sat, against the table ; beyond it a space of twenty square 
 feet of coarse tiled floor enough for any pair of duel- 
 lists to kill each other in ! 
 
 " You force this on me," De Eoquemaure said, rising 
 and removing the cloak he wore, and speaking between 
 thin, almost bloodless lips ; " whether your blood or mine 
 be shed, it is upon your own head," and he drew his 
 sword too. 
 
 " Not so," St. Georges replied. " Deny that you led 
 the attack on me, on my child and my comrade at Aig- 
 nay-le-Duc ; deny that it was your servant that it was 
 your livery he wore accompanied by some woman, if 
 not this one, who slew the Bishop of Lodeve's servant " 
 once more the other started, as he had started when 
 accused of having removed his beard "deny this, I say, 
 and I break my sword across my knee I leave myself 
 unarmed and defenceless, at your mercy to slay me here 
 for the words I have spoken." 
 
 Again from the now absolutely livid lips there came 
 the same words, or almost the same, he had previously 
 uttered. 
 
 " I deny nothing I assert nothing," and he ad- 
 vanced past the table to where St. Georges stood, weapon 
 in hand. 
 
 " So be it ! Yet, for the last time, ere it is too late, 
 answer me one question and I will not force you to this 
 encounter to-night. Tell me where my child is, let me 
 regain possession of her, and a month hence, on my 
 honour as a soldier, I meet you again, and, if you desire 
 it, give you satisfaction." 
 
 " I do not know where your child is," De Roque- 
 maure muttered hoarsely. " And for your honour as a 
 soldier you are a broken one. A man dismissed the 
 army has no honour left."
 
 IN TIIE DAY OP ADVERS1TF. 
 
 "Enough!" said St. Georges; "you knew that 
 knew, not that I am broken, but that I was to be 
 broken ! Now I understand who two of my enemies are 
 for sure. Thus I dispose of one. En garde! " 
 
 " Kill him ! " he heard the woman hiss again as they 
 commenced. " Kill him dead, Raoul ! " 
 
 A moment later they were engaged, each seeking the 
 other's life. And each knew that nothing but his death 
 would satisfy his adversary. 
 
 Their weapons scarcely made any noise, so quietly 
 the one stole upon the other, as point pressed point, and 
 through the swords the power of their wrists made 
 itself felt. Once De Roquemaure lunged savagely, but 
 the thrust was parried and returned dangerously so. 
 The point of St. Georges's weapon slit his sleeve as, like 
 an adder's tongue, it darted forth. Then the other 
 drew back and fought more carefully, though the beads 
 of sweat stood on his white forehead now. And St. 
 Georges, observing them, knew that he held him safe. 
 His nerve was gone already the nearness of that thrust 
 had shattered it ! 
 
 The woman, looking on her face also as white as a 
 corpse's was, perhaps, the strangest figure of the three. 
 Her eyes shone like coals through the mask-holes now 
 her figure shook all over ; one hand clutched the 
 coarse cover on the table in a mass of folds ; the other 
 tremblingly played with the hilt of her little dagger. 
 And the Brecquiny being near her, she more than once 
 released the table cover to pour out a glass full, drain 
 it a draught, throw down the glass, and glare at the 
 combatants again. 
 
 Once, too, she shrieked aloud as a second time St. 
 Georges's weapon, lunging full at the other's breast, was 
 just caught by the hilt of De Roquemaure's sword and
 
 "KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL!" H5 
 
 parried, though not without tearing from his breast a 
 piece of the lace from his cravat. And she struck her- 
 self on the mouth with her clinched hand so that her 
 lips were bloody a moment after as though in rage 
 with herself for having done aught to alarm the house. 
 
 " You are doomed," St. Georges said to De Roque- 
 maure in a low voice, driving him back toward the 
 wall, so that now the latter faced up the room while the 
 former's back was toward the table " doomed ! I have 
 you fast. Acknowledge all, or by the God above us I 
 slay you in the next pass ! " 
 
 De Roquemaure made no answer; doggedly he 
 fought a horrible spectacle. Another thrust of St. 
 Georges's was, however, also parried the blade knocked 
 nervously up by the affrighted man tearing a piece of 
 flesh from De Roquemaure's cheek, from which the 
 blood ran down on to what was left of the cravat ; the 
 eyes glared like a hunted animal's ; the mouth was half 
 open. 
 
 It almost required St. Georges's memory of his lost 
 Dorine, of the manner in which they had aimed under 
 his arm at her so appalled did his adversary appear 
 to prevent him from sparing the craven, from disarming 
 him, and letting him go forth a whipped and beaten 
 hound. -But he remembered the wrong done him, the 
 cruel, dastardly attempts on the child's life and his 
 blood was up. De Roquemaure should die. " The wolf 
 was face to face with him " at that moment he recalled 
 the marquise's words he would slay him. 
 
 Behind his back the other could see the woman 
 even as he endeavoured to shield himself from thrust 
 after thrust, and thought : " God ! when will it come ? 
 when shall I feel the steel through me ? " herself now 
 a ghastly sight. Her upper lip was drawn back in her
 
 146 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 frenzy so that her teeth were bare as are a dog's that 
 pauses ere it snaps ; she was standing up trembling, as 
 with a palsy, and her mask had fallen off. And, in what 
 De Roquemaure felt were his last moments, he saw her 
 suddenly rush at the sconces and knock the candles out 
 of them on to the stone floor, where they lay guttering. 
 He supposed that she had thought to disturb his dooms- 
 man. 
 
 If she did so think she erred. St. Georges heard the 
 crash of her arm against the metal, but never turned 
 his head to take his eye off the other's point would 
 have been fatal ! instead, in the light given by the fire 
 he crept one inch nearer the other. 
 
 " Now," he said, " now, De Roquemaure ! " and as he 
 spoke the other felt the iron muscles in the man's wrist 
 forcing his blade down and down ; the point was level 
 to his adversary's thigh ; an instant more, and St. 
 Georges's sword would release his, would suddenly 
 spring up and a moment later be through his breast. 
 
 In his agony he shrieked, "Au secours, an secours! " 
 and in a last desperate effort leaped aside, the weapon 
 that at that moment sought his heart with a tremendous 
 lunge piercing his arm alone. 
 
 Another moment and St. Georges had disengaged it, 
 drawn it forth, and was about to plunge it through the 
 craven's heart this time he would not fail ! when he 
 heard the rustle of the woman's riding robe behind him, 
 he felt a shock, and his arm instantly drop nerveless by 
 his side ; the weapon fell from his hand, and he sank 
 back heavily on the stone floor, the room swimming be- 
 fore his eyes and all becoming rapidly dark. 
 
 Roused by her lover's cry and frenzied by the imme- 
 diate death which she saw threatening him ; driven al- 
 most mad also by the look of terror and mortal appre-
 
 "KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL ! " 147 
 
 hension on his face, she had sprung up the room, 
 reached St. Georges, and buried her dagger in his back. 
 She had aimed under his left shoulder, where she knew 
 the region of the heart was it seemed her aim was 
 true ! As he fell to the ground she knew that she had 
 saved De Roquemaure. Yet her frenzy was not calmed ; 
 in an instant she had seized the sword that still was 
 grasped in her lover's nerveless right hand, placed it in 
 his left, and muttered swiftly in a voice he did not 
 recognise : 
 
 " Through his heart ! his heart, Raoul ! That way. 
 Otherwise it will seem murder and confound us." 
 
 " I I dare not," the scared man muttered, shaking 
 all over. " I cannot, I " 
 
 " Ldchel " and as she hurled the epithet at him she 
 seized the weapon herself in her own white jewelled 
 hand and drew it back to plunge it through his breast 
 so that it should meet the wound behind. 
 
 Yet that was not to be. Even as she raised the 
 sword the door was burst violently open, and the inn- 
 keeper, with two other men and a waiting woman 
 rushed into the room. 
 
 " Grand Dieu I " the landlord cried, shivering and 
 shaking all over, as he saw the terrible spectacle which 
 the place afforded St. Georges stretched on the floor, 
 the stones covered with blood, the other wounded man 
 leaning against the wall, the maddened woman with 
 the sword, which she had dropped at their entrance, 
 lying at her feet, and the candles out " Grand Dieu! 
 what has been done in my house? Murder?" 
 
 At first neither De Roquemaure nor the panting 
 creature by his side could answer; then the former 
 found his tongue, while still the landlord and the other 
 two men stared at them and the waiting woman hid her
 
 IN TUB DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 face in her apron, not to see the ghastly form on the 
 floor, and said : " Not murder, but attempted murder. 
 This man drew on me with a lady present would 
 have assassinated me. You see my wound," and he 
 held up his pierced arm. 
 
 " Attempted murder ! " exclaimed one of the men, 
 he looking of a very superior class to that of the laud- 
 lord. "A strange attempt; you are young and strong 
 as he; armed, too, your weapon drawn. Yet it seems it 
 needed this also to aid you," and he stooped and picked 
 up the woman's toy dagger. " This demands explana- 
 tion " 
 
 " And shall be given to those entitled to ask. I am 
 the Marquis de Roquemaure, set upon and forced to de- 
 fend myself by this fellow who entrapped us here. 
 You," turning to the landlord, " saw how he caused us 
 to enter this house, though I told you we wanted noth- 
 ing. He it was who gave all the orders. For the rest, 
 he was a disgraced and ruined soldier, a common bravo 
 and bully, who deemed me the cause of his punishment. 
 I answer nothing further but to the king whom I serve, 
 or his representative." 
 
 "He looks not like a bravo or bully," said the man 
 who had spoken last, as he knelt down by St. Georges 
 and took his wrist between his fingers. "He scarce 
 seems that." 
 
 "Is he dead? "the woman asked hoarsely now, as 
 she bent down over her victim. 
 
 " Not yet. There is still some pulse." 
 
 And even as he spoke, St. Georges opened his eyes, 
 looked up at him, and muttered once, " Dorine ! " 
 
 Then the eyes closed again and his hfcad fell back on 
 the other's arm.
 
 THE SECOND PERIOD. 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LA GALERE GRANDE REALE. 
 
 THE July sun blazed down upon the sea which lay 
 beneath it as unruffled as an artificial lake inland ; there 
 was no ripple on the water as far as the eye could see ; 
 above the water to the northwest there rose the chalky 
 cliffs between Whitby and Scarborough a white, hazy 
 line over which a few fleecy clouds were massed together. 
 Upon the water, three miles out from those cliffs, a dark 
 blot, which grew larger and clearer moment by moment, 
 and proved to be when seen through the perspective 
 glasses of the officers on board a French galley which 
 was further out to sea and rapidly retreating from the 
 English coast one of King William's men-of-war. 
 
 A French galley rapidly retreating from the English 
 coast, of the style known as La Grande Reale, and 
 named L'Idole. On board of her six hundred and 
 seventy souls, comprising a first and second captain, a 
 lieutenant and sublieutenant, an ensign, also a major 
 general, some standard bearers, a commissary general, 
 one or two volunteer officers, over one hundred soldiers 
 and seventy sailors, a number of subaltern officers and 
 ship boys, and three hundred and sixty galley slaves 
 and sixty Turkish slaves. 
 
 149
 
 150 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 A life of hell was this of the galley to all on board 
 her when at sea even to those in command ! Neither 
 first nor second captain, neither major nor commis- 
 sary general, nor even volunteer officers often mem- 
 bers of the oldest and most aristocratic families of 
 France could ever lie down to sleep on board, for the 
 sufficient reason that in the confined space there was no 
 room for bed, cot, nor berth. Rest had to be taken by 
 these superiors either when sitting on ordinary chairs 
 placed on the poop cabin, or in armchairs if such were 
 on board their clothes on, their arms by their side. 
 For not only was there no room for anything in the 
 shape or nature of a bed, but also the galleys were rarely 
 at sea except in time of open war, when at any moment 
 they might be engaged in action. Truly, a life of hell ! 
 
 Yet, if to the superiors such miseries came and had 
 to be endured ; such want of sleep, such constant neces- 
 sity for watchfulness, such poor, coarse food as alone the 
 galley could find room to carry bacon, salt beef, salt 
 cod, cheese, oil, and rice, with a small pot of wine daily, 
 being their allowance what of those wretches who pro- 
 pelled her when there was no wind, the galley slaves ? 
 What was their existence ? Let us see ! 
 
 Bound to the labouring oar itself of enormous size 
 and weight, being fifty feet long seven condamnes to 
 each oar, they sat at sixty benches, thirty on each side, 
 four hundred and twenty men in all, including Turkish 
 slaves. Naked they rowed for hours chained to these 
 benches sometimes for twenty-four hours at a stretch 
 while the comites, or overseers, men brutal beyond all 
 thought and chosen for the post because of their natural 
 ferocity, belaboured their backs with whips made of 
 twisted and knotted cords. If they fainted under these 
 continuous thrashings, their backs were rubbed with
 
 LA GALORE GRANDE R^ALE. 151 
 
 vinegar and salt water to revive them ; if they were 
 found to have died under their chastisement, the chains 
 and rings round their legs were taken off and they were 
 flung into the sea like carrion as they were. Then an- 
 other man took their place, there being always a reserve 
 of these unhappy creatures. 
 
 To see them would have wrung the hearts of all but 
 those who dominated them. Their naked backs had 
 upon them wheals, sores, old and new, scars and cica- 
 trices ; their faces were burnt black from the effects of 
 the suns, the diverse winds, and the sprays under which 
 and through which they rowed en perpetuite since 
 most were doomed for life; their hair was long and 
 matted with their beards, when they were not old men 
 who had grown bald in their lifelong toil and misery. 
 Moreover, they were nearly starved, their daily food 
 being twenty-six ounces of coarse and often weevily 
 biscuit, and four ounces of beans a day or rather 
 " pigeon peas " with water. And if any swooned from 
 their long hours of rowing (hours only relieved by a 
 favourable wind springing up, when the small sails could 
 be set), in contradistinction to their fainting from the 
 brutalities of the comites, then there was placed in their 
 mouths a piece of bread moistened with salt water or 
 vinegar, or sour and sharp wine, either of which was 
 supposed to be an excellent reviver. 
 
 All were distinguished by numbers and none by 
 name, though, in occasional moments that could be 
 snatched from under the watchful eyes and ears of the 
 comites, the doomed wretches could sometimes acquaint 
 each other with their names, former positions in life, and 
 supposed reasons for being condemned to their perpetual 
 slavery. But not often, for a word spoken and over- 
 heard brought terrible retribution in its train, especially
 
 152 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 as in nine times out of ten religion was both the cause 
 for which they suffered and by which they were pun- 
 ished. The galley slaves were in general Protestants 
 who would not embrace the Roman Catholic faith, while 
 the superior officers and the overseers were ardent pa- 
 pists. Yet there were others who, in ordinary eyes, 
 though not in those of their taskmasters, would have 
 been deemed to be sunk in crimes worse than that of 
 being Huguenots. No. 512 was a murderer of his own 
 father ; No. 497 had been caught giving information to 
 England, he being a fisherman, of the whereabouts of 
 Jean Bart's flotilla ; No. 36 had cursed the king and 
 his family a truly awful crime ; No. 98 had robbed a 
 church, and so on. But in the eyes of the law, which 
 was the king, or rather the reformed and married wan- 
 ton, De Maintenon, none were so vile, none deserved 
 such bitter punishment and bastinadoing, and rubbing 
 in of vinegar and salt in their wounds, and starvation, 
 as the pestilential heretics. 
 
 The black spot on the horizon grew larger to the 
 view of the officers standing aft on the coursier, or raised 
 fore-and-aft passage of the galley, which ran between 
 the larboard and starboard gangs of rowers, and across 
 which they were hourly stretched to be bastinadoed by 
 their fellow-slaves, the Turks ; and those officers by no 
 means appreciated the increasing size of that spot. It 
 showed that the English frigate was overhauling the 
 French galley. The latter, low down in the water 
 though it was, and with its two sails furled, had been 
 seen by the former and the pursuit had begun. For- 
 tunate for the galley, and unfortunate for the miserable 
 slaves whose lives were a curse to them, if she escaped 
 that frigate now following it so rapidly ! 
 
 " How ! row ! " howled the comites, as they rushed up
 
 LA GALERE GRANDE REALE. 153 
 
 and down the gangways of the benches, striking the 
 bare backs of the vogueurs, or row-slaves, till they were 
 all crimson with blood. " How ! In time ! in time ! 
 Beware, all you," cried one, as bench 12 rowed wildly, 
 while the lash fell on all their backs in consequence ; 
 " will you impede the galley's course ? Carogne ! " (a 
 common oath), "you wish the accursed English to take 
 us foul Protestants like yourselves ! " 
 
 " Ay," replied one slave on that bench, a man known 
 as 211 " ay. Pray God they take us or sink us ! In 
 the next world we shall not be chained, nor you free. 
 The chances will be equal." 
 
 The lash fell on his back as he spoke, raised a new 
 wheal to keep company with the others already there, 
 and then the coniite passed on, thrashing and belabour- 
 ing all the others on his side of the ship, and howling 
 and bawling and blaspheming at them. 
 
 Meanwhile the black spot became a large blur on the 
 blue water; now her royals were visible, white and 
 bright against the equally clear blue sky. She was sail- 
 ing down the galley, 
 
 " Have a care, 211," muttered the galerien next to 
 him "have a care. If we escape the English ship with 
 life, your existence will be a greater hell than before for 
 those words ! " 
 
 211 threw his matted hair back from his eyes with a 
 jerk of his head his hands he could not release from 
 the oar and looked at his neighbour. He was a man 
 burnt black with the sun, thin, emaciated, and half 
 starved. On his shoulders, where they caught hourly 
 the cords of the comite's whip, great scars, and livid 
 as well as raw wounds ; yet still young and with hand- 
 some features. 
 
 " We shall not escape," he replied. " She gains on 
 11
 
 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 us each moment. See ! " and as their faces were naturally 
 directed aft of the galley, they could observe, through 
 the great scuttle by the poops, the frigate rising larger 
 each instant behind them. 
 
 " Better even this than death," said the other. " We 
 know where we are now, at least who knows where we 
 shall be? Hist! he returns." 
 
 Again the comite ran along the gangway, dealing out 
 more blows and curses, each of these men getting their 
 share. Then, when the hoarse, foul voice of the over- 
 seer was heard at the other end of the hundred and 
 eighty feet long galore Grand Keale, No. 211 answered 
 him. 
 
 " No," he said, " death is better than this. It is 
 peace at least." 
 
 " You seek it hope for it ? " 
 
 " Ay," No. 211 replied, " pray for it. Hourly ! " 
 
 "What was your crime?" his companion asked. 
 They had been chained together for two days only, the 
 slave whose place the questioner now filled having been 
 beaten to death, and this, in the excitement of the 
 impending attack, was their first opportunity of con- 
 versing. 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 The other grinned. Then he exclaimed, "We all 
 say that." 
 
 " Most of us say true." 
 
 " It is put about," the other went on, " that you are 
 English yourself, like our pursuers. Is that true?" 
 
 "Partly. Henceforth, if ever I escape, wholly so. 
 That or death, somehow." 
 
 On the coursier there arose more noise and confu- 
 sion now. The English frigate was nearing them ; they 
 could see with the perspective glasses her guns being
 
 LA GALERE GRANDE REALE. 155 
 
 run out on the lower tiers, so as better to sweep the gal- 
 ley ; the course must be altered or their whole larboard 
 side would be raked when once the frigate was on their 
 beam. Therefore the chief captain gave his orders for 
 the usual tactics of the galleys in an engagement to be 
 pursued they were to turn and " ram " the pursuers. 
 
 The first vessels of comparative modern warfare to 
 utilize what is now known as the " ram " were the 
 French galleys, they having at their prow or stern a 
 long eperon, as it was termed, projecting from the deck 
 above the water, and occupying the place of a bowsprit. 
 Being far lower in the water than the ship, this spur 
 was, consequently, in the exact position where it could 
 inflict terrible damage ; it struck a vessel of any size be- 
 low the water line. And to add to the injury which a 
 galley could do in thus advancing to meet an enemy 
 " end on," there were behind this spur two huge gun 
 forts in which were five bronze cannons of large calibre. 
 As they rammed, therefore, propelled by hundreds of 
 galley slaves, they fired also, and as the charge used was 
 that known as a mitraille viz., a metal case filled with 
 balls of various sizes and pieces of iron, which exploded 
 as it struck, the wounds inflicted in any ship were ter- 
 ribly effective. Moreover, the galley which advanced 
 this presented but a small object for attack, the breadth 
 or beam being never more than forty-eight feet at the 
 broadest. 
 
 The order was given, the larboard side galeriens 
 backed water, the starboard side pulled lustily, assisted 
 and urged on by both the whips and oaths of the comites 
 and by the alteration of the helm, and slowly for it was 
 a long business to turn so lengthy a fabric as L'Idole 
 the galley wore round to meet her pursuer. 
 
 She would not have done so could she have escaped
 
 156 I2J THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 by flight, but that was impossible. Even four hundred 
 and twenty galley slaves, Christian and Turk, could not 
 propel her as fast as the lightest breeze could move the 
 great frigate. Moreover, they were caught unawares 
 since they happened to be alone instead of, as was al- 
 most always the case, in company with half a dozen 
 other galleys. Their companions had that morning, 
 gone in chase of a Dutch merchantman whose main- 
 mast had broken, so that she could only proceed slowly, 
 and L'Idole was being sent back to Dunkirk when ob- 
 served and chased by the English man-of-war. She 
 had, therefore, to fight and beat the enemy or be sunk 
 and every man on board of her be slain certainly every 
 man not a slave. For the British sailor of those days 
 so hated the French galleys, in which he knew well 
 enough men of his own faith were kept and tortured, 
 that he spared none in authority in those vessels when- 
 ever the chance to slay them arose. Nor, indeed, did 
 he always spare the Protestant slaves themselves in the 
 heat of an engagement. They were fighting against 
 England, and that was enough for him. 
 
 " Saperlote I " exclaimed the captain of the galley to 
 the maitre-canonnier, by whose side he now stood in the 
 fore part of the galley, " the cochons will not be pierced ! 
 See how they change course with us ! Grand Dieu ! 
 they have our beam. To your guns, at once ! What 
 will they do now ? " 
 
 What they would do in the frigate was obvious. 
 Their master gunner was also busy at his work ; they 
 could see his figure with the linstock in his hand, or 
 could rather catch the gleam of the linstock itself, as 
 he moved behind his gun ports. A moment later what 
 he did was equally obvious. He ran along his tier, firing 
 his cannon. Then there was a crash, followed by an-
 
 LA GALERE GRANDE REALE. 157 
 
 other, and another, and another, as cannon after cannon 
 were discharged and the balls smashed into the galley. 
 Some swept the coursier, cutting down the captain, two 
 of the blaspheming and brutal comites, and the aumo- 
 nier, or chaplain who was encouraging the Protestant 
 and Turkish slaves by reciting the Catholic service to 
 them. Half a dozen more balls struck the benches of 
 the galeriens, wounding and killing one fifth of them, 
 smashing even the chains by which some were bound 
 to their seats, even smashing the benches themselves, 
 and taking off legs and arms and heads. Then by a 
 quick and masterly manoauvre the frigate altered course, 
 came round on the other side, and repeated the broad- 
 side with her other tier. 
 
 As that was delivered, and a moment afterward her 
 boats were lowered, filled with sailors to board L'Idole, 
 the galley heeled over and began to sink. 
 
 And No. 211 muttered, as with a jerk from the 
 lurching craft he was thrown into the sea, " Thank God, 
 the end has come ! " * 
 
 * The description of the galley is taken from Memoirs d'un 
 Protestant condamne aux Galeres de France, and written by one 
 Jean Marteidhe. It was published in Rotterdam in 1757, and 
 again in Paris, by the Societe des Ecoles du Dimanche, in 1865 
 and 1881, and is perhaps the best account in existence of the suf- 
 ferings and terrible existence of French galley slaves. It is also 
 well known in the translations by Oliver Goldsmith, a reprint of 
 which, edited by W. Austin Dobson, has just appeared.
 
 158 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "A NEW LIFE." 
 
 FROM the frigate there floated at the maintop-gallant- 
 masthead the flag of a rear admiral ; on the poop of the 
 frigate herself there stood, surrounded by his officers, 
 Admiral Rooke, the brilliant seaman, soon to win his 
 knighthood and other honours. 
 
 The galley had disappeared was gone forever and 
 with her had disappeared most of the sufferers from the 
 cruelty of France, and also all those who had inflicted 
 that suffering. Of her survivors there were but a dozen 
 all told, who, some wounded and some untouched, were 
 being brought on board. Among the latter was No. 
 211, who, in spite of the thanks he had given to 
 God for having brought the end of all his miseries 
 to him, now stood dripping on the deck of the Eng- 
 lishman. 
 
 " Send them down to the cockpit to be attended 
 to," the admiral said, " and let them be well cared for. 
 Poor wretches ! they all seem to be galley slaves ; they 
 have suffered enough, God knows, if all accounts be 
 true ! " Then he called to his own men attending to 
 the rescued, and asked if any were unhurt. 
 
 "Only two, sir; this man standing here," and he 
 pointed to 211, "and one other. He has just fainted." 
 
 " Let that man come up to me ; I wish to know 
 something of the the late galley." 
 
 To his surprise the man himself instantly turned 
 and advanced toward the poop ladder, and slowly 
 mounted it. Then, as he reached the poop itself he 
 saluted Rooke, raising his hand to his dark, matted hair,
 
 "A NEW LIFE." 159 
 
 and stood silent and dripping before him and the offi- 
 cers round. 
 
 " My man," the admiral said, while his eye roved 
 over the torn and lacerated bare back and shoulders, 
 saw the old and new cuts and bruises, and observed the 
 half-starve^ flanks through which the bones were plainly 
 visible " my man, you understand English. Are you 
 an Englishman?" 
 
 "My mother was an English woman," No. 211 re- 
 plied, in a deep, hollow voice. 
 
 " That any English woman's son should suffer this ! " 
 exclaimed the other, again glancing at the worn, bruised 
 body with warm and manly indignation. " And that ! " 
 pointing out to his officers the fleur-de-lis roughly 
 branded on his shoulder ; sure sign of theforcat. Then, 
 continuing, he asked, " What was your fault?" 
 
 "Nothing," 211 answered, as he had answered his 
 brother galerien an hour before. Only now he lifted 
 his eyes and looked at the admiral, as though by that 
 straight glance he would force him to believe. "No 
 crime, no fault. I was oh ! " he broke off, " not now ; 
 not now ! The story is too long to tell now." 
 
 His tone and bearing sad and miserable as both 
 W ere told all who stood around him that this was no 
 common man, no malefactor flung to the slave ship for 
 an ignoble crime, no wretched printer sent to the galleys 
 for producing Protestant pamphlets, or chapel clerk for 
 assisting in a Protestant service. 
 
 " You are of gentle blood ? " the admiral asked kind- 
 ly. " Followed, doubtless, the calling of a gentleman ? 
 What are you ? " 
 
 " I was a cavalry officer of King Louis. But broken 
 and ruined for for " and again he broke off. 
 
 " Will you tell me your name ? "
 
 160 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Georges St. Georges." 
 
 The name conveyed nothing to any on board the 
 frigate; the rank he had borne, when stated by him, 
 stirred them all. They knew one thing, however 
 namely, that the cavalry officers of France were all gen- 
 tlemen of birth, and many of great position. Could 
 this be true, or if true was it possible that the man be- 
 fore them had not perpetrated some hideous crime ? 
 Louis had the reputation of encouraging and treating 
 good officers well ; surely no man of that position could 
 have been condemned to this awful existence but for 
 some great sin. Rooke, however, thought he knew the 
 clew, and continued : 
 
 "You are, perhaps, a Protestant? The King of 
 France still wages bitter war against them. Is that 
 your crime?" 
 
 " I am a Protestant ; but that was not my crime." 
 
 He shivered as he spoke, although he stood in the 
 full glare of the July sun, the burnt face whitened be- 
 neath its bronze, and the lips became livid and ghastly, 
 then he reeled and staggered against the gun tackle on 
 the poop. 
 
 "Take him below," Rooke said, turning to one of 
 the subaltern officers at his side ; " let him be seen too 
 and carefully tended and those sores dressed. Also find 
 some proper apparel for him. And treat him as a 
 gentleman. It is more like that he has been sinned 
 against than sinned himself." 
 
 So the fainting man was carried below in the brawny 
 arms of the sailors, a spare cabin was found for him it 
 had but a few weeks before been occupied by a lieuten- 
 ant who was killed in the disastrous battle off Beachy 
 Head and he was put into a clean, comfortable bunk. 
 The release which he had prayed for from the galley's
 
 "A NEW LIFE." 
 
 slavery had come, though not in the only way he had 
 dared to hope for. 
 
 " So ! " exclaimed Rooke as he helped himself to a 
 glass of Calcavella and passed the bottle to the man 
 whose life had been saved " so the wanton stabbed you 
 in the back just as you had the fellow at your mercy. 
 The deuce is in it that you missed his heart and could 
 only pink him in the arm. But go on go on. Faith ! 
 'tis a wondrous story of wrong and cruelty." 
 
 They were seated in the admiral's cabin on another 
 such hot July day as that on which St. Georges had 
 been dragged out of the sea with still a portion of his 
 chain attached to the ring round his ankle, and which 
 was rapidly sinking him, but the latter was looking in 
 very different case now. The burnt face was still very 
 black and hollow, the lines of suffering still plainly 
 marked, as they would be for many a day, but otherwise 
 all was changed. He was dressed as a gentleman once 
 more, in a plain but neat suit of blue clothes, guarded 
 with white cotton lace it had been the unfortunate 
 lieutenant's. His hair, which was combed and brushed 
 now, was, although still somewhat short it being the 
 custom in the galleys to crop it close to the head for 
 those days once a month no longer thick and matted. 
 
 St. Georges went on as the admiral bade him ; he 
 was telling the whole story of his life to his host. 
 
 "Yet, sir," he continued, "she was no common 
 wanton either, as I heard afterward, but a lady of 
 Louis's court who loved De Eoquemaure. Doubtless 
 her hate and anger were roused by the words I addressed 
 to her. And I must have wronged her in one instance 
 at least ; it could scarce have been she who stole my 
 my poor little' babe." And, as ever, when he mentioned
 
 162 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 that lost one, his eyes filled with tears. She was gone 
 from him now, he feared, forever he had been in that 
 accursed galley for two years ! how could he hope to 
 see her again on this earth ? No wonder that the tears 
 sprang to his eyes ! 
 
 The seaman opposite to him certainly wondered not 
 at their doing so ; instead, he passed his own hand before 
 his eyes, as he had done more than once before in the 
 course of the narrative. Countless men had been sent 
 to their doom by that hand and by his orders, but that 
 was in battle ; now, as he thought of St. Georges's little 
 lonely child and wondered if it still lived, his memory 
 wandered back to Monk's Horton, a pleasant seat in 
 Kent, where his own children were doubtless playing at 
 their mother's knee, and his brave heart became as 
 tender as a woman's. 
 
 " Poor babe ! " he said, " poor babe ! Pray God the 
 other woman, the one who did steal her at Troyes, has 
 some bowels of compassion ! Surely she must have, 
 however base in other respects." 
 
 " I pray so night and day," St. Georges said. " 
 God ! how I pray so." Then again, at the admiral's 
 desire that he should not fret too much, but hope ever 
 for the best, he went on with the account of all that had 
 befallen him. 
 
 " When my wound was nearly healed," he said, 
 " there came to the room in the inn, where I was closely 
 guarded, a small body of exempts who carried me to 
 Paris to the prison of La Tournelle, a place from which, as 
 I shortly afterward learned, a chain of condemned galley 
 slaves was to set out, all winter as it was, for Mar- 
 seilles." 
 
 " ' But,' I cried to the man who fed us morning and 
 night like animals, while we lay each with an iron collar
 
 "A NEW LIFE." 163 
 
 round our necks by which we were chained to a beam 
 that traversed the dungeon " 
 
 " In a Christian country ! " exclaimed the admiral 
 " a Christian country ! " 
 
 " Ay ! in a Christian country ! Yet I cried, I say, 
 to the man who guarded us : ' But these companions of 
 mine are condemned I am not. I have undergone no 
 trial ! ' 
 
 " ' Bah I ' he replied, ' your trial is made and done. Bon 
 Dieu ! the courts cannot wait until criminals feel them- 
 
 
 
 selves in sufficient good health to assist at the seances. 
 Your trial is over,' and the wretch made a joke therewith. 
 'Your trials have now to commence. Keep a good 
 heart ! ' ' Show me my sentence, then,' I exclaimed, 
 ' produce it.' * A la bonne heureS he replied. * To- 
 morrow I will obtain it from the governor. You shall 
 see.' And the next day he showed it to me. It was 
 not so long but that I remember every word of it now. 
 It ran : * To Georges St. Georges. For that you, a 
 cashiered officer of his Majesty's forces, have drawn 
 sword upon and threatened assassination to his Majesty's 
 chief of the army, Monsieur de Louvois, in his Majesty's 
 own palace of the Louvre ; for that, also, you attempted 
 the assassination of his Majesty's subject, le Marquis de 
 Roquemaure, appointed captain of his Majesty's Regi- 
 ment of Picardy, and of a lady of his Majesty's court, 
 you are condemned to the galleys in perpetuity. Signed, 
 Le Marquis de Vrilliere.' " 
 
 Again the admiral exclaimed, " In a Christian coun- 
 try ! " and again St. Georges continued : 
 
 " A week afterward we were on the road, chained 
 together two and two by the neck, while all along the 
 line through our chains ran another, joining the first 
 couple to the last The snow lay on the ground until
 
 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 we reached Avignon, six weeks later; at night we slept 
 in barns, in stables, sometimes in the open air. Some ' 
 the old and sickly fell down and were left by the road- 
 side for the communes to bury ; more than fifty were 
 left thus ere we reached Marseilles. There we were 
 distributed to the galleys that were short of their com- 
 plement, though not before the bishop of the province 
 gave us the Roman blessing, saying that thereby the 
 heretic spirit of the devil could alone be driven out of 
 those who were Protestants. From then till now my 
 life has been what my appearance, as you saw me naked, 
 testifies." 
 
 " What," asked the admiral very gently, " can you 
 do now ? To live is easy enough. You have been both 
 soldier and sailor" though he uttered the last word 
 with an expression of disgust as he thought of what 
 manner of sailor this unhappy man had been " your 
 existence is therefore easy. You can serve the king," 
 and he touched his hat with his finger as he spoke. 
 " Many Huguenots are doing so now, and some other old 
 ones who followed Charles back to England. But " and 
 he leaned forward across the table as he spoke earnestly 
 " that will bring you no nearer to regaining your poor 
 little babe ; will scarce enable you to thrust your sword 
 at last through the villain De Roquemaure's breast ; to 
 obtain the dukedom you believe to be yours." 
 
 " Obtain the dukedom, sir ! " St. Georges replied, 
 looking at him. " Nay, indeed, that is gone forever. 
 You know what befalls the man in France who has been 
 condemned to the galleys for life? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " He is as dead forever in the law's eyes as though 
 he were sunk to the bottom of the sea. He can never 
 inherit, can never dispose of aught that is his ; if he is
 
 "A NEW LIFE." 165 
 
 married, his wife is not considered as a married woman, 
 but a mistress every right has gone from him for- 
 ever ! " 
 
 " Is there no pardon ? " 
 
 " Never. Unless he can by some wild chance prove 
 a wrongful condemnation. And for me, how that? 
 Louvois, the all-powerful minister, is my judge and 
 executioner ; and, further, when once I set foot on Eng- 
 lish ground I shall become an English soldier or sailor." 
 
 " But the child ! At least " and the sailor spoke 
 more softly even than before "you must know her 
 fate. And De Roquemaure's punishment ! How ob- 
 tain these ? " 
 
 " Heaven alone knows ! May it, in its supreme 
 mercy, direct me ! Yet this is what I have thought, 
 planned to do since you, sir, have taken pity on me. 
 England and France are now most happily, as I think 
 it, plunged in war once more. There is much to do " 
 
 "Ay," interposed the admiral, while his handsome 
 face flushed and his eyes glistened, for he was smarting 
 over his and Torrington's recent defeat. " There is. 
 There is Beachy Head to be wiped out oh, for our 
 next encounter with them ! " 
 
 " Thereby," continued St. Georges, " my chance may 
 come. For I may meet De Roquemaure. The sen- 
 tence on me said he was appointed captain in one of the 
 northern regiments; there have been stranger things 
 than foes to the death meeting on the field, on opposite 
 sides. Then for the child ! " 
 
 " Ay, the child." 
 
 " For that I must go back to France, disguised it 
 may be ; nay, must be ! That will be easy. The lan- 
 guage is mine though because of my mother's memory 
 I have perfected myself in yours in hers there is
 
 166 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 nothing to reveal who or what I am but one thing " 
 and he made a gesture toward his shoulder where the 
 hateful fleur-de-lis was branded in forever " and that 
 thing you may be sure none shall ever see again until 
 my body is prepared for the grave. But which to do 
 first? To become a soldier or a sailor fighting for Eng- 
 and, or travel disguised to Troyes and find out if if 
 my child still lives. That would be my desire only 
 only " 
 
 " Only ? " repeated the admiral, looking at him. 
 
 " Only," the other said then broke off. 
 
 And Rooke knew as well as though St. Georges had 
 uttered the words what he would have said. He knew 
 that the man before him was beggared, that he had not 
 a crown in the world to help him perform such a 
 journey. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ! " 
 
 ST. GEORGES was lodged in an old inn on Tower 
 Hill now, in a large room that ran from the front to the 
 back of the house and with, on the latter side, a look- 
 out upon an old churchyard, which in the swift-coming 
 spring of 1692 for it was now April of that year was 
 green and bright with the new shooting buds. Here he 
 worked hard to earn a living, spending part of his day 
 in translating a book or so from French into English 
 at beggar's wages! another part in giving lessons in 
 fencing and swordsmanship he knowing every trick 
 and passade of the French school and a third in giv- 
 ing lessons in his old language. And between them he
 
 "HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 1C7 
 
 managed to earn enough to support existence while 
 waiting for that which through the interest of Admiral 
 Eooke had been promised him namely, permission to 
 volunteer into the first vessel taking detachments of re- 
 cruits to sea with it. 
 
 Meanwhile, there were many about the court who 
 had heard his story and who knew he was a man who 
 had once worn the red dress of the chiourme when his 
 back was not bared to the lashings of the comites ! 
 that he had slaved at the galley oar in summer and 
 been put to road-mending and road-sweeping in the 
 winter, and that he nourished against France a deep 
 revenge. And among them was the king himself. 
 
 Rooke had told William his history, over long clay 
 pipes and tankards at Hampton Court, and the astute 
 Dutchman had not hesitated a moment in promising 
 him employment would, indeed, have taken a hundred 
 such into that employ if he could have found them. 
 He had learned how the exile hated France as he did 
 himself, his hatred being the mainspring of his life ; 
 moreover, that exile knew more about Louis's regiments 
 and whole military system than almost any one else 
 whom the English king could discover. That was suffi- 
 cient for him. 
 
 So St. Georges went on his way, waiting waiting 
 ever for one of two things to occur : either that the ma- 
 rine regiment should call for volunteers and be sent out 
 again to France, or that he should be able to return dis- 
 guised to that country and recommence his search for 
 Dorine. 
 
 During the period that had elapsed, however, since 
 he was rescued by Rooke, one thing had happened that 
 had brought great happiness to his heart : he had heard 
 more than once from Boussac, now a lieutenant of the
 
 168 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Mousquetaires Noirs, and in so hearing had gained 
 news of his child, who was still alive, and, as Boussac be- 
 lieved, well treated. 
 
 "Mon pauvre ami" that gallant officer had written, 
 in reply to a letter forwarded him by St. Georges and 
 addressed to Paris, where he imagined the Mousquetaires 
 might be, " how shall I answer yours, since, when I re- 
 ceived it, I had long deemed you dead ? Ah ! monsieur, 
 I was desolated when we came into Paris at the tidings 
 I gleaned. I sought for you at once, inquired at the 
 Bureau Militaire, and learned what? That you had 
 threatened to murder the minister had, indeed, almost 
 murdered the Marquis de Roquemaure; and that for 
 this you were condemned to the galley L'Idole, en per - 
 petuite. Figure to yourself my dismay nay, more, my 
 most touching grief for, my friend, I had news for you 
 of the best, the most important. And I could not deliver 
 it, should never now deliver it to you in this world. 
 Monsieur, I had the news to give you that I had seen 
 your child had seen it well, and, as I think, not un- 
 happy." 
 
 It was St. Georges's habit to sit sometimes in the 
 little, old city churchyard beneath his window, and there 
 to muse on his past and meditate upon the future. It 
 had an attraction for him, this old place, more, perhaps, 
 for the reason that scarce any one ever came into it on 
 week days, except himself and a decrepit gravedigger to 
 occasionally open old graves or prepare new ones, than 
 for any other; but also because there was one tombstone 
 that interested him sadly. It bore upon it a child's 
 name, " Dorothy," and told how she had died, " ageed 
 three," in January, " in the yeare of Oure Lorde " 
 1688. And below the scroll of flowers, with an angel's 
 head in their midst, was the quotation from Kings:
 
 "HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 169 
 
 "Is it well with the child? And she answered, It 
 is well." 
 
 To his seared and bruised heart some sad yet tender 
 comfort seemed to be afforded by this stone, which 
 marked and recorded the death of one whose very name 
 partly resembled the name of her he had lost whose 
 little life had been taken from her almost at the very 
 time Dorine was snatched away from him. And the 
 question of the prophet was the question that he so 
 often asked in his prayers. The answer was that 
 which so often he beseeched his Maker to vouchsafe 
 to him. 
 
 He was seated opposite to this stone on the day he 
 first received Boussac's letter, having brought it out 
 with him to peruse in quiet. He was seated on it now, 
 many months later, as he reread the mousquetaire's 
 words which told him that Dorine was well, and, he 
 thought, not unhappy. And he raised his eyes to the 
 words of the Shunamite woman and murmured, " It is 
 well with the child," and whispered, " God, I thank 
 thee ! " as he had done on the day when first the letter 
 came to him. Then he continued : 
 
 " We passed through Troyes, monsieur, three months 
 after you, and I saw her. She was a little outside the 
 town, with an elderly bonne, hand in hand. I obtained 
 permission to quit the ranks for a moment I was not 
 then promoted, you will understand and, dismounting 
 and leading my horse toward them you remember the 
 good horse, monsieur ? I said to the woman, * Whose 
 child is that, madame?' She drew away from me, gath- 
 ered the petite to her, and answered, ' Mine, ' whereon 
 I smiled ; for I could not be harsh with her the little 
 creature looked so well cared for " 
 
 Again St. Georges lifted up his eyes, again he mur- 
 12
 
 170 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 mured, " I thank Thee ! " and again went on with the 
 letter : 
 
 " ' And the father,' I demanded, ' where may he be ? ' 
 'Dead,' she answered. 'You know that?' I asked 
 hurriedly, and she replied, ' Ay,. I know it, monsieur.' 
 But," Boussac continued, " I could see that she repeated 
 a story she had been taught, that she was a paid gouver- 
 nante. Yet, what to do? Already the troop was out 
 of sight ; I might not linger. Had I been alone, it may 
 be I would have snatched the child from her, jumped 
 on my horse, and carried it away as once you carried it, 
 guarded it as you as we, monsieur guarded it. Helas ! 
 that could not be. Therefore, on your behalf, I kissed 
 the little thing, and I emptied my poor purse into the 
 woman's hand. ' Keep it well,' I said, ' keep it well, 
 and thereby you shall reap a reward greater by far than 
 any you now receive. I know I know more than you 
 think.' Then the bonne replied to me : ' So long as I am 
 able it will be guarded well. No danger threatens the 
 child at present ' she said ' at present ' I am unhappy 
 that I have to mention those words. But she spoke 
 them. I knew not what had happened then ; I know 
 now from your letter. But, monsieur, what does it 
 mean ? De Eoquemaure tried to slay the child when 
 you had her in your keeping. Now that he has her in 
 his own for who can doubt it? he treats her well. 
 Monsieur, again I say, what does it mean? And the 
 ' at present ' what, too, does that mean ? " 
 
 St. Georges was no more able to answer that silent 
 question than the far-distant writer of it. Instead, lie 
 repeated to himself again and again, as he had often 
 done, the same words, " What did it mean ? " And as a 
 man stumbling in the dark, he could find no way that 
 led him to the light.
 
 "HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 
 
 " How can I answer him ? " he mused. " What 
 answer find ? The villain tried to slay her, as Boussac 
 says, when we were there to guard her ; now that he has 
 her in his charge, now that his hate is doubled, must be 
 doubled and intensified by my determination to slay him, 
 as I almost succeeded in doing, he stays his hand. What 
 does the mystery mean ? " And one answer alone pre- 
 sented itself to him. De Eoquemaure might have dis- 
 covered that that which he once suspected to be the case 
 was in reality not so. He might have found that, in 
 truth, he, St. Georges, was not the Due de Vannes. 
 
 " Thus," he reflected, " he would hesitate to murder 
 the harmless child. His vengeance on me is glutted ; 
 he must have known, even so early as Boussac's passage 
 through Troves, that I was as good as dead in that vile 
 galley ; if he knew, too, that I am not really De Vannes's 
 heir, the child no longer stands in his light. And devil 
 though he is, even his tigerish nature may have halted 
 at the murder of so helpless a thing." 
 
 Also he knew, by now, that both De Roquemaure 
 and Louvois must be perfectly confident that not only 
 was he practically dead but actually so< The galley was 
 gone sunk ; and of the few saved none had gone back 
 to France. And the other galleys those which had 
 chased the Dutch merchantman would take the news 
 back ; none would suppose that he and a few more were 
 still alive. 
 
 As he reflected on this month by month while often 
 his eyes would rest now on the words before him, " It is 
 well with the child " another light came at last to his 
 mind : he saw that, almost without any danger, he might 
 return to Troves. He was a dead man ; none would be 
 on the watch for him. 
 
 " Return to Troyes ! " he repeated. " Return to
 
 172 IN' THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Troyes ! " And starting from his seat he walked hur- 
 riedly away after one more glance at the consoling 
 words. He would go at once, find the child, and then 
 return to England forever. Yes, he thought, he would 
 do that. He had money enough now to reach that city. 
 
 Excited by this determination, he Strode toward his 
 lodging, determined to set out directly. Months had 
 passed, no fresh volunteers had been called for, and 
 although he knew that Louis was massing together a 
 large number of troops in the north of France with 
 the intention of once more attempting to put James II 
 on the throne he had fled from nothing had yet been 
 done. It seemed as if nothing would be done beyond 
 endeavouring to guard the shores of England from a 
 French invasion and securing suspected persons and 
 sending forces to the seacoast. But for himself he 
 heard nothing from any source. Perhaps, he mused, he 
 was forgotten. 
 
 Yet as he entered his room he learned that the time 
 had not yet come for him to take that solitary and dan- 
 gerous journey to France. There was something else to 
 be done first. 
 
 Lying on his table were two letters : one, with a great 
 seal upon it, from Admiral Rooke ; the other, addressed 
 to a firm of merchants in the city, but with since its 
 arrival in London St. Georges's name written over 
 theirs, from Boussac. He read the latter first; before 
 all else it was the child he thought of then threw it 
 down almost with impatience. He looked eagerly for 
 these letters ; they were indeed the anxiety of his life, 
 and now that this had come it told him nothing that he 
 cared to hear. 
 
 Yet there was one piece of intelligence in the letter 
 that once would have interested him. The mousque-
 
 "HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 173 
 
 taire had seen Aurelie de Koquemaure, had spoken with 
 her. 
 
 " I met her, mon ami" he wrote, " entering the gal- 
 lery of audience at Versailles where I was in attendance, 
 and she looked, although pale, for she wears no paint 
 like the other grandes dames I know not why, since 
 his Christian Majesty expects it " 
 
 " She wore enough when I saw her last ! " St. Georges 
 muttered. 
 
 " most beautiful. Mon Dieu ! what eyes, what a 
 figure ! I knew her only from seeing her pass in to 
 audience before, while as for me she had never deigned 
 so much as a glance. Yet now^Jigurez vous, mon ami, 
 she spoke to me while waiting for the others to pass be- 
 fore her. ' I have heard,' she said, speaking very low, 
 ' that you are Monsieur Boussac.' I answered that that 
 was my name. Then, after a glance around to see that 
 no eyes were upon us, she went on : ' You did a service 
 once to an unhappy gentleman a cJievau-Uger now 
 dead ? ' What she was going to say further I know not, 
 since I interrupted her so by the slight start I gave that 
 she paused in her intention, whatever it may have been, 
 raised her eyes to mine and regarded me fixedly. Then 
 she approached her face nearer to mine and whispered : 
 'Why do you start? He is dead is he not?' Mon 
 ami, what could I reply? She is the sister, by mar- 
 riage, of your foe ; if I told her you lived, who knows 
 what evil I might work? Therefore, I answered briefly, 
 ' Madame, the gaUre L'Idole was sunk, and he was in it.' 
 Still she regarded me, however mon Dieu ! it seemed 
 as though her eyes would tear the secret from out of my 
 brains. Then for now the throng was moving on and 
 she had to go with it she whispered again : ' If if by 
 any hazard he was not sunk with the galley if he
 
 174 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 still lives, there is news for him that would make him 
 happy.' Then she passed on with the others, and 
 so out by the main gallery, and I have not seen her 
 since." 
 
 There was more in the letter, but at that time St. 
 Georges read no further. Once this news would have 
 stirred every fibre in him, for once he had believed that 
 Aurelie do Roquemaure was his friend was on his 
 side ! He had long ceased, however, to do so ; had, in- 
 stead, come to believe that she and her mother were as 
 inimical to him as their cowardly brother. And long 
 months of meditation had brought him to the belief 
 also that the marquise's scorn against the man who had 
 attacked him and Boussac, and endeavoured to slay the 
 child, was simulated ; that they regarded his and 
 Dorine's existence with as much hatred as did De 
 Roquemaure himself. And now, now he felt sure that 
 she knew he was alive and was only eager to discover if 
 he was anywhere near them near enough to work 
 vengeance on them. As for the news which would 
 "make him happy!" well, any scheming intriguer 
 might endeavour to hoodwink so simple a soldier as 
 Boussac with such a tale as that ! He was only too 
 thankful Boussac had had sufficient discretion not to 
 betray his existence to her. To have done that would 
 be to have put her and De Roquemaure on their 
 guard against that return to France which should yet 
 be made, against that revenge which should yet be 
 taken. 
 
 He opened Sir George's letter now, quietly and with- 
 out excitement, for he had grown used to occasional 
 communications at long intervals from that gallant 
 sailor, telling him that at present it was not in his 
 power to be of service to him ; but as he hastily ran his
 
 MAY, 1692. 175 
 
 eye over the lines lie uttered an exclamation of delight. 
 They ran : 
 
 " Namesake, if you are still of the mind you were, 
 the time has come. There is a big muster at St. Helens, 
 for Tourville puts to sea to invade us. A place shall be 
 found for you, though maybe not in my ship. Hurry, 
 hurry, hurry ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 MAY, 1692. 
 
 riding along the Portsmouth road that warm 
 April night could doubt that a great crisis was at hand. 
 Certainly St. Georges did not do so as couriers and mes- 
 sengers galloped past him toward London calling out 
 the news to all who cared to hear it. As he mounted 
 Kingston Vale two men, hastily jumping on their steeds 
 outside " The Baldfaced Stag," cried that they must 
 rouse the queen even, though she be a-bed,* for the 
 Frenchman was at sea with an enormous fleet and had 
 been seen in the morning from the coast of Dorset ; and 
 all along the route it was the same. Wherever he 
 changed his horse he found couriers setting out for 
 London ; whomsoever he passed on the road gave him 
 the same news. At Eipley they told him the French 
 had landed under the command of Bellefonds and King 
 James but these were rustics drinking in a taproom 
 at Guildford the news was contradicted, but the cer- 
 
 * William was fighting on the Continent, and, as usual, being 
 defeated.
 
 17G IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 tainty of the landing taking place shortly was much 
 believed in. Then, at Godalming, where by now the 
 day had come, he passed a regiment marching as fast as 
 might be toward the coast, and the officer in command 
 told him that no landing had yet been effected; at 
 Petersfield he heard the same ; at Portsmouth laughter 
 and derision, scorn and contempt were hurled at all 
 who dared even to suppose that a French fleet would 
 put a French army ashore. For here, in every inn and 
 tavern, were men who had fought in a score of naval 
 engagements, and who were going out now to fight 
 again. And, as he stood upon the Hard, waiting for a 
 boat to take him off, he observed the vast fleet of sixty- 
 three ships under Russell's command lying at anchor 
 off the island, and saw from the maintop-gallant-mast 
 head of the Britannia (flagship) the admiral's flag flying. 
 Also on the main shrouds he saw another flag, showing 
 that a council of war was already being held. There, 
 too, were visible the ensigns of Rooke, Sir Cloudesley 
 Shovell, Sir John Ashley, Sir Ralph Delaval, and Rear 
 Admiral Carter, and as the noble spectacle met his view 
 his heart beat fast within him. The country that had 
 adopted him was about to help him revenge his wrongs 
 on the country that had sent him forth to stripes and 
 beatings and ignominy. 
 
 The shore boat made its way through countless 
 others some filled with officers and their baggage going 
 off to the ships, some with sailors half drunk, who 
 would, nevertheless, fight to the death when once they 
 boarded the Frenchmen ; some with provisions for the 
 fleet ; and some with other volunteers like himself, and 
 with, in several cases, girls going off to say farewell to 
 their sweethearts, or with mothers and wives. From 
 most of these boats there rose the babel of scores of
 
 MAY, 1692. 177 
 
 different songs and ballads, all telling how when French 
 sailors met English their doom was sealed. Yet at this 
 time, and for about another month, the French held the 
 supremacy of the sea. After that month was over the 
 supremacy was gone forever ! 
 
 From the Britannia there came away, as St. Georges's 
 boat approached the lines, several barges bearing the 
 admirals and captains who had attended the council of 
 war, and among them St. Georges saw that of Admiral 
 Eooke, who, as he saluted him, made signs for the other 
 boat to follow to his ship. 
 
 " Now," said Rooke, after he had greeted St. Georges 
 and complimented him upon his promptitude in hasten- 
 ing down to the fleet, and also on his improved appear- 
 ance for the two years he had passed in London had 
 done much to restore his original good looks, and, with 
 the exception that there rested always upon his face a 
 melancholy expression, none would have guessed the 
 sufferings he had once endured " now let me under- 
 stand. Therefore, speak definitely and frankly. You 
 have thrown in your lot forever with England." 
 
 " Forever," St. Georges replied. 
 
 "Without fear of change, eh?" the admiral said. 
 " Remember recall before we sail to-night all you are 
 doing. If you fight on our side now, there will be 
 henceforth no tie between you and France. That 
 dukedom of which you told me once is gone forever, no 
 matter how clearly you may find your title to it. Louis 
 will never forgive the work we mean to do. If you are 
 English to-day for the next week, the next month 
 you are English for always." 
 
 " I have come down here," St. Georges replied, his 
 voice firm, his words spoken slowly, so that Rooke knew 
 that henceforth his resolution would never be shaken,
 
 178 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " to fight on England's side against France. There will 
 be no wavering ! If I fall, I fall an Englishman ; if I 
 survive, I am an Englishman for the rest of my life. I 
 renounce my father's people, whomsoever that father 
 may have been, provided he was a Frenchman : I ac- 
 knowledge only my mother's. Short of one thing my 
 endeavour to regain my child." 
 
 " How is that to be accomplished ? If you survive 
 this which we are about to undertake, your life will be 
 forfeited in France." 
 
 " It is forfeited already. Remember, sir, I am still, 
 in the eyes of the law of France, a galley slave. That 
 alone is death, or worse than death. In the future when 
 I go, as I intend to go if I live, upon another quest for 
 her I have lost, I shall be in no worse case. Only, then, 
 it will be the halter and not the galleys. So best ! " 
 
 " Be it so," the admiral replied. " Henceforth you 
 belong to us. Now, this is what I can do for you. 
 Listen. I find there is a place for you here on this very 
 ship. You know something of seamanship from your 
 bitter experiences; as a soldier, also, you understand 
 discipline. The master's mate of this ship was drowned 
 a week ago ; you can try the post if you please. And 
 when the campaign is over, it may be that I can find 
 you a better one." 
 
 " I accept, with thanks," St. Georges said. " I adopt 
 from to-day your calling. Henceforth I am an English 
 sailor." 
 
 " Come, then, and see your captain," Rooke replied ; 
 " you will find him a good one, and hating France as 
 much as you can desire." 
 
 He followed the admiral to another cabin, where they 
 found the captain, who was Lord Danby Rooke's flag- 
 ship being now the Windsor Castle and here they
 
 MAY, 1692. 179 
 
 were made acquainted with each other, though Danby 
 had already heard the history of the man who was 
 coming into his ship. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, sir," he said quietly. " I 
 know your story at least so far as it concerns me. I 
 only trust you will encounter some of your late friends' 
 galleys and be able to repay them for some of the kind- 
 nesses they once testified toward you." 
 
 So St. Georges became a sailor once more though 
 in a very different manner from what he had last been 
 and as master's mate sailed in the Blue Squadron of 
 KusselPs fleet against the French fleet under Tourville. 
 
 The Dutch allies were coming in rapidly ere they 
 left St. Helen's and Spithead on the 26th of April, and 
 already of the fleet of thirty-six ships under Van Al- 
 monde many had joined. Their first cruise was, how- 
 ever of no result; they simply picked up their pilots 
 from the Sally Rose, these men having been got from 
 Jersey, and observed that all along the peninsula of 
 Cotentin where James and Marshal Bellefonds were 
 encamped great beacons were burning by night. They 
 knew, therefore, that France expected the English fleet. 
 A little later, while once more they lay off Spithead and 
 St. Helen's, they knew that Tourville had put to sea to 
 meet them. Fishermen corning into harbour, spies sent 
 out in various directions, the Sally Rose herself all 
 brought the news that the French admiral was on the 
 sea his squadron headed by his own flagship, Le Soleil 
 Royal, and by Le Triumphant and L'Ambitieux, had 
 been seen from Portland cliffs. 
 
 The time had come. 
 
 On May 18th that great English fleet, formed into 
 two squadrons the Red commanded by Russell, Delaval, 
 and Cloudesley Shovell, and the Blue by Sir John Ashby,
 
 180 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Rooke, and Carter and followed by the Dutch, stood 
 away from the English coast, their course south and south 
 by west. Swiftly, too, when clear of the Isle of Wight, 
 the line of battle was formed, the Tyger leading the 
 starboard and the Centurion the larboard tacks. And 
 so they sailed to meet the enemy, and to frustrate the 
 last attack of any importance ever made by the French 
 to invade England. 
 
 It was not long ere that frustration commenced. 
 
 Scouts coming back swiftly on the morning of the 
 19th reported the enemy in full force near them, and 
 from the Britannia ran out the signal received with 
 cheers from thousands of throats to " clear the ships 
 for action ! " And St. Georges, busy with his own work, 
 knew that the time was at hand for which he longed. 
 
 To the west there loomed up swiftly the topmasts of 
 the French flagships ; soon the figurehead of Le Soleil 
 Royal was visible a figurehead representing Louis 
 standing upon his favourite emblem, a great sun, and 
 with the inhabitants of other nations lying prostrate at 
 his feet and bound in chains. 
 
 " Behold," said Rooke, as St. Georges passed close to 
 him, " your late king ! Ah, well ! that sun shall set ere 
 long, or " 
 
 His words were drowned in more cheers. From all 
 those English seamen on board the various ships nearly 
 thirty thousand men exclusive of the Dutch allies there 
 rose hurrah after hurrah, as swiftly the opposing forces 
 advanced to meet one another. Then the Britannia 
 saluted the Soleil Royal a sinister politeness and from 
 the French flagships there came an answer in the shape 
 of a discharge of small shot. The battle had begun. 
 
 From the English vessels that discharge was an- 
 swered by broadsides from their great guns : from the
 
 MAY, 1692. 181 
 
 Britannia, the Royal Sovereign Delaval's flagship 
 those broadsides were poured in with merciless pre- 
 cision. Moreover, the wind favoured the English foe 
 more than it did the French ; their great ships being 
 enabled to form a circle round their foes and to pour in 
 their fire on either side of them. Already one French- 
 man had blown up, hurling her contents into the air ; 
 already, too, the Soleil Royal had had her maintopsail 
 shot away by the Britannia; in another moment she 
 had let down her mainsail and was tacking away from 
 her untiring foe. And following her went L'Admirable 
 and Le Triumphant. 
 
 " Heavens ! " exclaimed St. Georges, as, black and 
 grimed with powder, he worked with the men under his 
 direction at the lower-deck tier of guns in the Windsor 
 Castle, " they run already ! Is that the king the world 
 has feared so long the king I served ? " 
 
 The French flagship was not beaten yet, however 
 it was too soon ; and though she could not force her 
 way through those enemies which surrounded her, she 
 could still keep them off, prevent them from boarding 
 her. Twice the Britannia and another had endeavoured 
 to lay themselves alongside her for that purpose, but the 
 fire she vomited from her gunports was too hot ; like a 
 gaunt dying lioness she made it death to come too near. 
 Yet her struggles were the struggles of despair ; already 
 twenty of her squadron had deserted her and, pursued 
 by English vessels, were tearing through the Race of 
 Alderney as fast as their shot sails would take them, in 
 the hopes of reaching the lee of Cotentin. Two alone 
 remained with her remained to share her fate the 
 Admirable and Triumphant. 
 
 That fate was not yet, however ; those three ships 
 had yet a few hours of existence left to them. Fighting
 
 182 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 still, still belching forth flames and destruction, they 
 closed together, and so withstood the merciless broad- 
 sides of the Britannia and Koyal Sovereign ; then, at 
 last wounded and shattered the figure of Louis, his 
 emblem the sun, and the downtrodden representatives 
 of other nations were long since shot away and floating, 
 or sunk, in the sea a favourable wind sprang up and 
 beneath it they ran, Tourville having already transferred 
 his flag to L'Ambitieux. Yet, fly as they might, behind 
 them came their pursuers as fast as they. Delaval in 
 the Royal Sovereign with a small squadron never halted 
 in the chase. Still pouring volley upon volley from his 
 bow fire into their sterns, he hung upon them, and, when 
 they found they could not enter St. Malo, followed them 
 to Cherbourg. 
 
 And here their end came. They had struggled into 
 shoal water, forcing themselves aground in the hope the 
 English men-of-war could not follow them, and rapidly, 
 in a frenzy of fear, the men were casting themselves 
 over the sides and gaining the land. The ships were 
 doomed they knew, their own lives might still be saved. 
 They were none too soon even for that. The fireships 
 and attenders were soon among those three. Le Soleil 
 Royal was ablaze first, Le Triumphant next, and then 
 L'Admirable. As the night came on they lit up the 
 coast for miles around ; as morning dawned they were 
 burnt to the water's edge. Their own magazines as 
 they took fire assisted in their destruction and helped 
 by their explosions to finish them. 
 
 Meanwhile the remainder of the great French fleet 
 had run for the bay of La Hogue, and behind them, 
 like sleuthhounds, went Russell, Shovell, and Rooke 
 with their squadrons.
 
 LA HOGUE. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 LA HOGUE. 
 
 THE sun was setting brilliantly behind the peninsula 
 that juts out into the English Channel and forms the 
 department of La Manche ; its last rays as it fell away 
 behind Cherbourg lit up a strange scene. On land, 
 looking east, were thirty thousand so-called French 
 troops ; they were, indeed, mostly Irish rapparees whom 
 Louis had thought suitable for an invasion of England 
 under James and his own marshal, Bellefonds ; among 
 them and in command were Bellefonds, Melfort, and 
 James himself now a heartbroken man. Also there 
 stood by his side one who knew that not only his heart 
 but his life was broken too Tourville, who had now 
 come ashore. 
 
 What they gazed on in the bay was enough to break 
 the hearts of any. 
 
 There, gathered together, the flames leaping from 
 the decks to enfold and set on fire the furled sails, the 
 magazines exploding, the great guns turned toward the 
 land that owned them and their projectiles mowing 
 down all on that land, were the best ships of that 
 French fleet which had put out to sea to crush the 
 English. Among them were Le Merveilleux, L'Ambi- 
 tieux, Le Foudriant, Le Magnifique, Le St. Philip, 
 L'Etonnant, Le Terrible, Le Fier, Le Gaillard, Le Bour- 
 bon, Le Glorieux, Le Fort, and Louis. And all were 
 doomed to destruction, for the English fleet had block- 
 aded them into the shallow water of La Hogue ; there 
 was no escape possible.
 
 184: IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Three hours ere that sun set, Kooke had sent for St. 
 Georges and bade the latter follow him. 
 
 " I transfer my flag at once," he said, " to the Eagle, 
 so as better to direct a flotilla of fireships and boats. 
 Come with me," and stepping into his barge he was 
 quickly rowed to that vessel with St. Georges alongside 
 him in .the stern sheets. 
 
 Reaching the Eagle, Rooke, who had now the com- 
 mand of the attacking party, rapidly made his disposi- 
 tions for despatching the flotilla the officering of the 
 various fireships being at his disposition. 
 
 " My Lord Danby," he said to that gallant captain, 
 who had refused to remain doing nothing in his own 
 ship, " you will attack with the Half Moon and thirty 
 boats ; you, Lieutenant Paul, with the Lightning and 
 thirty more. Mr. St. Georges, who has done well for us 
 to-day, and has a trifling grudge against our friends, 
 will take the Owner's Love." 
 
 And so he apportioned out the various commands, 
 until, in all, two hundred fireships and attenders were 
 ready to go into the doomed fleet. 
 
 At first things were not favourable. The Half 
 Moon ran ashore, blown thereto by the breeze from 
 off the sea, but in an instant Lord Danby's plans were 
 formed. He and his crew destroyed her, so that she 
 could not be used against their own fleet, then swiftly 
 put off in their boats and rejoined the others. Mean- 
 while those others were rapidly creeping in toward the 
 French. 
 
 Already two fireships had set Le Foudriant and 
 L'Etonnant on fire, the boats were getting under the 
 bows of all the others, the boarders were swarming up 
 the sides, cutlasses in hand and mouths, and hurling 
 grenades on to the French decks.
 
 LA HOGUE. 185 
 
 " Follow ! " called St. Georges, as, his . foot upon a 
 quarter-gallery breast rail, his hand grasping the chain, 
 he leaped into the huge square port of Le Terrible. 
 "Follow, follow!" and as he cried out, the sailors 
 jumped in behind him. 
 
 Yet, when they had entered the great French ship, 
 there was no resistance offered. She was deserted ! As 
 they had come up the starboard side, her crew, officers 
 and men, had fled over the larboard as hard as they 
 could swim or wade they were making for the shore. 
 Yet her guns on the lower tier forward were firing 
 slowly, one by one as the boats reached them. A 
 grenade had been hurled in as St. Georges's party passed 
 under her bows and had set the ship alight forward, and 
 the flames were spreading rapidly. 
 
 " Quick ! " St. Georges exclaimed, " ignite her more 
 in the waist and here in the stern. Cut up some chips, 
 set this after cabin on fire. As it burns, the flames will 
 fall and explode the magazine. Some men also to the 
 guns, draw the charges of those giving on us; leave 
 charged those pointing toward the shore." 
 
 All worked with a will if they could not get at the 
 Frenchmen themselves, they had, at least, the ships to 
 vent their passions upon some tore up fittings, some 
 chopped wood, some ignited tow and oakum ; soon the 
 stern of the Terrible was in flames. Meanwhile, from 
 Le Fier hard by so near, indeed, that her bows almost 
 touched the rudder of the ship they were in there 
 came an awful explosion. Her magazine was gone, and 
 as it blew up it hurled half the vessel into the air, while 
 great burning beams fell on to the deck of the Terrible 
 and helped to set her more alight. 
 
 " To the boats ! " ordered St. Georges, " to the boats ! 
 There is more work yet, more to be destroyed." And 
 13
 
 186 IN* THE DAY OP ^ADVERSITY. 
 
 again, followed by his men, they descended to their at- 
 tenders and barges. 
 
 But now the tide was retreating, they could do no 
 more that night. They must wait until the morrow 
 when the tide would come back. Then there would be, 
 indeed, more work to do. There were still some trans- 
 ports unharmed; they, too, must be annihilated ! 
 
 They called the roll that night in the British fleet. 
 There were many men wounded, but not one killed. So, 
 amid the noise of powder rooms and magazines ex- 
 ploding, and under a glare from the burning French 
 ships which made the night as clear as day they lay 
 down and rested. And in the morning they began 
 again. 
 
 " The work," the admiral said, " is not done yet. It 
 is now to be completed." 
 
 Back went, therefore, the fireships and attenders 
 this time it was the turn of the transports. 
 
 " Hotter this than yesterday," called out Lord Danby 
 to St. Georges from one boat to the other, as, propelled 
 by hundreds of oars, all swept in toward the transports. 
 His lordship's face was raw and bleeding now, for on 
 the previous day he had burned and nearly blinded him- 
 self by blowing up tow and oakum to set on fire a vessel 
 which he and his men were engaged in destroying. 
 " Hotter now. See, there are some soldiers in the 
 transport, and the forts on shore are firing on us. On, 
 on, my men ! " and he directed those under his charge 
 to one transport, while St. Georges did the same as he 
 selected another. 
 
 There were more than a dozen of those transports, 
 and against them went the two hundred boats, Eooke 
 in chief command. As they neared the great vessels,
 
 LA HOGUE. 187 
 
 however, on that bright May morning, they found that 
 the work of last night had only to be repeated. They 
 poured into the ships from the starboard side, the 
 French poured out on the larboard ; those who could 
 not escape were slaughtered where they stood. And if 
 to St. Georges any further impetus was needed though 
 none was, for his blood was up now to boiling heat and 
 France was the most hated word he knew it was given 
 him as he approached the vessel he meant to board ; 
 for, from it, out of a stern port, there glared a pair of 
 eyes in a ghastly face a face that looked as though 
 transfixed with horror ! the eyes and face of De Eoque- 
 maure ! With a cry that made the rowers before him 
 think he had been struck by a bullet, so harsh and bitter 
 it was, he steered the barge alongside the vessel ; in a 
 moment he had clambered on the deck, followed by man 
 after man ; had cut down a French soldier who opposed 
 him, and was seeking his way toward the cabin where 
 the other was. 
 
 " There is an officer below," he muttered hoarsely to 
 those who followed him. "He is mine remember, 
 mine none others. My hand alone must have his life, 
 my sword alone take it. Eemember ! " 
 
 As his followers scattered some to slay the few re- 
 maining on board who had not escaped, some to rush 
 forward and ignite the fore part of the transport, others 
 to fire the great guns laid toward the shore, and still 
 others to find and burst open the powder room he 
 rushed down to where that cabin was, his sword in hand, 
 his brain on fire at the revenge before him. 
 
 " Now ! now ! now !" he murmured. " At last ! " 
 
 Under the poop he went, down the aftermost com- 
 panion ladder, through a large cabin the officers' liv- 
 ing room and then to a smaller one beyond, opening
 
 188 IN THE DAY OF ADVERS1TV. 
 
 out of the other on the starboard side the cabin from 
 which he had seen the livid, horror-stricken face of his 
 enemy. But it was closed tight and would not give to 
 his hand. 
 
 " Open," he called ; " open, yon hound, open ! You 
 cannot escape me now. Open, I say ! " 
 
 There came no word in answer. All was silent 
 within, though, above, the roars and callings of the 
 sailors made a terrible din. 
 
 "You hear?" again cried St. Georges, "you hear 
 those men ? Open, I say, and meet your death like a 
 man ! Otherwise you die like a dog ! One way you 
 must die. They are setting fire to the magazine. Cur, 
 open ! " 
 
 The bolt grated from within as he spoke, and the 
 door was thrown aside. De Roquemaure stood before 
 him. 
 
 Yet his appearance caused St. Georges to almost stag- 
 ger back, alarmed. Was this the man he had dreamed 
 so long of meeting once again, this creature before 
 him ! De Roquemaure was without coat, vest, or shirt ; 
 his body was bare ; through his right shoulder a terrible 
 wound, around which the blood was caked and nearly 
 dry. His face, too, was as white as when he had first 
 seen it from the boat, his eyes as staring. 
 
 " So," he said, " it is you, alive ! Well, you have 
 come too late. I have got my death. What think you 
 I care for the sailors or the powder room ? I was struck 
 yesterday by some of the Englishmen who passed here 
 as the tide turned, who fired into this ship ere the tide 
 the tide the " 
 
 " Yet will I make that death sure ! " St. Georges 
 cried, springing at him. " Wounds do not always kill. 
 You may recover this from my thrust you shall never
 
 LA HOGUE. 189 
 
 recover ! " and he shortened his sword to thrust it 
 through his bare body. 
 
 "I am unarmed," the other wailed. "Mercy! I 
 cannot live ! " 
 
 "Ay, the mercy you showed me! The attempted 
 murder of my child the theft of her, the murder 
 perhaps done by now the galleys ! Quick, your last 
 prayer !" 
 
 Yet even as he spoke he knew that he was thwarted 
 again. He could not strike, not slay, the thing before 
 him. The villain was so weakened by his wound that 
 he could scarce stand, even though grasping a bulkhead 
 with his two hands ; was must be dying. Why take 
 his death, therefore, upon his soul when Fate itself was 
 claiming him ? It would be murder now, not righteous 
 execution ! 
 
 Moreover, he had another task to execute ere it was 
 too late. 
 
 " Wretch," he exclaimed, " die as you are find hell 
 at last without my intervention ! Yet, if you value a 
 few more minutes of existence, gain them thus. Tell 
 me, ere you go, where you have hidden my child what 
 done with " 
 
 Before he could finish there came another roar from 
 an exploding transport, the sound of beams and spars 
 falling in the water round ; a darkness over the cabin 
 produced by the volumes of smoke ; the screams of 
 wounded and burnt Frenchmen hurled into the sea ; 
 the loud huzzas and yells of the British sailors. Then, 
 as that roar and shock died away, there rose in the air 
 another sound a paean of triumph that must have 
 reached the ears of those on shore as it also reached the 
 ears of those two men face to face in that cabin. From 
 hundreds of throats it pealed forth, rising over all else
 
 190 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 crackling wood, guns firing, the swish of oars, orders 
 bawled, and shrieks of dead and dying. 
 
 It was the English sailors singing Henry Carey's 
 song, almost new then, now known over all the world : 
 
 " God save our gracious king ! 
 
 Long live our noble king ! 
 
 God save the king ! " 
 
 " Answer," St. Georges cried, " ere your master, the 
 devil, gets you ! ere I send you to him before even he 
 requires you ! " 
 
 The man had sunk down upon a locker outside the 
 bunk, his two hands flattened out upon the lid, his face 
 turned up in agony. From either side of his mouth 
 there trickled down a small streak of blood looking like 
 the horns of the new moon ; the lips were drawn back 
 from the teeth, as though in agony unspeakable. And 
 did he grin mockingly in this his hour or was it the 
 pangs of approaching death that caused the grin ? 
 
 Then he gasped forth : 
 
 " You are deceived. The woman who stole your 
 child was Aurelie " 
 
 " What ! " from St. Georges. 
 
 "Aided by servant Gaston. Her servant not 
 mine " 
 
 " My God ! " In that moment there came back to 
 him a memory. The lad, Gaston, had his arm in a 
 sling the morning he learned the child was missing; 
 the woman, who lived in the hut and saw the child 
 taken from Pierre, had said, " His arm hung straight by 
 his side, as though stiff with pain." 
 
 Had he found the truth at last? 
 
 " Go en," he said. 
 
 " The bishop's man had got it safe. Aurelie and
 
 THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. 191 
 
 Gaston caught slew him took the child. She 
 knew your birth and hated you and would gain 
 as much as as I. Seek her if you would 
 know " 
 
 He fell prone on the lid and spoke no more. 
 
 And St. Georges, reeling back against the opposite 
 bulkhead, stared down at him, forgetting all that was 
 taking place around the burning transport in his misery 
 at that revelation. 
 
 " Aurelie," he whispered, " Aurelie ! Hated me, too, 
 and hated her. God, pity me ! " 
 
 And again above all else there rose the triumphant 
 
 shout : 
 
 " Send him victorious, 
 Happy and glorious, 
 God save the king ! " 
 
 NOTE. The description of the battle of La Hogue is taken 
 from many sources, but principally from the narrative of the 
 chaplain on board the Centurion. It is the most full and com- 
 plete, especially as regards the ships engaged, which I know of. 
 The worthy divine was a Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Ox- 
 ford, and this seems to have been his first cruise. He returned 
 " home " afterward, viz., to Oxford, and has left very fervent 
 expressions of gratitude at having been able to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. 
 
 As he staggered back after that revelation, St. 
 Georges noticed that the great chant sounded less 
 strongly and more distantly in his ears, and, seized with 
 a sudden apprehension, he rushed to the cabin port-hole.
 
 192 IX THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 Then he knew that what he had dreaded, that the idea 
 which had sprung into his mind a second before, as the 
 sturdy English voices became more hushed and subdued, 
 was indeed an absolute fact the flotilla was retiring. 
 It had finished its work of destruction it was return- 
 ing to the man-of-war. 
 
 And he was left behind ! 
 
 Behind ! to fall into the hands of the French, who, 
 he knew very well, would come forth from the fort and 
 batteries directly the conquerors had withdrawn. He 
 was in a trap from which there was no escape. He 
 would be found there, and his doom be swift. 
 
 Yet, in a moment, even as he glanced down at his 
 enemy at his feet and noted the set features handsome 
 as in life the white face, the blood at either side of the 
 mouth, looking as before like two small down-turned 
 horns, he asked himself if he was indeed doomed ? Also, 
 why stay there to be taken like a rat in a trap ? The 
 sea was beneath him ; a mile off was the English fleet. 
 If he could swim to that, even halfway to it, he could- 
 make signs and, perhaps, be seen and rescued ; at the 
 worst it would but be death. And a more fearful death 
 than any the sea could bring awaited him if he re- 
 mained here. 
 
 He cast one more look at De Eoquemaure lying with 
 his head upon the locker. At last he was done for ! He 
 would never cross his path again. If he himself could 
 live, if he could escape out of this burning pandemo- 
 nium, could again stand a free man on an English deck, 
 he would have to contend with him no more. There 
 would be but one thing further to do then to stand 
 face to face with Aurelie de Roquemaure, to ask her if 
 this charge against her was true as St. Georges never 
 doubted ! to demand his child, and, if she would not
 
 THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. 193 
 
 restore it to him, to to what? His mind was full of 
 deeds of savagery now ; the last few days, filled with 
 slaughter and spent amid the arousal of men's fiercest 
 passions, had made him fierce too. At this moment if 
 Aurelie could appear before him he knew that he should 
 slay her send her to join her brother and all the other 
 victims of his own aroused passions. It would be dan- 
 gerous for her if she were face to face with him at this 
 moment and refused to acknowledge where she had 
 hidden Dorine. 
 
 She was not there, however ; at the present moment 
 he had to take steps to free himself, to escape from the 
 burning transport. " ' Twill be time enough," he mut- 
 tered, "to tax her with her perfidy when I stand once 
 more before her to punish her for it. And my own hour 
 is too near, may be too close at hand, for me to think 
 of that. But when it comes, then " 
 
 He heard an explosion in another part of the vessel 
 he knew another tier of guns had been reached by the 
 flames ; he was tarrying too long. The magazine must 
 be close to the cabin in which he was, might be, indeed, 
 beneath the cabin floor at any moment he risked being 
 blown to atoms. He must lose no time. To be caught 
 there was death, instant and certain ! 
 
 Lying at the door of the main cabin where he had 
 been slain was one of the officers of the transport ; near 
 him another man of lower rank, the one shot through 
 the back the other cut down by Eooke's sailors as he 
 fled into the cabin ; and as his eye rested on them a 
 thought struck him. None of Bellefonds and James's 
 forces on land could say who were or were not officers 
 of the transports what was there to prevent him from 
 being one for the time being ? All was fair in war ! 
 and he was as much French as any who might come out
 
 194: IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 from the forts or batteries to the sinking and exploding 
 ships if any dared to come at all. Once in the garb 
 of either of these lying here, officer or petty officer, 
 and he would be able to get safely ashore, and could 
 avoid question by disappearing a moment afterward, 
 or as soon as might be. 
 
 And he would be in France would be so much 
 nearer to the reckoning with Aurelie de Eoquemaure ! 
 
 He drew on the jacket of the officer as the thoughts 
 of all this chased one another through his mind, threw 
 his own sword down and took up that of the dead man, 
 placed on his head the hat he had worn bearing in it a 
 gold cockade on which a glittering sun was stamped 
 and then, glancing through the square porthole that 
 gave on the shore, he looked to see if, yet, any of the 
 French were coming out to save some of their vessels 
 from the conflagration. But the wind was blowing off 
 the sea to the land and carrying with it the smoke from 
 the burning ships ; between those ships and the shore 
 all was obscured. And still, as he looked, the explo- 
 sions though fainter now took place at every mo- 
 ment ; he could hear the crackling of the flames in the 
 vessel in which he was. 
 
 He knew that he must go must not tarry another 
 instant. Those flames were gaining round him; they 
 would reach the magazine before long and then ! He 
 must go at once. 
 
 He cast one more hurried glance at De Roquemaure, 
 who seemed quite dead now. But, dead or alive, what 
 mattered it ? If dead, so much the better ; if alive, he 
 would be blown to atoms in a few .more moments as 
 he would himself if he tarried longer. He must go at 
 once. 
 
 " Farewell, dog ! " he muttered, with one look down-
 
 THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. 195 
 
 ward at his enemy. " Farewell. Your account is 
 made ! " And without wasting another moment for 
 his fear of being hurled into eternity himself the next 
 moment had gained terrible hold on him he rushed to 
 the main cabin door and seized the handle. 
 
 An awful sweat of fear a cold, clammy sweat 
 broke out all over him as he did so ; he knew now how 
 dear life was to him dearer than he had ever dreamed 
 before that it would be ; or was it rather the fear of an 
 awful death than death itself? Was it that which 
 caused him to almost faint with horror as he recognised 
 that the door was either locked or jammed, so that it 
 would not open ? 
 
 He was doomed the fire was spreading he heard 
 one great gun explode by itself a gun on the lower 
 deck near where the powder room must be beneath 
 him he was doomed ! In another few moments per- 
 haps not more than four or five at most the bulkheads 
 would fly asunder, the deck split like matchwood, he 
 and the dead bodies of De Koquemaure and the others 
 be flung to the elements, be blown into portions of the 
 elements themselves. 
 
 Drenched with sweat, paralyzed with terror it was 
 the terror of an awful death and not of death itself; 
 livid with horror though he was not aware such was 
 the case ; his lips parched and glued together ; not 
 knowing whether his limbs were shaking beneath him 
 or the deck of the cabin quivering before its impending 
 upheaval, his starting eyes glared round the prison he 
 was in. And as he so glared he saw if God gave him 
 a moment more his opportunity. The great square 
 ports an invention of but the last few years and super- 
 seding the old small round ones furnished that oppor- 
 tunity.
 
 196 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 With a gasp nay, almost a cry he clambered on the 
 locker beneath the nearest one again it seemed as though 
 the ship was quivering with the impending explosion ! 
 thrust his head and shoulders through, dragged the 
 sword by his side carefully after him, seized a top chain 
 hanging down into the water, and was himself in the 
 water a moment later. Then a nervous, hurried thrust 
 of one foot against the hull, with an impetus obtained 
 thereby which propelled him a dozen feet from the ves- 
 sel, a few masterful strokes made boldly, all trembling 
 with fear and horror as he was, and he plunged into a 
 puff of black smoke, the cinders among which hissed 
 on his face as he struck it, and he was saved saved 
 from that most awful death, even though countless 
 other deaths surrounded and loomed up before him; 
 saved, at least, from being dismembered and flung 
 piecemeal in a million atoms on the bosom of the 
 ocean. 
 
 The smoke drifting in his face recalled to him that 
 he was swimming toward the English fleet; the current 
 still making toward the shore told him that he could 
 never reach that fleet. Even as he swam away from the 
 doomed transport he knew that the powerful tide be- 
 neath was carrying him back ; he must change his 
 course, or another moment would carry his body against 
 the after part of the ship he had but now escaped from, 
 the ship which must now ere long be hurled out of the 
 sea! It was easy to do so, however; to turn himself 
 away from her so that, even though borne back to the 
 coast of Cotentin, he would pass far astern of her. 
 He had enough strength for that, enough left to haul 
 himself far out from where she lay but not much 
 more. He was sore spent now with all he had gone 
 through, and was borne down also with the double
 
 THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH. 197 
 
 weight of clothes upon him ; as he glided by, or was 
 carried back though some forty yards adrift of the 
 transport he could do nothing more than tread water 
 and so manage to keep himself afloat. 
 
 Borne through the murky grime, along that water 
 there came now the swish of oars and the voices of men 
 speaking in French French strongly accentuated and 
 in the Manche patois. What were they doing, he won- 
 dered. Had they come out to save some of the burning 
 transports and boats, to endeavour to stop the flames 
 and also the firing of the guns by the heat their own 
 guns that, as they fired, hurled their charges on their 
 own shore ? Were they going to meet their dooms un- 
 knowingly by venturing on that very place of death 
 which he had just escaped from? 
 
 It might be might well be so ; and though he had 
 fought against them though they were Frenchmen 
 and his enemies, too, he must warn them, save them, 
 if he could : they were men, human beings ; he could 
 not let them go unwittingly to such an awful end as 
 this, could not let them board that ship and meet the 
 fate he had avoided. Therefore he hailed them as 
 loudly as he was able, screamed to them, besought them 
 to enter no vessel near ; above all to avoid the burning 
 transport. But whether they understood him, even if 
 they heard, he could not guess ; he caught still the 
 beat of the oars upon the waves, heard their chattering 
 voices, even one or two of their expressions ; and then, 
 as the tide took him nearer and nearer to the shore, 
 he lost sound of those voices altogether. 
 
 " Strange," he muttered, " strange she blows not up 
 many minutes have elapsed since I quitted her twenty 
 at the least, and yet the explosion has not come. They 
 may have boarded her, those men, have extinguished the
 
 198 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 flames : there may have been no powder left in the 
 mag Ah!" 
 
 There came an awful roar as he so muttered, a roar 
 such as he had heard twenty times in as many hours ; a 
 hundred feet above and behind him, as he turned swiftly 
 in the water, he saw a fan-shaped mass of flame ascend- 
 ing to the skies ; he saw black objects amid that mass of 
 flame what were they, beams, masts, or human 
 bodies ? he saw the smoke rent open, 'and great pieces 
 of the transport floating or falling on to the waters with 
 terrific crashes. Then there rushed down on him a 
 fresh mountain of blood-coloured smoke, with blazing 
 cinders and pieces of burning wood, and smouldering 
 sails all borne along in its midst, and it enveloped hirn 
 and choked him, while the burning matter fell on him 
 and hissed on his wet hair and skin, so that he was fain 
 to let himself sink below the waves for some few seconds 
 to escape the debris and those suffocating fumes. And 
 even as he did so, and when he arose to the surface once 
 more, cooled and refreshed by the immersion of his face, 
 his first thought was to utter a heartfelt prayer for his 
 escape from the awful fate that, but half an hour ago, 
 had threatened him and been so near. 
 
 Scarce bad he done so than, as he swam a little now, 
 being eased by having floated and trod water for some 
 time, he saw beneath the smoke, which dispersed as it 
 neared the shore and drifted inland, that he himself was 
 close in shore. He could perceive quite clearly the yel- 
 low beach of Cotentin on which the incoming tide was 
 rippling, and could see also several bodies lying about on 
 that beach soldiers doubtless killed by the fire from 
 the English war vessels, or, perhaps, by the discharge of 
 the French guns when turned upon them by the parties 
 which had boarded their own ships. But that was all,
 
 ON THE ROAD. 199 
 
 except one or two figures moving about and bending 
 over them no doubt the ghouls who are to be found 
 wherever a dead body is after a battle. 
 
 And as he glanced at these last relics of the great 
 battle of La Hogue, his foot touched the bottom ; a mo- 
 ment later he was wading ashore. 
 
 He stood once more in France, the land in which he 
 would find his child if she was still alive. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 HE stood once more upon French ground then 
 fell half fainting on the wet, shining shingle, strug- 
 gling to get his breath back, panting and gasping pain- 
 fully. 
 
 Then came toward him a figure terrible to behold, a 
 creature in the garb of a woman, a knife at her girdle, 
 her pockets, which were outside her dress, bulging, and 
 from their openings pieces of gold lace, a silver-hilted 
 pistol, and other things protruding. But besides her 
 and the dead bodies lying further inland upon the beach 
 nothing else was to be seen. The thirty thousand men 
 some, and most of them, those rapparees whom Louis 
 had thought good enough to send against England 
 some forming part of the regiments of Picardy, Verde- 
 lin, Le Calvados, and others, were not visible, although 
 he could see on the roofs and turrets of the forts that 
 they were still there and lined the coast for many miles. 
 Also he saw with dimmed eyes that the English fleet 
 was moving. It had done its work !
 
 200 IN* THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 The creature prowling about came nearer, and St. 
 Georges sprang to his feet and drew from the wet scab- 
 bard which had remained by his side during his swim 
 ashore, his sword. 
 
 " Wretch," he said, " put down that knife and come 
 no nearer, or I will run you through, woman though you 
 seem to be ! Begone, vulture ! " 
 
 The robber of the dead and wounded paused and 
 stared at him ; then she assumed a whining tone, and 
 exclaimed in her northern accent : 
 
 " Oh, good gentleman, you mistake. I am no slayer 
 of injured men, but a comforter thereof. Will you not 
 take a sup of good Nantz to ease you ? " 
 
 " No, begone ! Away. Yet stay. Where is the 
 nearest village where I can procure food ? Answer me, 
 quickly." 
 
 " A mile off, good gentleman ; there is an auberge 
 there. It is very good, /keep it." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 "Yes, I. Yes, an excellent inn. Bnt," with a 
 suspicious glance at him, " why not go to the fort, 
 good gentleman? The marshal is there and that 
 king who has been ruined by his own subjects to- 
 day." 
 
 " I do not wish to go to the fort. I am not a sol- 
 dier, but a sailor saved from one of the transports. 
 Direct me." 
 
 " Ha ! " she said, with a grunt. " You are not the 
 first. There are many like you who do not want to go 
 to the fort. A many poltroons who are deserting from 
 the army, now defeat has come to France. Are you de- 
 serting too, friend ? " 
 
 " No. But I have nothing to do with the forts nor 
 the army. Direct me, I say."
 
 ON THE ROAD. 201 
 
 " There is the road," the hag said, pointing to the 
 north across the sandhills. " Follow that a mile and 
 you will come to my house. But," and she came a step 
 nearer, " give me some money, or you will, perhaps, be 
 followed. The others have given me some. Give me a 
 piece, and I will be silent." 
 
 " Away, wretch ! " St. Georges said. " If the soldiers 
 come forth again you will flee from them, not wait a 
 moment. I do not fear you," and pushing past her he 
 made toward the road she had indicated, while she stood 
 there muttering curses after him. Then she returned to 
 her work of prowling among the dead and dying, and 
 rifling their pockets. 
 
 He made his way among those dead and dying, 
 most of whom were wounded French seamen who had 
 managed to get ashore only to fall down and expire 
 where they fell, and a few of whom were soldiers on 
 laud who had been struck by the projectiles from the 
 French vessels while standing gazing at the sea fight. In 
 all, there were lying about the dunes some hundred men, 
 who were in different states of approaching death. One 
 thing he noticed as he went on several wore the col- 
 ours of the Picardy Kegiment, which he knew well, from 
 having once been quartered with it. Therefore, he un- 
 derstood why De Eoquemaure had been on board the 
 transport. They had doubtless been shipped ready for 
 the projected invasion, and these wretched soldiers had 
 been more fortunate than he in one way they had at 
 least escaped ashore to die, instead of being blown to 
 pieces in the explosions of the transports. 
 
 He made his way through the sand, stopping once or 
 
 twice to endeavour to help some dying wretch whom he 
 
 came across, and then going on again when he found his 
 
 efforts useless ; and so he came at last to what he sup- 
 
 14
 
 202 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 posed must be the auberge spoken of by the woman, a 
 miserable wooden structure with a seat and a bench out- 
 .side the door. 
 
 Two horsemen were drawn up in front of this, and 
 were speaking to some stragglers standing before them, 
 all of whom St. Georges noticed stood cap in hand. One, 
 a tall thin man with a hatchet face, dressed in gray, was 
 questioning them ; the other, who sat his horse by his 
 side, was an elderly man of dark, swarthy features, who 
 was, however, deathly pale. His eye a wandering one 
 lighted on St. Georges's the instant he approached the 
 front of the inn, and turning away from his companion 
 he addressed him in good French, which, however, 
 St. Georges noticed had a strong accent. 
 
 " What uniform is yours, sir ? " he asked. " I do not 
 know it. And you seem to have been in the water. Are 
 you one of his Majesty's naval officers ? " 
 
 " I am," St. Georges replied, recognising at once the 
 danger he was in. " And the uniform is that of a trans- 
 port officer." 
 
 " A transport officer ! " the other exclaimed, turning 
 round suddenly at the words " a transport officer ! Have 
 any escaped ? " 
 
 " I have, at any rate," St. Georges replied. 
 
 " You can then give us some information," the first 
 said. " How many others are there who have also 
 escaped ? " 
 
 " Very .few, I imagine. I myself did so only by swim- 
 ming ashore. And even then the transport was blown 
 up ere I had quitted it very long." 
 
 " And," asked the second, " have the English made 
 many prisoners ? " 
 
 " A great number, I should suppose." 
 
 " God help me ! " the dark, pale man exclaimed.
 
 ON THE ROAD. 203 
 
 " Louis will do no more. This is our last chance, Mel- 
 fort" 
 
 As he spoke St. Georges knew in whose presence he 
 was the presence of the unhappy James. Then, be- 
 cause he knew also that this place was full of danger to 
 him some naval officers of the French fleet might by 
 chance have got ashore as he had done, and might 
 also come here at any moment he saluted James, 
 and said he must make his way onward as fast as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 " Where are you going to, sir ? " the late King of 
 England asked. " You will be better in the forts. They 
 will not refuse you succour." 
 
 " Doubtless. Yet I must go on. I have to " 
 
 As he spoke his eyes fell on the doorway of the inn, 
 and, brave man though he was, what he saw there appalled 
 him. 
 
 Leaning against the doorpost, regarding him fixedly, 
 were two French sailors whom he had last seen on board 
 the transport two sailors who, as he had leaped on board 
 followed by his own men, had disputed his entrance, had 
 then been driven back to the larboard side of the ship, 
 and had hurled themselves into the shoalwater and so 
 escaped. 
 
 What was there for him to do ? In another moment 
 it was possible certain that they would denounce him, 
 that he would be seized by the half dozen soldiers stand- 
 ing or sitting about. 
 
 He had to make his plans quickly ere these men 
 could speak already he could perceive they were about 
 to do so; one touched the other with his finger and 
 called his attention to him, and looked with an inquir- 
 ing glance into his companion's eyes, as though asking 
 if by any possibility he could be mistaken ? He had to
 
 204 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 act at once. But how ? Then in a moment an inspira- 
 tion came. 
 
 With a cry he wrenched his sword from his sheath 
 and rushed at them, uttering exclamations that at least 
 he hoped might confuse the others round and also drown 
 any words of those two men. 
 
 " Villains ! Laches ! Deserters ! " he cried, as he 
 flew at them, striking one with the flat of his sword 
 and, with his elbows and body, forcing the other into 
 the passage behind. "Villains! You would desert in 
 the hour of need ! Fly the ship, would you ! " and 
 other exclamations in as harsh and loud a tone as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 And the ruse succeeded beyond even what he dared 
 to hope. The two sailors affrighted, perhaps not hear- 
 ing his words, and only thinking that the terrible Eng- 
 lish officer meant to slay them on land, as he had almost 
 succeeded in doing on their own deck, fled down the 
 passage roaring ; while to add to the hubbub two large 
 dogs, sitting by the fire of a room opening out of that 
 passage, dashed out barking and yelping. A woman 
 too came from the kitchen and screamed for help, and 
 meanwhile the soldiers who had been lounging about 
 rushed in at the front door. As for James and Melfort, 
 they shrugged their shoulders and turned their horses 
 away. Such a scene as this, which they but half under- 
 stood, had little enough interest for them. An officer 
 punishing two deserters, as they assumed to be the 
 case, was a trifle in comparison to the ruin which had 
 fallen forever on their cause that day. 
 
 The sailors fled down the passage yelling " Au se- 
 cours ! an secours ! " and " Sauvez-nous ! " and after them 
 rushed St. Georges, making as much noise as he could, 
 and so they reached first a yard behind, and then the
 
 ON THE ROAD. 205 
 
 potager, or herb garden. One man dashed into an 
 outhouse full of billets of wood and kindlings, and 
 yelled for mercy. " The fight is over ! " he screamed ; 
 " spare me, spare me ! " and in a moment St. Georges 
 had shut the door and turned the key fortunately it 
 was outside on him; then he rushed after the other 
 down the sandy path of the garden. 
 
 His object was to drive the man on as far as possible 
 away from the inn, and 'then desist from the chase and 
 escape himself. Behind the garden there ran another 
 path that passed up to a copse of stunted, miserable, 
 wind-blown trees ; if he could get into that, he might 
 succeed in avoiding any pursuit. 
 
 So he let the sailor gain on him as he neared this 
 copse, and then another chance arose before him an 
 unhoped, undreamed-of chance ! Tethered at the end 
 of the garden, by the reins to the paling, was a horse 
 belonging possibly to some bourgeois who had ridden in 
 to the inn from a village inland and had left his horse 
 at the back. A chance sent by Heaven in its mercy ! 
 
 Still the sailor ran on swiftly, until, no longer hear- 
 ing his pursuer behind him, he dared to look over his 
 shoulder, thinking the chase was over; what he saw 
 when he so looked caused him to renew his speed, even 
 to yell with fresh terror. 
 
 St. Georges was mounted now, he was urging the 
 horse to its greatest pace, he would be behind him in a 
 moment. And then it would be death, dealt from the 
 sword wielded by the terrible Englishman almost the 
 man could feel that sword through his back as he ran 
 and the hoofs clattered behind him ! 
 
 He stumbled and nearly fell in the white sandy dust, 
 got up again with a shriek, and then, in a last, frenzied 
 hope, plunged into the copse which he had now reached.
 
 206 IN TOE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 And the awful horseman passed on could that dust, 
 the poor wretch wondered, have hidden him from his 
 view ? a moment or two more and he knew that he was 
 safe. The clatter of the hoofs on the road grew fainter 
 and fainter; when at last he dared to peer from the 
 edge of the little wood, the Englishman had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 For a couple of hours St. Georges urged the poor 
 roadster to its best speed, then slackened rein as the 
 wayside track reached the bay of Charenton. He was 
 safe now from any recognition or rather exposure 
 the army of Bellefonds and all who might by chance 
 have got ashore from the destroyed fleet were far be- 
 hind. 
 
 Yet he had been exposed to risks, too, on that ride. 
 Once, near the auberge he had fled from, a farmer rid- 
 ing along called to him to stop, yelling at him to know 
 why he was riding Dubois's horse ; but his presence of 
 mind did not fail him, and he called back : " Ride on and 
 see ! The French are defeated, the English have burned 
 Barfleur and destroyed La Hogue ! " and ere the man, 
 whose terrorstricken face he long remembered, could 
 speak again, he was far away from him. 
 
 Also he more than once passed deserters from the 
 army men who no sooner saw another in a uniform 
 riding as though for life, than they fled away into woods 
 and copses or over fields, imagining that he was in pur- 
 suit of them. And, once, he again come in contact 
 with two together whose faces he thought he remem- 
 bered as he leaped on board a French man-of-war the 
 evening before men who looked up at him with startled 
 faces and oaths upon their lips did they recognise him 
 as he dashed by them ? 
 
 But at last he had outdistanced all who might have
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 207 
 
 escaped from La Hogue ; his way lay along a sandy sea- 
 blown road, at the sides of which were fields of millet, 
 sanfoin, and sometimes, though not often, wheat. And 
 ahead of him, against the bright May sky, he saw the 
 tower and two high spire steeples of the ancient cathe- 
 dral of Sainte Marie at Bayeux. 
 
 He eased his horse at a pool of fresh water, descended 
 from it and removed the coarse saddle, and, while it 
 drank eagerly, rubbed its sides and back. 
 
 " Good horse ! " he said. " good horse ! I have 
 been a hard taskmaster and a stranger to you to-day. 
 Heaven knows I would not have urged you thus but for 
 my necessity. And you have served me bravely, all 
 rough bred as you are. Well, we will not part now, and 
 some day, may be, I can find out your owner that Du- 
 bois the farmer spoke of and repay him for the friend 
 I stole from him." 
 
 And he sat down by the animal's side for half an 
 hour, and then, walking with the reins in his hand and 
 carrying the saddle to ease it, he followed the road 
 toward Bayeux. 
 
 It was the road, too, to Troyes and Aurelie de Roque- 
 maure, the woman who had to answer to him for the 
 theft of his child, and also for her duplicity when they 
 had met in Paris ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 
 
 THE deserted road along which he now walked was, 
 in a way, a relief to him. Nothing could have better 
 suited his present needs than to be thus outside the life
 
 208 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 of 'any town and free from all observation, for he had 
 much to meditate upon many plans to form for his 
 safety. And of those plans, the first to be carried out 
 was to free himself from any appearance of conspicu- 
 ousness which would draw attention on him. 
 
 There was, to begin with, the officer's jacket and 
 cap which he had assumed, and the naval sword by his 
 side, from which he had by now removed all damp it 
 might have received from being in the sea. Yet how- 
 to deprive himself of the latter, and still be safe, he 
 knew not. 
 
 As for the jacket which was, indeed, a short coat 
 filled with pockets, outside and in he could dispense 
 with it very well. He had dragged it on over his own 
 coat when quitting the burning transport, simply as a 
 disguise, as a safeguard. It could now be discarded. 
 
 His clothes the plain English clothes which he had 
 worn in London, and in which he had joined Kooke's 
 flagship and fought through Barfleur and La Hogue * 
 would attract no attention. They were suitable to any 
 one in the middle class ; but with the cap it was not the 
 same thing, since he had nothing wherewith to replace 
 it, and if he rejected that he must go bareheaded. This 
 would not do ; he had, therefore, to cast about for some 
 headdress. 
 
 At last, however, he was obliged to retain it, altering 
 it as well as he was able with his fingers, tearing off a 
 strip of lace round it and throwing away the gilt cock- 
 ade. As for the jacket, that was easily disposed of ; he 
 rolled up some stones in it and flung it into a pool of 
 water among the reeds by the wayside, where it soon 
 
 * In those days none possessed naval uniform, and, from ad- 
 miral downward, all wore what they chose.
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 209 
 
 sank beneath the surface. But the sword still remained 
 a good enough blade, in a leather scabbard, and with 
 not too much to proclaim that it was a sailor's except 
 an anchor on, of course, the eternal sun, Louis's em- 
 blem fastened to the top of its handle. There was also 
 a sword knot, which followed the jacket into another 
 pool, and he decided that he must take his chance with 
 the weapon itself. 
 
 " At least," he thought grimly, " none will have 
 much chance to observe it closely if I am using it 
 against them ; if I am not, I can keep my hand on the 
 emblem. Under any circumstances it cannot be parted 
 with." 
 
 And now he neared Bayeux, worn and spent with all 
 he had gone through in the last twenty-four hours, 
 since he had hardly slept at all, and that only by 
 snatches after the battle off Barfleur had begun ; also 
 his immersion in the sea and his long ride had made 
 him very weary. 
 
 " Rest ! rest ! " he muttered to himself, " a long rest 
 I must have. And then for Troyes and my child and 
 for Aurelie de Roquemaure. Ay, for her ! " 
 
 He trudged along by the 'horse's side, still carrying 
 the saddle over his arm to ease it, and it was not until 
 the gates and walls of Bayeux came into sight that he 
 mounted it again. It would have a good night in a 
 stall before long ; that small addition to its day's work 
 would not hurt it much. And he could not present 
 himself on foot before the custodian without raising 
 suspicion of having come a long distance, without court- 
 ing remark. 
 
 "You are from the coast?" the man asked, as he 
 rode through the gate. "How goes it with the mar- 
 shal's army there? Have they invaded England yet?"
 
 210 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Not yet, so far as I am aware," he answered. He 
 knew it would be madness to appear cognizant of what 
 had taken place at La Hogue. The whole town would 
 clamour for news, and he would be for the time the 
 most conspicuous man in it. " Not yet." 
 
 " We have heard strange rumours," the man said. 
 " But this morning one came in from St. Mere Eglise 
 who said that loud sounds of firing were heard all last 
 night out to sea ; and another, apecheur de mer, says that 
 great fleets have been seen passing from the west. Man 
 Dieu ! it cannot be that those English chiens would dare 
 to attack us ! " 
 
 " Impossible, mon ami, impossible ! There can be 
 no chance of that. Tourville's fleet would prevent that." 
 
 "Je crois Men. Yet why fire all through the night? 
 One fires not on imaginary foes." 
 
 " True. Well, later, no doubt, we shall hear more. 
 My friend, tell me a good inn, where I may rest awhile." 
 
 " Oh ! as for that, there are several. The Pomine 
 cTOr, among others, is good and cheap; also Les Ko- 
 chers de Calvados. Try one of those and you will bo 
 content." 
 
 Thanking him, St. Gewges passed into the old city, 
 though without the slightest intention of going to either 
 of those houses. His object was to remove every trace 
 of himself as he passed onward to the goal ahead of him 
 to obliterate his tracks entirely. 
 
 He rode quietly through the town, therefore, ob- 
 serving what good and comfortable-looking inns those 
 were which the man had mentioned, but at the same 
 time regretfully avoiding them. For under no circum- 
 stances would he have felt justified in alighting at either 
 he doubted if he could have afforded to do so. When 
 he received Rooke's hasty summons to join him he had
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 211 
 
 but forty-five guineas, saved after two years of an exist- 
 ence that at best had been a hard one. It had been a 
 task to accumulate even that sum, a task entailing care- 
 ful living, abstinence, almost even a life of total depri- 
 vation ; when he had paid scrupulously every farthing 
 he owed in the neighbourhood where he lodged, the 
 sum had dwindled down to thirty-five guineas. It 
 was little enough to enable him now to reach Troyes 
 and provide for himself and the horse he had become 
 possessed of on the road, to regain his child, and find 
 his way back to England if he succeeded in doing so. 
 
 To find his way back to England ! Would that be 
 possible? Could he pass through the north of France un- 
 discovered? Could he, the ex-galley slave, the man 
 whose face had become known to hundreds of persona 
 connected with the galleys, besides having been known 
 to hundreds of soldiers also, with whom he had been 
 quartered, hope to escape recognition ? 
 
 " God only knows ! " he murmured as he rode through 
 the empty streets of the already dead-and-gone city. 
 " He alone knows. Yet, ere I will be taken alive ere 
 the mark upon my shoulder shall ever testify against 
 me I will end it all ! Yet, courage ! courage ! At 
 present I am safe." 
 
 He reached the neighbourhood of the east gate, for 
 he had traversed the whole of Bayeux by now, and 
 knew that if he would rest for a night in the old city he 
 must make choice of a halting place. Casting, there- 
 fore, his eyes round the wide streets, he saw an auberge 
 a place, indeed, that in France is known as a pant 
 a low-roofed, poor drinking place, yet with, inscribed 
 upon its walls over the door, the usual words, " Loge- 
 ment a pied et a cheval" 
 
 Around the door several scraggy chickens were pick-
 
 212 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 ing up anything they could find in the interstices of the 
 stones, and two or three gaunt half-starved-looking dogs 
 lay about basking in the sun and snapping at real or 
 imaginary flies. The place looked none too clean. Yet 
 it was obscure, and it would do for one night. None 
 would molest him here. 
 
 " Can I have a room until daybreak to-morrow and a 
 meal ? " he asked of a slatternly looking woman leaning 
 against the doorpost; " I have ridden some distance and 
 am very fatigued." 
 
 " Without doubt," she answered. " 'Tis for that we 
 keep house. Come in." 
 
 " And my horse ? " 
 
 " That also hard by," she said. " I will call my 
 good man," and uttering a shriek, which was answered 
 from the back by a gruff male voice, she called out 
 a^ain : " Come and take the traveller's horse, scelcntt ! 
 Mon Dieu, have you nothing else to do but sit drinking 
 there all day?" 
 
 A heavy footfall sounded in the passage, and presently 
 a large, unkempt man came along it, and, seeing the 
 traveller standing there, put up a dirty hand to his 
 tousled hair and said, " Bon jour, voyageur" But the 
 next moment he pushed that hair away from his eyes 
 and, staring at Si Georges, said : " I know your face, 
 stranger. Where have I seen it before ? " 
 
 " How can I say ? " St. Georges asked in reply. 
 " I at least do not know yours." 
 
 Yet he turned pale as he answered, and regarded the 
 man fixedly, for he had recognised the other at once. 
 The fellow before him had been one of the comites of a 
 galley in which St. Georges had rowed before being 
 transferred to L'Idole had thrashed and belaboured 
 him often. Of all the brutal overseers this man had
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 213 
 
 been, perhaps, the most cruel ! He was in a trap if he 
 should recall where he had seen him before, a trap from 
 which escape would be difficult. For at a word from 
 him he would never be allowed to pass the gates of 
 Bayeux, but would be arrested at once, taken before the 
 president of the city, and sent back to the galleys if 
 not executed, as he would undoubtedly be if it leaked 
 out that he had fought against France ! 
 
 " All the same, I know you," the man replied. " I 
 must reflect. I must think. In my time I have 
 known " 
 
 " Dinde ! " shrieked the woman at him, " will you 
 keep the traveller standing all day in the passage while 
 you indulge in your accursed recollections? Mon Dleu ! 
 are we so overrun with customers that you have naught 
 else to do but gape at them? Sot! take his horse to the 
 forge outside." 
 
 The fellow who seemed bemused by frequent drink- 
 ings in the back place whence the termagant had called 
 him forth did as he was bid, and, seizing the nag's head, 
 led it down an alley running at a left angle to the house, 
 and so to a forge in which, however, there was no sign 
 of any work being done. And St. Georges, whose old 
 soldier instincts never deserted him, followed by his 
 side, intent on seeing where the animal was taken. The 
 horse was to him as once, four years ago, another and a 
 dearly loved horse had been his one chance of reach- 
 ing Troyes easily, of finding his child, and Aurelie de 
 Koquemaure ! 
 
 " A poor place," he said, speaking in as unnatural a 
 tone as possible, while all the time he wondered if the 
 fellow recognised him. And he took heart in recollect- 
 ing that while he had been subject to this man's brutali- 
 ties, with scores of other victims, his head had always
 
 214: IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 been either shaved or cropped close and his mustache 
 absent from his face. Now, both hair and mustache 
 were grown again; it might be that the ex-comite could 
 not recall where he had known him. " A poor place for 
 a good horse ! And none too secure, I imagine. It has 
 no door. On a winter night a horse stabled here would 
 be chilled to the bone." 
 
 " It is not winter now," the man replied. " Your 
 horse will come to no hurt. And we have no thieves in 
 Bayeux. We send them to the galleys ! " and his eye 
 roved over St. Georges as he spoke. 
 
 The latter was, however, too wary to start at the 
 hateful word ; moreover, since this man had been an 
 overseer of the galleys, it was not strange, perhaps, that 
 the name of the system by which he had once sub- 
 sisted should rise to his mind. Therefore he replied 
 quietly : 
 
 "That is well. Now for my room; but, first, a 
 meal." 
 
 As he sat over that meal, a plain enough one as be- 
 fitted the cabaret in which he was, and partook of it in 
 a squalid room which represented the combined func- 
 tions of living room for the man and his wife, drink- 
 ing place for those who patronized the house, and gen- 
 eral common room, he saw the fellow still casting 
 long glances at him and regarding him from under his 
 eyelids. 
 
 And over and over again he asked himself : " Does 
 he recognise me ; and, if so, what will he do ? " 
 
 Presently the woman who had been knitting be- 
 hind a counter at which she sat, superintending the 
 bringing in of his sparse meal, and ordering her hus- 
 band, whom she addressed as Andre, to call to the serv- 
 ing maid for one thing after another left the room to
 
 "I KNOW YOUR FACE." 215 
 
 see to " monsieur's appartement." He had said to her 
 he was very tired ; he would go to it at once if it was 
 ready, early in the evening as it was. 
 
 Then he rose as she disappeared and requested the 
 man to show him where it was, and, when he too rose, 
 followed him upstairs. 
 
 It was a poor enough place when he got there, in 
 keeping with the whole of the house a room in which 
 there was a bed in one corner and a chair in another, 
 and with some washing utensils in a third, but nothing 
 more. 
 
 " Call me at daybreak," he said to the man Andre. 
 " I shall sleep until then if I can. Then I must be on 
 my way to Paris." 
 
 " Si, s?'," the other replied. " You shall be called," 
 and he went toward the door, though, both there and 
 before, he did not cease to glance furtively at him. 
 These glances had not been unobserved, however, by 
 St. Georges, who in his turn had been equally watch- 
 ing him to see if any absolute recognition appeared to 
 dawn upon him. And now, as the man prepared to de- 
 part and leave him alone, he said, speaking as carelessly 
 as possible : 
 
 "Well! you thought you knew my face, friend. 
 Have you been able to recall yet where you saw it last?" 
 and he looked him straight in the eyes. 
 
 But the other only shook his head, and grumbled 
 out: 
 
 " No, no. I cannot remember. Perhaps it may be 
 I am mistaken."
 
 216 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN THE SNARE. 
 
 HAD St. Georges followed the impulse that first oc- 
 curred to him when he recognised the man Andre, he 
 would have made some excuse for not remaining a night 
 in Bayeux, but would have proceeded at once on his 
 journey to Troyes though not to Paris as he had said, 
 only with a desire to throw dust in his late oppressor's 
 eyes. For to Paris he had no intention of going under 
 any circumstances, deeming it likely to be full of danger 
 to him. There he would be known to countless military 
 men ; he might be seen at any moment and recognised ; 
 and the result would, in all likelihood, be ruinous. He 
 meant, however, to proceed some distance toward it and 
 then to strike into another road, and so, leaving the 
 capital a little to the north of him, reach Troyes. He 
 thought he could do this by branching off at Evreux 
 and passing through Fontainebleau, but at present he 
 was not even sure that this would be the direction to 
 take was, indeed, uncertain if such a course would 
 lead him to the goal he sought, though he believed it 
 would. 
 
 But the impulse to quit Andre's auberge had to be 
 resisted at once as soon as it arose to follow it would 
 be fraught with, possibly, as much danger as remaining 
 there for a night. For if Andre really suspected who 
 he was, he would not permit him to quit Bayeux not 
 at least without extorting something from him for his 
 silence while, if he could not absolutely remember 
 him, his suspicious would be so much aroused by St. 
 Georges's suddenly altered plans as, perhaps, to abso-
 
 IN THE SNARE. 217 
 
 lutely verify them, or to cause him to have the stranger 
 denied exit from the city. Therefore, at all hazards, he 
 must remain the intended night. It was the only way 
 in which to avoid aiding the fellow's hazy recollections, 
 which, after all, might not have taken actual form by 
 the next day's dawn. And there was another thing : 
 however much he might overmaster Nature sufficiently 
 to be able to proceed without rest, the horse could not 
 do so. He must, he decided, remain, and trust to 
 chance. 
 
 " What a miserable, what an untoward fate is mine ! " 
 he murmured ; " could Fortune play me worse ? Of all 
 men to light on, that it must be this brute whom, if I 
 could do so in safety, I would slay for his countless 
 cruelties to me and others ! It is hard, hard, hard ! 
 There are thousands of inns in France to which I might 
 have gone without meeting any who could recognise 
 me, yet at the very first I stumble on I encounter one 
 who knows me, and knows what I have been. A 
 galley slave ! a man doomed for life, while there, 
 to that brutal work; a man who, since he has es- 
 caped, is doomed to death. Ah ! well ! I am in God's 
 hands. As he has protected me before, may he do so 
 again ! " 
 
 He threw himself upon the bed as he uttered his 
 little prayer he must sleep at all cost. Even though 
 Andre should denounce him to-morrow ere he could 
 quit Bayeux even though he should have to join la 
 chaine again on its road to the galleys ay ! even though 
 the scaffold was to witness his death in the morning, his 
 wornout frame must rest. He had been without sleep 
 for now almost the whole time that had elapsed since 
 Tourville's fleet had first loomed up before the English ; 
 it seemed to him that he could scarce recall when he 
 15
 
 218 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 slept last. And what terrible events he had gone 
 through since that time ! 
 
 Had he tried to keep awake, he could scarce have done 
 so ; as it was he made no such effort. Wrapped in the 
 coverlet, the sword unbuckled but grasped in his hand, 
 he stretched his body out and gave himself up to slum- 
 ber slumber deep and heavy as that of a drugged man. 
 
 He would not have awakened when he did, would 
 have slept on, perhaps, for hours longer, had not a con- 
 tinued deep, droning, noise interrupted now and again 
 by a shriller one at last succeeded in thoroughly rous- 
 ing him a noise that came as it seemed from below 
 the bed he lay on, and was only interrupted and drowned 
 once by the booming of the cathedral clock striking 
 three. Three ! and he had lain down in early evening^ 
 had slept for hours. Yet how weary he still felt ! It 
 was as yet quite dark the dawn would not come for 
 another hour, he knew what could those sounds below 
 mean? He raised himself on his elbow to listen and 
 hear more plainly. 
 
 At first he could distinguish nothing but the deep 
 hum, broken now and again by the sharper, more me- 
 tallic sound ; but as he bent over the bed being now 
 quite wide awake and with his senses naturally very 
 acute he recognised what those sounds were. And 
 more especially was he enabled to do so from the fact 
 that the planks of the floor were not joined very closely 
 together or had come apart since they were first laid 
 down as he had observed when he entered the room 
 the day before. 
 
 The sounds were Andr6 and his wife talking. At 
 this hour of the night, or morning! And gradually, 
 with his senses strained to the utmost, he was enabled 
 to catch almost every word that they uttered.
 
 IN THE SNARE. 219 
 
 " But, 7 ' said the woman, " I like it not. It is treach- 
 ery bassesse. And he is beau. Mon Dieu I mais il est 
 l eau 
 
 " Peste I " the man replied. " It is always of les 
 beaux you think. Once 'twas the fisher from Havre, 
 then Le Bic, of the marechausse, now this one. And 
 why base ? The king pays a hundred gold pistoles for 
 such as he. And if not to us, then others will get it. 
 Why not we?" 
 
 " You are sure ? You are not mistaken ? " 
 
 " Sure ! From the first moment. Though I held 
 my peace. Ho ! why frighten the bird away from the 
 nest? At first the hair and mustache puzzled me 
 then- 
 
 St. Georges started as he heard this. Now he knew 
 of whom they talked. 
 
 " it came back to me. A galerien in the Raquin, 
 a surly dog one of the worst ; one of those who had 
 been gentlemen. Gentlemen! Ma foil I have made 
 their backs tingle often, often ! " 
 
 " Ay ! " muttered St. Georges between his teeth, 
 " you have ! 'Tis true." 
 
 " You are certain ? " the woman asked again. " A 
 mistake would be terrible would send you back to 
 the galleys yourself, only as beaten slave not overseer." 
 
 " Certain ! So will the others be when he is taken 
 alive or dead. There on his shoulder, ma belle, they 
 will see proof the fleur-de-lis. Fortunate for him he 
 was not a religious prisoner, a victim of our holy 
 Church. Otherwise it would have been burnt into his 
 cheek, and he would have been so marked he could not 
 have escaped a day ! " 
 
 " Will it be alive or dead 9 " 
 
 " Dead, if he resists, at daybreak, in an hour. Then
 
 220 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 they will come for him ; it is arranged. And take him 
 doubtless slay him. What matter? The reward is 
 the same. ' Alive or dead,' says the paper they showed 
 it me at La Poste ' one hundred gold pistoles.' And 
 the horse will be ours, too." 
 
 " How will they do it ? " 
 
 " Hist ! Listen. And get you to bed before they 
 come. You need not be in it. I have arranged it y je 
 te dis." 
 
 " But how how how ? " 
 
 " I will awake him, bid him hurry ; tell him he is 
 discovered, lost, unless he flies. Then, doubtless, he 
 will rush to the door, and, poof ! they will cut him down 
 as he rushes out. I have told them he is violent. They 
 must strike at once. Tu comprends 9 " 
 
 " Yes," and it seemed to the listener as if the woman 
 had answered with a shudder. 
 
 " And," the man said again, " the horse will be ours, 
 too. I have not told them of that. No ! we shall have 
 that and the pistoles. Now, get you to bed. They will 
 be here ere long. The day is coming. His last on 
 earth if he runs out suddenly or resists." 
 
 The listener heard a moment or two later a steal thy 
 tread upon the stairs outside a tread that passed his 
 door and went on upstairs and was then no more ap- 
 parent. It was the woman withdrawing from the place 
 where he was to be slain. 
 
 To be slain ! Possibly. Yet, he determined, not as 
 the man had arranged it. To be slain it might be, but 
 not without a struggle, an attempt for life; without 
 himself slaying others. 
 
 He crept to the window after finding that the door 
 had been locked from the outside no doubt during his 
 long slumber! and gazed out. It was not yet near
 
 IN THE SNARE. 221 
 
 daybreak ; the miserable street was still in darkness ; in 
 no window was there any light but above in the 
 heavens there was, however, a gray tinge that told of 
 the coming day. Then he looked around. 
 
 Beneath the window, which was a common dormer 
 one, as is almost always the case in northern France and 
 the Netherlands, there was nothing but the rain pipe 
 running beneath it along the length of the house. Be- 
 low was the street full of cobble and other stones a 
 good thirty feet below! To drop that height, even 
 though hanging by his hands to the rain pipe and there- 
 by diminishing the distance some eight feet would, how- 
 ever, be impossible ; it would mean broken ankles and 
 legs and dislocated thigh bones. Yet, what else to do ? 
 Behind him was the locked door; in front, through the 
 window, an escape that would leave him mangled and at 
 the mercy of those who were coming to slay him. 
 
 Still peering out into the darkness that was now not 
 all darkness he saw about six feet to the left of him the 
 mouth of the perpendicular pipe into which the hori- 
 zontal one emptied itself and which must run down the 
 side of the house. His chance, he thought, was here. 
 Yet if he would avail himself of it he must be quick ; 
 the day would come ere long; at any moment those 
 who had been summoned by the landlord must be ap- 
 proaching ; he would be discovered. 
 
 He fastened his sword to his back with his sash he 
 could not drag it by his side then head first he crept 
 out of the window, testing with his right hand the 
 water pipe for six feet he would have to rely upon that 
 to fend him from destruction, to prevent him from roll- 
 ing off the roof to death below on the cobblestones ! 
 With that right hand pressed against it he could if it 
 did not give way under the pressure reach the spout
 
 222 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 of the upright pipe. As he tried it it seemed strong, 
 securely fastened to the lip of the roof ; he might 
 venture. 
 
 Face downward, his chest to the sloping roof, of 
 which there was three feet between the sill of the win- 
 dow and the pipe at the edge, he lowered himself his 
 right hand on the pipe, his left, until obliged to loose 
 it, clinging to the window frame. And at last he was on 
 the roof itself, with the right hand still firmly pressed 
 against that pipe, and the top joints of his left-hand 
 fingers, and even his nails, dug into the rough edges of 
 the tiles. That frail pipe and those tiles were all there 
 was now to save him nothing else but them between 
 him and destruction ! Slowly he thus propelled himself 
 along, feeling every inch of the pipe carefully ere he 
 bore any weight on it, feeling also each tile he touched 
 to see if it was loose or tight. For he knew that one 
 slip one detached tile, one inch of yielding of the pipe 
 and he would go with a sudden rush over the sloping 
 precipice to the stones below. And as he dragged him- 
 self along, hearing the grating of his body and the 
 scraping of the buttons on his clothes against the roof, 
 he prayed that the man watching below might not hear 
 them also. At last he reached the mouth of the up- 
 right pipe, grasped it, and, as before, pressed against it 
 to discover if it was firm as it proved to be then drew 
 his body up over it, and gradually prepared to descend 
 by it, feeling with his feet for the continuance of it 
 below. 
 
 But, to his horror, there was no such continuance ! 
 His legs, hanging down from his groin over the roof 
 while his body was supported on the wide mouth of 
 the pipe and by his hands being dug into the sides of 
 the tiles, where they were joined to each other touched
 
 IN THE SNARE. 223 
 
 nothing but the bare space of the wall. There was no 
 pipe ! It was broken off short a foot below the hori- 
 zontal one, and the wall, he could feel, was damp from 
 the water which had escaped and flowed down from 
 where it was so broken. 
 
 He was doomed now, he knew ; which doom should 
 he select to fall below and be crushed and mangled, 
 or return to the room and, refusing to come out, be 
 either done to death or taken prisoner? As he pondered 
 thus in agony, away down the street he heard voices 
 breaking on the morning air, he heard the clank of 
 loosely fastened sabres on the stones they were coming 
 to take him to, as Andre had said, " cut him down." 
 And, scarce knowing what he did, or why in his frenzy 
 he decided thus, he let his body further down into 
 space, and, with his hands grasping the pipe's mouth, 
 swung over that space. And once, ere he let go, which 
 he must do in another moment, for the sides of the 
 spout were cutting into his palms, he twisted his head 
 and glanced down beneath him. 
 
 Then as he did "so he gave a gasp almost a cry of 
 relief unspeakable. Beneath him, not two yards below 
 his dangling feet, was the stone roof of the porch or 
 doorway of the inn. The fall to that could not break 
 his legs surely ! he prayed God the sound of it might 
 not disturb the man within, who must be on the alert. 
 
 Closing his feet so that both should alight 1 as nearly 
 as possible on the same spot, pressing his body as near 
 to the wall as he could, he let go the spout and dropped.
 
 224: IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ANOTHER ESCAPE. 
 
 HE alighted in the exact middle of the porch roof 
 and fell with his ankles against the foot-high raised par- 
 apet. Then he paused a moment ere deciding what he 
 should do next. 
 
 The sound of voices and clanking sabres were com- 
 ing nearer also it would soon now be light. And he 
 wondered that he heard no noise from the man watch- 
 ing within ; wondered that he was not staring about for 
 those who were coming ; almost wondered that he was 
 not standing at the door with it open, ready to go out 
 and meet them. 
 
 One thing St. Georges recognised as necessary to be 
 done at once, viz., to quit the roof of the porch. There 
 was no safety for him there ; the instant Andre entered 
 his room he would perceive he was flown, would rush to 
 the window, and, looking out, would doubtless perceive 
 him crouching and huddled up. He must quit that, 
 and at once. But where ? Then suddenly he bethought 
 him of the stable that ran off at left angles from the 
 house, close by the porch itself. That would be his best 
 place of safety ; moreover, he would have the horse to 
 his hand ; on it he might yet escape. And also from 
 the open door of the stable he could reconnoitre, observe 
 what happened, what must happen, in the next few mo- 
 ments. For now the voices of those who were approach- 
 ing sounded very near. A little while, and his fate now 
 trembling in the balance would be decided. 
 
 He lowered himself quickly over the side of the door- 
 way roof having but a distance of four or five feet to
 
 ANOTHER ESCAPE. 225 
 
 drop when hanging down and observed that still the 
 door was fast and that there was no sign of Andre 
 about doubtless he was waiting for the men to come, 
 ere opening it ! Immediately afterward he touched the 
 ground and turned his steps to the alley leading to the 
 stable and swiftly passed up to it, keeping under the 
 shelter of a low wall. So far he was safe ! 
 
 The horse whinnied a little as he entered already 
 the creature had come to know him well, perhaps be- 
 cause of his kindly treatment but he silenced it at once 
 by placing his arm over its mouth and nostrils, then 
 seized the bridle and saddle and prepared it ready for 
 mounting, doing so very quietly, for now the men were 
 clfcfee at hand ! This he did very rapidly, yet determi- 
 nately, for, the animal once saddled, his chance would be 
 gtill better. He had made his plans: if, when he was 
 discovered missing, any should advance down the alley 
 to seek for him, or to search if the horse was gone, he 
 had resolved to mount as they advanced and to charge 
 through them. Then, when he had done all that was 
 necessary, he removed his sword from his back, drew it 
 from the sheath and affixed the latter to his side. He 
 was ready now. 
 
 And not too soon ! In the now gathering light, 
 sombre and lead-coloured, with, above, some clouds from 
 which a misty rain was falling slightly, he saw three 
 men belonging to the Garde de la Poste arrive in front 
 of the door. One, a sergeant, struck lightly with his 
 finger on the door and bent his ear against it. 
 
 " Si, si I " he heard this man say, a second after, evi- 
 dently in reply to Andre from within, " quite ready. 
 Send him forth." And still he kept his ear to the side 
 post. A moment later he spoke again, also doubtless in 
 answer to a question from within.
 
 226 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Nay, have no fear," he said ; " once outside he is 
 ours," and he turned to the other two and gave them 
 some orders which St. Georges could not overhear. He 
 could see, however ; and what he saw was, that under 
 their superior's directions each of the others drew their 
 heavy dragoon sabres for to that branch of the army 
 the Garde de la Poste belonged and placed themselves 
 one on either side of the porch. 
 
 Then all listened attentively. 
 
 A moment later, from the first and top floor, through 
 the open window from which St. Georges had escaped, 
 they heard the shouts of the man Andre ; and St. 
 Georges heard them, too, and grasped his sword more 
 firmly, and with them came from the other side of the 
 house a cry from the woman. 
 
 " Carogne ! " exclaimed the sergeant, " the galley boy 
 is giving trouble Andre cannot induce him to descend. 
 Yet, hark ! he comes ! listen to his tread on the stairs 
 he is rushing down. Be ready ! " and as he spoke the 
 two men raised their swords. 
 
 Again all heard the voice of Andre shouting within, 
 the woman screaming, too ; the door was fumbled at, 
 and in the still, dim, misty light St. Georges saw a form 
 rush out, and a minute later fall shrieking heavily to the 
 ground, cut down by both sabres of the dragoons. 
 
 " We have him ! we have him ! " the sergeant shouted. 
 " Come forth, man ; he is ours ! " 
 
 And as he spoke St. Georges leaped into the saddle, 
 knowing that the time had almost come. 
 
 Another moment, and he heard one of the dragoons, 
 who had been bending over the fallen man, exclaim : 
 
 " Mon dieu ! What have we done ? This is no gale- 
 rien, but Andre himself ! " 
 
 " What ! " bawled the sergeant. " What ! Mon dieu !
 
 ANOTHER ESCAPE. 227 
 
 it is." .Then he said in a horrorstricken hoarse voice, 
 " Is he dead ? " 
 
 " Ma foi I I fear so. His head is in half," the man 
 replied. And with a look of terror he addressed his 
 comrade : " That was your stroke, not mine. I struck 
 him on the shoulder. Thank God, his blood is on your 
 head ! " 
 
 " FicJite ! " exclaimed the second, a man of harder 
 mettle. "What matters? It is our duty. And the 
 piege was his, not ours. He was a fool. But where 
 where is the galerien ? We must have him ! " 
 
 " Into the house," exclaimed the sergeant, " into the 
 house ! The woman screams no more doubtless he has 
 murdered her. In, I say, and seek for him ; scour cellar 
 and garret. In, in ! " and together they rushed into the 
 cabaret, finding, as they pushed the door further open, 
 Andre's wife lying fainting in the passage. She had 
 followed her husband down the stairs and witnessed 
 his end. 
 
 That husband's greed his withholding from the 
 others the fact that the escaped galley slave had a good 
 horse led to that galley slave's escape. For, all un- 
 knowing that, not twenty paces off, the horse was there 
 ready saddled to bear him away, they never thought of 
 the stable, but, instead, plunged into the inn and com- 
 menced at once roaming from room to room searching 
 for him. 
 
 As they did so, his opportunity came. Swiftly he 
 led the animal down the alley to the door it had no 
 other exit, or he would have escaped by it equally 
 swiftly he led it some distance down the street, praying 
 to God all the time that its hoofs striking on the stones 
 might not reach their ears, and sweating with fear 
 and apprehension as he heard their shouts and calls
 
 228 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 to one another. Then, when he was fifty yards away 
 from the house, he jumped into the saddle, patted 
 his horse on the neck, and rode swiftly for the East 
 Gate. 
 
 Whether he would get through before the whole 
 east part of the city was alarmed as he knew it soon 
 must be he could not tell yet. If the gates were not 
 open, he was as much lost as before ; he must be taken. 
 But would they be so open? Would they? As he 
 prayed they might, the cathedral clock rang out again, 
 struck four. 
 
 " God ! " he murmured, " grant this may be the 
 hour. Grant it ! grant it ! " 
 
 It seemed to him as though his prayer was heard. 
 Nearing the East Gate, placed on the west side of a 
 branch of the river Eure, he saw the bascule descend- 
 ing ; he knew that four o'clock was the hour. Also he 
 saw several peasants standing by, ready to pass over it 
 into the country beyond, doubtless either to fetch in 
 produce for the city or going to their work. He was 
 safe now, he felt ; if none came behind, there would be 
 no hindrance to his exit. 
 
 " You ride early, monsieur," the keeper said, glanc- 
 ing up at him from his occupation of throwing down 
 some grain to his fowls, which he had just released for 
 the day. Then, taking out a pocketbook, " Your name, 
 monsieur, and destination?" he asked. 
 
 "Destination, Paris. Name " and he paused. 
 
 He had not anticipated this. Yet he must give a name 
 and at once; at any moment from the city might appear 
 a crowd, or the dragoons shouting to the man to bar his 
 egress. "Name, Dubois. And I ride in haste. You 
 have heard the news ? " 
 
 " News ! no," exclaimed the man, while even the
 
 ANOTHER ESCAPE. 229 
 
 peasants going to their toil pricked up their ears. 
 "What news?" 
 
 " Tourville's fleet is ruined burned by the English ! 
 Stop me not. I ride to carry it. By orders ! " 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " the man exclaimed, " by the English. 
 Tourville defeated by them ? It is impossible ! " 
 
 " It is true," while as he spoke still moving across 
 the now lowered drawbridge as he did so one of the 
 peasants, an old woman, wailed : " My boy was there in 
 the Ambitieux ! Is that burnt? " 
 
 " I do not know, good woman," he replied, unwilling 
 to tell the poor old creature the worst. " I must not 
 tarry." 
 
 And in a moment he had put the horse to the gallop. 
 He had left Bayeux behind. Out of the jaws of death 
 he had escaped once more. " But," he asked himself, 
 " for how long ? How long ? " 
 
 That danger which he had escaped so soon after set- 
 ting foot in France was not again equalled on the road, 
 and a week later he neared the old fortified town of 
 Rambouillet. He had progressed by obscure ways to 
 reach it, avoiding every large city or town to which he 
 had approached, and skirting, either on the north or 
 south, Caen, Evreux, and Bernay. He was drawing 
 nearer to Troyes now, nearer to where his child was, if 
 still alive, nearer to the satisfaction he meant to have 
 by his denunciation of the treachery of Aurelie de 
 Roquemaure. 
 
 Yet, as he so progressed, he asked himself of what 
 use would such denunciation be of what importance 
 in comparison with the regaining of Dorine? That 
 was all in all to him; the supreme desire of his life 
 now to regain her, to escape out of France once
 
 230 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 more; to earn subsistence sufficient for them both in 
 England. Beyond that, the satisfaction of taxing 
 Mademoiselle de Roquemaure with her treachery the 
 treachery of, with her mother, appearing to sympathize 
 with him when they first met at the manoir, of express- 
 ing that sympathy again in Paris during their brief en- 
 counter outside the Louvre, of her false and lying words 
 to Boussac would be little worth. Yet, small as that 
 satisfaction would be, something within told him he 
 must obtain it ; must stand face to face with her and 
 look into those clear gray eyes that had the appearance 
 of being so honest and were so false ; must ask her why, 
 since she so coveted all that his and his child's life 
 might deprive her of, she had stooped to the duplicity 
 of pretending to sympathize with him ; to the baseness 
 of stealing his child from the man who had himself 
 stolen it he knew not why ; to the foul meanness of 
 accompanying her menial herself masked to prevent 
 detection and urging him on to murder; herself, by 
 complicity, a murderess ! And as he so pondered, he 
 reflected also with what eager, cruel pleasure for he 
 knew now, and almost shuddered at knowing, that the 
 wrongs inflicted on him had turned him toward cruelty 
 he would tell her of how her vile brother had died 
 before his eyes. 
 
 So, determinately, he rode on, nearing Rambouillet, 
 yet feeling as though sometimes he could go no further, 
 must drop from his horse into the road. In the week 
 since he escaped from Bayeux he had been feeling that 
 day by day he was becoming ill, that all he had gone 
 through the immersion in the sea, the intensity of his 
 excitement at Bayeux, his long rides and exposure to 
 the weather was like ere long to overwhelm him. 
 Sometimes for hours he rode almost unconscious of what
 
 THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 231 
 
 was passing around him ; he burned with a consuming 
 fever, his limbs and head ached and his thirst was 
 terrible. 
 
 Yet, urged on and on by the object he had in view, 
 he still went forward until, at last, he halted outside the 
 town he had now come to, beneath the walls of the old 
 castle of Eambouillet. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 THE FLEUB-DE-LIS'. 
 
 THE hot sun of those last days of May beat down on 
 the white roads and the orchards and the pastures sur- 
 rounding the town of Eambouillet, and shone also with 
 unpleasant strength upon La Baronne de Louvigny, be- 
 ing driven back to her house within the walls. And 
 madame's aristocratic countenance, handsome as she 
 was, showed signs of irritation perhaps from the effects 
 of the heat, perhaps from other things while her dark 
 eyes, glancing out from under the hood of the summer 
 caleche in which she was lying back, looked as though 
 they belonged to a woman who was not, at the present 
 moment at least, in the best of humours. 
 
 She was still a very young woman and was also a 
 widow, the baron having been killed in a duel some few 
 years ago, which had not grieved her in the least, since 
 he was an old man who had married her for her good 
 looks and, possibly, her more aristocratic connections 
 than he himself possessed ; yet, in spite of these advan- 
 tages, there were things in her existence which annoyed 
 her. Among these things was, for instance, one which 
 was extremely irritating namely, that for four years
 
 232 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 now she had been required to abstain from visiting Paris 
 or the court, either at Versailles, Marley, or St. Ger- 
 mains, and this notwithstanding that her blood was of 
 the most blue and that she claimed connection with the 
 most aristocratic families in France. 
 
 Truly it was an annoying thing to be young, hand- 
 some, and very well to do owing to her not too aristo- 
 cratic husband, the late baron and to be of the blue 
 blood owing to her own family, and yet to be under a 
 cloud in consequence of a scandal of being mixed up in 
 an affair, a scene, or tragedy, which it was impossible to 
 altogether hush up. At least she found it annoying, 
 and, so finding it, revolted a good deal at the ban laid 
 on her. Still, revolt or repine as she might, Louis's 
 word was law in all matters of social importance, and 
 she was forced to bow to it, in the hopes that, as time 
 passed on, the ban might be removed. But it was not 
 strange, perhaps, that in so bowing, her temper, always 
 a hot, passionate one, had grown a little uncertain. 
 
 It did not serve to improve that temper on this hot 
 day that, at a moment when the caleche emerged into a 
 particularly sunny portion of the road, unsheltered by 
 either tree or bank, it should suddenly come to a stop and 
 expose her to the full glare of the sun itself. Moreover, 
 the jerk with which the horses were pulled up gave her 
 a jar which did not tend to better matters. 
 
 " What are you stopping for ? " she asked angrily of 
 one of the lackeys who had by now jumped down from 
 behind. " I bade you take me back as soon as possible. 
 And why in this broad glare? Animal!" and she 
 drew her upper lip back, showing her small white teeth. 
 
 " Pardon, my lady," the man said he knowing the 
 look well, and remembering also that, before to-day, it 
 had boded punishment for him and his fellows " but
 
 THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 233 
 
 there is a man lying in the road, almost under the hoofs 
 of the horses. And his own stands by his side." 
 
 "Well! What of that? Thrust them aside and 
 drive on. Am I to be broiled here ? " 
 
 " Pardon, my lady," the man again ventured to say 
 submissively, " but it is not a peasant. He looks of a 
 better class than that." 
 
 " What is he, then, a gentleman of the seigneurie ? " 
 And she deigned to lean out of the caleche somewhat, as 
 though to obtain a glance of the person who had barred 
 her way. " Has he been drinking ? " 
 
 " I do not know, my lady. But his head is hurt. 
 He may have been attacked or injured by his fall. He 
 is plainly dressed, but carries a sword. He is young, 
 too, and wears a mustache like an officer." 
 
 " I will see him. Open the door." 
 
 The lackey did as he was bidden, his fellow jumping 
 down also from behind, and each of them offering an 
 arm to their imperious mistress to aid her descent from 
 the high vehicle ; then madame la baronne advanced to 
 the front of her horses' heads and gazed down at the 
 unconscious man lying in the dust. 
 
 " Turn his face up," she said, " and let me see it." 
 The servants doing as she bade them, and parting also 
 the long hair that fell over the face, the woman gave a 
 start and muttered under her lips, " My God ! " And 
 at the same time, beneath her patches and powder, she 
 turned very pale. " Is he dead ? " she asked a moment 
 later, in a constrained voice, while still she gazed at him. 
 
 " I think not, my lady," one of the men said who 
 was kneeling beside the man in the road. " His heart 
 beats. It may be a vertigo or the heat of the sun. 
 Certainly he is not dead." 
 
 " Take him up," she said, " and carry him, you two, 
 16
 
 234 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 into the town. Attach his horse, also, to the carriage 
 and lead it in. Follow at once ; " and she re-entered 
 the caleche. 
 
 " Where, madame, shall we place him ? " the lackey 
 asked, who had first spoken. With the corps-de-gar dc, 
 my lady ? " 
 
 " No ; bring him to my house. He shall be attended 
 to there. He he may be a gentleman, and the corps- 
 de-garde are rough. We will attend to him. Now bid 
 the coachman drive on, and follow at once ; do not lag 
 with him, or you shall be punished." 
 
 Slowly the carriage proceeded, therefore, into Ram- 
 bouillet, and Madame la Baronne de Louvigny, lying 
 back in it, white to her lips, pondered over the face that 
 a few minutes before had been turned up to her gaze. 
 
 " Alive," she said to herself. " De Vannes, and 
 alive! And in my power; another half hour and he 
 will be in my house. So he was not lost in the galley 
 that those vile English sunk ! And Raoul is no nearer 
 to the wealth he needs than ever no nearer. And, my 
 God ! the man lives who called me ' wanton ' in the 
 road that night, the man whom I tried to slay, the man 
 through whom came my exposure. And in my house ! 
 In my house ! " And she laughed to herself and showed 
 her teeth again. Then she muttered to herself : " But for 
 how long ! Oh, that Raoul was here to advise with ! " 
 
 Late that night St. Georges opened his eyes and 
 glanced around him, wondering where he was and en- 
 deavouring to recall what had befallen him. Yet, at 
 first, no recollection came ; he could not recall any of 
 the events of the day nothing. All was a blank. He 
 had sufficient sensibility, however a sensibility that 
 momentarily increased to be able to notice his sur-
 
 THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 235 
 
 roundings and to observe that he lay in a large-capa- 
 cious bed in a commodious room, well furnished and 
 hung with handsome tapestry representing hunting 
 scenes ; also that at the further end of the room by a 
 hugh fireplace now, of course, empty there stood a 
 lamp with, by it, a deep chair in which a female figure 
 sat sleeping a female whose dress betokened her a 
 waiting maid. 
 
 " Where am I? " he asked feebly, trying to send his 
 voice to where she sat. " And why am I here ? " 
 
 The woman arose and came toward the bed and stood 
 beside him ; then she said : 
 
 " You were found lying in the road outside the 
 town." 
 
 "What town?" 
 
 " Eambouillet." 
 
 " Ah ! I remember. Yes." 
 
 " By my mistress, La Baronne de Louvigny. She had 
 you brought here." 
 
 " She is very merciful to me, a stranger. A Christian 
 woman." 
 
 To this the waiting maid made no reply; in her 
 own heart she had no belief in her mistress's mercy or 
 Christianity she had served her a long while. Then she 
 said: 
 
 " You had best sleep now. You are bruised and cut 
 about the head. But the doctor has bled you, and says 
 you will soon be well. Where are you going to ? " 
 
 " To I do not know. I cannot remember." 
 
 " Sleep now," the woman said, " sleep. It is best 
 for you," and she left the bedside and went back to the 
 chair she had been sitting in .when he called to her. 
 
 The comfort of the bed combined with the feeling of 
 weakness that was upon him made it not difficult to
 
 236 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 obey her behest ; yet ere he did so he had sufficient of 
 his senses left to him or returned to him to raise his 
 hand and discover by doing so that his clothes were not 
 removed ; to satisfy himself that the brand upon his 
 shoulder had not yet been observed. Being so satisfied, 
 he let himself subside into a sleep once more. 
 
 Meanwhile, in a room near where he lay, La Baronne 
 de Louvigny, sometimes seated in a deep fauteuil, some- 
 times pacing the apartment which formed her boudoir 
 or dressing room, was meditating deeply upon the chances 
 which had thrown this man into her hands. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " she muttered to herself, as she had 
 done once before while her caleche had borne her back 
 into the town of Rambouillet, " if Raoul were but here ! 
 What shall I do with him ? What ! What ! After that 
 horrible night when the prefect examined us at Ver- 
 sailles, pronounced that I was an attempted murderess 
 Heaven ! if Louvois had not stood our friend with 
 Louis, what would have been the consequence ! llaoul 
 told me all : That this man was in truth the Due de 
 Vannes ; that, if he once knew it, or Louis guessed it, it 
 meant ruin ; that all his father's vast estates would go 
 to him instead of to Kaoul, who had long felt secure of 
 them ; that, worse than all, Louis would never pardon 
 the attack upon his friend's son, would know that he had 
 been struck down from behind by a foul blow, not fairly 
 in a duel. And now he is here, alive in my house has 
 crossed our path again ; is doubtless on his way to the 
 king to tell him the truth, prove his false condemna- 
 tion to the galleys, claim all that is his. God ! if ho 
 does that I shall never be Raoul's wife never, never, 
 never ! " 
 
 Aa she had once drunk feverishly of the wine stand- 
 ing on the inn table, while it seemed that to the man
 
 THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. 237 
 
 who ought, even then, to have been her husband his 
 doom was approaching from St. Georges's avenging 
 sword, so she now went to a cabinet and took from it 
 a flask of strong waters and swallowed a dram. The 
 habit had grown on her of late, had often been resorted 
 to since the night when she hitherto a woman with no 
 worse failings than that of lightness of manner and 
 with, for her greatest weakness, a mad, infatuated pas- 
 sion for Raoul de Roquemaure had struck her knife 
 deep between his shoulders, and had become a murder- 
 ess in heart and almost one in actual fact. 
 
 Then, having swallowed the liquor, she mused again. 
 
 " What best to do ? I can not slay him here in my 
 own house though I would do so if I could compass it. 
 He called me ' wanton ' ; read me aright ! For that 
 alone I would do it! Yet, how? How? And if he 
 goes free from here 'tis not a dozen leagues to Louis ; 
 doubtless he knows now his history, he will see him 
 Louvois is dead and gone to his master, the devil he is 
 a free man." 
 
 Yet as she said the words " a free man " she started, 
 almost gasped. 
 
 "A free man ! " she repeated. " A free man ! Ha ! 
 is he free ? " 
 
 Through her brain there ran a multitude of fresh 
 thoughts, of recollections. " A free man ! " Yet he had 
 been condemned, she knew, to the galleys en perpetuite; 
 there was no freedom, never any pardon for those so 
 sentenced. Once condemned, always condemned ; no 
 appeal possible, their rights gone forever, slaves till 
 their day of death ; branded, marked, so that forever 
 they bore that about them which sent them back to 
 slavery. If he bore that upon him, he was lost ; the gal- 
 leys still yawned for him yawned for him so long as
 
 238 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Louis did not know that the escaped galerien was the 
 son of his friend of early days. 
 
 " I know it all, see it all," she whispered to herself. 
 " The galley was lost, but he was saved saved to come 
 back to France and ruin us. Yet he bears that about 
 hi m must bear it, since all condemned enperpetuite are 
 branded which, once seen, will send him back to his 
 doom. Let but the prefet see that, or any officer of the 
 garrison or citadel, and the next day he will travel again 
 the road which he has come; go back to Dunkirk or 
 Havre, back to the chiourme and the oar. They will 
 listen to nothing, hear no word or protest, grant no 
 trial. He is mine mine ! " and again she went to the 
 cabinet and drank. " Even though he has found proof 
 of who he is, they will not listen to nor believe him." 
 
 One fear only disturbed her frenzy now. That he 
 was the man who had called her " wanton," the man 
 who stood between her lover and his wealth, and conse- 
 quently between her and that lover, she never doubted. 
 Those features, seen first by the lamp in the parlour of 
 the inn seen, too, when apparently he lay dying from 
 her murderous stab were too deeply stamped into her 
 memory to ever be forgotten. And as he lay there, 
 looking like death, so he had looked as he lay in the 
 dust outside Rambouillet. He was the man ! and this 
 was her fear ! But was it certain that the galley mark 
 was branded into him, the mark which proclaimed him 
 as one doomed to those galleys forever, that would send 
 him back without appeal, and would make all in au- 
 thority whom he might endeavour to address turn a deaf 
 ear to him ? 
 
 She must know that, and at once. She could not 
 rest until she knew that upon his shoulder was the 
 damning evidence.
 
 THE FLEUR-DE-LIS. - 239 
 
 All was quiet in the house, it was near midnight, the 
 domestics were in their beds by now : she resolved that 
 she would satisfy herself at once. Then, if the brand 
 was there, as it must be, she could arrange her next 
 steps could send for the commandant of the chateau, 
 deliver the man into his hands, be not even seen by him. 
 If it was there ! 
 
 Leaving her room, she crept to the one to which he 
 had been carried, and, pushing open the door, looked in. 
 The waiting maid, who had received orders not to quit 
 him under any pretext, was sleeping heavily in her 
 chair ; on the bed at the further end of the room lay 
 the man. 
 
 Then swiftly and without noise she advanced toward 
 him, carrying the taper which had been burning by the 
 watcher's side in her hand, and gazed down upon him. 
 
 He was sleeping quietly, his coat and waistcoat off 
 for they had removed these in consequence of the 
 warmth of the day, though nothing else except his shoes 
 his shirt was open at the neck. If she could turn it 
 back an inch or two without awaking him, her question 
 would be answered. 
 
 Shading the lamp with one hand, with the other she 
 touched the collar of his discoloured shirt, her white 
 jewelled fingers looking like snowflakes against it and 
 his bronzed skin ; lower she pressed the folds back until, 
 revealed before her, was the mark burned deep into his 
 neck, the fatal iris with, above it, the letter G. 
 
 "So," she said, "the way is clear before me;" and 
 softly, still obscuring the light with her hand, she stole 
 from the room quietly as she had come.
 
 240 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 FAREWELL HOPE ! 
 
 " MADAME," the waiting maid said to her the next 
 afternoon, " the gentleman is desirous of setting forth 
 upon his journey again. He is well now, he says, and he 
 has far to ride." 
 
 " Well," said la baronne, glancing up from the 
 lounge on which she lay in her salon and speaking in 
 her usual cold tones, " he may go. "What is there to de- 
 tain him ? The surgeon says he is fit to travel, does he 
 not ? His was but a fit from long riding in the sun." 
 
 u Yes, my lady but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " My lady, he is a gentleman none can doubt that. 
 He he is desirous to speak with you to " 
 
 " To speak with me ? " and from her dark eyes there 
 shot a gleam that the woman before her did not under- 
 stand. Nor did she understand why her ladyship's 
 colour left her face so suddenly. " To speak with me ? " 
 
 "Yes, my lady. To, he says, thank you for your 
 charity to him a stranger for your hospitality." 
 
 "My hospitality!" and she drew a long breath. 
 Then, and it seemed to the waiting maid as if her mis- 
 tress had grown suddenly hoarse, " He said that?" 
 
 " He said so, madame. He begged you would not 
 refuse to let him make the only return that lay in his 
 power." 
 
 " I will not see him." 
 
 " Madame ! " 
 
 " I will not see him go tell him so. No ! Yet, 
 stay, on further consideration I will. Go. Bring him."
 
 FAREWELL HOPE! 241 
 
 Left alone, she threw herself back once more on the 
 cushions of her lounge, muttering to herself : " After 
 all," she said, " it is best. He never saw my face on 
 that night the mask did not fall from it until his back 
 was turned I remember it all well Raoul's cry for 
 help this one's determination my blow. Ah, the 
 blow ! It should never have been struck yet yet 
 otherwise he had slain Raoul. And," she continued 
 rapidly, for she knew that the man would be here in a 
 moment, "and I may find out if he knows who and 
 what he is. If he guesses also the fate in store for him." 
 
 Rapidly she went to a cabinet in this great salon, 
 took out from it a little dagger, and dropped it in the 
 folds of her dress, muttering : " It may be needed again. 
 He may recognise me even after so- long and in such 
 different surroundings," and then turned and faced the 
 door at which a knocking was now heard. A moment 
 later St. Georges was in the room. 
 
 Pale from the loss of blood he had sustained both 
 from his fall and at the surgeon's hands, and looking 
 much worn by all he had suffered of late to say noth- 
 ing of the two years of slavery he had undergone he 
 still presented a figure that, to an ordinary woman, 
 would have been interesting and have earned her sym- 
 pathy. His long hair was now brushed carefully and 
 fell in graceful folds behind ; his face, if worn and sad, 
 was as handsome as it had ever been. Even his travel- 
 stained garments, now carefully cleaned and brushed, 
 were not unbecoming to him. And she, regarding him 
 fixedly, felt at last a spark of compunction rise in her 
 bosom for all that she had done against him. Yet it 
 must be stifled, she knew. That very morning's work 
 a letter to the commandant at the castle had been 
 sufficient to make all regret unavailing now.
 
 242 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Madame," he said, bending low before her with the 
 courtesy of the period, " I could not leave your house 
 without desiring first to thank you for the protection 
 you have afforded me. And, poor and unknown as I 
 am, I yet beseech you to believe that my gratitude is 
 very great. You succoured me in my hour of need, ma- 
 dame ; for that succour let me thank you." And stoop- 
 ing his knee he courteously endeavoured to take her 
 hand. 
 
 But none are all evil even Nathalie de Louvigny 
 would not suffer that. Drawing back from him, she ex- 
 claimed instead : " Sir, you have nothing to thank me 
 for. I I what I did I should have done to any whom 
 I had found as you were." 
 
 He raised his eyes and looked at her. A chord or 
 tone in her voice seemed to recall something in the past, 
 and she standing there divined that such was the case. 
 Then he said, quietly : 
 
 " Madame, I can well believe it. Charity does not 
 discriminate in its objects. Yet, since I so happened to 
 be that object, I must thank you. Madame, it is not 
 probable that I shall ever visit Rambouillet again, nor, 
 indeed, France after a little while ; let an " 
 
 " Not visit France again ! " she exclaimed, staring 
 open-eyed at him. "Are you not a Frenchman?" 
 
 " Madame, I was a Frenchman. I am so no longer. 
 I have parted with France forever. In another week, 
 or as soon after that as possible, I intend to quit France 
 and never to return to it." 
 
 She took a step back from him, amazed terrified. 
 "What had she done ! This man had renounced France 
 forever would have crossed her and Ruoul's path no 
 more have resigned all claim to all that was his. And 
 she had taken a step that would lead to his being de-
 
 FAREWELL HOPE! 243 
 
 tained in France that might, though his chance was 
 remote, lead to his true position being known. Yet, 
 was it too late to undo that which she had done? 
 Was it? 
 
 She had bidden the officer in command at the cTid- 
 teau, who aspired to her regard, send to her house that 
 night and arrest a man who, she had every reason to 
 believe, had escaped from the galleys. Also she had 
 warned him to let no man pass the gate without com- 
 plete explanation as to who and what he was ; and he 
 had sent back word thanking her, and saying that, pro- 
 vided the person of whom she spoke did not endeavour 
 to leave Rambouillet before sunset, he would have him 
 arrested at her house. She had done this in early morn- 
 ing ; now the sunset was at hand. Ere long the soldiers 
 would be here, and he would be detained would speak 
 might be listened to. She had set the trap, and she 
 herself was snared in it. 
 
 Yet, she remembered, she wanted one other thing 
 revenge for the opprobrious word he had applied to her 
 long ago. If he quitted France she must forego that. 
 But need she forego it ? He had spoken of himself in 
 lowly terms was it possible he still did not know who 
 he was, as De Roquemaure had told her long ago he did 
 not know then ? The revenge might still be hers if he 
 knew nothing. She must find that out if she could. 
 
 " Monsieur must have very little in France that he 
 deems of worth," she said, " since he is so desirous of 
 quitting it. There are few of our countrymen who 
 willingly exchange the land of their birth for another." 
 
 She had seated herself as she spoke before a table on 
 which stood a tall, thin vase filled with roses ; and she 
 caught now in her hands the folds of the tablecloth, 
 while he standing there before her saw these signs of
 
 244 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 emotion. Also he observed that her eyes sparkled with 
 an unnatural light, and that her upper lip, owing to 
 some nervous contraction, was drawn back a little, so 
 that her small white teeth were very visible. And as 
 he so observed her and noticed these things, the cer- 
 tainty came to him that they had met before. But 
 where? He could not remember at first could not re- 
 call where he had seen a woman seated at a table as she 
 was now seated, clutching the folds of the cloth in her 
 hands. 
 
 " My countrymen," he said, still vainly wondering, 
 " have not often suffered as I have suffered have not 
 such reasons, perhaps, for quitting their native land 
 forever." 
 
 " What reasons?" and as she spoke her nervousness 
 was such that she released the folds of the cloth which 
 her left hand grasped, and with that hand toyed with 
 the slim vase before her which contained the roses. 
 
 And this further action stirred his memory still 
 more. When had he seen a woman seated thus, her 
 hand trifling first with a table cover, then with some 
 object on the table itself ? When ? 
 
 "Reasons so deep, so profound," he said, "that 
 scarce any who knew of them would be surprised at my 
 resolve : a career cruelly blighted for no fault of my 
 own ; my life attempted secretly, murderously ; my little 
 child doomed to assassination; the wrongdoer in my 
 power, a treacherous stab from behind " He paused 
 amazed. 
 
 The woman's right hand the left now gathering up 
 the folds of the cloth again in its small palm had 
 dropped to the side of her dress, was thrust into a pocket 
 in that side, was feeling for, perhaps grasping, something 
 within that pocket. That action aided remembrance
 
 FAREWELL HOPE! 245 
 
 and cleared away all wonder. Swift as the lightning 
 flashes, there flashed to his recollection the woman who 
 had sat at the table of the inn the woman whom, as he 
 and De Roquemaure had once changed places as they 
 fought, he had seen seize the flask of wine with her left 
 hand, her right grasping her small dagger. And this 
 was the woman ! The drawn-back lip, the glassy stare 
 with which she regarded him in the swift-coming dark- 
 ness of the summer evening, all reproduced the scene of 
 that night a scene which, until now, he had almost 
 forgotten amid the crowd of other events that had 
 taken place since then. Advancing a step nearer to 
 her, so that he stood towering above, he said, his voice 
 deep and solemn : 
 
 " It is strange, madame, how we stand face to face 
 once more alone together. Is it not? It was your 
 hand dealt that stab ! " 
 
 She could not answer him, could only regard him 
 fixedly, her eyes glaring as they had glared four years 
 ago, and as they had glared not four minutes since. 
 Only now it was with the wild stare of fear added to 
 hate and fury, and not with hate and fury alone ; also 
 she kept still her right hand in the fold of her dress. 
 
 " When last we met, madame," St. Georges con- 
 tinued, his voice low and solemn as before, " you inter- 
 fered between me and my vengeance on one who had 
 deeply wronged me. You had the power to do so, bore 
 about you a concealed weapon, and used it ! Have you 
 one now?" and he pointed with his finger to where her 
 hand was. 
 
 Still she maintained silence trembling all over and 
 affrighted; even the arm hanging down by her side 
 with the hand in the pocket was trembling too. 
 
 " Well," St. Georges said, " it matters not ! I shall
 
 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 not give you a second opportunity shall not turn my 
 back on you." 
 
 Then she spoke, roused by the contempt of those 
 last words. 
 
 " I would not have struck at you," she said, " even 
 though I loved De Roquemaure am his affianced wife 
 when he returns from England " 
 
 " When he returns from England ! " St. Georges 
 repeated, astonished. 
 
 "Yes. His affianced wife." In her tremor she 
 thought his disbelief of this was the cause of his aston- 
 ishment, never dreaming of how he had last left her 
 lover. " Not even for that love. But you had abused, 
 insulted me, called me wanton, suggested it was I who 
 stole your child. And you were very masterful, ordered 
 us to follow you into the inn, carried all before you, 
 treated him like a dog, would have slain him " 
 
 " I have since learned I wronged you, at least ; that 
 it was another woman who stole my child. But 
 enough. We have met again, madame, and and I 
 must " 
 
 " What ! " she gasped, thinking he was about to slay 
 her. " What will you do to me ? " 
 
 " Do ! " he replied. " Do ! What should I do ? " 
 
 "God knows! Yet in mercy spare me! I am a 
 woman," and overcome with fear she cast herself at his 
 feet. " Spare me spare me." 
 
 " I do not understand you," St. Georges said, look- 
 ing down disdainfully at her. " I think, too, you do 
 not understand me. I wish to do only one thing now, 
 to quit your presence and never set eyes on you again," 
 and without offering to assist her to her feet he backed 
 toward the door. 
 
 But now perhaps, because of the discovery that
 
 FAREWELL HOPE! 247 
 
 this man meant her no harm, intended to exact no hor- 
 rible atonement from her a revulsion of feeling took 
 place in the woman's breast. 
 
 "No, no!" she cried, springing to her feet. "No, 
 no ! Do not go for God's sake do not attempt to quit 
 the town yet ! You will be lost if you are seen lost, 
 lost! Ah, heavens!" she screamed, for at that mo- 
 ment there boomed a cannon from the chateau, " the 
 sunset gun ! The sunset gun ! It is too late ! " 
 
 " What is too late ? " he asked advancing toward 
 her. " What ? " And as he spoke he seized her wrist. 
 " Woman, what do you mean? Is this some fresh plot, 
 some new treachery ? Answer me. Am I trapped and 
 by you?" 
 
 " No, no ! " she wailed, afraid to tell what she had 
 done, afraid that even now, ere the soldiers should come, 
 he would strangle the life out of her, or thrust the 
 sword he carried by his side through her heart. " No, 
 no ! But it is known they know that you have been 
 a yalerienyo\L will be arrested ! The mark upon your 
 shoulder is known to the commandant." 
 
 " How ? " he said, again seizing her by the arm. 
 "How? Who knows it? Who? Outside this house 
 none can have seen it." 
 
 " Come ! " she replied, not daring to answer him ; 
 " come, hide. They will look for you here. Yet I can 
 secrete you till the search is over. For a week months 
 if need be. Come." 
 
 " They know I am here ! Through you ? " 
 
 " No, no ! The mark was seen when you lay insen- 
 sible ah ! " she screamed again. " See, see ! it is too 
 late ! They are in the garden. It is too late ! " 
 
 It was true. Along the garden path to which the 
 windows of her salon opened, six soldiers were advanc-
 
 248 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 ing led by a young officer. Across their shoulders were 
 slung their muskets; the officer carried his drawn 
 sword. And St. Georges looking from her to them 
 knew that he was snared, his freedom gone. Doubtless 
 his life, too. 
 
 " Devil," he said to the woman as she reeled back to 
 the lounge and fell heavily on it " devil, I thanked you 
 too soon. Had I known, dreamed of this, I would have 
 slain you as you dreaded ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 "IT IS TRUE." 
 
 THE windows of the salon giving on to the crushed- 
 shell path of the Hotel de Louvigny had been open all 
 day to let in the air, and the handsomely apparelled 
 young officer of the Regiment de Grance, stationed at 
 Rambouillet, was enabled therefore to at once enter the 
 room, leaving his men outside. Yet as he did so he 
 seemed bewildered and astonished at the sight which 
 met his eyes. 
 
 Lying fainting, gasping, on her couch was Madame 
 de Louvigny la belle Louvigny as they called her, and 
 toasted her nightly in the guardroom standing over 
 her was a man, white to the lips, his hands clinched, 
 his whole form and face expressing horror and con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " Pardie I " the young fellow muttered between his 
 lips, " I have interrupted a little scene, un roman 
 <T amour! Bon Dieu the lover has detected madame 
 in some little infidelity, and and has had a moment
 
 "IT IS TRUE." 249 
 
 of vivacity. Yet 'tis not my fault. Devoir avant tout" 
 aud as he muttered the motto of the noble house to 
 which he belonged perhaps as an aid in that devoir 
 he advanced into the room after bidding his men remain 
 where he had stationed them. 
 
 " Madame la baronne will pardon my untimely ap- 
 pearance," he muttered in the most courtly manner, and 
 with a comprehensive bow of much ease and grace which 
 included St. Georges, "but my orders were what 
 madame herself knows. Otherwise I should regret even 
 more my presence here." 
 
 She, still on the lounge, her face buried in her Va- 
 lenciennes handkerchief, was as yet unable to utter a 
 word he, standing before her, never removed his eyes 
 from her. The officer's words had confirmed what he 
 suspected what he knew. 
 
 " But," continued the lieutenant, " madame will ex- 
 cuse. I have my orders to obey. The man she men- 
 tioned to the commandant has not yet endeavoured to 
 pass the barrier is it madame's desire that her house 
 should be searched ? " 
 
 She raised her head from the couch as he spoke, not 
 daring to cast a glance at him whom she had betrayed 
 to his doom. Then she said, her voice under no con- 
 trol and broken. "No. He is not here. He has 
 escaped." 
 
 "Escaped, madame? Impossible! Rambouillet is 
 too small even for him to be in hiding he " 
 
 " Has not escaped," St. Georges said, turning sud- 
 denly on the officer. " On the contrary, he has been 
 betrayed. I am the man." 
 
 " You ! Madame's " and he left his sentence 
 
 unfinished. " You ! Here alone with her, and a ga- 
 lerien I " 
 
 17
 
 250 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Yes I." 
 
 It was useless, he knew, to do aught than give him- 
 self up. Escape was impossible. It was known, must 
 be known in this small town, that he was the only 
 stranger who had entered it lately ; nor did he doubt 
 that when the treacherous creature had informed against 
 him she had described him thoroughly. Even though 
 now she lied to save him, it would be of no avail, lie 
 could not remain in her house, hide in it as she had 
 suggested, take shelter from her. From her! No! 
 even the galleys or the gallows were better than that. 
 
 " I regret to hear it," the officer said, " since mon- 
 sieur appears to be a friend of madame la baronne. 
 Yet, under the circumstances, monsieur will not refuse 
 to accompany me." 
 
 " I will accompany you." 
 
 Whatever the young fellow may have thought of the 
 man who was now in his custody and what he did 
 think was that he was some old lover of la belle 
 Louvigny who had either cast her off, or been cast off 
 by her, and had reappeared at an awkward moment, so 
 that she had taken an effectual manner of disposing of 
 him he at least did not show it. But for her he testi- 
 fied his contempt in a manner that was unmistakable. 
 He motioned to St. Georges to precede him to the open 
 window where his men were, and, putting on his hat 
 before he had quitted the room, he strode after his 
 prisoner without casting a glance at the woman. 
 
 But as they neared the window, and were about to 
 step on to the path, St. Georges stopped and, addressing 
 him, said : " Sir, grant me one moment's further grace, 
 I beg of you. Ere I go I have a word to say to ma- 
 dame." 
 
 Courteous as he had been all through to him the
 
 "IT IS TRUE." 251 
 
 young fellow shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly, 
 raised no objection, and lounged by the open window, 
 while St. Georges returned to where she still crouched 
 upon the lounge. Yet, as she heard his footsteps near- 
 ing her, she looked up with terrorstricken eye, and 
 shrunk back even further into its ample depths. The 
 officer had not demanded his sword, it hung still by his 
 side ; her craven heart feared that in his last moment 
 allowed to him he might wrench it from its sheath and 
 punish her for her treachery. But, as she learned a mo- 
 ment later, he had a worse punishment in store for her 
 than that. 
 
 " You have sent me to my doom," he said, gazing 
 down on her, " yet, ere I go, hear what has been the 
 doom of another as vile as you yourself " 
 
 In an instant she had sprung to her feet, was stand- 
 ing panting before him, one hand upon her heart, the 
 other by her side in the folds of her dress. " Vile as 
 she herself," he had said. " Vile as she herself ! " To 
 whom else but De Roquemaure could such words apply 
 when issuing from that man's lips? 
 
 " The doom of another ! " she hissed, repeating those 
 words ; " the doom of another of whom ? " 
 
 And again on her face there was now the look the 
 canine look that had been there before the lip drawn 
 back, the small teeth showing, the threatening glance in 
 the eyes. 
 
 " Of whom but one ! Who else but your vile part- 
 ner " the young officer, of noble race as he was, and 
 steeped in good breeding, could scarce refrain from 
 being startled at those words " the man you say you 
 love ? Well, love him ! Only learn this, you have noth- 
 ing but his memory to love. He is dead ! " 
 
 With a scream that rang not only through the salon,
 
 252 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 but the house also, and penetrated out into the cool 
 garden beyond a scream that caused the lieutenant to 
 start toward them, and his men to peer into the room 
 she sprang at him, her right hand raised now, and in it 
 the dagger she had so long concealed. 
 
 " Beware ! " the officer cried. " Beware, she is dan- 
 gerous ! " And, even as he spoke, she struck full at St. 
 Georges's breast with the knife. 
 
 " Bah ! " he exclaimed, thrusting aside her upraised 
 arm with the hand in which, all through the interview 
 with her, he had held his hat thrusting it aside with 
 such force that she almost staggered and fell. " Bah ! 
 you mistake, woman. Did you think it was my back 
 again at which you struck ? " 
 
 The room was full of servants now ; her own waiting 
 maid and one or two of the lackeys busy about the 
 house, preparing a little supper madame had intended 
 giving that night to a few admirers, had rushed in at 
 her scream ; and now the former stood behind and half 
 supported her while she muttered incoherent sounds 
 amid which the words only could be caught, " You slew 
 him ! at last ! " 
 
 " Nay," he said, standing still in front of her, calm 
 and sinister ; " such satisfaction was not granted me, 
 nor so easy an ending to him. The English who drove 
 Tourville's fleet to its doom at La Hogue did their work 
 effectively. Each ship, each transport, found by them 
 was blown out of the water ; in one of those transports, 
 named the Vendome, he was blown up, too. I was 
 there but a little while before it exploded ; I saw its 
 fragments and all within it hurled into space. I think, 
 madame, my doom is scarce worse than his." 
 
 With another shriek, as piercing as the first, she 
 threw her arms above her head, then fell an insensible
 
 "IT IS TRUE." 253 
 
 mass into the serving woman's arms. And St. Georges, 
 turning to the young officer, said : 
 " Sir, I am at your service." 
 
 They took him that night to the Chateau de Kam- 
 bouillet, he marching with three of the soldiers in front 
 of and three behind him, the young officer by his side. 
 And this scion of nobility, one of the De Mortemarts, 
 testified by his actions that night that the French good 
 breeding of the great monarch's day was no mere out- 
 ward show. He permitted his prisoner to still retain 
 his sword, and he walked by his side instead of ahead 
 of his men, because he did not desire that those whom, 
 in his mind he considered the canaille should make any 
 observations upon that prisoner as they passed through 
 the streets. Moreover, wherever a knot of persons were 
 gathered together in any corner he affected a smiling 
 exterior, so that they should be induced to suppose that 
 St. Georges was an ordinary acquaintance accompanying 
 him. 
 
 " Sir," said the latter, observing all this, " you are 
 very good to me. You make what I have to bear as 
 light as possible." 
 
 " It is nothing, nothing," the lieutenant replied. " I 
 only wisli it had not fallen to my lot to undertake so un- 
 pleasant a duty. By the way, I suppose it is true, as 
 she told the commandant! You have, unfortunately 
 known been at the galleys ? " 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 " Tiens ! A pity. A thousand pities ! Above all, 
 that you should have encountered that she-devil. Well, 
 I am glad you had those hard words with her. Ma foil 
 she is a tigress ! I only hope you may escape from 
 from other things as you did from her dagger."
 
 254: IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 The commandant who was also the colonel of the 
 Regiment de Grance was, however, a different style of 
 man from his lieutenant a man who from long service 
 in the army had become rough and harsh; also, like 
 many men commanding regiments under Louis, he had 
 risen solely by his military qualifications, and owed noth- 
 ing to birth or influence. 
 
 He listened, however, very attentively to all De 
 Mortemart told him of the scene that had taken place, 
 and especially as to how the Baronne de Louvigny to 
 whom he himself was paying court, as has been told 
 had evidently had some lover whose existence he had 
 never suspected ; and then he sent for St. Georges, 
 who was brought into his presence by De Mortemart 
 himself. 
 
 "So," he said, "you are an escaped galerien, mon- 
 sieur. Well ! You know what happens to them when 
 retaken ! " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " What was your crime?" 
 
 " Nothing except serving the king as a soldier." 
 
 " As a soldier ! " he and De Mortemart exclaimed 
 together, while the former continued, " In what capaci- 
 ty?" 
 
 "As lieutenant in the Chevaux-Legers of Niver- 
 nois." 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! " exclaimed the commandant. " A 
 picked regiment, and commanded by De Beauvilliers 
 n'est-ce pas f " 
 
 " He was my colonel." 
 
 " Come," said the other, relaxing his stern method 
 of addressing St. Georges, and warming toward him, un- 
 knowingly to himself by the fact that this man in such 
 dire distress was a comrade and had served in a corps
 
 "IT IS TRUE." 255 
 
 d 1 elite " come, tell us your history. We cannot help 
 you there is but one thing to do, namely, to send you 
 to Paris for inquiry ; but until you go we can at least 
 make your existence here more endurable." 
 
 So St. Georges told them his story. 
 
 All through it both his listeners testified their sym- 
 pathy De Mortemart especially, by many exclamations 
 against De Eoquemaure and his sister, and also against 
 la belle Louvigny while the colonel spoke approv- 
 ingly of the manner in which St. Georges had almost 
 avenged himself on his foe in the inn. The descrip- 
 tion, too, of his existence in the galleys moved both 
 young and old soldier alike ; it was only when he ar- 
 rived at the account of the destruction of Tourville's 
 fleet that they ceased to make any remark and sat lis- 
 tening to him in silence. 
 
 It was finished, however, now, and when the colonel 
 spoke his voice was more cold and unsympathetic. 
 
 " You have ruined yourself by the last month's 
 work," he said. " I am afraid you can never recover 
 from that. Did you not know that his Majesty has 
 made it a rule that none who have served him shall ever 
 take service under a foreign power and dare to venture 
 into France again ? " 
 
 " I know it," St. Georges said, " and I must abide by 
 my fate. Yet, my child was here. I was forced to come, 
 and there was no other way but this." 
 
 One thing only he had not told them, the story of 
 what he believed to be his birth, the belief he held that 
 he was the Due deVannes. Nor, he determined then 
 had, indeed, long since determined would he ever pub- 
 lish that belief now. Had he kept his freedom until he 
 had once more regained Dorine, it was his intention to 
 have repassed to England and never again to have re-
 
 256 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 called that supposed birthright, or, as the child grew up, 
 to have let her obtain any knowledge on the subject. 
 He would work for her, slave for her, if necessary be- 
 come tutor, or soldier, or sailor, as Fate might decree ; 
 but it must be as an Englishman, and with all con- 
 nection with France broken forever. 
 
 And now, a prisoner, a man who would ere long be 
 tried as an ex-galerien, as if De Mortemart and the 
 colonel did not hold their peace a Frenchman who had 
 joined England and helped her in administering the 
 most crushing blow to France which she had suffered 
 for centuries he would never see his child again ; what 
 need, therefore, to publish his belief ? 
 
 The hope that had sustained him for years was gone ; 
 the prayer he had uttered by night and day, that once 
 more he might hold his little child in his arms and cher- 
 ish and succour her, was gone, too ; they would never 
 meet again. Let him go, therefore, to his doom un- 
 known, and, so going, pass away and be forgotten. And 
 it might be that, with him removed, God would see fit 
 to temper to his child the adversity that had fallen to 
 his own lot. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ST. GEORGES'S DOOM. 
 
 THE cours criminel on the banks of the Seine had 
 been crowded all day, and the judges seated on the 
 bench began to exhibit signs of fatigue at their labours. 
 They had sat from ten o'clock in the morning far into 
 the afternoon, and, now that four o'clock was at hand, it 
 appeared as if their sitting would be still further pro-
 
 ST. GEORGES'S DOOM. 257 
 
 longed ; and this in spite of the number of cases they 
 had disposed of. 
 
 A variety of malefactors, or so-called malefactors, 
 had on that day received their sentences : some for pro- 
 fessing the "reformed religion," as they blasphemously 
 in the judges' eyes termed it ; some for being bullies 
 and cutthroats ; a student aged sixteen had been sen- 
 tenced to imprisonment in the Bastille for writing on the 
 walls a distich on Louis, stating that he had displaced 
 God in the minds of the French ; * and a marchioness had 
 been condemned to a fine of twenty pistoles and to remain 
 out of Paris for a year for having poisoned her husband ; 
 also a spy, a Dutchman, supposed to be in the service of 
 the accursed Stadtholder and English king, had been 
 condemned to death by burning, his entrails to be first 
 cut out and flung in his face ; and several petty malefac- 
 tors a drunken priest who had read a portion of Rabe- 
 lais to his flock instead of a sermon ; a lampoonist who 
 had written a joke on the De Maintenon ; an actor who 
 had struck a gentleman in defence of his own daughter ; 
 and a courtesan who had induced a young nobleman to 
 spend too much money on her were all sentenced to the 
 Bastille, to Vincennes, and Bicetre for various periods. 
 
 " Now," said Monsieur de Rennie, who presided to- 
 day, when the last of these wretches had been finished 
 off " now, is the list cleared ? We have sat six hours." 
 And the other judges, one on either side of him, re- 
 peated his words and murmured, " Six hours ! " 
 
 * The distich ran : 
 
 " La croix fait place au lis, et Jesus Christ au Roi 
 Louis, oh I race irapie, est le seul Dieu chez toi." 
 
 For writing it the student remained in prison thirty-one years.
 
 258 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 "Your lordships have still some other cases," the 
 procureur du roi said, addressing them, " which you 
 will probably be willing to dispose of to-day. There is 
 one of a man who is thought to have abandoned his ship 
 in the recent disaster at La Hogue, and to have escaped 
 to Paris, where he was captured in hiding; and an- 
 other of three Jausenists who have blasphemed the 
 faith ; also there is a man, an escaped galerien, brought 
 hither from Kambouillet by an officer of the Regiment 
 de Grance for trial." 
 
 "Are the facts clear," asked the presiding judge, 
 " against this man ? If so, the case will not occupy us 
 long, and we will take it to-night." 
 
 " Quite clear," the procureur replied, " so far as I 
 gather." 
 
 " Bring him in." 
 
 A moment later St. Georges stood in the dock set 
 apart for the criminals, his hands tied in front of him. 
 And in the court many eyes were cast toward him as he 
 took his stand. All knew that, for those who success- 
 fully escaped the galleys, there was but one ending if 
 ever caught again. 
 
 "Who gives evidence against this prisoner?" De 
 Rennie asked, looking at St. Georges under his bushy 
 white eyebrows. "And what is his name? Pris- 
 oner, what is your name? Answer truly to the 
 court." 
 
 " I have no name," St. Georges replied ; " I refuse to 
 answer to any." 
 
 The judge's eyebrows were lifted into his forehead 
 and down again ; then he observed to his brother judge 
 on his right, with a shrug of his shoulders, " Contuma- 
 cious ! " and then, because he was a man who disliked 
 to be thwarted, he exclaimed : " So much the worse for
 
 ST. GEORGES'S DOOM. 259 
 
 you. Well, M. le procureur, who prosecutes who is 
 there as witness ? " 
 
 " The officer who arrested him and afterward brought 
 him to Paris. He can give your lordships the facts." 
 
 "Very well. Why does he not do so? Let him 
 stand forward." 
 
 The officer stood forward, in so far that he stood up 
 in the well of the crowd his gold-laced, cockaded hat 
 still upon his head, since as an officer of the king he 
 was entitled to wear it in all other places but church 
 and briefly he answered the presiding judge's questions. 
 Yes, he was a lieutenant of the Regiment de Grance, 
 quartered at Rambouillet in his opinion, a miserable 
 hole. His opinion on Rambouillet, the judge said, 
 frowning, was not required ; he would be good enough 
 to give his name. His name was De Mortemart. De 
 Mortemart ! Perhaps, said the judge, he might be a 
 relative of the Due de Mortemart? Yes, the officer re- 
 plied, he might be ; in effect he was a son of that per- 
 sonage. The judge was pleased to hear it ; the duke 
 was universally known and respected, and the acoustic 
 qualities of the court were bad would M. de Morte- 
 mart take a seat on the bench, where he and his brother 
 judges could better hear him? The officer did not 
 mind, though he was not inconvenienced where he was, 
 but, of course, if their lordships desired. And so forth. 
 
 " Now," the judge said with great sweetness, when 
 he had reached the exalted elevation, "would M. de 
 Mortemart give himself the trouble to state how the 
 fellow before them had fallen into his hands ? " M. de 
 Mortemart did give himself the trouble telling, how- 
 ever, exactly what he thought fit, and also omitting 
 many facts which he did not feel disposed to mention 
 to wit, he contented himself by saying that the " gen-
 
 260 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 tleman " in the dock had been betrayed by a woman into 
 their hands a " treacherous reptile " he termed her 
 but he said nothing about St. Georges having acknowl- 
 edged that he had been a soldier of France once, and 
 had afterward fought on the English side against 
 France. To his young and chivalrous mind it was, in- 
 deed, a terrible thing that any Frenchman should join 
 with England against his own country, but he did not 
 say so to the judge trying that man. The case was bad 
 enough against him without that. 
 
 In answer to further questions put with great polite- 
 ness and an evident desire on the judge's part not to 
 bore the son of the Due de Mortemart too much, he 
 stated that according to orders, he had escorted the 
 gentleman in trouble to Paris, and that he had ridden 
 by that gentleman's side all the way, treating him as 
 well as possible. Yes, he was bound to say he sym- 
 pathized with the prisoner (he did not say that he 
 wished to Heaven the prisoner had availed himself of 
 many opportunities he had given him of escaping) ; he 
 thought he had been hardly treated especially by the 
 woman who was, in truth, a viper. Did he mean to 
 say, the judge asked almost apologetically, that he had 
 allowed the prisoner to ride unbound by his side ? Yes, 
 he did mean to say so ; the prisoner had made no at- 
 tempt, either, to take advantage of the license. Did 
 Monsieur de Mortemart think that was wise on his part 
 as an officer? Yes, on his part as an officer he did 
 think so. He was an officer ; not " and here he cast 
 his eye on the turnkeys and jailers in the court " " the 
 canaille" And, in effect, the prisoner was before the 
 court; that justified him. 
 
 After this the judges ceased to ask the Due de 
 Mortemart's son any further questions, but went on
 
 ST. GEORGES'S DOOM. 261 
 
 with other matters. One of the canaille, a jailer, was 
 put on the witness stand and questioned briefly. " Speak, 
 fellow," said the president in a totally different tone 
 from that which he had hitherto used to the duke's son, 
 " have you examined the prisoner is he branded ? " 
 
 " He is, my lord, on his shoulder ; an undoubted 
 galerien." 
 
 " Enough ! Stand down." 
 
 " Prisoner," addressing St. Georges, " what have you 
 to say?" 
 
 " Nothing. Do your worst." 
 
 "No justification of your quitting the galleys?" 
 
 " Nothing that you would accept as such. Yet this 
 I will say : I did not escape of my own attempt ; the 
 galley I was in was sunk by an English admiral off 
 their coast ; almost all were lost. I was saved and taken 
 back to England." 
 
 " So ! That may make a difference. What was the 
 galley's name ? " 
 
 " L'Idole." 
 
 Here the judge on the president's right hand leaned 
 over to him and said : " This may be the truth. I had 
 a nephew, an officer, on board L'Idole she was sunk." 
 
 " Allowing such to be the case, prisoner, how comes 
 it you are back in France ? " 
 
 " I desired to return, and took the first opportunity." 
 
 " Ay, he did," suddenly roared out a voice in the 
 court. " And ask him how he returned, my lord ; ask 
 him that ! " 
 
 In an instant all eyes were turned to the place 
 whence the sound came, and the presiding judge became 
 scarlet in the face at any one having the presumption 
 to so bawl at him in the court. "Exempts," he cried, 
 " find out the ruffian who dares to outrage the king's
 
 262 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 justice by bellowing before us thus. Find him out, I 
 say, and bring him before us ! " 
 
 It required, however, very little " finding out," since 
 he who had so cried was the man whom the procureur 
 du Koi had spoken of as having abandoned his ship at 
 La Hogue and fled to Paris, and was now present as a 
 prisoner in the court to be tried for his offence. Nor 
 was there much need to hustle and drag him forward, 
 since he came willingly enough he thought he saw 
 here an immunity from punishment if punishment be 
 deserved a chance of escape by the evidence he could 
 give. 
 
 " Who is the fellow ? " asked De Rennie, when, partly 
 by the man's own willing efforts and partly by pushings 
 and jostlings, he had been got on to the witness stand 
 with two jailers on either side of him. " Who is he?" 
 
 " He is, my lord," the procureur du roi said, " the 
 man who is charged with deserting his ship at La 
 Hogue and fleeing to Paris. He says, however, he can 
 give evidence against the galerien here which will also 
 go far to absolve him of his desertion if your lordships 
 will hear him." 
 
 " Ay," said De Rennie, " we will hear him very will- 
 ingly. But," he said, addressing the sailor, " tell no 
 lies, fellow, in hope of escaping your own punishment. 
 Understand that ! And understand, also, that you must 
 justify your own desertion." 
 
 " I need tell no lies," the man replied, a rough, bull 
 faced and throated man, with every mark of a seaman 
 about him, " to justify myself. And there was no deser- 
 tion. Mon Dieu! was Tourville a deserter when ho 
 went ashore from L'Ambitieux ? If so, then I am one, 
 for I went with him." 
 
 " Tell your tale," De Rennio exclaimed angrily, the
 
 ST. GEORGES'S DOOM. 263 
 
 man's utter want of respect irritating him, " and speak 
 no slander against the king's officers." 
 
 " Slander ! " the sailor repeated " slander ! How 
 slander ? I am Tourville's own coxswain ; acted under 
 his orders " 
 
 " Go on ! " roared the judge. " Your evidence against 
 the prisoner. Your evidence ! " 
 
 Briefly the man's evidence was this and as he told 
 it all in the court knew that the fate of the prisoner was 
 sealed. After that nothing could save him. 
 
 The man was Tourville's coxswain he produced a 
 filthy, water-soaked paper from his breast to prove it 
 had been with him in Le Soleil Royal, had gone with 
 the admiral when he transferred his flag to L'Ambitieux, 
 had taken that flag from the lieutenant's hands and, 
 with his own, hauled it up on the latter vessel. 
 
 " But," continued the man, " it was not for long. 
 The English had got us in shoal water, their fireships 
 and attenders came at us and burned us ; their board- 
 ing parties came in two hundred boats we could do 
 nothing after the first resistance ! And among those 
 boarding parties " and he lifted his finger and pointed 
 at the prisoner in the dock " was one in command of 
 that man that, standing there in the dock." 
 
 " Fellow ! " exclaimed the judge, " this is a French- 
 man. Beware ! no lies." 
 
 " I tell no lies. It is the truth. Ask him. He was 
 on the deck of L'Ambitieux with a dozen other boat 
 crews ; we could not resist ; their whole fleet came over 
 our sides ; the admiral and I left in the same boat, he 
 bade us all save ourselves, gave us our freedom, dis- 
 banded us. Send for him, ask him if I am a deserter. 
 Ask, too, that man, if he fought not against us on the 
 English side."
 
 264 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 "You hear," De Rennie said, looking toward St. 
 Georges, " the charge against you that you, a French- 
 man, fought on the English side against your country. 
 Answer the court, is it true ? " 
 
 With all eyes turned on him the pitying eyes of 
 De Mortemart, the scowling eyes of the judges, and the 
 vindictive eyes of most people in the court, who, having 
 been hitherto inclined to sympathize with the prisoner, 
 now only thirsted for his death St. Georges drew him- 
 self up and faced his inquirer. Then, a moment later, 
 he said : " It is true." 
 
 Those words were the signal for an indescribable 
 hubbub in the court. Men muttered fiercely, " Burn 
 him, burn him!" women shrieked to one another that 
 no wonder the English devils had beaten France when 
 Frenchmen fought on their side, forgetting the mothers 
 that bore them ; and De Mortemart, muttering between 
 white lips : " My God ! nothing can save him," left the 
 court The coxswain, too, who but a quarter of an 
 hour before had heard hissed in his ears the words 
 " Idche" " deserteur" " miserable" and other epithets, 
 was now the centre of a group of turnkeys and exempts, 
 all asking him why he had not told them before that he 
 was a hero? 
 
 Meanwhile the procureur du roi, arrayed in his scar- 
 let gown, sat at his table arranging his papers there 
 would be no further trials that day, he knew, the Jan- 
 senists and others would have to wait and glancing up 
 now and again at the other three scarlet-robed figures 
 on the bench, conferring with their heads close to- 
 gether. Presently, however, a nod from De Rennie 
 to the greffier caused that official to bawl out orders 
 for silence in the court, and forced the muttering men 
 and shrieking women to hold their tongues. They
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 265 
 
 did so, willingly enough, too; they knew what was 
 coming. 
 
 " Are your lordships prepared to deliver judgment ? " 
 asked the procureur du roi, carrying out the usual for- 
 mula and pushing his papers away and rising as he 
 addressed them. 
 
 " We are prepared," the president replied. 
 
 " I pray your lordships do so." 
 
 " The sentence of the court is that the prisoner be 
 taken to the Hotel de Ville, and from there to the Place 
 de Greve, and there broken on the wheel till he is 
 dead." 
 
 More murmurings, more exclamations from the nerv- 
 ous, excited crowd, and then a hush, while again the 
 procureur's voice was heard : 
 
 "I pray your lordships to appoint a day and hour on 
 which your righteous sentence shall be carried out." 
 
 " The decree of the court is that the sentence be 
 carried out at the daybreak following the time when 
 forty-eight hours shall have elapsed from now." 
 
 " In the name of justice I thank your lordships. 
 Prisoner," and the procureur turned to him, " you hear 
 and understand your sentence ? " 
 
 " Yes, I hear and understand it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 
 
 OUTSIDE the court all was sunshine and brightness 
 on that June evening, and all the people streaming out 
 in the warm air that yet seemed fresh and cool after 
 18
 
 266 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 the stuffiness within chattered and laughed and 
 chuckled at the exciting day they had had. 
 
 " For, ftgurez vous" said one, a hideous creature, 
 " when we went to see the marchioness tried we could 
 only hope she would be condemned, though all the while 
 we know well that for the noblesse there is no serious 
 punishment. Ma foil what a punishment! Twenty 
 pistoles a sum she pays weekly, I'll be sworn, for abso- 
 lution and a retraite from Paris for a year. Tiens ! she 
 was not ill favoured, that marchioness ; she will doubt- 
 less have a score of lovers follow her into the country. 
 Say, Babette," and she turned to a pale-faced girl by her 
 side, " shall we go to the Place de Greve to see that vil- 
 lain broken ? Daybreak, after forty-eight hours ; that 
 will be daybreak on Monday. To-day is Friday ! " 
 
 " Not I," the pale-faced girl replied. " For my part 
 I could pity him only that he fought against France. 
 It etait beau, cet homme la bas. His mustache was 
 enough to set a girl dreaming. And his eyes ! del ! 
 what eyes, when he faced the old herisson, De Ren- 
 nie!" 
 
 "Ah, bah! His eyes! Curse them, and him, too! 
 He is a traitor." 
 
 " All the same, he is handsome. I wonder how many 
 women love him ? " 
 
 But now they stood apart from the courtyard to look 
 at a troop of the Mousquetaires Noirs riding away from 
 the precincts of the court itself where they had been on 
 guard all day and to admire their trappings and 
 bravery. And the pale-faced girl, who seemed like 
 many other pale-faced, cadaverous girls! to have a 
 great appreciation of manly beauty, tugged at her com- 
 panion's arm, and bade her observe the two handsome 
 officers in conversation under the gateway.
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 267 
 
 " See, Manon, see ! " she exclaimed. " There is the 
 one who said he was son to the Due de " 
 
 " I hate all dukes," interrupted the other, " and all 
 the noblesse. They grind the poor." 
 
 " Yet he seemed kind. He would have saved that 
 one, I do believe, if he could. And how he spoke to the 
 judge as he himself speaks to others like to a dog! 
 And his companion, the officer of Mousquetaires who 
 does not follow the troop. Mon Dieu ! it est beau aussi. 
 How many handsome men we see to-day ! " 
 
 " Ah ! voyons" exclaimed the other, grimacing irri- 
 tably, " les beaux ! les beaux ! Nothing but Us beaux ! 
 Some day, Babette, you will regret your admiration of 
 the men." 
 
 " He looks pale and troubled, does that mousque- 
 taire," the girl replied, taking no heed of the elder 
 woman's reproofs ; and then they passed on to the foul 
 quarter of Paris where they dwelt, and where dukes' 
 sons and handsome mousquetaires did not often obtrude 
 themselves. 
 
 Had she been able to overhear the commencement of 
 the conversation between De Mortemart and that officer 
 of Mousquetaires she would probably not have wondered 
 at the pallor which overspread the latter's face, nor at 
 his look of trouble. 
 
 When the young fellow had fled out of the court, 
 unable to remain and hear that doom pronounced on St. 
 Georges, which he knew must come, he had gone straight 
 to the guardroom with the intention of removing the 
 three men of his troop whom he had brought with him 
 to Paris in charge of their prisoner. Their work was 
 done in Paris, he knew ; it was best they should take the 
 road back to Rambouillet at once. It was but eight 
 leagues, and the summer nights were long ; they could
 
 268 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 ride that easily and regain their quarters almost without 
 halting. 
 
 But as he entered the room set apart for officers pre- 
 paratory to summoning his men, he saw that which pre- 
 vented him from doing so for some little time longer. 
 He saw, seated in a deep wooden chair, his wig off, and 
 fast asleep in that chair with a flask of wine by his 
 side an officer of the guard for the day, whose face he 
 knew very well indeed. The Regiment de G ranee was 
 not always quartered at such dead-and-alive places as 
 Rambouillet ; it was sometimes accorded the privilege of 
 being in attendance on the court itself since it was 
 officered from the aristocrats as a rule, the colonel gen- 
 erally being an exception, and selected because of his 
 services and at Versailles it had, not long ago, been 
 thrown in with the Mousquetaires Noirs. 
 
 " Tiens, Boussac ! " the young fellow cried, slapping 
 the sleeping officer on the shoulder, and disturbing his 
 slumbers; "rouse yourself, man; the court will be up 
 directly already your brother officer is chuckling that 
 his guard hour will not last half a one." 
 
 " De Mortemart ! " cried Boussac, springing from his 
 seat and grasping the newcomer's hand with his own, 
 while with the other he clapped his wig on. " De Morte- 
 raart what brings you here? Have you got the route, 
 is the regiment returned to Paris ? " 
 
 " No such chance, mon ami, our luck is out. Neither 
 Paris, nor, ma foi ! a campaign for us we are stewed 
 up in Rambouillet for another year. And, peste! tho 
 only woman there worth a pistole has turned out the 
 vilest of creatures. We cannot even sup with her now, 
 or take a glass of ratafia or a cup of chocolate from her 
 hands." 
 
 "That is not well. But what what brings you
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 269 
 
 here? Come, tell me," and drawing the wine flask 
 toward him he poured out a drink for his comrade. 
 " And you look sad, De Mortemart ; is it because of the 
 * vilest of creatures ' ? " 
 
 Then, without more ado, his friend told what had 
 brought him to Paris and in the vicinity of the cours 
 crimineL 
 
 As he proceeded with his story telling it all from 
 the beginning, when la belle Louvigny had sent to the 
 commandant, apprising him of an escaped galerien in 
 her house he marvelled at the excitement which took 
 possession of his auditor. At the statement that the 
 betrayed man was branded, was in truth an escaped 
 galley slave, Boussac had sprung to his feet and com- 
 menced to pace the guardroom ; when he described the 
 scene he had witnessed between him and Madame de 
 Louvigny, he could contain himself no longer. 
 
 " The man, De Mortemart, the man ! " he broke 
 out, " describe him to me." And without giving his 
 friend time to do so, he went on : 
 
 " Tall, slight, long brown hair, curling at the ends, 
 gray eyes deep and clear. Gentleman to the tips of 
 his fingers ; a soldier above all." 
 
 " Ay, he has been a soldier." 
 
 " And his name his name, my friend. It must be 
 St. Georges. Come from England, you say, with the 
 English fleet. It is St. Georges ! " 
 
 " Nay, his name he will not tell. But this I know : 
 he was once of the Chevaux-Legers of Nivernois." 
 
 " My God ! it is he ! " and overcome with excite- 
 ment Boussac sank back into his seat again. 
 
 Rapidly De Mortemart told the rest the coxswain's 
 evidence ; the certain doom that must be St. Georges's 
 must be pronounced by now, since, outside, the clatter
 
 270 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 of the Mousquetaires could be heard, proclaiming already 
 clearly enough that the court was up, the sentence 
 awarded. 
 
 " I must know all ! " Boussac cried, and followed by 
 the other he rushed out. And then he learned the 
 galerieti's doom wheel on the third morning from now. 
 
 No wonder the pale-faced girl thought he looked sad 
 as he stood in the gateway bidding De Mortemart a 
 hasty farewell. 
 
 " If I can," he said, " I must save him ; must if ne- 
 cessary see the king. I am mousquetaire I have the 
 right of audience." 
 
 " Nothing can save him," the other replied. " He 
 has served Louis, and he has fought against him on 
 the conquering side. That is enough 1 " 
 
 " Yet," said Boussac, " I will try. I can tell Louis 
 something of his history that may though the chance 
 is poor, God knows ! induce him to hold his hand. Or, 
 at least, to let the doom be something less awful than 
 the wheel." 
 
 So they parted, the one to take his men buck to 
 Kambouillet, the other to try and save St. Georges, vain 
 as he feared the attempt would be. 
 
 First, he sought a messenger, a trusty honest man 
 he knew of, himself an old disbanded soldier, and told 
 him he must ride that night on a message of life and 
 death. Would he promise to let nothing stand in his 
 way ? he should be well rewarded. 
 
 " Never fear, monsieur. To where must I ride?" 
 
 " To Troyes. You can obtain a good horse ? " 
 
 "Ay! or get a renfort on the road. 'Tis thirty 
 leagues, but I will manage it. What have I to do when 
 there?" 
 
 " This. Make for the Manoir de Roquemaure, then
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 271 
 
 see at once la chatelaine. Mademoiselle de Koquemaure 
 she rules it since her mother's death. Next, give her 
 this. Put it into her own hand and no other. In 
 the name of God fail not ! Again I say, it is life or 
 death ! " 
 
 " Fear not. I will not fail. In half an hour I am 
 on the road. Hark ! the clock strikes from the Tour St. 
 Jacques ; 'tis seven o'clock ere it strikes the same hour 
 in the morning I shall be there and to spare or dead.'' 
 " Brave man ! Good soldier ! I believe you. Go." 
 "What the old soldier was to give into the hand of 
 Aurelie de Roquemaure was a letter containing the fol- 
 lowing hastily scribbled words : 
 
 " MADEMOISELLE : You spoke to me once of an un- 
 happy gentleman, a chevau-Uger ; asked me if he was 
 dead, and said you had some news would make him 
 happy if he knew it. Mademoiselle, he is not dead, but 
 dies on Monday, on the wheel Monday morning next 
 at dawn ! He has returned to France, fought against 
 Tourville on the high seas, is taken, and, as I say, con- 
 demned. If you have any power with the king, if you 
 know aught that may weigh with him, I beseech you 
 lose no effort. It is Monday morning, I repeat, at 
 dawn that he dies. Your respectful servitor, 
 
 " BOUSSAC." 
 
 The messenger departed and about his fidelity he 
 had no doubt, so well did he know him Boussac 
 mounted his horse and rode to where the three troops 
 of the Mousquetaires now in Paris on guard duty were 
 quartered. Then he made his way to the senior officer 
 in command, begged leave of him on urgent matters of 
 the last importance so urgent, indeed, did he represent
 
 272 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 them to be that he stated he was about to seek an after- 
 supper audience of the king obtained the leave, and, 
 procuring a fresh horse, set out for Versailles. 
 
 " I will tell him," he said, " who St. Georges is, 
 whom he believes himself to be. The late duke was 
 Louis's friend in the days when the king's heart was 
 young and fresh surely he will, at least, grant a re- 
 prieve. More especially if I tell him all of De Roque- 
 maure's villainy. As for the sister if she is what St. 
 Georges told me in his last letter he felt convinced she 
 was she will do nothing. Yet, mon Dieu! mon Dieu! 
 who can look in those eyes as I have done and deem her 
 so vile? Surely, surely, though he stands in her way so 
 much, she will not let him go to his doom. Even 
 though she knows for certain he is De Vannes, she will 
 strive to save him. She must ! " 
 
 It was no easy thing to approach Louis at the after- 
 supper audience, free as the monarch generally made 
 himself for an hour at that period, and in spite of an 
 officer of the Mousquetaires being a more or less fa- 
 voured person. For there were many who had greater 
 claims than a mousquetaire to the royal ear, the royal 
 salutation a finger to the hat for a man, the hat lowered 
 to the right ear for a lady to the royal smile. 
 
 There were, to wit, the bishops, the ladies of the 
 court, the marshals and the bastards, the ministers and 
 many others. And to-night the king was, and had been 
 for some days, so depressed, so for him almost angry, 
 that few took this period for presenting petitions or re- 
 quests. His great fleet was shattered by the hereditary 
 enemies of France since the Spanish Armada no fleet 
 had ever been so shattered ! his power and might were 
 broken, even if for a time only ; and though he had told 
 Tourville with that royal graciousness which scarcely
 
 THE LAST CHANCE. 273 
 
 ever deserted him that he was satisfied " he had done 
 his best," he was in no humour for granting boons. 
 
 What hope was there that a mousquetaire should ob- 
 tain aught from him that night ; should even be able to 
 approach him? Above all, what hope that such a re- 
 quest as Boussac's that one of his own subjects who 
 had helped in the shattering of his great fleet should be 
 pardoned was likely to be granted ? 
 
 Yet, at last, the soldier who had waited so patiently 
 for hours drew nearer and nearer to the circle in which 
 the arbiter of the destiny of all in France sat, a crowd 
 of courtiers and nervous petitioners behind and round 
 him ; at last, after having seen countless others bowed 
 and smiled to, he was face to face with Louis, stammer- 
 ing and scarce knowing how to begin his request. 
 
 But the finger went to the hat, the king's smile 
 perhaps a little artificial now shone on him, the king's 
 soft, courtly voice said : 
 
 " Monsieur le lieutenant, have you a petition to make 
 also? I am afraid it cannot be granted. Is it for pro- 
 motion ? " 
 
 " No, sire. It is for a man's life," and before he 
 thoroughly understood, himself, what he was saying, he 
 poured out his story before the king and the astonished 
 listeners. And, at last, in a halting, laboured way it 
 was told. Then the king spoke, while the shoulder- 
 shrugging, grinning courtiers held their breath to hear 
 his reply. 
 
 " Mon brave mousquetaire" he said, " you have been 
 imposed on. De Vannes never married. I know it 
 well know, too, the woman whom he loved, who mar- 
 ried De Roquemaure. And even if he had married and 
 had this son, do you think I would pardon him for doing 
 that for which he lies under sentence of death? Nay,
 
 274 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 were he my own I would not do so. Ah ! " turning to 
 a beautiful blue-eyed woman who stood by the side of 
 Boussac, " Madame de Verneuil " and the hand went up 
 to the hat and lowered it till the fringe touched his right 
 ear " I rejoice to see you here to-night." 
 Boussac's audience was over. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE DAY OF EXECUTION. 
 
 THE night of Sunday had passed ; already the holi- 
 day-makers were seeking their beds after a day spent in 
 the country by some in the woods of Fontainebleau 
 and St. Germaius; by others in the gardens of Ver- 
 sailles, where they had waited all day to see the king 
 come out upon the great balcony and salute his people ; 
 by others, again, who had been to Marly to gaze in 
 amazement on distorted Nature ; to gaze on the trees 
 stuck in the ground which would not grow here though 
 they had flourished for a century elsewhere, before being 
 uprooted to gratify a king's caprice ; on artificial lakes 
 now gay with caiques and gondolas where but a few 
 years ago the frogs and eels had held undisputed pos- 
 session ; on a palace which reared its new walls where 
 starving peasants' hovels had been not long since. 
 
 The holiday-makers were going home to their beds 
 as all the clocks of the city clanged out the hour of 
 midnight; all were about to seek their homes ere they 
 commenced the new week a week that to most of 
 them brought nothing but hard, griping toil, starvation, 
 and a heavy load of taxation imposed upon them by
 
 THE DAY OP EXECUTION. 275 
 
 that king whom they stared at and reverenced, and by 
 his nobility. 
 
 Yet not quite all, either ! For some there were who, 
 as they streamed across the Pont Neuf, or came in from 
 the Charenton gate, or arrived back from Versailles or 
 Marly, broke off in solitary twos and threes from the 
 others and directed their footsteps toward the great 
 place in front of the Hotel de Ville toward the Place 
 de Greve ! They, these solitary ones, had no intention 
 of seeking their homes and beds that night they could 
 sleep long and well to-morrow night instead they meant 
 to enjoy themselves in the place until day broke, with 
 the anticipation of what the daybreak would bring. For 
 at that hour they knew they would see a man done to 
 death upon the wheel ; see limb after limb broken until 
 life was extinguished by the final coup de grace. 
 
 As they neared the great open space some cast their 
 eyes up at the lights burning in the Hotel de Ville and 
 muttered to each other, wondering which room the man 
 was in who would be led forth three hours hence ; what he 
 was thinking of ; if he was counting each quarter as it 
 sounded from tower and steeple; if these specula- 
 tions generally by women in the fast-gathering crowd 
 there were any who loved him ? If he had a wife a 
 mother a child ? Any to mourn his loss ? 
 
 " A traitor, they say," some whispered ; " one who 
 joined England against France." " A spy," others mur- 
 mured, "who betrayed Tourville to the brutal islanders. 
 Well, he deserves the dog's death ! Let him endure it." 
 
 The quarters boomed forth again ; at half past twelve 
 the executioner and his assistants arrived in a cart. Or- 
 dinarily they came earlier when they had a scaffold 
 to erect and a block to place upon it. Now, however, 
 there was no block on which the man's head would need
 
 276 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 to be laid to receive the headsman's stroke. Instead, a 
 great cannon wheel was lifted from out the cart, then 
 next a wooden platform was constructed, having in it a 
 socket of raised wood into which the wheel was dropped 
 and firmly fixed by cords, three parts of it towering 
 above that socket. Then a heap of ropes brought forth 
 and flung down beside the wheel they would secure 
 the body tightly enough following the heap two huge 
 iron bars and a heavy iron-bound club. That was all, 
 yet enough to do justice on the traitor. 
 
 "La toilette de la Roue est faite," said one man, a 
 joker; " soon his will be made also. 'Tis well the early 
 mornings are warm now. He will not miss his clothes 
 so much when they strip him to his singlet," and he 
 laughed and grinned like a wolf and turned his eyes on 
 the Hotel de Ville. And still, as the moments and the 
 quarters crept by, they chattered and talked about the 
 coming spectacle, and wondered how the man felt in 
 there who was now so shortly to furnish it. If they could 
 have seen him, have been able to read his thoughts, 
 they would have been little gratified perhaps, indeed, 
 a little dissatisfied for he knew as well as they that 
 his doom was fast approaching, that the clocks were 
 telling of his fast-ebbing hours on earth ; knew, too, 
 that down below the wheel was being prepared, and 
 bore the knowledge calmly and with resignation. 
 
 As they discussed down in the place what he might 
 be doing and speculated on what his feelings were in 
 those last hours, he above, at the iron-barred window 
 of a room to which they had brought him after his sen- 
 tence was pronounced, was gazing down at the crowd 
 gathering to see him die. The feelings on which they 
 speculated so much were scarcely such as would have 
 satisfied them.
 
 THE DAY OF EXECUTION. 277 
 
 "The dawn breaks," he murmured to himself, as, 
 although heavily chained both at the feet and hands, he 
 leaned against the window and gazed far away over the 
 roofs of the houses to, across the Seine, where the mists 
 rose in the fields " is near at hand. Another hour and 
 daylight will have come and then it is ended ! So 
 best ! so best ! " 
 
 He shifted his position a little, still gazing out, how- 
 ever; then continued his meditations: 
 
 " Yes, so best. My last chance, last hope of life was 
 gone when M. de Mortemart trusted me let me ride 
 by his side a free man instead of bound. Then I knew 
 I must go on come on to this. I could have stabbed 
 him to the heart more than once have perhaps evaded 
 even his three men have escaped been free but how ! 
 By treachery unparalleled, by murder and deceit ! And, 
 afterward, a life of reproach and self-contempt. No ! 
 better this better that wheel below than such a free- 
 dom!" 
 
 Looking down now at the crowd, his attention was 
 called to it by a slight stir in its midst; he saw a troop 
 of dragoons ride in to the place and observed them dis- 
 tributing themselves all round it at equal distance under 
 the orders of an officer. Also he saw that a lane was 
 made to the platform where the wheel stood a lane 
 among the people that ended at the platform and began 
 he knew at the door of the Hotel de Ville beneath him, 
 from which he would be led forth. 
 
 " Courage," he whispered to himself, " courage. It 
 will not be long; they say the first blow sometimes 
 brings insensibility, and after that there is no more. 
 Only death death ! Death with my little child's 
 name upon my lips that name the last word I shall 
 ever speak ; my last thoughts a prayer for her."
 
 278 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 Gradually now he let himself sink to the floor, his 
 manacles almost preventing him from doing so, and 
 when in a kneeling position he buried his head in his 
 ironbound hands and prayed long and fervently. 
 
 " God," he murmured, " thou who hast in thy 
 wisdom torn her from me,' keep and guard her ever, I 
 beseech thee, in this my darkest hour; let her never 
 know her father's sorrow, nor share the adversity thou 
 hast thought fit to visit upon him. And, since I may 
 never gaze on her face again, see her whom I have so 
 dearly loved, so mourned for, never hear the tones of 
 her voice, be thou her earthly as her heavenly Father ; 
 sleeping and waking, oh, watch over her still ! " 
 
 Then, because the thoughts of her were more than 
 he could bear, and because he knew that the child whom 
 he had loved so dearly the child whose future life he 
 had once sworn solemnly to her dying mother should 
 be dearer to him than his own would never know his 
 fate nor his regrets, he buried his head once more in 
 those manacled hands and wailed : " My child ! my child ! 
 My little lost child ! Oh, my child ! my child ! 
 
 " If I could only know," he murmured, later, " that 
 you were well, happy feel sure, as that woman told me 
 once herself, and Boussac thought that whoever lias 
 you in his keeping was not cruel to you, my little, 
 helpless child, the end might be easier. If I could only 
 know ! Dorine ! Dorine ! " 
 
 Looking up, as he strove with his two hands, so 
 tightly chained together, to wipe the tears from his eyes, 
 he noticed that the room was lighter now ; the sky was 
 a clear daffodil. Daybreak was coming; the day was at 
 hand his last on earth ! 
 
 And again he whispered : " It is better so. But for 
 her there is naught to hold me to life. Better so.
 
 THE DAY OF EXECUTION. 279 
 
 Now" and as he spoke to himself, across the roofs of 
 the houses the first rays of the summer sun shot up 
 " now be brave. The end is near ; meet it like a man. 
 And remember, her name the last word on your lips 
 the last ere your soul goes to meet its God ! " 
 
 A murmur, a noise from the crowd below waiting 
 for its victim, caused him to look forth again from the 
 window, and to observe that some new officials had ar- 
 rived. A horseman in a rich scarlet coat, over which, 
 however, he wore a riding cloak for the morning was 
 still chilly followed by two others in sober blue coats 
 trimmed with silver lace, was making his way down the 
 lane of people and was being greeted by the crowd. 
 
 Yet, to the doomed man standing by the window, he 
 did not seem to be altogether popular with them, es- 
 pecially when he suddenly halted his horse, and turn- 
 ing round on the vast concourse behind him, said some- 
 thing to them, accompanied with a comprehensive wave 
 of his disengaged hand something that vexed and an- 
 noyed that concourse terribly, he could see, and hear, 
 too a vexation increased when, after the other had 
 spoken a further word to the officer in command of the 
 dragoons, they began to close in from the outside of 
 the place round the assembled mob. 
 
 Then the horseman disappeared from St. Georges's 
 view, evidently having entered the door beneath his 
 window, and again the people murmured and shrieked. 
 
 " Has he given orders to clear them away," he be- 
 gan to speculate, " so that they may not witness my 
 end ? " but his speculation was not concluded. 
 
 On the stone steps outside he could hear the tread of 
 many feet, the clang of spurs and of swords as those 
 who wore them mounted the stairs. 
 
 " They are coming for me," he thought, and again
 
 280 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 he whispered : " The time is at hand. Courage ! Be 
 brave ! " 
 
 The keys turned grating in the locks, a great trans- 
 verse bar outside was moved with a clash, and the door 
 opened, the first person to enter being the newly arrived 
 horseman, followed by the principal official of the Hotel 
 de Ville, and next by some of his subordinate officers, 
 as well as the jailers, one of whom carried in his 
 hands a large iron hammer and the other a great bunch 
 of keys. 
 
 And St. Georges, standing there facing them, looked 
 as brave a gentleman as any who had ever been led to 
 his fate. 
 
 " This is the condemned man ? " the horseman asked 
 of the chief official ; " the man who was sentenced at 
 the cours criminel on Friday last to die this morning?" 
 
 *' It is the man, Monsieur 1'Herault," the official re- 
 plied, his questioner being none other than L'Herault, 
 the head of the police system. 
 
 " Remove his irons." 
 
 At this order the two jailers stepped forward, the 
 one unlocking the fetters that bound St. Georges's 
 hands, the other knocking away with the hammer the 
 iron pegs that ran through the steel ring which held the 
 chains round his ankles. And in less than three mo- 
 ments chains and fetters lay at his feet. 
 
 " Here is the warrant," L'Herault said, handing it 
 to the governor of the H6tel de Ville for such the 
 principal official by his side was " read it aloud to the 
 prisoner," and it was read accordingly. It ran : 
 
 "To M. 1'Herault, superintendent of our police, and 
 to the governor of our H6tel de Ville at Paris : 
 
 " It is our royal will that the prisoner tried at our
 
 THE DAY OF EXECUTION. 281 
 
 cours criminel by M. Barthe de la Eennie, one of our 
 judges, and sentenced to die on tha morning of Mon- 
 day, the 2Gth June of this year 1692, be released and set 
 free unconditionally. And may " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed St. Georges, reeling backward, 
 and speaking in a hoarse whisper " what ! what does 
 this mean ? Who has written that ? " 
 
 "The king," L'Herault answered. Then he said 
 briefly, " You are free." 
 
 "Free! Not to go to to that?" and he pointed 
 below. 
 
 " Not to go to that though 'tis where escaped gale- 
 riens usually go sooner or later. Your time is not yet 
 come, it seems. I know no more, except that at mid- 
 night I was roused from my bed to ride here with this," 
 pointing to the paper in the governor's hand, " and with 
 this," putting another in St. Georges's. " It will," he 
 continued, " bear you harmless in France so long as you 
 offend no more." 
 
 " Sir," St. Georges said, and as he spoke L'Herault 
 looked at him, wondering if in truth this was an inno- 
 cent man before him, " for your errand of mercy I thank 
 you. Yet, believe me or not as you will, I had com- 
 mitted no sin when I went to the galleys." 
 
 Then he read the paper handed to him. It also was 
 brief : 
 
 " The man bearing this is to be held free of arrest on 
 any charge and to be allowed to pass in freedom through 
 all and any of our dominions. His name is Georges St. 
 Georges, and he is branded with the fleur-de-lis and the 
 letter G. Signe, Louis R." 
 
 19
 
 282 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 "What does it mean?" reiterated St. Georges. 
 " Who can have done this ? " 
 
 " It means," said L'Herault, " that you have some 
 powerful interest with his Majesty. Whomsoever you 
 may be, even though you were one of the king's 
 own sons, you must be deemed fortunate. However 
 great your friends may be, your escape is remark- 
 able." 
 
 " Friends ! I have none. I " but the sentence 
 
 was never finished. The excitement of the last hour 
 had overmastered him at last and he sank in a swoon 
 before them. 
 
 When he came to himself the others were gone with 
 the exception of one turnkey, who was kneeling by his 
 side, supporting his head and moistening his lips with 
 brandy. But in the place of those who had departed 
 there was another now, a man at whom St. Georges 
 stared with uncertain eyes as though doubting whether 
 his senses were not still playing him false ; a man also 
 on one knee by his side, clad in the handsome uniform 
 of the Mousquetaires Noirs. 
 
 " Boussac ! " he exclaimed. " Boussac ! Is it in 
 truth you ? " 
 
 " It is I, my friend." 
 
 Then, as St. Georges's senses came fully back to 
 him, he seized the other's hand and murmured : " You ! 
 It is you have done this! Through you that I am 
 saved." 
 
 " You are saved, my friend. That is enough. What 
 matter by whom ? "
 
 "I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER." 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 "I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER." 
 
 ONCE more St. Georges was on the road, head- 
 ing straight for Troyes, and by his side once more 
 rode a friend, as he had ridden over four years ago 
 Boussac ! 
 
 When he had thoroughly recovered from the swoon 
 into which he had fallen on hearing that he was free, 
 he had again and again overwhelmed the mousquetaire 
 with his gratitude all of which the latter had refused 
 to accept, and had, indeed, gently repudiated. Also it 
 seemed to St. Georges that he avoided the subject, or at 
 least said as little as possible. 
 
 " If," he said, when at last they were seated in an 
 inn off the new Rue Richelieu to which he had led 
 St. Georges, " there is anything to which you owe your 
 freedom more than another, it is to the fact that the 
 king must recognise that you are in truth le Due de 
 Vannes, the son of his earliest friend. Yet yet " he 
 continued in an embarrassed manner "he would not 
 even allow that that should influence him when I 
 pleaded for you. 
 
 " But it did it did, Boussac, it did. He must have 
 pondered on it afterward perhaps reflected on how un- 
 justly I had been treated by his vile minister, Louvois 
 you say he died in disgrace ? and that may have nay, 
 must have, turned his heart. Boussac ! how am I 
 ever to repay you ? Without your thought and exer- 
 tions what should I have been now ? " and he shuddered 
 as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh ! la ! la ! " said Boussac, " never mind about
 
 284 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 me. The question is now what do you intend to do in 
 the future?" 
 
 " Do ! " exclaimed St. Georges. " Do ! Why, that 
 which I returned to France to do, fought against France 
 for obtain my child. Boussac, where is that woman 
 now?" 
 
 " Woman ! what woman ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Boussac, do not joke. You know very well 
 to what woman I refer. That young tigress in her 
 way almost as vile as the woman Louvigny ! the woman 
 who stole my child." 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Roquemaure ? " 
 
 " Ay, Mademoiselle de Eoquemaure ! That is the 
 name. Oh Boussac ! you have given me more than my 
 life, far more. The power to wrench my child away 
 from her keeping, to stand before her a freed man, the 
 king's pardon in my hand, and tax her with her treach- 
 ery." 
 
 " You will do that ? " 
 
 " Do it ! What am I going to Troyes for to- 
 night?" 
 
 " Ay, true ! True ! What are you going to Troyes 
 for ? Yet I should have thought, if you recover the 
 child, it is enough. Why say bitter words ? " 
 
 " Boussac, you but, there, you are not a father ; you 
 cannot understand all I have suffered in these four 
 years past. Why ! man, the galleys, my exile, the death 
 that yawned for me this morning, were easier than the 
 loss of my little one. And, with her dying brother's 
 own confession ringing in my ears still, as it will ring 
 when I stand before her to-morrow, as I hope, you ask 
 me what need I have to reproach her to titter bitter 
 words?" 
 
 The mousquetaire shrugged his shoulders; then
 
 "I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER." 285 
 
 he muttered something about the recovery of the 
 child being everything, and that reproaches brought 
 little satisfaction with them; and after that he again 
 asked St. Georges when he meant to set out for 
 Troves ? 
 
 " To-night, I tell you to-night. Yet " and he 
 paused bewildered " I I have no money. Not enough 
 to get me a horse, at least. They have given me back 
 all they took from me after my condemnation, but there 
 were only a few guineas left." 
 
 " Where is the horse you rode to Paris on when De 
 Mortemart brought you ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed St. Georges, " a good horse 
 though, alas ! at a moment when my life was in danger 
 and a horse alone could save me, I I stole it. Oh, if I 
 can but get that again ! " 
 
 " Why not? It is doubtless in the stables behind the 
 cours criminel, where the guard stable theirs." 
 
 It was there ; so that difficulty was soon solved, no 
 objection being offered by the authorities to giving up 
 the. property of a prisoner who was so distinguished as 
 to be acquitted by the king's order an hour before his 
 execution; and then, when St. Georges had recovered it, 
 he announced his intention of at once setting forth. He 
 was impatient to be gone now he was so near; he calcu- 
 lated that by midday on the morrow he would have 
 forced from Aurelie de Rouquemaure a confession of 
 what she had done with Dorine. She was at Troyes he 
 knew; Boussac, who professed himself well acquainted 
 with her movements, having told him that such was the * 
 case. 
 
 " She is much at court now," he said ; " I often see 
 her. And she must be back at Troyes by now I mean 
 that she has been absent from there of late. But
 
 286 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 but she would be back by now she told me she 
 was " 
 
 " What ? " asked St. Georges, looking at him and 
 wondering why he seemed so incoherent about the wom- 
 an's movements ; wondering also how he came to know 
 so much about them, especially her recent ones " what 
 did she tell you when last you saw her?" 
 
 " That she has been paying a visit to to assist 
 a friend but " 
 
 "Her -friendship seems as strong as her hate and 
 greed," muttered St. Georges. 
 
 " But that," Boussac continued, still floundering a 
 good deal in his speech, "she would be at the manoir 
 last night yes, last night." 
 
 "So. Then she will doubtless be there to-morrow 
 also ; she will require rest after rendering her friend so 
 much assistance. I shall find her there." 
 
 " We shall find her there," Boussac answered. " I am 
 going with you." 
 
 " You ! Why ? " Then he laughed for the first time 
 for many a day. *' Do you think I am in danger now, 
 with Louis's protection in my pocket, or," and his brow 
 darkened a little, " do you fear that she is in danger from 
 me?" 
 
 " Mon ami," Boussac replied, " I think neither of 
 those things. The king's permission has made you safe 
 your manhood makes her so. Yet, let me ride with 
 you. Remember" and again he halted in his speech, 
 as though seeking for a suitable reason for accompany- 
 ing him " we rode together when la petite was about 
 to bejost to you; let us do so now when, I hope most 
 fervently, she is about to be restored to you. And, my 
 friend, I have obtained leave we Mousquetaires are 
 always fortunate in getting that. Do not deny me ! "
 
 "I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER." 287 
 
 " Deny you ! you ! The man who saved me ! I 
 am an ingrate even to question you," and he seized 
 the black gantleted hand of the other and wrung it 
 hard. 
 
 After that there was no more to be said or done ere 
 they set out or only one thing. Boussac had men- 
 tioned that he had a friend, a dragoon officer, who was 
 proceeding to La Hogue to join his regiment which was 
 still there under Bellefond's command, and by him St. 
 Georges sent twenty pistoles to be given to Dubois, the 
 man who owned the horse which saved his life. He bor- 
 rowed the money of Boussac, described the inn where he 
 had seized the animal, and then mounted it for the first 
 time with a feeling of satisfaction. " 'Tis a good beast," 
 he said, " and has done me loyal service ; also it has well 
 replaced another good one that on which I rode from 
 Pontarlier to Paris and never saw again. How long ago 
 that seems, Bonssac !" 
 
 " Ay," replied the other, " but it was winter then 
 and the clouds were lowering over your life and her 
 you loved now 'tis summer, and all is well with 
 you." 
 
 " I pray God ! I have suffered my share." 
 
 All through that summer night they rode resting 
 their horses occasionally at country inns, then going on 
 again, though slowly, and at dawn changing them for 
 others and leaving them to rest until they should return 
 that way. And so at last they neared Troyes, passing 
 through the little town of Nogent, and seeing, ten miles 
 off, the spire of the cathedral glistening in the rays of 
 the bright sun. 
 
 " She will not know me," St. Georges had said more 
 than once, as he thought of Dorine. " She was a babe 
 w,hen I lost her, now she is a child possessing speech and
 
 288 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 intelligence. May God grant it is not too late ; that she 
 is not too old yet to learn to love me ! " 
 
 " Courage ! mon ami, courage ! " exclaimed Boussac, 
 repeating a formula he had adopted from the first; " all 
 must be well." 
 
 But it was natural as they approached their desti- 
 nation, the goal from which St. Georges hoped so much, 
 his nervousness increased terribly and he began to spec- 
 ulate as to whether the child might not after all be 
 dead ; if, perhaps, she might not have lain in her little 
 grave for long. "And then how will it be with me, 
 Boussac ? Oh ! if she is dead how shall I reckon with 
 the woman who possessed herself of her ? " 
 
 " Courage ! " again repeated the mousquetaire, " I do 
 not believe she is dead. And if mademoiselle did seize 
 upon her well, she is a woman ! a better nurse than the 
 bishop's servant." 
 
 " Ah ! the bishop's servant ! That too has to be ex- 
 plained. What was he doing with her? I have won- 
 dered all these years De Roquemaure's dying words 
 told nothing. * He had got her safe,' he gasped at the 
 last. But why he ? Why he ! Oh ! shall I ever know 
 all?" 
 
 " Ere long, I hope, my friend," said Boussac, " ere 
 long now." 
 
 As he spoke, they mounted the last hill that guarded 
 the capital of Champagne and approached the summit. 
 When there, they would be able to look down upon the 
 old city nay, more, from there they would scarce be a 
 musket shot from the manoir, surrounded now by its 
 ripening vineyards and its woods. She, the kidnapper 
 of his child, would be in his grasp, must answer his de- 
 mand ! 
 
 Upon the summit of that hill still stood the gibbet
 
 "I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER." 289 
 
 on which the peasant woman's husband had swung, but 
 the body was gone long since, doubtless and the gal- 
 lows tree was bare. " Perhaps," said St. Georges, " the 
 poor thing obtained him decent burial at last. I hope 
 so." Then, seeing a peasant coming along the road, he 
 spoke to him, and asked him what had become of the 
 corpse that hung there four years ago? The fellow 
 looked up at him sullenly enough and stared hard for 
 some moments ; then he said : 
 
 " You are not De Eoquemaure ? " 
 
 " Nay." 
 
 " What affair is it then of yours ? " 
 
 St. Georges explained briefly to him how he had met 
 the dead man's wife and pitied her, and asked where 
 she was. 
 
 " Mad," the man said. " Quite mad. Her brother 
 keeps her." Then he muttered : " A curse on the De 
 Koquemaures, and on him above all ! His father was 
 bad ; he is worse." 
 
 "You need curse him no more," St. Georges an- 
 swered ; " he is dead ! " 
 
 " Dead is he ? Then he was the last ; the woman 
 counts not. Dead ! Oh, that she whom he injured so 
 could understand it ! Dead, thank God ! I would it 
 were so with all aristocrats ! France has suffered long." 
 
 A hundred years almost were to elapse ere the peas- 
 ant's hopes were to be partly realized, and others like 
 the De Roquemaures to meet their reward ; but none 
 foresaw it in those days. Later the clouds gathered, 
 but even then the fury of the coming storm was not 
 perceived. 
 
 " Give her this," said St. Georges, putting some of 
 his few remaining pieces in his hand, he having pro- 
 vided himself with French gold for his English guineas.
 
 290 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 " Or give it to the brother who has charge of her. I, 
 too, have suffered at the hands of the De Koquemaures." 
 
 " And you forgive ? " glancing up from the pistoles 
 in his hand to the dark, stern face above him. " You 
 forgive ? " 
 
 " Not yet ! " 
 
 Then he urged on his horse again, Boussac follow- 
 ing him. 
 
 " But you will, my friend, you will," he said, as they 
 rode down the slope. " In the name of the good God 
 who forgives all, forgive her, I implore you ! " 
 
 " Forgive her ? I will never forgive her ! I have 
 forgiven that other who lies in a thousand pieces at the 
 bottom of the sea, but her reckoning is yet to come. 
 She stole my child from me, she lied to me in Paris, 
 sympathized with me on my loss when, at the time, she 
 knew where that child was ; drove me to draw on Lou- 
 vois, and thereby to my ruin. I will never forgive her ! 
 And if she now refuses to restore the child, then 
 But enough ! Come," and shaking his horse's reins he 
 rode down the vine-clad roads to the front of the 
 manoir. 
 
 It frowned as before on the slope below it, presented 
 on this bright summer morning as grim, impassable a 
 front as on that winter night when first he drew rein 
 outside it ; beyond the huge hatchment now nailed on 
 its front in memory of the late marquise nothing was 
 changed. It looked to St. Georges's eyes a fitting place 
 to enshroud the evil doings of the family he had hated 
 so bitterly, and of the one representative now left whom 
 he hated too. 
 
 Seizing the horn as he had seized it long ago in the 
 murkinesa of that winter night, he blew upon it and 
 then waited to be answered. lie had not long to do so ;
 
 AT LAST. 291 
 
 a moment later the old warder who had once before 
 opened the small door under the tourelle stood before 
 him. 
 
 " Is Mademoiselle de Koquemaure in her house ? " he 
 asked sternly, while Boussac, sitting his horse behind 
 him, uttered no word. 
 
 " She is in her house, monsieur." 
 
 " You know me. I have been here before. Say I 
 have ridden express from Paris to see her and must do 
 so at once." 
 
 " I will say so, monsieur. Be pleased to enter." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 IT seemed almost as if he had been expected from 
 his appearance being received in so matter-of-fact a way. 
 Yet, he reflected, why should it be otherwise? Aurelie 
 de Eoquemaure could scarce know of all that had hap- 
 pened to him of late above all could not be aware that 
 he had become possessed of the information that she 
 was the kidnapper of Dorine. 
 
 He had, however, but little time for reflection since 
 Boussac was by his side, and, when they dismounted 
 from their horses, had followed him into the large 
 sombre hall to which the old servant had led the way. 
 Yet, when the man had gone to seek his mistress, the 
 latter took one more opportunity to plead that he should 
 be gentle with her. 
 
 "Remember," he said, "remember, I beseech you, 
 that you have but her brother's word for what you sus-
 
 292 IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY. 
 
 pect her of ; he was a villain, he might have lied in his 
 last moments for some reason perhaps did not even 
 think those last moments were in truth at hand ; might 
 have hoped to escape after all and profit by the lie. 
 Remember ! Oh, remember ! " 
 
 " I will remember/' St. Georges said. Then, with 
 one glance at Boussac, he added, " But the villain did 
 not lie then ! " 
 
 The domestic came back, and St. Georges learned 
 that the hour for his explanation, long sought and med- 
 itated upon, was at hand. " His mistress would see 
 monsieur," he said. He would conduct him to her. 
 
 In the same room where he had first set eyes on 
 Aurelie de Roquemaure he saw her again the old man 
 ushering him in and then swiftly leaving the room. 
 They were face to face at last ! As it had been before, 
 so it was now her beauty as she rose on his entrance 
 was strikingly apparent, compelled regard. And the 
 four years that had passed since that first meeting had 
 done much to increase, to ripen that beauty ; instead of 
 the budding girl it was a stately woman who now met 
 his eyes. And the contrast between them was great, 
 was all to her advantage so far as exterior matters were 
 concerned : he travel-stained, worn, and with now in his 
 long hair some streaks of gray ; she fresh and beautiful 
 in the long black lace dress she wore, a rose in her 
 bosom, her hair undisguised by any wig and swept back 
 into a huge knot behind. " How beautiful she is ! " he 
 thought, as he gave her one glance, " yet how base and 
 contemptible ! " 
 
 With a swift movement she came toward him from 
 the further end of the room, her hands extended and 
 her eyes sparkling, exclaiming as she advanced : " You 
 are free ! you are free ! " But her greeting met with no
 
 AT LAST. 293 
 
 response from him. Could she have expected it, he 
 wondered ? Then he stepped back and coldly said : 
 
 " Yes, Mademoiselle de Eoquemaure, I am free," 
 while to himself he said : " So she knew that too. That 
 I was trapped ! God ! That womankind can be so 
 base ! " 
 
 Staggered at the coldness of his first words, affronted 
 at his refusal to take her outstretched hands, she drew 
 back and looked at him calmly. Then she said, quietly, 
 " I rejoice to know it," and, pausing, looked at him 
 again. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Eoquemaure," he said, " I have 
 not ridden here from Paris, from a prison which at one 
 time I scarce thought to leave except for the wheel, to 
 interchange idle compliments. I have come here with 
 one set purpose, to learn what you have done with my 
 child the child you stole from the Bishop of Lodeve's 
 servant on the morning that your servant gave that man 
 his death wound." 
 
 His eyes were intent upon her as he spoke, watching 
 her eagerly. Yet, to his surprise, she neither started 
 nor paled at his accusation. Instead, she said quietly : 
 
 "You know that?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " I know it." 
 
 " And your informant was ? " 
 
 "Your brother, or half-brother. With his dying 
 words." 
 
 " He was slain at La Hogue ; ah, yes ! you were 
 there ! I remember. Was it you who slew him ? " 
 
 " No ; but, pardon me, it is not about Monsieur de 
 Roquemaure that I have come here. The De Roque- 
 maures and I have had enough intercourse." And now 
 he saw that he had touched her, since she grew pale as 
 death. " There will be no need of any further when
 
 294 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 once my child is restored to me. Mademoiselle, I have 
 come to demand that child of you. Where is she what 
 have you done with her ? " 
 
 For answer she advanced to a bell rope, and, pulling 
 it, said to the servant when he appeared, " Send Made- 
 moiselle de Vannes to me. " 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Vannes ! ? ' he exclaimed, " Made- 
 moiselle de Vannes ! You call her that you know " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 He raised his hand to his forehead with a gesture of 
 bewilderment, then said, " And you keep her here ? " 
 
 " She is here, monseigneur," as the door opened once 
 more ; " here is your child." 
 
 Even as she spoke a bright-haired child ran into the 
 room and, rushing toward Mademoiselle de Roquemaure, 
 caught her by the hands and buried her face in her 
 dress, while she whispered : 
 
 " Aurelie, dear sister Aurelie, why do you send for 
 me now when I am so hard at work with Pere Antoine ? 
 And who is this stranger? What does he want?" 
 
 "Who is this stranger?" At those words St. 
 Georges's heart gave a throb he said afterward that he 
 thought it would cease to beat and the room swam 
 round with him. He had found the child of many long- 
 ings and he was a stranger! A moment later he heard 
 Aurelie speaking. 
 
 " Dorine, this is no stranger. Give him your hand ; 
 kiss him." 
 
 Reluctantly the child advanced to where he stood, 
 and obeyed her ra so far that she held out her hand ; 
 but, either from coyness or some other cause, she did 
 not offer to lift up her face for him to kiss. And he, 
 standing there, looking down on her, felt as if his heart 
 would break. Then, overcome by all that was struggling
 
 AT LAST. 295 
 
 within his bosom, he dropped upon one knee beside the 
 child and drew her toward him, she seeming terrified at 
 his embrace. 
 
 " Ah, little one ! " he said, " if I tell you how I have 
 longed for this hour, prayed for it to come, surely you 
 will say some word of greeting to me. Dorine, do you 
 not know me? Dorine, Dorine ! " 
 
 For answer, the child, still seeming frightened, drew 
 further away from him and whispered that she did not 
 know him, that she desired to go to Aurelie. 
 
 "You love her?" he whispered, too, for npw his 
 voice seemed to be failing him " you love her ? You 
 are happy with her? I hoped you would have come 
 with me " 
 
 " With you ! " and now the tears stood in the child's 
 eyes as she shrank still further from him " and leave 
 Aurelie?" 
 
 "Why not?" he asked almost fiercely, his despair 
 driving him nearly to distraction. "Why not? Who, 
 is she ? What share has she in you ? You are mine, 
 mine, mine ! child, I am your father ! " And sud- 
 denly overwrought by his emotions, by the broken 
 hopes he had cherished, the vanishing of the future to 
 which he had looked forward, he sprang to his feet and 
 turned to Mademoiselle de Koquemaure. " I see it all," 
 he said; "understand all. Your brother uttered the 
 truth at last. You stole my child because she stood in 
 your way ; you won her love afterward because " 
 
 " Stop ! " exclaimed Aurelie de Koquemaure, and as 
 she spoke she drew herself to her full height and con- 
 fronted him, while the child, trembling by her side, 
 could not understand why her sister had changed so. 
 " Stop and hear the truth since you force me to tell it. 
 I stole your child because in that way alone could her
 
 296 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 life be saved, her safety at least be assured. My brother 
 would God forgive him ! have hidden her away for- 
 ever; even then, as I learned afterward, the bishop's 
 servant had stolen her from the inn in the city and was 
 hastening to meet him. There was no time to lose ; it 
 was that man's life or hers, and and I acted by my 
 mother's orders. Now, Monseigneur le Due " 
 
 But he whom she addressed thus had fallen on his 
 knees before her, had endeavoured to seize her hand, 
 and, failing that, was kissing the hem of her dress. 
 
 " Forgive, forgive, forgive ! " he moaned ; " I have 
 been blind blind ! Let me go in peace and offend no 
 more. She is yours, not mine ; yours by your womanly 
 grace and mercy the love she has to give belongs to 
 you by right of your womanly mercy. Better that I 
 had died in Paris yesterday than live to repay you as I 
 have ! " 
 
 But now to the child's mind there seemed to come 
 some gleam of light as to what was passing between the 
 stranger and her mother ; the words, " Better I had 
 died in Paris," awakened her intelligence. 
 
 " AurSlie," she cried, " was this the gentleman whom 
 you hurried to Paris to save ? " 
 
 " To save ! " St. Georges exclaimed, " to save ! My 
 God ! do I owe my life to you as well ? " 
 
 And Aurelie her eyes cast down, her frame trem- 
 bling from head to foot murmured : " I could not let 
 you die, knowing what I did, knowing the evil the De 
 Roquemaures had wrought you. When Monsieur Bous- 
 sac sent me word you were doomed, I determined to 
 tell the king all." 
 
 So she had saved him ! She, whom for four years 
 he had regarded as a treacherous enemy, had saved not
 
 AT LAST. 297 
 
 only his child but him. And ere the day was over he 
 had learned all that she had done besides. 
 
 She told her tale to St. Georges and to Boussac as 
 they sat in the grounds of the old manoir, and made at 
 last all clear to the former that for so long had been 
 dark and impenetrable. 
 
 " The man who was your worst enemy," she said, 
 " was that vile Bishop of Lodeve ; the next was Louvois 
 for without them my unhappy brother would have 
 known nothing and could have attempted no harm 
 against you. He regarded himself as the heir of the 
 Due de Vannes, and did not know of your existence 
 until Phelypeaux told him of it. And at the same time 
 the bishop said that he had another formidable rival in 
 the Romish Church " 
 
 " The Romish Church ! " 
 
 " Yes, your father had become converted to it and was 
 received into it by Phelypeaux himself, the example of 
 Turenne having much influenced him. At first, on be- 
 ing received, he had, with the fervour of many converts, 
 bequeathed half of his great fortune to that Church, 
 the other half remaining a bequest to his heir my 
 father, and after him my unhappy half-brother. But, 
 ere he set out on the campaign in which both he and 
 Turenne were to lose their lives, he wrote to the bishop 
 and told him that he had a son by an unacknowledged 
 marriage ; that he could not deem it right that he should 
 be deprived of what was properly his, and that he had 
 made a will leaving all his property to him. Then the 
 search for you began, though my brother was not con- 
 cerned in it, being still a child. But the bishop sought 
 high and low, first for proofs of the marriage and next 
 to discover where the duke's son was. And Louvois 
 helped him because he had hated your father, who 
 20
 
 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 despised him, as Turenne and many of the other mar- 
 shals did." 
 
 " But you, mademoiselle," exclaimed St. Georges, 
 "how do you know all this? And did you know it 
 when we first met ? " 
 
 " No," she replied, " but my mother suspected. By 
 this time my brother had heard something from Louvois, 
 who had found out all when the effects of the Due de 
 Vannes, which he had taken with him on his last 
 campaign his private papers and other things were 
 brought back to Paris by the Comte de Lorge, Turenue's 
 nephew; had discovered that the son was named St. 
 Georges, his English mother's name having been St. 
 George, but could not discover where the duke had 
 bestowed him. Nor did he discover it until long after- 
 ward, when, happening to once more refer to the papers 
 brought by the comte, he discovered one he had over- 
 looked addressed to my mother; and he read it and 
 discovered thereby that the officer, who was serving in 
 the Regiment of the Nivernois, under the name of St. 
 Georges, was, in truth, the lawful Due de Vannes. 
 Then in his cold, brutal manner he informed the bishop 
 where the man was who stood in the light of the 
 Church's gains, and alas ! he told that other who ex- 
 pected so much, my unhappy half-brother. Also he 
 told them both that this man was to be transferred to 
 another regiment, and that he would set out from Pon- 
 tarlier on a certain night. They might care to see him, 
 he continued ; therefore he should receive orders to call 
 on the bishop at his family residence in Dijon, where he 
 happened to be then, and on my brother in this house 
 though, not to arouse any suspicions, he was to pre- 
 sent himself as a visitor to my mother. Also he told 
 them that which neither dreamed of until then namely,
 
 AT LAST. 299 
 
 that Monsieur St. Georges was a widower, but had a 
 child whom he would doubtless endeavour to bring with 
 him. You must be able," she concluded, "to under- 
 stand the rest." 
 
 " Ay ! " said the Due de Vannes, " I can understand. 
 Only still, mademoiselle, I cannot conceive how you 
 know all this." 
 
 " Yet the answer is simple. By one of those mar- 
 vellous coincidences which happen as often in our every- 
 day life as in the romances of Mademoiselle de Scudery, 
 or the fables of Monsieur de La Fontaine, my brother 
 had once asked my mother if she had ever heard of you, 
 if your assumed name was known to her ; the bishop 
 supposing that she was greedy as he himself, had sent 
 to warn her that you were on your way to Paris, and 
 that it would be well if she could recognise in you any 
 traces of your father and would send a word to Louvois 
 saying whether she thought you were the man. But he 
 overreached himself," Mademoiselle de Eoquemaure 
 added ; " my mother's sympathies were with the son of 
 him she had once loved so dearly, not with him who 
 was the son of the man she had married. And as for 
 Phelypeaux she despised him ! " 
 
 " Heaven bless her ! " exclaimed the duke. " Yet 
 still I know not how she unravelled all how found out 
 my birthright my mother's name." 
 
 " That, too, is simple. Louvois died suddenly, as 
 you know, in disgrace with the king. Some said by 
 poison administered by himself, some from fear of the 
 king's displeasure. Be that, however, as it may, his 
 son, Barbezieux, was not allowed to touch any of his 
 papers and all were handed to Louis intact. He con- 
 fided them to De Chamlay, who refused Louvois's va- 
 cant post as minister of war but consented to go over
 
 3QO IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 his state affairs, and in those papers he found all ; a 
 copy of your father's letter to the bishop, the letter to 
 my mother which had never been delivered telling her 
 everything and begging her to see you righted his will 
 and his marriage certificate, as well as that of your 
 birth. Monseigneur, I have them upstairs I showed 
 them to the king the night before last they are now at 
 your disposal." 
 
 Boussac had strolled away ere the narrative was done 
 his delicacy prompting him to leave them alone 
 and as she concluded the Duke de Vannes dropped 
 on his knee by her side, and, taking her hand, mur- 
 mured : 
 
 " Forgive, pardon me! Bring yourself to say you 
 forgive the evil I have thought, and let me go. Un- 
 worthy as I am to ask it, yet, if you can, forgive me and 
 never more in this world will I offend your sight. And, 
 for expiation, I give my child to you you who have 
 been so much more to her than I." 
 
 But Aurelie de Roquemaure, bending toward the 
 kneeling man, said : " Nay. Why say that I forgive I, 
 who have naught to pardon ? Only do not go ! Stay, 
 rather, and win the love of the child whom you have 
 loved so much through all your grief, through your long 
 separation." 
 
 CONCLUSION". 
 
 THE Peace of Ryswick brought about many changes 
 in both France and England. It opened each country 
 to the other for a time, though but a short one ! it 
 enabled the refugees of each to return to their own
 
 CONCLUSION. 301 
 
 lauds, and for a few years England and her neighbours 
 were not at open enmity. 
 
 Yet one refugee there was who never returned to 
 France, but who, in the country of his adoption, and 
 with his beautiful wife by his side and at his knee his 
 children, took no part in the strife between the two 
 lands or in their politics. Instead, he dwelt upon the 
 estate he had bought in the heart of Surrey with the 
 money he had realized by the sale of his property in 
 France and there, a prosperous gentleman, passed life 
 easily and well. 
 
 But there was no longer any Due de Vannes in 
 France that old title was never revived after the death 
 of the late owner of it on the plains of Salzbach and 
 in Surrey the handsome grave gentleman, who was 
 known to be a wealthy emigre from across the Chan- 
 nel, was invariably spoken of and addressed as Mr. St. 
 George. 
 
 And he was very happy thus ! happy when he 
 thought of all the dangers he had passed through safely 
 though sometimes in the night his wife would hear 
 him mutter in his sleep, " At dawn, at dawn ! " and know 
 that in his dreams his mind had gone back to that sum- 
 mer morning on the Place de Greve, when, putting out 
 her hand, she would softly wake him; happy, too, 
 in his children in the one whose love had come 
 back to him as he had prayed so long it might ; hap- 
 py in those others whom God had sent him : in the 
 bright, handsome boy who bore his own name ; and in 
 the delicate, beautiful girl who bore her mother's 
 Aurelie. 
 
 And happy beyond all thought and early expectation 
 when she, that mother, was by his side, or when, rising 
 from her place near him, and stroking back the long
 
 302 IN THE DAY OP ADVERSITY. 
 
 hair from his forehead now streaked with silver and 
 kissing him, would murmur : 
 
 " ' If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength 
 is small,"' and then falling on her knees beside him 
 would whisper, " But your strength was great, my love, 
 and in that strength you were able to endure." 
 
 THE END.
 
 APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. 
 
 PUBLISHED SEMIMONTHLY. 
 
 1. The Steel Hammer. By Louis ULBACH. 
 
 2. Eve. A Novel. By 8. BAKING-GOULD. 
 
 3. For Fifteen Years. A Sequel to The Steel Hammer. By Louis ULBACH. 
 
 4. A Counsel of Perfection. A Novel. By LUCAS MALET. 
 
 5. The Deemster. A Romance. By HALL CAINE. 
 
 5k- The Bondman. (New edition.) By HALL CAINE. 
 
 6. A Virginia Inheritance. By EDMUND PENDLETON. 
 
 7. Ninette : An Idyll of Provence. By the author of Vera. 
 
 8. " The Right Honourable..' 1 '' By JUSTIN MCCABTHY and Mrs. CAMPBELL-PEAED. 
 
 9. The Silence of Dean Maitland. By MAXWELL GRAY. 
 
 10. Mrs. Larimer : A Study in Black and White. By LUCAS MALET. 
 
 11. The Elect Lady. By GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 
 12. The Mystery of the " Ocean Star." By W. CLABK RUSSELL. 
 
 13. Aristocracy. A Novel. 
 
 14. A Recoiling Vengeance. By FRANK BABBETT. With Illustrations. 
 
 15. The Secret of Fontaine-la- Oroix. By MARGARET FIELD. 
 
 16. The Master of Rathketty. By HAWLEY SMART. 
 
 17. Donovan : A Modern Englishman. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 18. This Mortal Coil. By GRANT ALLEN. 
 
 19. A Fair Emigrant. By ROSA MULHOLLAND. 
 
 20. The Apostate. By ERNEST DAUDET. 
 
 21. Raleigh WeMgate ; or, Epimenides in Maine. By HELEN KENDKICK JOHNSON. 
 
 22. Arius the Libyan. A Romance of the Primitive Church. 
 
 23. Constance, and Galoot's Rival. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 
 24. We Two. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 25. A Dreamer of Dreams. By the author of Thoth. 
 
 26. The Ladies' Gallery. By JUSTIN MCCARTHY and Mrs. CAMPBELL-PBAED. 
 
 27. The Rej/roach of Annesley. By MAXWELL GBAY. 
 
 28. Near to Happiness. 
 
 29. In the Wire Grass. By Louis PENDLETON. 
 
 30. Lace. A Berlin Romance. By PAUL LINDAU. 
 30$. The Slack Poodle. By F. ANSTEY. 
 
 31. American Coin. A Novel. By the author of Aristocracy. 
 
 32. Won by Waiting. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 33. The Story of Helen Davenant. By VIOLET FANB. 
 
 34. The Light of Her Countenance. By H. H. BOYESEN. 
 
 35. Mistress Beatrice Cope. My M. E. LE CLEBC. 
 86. The Knight-Errant. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 37. In the Golden Days. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 38. Giraldi ; or, The Curse of Love. By Ross GEOBGE BERING. 
 
 39. A Hardy Norseman. By EDNA LYALL. 
 
 40. The Romance of Jenny Harlowe, and Sketches of Maritime Life. By W. 
 
 CLARK RUSSELL. 
 
 41. Passion's Slave. By RICHARD ASHE-KINO. 
 
 42. The Awakening of Mary Femoick. By BEATRICE WHITBY. 
 
 43. Countess Loreley. Translated from the German of RUDOLF MENGEB. 
 
 44. Blind Love. By WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 45. The Dean's Daughter. By SOPHIE F. F. VEITCH. 
 
 46. Countess Irene. A Romance of Austrian Life. By J. FOGEBTY. 
 
 47. Robert Brownings Principal Shorter Poems. 
 
 48. Frozen Hearts. By G. WEBB APPLETON. 
 
 49. Djambek the Georgian. By A. G. VON SUTTNEB. 
 
 50. The Crazeof Christian Engelhart. By HENBY FAULKNEB DARNELL. 
 
 51. Lai. By WILLIAM A. HAMMOND, M. D. 
 
 52. Aline. A Novel. By HENRY GREVILLE. 
 
 53. Joost Avelingh. A Dutch Story. By MAABTEN MAABTENS. 
 
 54. Katy of Catoctin. By GEORGE ALPRED TOWNSEND. 
 
 55. Throckmorton. A Novel. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEA WELL. 
 
 56. Expatriation. By the author of Aristocracy. 
 
 57. Geoffrey Hampstead. By T. S. JABVIS.
 
 APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. (Continued.) 
 
 68. Dmitri. A Romance of Old Russia. By F. W. Bain, M. A. 
 69 fart of the Property. By BEATRICE WHITBY. 
 
 60. Bismarck in Private Life. By a Fellow-Student. 
 
 61. In Low Relief. By MORLEY ROBERTS. 
 
 62. The Canadian* of Old. A Historical Romance. By PHILIPPE GASPB. 
 
 63. A Squire of Low Degree. By LELT A. LONG. 
 
 64. A Fluttered Dovecote. By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. 
 
 66. The A'ugents of Carriconna. An Irish Story. By TIOHE HOPKINS. 
 
 66. A Sensitive Plant. By E. and D. GERARD. 
 
 67. Dona Lvz. By JUAN VALERA. Translated by Mrs. MART J. SERRANO. 
 
 68. PepUa Xunenez. By JUAN VALERA. Translated by Mrs. MARY J. SERRANO. 
 
 69. The Primes and th*ir Neighbors. By RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON. 
 
 70. The Iron Game. By HENRY F. KEENAN. 
 
 71. Stories of Old New Spain. By THOMAS A. JANVIER. 
 
 72. The Maid of Honor. By Hon. LEWIS WINGFIELD. 
 
 78. In the Heart of the Storm. By MAXWELL GBAT. 
 74 Consequence*. By EGERTON CASTLE. 
 
 75. The Three Miss Kings. By ADA CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 76. A Matter of Skill. By BEATRICE WHITBY. 
 
 77. Maid Marian, and Other Stories. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL. 
 7H. One Woman's Way. By EDMUND PENDLETON. 
 
 79. A Merciful Divorce. By F. W. MAUDE. 
 
 80. Stephen EUicott's Daughter. By Mrs. J. H. NEEDELL. 
 
 81. One Beaton Why. By BEATRICE WHITBY. 
 
 82. The Tragedy of Ida AoW. By W. CLARK RUPSELL. 
 
 83. The Johnstown Stage, and other Stories. By ROBERT H. FLETCHER. 
 
 84. A Widower Indeed. By RHODA BROUOHTON and ELIZABETH BISLAND. 
 86. The Flight of a Shadow. By GEORGE MA&DONALD. 
 
 86. Love or Money. By KATHARINE LEE. 
 
 87. Not All in Vain. By ADA CAMBBIDGK. 
 
 88. It Happened Yesterday. By FREDERICK MABSHALL. 
 
 89. My. Guardian. By ADA CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 90. The Story of Philip JMhuen. By Mrs. J. H. NEEDELL. 
 
 91. Amethyst : The Story of a Beauty. By CHBISTABEL R. COLERIDGE. 
 
 92. Don Braulio. By JUAN VALERA. Translated by CLARA BELL. 
 
 98. The Chronicles of Mr. BUI Williams. By RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON. 
 
 94. A Queen of Curds and Cream. By DOROTHEA GERARD. 
 
 95. " La Bella " and Others. By EGERTON CASTLE. 
 
 96. " December Hoses." By Mrs. CAMPBELL- PRAED. 
 
 97. Jean de Kerdren. By JEANNE SCHULTZ. 
 
 88. Etelka's Vow. By DOROTHEA GERARD. 
 
 89. Cross Currents. By MARY A. DICKENS. 
 
 100. His Life's Magnet. By THEODORA ELMPLTE. 
 
 101. Passing the Lme of Women. By Mrs. J. H. NIEDELL. 
 
 102. In Old St. Stephen's. By JEANIE DBAKE. 
 
 108. The Berkeley s and their Neighbors. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEA WELL. 
 
 104. Mona Maclean, Medical Student. By GRAHAM TRAVBBS. 
 
 105. Mrs. Bligh. By RHODA BROUGHTON. 
 
 106. A Stumble on the Threshold. By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 107. Hanging Mots. By PAUL LIWDAU. 
 
 108. A Comedy of Elopement. By CHRISTIAN REID. 
 
 109. In the Suntlme of her Youth. By BEATRICE WHITBY. 
 
 110. Stories in Black and White. By THOMAS HARDY and Others, 
 110J. An Englishman in Paris. Notes and Recollections. 
 
 111. Commander Mendoea. By JUAN VALERA. 
 
 112. Dr. PaulTs Theory. By Mrs. A. M. DIEHL. 
 
 113. Children of Destiny. By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL. 
 
 114. A Little Minx. By ADA CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 115. Capt'n Davy's Honeymoon. By HALL CAINE. 
 
 116. The Voice of a Flower. By E. GERARD. 
 
 1 17. Singularly Deluded. By SARAH GBAND. 
 
 118. Suspected. By LOUISA STRATENUS. 
 
 119. Lucia, Hugh, and Another. By Mrs. J. H. NEEDKLL. 
 
 120. The Tutors Secret. By VICTOB CHERBULIEZ.
 
 APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. (Continued.) 
 
 121. From the Five Rivers. By Mrs. F. A. STEEL. 
 
 123. An Innocent Impostor, and Other Stories. By MAXWELL GRAY. 
 
 123. Ideala. By SARAH GRAND. 
 
 124. A Comedy ot Masks. By ERNEST DOWBON and ABTHUB MOOBB. 
 
 125. Relics. By FRANCES MicNAB. 
 
 126. Dodo : A Detail of the Day. By E. F. BENSON. 
 
 127. A Woman of Forty. By KSME STUART. 
 
 128. Diana Tempest. By MABT CHOLMONDELEY. 
 
 129. The Recipe for Diamonds. By C. J. CUTCLIFFE HTNB. 
 
 130. Christina Chard. By Mrs. CAMPBELL-PBAED. 
 
 131. A Gray Eye or So. By FBANK FBANKFORT MOOBK. 
 
 132. Earlscourt. By ALEXANDEB ALLABDYCB. 
 
 133. A Marriage Ceremony. By ADA CAMBBIDOB. 
 
 134. A Ward in Chancery. By Mre. ALEXANDEB. 
 
 135. Lot IS. By DOROTHEA GEBABD. 
 
 136. Our Manifold Nature. By SABAH GRAND. 
 
 137. A Costly Freak. By MAXWELL GBAT. 
 
 138. A Beginner. By EHODA BBOUGHTON. 
 
 139. A Yellow Aster. By Mrs. MANNINGTON CAFFYN (" IOTA"). 
 
 140. The Rubicon. By E. F. BENSON. 
 
 141. The Trespasser. By GILBEBT PARKER. 
 
 142. The Rich Miss Riddell. By DOROTHEA GEKARD. 
 
 143. Mary Fenwick's Daughter. By LEATBICE WHITBY. 
 
 144. Red Diamonds. By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. 
 
 145. A Daughter of Music. By G. COLMORE. 
 
 146. Outlaw and Lawmaker. By Mre. CAMPBELL-PRAED. 
 
 147. Dr. Janet of Barley Street. By ARABELLA KENEALT. 
 
 148. George Mandeville's Husband. By C. E. RALHOND. 
 
 149. Vashti and Esther. 
 
 150. Timor's Two Worlds. By M. JOKAI. 
 
 151. A Victim of Good Luck. By W. E. NORRIS. 
 
 152. The Trail of the Sword. By GILBERT PARKER. 
 
 153. A Mild Barbarian. By EDGAR FAWCETT. 
 
 154. The God in the Car. By ANTHONY HOPE. 
 
 155. Children of Circumstance. By Mre. M. CAFFYN. 
 
 156. At the Gate of Samaria. By WILLIAM J. LOCKE. 
 
 157. The Justification of Andrew Lebrun. By FBANK BARRETT. 
 
 158. Dust and Laurels. By MARY L. PENDERED. 
 
 159. The Good Ship Mohock. By W. CLABK RUSSELL. 
 
 160. Noemi. By 8. BABING-GOULD. 
 
 161. The Honour of Savetti. By 8. LEVETT YEATS. 
 
 162. Kitty's Engagement. By FLORENCE WABDEN. 
 
 163. The Mermaid. By L. DOUGALL. 
 
 164. An Arranged Marriage. By DOBOTHEA GEBABD. 
 
 165. Eve's Ransom. By GEORGB GISSINS. 
 
 166. The Marriage of Esther. By GUY BOOTHBY. 
 
 167. Fidelis. By ADA CAMBBIDGE. 
 
 168. Into the Highways and Hedges. By F. F. MONTEESOB. 
 
 169. The Vengeance of James Vansittart. By Mrs. J. H. NEEDELL. 
 
 170. A Study in Prejudices. By GEORGE PASTON. 
 
 171. The Mistress of Quest. By ADELINE SEBGEANT. 
 
 172. In the Year of Jubilee. By GEORGE GISSING. 
 
 173. In Old New England. By HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH. 
 
 174. Mrs. Musgrave and Her Husband. By R. MARSH. 
 
 175. Not Counting the Cost. By TASMA. 
 
 176. Out of Due Season. By ADELINE SERGEANT. 
 
 177. Scylla or Charybdis ? By RHODA BROUGHTON. 
 
 178. In Defiance of the King. By C. C. HOTCHKISS. 
 
 179. A Bid for Fortune. By GUY BOOTHBY. 
 
 180. The King of Andaman. By J. MACLABEN COBBAN. 
 
 181. Mrs. Tregaskiss. By Mrs. CAMPBELL-PBAED. 
 
 182. The Desire of the Moth. By CAPEL VANE. 
 
 183. A Self-Denying Ordinance. By M. HAMILTON. 
 
 184. Successors to the Title. By Mrs. L. B. WALFORD.
 
 APPLETONS' TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. -(Continued.) 
 
 185. The Lott Stradivariiu. By T. MKADE FALKNEB. 
 
 186. The Wrong Man. By DOROTHEA GERARD. 
 
 187. In the Day oj' Adversity. By J. BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. 
 
 Each, 12mo, paper cover, 50 cents | cloth, $1,00. 
 
 GEORG EBERS'S ROMANCES. 
 
 Each, 16 mo, paper, 4O cents per volume ; cloth, 75 crnts. 
 Bet3 of 24 volumet, cloth, in box, flS.OO. 
 
 In the Blue Pike. A Romance of German Life in the early Sixteenth Century. 
 Translated by MART J. SAFFORD. 1 volume. 
 
 In the Fire of the Forgre. A Romance of Old Nuremberg. Translated by 
 
 MART J. S AFFORD. 2 volumes. 
 
 Cleopatra. Translated by MARY J. SAJTORD. 2 volumes. 
 A Thorny Path. (PERASPERA.) Translated by CLABA BELL. 2 volumes. 
 An Egyptian Princess. Translated by ELEANOR GROVE. 2 volumes. 
 "Uarda. Translated by CLARA BELL. 2 volumes. 
 Homo Sum. Translated by CLARA BELL. 1 volume. 
 The Sisters. Translated by CLARA BELL. 1 volume. 
 A Question. Translated by MART J. SATFORD. 1 volume. 
 The Emperor. Translated by CLARA BELL. 2 volumes. 
 The Burgomaster's Wife. Translated by MART J. SAJTORD. 1 volume. 
 A Word, only a Word. Translated by MART J. SAFFORD. 1 volume. 
 Serapis. Translated by CLARA BELL. 1 volume. 
 The Bride of the Nile. Translated by CLARA BELL. 2 volumes. 
 Margery. (GBED.) Translated by CLARA BELL. 2 volumes. 
 Joshua. Translated by MART J. SATFORD. 1 volume. 
 
 The Elixir, and Other Tales. Translated by Mrs. EDWARD H. BELL. 
 With Portrait of the Author. 1 volume. 
 
 " Dr. Ebere's romances founded on ancient history are hardly equaled by any 
 other living author. ... He makes the men arid women and the scenes move 
 before the reader with living reality. "Boston JUome Journal. 
 
 " Georg Ebers writes stories of ancient times with the conscientiousness of a 
 true investigator. His tales are so carefully told that large portions of them 
 might be clipped or quoted by editors of guide-books and authors of histories in- 
 tended to be popular." New York Herald. 
 
 For tale by all booksellers ; or tent by mall on receipt of price by the publishers. 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 TWO REMARKABLE AMERICAN NOVELS. ( 
 
 RED BADGE OF COURAGE. An Epi- 
 sode of 'the American Civil War. By STEPHEN CRANE. i2mo. 
 Cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " Mr. Stephen Crane is a great artist, with something new to say, and conse- 
 quently with a new way of saying it. . . . In ' The Red Badge of Courage ' Mr. 
 Crane has surely contrived a masterpiece. . . . He has painted a picture that chal- 
 lenges comparisons with the most vivid scenes of Tolstoy's ' La Guerre et la Paix' or 
 of Zola's ' La Debacle.' " London New Review. 
 
 " In its whole range of literature we can call to mind nothing so searching in its 
 analysis, so manifestly impressed with the stamp of truth, as 'The Red Badge of 
 Courage." ... A remarkable study of the average mind under stress of battle. . . . 
 We repeat, a really fine achievement." London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 "Not merely a remarkable book ; it is a revelation. . . . One feels that, with per- 
 haps one or two exceptions, all previous descnptions of modern warfare have been the 
 merest abstractions." St. James Gazette. 
 
 "Holds one irrevocably. There is no possibility of resistance when once you are 
 in its grip, from the first of the march of the troops to the closing scenes. . . . Mr. 
 Crane, we repeat, has written a remarkable book. His insight and his power of realiza- 
 tion amount to genius." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 "There is nothing in American fiction to compare with it in the vivid, uncom- 
 promising, almost aggressive vigor with which it depicts the strangely mingled condi- 
 tions that go to make up what men call war. . . . Mr. Crane has added to American 
 literature something that has never been done before, and that is, in its own peculiar 
 way, inimitable." Boston Beacon. 
 
 " Never before have we had the seamy side of glorious war so well depicted. . . . 
 The action of the story throughout is splendid, and all aglow with color, movement, 
 and vim. The style is as keen and bright as a sword blade, and a Kipling has done 
 nothing better in this line." Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 I 
 
 N DEFIANCE OF THE KING. A Romance of 
 the American Re-volution. By CHAUNCEY C. HOTCHKISS. 
 I2mo. Paper, 50 cents ; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 " The whole story is so completely absorbing that you will sit far into the night to 
 finish it. You lay it aside with the feeling that you have seen a gloriously true picture 
 of the Revolution." Boston Herald. 
 
 " The story is a strong one a thrilling one. It causes the true American to flush 
 with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter until the eyes smart ; and it fairly 
 smokes with patriotism." New York Mail and. Express. 
 
 " The heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking part in the scenes.described. 
 . . . Altogether the book is an addition to American literature." Chicago Evening 
 Post. 
 
 "One of the most readable novels of the year. ... As a love romance it is charm- 
 ing, while it is filled with thrilling adventure and deeds of patriotic daring." Boston 
 Advertiser. 
 
 " This romance seems to come the nearest to a satisfactory treatment in fiction of 
 the Revolutionary period that we have yet had." Buffalo Courier. 
 
 " A clean, wholesome story, full of romance and interesting adventure. . . . Holds 
 the interest alike by the thread of the story and by the incidents. . . . A remarkably 
 well-balanced and absorbing novel." Mil-waitkee Journal. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 T 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HE ONE WHO LOOKED ON. By F. F. MON- 
 TRESOR, author of " Into the Highways and Hedges." i6mo. 
 Cloth, special binding, $1.25. 
 
 " The story runs on as smoothly as a brook through lowlands ; it excites your in- 
 terest at the beginning and keeps it to the end." A'tw York Herald. 
 
 "An exquisite story. . . . No person sensitive to the influence of what makes for the 
 true, the lovely, aud the strong in human friendship and the real in life's work can read 
 this book without being benefited by it." Buffalo Commercial. 
 
 " The book has universal interest and very unusual merit . . . Aside from its 
 subtle poetic charm, the book U a noble example of the power of keen observation." 
 Botto* Htraid. 
 
 CORRUPTION. By PERCY WHITE, author of " Mr. 
 ^ Bailey-Martin," etc. I2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " There is intrigue enough in it for those who love a story of the ordinary kind, and 
 the political pan is perhaps more attractive in its sparkle and variety of incident than 
 the real tiling itself. London Daily News. 
 
 " A drama of biting intensity, a tragedy of inflexible purpose and relentless result." 
 Pail Mail Gazette. 
 
 A 
 
 HARD WOMAN. A Story in Scenes. By VIOLET 
 HUNT. i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 "An extremely clever work. Miss Hunt probably writes dialogue better than any 
 of our young novelists. . . . Not only are her conversations wonderfully vivacious and 
 sustained, but she contrives to assign to each of her characters a distinct mode of 
 speech, so that the reader easily identifies them, and can follow the conversations without 
 the slightest difficulty." London Athentrum. 
 
 "One of the best writers of dialogue of our immediate day. The conversations in 
 this book will enhance her already secure reputation." London Daily Chronicle. 
 
 " A creation that does Miss Hunt infinite credit, and places her in the front rank of 
 the vounper novelists. . . . Brilliantly drawn, quivering with life, adroit, quiet-witted, 
 unfalteringly insolent, and withal strangely magnetic." London Standard. 
 
 /IN IMAGINATIVE MAN. By ROBERT S. 
 ** HICHENS, author of " The Green Carnation." I2mo. Clolh, 
 
 $1.25. 
 
 " One of the brightest books of the year." Boston Budget. 
 " Altogether delightful, fascinating, unusual." Cleveland Amusement Gazette. 
 
 " A study in character. . . . Just as entertaining as though it were the conven- 
 tional story of love and marriage. The clever hand of the author of ' The Green 
 Carnation is easily detected in the caustic wit and pointed epigram." Jeannette L. 
 Gilder, in tht New York World. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 T 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HE CHRONICLES OF COUNT ANTONIO. 
 By ANTHONY HOPE, author of " The Prisoner of Zenda," 
 "The God in the Car," etc. With a photogravure Frontis- 
 piece by S. W. Van SCHAICK. I2mo. With special binding. 
 $1.50. 
 
 "The Prisoner of Zenda" proved Mr. Hope's power as the author of a 
 fighting romance, and his pen again becomes a sword in this picturesque 
 and thrilling story of a mediaeval Italian paladin, whose character will 
 recall the Chevalier Bayard to the reader who breathlessly follows him 
 through adventures and dangers that fall thick and fast. 
 
 "Mr. Anthony Hope is a striking exemplification of the fact that the 
 talent and quality that are within a man will force themselves out, no mat- 
 ter how circumstances may combine and conspire to keep them under. 
 This quiet, unassuming, low-voiced man, who, with a life of almost mechan- 
 ical regularity, writes amid uninspiring surroundings, who has experienced 
 neither the stress nor the stir of the world, but has rather progressed under 
 quelling influences, is Anthony Hope. Anthony Hope, who from his imagi- 
 nation draws adventure of a keenest Sturm und Drang, and reticent him- 
 self, has put into the mouths of a legion of spiritual children of his own, 
 let loose over English-speaking lands, the wit and verve and brilliance of 
 conversation which, in society, we listen for in vain, and can only hear in 
 faintest echo from the few stages for which the acknowledged masters 
 write a sparkling company of talkers, who with their pleasant and inspir- 
 ing sayings have belied those who have sung cynical requiem over the art 
 which chiefly charms this poor life of ours and is its greatest happiness, the 
 art of conversation. And it is from a house at the bottom of a gloomy 
 London cul-de-sac, under the gray mist of the Thames, and in an atmos- 
 phere of headache and ennui, that this sparkle which has overflowed the 
 English-speaking world goes forth." R. H. Sherard, in The Idler. 
 
 " Mr. Hope has been rapidly recognized by critics and by the general 
 public as the cleverest and most entertaining of our latest- born novelists." 
 St. James's Gazette. 
 
 "All his work impresses with qualities to mark a rarely cultivated mind 
 and art." Boston Globe. 
 
 " Mr. Hope is a master at the work. His construction is in every way 
 admirable. He lays an excellent foundation in the choice of his other 
 characters, and then he marshals his incidents with consummate art." 
 Milwaukee Journal. 
 
 " It is a great achievement nowadays to be entertaining, and that Mr. 
 Hope is, in his lively, fantastic, dramatic, impossible little stories." Chicago 
 Journal. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 S. R. CROCKETT'S LATEST BOOKS. 
 
 UNIFORM EDITION. EACH, I2MO. CLOTH, $1.50. 
 
 r>OG-MYRTLE AND PEAT. 
 
 " Here are idyls, epics, dramas of human life, written in words that thrill and 
 burn. . . . Each is a poem that has an immortal flavor. They are fragments of the 
 author's early dreams, too bright, too gorgeous, too full of the blood of rubies and the 
 life of diamonds to be caught and held palpitating in expression's grasp." Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 "Contains some of the most dramatic pieces Mr. Crockett has yet written, and in 
 these picturesque sketches he is altogether delightful. . . . 1 he volume is well worth 
 reading all of it." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " Hardly a sketch among them all that will not afford pleasure to the reader for its 
 genial humor, artistic local coloring, and admirable portrayal of character." Boston 
 Home Journal, 
 
 "One dips into the book anywhere and reads on and on, fascinated by the writer's 
 charm of manner." Minneapolis Tribune. 
 
 " These stories are lively and vigorous, and have many touches of human nature 
 in them such touches as we are used to from having read ' The Stickit Minister ' and 
 ' The Lilac Sunbonnet.' " Neva Haven Register. 
 
 "' Bos-Myrtle and Peat" contains stories which could only have been written by a 
 man of genius." London Chronicle. 
 
 T 
 
 HE LILAC SUNBONNET. A Lave Story. 
 
 "A love story pure and simile, one of the old-fashioned, wholesome, sunshiny 
 kind, with a pure-minded, sound-hearted hero, and a heroine who is merely a good and 
 beautiful woman ; and if any other love story half so sweet has been written this year, 
 it has escaped our notice." Neva York Times. 
 
 " A solid novel with an old-time flavor, as refreshing when compared to the average 
 modern story as is a whiff of air from the hills to one just come from a hothouse." 
 Boston Beacon. 
 
 " The general conception of the story, the motive of which is the growth of love be- 
 tween the young chief and heroine, is delineated with a sweetness and a freshness, a 
 naturalness and a certainty, which places 'The Lilac Sunbonnet' among the best 
 stories of the time. " Neva York Mail and Express. 
 
 " In its own line this little love story can hardly be excelled. It is a pastoral, an 
 idyl the story of love and courtship and marriage of a fine young man and a lovely 
 girl no more. But it is told in so thoroughly delightful a manner, with such playful 
 humor, such delicate fjncy, such true and sympathetic feeling, that nothing more 
 could be desired." Boston Traveller. 
 
 " A charming love story, redolent of the banks and braes and lochs and pines, 
 healthy to the core, the love that God made for man and woman's first glimpse of para- 
 dise, and a constant reminder of it." San Francisco Call. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BY A. CONAN DOYLE. 
 
 H^HE EXPLOITS OF BRIGADIER GERARD. 
 
 -*- A Romance of the Life of a Typical Napoleonic Soldier. Illus- 
 trated. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 There is a flavor of Dumas's Musketeers in the life of the redoubtable Brigadier 
 Gerard, atypical Napoleonic soldier, more fortunate than many of his compeers because 
 some of his Homeric exploits were accomplished under the personal observation of the 
 Emperor. His delightfully romantic career included an oddly characteristic glimpse 
 of England, and his adventures ranged from the battlefield to secret service. In pic- 
 turing the experiences of his fearless, hard-fighting and hard-drinking hero, the author 
 of "The White Company" has given us a book which absorbs the interest and 
 quickens the pulse of every reader. 
 
 STARK MUNRO LETTERS. Being a 
 Series of Twelve Letters written by STARK MUNRO, M. B., 
 to his friend and former fellow-student, Herbert Swanborough, 
 of Lowell, Massachusetts, during the years 1881-1884. Illus- 
 trated. I2mo. Buckram, $1.50. 
 
 " Cullingworth, ... a much more interesting creation than Sherlock Holmes, 
 and 1 pray Dr. Doyle to give us more of him." Richard le Gallienne, in the Lon- 
 don Star. 
 
 " Every one who wants a hearty laugh must make acquaintance with Dr. James 
 Culiingworth. " Westminster Gazette. 
 
 " Every one must read ; for not to know Cullingworth should surely argue one's 
 self to be unknown." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " One of the freshest figures to be met with in any recent fiction." London Daily 
 News, 
 
 " ' The Stark Munro Letters ' is a bit of real literature. . . . Its reading will be an 
 epoch-making event in many a life." Philadelphia livening Telegraph. 
 
 "Positively magnetic, and written with that combined force and grace for which the 
 author's style is known." Boston Budget. 
 
 SEVENTH EDITION. 
 
 DOUND THE RED LAMP. Being Facts and 
 * *- Fancies of Medical Life. I2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 
 
 "Too much can not be said in praise of these strong productions, that, to read, 
 keep one's heart leaping to the throat and the mind in a tumult of anticipation to the 
 end. . . . No series of short stories in modern literature can approach them." Hart- 
 ford Times. 
 
 " If Mr. A. Conan Doyle had not already placed himself in the front rank of living 
 English writers by ' The Refugees," and other of his larger stories, he would surely do 
 so by these fifteen short tales." New York Mail and Express. 
 
 " A strikingly realistic and decidedly original contribution to modern literature." 
 Boston Saturday Evening- Gazette. . 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 D. APPLETON & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 TONEPASTURES. By ELEANOR STUART. i6mo. 
 Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 me 
 
 J* 
 
 dan 
 
 >^ g**> 
 
 This graphic picture of quaint characters belongs to the class of specialized 
 American fiction which has been headed by the work of Miss VVilkins, Mr. 
 Cable, Colonel Johnston, Mr. Garland, and others. The author has studied 
 the peculiar and almost unknown life of the laborers in a Pennsylvania min- 
 and manufacturing town with a keenness of observation and an abun- 
 t sense of humor which will give her book a permanent place among the 
 genre studies of American life. 
 
 (COURTSHIP BY COMMAND. By M. M. BLAKE. 
 V-x i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 An interesting historical romance presenting Napoleon in a new light. 
 
 T 
 
 HE WATTER'S MOU'. By BRAM STOKER. 
 l6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 "Told with directness and power, and is an exceptionally strong piece of work." 
 Boston "Journal. 
 
 " Here is a tale to stir the most sluggish nature. ... It is like standing on the deck 
 ofa wave-tossed ship; you feel the soul of the storm go into your blood." N. Y. Homt 
 Journal. 
 
 " The characters are strongly drawn, the descriptions are intensely dramatic, and 
 the situations are portrayed with rare vividness of language. It is a thrilling story, 
 told with great power." Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " A very thrilling smuggling tale. . . . There is enough of stirring incident crowded 
 into it to make a much larger volume. . . . Pervaded by a good salty breeze that is 
 refreshing. " Ckuago Evening Post, 
 
 'ASTER AND MAN. By Count LEO TOLSTOY. 
 With an Introduction by W. D. HOVVELLS. i6mo. Cloth, 75 
 cents. 
 
 " Crowded with these characteristic touches which mark his literary work." Public 
 Opinion. 
 
 " From the^very start the reader feels that it is from a master's pen." Boston 
 Times. 
 
 " Reveals a wonderful knowledge of the workings of the human mind, and it tells a 
 tale (hat not only stirs the emotions, but gives us a better in&ight into our own hearts." 
 San Francisco A rgonaut. 
 
 M 
 
 ZEIT-GEIST. By L. DOUGALL, author of 
 " The Mermaid," " Beggars All," etc. i6mo. Cloth, 75 cents. 
 
 " It is impossible for one to read it without feeling better for having done so with- 
 out having a desire to aid his fellow-men." New York Times. 
 
 "One of the best of the short stories of the day." Boston Journal. 
 
 " One of the most remarkable novels of the year." New York Commercial 
 Advertiser. 
 
 "Powerful in conception, treatment, and influence." Boston Globe. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 72 Fifth Avenue.
 
 111 inn inn in |] in [| Jim in 1 1 mi mi 
 
 A 000 040 520 9