Southern Branch 
 of the 
 
 University of California 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 Form L 1
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below 
 
 Form L-9-15rn-8,'24 

 
 BOURBON LILIES 
 
 A STORY OF ARTIST LIFE. 
 
 BY 
 
 LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY. 
 
 NEW YORK : 
 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY, 
 
 14 AND 1 6 VESEY STREET.
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1878, BY 
 LOCKWOOD, BROOKS AND COMPANY. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1883, BY 
 JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY. 
 
 120
 
 p ^ 
 
 ^ 3 i -z* s c 
 
 C35 
 irffltHORMAL SCHOOL, 
 
 Lo Angeles, Cal. 
 
 BOUBBON LILIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHUMS. 
 
 .... A steady hand 
 To hold, a steadfast heart to trust withal ; 
 Merely a man that loves you, and will stand 
 By you, whate'er befall. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 ""pOURRIEZ-VOUS, monsieur, m'indicjuer 
 
 un h6tel, ou des chambres a louer ? 
 The speaker was a gentleman almost 
 faultless in dress, but with a pleasant exp 
 on his clearly-cut, aristocratic features, 
 not look Frenchy, though he spoke without 
 and Vandyke Brown familiarly called V< 
 nevermore to be mentioned by his full n 
 these pages felt in some unreasoning wa^ 
 he was a foreigner like himself While arriving 
 at this conclusion, he mentally envied the stranger 
 his proficiency in French. It was only a year
 
 10 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 since Van had left America ; he had just returned 
 to Ecouen, near Paris, from a winter in Rome, 
 and French, which he had not acquired before 
 leaving France, seemed doubly difficult now. In 
 his blundering, good-natured way he stammered, 
 in a mixture of the two languages, while he 
 fumbled for his pocket phrase-book, which he had 
 unfortunately left at his studio, that he hardly 
 understood French, and spoke it, if possible, more 
 poorly, but if the gentleman would try him on 
 Italian, he thought he should be able to reply. 
 
 *'Non parlo Italiano, aber wenn Sie Deutsch 
 sprechen ? " 
 
 Van shook his head hopelessly, and his cosmo- 
 politan questioner next addressed him in a, to 
 Van, utterly incomprehensible language, which 
 he fancied Portuguese, if indeed it were not 
 Arabic, or perhaps it might be modern Greek. 
 It turned out to be Russian, and the gentleman's 
 native tongue ; but poor Van would probably 
 never have known this if the next attempt at 
 conversation had not been couched in perfect 
 English. 
 
 " Come to my arms ! " exclaimed the young 
 American. " I beg your pardon, sir, but my delight 
 at finding some one who can speak English and 
 French must have got the better of my reason.
 
 CHUMS. 1 1 
 
 You are the very individual I have been looking 
 for, some one to share my studio and apartments. 
 Don't talk to me about hotels or rooms, but 
 come right down to my den ; it isn't sumptuous, 
 but it 's better than anything you can find in the 
 village, and you are welcome to stay as long as 
 you wish." 
 
 " You are very hospitable," replied the other, 
 " and hoping that you may not have cause to 
 repent your kind offer, I hereby accept it, pro- 
 vided you allow me to share in the disagreeables 
 as well as the agreeables. I have an idea thafwe 
 shall get on very well together, for I am an artiot, 
 as I see you, are, and " 
 
 " How in the world " began Van. 
 
 " Oh ! you have the genuine artistic look, uid 
 besides, none but artists ever come to Ecouen, I 
 fancy." 
 
 "You have been here before, then?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I have scarcely ever heard of 
 the place, though I have spent half my life in 
 Paris and devoted my summers to its environs. 
 Strange, wherever I have been I have met com- 
 patriots of yours. Perhaps it was because the 
 manufactory of Sevres and the palaces of St. 
 Cloud and Versailles attracted them, for the 
 season I spent on the heights of Meudon, I met
 
 12 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 more tourists than ever before in my life. I ran 
 over to coquettish little Ville d'Avray, but the 
 Americans had found it out before me ; they 
 were as thick at Bougival as the oarsmen in the 
 rowing season, and they literally swarmed at 
 Malmaison and St. Germain. Last summer I 
 tried Enghien, but here too the fairy villas and 
 open air concerts were filled with pretty Yankee 
 girls, who spent the morning in tiny row-boats, 
 ruffling the lake and showing their embroidered 
 stockings, or in making excursions to Montmo- 
 renci for cherries. I met them at Montreuil, 
 invalids I was told, but they consumed peaches 
 until their cheeks were as round and as full of 
 color as the fruit, and no one else could buy a 
 basket of it : all were promised to the sick ladies. 
 In the rainy season there were as many fast 
 young men from your country at the Bois as fast 
 horses, and I never attended a hunting party in 
 the neighborhood of Paris without being told by 
 some Nimrod that boar hunting was very slow 
 sport compared with shooting alligators in Florida, 
 or buffalo on the Plains. Tell me, my dear sir, 
 are there any Americans left in America ? " 
 
 Van laughed heartily. " You must remember 
 that there are a good many of us," said he. 
 
 " There must be," replied Orsovitch. " Toward
 
 CHUMS. 13 
 
 the last of the summer I went to St. Denis, 
 thinking there could be no attraction for pleasure- 
 seekers there, but I had hardly commenced sketch- 
 ing the interior of the abbey, when I was assailed 
 by two literary ladies the worst specimens that 
 I have yet met of the genus Americanus. They 
 were deciphering inscriptions and asked my help ; 
 when they ascertained that I spoke English there 
 was no getting away from them. I slipped away 
 to Vincennes to visit a military friend, and met 
 them the next day prowling about the dungeon, 
 'such an interesting place for persons with 
 antiquarian tastes.' I would not go to Barbizon 
 because I knew there were American artists both 
 there and at Fontainebleau ; but among all the 
 foreigners whom I have ever met, I never heard 
 one speak of Ecouen ; indeed, few of the Parisians 
 know it. I really fancied that I had i.1 last found 
 an uninvaded village and the first person I 
 meet is an American ! " 
 
 "Don't let me frighten you away," said Van 
 shyly. He had listened to his companion's adven- 
 tures with an amused look upon his face, and 
 without the slightest thought of taking offense. 
 This handsome man, with his good-natured raillery 
 of Americans (a raillery with its sting taken out 
 by his easy politeness), with his general air of
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 worldly wisdom, without any of the bitterness 
 which such wisdom brings, with a face that 
 seemed to tell that its owner had seen and tasted 
 of every pleasant thing in life except sin, had 
 quite won Van's heart. It was not an unimpres- 
 sionable heart at any time, for Van's nature was 
 as frank and affectionate as it was sensitive and 
 retiring; but there was something in this man 
 that peculiarly attracted him. Van, himself, was 
 scarcely more than a boy, and, as a consequence, 
 worshiped manliness ; he envied experience 
 because his own had hitherto been narrow, and, 
 above all things, he admired and revered talent 
 in others because, as yet, his own was unrecog- 
 nized even by himself. It was not the mere 
 convenience of having an interpreter which had 
 moved him to share his quarters with this 
 stranger; something told him that this was no 
 ordinary character, though no premonition, how- 
 ever faint, of what they were to mean to each 
 other in the future, that theirs was to be a love 
 "passing the love of women," to undergo the 
 most trying of tests and to come off victorious 
 over all, was granted to him then. He felt him- 
 :lf won from his accustomed reticence, however, 
 and continued warmly, 
 
 " I think you will like Ecouen ; it is certainly
 
 CHUMS. IS 
 
 unlike any of the other suburbs of Paris, and 
 any other place that I was ever in ; it is simply 
 a quaint little village, dropped down almost 
 unchanged from medieval times. The streets, 
 ,, as you see, run steeply up-hill, or dive abruptly 
 down ; they wind, and double, and zig-zag, and 
 lose themselves in picturesque court-yards, which 
 make delicious backgrounds ; they are paved with 
 detestable cobble-stones, that wear out one's 
 shoes, and murder one's corns; the sidewalks are 
 none of the cleanest, and the dinners cooking 
 within doors have frequently a flavor unaccepta- 
 ble to fastidious noses. The doorsteps them- 
 selves overflow with babies, whose voices are 
 not always harmonious, but who make capital 
 models, as do those very old, oddly-dressed 
 grandames, whom you see hobbling about All 
 the people are so simple-minded, so honest and 
 quaint, that one can scarcely believe that the 
 gay capital lies within ten miles of us. ' Thou 
 art so near, and yet so far,' I often sing to it as 
 I see it hanging over there, like a lovely paint- 
 ing, . upon the southern horizon, for there is 
 nothing Parisian here." 
 
 "Quite true," replied Orsovitch. "I noticed 
 as I came that even the railway leaves Ecouen so 
 far to one side that you get none of the noise
 
 1 6 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 and dust of the station. I sent my luggage on 
 by the omnibus, and found the walk a very 
 delightful one. I certainly am glad that I took 
 it, since by so doing I have found so pleasant a 
 companion. But tell me, are there many for- 
 eigners in Ecouen ? " 
 
 " Almost every European nation has its repre- 
 sentative, and your especial friends, the Ameri- 
 cans, are not lacking, but I think you will be 
 pleased with the society. I never saw a more 
 harmonious one ; my countrymen hero from 
 Philadelphia and the far West greet each other 
 
 a old neighbors, and those from Boston and New 
 *ttt r 
 
 Orleans forget political differences, and are dear 
 friends. But this is my garden-gate ; we have all 
 of this rambling house to divide between us ; 
 may your life here be a very pleasant one." 
 
 Van found Orsovitch an intelligent, high-bred 
 
 young man, connected with the nobility, talented, 
 
 farther on the road to art than himself, helpful, 
 
 and thoroughly companionable. His knowledge 
 
 of English was a great piece of good fortune 
 
 to the young American, who was continually 
 
 making blunders, which even the good nature of 
 
 v' Orsovitch could only regard as " something quite 
 
 impossible." On the day of his coming to 
 
 Ecouen, being of an economical turn of mind,
 
 CHUMS. 17 
 
 and having been advised by an old traveler to 
 always journey third-class, he so clearly explained 
 himself to the station-master, that, instead of 
 one third-class ticket, which he supposed he 
 asked for, he was handed three first-class ones, 
 stamped, dated, and not exchangeable. Dear, 
 gentle, cordial Madame Frere endured tortures, 
 in her polite attempts to understand him. One 
 day he remarked that he thought Orsovitch must 
 have been a fumiste all his life, meaning, of 
 course, fumcur ; and it was not until Orsovitch 
 himself explained the mistake, that Van under- 
 stood that he had denominated his aristocratic 
 friend as something not far removed from a 
 chimney-sweep, when he only wished to say that 
 he was a great smoker. He meant to tell 
 Madame Frere, at that first dinner at her house, 
 that the sauce with which the ragout was served 
 was so delicious that he could have eaten her 
 great Angora cat with it, but instead of this, he 
 remarked that he had quite as lief eat " Chiffon " 
 as that mess. As his friend said, it was impossi- 
 ble, but Orsovitch understood him through all, 
 and received his most preposterous blunders 
 with polite good humor. 
 
 They painted, read, and rambled together, 
 going through a history of France during the
 
 1 8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 evenings, and in their daily tramps " doing " all 
 the castles, ruins, churches, and other places of 
 interest within a radius of twenty miles, all 
 but Ecouen's proudest glory, the Chateau de 
 Montmorenci, which has gathered this village, 
 and twenty others which once owned the great 
 Duke's sway, " under its wings, as a hen gathers 
 her chickens." It was a matter of great regret 
 to them, that this they could not obtain per- 
 mission to explore. They tormented themselves 
 by reading of the treasures of art stored there : 
 faience, by Palissy, trodden under foot like 
 common tiling ; and copies of Raphael's frescoes 
 of Cupid and Psyche, paneled over as unfit for 
 pure eyes to look upon. For, since the time of 
 Napoleon, the chateau has been occupied by 
 the School of the Legion of Honor. They 
 made sketches of the exterior from every point 
 of view, and raged and fumed to no purpose, for 
 the chateau looked down upon them as calmly 
 inaccessible as it did upon the Huguenots in the 
 days of the great Constable, and the Bourbon 
 Prince de Conde could hardly have looked back 
 upon it more longingly from exile after the lilies 
 of his family were forbidden to bloom upon its 
 stately heights. 
 
 They borrowed every old chronicle and manu-
 
 CHUMS. 19 
 
 script bearing upon its early history, and eagerly 
 devoured all the annals of the Montmorenci 
 family, for the background of history against 
 which Ecouen is set is a glorious one. The 
 dramas that have been enacted in the old castle 
 by royal and princely personages form many 
 chapters of state history and volumes of tragedy. 
 The private stories of the more unassuming 
 houses are scarcely less interesting; many of 
 them are as old as the great chestnut tree in the 
 Square, to which the Chevalier Bayard fastened 
 his horse while making a call on the young 
 ladies at the castle. I am no antiquarian; the 
 story I have to tell is of the Ecouen of to- 
 day, which is wholly given over to artists of 
 different schools and departments. Historical 
 painters pore over musty records, and unfold 
 precious costumes in ancient stuffs. Animal 
 painters establish themselves in immense barns, 
 where sheep, horses, and calves find themselves 
 at home by the side of precious canvases. Por- 
 tiait painters study the human face. Land- 
 scapists dot the meadows with huge, white 
 umbrellas. Decorative artists spread lovely 
 flowers broadcast on fresco, or strew them 
 daintily on exquisite fans. There is a marine 
 painter, though no ocean, then there are several
 
 20 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 architects, a sculptor or so, etchers and litho- 
 graphers, illustrators, and the omnivorous student. 
 Thank Heaven, as yet, there is no painter of 
 nudities ! With all this variety, Edouard Frere 
 is still the leading spirit, and the style most 
 cultivated is genre, the sympathetic painting of 
 simple subjects from lowly life, children or old 
 people, for the most part, so grouped as to tell a 
 story which shall touch the fancy or the heart. 
 My story, like the paintings of this school, deals 
 with plain and common people, striving to show 
 something of the tenderness and the heroism, 
 the goodness and nobility, of commonness, for 
 
 " Art may tell a truth 
 Obliquely, as the thing shall breed the thought. 
 
 So may you paint your pictures, twice show truth, 
 Beyond mere imagery on the wall. 
 So write a book shall mean beyond the facts, 
 Suffice the eye and save the soul beside." ^ 
 
 It tells only the lives of two artists, and of a 
 few peasant models, with all their grinding toil 
 and simple pleasures, a side of artistic life 
 which I have never seen in print, and one other 
 life, of which I may say, as a celebrated artist 
 has said of his work, "It is a dumb, noiseless, 
 silent story, told as best it may be by the author 
 to those whom it may concern. And it does tell 
 its story. Not to everybody. But to somebody"
 
 EULALIE: A TREASURE TROVE. 23 
 
 because the woman who bore it was a scandal- 
 loving old soul, more certain to hear and report 
 the latest gossip than the daily newspaper. 
 
 " If we could only get young girls to pose for 
 us, but they are not to be had for love or money. 
 To be sure, I have offered only the latter induce- 
 ment as yet, though I don't know but I shall be 
 driven to trying the first if every other expedient 
 fails." 
 
 As Orsovitch spoke, the young men were 
 standing for the hundredth time in front of the 
 church, staring up at the tantalizing castle. The 
 sun was near its setting, and its level rays fell 
 upon the rose window over the door of the church, 
 lighting it up till it flamed a gem "of fifty facets ; " 
 as the sun sank lower, spots of light still swam 
 upon the window, like flakes of gold-leaf slowly 
 melting into the dead, sea-water color of the 
 glass. The cool afternoon breeze lightly lifted 
 and let fall the branch of box tied to St. Acceul's 
 sculptured hand, as though he were sprinkling 
 holy water on the worshipers leaving the door, 
 or gently beckoning them to enter. 
 
 " Let us go in and look at the windows," said 
 Orsovitch, "the stained glass here is of the same 
 period as that in the castle ; let us be thankful 
 that the church at least is open to us "
 
 24 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 "By the way," said Van, "I saw a notice 
 posted in a window at Vilier le Bel, the other 
 day, which may be exactly your affair : ' Id on 
 pose les eccltsiastiques. ' I did not know before that 
 models made a specialty of representing church 
 characters, though I was acquainted with a young 
 man in Paris who made a reputation by sustain- 
 ing the attitude required for the crucifixion, till 
 finally he posed for nothing else. Perhaps all 
 the saints of the calendar are included in this 
 notice ; i so, some inspired St. Cecilia or pretty 
 little St. Catharine would not come amiss just 
 now as a change." 
 
 " Ignoramus," said Orsovitch laughing, " I saw 
 that placard ; it is 'Id on pose Jlastiques," and has 
 nothing whatever to do with models." As he 
 spoke they entered the church and stood admiring 
 the windows gorgeous with renaissance saints, 
 bordered with the arms of the Prince de Conde, 
 the purple fleur de Us. Suddenly Orsovitch 
 caught his companion's arm, with the exclama- 
 tion, " By Jove ! what a heavenly face ! " He 
 pointed to a window on the left of the altar, 
 which represented Louise de Coligny with her 
 sisters, "The Montmorenci girls," as Van fa- 
 miliarly called them, on their knees before Our 
 Lady of Seven Sorrows. The Virgin was stand-
 
 EULALIE: A TREASURE TROVE. 25 
 
 ing, draped in a mantle and flowing robe of violet 
 blue ; there was white drapery about the face and 
 the mantle was thrown veil-like over the head ; 
 her heart, pin-cushion like, was the receptacle of 
 seven huge swords. Whatever the expression of the 
 face had been, it was indistinguishable now from 
 age and from the ill-treatment which the window 
 had received, and Van, much surprised at his 
 friend's extravagant exclamation, replied indiffer- 
 ently that it was an interesting piece of art. 
 
 "Art!" reiterated Orsovitch, "it is no such 
 thing ; it is a most unconscious bit of nature. 
 Hush ! she will hear you ; she is rising." 
 
 Then for the first time Van noticed that they 
 were not alone in the church. A kneeling figure 
 rose, glided down the aisle past them and out at 
 the door. But in the one rapid glance they 
 caught, each saw a strange resemblance in the 
 sweet, serious face to that of Mary's in another 
 window of the little church, the Mary of the 
 Adoration in the Raphael window, a face such 
 as Mary's must have been before the cruel swords 
 pierced through her soul. Not yet the lady of 
 sorrows, but a calm girlish countenance, though 
 already there seemed to rest upon it a shadow of 
 suffering, the premonition of pain. 
 
 " I must paint that girl," said Orsovitch, as he 
 4
 
 26 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 dashed out of the church and followed her. They 
 had not far to go, for she entered a wee sparrow- 
 box of a shop fronting the village place, on which 
 stood the church, and bearing the word Modes 
 above the door. They found her seated behind 
 the tiny counter, with her lap full of gay flowers. 
 An erect, well-preserved woman, whom they took 
 at the time to be her mother, but who proved to 
 be her aunt, came forward. Her flashing eye 
 told of a violent temper, and Van wondered at 
 the courage which Orsovitch displayed in stating 
 his errand. The woman did not, on the whole, 
 seem displeased ; to judge from her face it was a 
 request which had been preferred often before, 
 but there seemed some especial reason for listen- 
 ing to it now. 
 
 The little modiste looked up in a quick, 
 frightened way. " Oh ! no, no," pleaded she with 
 her aunt. " Ame'de'e would not like it. " 
 
 " How much will you pay her ? " asked the 
 other. 
 
 " Five francs a day, as long as she cares to 
 come. 1 should like to engage mademoiselle for 
 the entire summer, if that were possible, and we 
 should be happy to have you accompany her, 
 madame, if mademoiselle objects to visiting alone 
 the studio of two young artists."
 
 EULALIE: A TREASURE TROVE. 2? 
 
 " No, no," said the little modiste mare decidedly 
 than ever ; " I cannot go under any conditions ; 
 please do not urge me any more, it is quite 
 impossible." 
 
 " It is quite impossible to decide the matter so 
 hurriedly," said hef aunt; "you must give us 
 time to talk it over and think about it. Eulalie 
 is a good girl, and she will do what is right in the 
 matter. If she concludes to come, could you not 
 arrange it so that it should not be known in the 
 village ? Eulalie has never posed, and if she 
 should do so now, there would be no end of 
 scandalous talk about it." 
 
 " It can be managed very easily, madame," 
 replied Orsovitch. And, indeed, their studio 
 offered them peculiar advantages for this purpose. 
 It was situated in a large unoccupied house, 
 whose front gate opened on the extreme end of 
 the village street. They had a magnificent but 
 neglected garden, which ran far back into the 
 meadows. All around, protecting it after the 
 French fashion from the gaze of the outside world, 
 was a high stone wall, and at the end of the 
 garden leading to the meadows was a little gate. 
 The key to this gate Orsovitch now handed 
 Eulalie, telling her how she might reach it unob- 
 served by making the circuit of the village, if,
 
 28 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 after taking two days to consider the matter, she 
 decided to accept his offer. 
 
 " What a jolly lark this ! " said Van to Orso- 
 vitch, as he helped him oil the rusty lock of the 
 little gate the next morning ; " really something 
 romantic at last in this dismally prosaic village." 
 
 "No, Gazette" (this from Orsovitch to the 
 dried-up little old woman who was digging dande- 
 lions for her rabbits in the meadows), " I shall not 
 want you to pose this week, and probably not 
 next. I will call and let you know when I do 
 want you. I say, Van, don't you wish she were 
 coming to-day ? And meantime, what shall we 
 do ? for I can't bear to paint from another model, 
 now that I have had a glimpse of that divine face. 
 I will go and make a landscape study somewhere, 
 and call on some of the other artists on my way 
 home, and inquire if we have not, without know- 
 ing it, left some place of interest unexplored, 
 especially to make to-morrow pass less weari- 
 somely." 
 
 After Orsovitch had gone, it occurred to Van, 
 as he reviewed the adventure of the day previous, 
 that he had caught a glimpse of Pere Paquerette 
 (a withered old man who not unfrequently posed 
 for him) in a room at the back of the little shop. 
 He was eating a dish of soup, and appeared to
 
 EULALIE: A TREASURE TROVE. 2Q 
 
 be at home. If so, Van felt that he had a clue to 
 Eulalie's family history in a rambling talk which 
 the old -man had given him the autumn before. 
 As he played in an idle way with the picture 
 upon his easel, the incident of that day came 
 back to him like a dream picture, and taking up 
 another panel he sketched a capital caricature of 
 Pere Paquerette, enveloping him in a gray coat, 
 or redingote grise, an article of clothing which he 
 never saw without being reminded of the old 
 model.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE KEDINGOTE GRISE. 
 
 The mossy marbles rest 
 
 On the lips that he has pressed 
 
 In their bloom ; 
 
 And the names he loved to hear 
 Have been carved for many a year 
 
 On the tomb. 
 
 O. W. HOLMES. 
 
 * I ""HE day that Van recalled was a transition one 
 in the previous autumn. October's dying 
 breath lingered in the atmosphere, blending 
 and harmonizing the exquisite French landscape, 
 making him understand the delicate grays which 
 her artists love so well to render. And yet bleak 
 November had at twelve o'clock the night before 
 given the fields his rude greeting kiss, leaving 
 them blanched with dismay, while the falling 
 leaves blushed red at his impertinence. 
 
 The sun had melted the thin rime of frost, and 
 it sparkled now in myriad tear-drops .on every 
 doomed blade and leaf. " All flesh is grass," 
 Van said to himself, as he brushed his way 
 
 (30)
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 3 1 
 
 rapidly through the meadows. " It will be our 
 turn soon, little merry green men ; thank God 
 there is a resurrection for us both." He was on 
 his way to the village burying-ground, and this 
 was why his thoughts took so funereal a turn, for 
 it was the Fete des Morts, the day on which, as 
 his morning paper had Frenchily informed him, 
 the Parisians put the last touch to the " toilet of 
 the tombs " the "trousseaux of the dead." It 
 was the day which, strangely enough, has been 
 appropriated generally to the dead throughout 
 nations differing widely in customs and in forms 
 of religion : the English Eve of All Souls, and 
 the weird Hallow-een of the Scotch. In France 
 it is celebrated by decking with flowers, for the 
 last time in the year, the graves of the loved and 
 lost. A good-by kiss, as it were, before they 
 are left a^one for the long winter to bitter moan- 
 ing winds and pitiless falling rain. The Ecouen 
 church-yard was a true God's-acre in point of 
 size, sown so thickly with graves that friends 
 might have realized one of Victor Hugo's beauti- 
 ful ideas, and clasped hands as they lay under 
 the daisies, silently caressing them in the dark 
 ness. Only a little church-yard filled with simple 
 village folk. The great Abbey of St. Denis, that 
 magnificent sepulchre of kings, lay not far away,
 
 32 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 making a picturesque spot in the landscape. 
 But the royal dead kept their own society, as 
 apart in death as in life from the simple people 
 here. Van was too early for the procession 
 which was coming presently to decorate the 
 graves, and he leaned idly against the stone 
 wall, looking away at the Abbey of St. Denis 
 and the beautiful panorama which stretched 
 behind it, for Paris with all her palaces lay there, 
 her domes and spires seeming to float in the 
 purple haze, through which rose a city without 
 foundations, it seemed as beautiful and ethereal 
 as the Celestial City itself. Conspicuous above 
 all was the gilded dome of the Invalides. Van 
 was in a fault-finding mood, and for him the 
 brilliant bubble spoiled the whole landscape. In 
 his walk that morning he had passed a fine old 
 mansion, not a chateau, but a house such as the 
 lesser nobility would not have disdained to 
 inhabit. It had been sacked and destroyed during 
 the Revolution, but the walls would have been 
 picturesque and noble in their ruirfe, had it not 
 been that sacrilegious hands had used the entire 
 fagade as a bulletin-board, covering it with flaring 
 posters and gaudy announcements of fetes. Cov- 
 ering a number of others was an overcoat of 
 hideous pattern, the sign of a well-known shop in
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 33 
 
 Paris. Van knew that the redingote grise was 
 one of the distinctive peculiarities of Napoleon's 
 costume, and in an unreasoning way connected 
 him with the insult done the noble house. " What 
 had he done for the poorer classes toward 
 enlightening the ignorance which, with grinding 
 poverty, drove them to such mad outbursts of 
 fury ? " His order, " Gild the dome of the Inva- 
 lides," came like an answer to Van's question. 
 The gold which should have been expended in 
 food for his overworked, underfed people was 
 spread upon that glittering bauble, and all at 
 once the sight grew loathsome to him. Be it 
 remembered that Van was .a Radical Republican ; 
 for him there was but one form of government 
 for every people, and he especially disliked any- 
 thing which suggested Napoleon or his dynasty. 
 
 He was roused from his reverie by the pro- 
 cession which now entered the cemetery, mumb- 
 ling a chant for the dead. There was the usual 
 number of unspiritual-looking priests in tarnished 
 gold and dirty lace. A slight disturbance oc- 
 curred at the gate, for the boy wich the holy- 
 water pot was missing. Another altar boy was 
 dispatched in search of him, and, finding the 
 delinquent sauntering leisurely along, examining 
 the decorations with the eye of a connoisseur, 
 5
 
 34 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 he brought him back to the priest, who curled his 
 ears smartly with his breviary, and proceeded 
 with the necessary sprinkling. All this without 
 the slightest interruption of the chant ; indeed, the 
 blows descended somewhat as the baton of a 
 singing-master might have done, 
 
 Ora pro no whack 
 Maria sanctis whack. 
 
 After the ecclesiastics came the men, and then 
 the women all in black. Silently each sought her 
 grave, and prayerfully knelt beside her dead. 
 Only one old man seemed not at home here, and 
 wandered aimlessly about like Van himself. It 
 was the old model, Pere Paquerette. There were 
 two versions as to how he came by his name. 
 One was that as his wits were shaken, a young 
 English artist had nicknamed him Father Dazy ; 
 and the village people had asked the meaning of 
 the word of some other English-speaking person, 
 who, not knowing the circumstances, and mis- 
 taken by the sound, had told them it was paquc- 
 rette, the common field daisy. The other explana- 
 tion, and the one which Van preferred, was that 
 the old man's white hair falling from his bald 
 crown, resembling the petals of the flower, had 
 suggested the name. He looked dazed and 
 bewildered enough now, however, as he wandered
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 35 
 
 among the graves, whimpering, "I can't find 
 them ; O, sacred heart of the Mother of God ! I 
 can't find them." Presently he knelt before a 
 grave over which a little chapel of ground glass 
 had been built, sheltering a small image of the 
 Virgin and a wreath of orange blossoms, not a 
 funeral wreath, by any means, but just such an 
 one as a Parisian modiste would have prepared 
 for a bride. Perhaps she was a bride, poor young 
 thing, for the age marked upon the tablet was 
 eighteen. Van wondered what relation she could 
 have been to this old man, his daughter, per- 
 haps. 
 
 The ceremonies were over, and the people were 
 leaving the church-yard. A woman passing 
 noticed Pere Paquerette, and shook him roughly 
 by the shoulder. " But that is not your grave ! " 
 she exclaimed ; " come along with me and I will 
 put you right." 
 
 " Is not that Josephine Hautcoeur's grave ? " 
 asked the old man. 
 
 " The Marchioness de Plaisance ! Is it likely 
 the noblesse of France would be buried in such 
 a place as this ? " said the woman scornfully. 
 " Besides, who knows that she is dead ? She is no 
 older than yourself. It is over sixty years since 
 she left the village," the woman added to Van,
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " but Pere Paquerette never lets us forget that she 
 lived here once." 
 
 " She died for me the day that she was mar- 
 ried," muttered the old model, as the woman 
 stationed him before a stone upon whose moss- 
 Sjown front Van read in French : 
 
 To ANTOINE ROCHE, 
 
 Corporal 
 
 Regiment of Grenadiers, 
 
 Old Guard, 
 
 ist Empire ; 
 
 and Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. 
 
 Died 
 
 at the Hotel des Invalides, 
 August Qth, 1840. 
 
 And to CONSTANT, his son, 
 killed at Sebastopol, 
 September igth, 1855. 
 
 And to JOSEPHINE DUVAL, 
 
 nee Roche, his daughter, 
 
 killed at Paris, 
 
 April I5th, 1871. 
 
 There were other inscriptions, but the stone had 
 so sunken into the earth that Van could not read 
 them. On the head of this stone Pere Paquerette 
 hung a garland of yellow immortelles, among 
 which black ones were so intertwined as to form 
 the words "A mon phe" Bending a branch of 
 willow over one of the graves, he suspended from 
 its centre a small medallion of stained glass on 
 which clasped hands were rudely represented. 
 Beneath, on the grave itself, lay a wreath of 
 camellias, showing that some one had been here 
 before. 
 
 "So your father died at the Invalides," Van 
 said.
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 37 
 
 " Yes, m'sieu," replied Pere Paquerette, " bul 
 he lived there many years first, and so did 
 Josephine Hautcoeur's father." 
 
 " And who was Josephine Hautcceur ? " Van 
 asked. 
 
 "My sceur de lait ; and now I suppose you 
 don't know what that means," grumbled the old 
 man. 
 
 " I should be obliged to you if you would 
 explain," Van replied. 
 
 " Well, when I was a baby my mother took her 
 to nurse. You see, my father was a soldier in 
 her father's regiment, and we slept in the same 
 cradle, and brother Constant wheeled us out in 
 the same little wagon. He and all the family grew 
 to love the gentle little blue-eyed thing, but 
 sitting opposite to each other always, we got so 
 used to looking into each other's eyes that she 
 liked me best, and we never forgot one another." 
 
 " How could that be, Pere Paquerette," if you 
 were both babies ? " Van interrupted, but the old 
 man's reply was so pettish that he let him ramble 
 on, fearing to lose the story if he made any 
 further objection. The old model continued : 
 
 " When she was old enough she went to the 
 school that Napoleon made in the castle yonder 
 for the daughters of his old soldiers. My sister
 
 3 8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Josephine was already there, and we used to 
 hear of the other Josephine through her. Our 
 two fathers were both at the Invalides. General 
 Hautcoeur had lost his sight, and my father had 
 lost pretty much all he could spare and still live. 
 When I visited him he would take me out to see 
 his rockery. Almost all the soldiers had them : a 
 little garden plot to work as they liked, but nearly 
 all would have it arranged in military fashion 
 somehow. Sometimes it would be a tiny fort, 
 with cannons cut from wood and painted black, 
 mounted on every side, and regimental flags cut 
 from their handkerchiefs and painted the proper 
 colors. And now and then you would see the 
 whole plan of a battle-field, with earthworks and 
 field-pieces, and even the soldiery themselves, 
 little wooden pegs stuck in the sand. My father 
 had a rockery with a little pond about it that was 
 almost always dry. He called it the Rock at St. 
 Helena. He used to say that he wanted to think 
 of ' him' as he was, and he had a little silvered 
 image of the man in the redingote grise on the 
 top of the rockery, which he worshiped more than 
 if it had been an image of the Virgin. How those 
 old fellows did love their general ! You could 
 not make one of them believe he was dead. 
 'One sees very plainly that you do not know
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 39 
 
 him,' was all they would say. I was something 
 of a poacher in those days, and one morning in 
 the forest I found a tree which grew so near the 
 wall about the castle park that I could let myself 
 down into it from one of the branches. I found 
 my sister inside, and asked her if she or the other 
 Josephine had any message to send to the Inva- 
 lides, as I was going to see father in a few days. 
 She told me to come again at moonrise, and they 
 would meet me at the Fountain Hortense in the 
 park. The girls were kept very strictly, and 
 this was a daring thing for my sister to propose, 
 but it pleased me all the better for that. When 
 I reached the fountain, I saw that something 
 unusual was going on, for the southern wing, 
 where Madame Campan's apartments were, was 
 all ablaze with candles. I lay down in the grass 
 and waited until they were all put out, and others 
 began to glimmer in the chambers under the 
 roof, where were the girls' dormitories. Pretty 
 soon these too were gone, and, wondering what 
 had kept the girls, I got up to go -away. Just 
 then two dark figures slipped from the Pavilion 
 
 
 
 Austerlitz and came toward me. 
 
 " ' Is that you, little brother,' says Josephine 
 Hautcceur. ' Oh, I am so frightened ! ' and the 
 hand which she laid on my arm shook like a
 
 40 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 trapped bird. Then my sister explained that 
 Queen Hortense, whom Napoleon had made 
 Lady Patroness of the Institution, and who lived 
 sometimes at the Chateau of St. Leu, not far off, 
 had come unexpectedly to see them, and there had 
 been a fete in her honor. ' And all through the 
 evening,' said Josephine Hautcoeur, 'I felt so 
 guilty ! When we were in the Hall of Honor, 
 the one that has the painting of Esau hunting, 
 over the great fire-place, I whispered to Josephine, 
 See, there is our little poacher ; and I could have 
 almost thought Madame Campan heard me, for 
 she asked me directly to give them some music. 
 And when we crossed the court just now, with 
 our shoes in our hands so as not to make any 
 noise, the Palissy tiles struck a chill through my 
 feet, and though I could not see them in the 
 dark, I knew that the snakes and lizards and all 
 those slimy things were there, and I fancied I 
 felt them squirm as I stepped on them.' My sister 
 gave me her message for our father, and then the 
 other Josephine said, 'And tell my father for me 
 that I thank the Marquis de Plaisance for the 
 honor he does me, but I can never be his wife, 
 for our great Napoleon said he wished all the 
 daughters of the Legion of Honor to become the 
 wives of men who should faithfully serve France,
 
 THE REDINGOTE GR1SE. 4 1 
 
 either in the army or in the administration, and 
 were Monsieur de Plaisance an Italian prince, 
 instead of marquis, I had rather be the wife of a 
 common French soldier.' 
 
 " ' Josephine, Josephine,' I cried, ' I am fifteen 
 years old. I will be a man soon, and I will be a 
 soldier if you wish. I have loved you all my 
 life ; only say you will wait for me.' 
 
 " ' This is quite enough,' said a stern voice 
 above our heads ; ' we have overheard a part of 
 your interesting conversation.' 
 
 " Looking up I saw two ladies : the one who 
 was speaking, very grave and all in black, 
 Madame Campan ; the other, all in white, with a 
 mischievous laughing face, Queen Hortense. It 
 was she who spoke next, throwing an arm around 
 each of the girls, something about forgiving the 
 culprits for the sake of some wild pupil of Madame 
 Campan's in St. Germain-en-Laye ; then, without 
 waiting for a reply, she said to the girls, ' Let 
 us hurry away before the thunder-bolt falls,' and 
 led them back into the castle, leaving me alone 
 with the lady superior. I have no clear idea of 
 what she said to me ; I only know that I left by 
 the great gate, and that I promised her solemnly 
 never to go there again. When I told my story 
 at home, Constant sprang up. ' I shall enlist 
 6
 
 42 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 to-morrow,' said he. ' But you shall not marry 
 Josephine Hautcosur for all that,' I cried. With 
 that he called me baby, and we quarreled then 
 and there, and never spoke to each other again." 
 
 " And did Constant marry Mademoiselle Haut- 
 cceur ? " Van asked. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " replied Pere Paquerette ; " he never 
 came back to us, but was killed at the siege of 
 Sebastopol, as the stone says." 
 
 " And she ? " Van asked. 
 
 " I stood behind the door of the Madeleine and 
 saw her go up the aisle to become the wife of the 
 Marquis de Plaisance. She was all in white, and 
 one of the sprays in her veil caught on the door ; 
 a bud broke off. It was like the flowers in the 
 glass case on the grave yonder. I kept it a 
 long while, but it is lost now." 
 
 " I see your sister Josephine was killed," Van 
 said, glancing at the inscription. " How did that 
 happen ? " 
 
 " Josephine married a soldier, and followed the 
 army a long while as a nurse. Her husband 
 was a good fellow, but ten years younger than 
 Josephine, and a little giddy, as most of the 
 brave boys are apt to be. Josephine supported 
 herself and her little girl, and paid all his debts 
 when he died. Her child was her idol, but she
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 43 
 
 lived to see her die, leaving her a little grand- 
 daughter. Her son-in-law was a soldier too, and 
 very much such a man as her husband had been, 
 and he was glad enough to relinquish the baby 
 to Josephine, when she gave up the army and 
 became one of the nurses at the Hotel Dieu. 
 As soon as her little grand-daughter was old 
 enough, she placed her in a school for the 
 daughters of soldiers, but all of her earnings 
 were saved up to buy her presents. She was 
 paid very little, only fifteen francs a month, 
 and she had studied nursing as a profession 
 at the castle, besides having a long practical 
 experience of it. She had to work hard, too, 
 for the young medical students only visited the 
 hospital to make experiments, and the Sisters of 
 Charity shirked everything but praying on to the 
 paid nurses. My father left her his rockery when 
 he died, and Josephine had it placed on a table in 
 one of the wards to interest the patients. She was 
 known for a zealous Bonapartist, and at the time of 
 the Commune they destroyed the rockery, crying, 
 A bas Napotion ! and tumbled my sister over the 
 stairs to Vive la Rtpublique ! She would not 
 have lived much longer, any way ; she was an old 
 woman; she came in with the century. Her 
 life was not harder than that of most women.
 
 44 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 M'sieu the Cur was right when he said that 
 woman's lot was 'to love, to suffer, to weep, to 
 pray, and to die embracing the crucifix.' Her 
 grand-daughter's future is bright enough, how- 
 ever, thanks to the Empress Eugenie." 
 
 "What did the empress have to do with it?" 
 Van asked, with the inward determination to slip 
 quietly away and leave the old man talking to the 
 tombstones, if he showed signs of entering into 
 such another rambling story. 
 
 " M'sieu knows, without doubt, that when the 
 emperor was married the city of Paris voted six 
 hundred thousand francs to purchase a necklace 
 for his bride. But the empress asked that instead 
 a school should be endowed for young girls. Little 
 Eulalie was there eight years, learning her books 
 and embroidery, and to make artificial flowers. 
 The money they earn by their work during 
 their stay is saved and given them when they 
 leave, at eighteen years of age, as a dowry. 
 When Eulalie left, a sister of her father's (he was 
 killed at Worth, and Eulalie worships his memory, 
 though he never did anything for her) turned up, 
 and Eulalie lived with her a while in Paris, work- 
 ing at a wholesale flower establishment there 
 until I persuaded them to come and set up a 
 shop of their own here, which they did, using
 
 THE REDiNGOTE GRISE. 45 
 
 Eulalie's money. There is no occasion whatever 
 for Eulalie to marry, but a girl as pretty as she 
 never goes long without a lover. Hers is well 
 enough, though he does not believe that a pretty 
 face is so much money in one's pocket, and will 
 never consent to her posing." 
 
 Van looked at his watch. It was quite late, 
 but the old man's talk had given him plenty to 
 think about. In the first place the redingote 
 grise covered more of good than he had imagined, 
 and he began to understand how certain ideas 
 and forms of government might, while meaning 
 nothing to him, be useful and dear to others. It 
 was his first lesson in tolerance, and he did not 
 forget it. 
 
 " It was Eulalie who laid that wreath on her 
 grandmother's grave," continued Pere Paquerette, 
 who had developed an inexhaustible capacity for 
 gossip, " and there would be as many as twenty 
 funeral wreaths over my father's if the Prussians 
 had not stolen them." 
 
 " The Prussians rob the graves ! What do you 
 mean, Pere Paquerette ? " exclaimed Van. 
 
 "Why, during the war King William passed 
 over this road, and the detachment of German 
 troops that were stationed here wished to get up 
 some decorations in his honor; but it was late
 
 46 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 in the fall, and the flowers were almost all gone, 
 so that the young officer who had the matter in 
 charge had scanty material to work upon. But 
 he was a genius ! What do you suppose he did, 
 sir? He stole La Gazette's clothes-line, and 
 stretched a great table-cloth across the highway, 
 having first fastened red tomatoes upon it in such 
 a way as to form the words, in German, 'Wel- 
 come King William.' Still this was not beautiful 
 enough, so he came here and gathered all the 
 wreaths of immortelles that he could find, and 
 made a border for his banner with them, and 
 festooned the clothes-line too for its whole length. 
 How we others did laugh when we saw it ; no 
 one but a German would have thought of such a 
 thing." 
 
 "But I should not have laughed," Van said 
 "It was far too appropriate Prussian honors 
 gained at the expense of French graves. I should 
 think the idea would have struck the young 
 officer, and kept him from touching the votive 
 offerings." 
 
 " Something did frighten him, for he came first 
 at night, and went away saying that he heard the 
 dead people rattling about in their coffins. But 
 I think what he heard was the wind striking the 
 glass medalions and jet ornaments against the
 
 THE REDINGOTE GRISE. 47 
 
 stones. It might remind one of the rattling of 
 bones, if one heard it alone of a dark night." 
 
 "Thank you for your story, Pere Paquerette," 
 said Van. " Here is something with which to 
 buy fresh garlands for the defrauded graves." 
 
 "M'sieu is very kind," said the old man, 
 greedily accepting the coin Van offered ; " but to 
 me the ' tapping of the souvenirs here always 
 seems like the tinkling of glasses ; and if m'sieu 
 is willing, I think all the people buried here would 
 be just as well pleased if I should break m'sieu's 
 coin at the Esptrance, at the foot of the hill, and 
 drink to the fourth Napoleon."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE. 
 
 Blow,bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 " TT 7HAT, nothing but that caricature of Pere 
 Paquerette ! " said Orsovitch in surprise, 
 as he threw down his sketch-box on his return 
 from a day in the meadows ; " you were wont to 
 be a worker, Van." 
 
 " I am afraid I have turned dreamer now," 
 replied the other. " Certain it is that I have 
 done almost nothing to-day ; and the trouble is 
 that I do not see my way out of these unprofitable 
 musings into something practicable. I wish I 
 had found a model like yours, who could awake 
 the slumbering fires of genius and inspire me to 
 work." 
 
 " Is that all ? " said Orsovitch ; "why, you are 
 welcome to sketch the little modiste, if you like, 
 
 (48)
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE. 49 
 
 while she is posing for me. I don't know that 
 I 've got her yet, so I can afford to be generous." 
 
 "Really, do you believe she will come?" 
 
 " Not a shadow of doubt of it ; but prepare for 
 a tramp now, for I have discovered some uncom- 
 monly fine sketching for you." 
 
 "Are we to set out to-night ? " 
 
 " No, my indolent friend, but you may as well 
 get your knapsack and arrange your traps now, foi 
 we ought to have an early start, and you are such 
 a late sleeper you had best make all preparations 
 overnight." 
 
 "Where are we going? Do you think we will 
 find anything worth the pains ? " Van asked in- 
 credulously, without leaving his comfortable posi- 
 tion in the hammock swaying under a chestnut 
 tree that resembled a bridal bouquet, when seen 
 from a distance, and near by was an enormous 
 hive of buzzing hannetons, or May bugs. Now 
 that it was warm enough they spent their evenings, 
 as a general thing, in the garden. 
 
 "One question at a time," replied Orsovitch. 
 " I find that there is a marvellous old Chateau de 
 la Chasse, of the same period as our castle, and 
 belonging to it in by-gone days, buried in the 
 depths of the Foret de Montmorenci ; but, for a 
 wonder, it is accessible to strangers ; indeed, there
 
 SO BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 is a custodian whose special business it is to show 
 strangers from the town of Montmorenci over the 
 premises. It is only four miles distant, and we 
 are sure to find something stunning. I shall use 
 it for a back-ground to a hunting scene, with 
 hounds in the fore-ground and valets in livery." 
 
 Early the next morning Orsovitch was awak- 
 ened by the rattling jingle of their little alarm 
 clock, and by Van singing uproariously, 
 
 Voila la sonnette . 
 
 De la trompette, 
 Qui nous appelle 
 A la victoire I " 
 
 This was the nearest he ever came to a stanza 
 from a popular hunting song, the air of which 
 had become more than familiar to all of Van's 
 friends. 
 
 As they entered the forest after a long and 
 exhilarating walk, they were somewhat surprised 
 at hearing the same air played finely upon a 
 hunting horn. "Somebody is here before us," 
 said Orsovitch. They quickened their steps and 
 after two or three sharp turns in the road, entered 
 a long avenue leading to the chateau, much to 
 their surprise without seeing the musician who 
 had greeted their entrance to the forest. 
 
 "Some phantom hunter," said Orsovitch gayly,
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE. 5 1 
 
 " this wood is rich enough in associations, and is 
 mysterious and old enough, to be haunted. Only 
 look at the chateau ; is not that well worth our 
 walk ? " 
 
 It was indeed a massive building of huge 
 blocks of undressed stone, rising at the corners 
 into four round towers, all but one left unfinished, 
 or, more probably, destroyed by age, for the 
 chateau had stood for nearly four hundred years 
 between the two little lakes with the dim forest 
 all around. Fishing in a little boat, a short 
 distance from shore, stood a handsome young 
 man of thirty. He laid down his rod on seeing 
 the artists, rowed quickly to shore, and approached 
 them. He wore a shooting-coat and breeches of 
 brown velvet, with silver buttons and buff chamois- 
 skin leggins. He might have been taken for a 
 sportsman, were it not for the silver plate upon 
 his cap, upon which were engraved the words 
 Garde Chasse. He at once accorded the young 
 men permission to paint near the chateau, and 
 proceeded to show them the objects of .interest. 
 The stables, evidently of more recent construc- 
 tion, and containing forty or fifty stalls, pleased 
 Orsovitch. "I should think you would arrange 
 yourself a room out here," said he ; " the lofts are 
 at least dry and airy, while that old tower, with
 
 52 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 the water continually lapping its foot, must be as 
 damp and dismal as a dungeon keep. I should 
 be sure to get up some night and quietly step 
 out of the window into the moat." 
 
 The guard laughed, but shrugged his shoulders 
 uneasily. " One doesn't commit suicide when 
 one is happy, monsieur, not even in one's sleep, 
 and I have such pleasant dreams that I could 
 never be such a fool as to disturb myself by 
 walking." 
 
 In the entrance hall Van noticed a hunting 
 horn hanging against the wall, and spoke of the 
 air which they had heard played a short time 
 before. " It was I," said the guard ; " I always 
 liked that tune ; I used to play it for the boys to 
 charge to, when I was bugler in the Forty -third ; " 
 and taking down the instrument he made the 
 cliffs on the opposite side of the lake echo back 
 the strain 
 
 " A la victoire ! A la victoire ! " 
 
 " I always sound it when I am down-hearted 
 and lonesome ; the echo yonder seems to answer 
 me and tell me to keep up good courage, as a 
 brother soldier might do if he were keeping 
 vidette out there. It was the echo you heard ; it 
 is twenty minutes' walk from here. I can hear it 
 myself repeated faintly but distinctly several
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE. 53 
 
 minutes after I have sounded it. The boys used 
 to go straight to death unhesitatingly with that 
 charge ringing in their ears. I believe I could 
 do it myself." 
 
 Orsovitch seemed little interested in what the 
 young man was saying ; he was examining a 
 curious silver object which hung beside the 
 hunting horn. " What is it ? " he asked, and he 
 noticed the name Ame"dee du Lac engraved upon 
 the handle. 
 
 " That is a dog-whip which the Due de Champ- 
 noix gave me when I won the race at Long 
 Champs for him. I was his jockey when I was 
 fifteen. I had muscles like steel wire, but I was 
 a slender little fellow and did not weigh anything 
 to speak of, and that was where Grisette had the 
 advantage of the other horse, whose rider weighed 
 at least ten pounds more. But the duke kept 
 me too well ; I grew fat, and, a few years after, I 
 became a soldier ; that thinned me down quickly 
 enough, I assure you. There is only one thing at 
 all peculiar about that whip ; touch this spring in 
 the handle, so, and out pops this knife, stiletto 
 fashion. It is the only weapon I ever carry, 
 but with it and the help of Mees there, I should 
 not be afraid of a tussle with any poacher in the 
 forest."
 
 54 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Me*es was a large white bull-dog, which fol- 
 lowed its master, snuffing suspiciously at the 
 artists' heels. 
 
 " You have given your dog an odd name," said 
 Van. 
 
 "It is English, is it not?" replied the guard; 
 " they told me it meant demoiselle" 
 
 " He means Miss," said Orsovitch ; " it is a very 
 common name with the French for their dogs." 
 
 While speaking the guard led them from room 
 to room of the chateau, all empty and desolate till 
 they reached the one in the tower, whose window 
 looked down upon the lake they had already 
 remarked from the exterior. Here were collected 
 all the antique pieces of furniture found in the 
 other apartments. As the chairs and fauteuils 
 were upholstered in different materials and colors, 
 for the most part faded and tattered, the guard 
 had covered them all with white linen, which 
 
 * 
 
 comported well with the character of the room, 
 the carved panneling of which had been origi- 
 nally painted white, though age had given it 
 a very soft and agreeable creamy tint. The 
 chimney-piece, which reached the ceiling, was of 
 white stone, richly sculptured in bas-relief and 
 supported by twisted columns. On the opposite 
 side of the room stood the bed, its soft white
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE 55 
 
 curtains floating down from a gilded crown-shaped 
 canopy. A console-table, in the style of Louis 
 XIV., with high mirror and white wood work 
 carved in mazes of knotted and looped garlands, 
 stood on one side of the window, an inlaid ivory 
 cabinet of Italian workmanship upon the other. 
 Before the bed, upon the floor, which was waxed 
 till it shone like a mirror, reflecting each object 
 as perfectly as the surface of a lake, lay a bit of 
 old tapestry, the figures in faded blue upon a 
 white ground. White curtains hid the window 
 which occupied the bay formed by the tower. 
 
 "This was the Prince de Conde's chamber," 
 said the guide. 
 
 " I should have thought it some lady's room,' 
 Van replied ; " are you not mistaken, could it not 
 have belonged to his wife ? I should have 
 thought Charlotte de Montmorenci might have 
 had a taste for hunting and hard riding even 
 before her elopement What do you think, 
 Orsovitch ? " 
 
 " I do not think a girl of her tempeVament 
 would have liked such a room," he replied. " Her 
 boudoir should have been wainscotted with rose- 
 colored satin. This is too cold ; it reminds me of 
 one of the snow palaces at St. Petersburg. See ! 
 that chandelier with the crystal pendants, in the
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 middle of the room, carries out the idea ; it is a 
 great glittering stalactite, and those smaller can- 
 delabra on either side of the door are icicles 
 formed from water trickling through crevices. 
 Ugh ! it freezes me. I should not think any 
 woman could bear to stay here." 
 
 " Not with the man she loved ? " asked the 
 guard, with strange earnestness. 
 
 " Perhaps," laughed Orsovitch, " but she would 
 have to love you very much, mon enfant. Such 
 devotion on the part of woman has never come 
 into my life. I congratulate you if you have 
 found it. But seriously, all women love bright 
 hues, they are artistic in their nature, and there 
 is not one positive bit of color in this room." 
 
 " Oh ! yes there is," replied the guard, and he 
 drew aside the window curtains, and suddenly all 
 the floor was flecked with purple spots, for the 
 window was bordered with the arms of the Prince 
 de Conde in the stained glass. It was as though 
 the fleur de Us, having once taken root, had be- 
 come indigenous to the soil and blossomed from 
 every crevice of the old buildings which had once 
 recognized it as an emblem of royalty. 
 
 Orsovitch grasped his friend's arm impulsively. 
 "This is the strangest thing I ever saw in my 
 life, Van ! If I were a spiritualist I should think
 
 THE CHATEAU DE LA CHASSE. 57 
 
 some fearful crime had been committed in this 
 room ; just look at that bed ! " 
 
 Van looked for some time without grasping his 
 meaning, for he saw only that the coverlet was 
 sown thick with nickering Bourbon lilies, when 
 suddenly in their midst, in vivid scarlet, there 
 flamed distinctly a gallows. Van looked to the 
 window to see what occasioned the strange appear- 
 ance, and found the explanation simple enough. 
 The centre of the window had been formed of 
 four scarlet panes, so arranged as to form a cross ; 
 two of these, the head and one cross-piece, having 
 been broken, were replaced with transparent 
 glass, so that the remaining colored panes the 
 standard and cross-piece, with the bit of lead 
 connecting the two formed the disagreeable 
 sign which had startled Orsovitch. 
 
 Van pointed this out, and added in English, 
 " For Heaven's sake do not say a word more, or 
 the crime will be committed now and here by 
 our friend the guard. You have already twice 
 mortally offended him, and he looks angry enough 
 to throttle you and relish the operation." 
 
 " If that is the case," replied Orsovitch, " I will 
 take away the exciting cause ; his society is not 
 so agreeable that I should be wasting my time 
 in it," and saying something in French about its
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 being high time his sketch was laid in, he clattered 
 noisily down-stairs, whistling "A la victoire" as 
 he went. This was so different from his usual 
 polite manner that Van noted it with mild sur- 
 prise ; there seemed to be something antagonistic 
 in the very natures of the two men. 
 
 "Your friend is right," said the guard moodily; 
 "he knows women better than I do, and the 
 room is not gay. I might hang a bird-cage with 
 a couple of canaries here, that would give her 
 song and occupation as well." He was standing 
 in the arch of the window with his hand on the 
 heavy oaken mullion, and as he spoke he touched 
 the capstone of the arch where the three crescents 
 of Diane de Poitiers were intertwined. " It is 
 very strong," said he ; " see, it will bear my whole 
 weight. Perhaps I will hang a basket of hyacinths 
 here ; then we would have color and perfume, and 
 she loves flowers. We will see ; of one thing I 
 am certain : I will have more red panes put in the 
 window ; she shall never have a thought of the 
 gallows tree in this room. Why must he put a 
 horrible fancy in the one pleasant spot in the 
 world for me ? I hate him for it." 
 
 He had quite forgotten Van's presence, and 
 the young American recalled him to himself by 
 some pleasant commonplace remark, thanked him
 
 59 
 
 for his kindness in showing them the ruin, and 
 slipped a coin into his hand as they went down 
 the stairs together. Long afterward, every event 
 of the day came back to him as vividly as though 
 acted before him in a drama, whose most trivial 
 incident leads on to the tragedy at its close ; and 
 he seemed to see again before him the handsome 
 guard with his hand on Diane's crescents, the 
 broken cross burning its red gallows-brand upon 
 his face, and all the shining floor about him 
 bright with the flickering Bourbon lilies. Never, 
 in after-life, even in the midst of an exciting 
 chase and jovial companions, could he hear, 
 without a shudder, the inspiriting notes of the 
 hunting-horn sounding merrily a la victoire, 
 d la victoire ! 
 
 After they had finished their sketches, Orso- 
 . vitch looked for the guard in every direction, in 
 order to give him the customary fee, but he was 
 nowhere to be seen. 
 
 " Insolent beggar ! " said he at last angrily, 
 " I believe he has absented himself on purpose, 
 because he is too proud to take money ; well, he 
 is a franc the poorer, that 's all. That such people 
 should have ideas of that kind ; one would think 
 he was lord of the castle, instead of a mere game- 
 keeper. It is strange what a difference there is
 
 60 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 between the male and the female of the genus 
 peasant. Look at that little girl that we hope to 
 have pose for us ; in certain surroundings I should 
 take her for a lady, and yet she belongs to the 
 same class as this animal of a guard. Bah ! the 
 mere statement of the fact is an insult to the girl. 
 What a muddle our social distinctions are ! "
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHERE THE MARQUIS IS. 
 
 When street strawberries are sold, piled in pottles like sheaves, 
 And young ladies are sold for the strawberry leaves. 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 The vignettes all that lot are scalps 
 
 I took in London, Naples, Nice, 
 At Paris, and among the Alps : 
 
 Those foreign lovers act like geese. 
 But, dear, they are such handsome men. 
 We go to France, next year, again I 
 
 MARY A INGE DE VERRE. 
 
 TF Orsovitch, in fresh fields and pastures new, 
 had forgotten the Americans who had annoyed 
 him so much the previous summer, they had not 
 forgotten him. 
 
 In an elegant suite of rooms commanding the 
 Champs Elyse'es, where wealthy Americans love 
 to congregate, a young girl with a bright, bewitch- 
 ing face and a graceful form, attired in the very- 
 height of the newest mode, was looking abstract- 
 edly at the throng of carriages below, passing to 
 and from the Bois. 
 
 (61)
 
 62 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 An older lady, reclining languidly in an easy- 
 chair, was turning with fingers heavily laden with 
 diamonds the leaves of a large photograph alburn 
 an album filled with cabinet photographs of 
 handsome men, the military predominating, but 
 mixed in with students from every university 
 of Germany, and an exquisite belonging to the 
 Queen's Own on the same page with one of the 
 choristers at the Sistine Chapel. 
 
 TVIrs. Poser's face clouded as she noticed the 
 latter vignette. "Fanny," she exclaimed, "this 
 sort of thing has lasted long enough." 
 
 " That 's what I think," replied the young girl 
 
 can, my dear, that it 's time you were 
 i 
 
 if you hadn't been scolding me ever since 
 e back to Paris because I am dull, and 
 en dragging me about from matinees to 
 from the races to the opera, driving me 
 distracted with amusements, falsely so 
 
 . Poser scanned her sister with a sharp, 
 critical glance. " I can't imagine what has come 
 over you, Fanny. You used to be the gayest of 
 the gay. You are not becoming disenchanted, I 
 hope. Nothing makes a girl appear so old as
 
 WHERE THE MARQUIS IS. 63 
 
 that blase way of not caring for amusements or 
 anything else. At your age one ought to be 
 enthusiastic. A man may be a perfect cynic, but 
 he never admires a woman who is disgusted with 
 life. You used to be wild for society, and crazy 
 over waltzing, but now you are as serious as a 
 Quaker." 
 
 " And just now you were saying that it was 
 time I was serious." 
 
 Mrs. Poser bit her lip. " You know very well 
 what I mean, you perverse child. I mean that 
 instead of wasting your time haunting the picture 
 galleries, you ought to cooperate with me in my 
 efforts to get you suitably married." 
 
 " You are so very capable in such matters that 
 I don't see any need of putting in my little oar." 
 
 " Now, Fanny, sarcasm is thrown away on me. 
 though I must say it does not come with a 
 very good grace from you, when you know that I 
 am devoted to your interests." And Mrs. Poser 
 hid her dry eyes behind her lace handkerchief. 
 
 "Yes, dear, I know it," exclaimed Fanny 
 impulsively, kneeling beside her sister and throw- 
 ing an arm about her waist. "What do you 
 want me to do? I agree to anything, Puss ; any- 
 thing but marrying the marquis." 
 
 "And I don't see why you object so to that
 
 64 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 poor dear marquis, with his aristocratic hotel in 
 the Faubourg St. Germain, that has been in the 
 family for so many generations. His mother 
 thinks the world-in-all of you. I am sure nothing 
 could have been more marked than her invitation 
 for us to spend a fortnight at her villa in Enghien, 
 and we really compromised ourselves in accept- 
 ing. I would never have gone if you had not led 
 me to suppose that you liked the marquis. And 
 how mortifying it was when Pauline Pry an- 
 nounced the engagement in the American Reg- 
 ister, and the congratulations began flocking in ! 
 I should think that circumstance alone would 
 u been enough to make you verify the report, 
 you could have done it so easily. There 's 
 Wiley has been fishing for him in the most 
 stakable way these six months for one of 
 aughters, and Mrs. Soper would give her 
 to have him for a son-in-law." 
 'hat is one of my reasons. I don't want to 
 lentified with that set. You know that 
 a Pauline Pry wrote on ' Where the Marquis 
 jre will the mothers be gathered together ! ' ' 
 fancy no one would take me for your 
 ar, Fanny," said Mrs. Poser complacently, 
 thing one of the little bows with which her 
 sleeve was ornamented. "It really seems to
 
 WHERE THE MARQUIS IS. 65 
 
 me, my dear, that you have a morbid horror of 
 titles. If a man has noble blood in his veins, it 
 sets you against him at once. Your particular 
 penchant just now appears to be for poor young 
 artists, just as last winter you doted on interest- 
 ing but impecunious musicians." 
 
 Fanny's face flamed crimson. "Now you 
 mean Abondieu Tamburini. I am sure he had 
 nobler blood in his veins than the marquis even. 
 Every one said at Rome that his father was a 
 cardinal and his mother a countess." 
 
 Mrs. Poser raised her hands in horror. " My 
 dear child!" she exclaimed, "never mention 
 Signor Tamburini again, 
 that irregular way is worse t 
 origin. What would the n 
 you speak of such a thing ? . 
 proper in her ideas. And as to rank even if it 
 were the proper thing for cardinals to marry 
 why, the marquise is so very aristocratic that she 
 looks down on the Napoleons. I heard her say 
 that the Empress Eugenie was canaille, whatever 
 that may be, and I only wonder that she can 
 consider you a suitable match for her son." 
 
 " I think the wonder is sufficiently explained 
 after the unblushing way she inquired of you as 
 to the amount of my dowry." 
 9
 
 66 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " But, Fanny, that is the regular way of doing 
 things here. You know that she explained that 
 they were not at all mercenary, and only wished 
 a sum equal to that which they intended to give 
 their son. That ruinous old chateau is very val- 
 uable ; all it needs is to be put into repair to make 
 a very elegant residence." 
 
 " I would rather sit in the Sistine Chapel and 
 hear Abondieu Tamburini sing, than own all that 
 estate ; so don't talk to me about the marquis 
 again that's a dear. There, Mr. Goth is just 
 knocking at our front door. I had quite forgotten 
 that I promised to visit the Cluny Palace with 
 him this morning. Good-by, my dear. I love 
 you dearly, indeed I do." 
 
 Mrs. Poser sat for a long time after her sister 
 left, wrapped in thought, her cogitations, with 
 sundry repetitions, running something in this 
 way: 
 
 " It is just as I thought. Fanny need not try 
 to deceive me by talking about Tamburini ; that 
 was all ended long ago. It is that distinguished- 
 looking artist that she met when we were staying 
 with the marquise at Enghien. Let me see : 
 Fanny was rowing on the lake ; had stopped the 
 boat in a shady spot, and was reading a novel. I 
 found her curled up there, the very picture of
 
 WHERE THE MARQUIS IS. 67 
 
 demure unconsciousness the minx actually pre- 
 tended that she did not know that this strange 
 gentleman, sitting only a few yards away, was 
 putting her in his picture. I am confident that 
 was the first time she saw him. Then he called 
 on the marquise her reception evening, and 
 Fanny played and sang, and chatted with him 
 fully half an hour. I couldn't ask the marquise 
 who he was, without emphasizing Fanny's con- 
 duct. How provoking it is that there are no 
 introductions in French society. I don't believe 
 that Fanny herself knows his name. Then we 
 saw him at one of the open-air conr^rfc A - ' 
 when the marquise sent 
 cherries in her own phae 
 hunting party that dashed 
 
 rode a splendid horse, and ^ 
 
 rich hunting costume was very becoming; but 
 then our postillion said that the party were guests 
 of the Due de Champnoix, and of course the 
 horse belonged to the duke's stud, and I dare say 
 the duke furnished the hunting suits too. Where 
 did we see him next ? I do believe he was in the 
 same hotel with us when I was so sick at Mon- 
 treuil. What delicious peaches those were, to be 
 sure. There was some one there that Fanny was 
 interested in, for I never knew her before to be so
 
 68 
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 anxious for me to get well, so that we could drive 
 about. The marquise had impressed upon me 
 the importance of not allowing her to go out of 
 the house unless properly chaperoned. And then 
 we saw him next at the French Exhibition of 
 Pictures, which they so absurdly call the Salon. 
 I never dare write it so in my letters for fear 
 that my friends at home will think I am becoming 
 an inebriate, and report all round that Fanny and 
 I are in the habit of frequenting saloons. How 
 dreadfully bored he did look, to be sure ! Precosia 
 Pry, the artist, had fastened upon him, and was 
 parading him up and down as though he were a 
 chained tiger in a Roman triumphal procession. 
 That must be the reason that Fanny hates 
 Precosia so. And the Prys must know all about 
 him ; they are the most wonderful women to find 
 out things. A state secret would not be safe if 
 they were in the country. I- will go down and 
 call on them while Fanny is at the Cluny. Fanny 
 must have known that she could find out all about 
 her handsome unknown by applying to them, and 
 her pride has served me a good turn in keeping 
 her away from them. She has preferred to go 
 mooning about the picture galleries in the hope 
 of some day running against him. If she only 
 knew how delightfully transparent she is ! "
 
 WHERE THE MARQUIS IS. 69 
 
 Mrs. Poser was more than satisfied with the 
 result of her call on the Prys. "It will not be 
 such a bad match for Fanny after all," she said to 
 herself as she reentered her little boudoir. " A 
 Russian count is quite as good as a French 
 marquis, but Fanny must not suspect that I 
 favor the affair, or even that I know anything 
 about it. I wonder why I never suspected that 
 he was noble. I might have known that none but 
 the very ctme de la crime could have the entree 
 of the marquise's receptions 
 could any ordinary artist be th 
 de Champnoix ? Fanny is qui 
 strange she did not guess thai 
 the nobility, and take fright at once. Ana now 
 he is at Ecouen, and the Prys are going out there. 
 Nothing to fear from them, for the more he sees 
 of them the more disgusted he will be. Precosia 
 will make an excellent foil for Fanny, but we 
 must be on the ground to let the contrast appear. 
 How fortunate I mentioned to Precosia the fancy 
 Fanny had taken for art, and asked her advice as 
 to a master for her before I learned that M. Orso- 
 vitch was in Ecouen. Now our going there will 
 not have the look that it would otherwise have 
 had. I '11 have a little talk with Mr. Goth, too, 
 about the artists ; he knows everybody, and can
 
 7O BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 give me all the information I need. I wonder 
 how Fanny will take the announcement ? " 
 
 The announcement when it came was received 
 very quietly. Fanny was interested in Orsovitch, 
 but she had no suspicion of the plot which her 
 sister had formed, and was simply pleased to hear 
 that for awhile they were to abandon fashionable 
 life and betake themselves to the Vilier le Bel, a 
 village adjoining Ecouen, where she was to 
 become the pupil of the distinguished artist, 
 Monsieur Robusti. She really enjoyed art, and 
 the prospect of serious devotion to it came like a 
 great boon to fill the dreary emptiness of her life. 
 She had lived hitherto in the shallows, but she 
 was fitted for life's depths, and deep indeed were 
 the waters waiting for gay little Fanny Fitz-Flirt.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LOT IS CAST. 
 
 Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are sealed: 
 I strove against the st 
 
 /^VF the two days whic. 
 finding of Eulalie i, 
 during which she was to dt 
 
 sition made her, the first Wets ounaay and the 
 second a day of considerable importance for the 
 canton, as it was the one upon which the draft 
 occurred, the young men of the vicinity drawing 
 lots to decide whether they must serve in the 
 army for the next five years. Adolph, the only 
 child of Eulalie's aunt, was among this number ; 
 he was the apple of his mother's eye, and she 
 could not endure the thought of losing him for 
 that length of time and perhaps for ever. She 
 had found another young man who had said that 
 if he drew a good number and Adolph a bad one 
 he would exchange and go as substitute, in con- 
 
 (71)
 
 72 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 sideration of a very large sum of money. No 
 amount would have been too much for Adolph's 
 mother to give, had she possessed it, but un- 
 fortunately, the sum named exceeded all that 
 she had, or could possibly earn in the time 
 demanded for payment. Her only hope now was 
 that Adolph would be lucky and draw a good 
 number. Still her motherly love and anxiety 
 were such that they would allow her no rest, and 
 she tormented herself, and all with whom she 
 came in contact, with her apprehensions. Her 
 conversation with Orsovitch had moreover given 
 her a new idea, and with all the earnestness which 
 she could have displayed had his fate been already 
 decided, she begged Eulalie to consent to pose 
 and help buy her cousin's ransom. She began 
 as soon as the young men had left, as they sat 
 down to their evening meal. 
 
 " I can not, aunt, indeed I can not," was Eula- 
 lie's unvarying response ; " I promised Amedde 
 that I would never sit for any of the artists ; he 
 said that he could not put confidence in any one 
 that did." 
 
 " But Amedee's own mother poses, and a better 
 soul never lived," said her aunt, while Pere 
 Paquerette grumbled over his soup, 
 
 I'Amedee has no more sense than a baked
 
 THE LOT IS CAST. 73 
 
 owl. Don't I pose ? What would become of the 
 
 artists, that's what I should like to know, if we 
 
 did not ? There 's Monsieur Dansaert I 've 
 
 stood for every one of his figures of drunkards. 
 
 I keep that battered old silk hat of mine on 
 
 purpose for 'em. I sweep out his studio and 
 
 clean his brushes, and all he has to do is to slap 
 
 the paint on the canvas. I rather think he owes 
 
 the greater part of his success to me. and T mn 
 
 glad I 've helped h 
 
 to their country tc -'e th< 
 
 tell you that since 
 
 amount to anything 
 
 painters are the admiration and stupefaction of 
 
 the world ! " 
 
 As Pere Paquerette achieved this period he 
 waved his soup-spoon to heighten its rhetorical 
 effect, and the gesture overturned and broke the 
 water caraffe at his elbow. 
 
 "Animal!" hissed his sister-in-law, between 
 her teeth, as she picked up the broken pieces of 
 glass. " But I forgive you," she added more 
 pleasantly, as she took her seat at the table ; " in 
 your bushel of chaff there is sometimes one 
 grain of wheat, and what you just said about it 
 being better to encourage artists, who are a 
 harmless set enough when they pay their bills, 
 
 10
 
 74 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 instead of the army, which brings nothing but 
 ruin and sorrow, is all very true. It seems to me 
 that enough of this family lie in the church-yard 
 yonder, having given their lives to their country ; 
 and I should not think that you, Eulalie, would be 
 so anxious to see your cousin sent away, per- 
 haps as a Chasseur d'Afrique, and be brought 
 back with both his handsome legs shot off, or 
 never come back at all, more likely." And she 
 burst into tears before the picture her imagination 
 drew. 
 
 Eulalie's eyes were moist. " I do not want to 
 have him go, aunt," said she; "and perhaps he 
 will not have to do so. He has not drawn yet, 
 and we need not afflict ourselves beforehand." 
 
 " If you are so certain that he will draw a good 
 number, why can't you let it rest on that, and 
 just promise that you will pose if he is drafted ? 
 That is all I ask." 
 
 " Because I promised Ame'de'e that I would not 
 pose under any conditions. " 
 
 " You need not be so afraid of Ame'de'e," per- 
 sisted her aunt ; "he need never know." 
 
 " I am not afraid of Ame'de'e ; whether he 
 knew or not would make very little difference. I 
 should know, and I am afraid of my own con- 
 science."
 
 THE LOT IS CAST. 75 
 
 " You are a proud girl, with no natural affec- 
 tion. You see, Adolph, how much your cousin 
 cares for you. You might die before her eyes, 
 and it would make no difference to her; she 
 would not sit an hour and let an artist copy her 
 face to save you. And all for what ? Not because 
 she does not wish to displease her lover she 
 has just said that she does not care whether she 
 pleases him or not ; no, it is only because she is 
 too good. She sets herself up to be better than 
 the Mere Angelique ; she does not hesitate to 
 cast reproach on the profession of her old uncle. 
 She is so very virtuous that I wonder she could 
 ever have her photograph taken." And having 
 vented all her spite, she bounced out of the room 
 in a transport of rage. 
 
 "Don't you mind, Eulalie," said Adolp^i, who 
 had kept a discreet silence while in the presence 
 of his mother. " I hope I may draw a bad number, 
 I am wild to go. Nom d'un chien, I am tired of 
 staying here in Ecouen, and working like a beast. 
 Soldiers have nothing to do but to drink and kiss 
 the girls ; no danger of another war in the next 
 five years. If I should go to Algiers, I would 
 have a chance to see the world, and I would send 
 you some ostrich feathers for your shop. If you 
 know what you are about, Eulalie, you '11 just
 
 76 ' BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 play sweet on old Ame'dee. He 's a regular mine 
 of gunpowder, a fortune to own ; but you will 
 have to keep fire out of the way or there '11 be an 
 explosion." 
 
 Eulalie's sleep was troubled that night by 
 r ' 1 dreams of Adolph blown to atoms by the 
 )n of a bomb, which came hissing through 
 just missing her face, and glaring -at her 
 me'dee's eyes as it passed, 
 aunt refused her morning kiss, and she 
 alone to the old church troubled in mind, 
 inking it her duty to yield, she was so used 
 ifice herself for others. 
 >urs is no Christian determination," her 
 HL. lad said as she left ; " such hardness of 
 heart and obstinacy come only from the devil." 
 
 And Eulalie replied, " I am not determined ; I 
 am only seeking for the right, and I pray God to 
 show it to me to-day." 
 
 Kneeling on entering, she prayed for a sign, 
 and looked for it earnestly through all the early 
 part of the service ; but the mass was said, and 
 the choir boys, led by the withered old man in the 
 black skull-cap, holding the huge brass trumpet 
 had grumbled the responses, and still none had 
 come. She looked up wearily as a cure, a 
 stranger to Ecouen, mounted the carved pulpit
 
 His first 
 
 lap, but t 
 
 Lord." h 
 
 could tell wh 
 
 the morrow ; u 
 
 even Monsieur t. 
 
 to preside over the 
 
 result would be no 
 
 His hands, and she was 
 
 She came home with a bi. 
 
 her face, the look of one whv. 
 
 perplexity into the care of an. 
 
 powerful enough to order all for t 
 
 aunt, though never before noted for hci i^ i& i~ 
 
 fervor, approved these pious convictions with a 
 genuineness that none could doubt. Nothing 
 was now too good for her niece, and she opened 
 her. best pot of marmalade in honor of her 
 decision. 
 
 The day of the draft dawned clear and beauti 
 ful. Light booths were placed along the street 
 by sellers of cake and refreshment of various 
 kinds, who never missed such an occasion of dis- 
 playing their wares, but appeared as regularly as 
 the day itself in every village of the department. 
 Their carts, which had arrived early in the morn- 
 ing, stood under the great chestnut tree. On the
 
 ILIES. 
 
 ;ad long silver and blue 
 icarts of gingerbread, and 
 ariety. Two new kegs of 
 k of vin ordinaire had been 
 house the night before, and 
 ^.s resplendent in her Sunday apron 
 whose frills were as white and stiff as 
 .gh carved in alabaster. The landlady had 
 ipped in early to buy a fresh red rose for her 
 nead-dress, which vied in color with her own 
 wine-tinted cheeks. She sat behind her counter 
 now, her fat form shaking with laughter, as she 
 oked with the countrymen flocking in from all 
 quarters. How the crowd thickened. Eulalie 
 could see it all from her window : the boys in 
 blue blouses who were to draw, buying the gaudy 
 badges soon to be stamped with a lucky or 
 unlucky number. Monsieur Bonenfant, keeper 
 of the Esperance, was there with his own son, 
 and he had promised that if the boy drew a good 
 number he would treat the conscripts to a wine 
 supper that evening. Little girls were selling 
 ribbons with which to decorate the hats of the 
 boys. Now and then one of these, mindful of 
 Eulalie, would step into the shop to buy his 
 ribbon there, and have her fasten it upon his hat 
 for him.
 
 THE LOT IS CAST. 79 
 
 Adolph had said as she arranged his : "There 
 are only thirty to serve for five years. I will 
 hold up my number as I go past the door, and if 
 it is over thirty you will know that I am exempt. 
 There go the gendarmes ; how handsome ! 
 are in their dark blue uniforms laced with 
 and their great cocked hats and black must 
 Maybe I will be a gendarme some day, } 
 horse of my own, live in a fine house, an< 
 like them." As to the last clause, it was 
 all likely, for Adolph's beardless face was c<- 
 with freckles which matched in tint his 
 locks, and gave promise that the mustache, when 
 it did come, would be of a like fiery color. 
 
 " Des rubans !" shouted the little badge-ven- 
 dors ; " d cinq sons les ntbans ! " Eulalie tried to 
 control her nervousness and go quietly about her 
 work. She set herself to arranging 1 the articles 
 in the little window, though her eye continually 
 sought the street. Old Martin le Maladroit, the 
 town crier, was beating his drum to attract atten- 
 tion, and when all was quiet for a moment, began 
 to read his proclamation in a high, cracked voice. 
 Eulalie opened her door and listened. 
 
 "Avtsf" said the little man, peremptorily 
 giving three final rolls to his drum. "Avis ! Tottt 
 le monde est prfvenu que les jeunes gens qui sont
 
 80 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 inserts four la pour la mer horizontale ' ' H ere 
 le Maladroit was interrupted by a shout of laugh- 
 ter from the crowd, and adjusting his spectacles, 
 and grumbling that the notice was very badly 
 written, he made another trial. " Qui sont inserts 
 pour Tannfe me'ridionale" The hubbub that fol- 
 lowed was still more wild, and le Maladroit was 
 obliged to beat his drum for a long time before 
 order was restored, and he was allowed to inform 
 the jeunes gens, who, he had at last discovered, 
 were enrolled for I 'ann/e territorials, that their 
 names would now be read, and the lots drawn. 
 It was only a few minutes afterward, though it 
 seemed an age to Eulalie, that she saw Monsieur 
 le Sons-pr^fet standing on the steps of the mairie 
 at the end of the street, announcing the result 
 of the draft. 
 
 She could not bear to watch them any longer. 
 It was all decided now; and yet she would not 
 know for several minutes the chance which might 
 mean so much for her, and she walked over to 
 her aunt's work-table and began to bring order 
 out of the confusion which reigned there. She 
 wound each bobbin of cotton as carefully as 
 though her fate depended upon the neatness with 
 which her task was done, and afterwards folded 
 and assorted a number of little shirts and slips
 
 THE LOT IS CAST. 8l 
 
 small enough for some child's doll, tying them 
 with narrow blue ribbon before she laid them in 
 a large flat box, for they were the various articles 
 for a layette which had been finished the week 
 before. Her aunt was a very skillful needle- 
 woman, and as the department of linen wear in 
 Eulalie's establishment was not an extensive one, 
 she managed it nicely. One by one Eulalie's 
 fingers caressed the dainty little garments : she 
 toyed with the tiny cap, looking down lovingly 
 upon it, not because she admired its delicate 
 embroidery, but as she might have looked if there 
 had been a baby's face within its satin ribbon 
 border, and the baby had been her own. Some- 
 thing of the look her aunt understood, it was so 
 plainly written, for she said : 
 
 " I will make a layette a great deal handsomer 
 than this one for your first baby. There, hear 
 the noise ; it must be that all is decided." 
 
 The two women flew to the door. The boys 
 were forming in line in front of the mairie, and 
 now came marching down the street to the sound 
 of le Maladroit' s drum, which one had seized. 
 One of their number led the way, flourishing a 
 ribbon-decorated stick as he danced nimbly back- 
 ward, facing his company. " It is Adolph ; how 
 glad he looks ; he must have -drawn a good num-
 
 82 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 ber," said his mother. " There, he is holding up 
 
 his Hat to us. Can you read it ? The wind 
 
 blows the ribbons so. Ah, it is 50 ! There, I 
 
 ou so : he is exempt ! And you have had 
 
 icroics for nothing Don't you wish you 
 
 ien a iittle more willing to pose, now there 
 
 leed of it > 
 
 ou are mistaken, auni," said Eulalie quietly; 
 not 50 but 30, the very last number among 
 if ted But there, do not look so distressed , 
 '! ort go. tor I will pose."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE LED A. 
 
 But evil is wrought by want of thought, 
 As well as want of heart 
 
 HOOD. 
 
 r I^HE next day Eulalie came, and no profes- 
 sional model could have posed better. She 
 took easily and gracefully every position given 
 her, and kept it with the immovableness of a 
 marble statue. This did not prevent her talking, 
 however, and Van wondered that he had thought 
 her face sad, it lighted up with such cheerful 
 enthusiasm as she gave the explanations she had 
 heard of the windows in the church. 
 
 Had they noticed the one next to that of 
 Our Lady of Seven Sorrows ? It was Odet de 
 Coligny, nephew of the Due de Montmorenci, in 
 his scarlet robes, for he was a cardinal. " Only," 
 said she, " it was such a pity he turned Calvinist 
 after the window had been placed there by his 
 uncle, and disguised as a sailor crossed the Chan- 
 nel in a little row-boat, and sought refuge in 
 
 (83)
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 England. Nobody knew then what to do with 
 the window ; it was too bad to destroy so hand- 
 some an ornament, and yet no one wanted the 
 portrait of a heretic in the church. At last some 
 one solved the difficulty by placing Adam and 
 Eve driven from Paradise in the sashes above his 
 head. And to show that Mother Church was 
 very pitiful, and would welcome back her erring 
 children, they added the design of Christ seeking 
 the wandering sheep upon the dark mountains 
 of sin." 
 
 There were other legends and bits of history, 
 but this, heretic as Van was, interested him most. 
 What mattered it that there was every evidence 
 that all the sashes of the window had been placed 
 at one and the same time ? The appropriateness 
 of the designs was almost enough to vouch for 
 the truth of the story. 
 
 When it grew too dark to see to paint longer, 
 Orsovitch gave Eulalie a gold piece, and told her 
 that the next day's work would be easier, as he 
 had decided that he wished only to paint her face, 
 and she might sit all the time. 
 
 "And may I bring my flowers?" she asked. 
 " I can work at the same time, and I promise you 
 not to move." 
 
 " I hardly think you will be able to work,- >aid
 
 THE LED A. 85 
 
 Orsovitch, " but you may bring them, certainly ; 
 we can at least try." 
 
 As she turned to go she passed the little book- 
 case, and paused a moment to examine the books. 
 " If there is anything there you would like to 
 borrow," said Van, " you are welcome to it." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled with delight, and she laid 
 her hand on the great History of France. " May 
 I take this ?" she asked ; "you are too good, and 
 I have read so little history." 
 
 Orsovitch studied his sketch long after Eulalie 
 had gone. " I don't know what to do with it," he 
 said ; "there is material there for a picture, and 
 I must use it ; now, the question is, as what ? " 
 
 In a startled look in the beautiful, dreamy eyes 
 he had caught the expression with which she 
 looked up when he first suggested her posing ; but 
 the exquisite pale cheek was dimpled with the 
 smile which had flickered upon it as she told her 
 legends. Van lighted the lamp, and Orsovitch 
 brought forward his portfolio of sketches and 
 studies, and looked them all over vainly for a 
 subject. He lingered awhile over some studies 
 made at the Cluny Palace, of steel armor of the 
 fifteenth century, inlaid with gold and silver. 
 " She would make a good Jeanne d'Arc," said he ; 
 " she has just that mysterious superhuman air
 
 86 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 of inspiration, and the contour of* her face is 
 something like the bas-relief in the Orleans 
 Museum ; though to my mind, after all, the only 
 satisfactory ideal of Jeanne d'Arc is the one 
 rendered by the Princess Marie in her statuette 
 in the same collection, and I fear the subject is 
 too difficult for me as yet." And he began 
 turning over the canvases placed with their faces 
 to the wall. 
 
 There was one made in a life school at Paris, a 
 study from the nude. Orsovitch had displayed 
 immense care and remarkable taste in the flesh 
 tints. The little study was really an exquisite 
 bit of color. The model must have been a wo- 
 man of uncpmmon beauty, and Orsovitch had 
 subtly idealized her. He had painted the figure 
 as reposing upon a green bank, in an attitude at 
 once remarkable for its grace and the difficulties 
 which it presented in foreshortening difficulties 
 nobly overcome by careful drawing and masterly 
 modeling. . The study had been much admired, 
 and would have made a charming picture had 
 it not been for the face, which was repulsively 
 common, even vulgar. It was for this reason 
 that he had set it aside, not even caring to work 
 up any accessories to it, leaving a square of un- 
 covered canvas in the right-hand corner of the 
 picture.
 
 THE LEDA. 7 
 
 " Eureka ! " exclaimed Orsovitch ; " only imagine 
 a swan in the foreground, and this face, with all 
 its fascination and fear, instead of that brutal 
 thing, and it would make my fortune as a Leda ! 
 Hold, what do you say, Van ? " for his companion 
 was silent 
 
 " I do not think it the right thing to give 
 Mademoiselle Eulalie's face to a nude figure," 
 Van replied ; " I am positive she would feel 
 insulted." 
 
 " She need never see it/' replied Orsovitch, 
 "nor need any one who knows her. I have an 
 amateur in ,my mind, who will be in Paris this 
 spring. I am sure this will suit him, and it will 
 be shut up at once in his private collection in 
 Russia. Now, where 's the harm ? " 
 
 " I would not do it," persisted Van. 
 
 "Pooh!" exclaimed his friend half angrily; 
 "one must think of one's own interests some- 
 times, and this cannot possibly injure our little 
 model." And Orsovitch proceeded to erase the 
 face already upon the canvas. 
 
 The next morning Eulalie came with her 
 materials for flower-making. She worked for a 
 wholesale house in Paris, she said, and furnished 
 her own little shop at the same time. She had 
 plucked a number of natural flowers as she passed
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 through their garden, and she now proceeded to 
 imitate them. " These are not for my patron," 
 said she ; " I have so long wanted to make a 
 wreath for Our Lady of Seven Sorrows in the 
 church, but I have never felt that I could spare 
 the time until now. They are to be all lilies, 
 purple and white like these," and she showed 
 the sweet-scented white lilies and the stalks of 
 royal fleur de Us. As her deft fingers clipped 
 and joined the bits of violet velvet and satin, she 
 said : " I think dark blue the most beautiful color 
 of all. The violet is the imperial emblem, you 
 know, and our family are all Bonapartists, though 
 .of itself I think the Bourbon lily the more royal 
 flower." 
 
 " Purple always suggests mourning to me," 
 Van said ; "but it is very becoming to you, made- 
 moiselle," and taking down a volume of Ruskin, 
 he translated for her what the art critic says of 
 color. 
 
 " I mean," said Eulalie confidentially, " as soon 
 as I can afford it, to buy a dark blue English 
 vaterproof, with a capeline to go over my head 
 so. I wish I could have it for the Ecouen fete, 
 but that is impossible." 
 
 " When is the fete ? " asked Orso\dtch. 
 
 "The first Sunday in next month, and Ame'dee
 
 THE LEDA. 9 
 
 has promised to make me dance every set. My 
 aunt is making me a new white dress, and we wil' 
 have such a merry time. The fete is very beau- 
 tiful, messieurs ; you should go to see it." 
 
 " Who is Amede'e ? " Van asked ; and he was 
 not at all surprised when she replied, " The 
 guard at the Chateau de la Chasse." 
 
 " He is a strong, well-built fellow," said Orso- 
 vitch ; " he reminded me of the Antinous at the 
 Louvre. He carries his dog-whip as though it 
 were a rapier. Altogether a handsome young 
 man, though it strikes me that he may be the 
 possessor of a remarkably bad temper." 
 
 " He is a little difficult, that is, sometimes," 
 admitted Eulalie; "but you should know his 
 mother, la Mere Angelique such a heavenly 
 old lady." 
 
 " I have heard," said Orsovitch, " that it matters 
 little what sort of a wife one has, provided one's 
 mother-in-law is agreeable : is that your theory, 
 Mademoiselle Eulalie ? " 
 
 Eulalie colored deeply, and Van, to hide her 
 embarrassment, said quickly, " She must be quite 
 a contrast to the other village women, for as far 
 as I have met them, La Gazette is a good type, 
 and her match for malice I have never seen else- 
 where."
 
 90 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " La Gazette has a grown-up daughter," said 
 Eulalie, " whom she has proposed to the Mere 
 Angelique for Ame^tee. She is to have a dowry 
 of five hundred francs. Some of the peasants are 
 quite rich, while we bourgeoisie are as poor as the 
 noblesse" (Pride of caste cropping out even in 
 the poor modiste?) 
 
 " Has Gazette's daughter a tongue like her 
 mother?" asked Orsovitch. 
 
 " You know her, I think," replied Eulalie ; " she 
 is La Poissonniere." 
 
 "Yes, I know her," retorted Orsovitch, "and 
 I know her to be a remarkably impudent hussy. 
 I would not take her, if I were Amedde no, 
 not with any dowry. Why is it," he continued, 
 addressing Van, "that selling fish renders the 
 voice more harsh and discordant than any other 
 calling. I never knew a fish-wife whose voice 
 did not resemble the shrill shriek of ocean birds ; 
 that of our poissonniere is peculiarly startling, it 
 curdles the marrow in my bones every time I hear 
 it. I fancy that no human utterance, not even 
 the cry of the African bushmen, can be less 
 musical." Turning to Eulalie, he added, " You 
 need not come to-morrow, child, for I am going 
 to Paris to make a study of a swan ; but be sure 
 not to fail me the day after."
 
 THE LED A. 9 1 
 
 "By the way," said Van, "have you begun 
 that history yet ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes!" replied Eulalie, "I read two can- 
 dles out last night." 
 
 " Then tell me all about it. We will have a 
 regular class, and you shall recite to me each 
 day." Eulalie, delighted with the idea, gave at 
 once a correct r&um/ of what -she had read, 
 which Van supplemented with the events of the 
 same epoch occurring in other countries, and the 
 second day of posing passed even more rapidly 
 than the first.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LA MERE ANG^LIQUE. 
 
 Scanty goods to her had been allotted, 
 Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire, 
 
 While her long fingers, bent and knotted, 
 Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. 
 
 GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. 
 
 "\ 7"AN knew the Mere Angelique well. He had 
 not said so to Eulalie, because he hoped she 
 would go on talking about her, for he loved to 
 hear her talk. Her opinions were so naive, and 
 yet so sensible withal, for she had received a more 
 thorough education at the Maison Eugenie than 
 at first appeared ; she was well-read as regarded 
 French literature, and knew much of the world, 
 through her experiences at the flower manufactory 
 at Paris ; and yet, withal, she was marvellously 
 
 * 
 
 innocent and child-like. 
 
 Van had a host of sisters, and was dubbed 
 brother by many girls at home who were not his 
 sisters, and yet he had never known an American 
 girl who was like Eulalie. It seemed to him that 
 
 (92)
 
 LA MERE ANGfiLIQUE. 93 
 
 she was ignorant of everything which they knew, 
 and that none of their accomplishments com- 
 prised the graces of mind and manner that made 
 her so attractive. Of the two types Eulalie's had 
 the charm of novelty, and he resolved to become 
 thoroughly acquainted with this new phase of 
 character, never thinking that it might prove to 
 him a dangerous study. " She will always be 
 young," he said to himself, "and our girls are 
 world-worn and disgusted with life at eighteen. 
 What will Eulalie be like at eighty ? The Mere 
 Angelique?" And suddenly the old woman 
 acquired a new interest for him. Orsovitch had 
 gone to Paris ; the day stretched before him a 
 dull blank in contrast with the lively chat and 
 pleasant companionship of yesterday ; why not 
 get the Mere Angdlique to pose for him, and 
 from her garrulous good-nature find the key to 
 the problem that was interesting him. He really 
 wanted her, too, to assist him in realizing an 
 ideal for a picture that had long been haunting 
 him, and he placed upon his easel a study of an 
 autumnal landscape, made the fall before. He 
 intended to call the picture " Ready for Har- 
 vest ; " it would represent an old woman whose 
 face should be nobly expressive of duty well 
 performed, and of calm, even triumphant look-
 
 94 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 ing forward to the last enemy already overcome. 
 She would be seated at the roadside, her pilgrim's 
 staff in her hand, the harvest fields stretching 
 away in the background, and sere leaves flecking 
 the ground about her, while she waited for the 
 reapers. One of these should be known to be 
 approaching, from the shadow of his scythe 
 which the slant beams of the morning sun threw 
 at her feet. 
 
 From Frere's school Van was fast drifting into 
 one of sentimentalism. The transition was a 
 natural one. Frere has been rightly called the 
 Head of Sympathetic Art ; but his sympathy is 
 always frank, sincere, found first in nature itself, 
 and represented with delicacy of feeling, but 
 with little of idealization. Never does he invent 
 a touching story and then pose his models to 
 enact it ; never is there the slightest trace of 
 affectation in any of his most touching pictures. 
 They are realistic, discovered, not created. It 
 was for his pupil, George Boughton, to carry his 
 art one step further and to take his place, as by 
 preeminence, the painter of sentiment. Van had 
 been greatly moved by his Bearers of the Burden, 
 which he had seen lately at the Academy, and by 
 Passing into Shade, earlier and still more touch- 
 ing, painted, probably, under the green arched
 
 LA MRE ANGELIQUE. 95 
 
 avenue leading to the Chateau de Montmorenci. 
 He was walking now in Boughton's path, though 
 later he came to recognize that Frere was grander 
 in his simplicity and perfect truth. Van was in 
 the romantic period of life, and he gave to 
 inanimate nature and to human faces meanings 
 which they never possessed. He paused now 
 before the little gate lodge of the Villa Adeline, 
 where Mere Angelique lived, and looked through 
 the wrought-iron gates at the mediaeval-looking 
 gray old building beyond, half-covered with ivy, 
 and surrounded, by a wilderness of bright flowers 
 which, from April to November, contrived always 
 to present areas of brilliant bloom, and wondered 
 what had been the history of this old mansion, 
 and whether the Mere Angelique was identified 
 with it. " I will get her to tell me its legends," 
 he thought; "it will not do to talk of Eulalie all 
 the time." He rang the bell, and Charlotte 
 appeared. Charlotte was the village " pot-au-feu " 
 girl, who, twice a week, made her rounds with 
 herbs and vegetables for soup, in an odd willow 
 " hptte" or basket, which she wore strapped 
 across her shoulder. And Charlotte tells him 
 that the Mere Angelique has been gone these 
 three hours with the modiste, who keeps the little 
 shop on the square, for a day's excursion to the 
 Chateau de la Chasse.
 
 96 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Van is disappointed, but averse to losing the 
 day. "Then can you pose for me, little Char- 
 lotte ? " 
 
 " Very easily, for Anethol, who is here to-day 
 at work in the garden, will mind the gate ; but 
 then, the Mere Angelique has left Mimi in my 
 charge." 
 
 " Mimi can come too, and we will go to the 
 forest." And on their way, and in the merry 
 green-wood, the children chatter like two happy 
 and noisy robins ; and Van, though he finds 
 Charlotte a very provoking model, retaining 
 scarcely for an instant the same expression or 
 position, finds much to interest him in their 
 childish prattle. Charlotte tells him that Mimi 
 and she are not really sisters, but both waifs, 
 adopted by the good Mere Angelique, whom she 
 calls grand'mere, and who feeds and clothes 
 them from her own earnings. In the intervals of 
 posing, she is studying her catechism, in prepa- 
 ration for her first communion ; and when Van 
 asks her the questions, she answers confidently to 
 "Who killed our Saviour, Jesus Christ?" " Les 
 Juifs, les princes des pritres et les Parisiens." 
 (The Jews, the chief priests, and the Parisians !) 
 Looking at the book, Van found the mistake 
 as slight in words as in point of fact. The
 
 LA MERE ANGfiLIQUE. 97 
 
 Pharisiens (Pharisees) meant nothing to her, 
 while she knew the Parisians were not friends to 
 Christ. 
 
 Now they play hide-and-seek behind the trees, 
 repeating a round equivalent to the "Onery- 
 twoery-ickery-an " of American children, and of 
 which the following is an almost literal transla- 
 tion : 
 
 Marguerite of Paris, 
 
 Lend me your slippers gray, 
 To guide my feet to Paradise 
 
 On this sunshiny day. 
 We will see the little birds 
 That Jesus made of clay. 
 Each evening in the chapel old 
 
 He lights the candles without doubt 
 Bread, 
 Pipe, 
 
 Bridge of gold, 
 The prettiest child goes 
 Out! 
 
 "You seem to love the little Jesus, my child," 
 said Van. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " replied Charlotte. " It was He 
 who helped me to sell my violets." 
 
 "Tell me about it, my little one." 
 
 " It was at Argenteuil, before we came to live 
 
 at Ecouen. We were poor ; oh ! so very poor. 
 
 Grand'mere used to work in the fields, and I went 
 
 with her. Mimi had not -come to live with us 
 
 13
 
 98 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 then. Coming home through the woods grand'- 
 mere would tell me stories, though she was very 
 tired. She is so very kind. One evening I had 
 my apron filled with flowers, which I had picked 
 on the way ; and, as I looked up into her good 
 face, I wished that I could do something to help 
 her. Just then we passed the crucifix that marks 
 the beginning of the village, and I saw that some 
 one had hung a garland of early violets about it. 
 ' They are blessed flowers,' said grand'mere. 
 And, all at once, the thought came to me that I 
 would sell violets through the month of May, for 
 that is the month of Mary, when people buy 
 them for the altars. So the first of May I told 
 grand'mere I did not want to go into the 
 fields any more. And she said I might mind the 
 house, if I chose ; and, leaving a bowl of milk for 
 my breakfast, and some knitting for me to do 
 while she was gone, she went away alone. Every 
 day, as soon as she was out of sight, I would 
 run into the woods, pick my violets, and make 
 them into little bouquets with ivy leaves. I would 
 leave the prettiest one before the sacred relic 
 in the church, and then hurry into Paris, and 
 sell my flowers on the steps of Notre Dame des 
 Victoires." 
 
 " What relic have they at Argenteuil ? " asked 
 Van.
 
 LA MERE ANGfiLJQUE. 99 
 
 " Monsieur has not heard then of the tunic of 
 the infant Jesus, which grew with his growth 
 so that his blessed mother never had to make 
 him another ? " 
 
 Van had not heard of it. Was she sure that 
 this was the authentic tunic ? And how large 
 was it ? 
 
 " Oh, yes indeed, for plenty of miracles have 
 been wrought by it ; it was large enough for a 
 boy five years old ! " 
 
 " Then it could not have grown any more after 
 that, and Christ's mother did have to make him 
 another." 
 
 " Oh ! yes it did, monsieur, but this is as it 
 was when he and it were little ; but monsieur 
 must not put me out. I never had a bunch of 
 violets left after four o'clock, it was the tunic 
 which made them sell so well, and as I carried 
 my knitting with me and did my work on the 
 church steps, grand'mere, finding my stint always 
 done, never suspected that I had been away. But 
 the last of the month came and closed the market 
 for flowers for the Virgin. There was one 
 gentleman who always bought two or three 
 bunches, and on that day, seeing that I had been 
 crying, he asked me what was the matter. When 
 I told him, he said, ' Never mind, little one,
 
 100 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 perhaps something better wiH happen next' 
 When I reached home, I found grand'mere there 
 before me. I was afraid she would ask me where 
 I had been, but she did not, for there were other 
 women there and they had brought Mimi, a little 
 red thing, all wrapped in flannel. They said her 
 mother was dead and they wanted grand'mere to 
 take her. ' I would,' said grand'mere, and the 
 tears stood in her eyes, ' but I have no money to 
 buy her milk.' ' Oh ! yes you have, grand'mere,' 
 I cried. ' Keep the little mimi. [You see I did 
 not once think it was a baby, but supposed it 
 was a kitty they had wrapped up there.] I have 
 money enough to buy milk for two months, and 
 she can catch rats after that.' And I ran and 
 poured all my milk money big sous and half- 
 franc pieces into grand'mere's lap. 'Where 
 did you get this money ? ' said she, looking very 
 serious. Before I could say a word the gentleman 
 who had bought my flowers, and who had followed 
 me home without my knowing it, entered the 
 house and told the whole story. Then he said, 
 ' I am an artist and live at Ecouen, though I have 
 a studio at Paris too, and spend a great deal of 
 time there. I have a large garden and no time 
 to attend to it myself. There is a little house 
 with it too,' and he offered grand'mere very much
 
 LA MfcRE ANGfiLIQUE. IOI 
 
 money to go and be his gatekeepeer and gardener. 
 So that is why we are here, for it was M. Dupin- 
 ceau, and he gave us part of the" land to culti- 
 .vate for ourselves, and I sell all that we raise 
 from it." 
 
 "A very touching story, little Charlotte," said 
 Van ; " and does the Mere Ang61ique love the 
 little Jesus as much as you do ? " 
 
 "No; Grand'mere is not pious. She hardly 
 ever goes to hear mass. She says she thinks as 
 did the great duke, who built the castle on the 
 hill yonder. When he died, the priest wanted 
 him to think of religion ; and he said, ' Mon 
 pere, do you think I have lived eighty years with 
 honor, not to know how to die in a quarter of an 
 hour ? ' Grand'mere is not pious and Monsieur 
 the Cure says she will go to purgatory some 
 day. I like to go to church. See what I gained 
 at the last church lottery ! " (And she held up a 
 little silver medal.) "He did not give me the 
 ribbon, though. I had to pay four sous for that. 
 Monsieur the Cur6 has lotteries once a week to 
 make the people come to vespeis. Without that 
 they would not come, even if he had the Angelus 
 rung all night. I shall celebrate my first com- 
 munion soon, and that will be beautiful ; one is 
 all in white, with a crown, like a bride ; I will
 
 IO2 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 pose for monsieur afterward in my new dress, if 
 he wishes. I shall wear it to the fete. I like fetes 
 almost as well -as mass, because we dance there. 
 Do they dance on fe* te days in America, or only 
 on Sundays ?" 
 
 The question is a puzzling one, and Van does 
 not attempt to answer it, and Charlotte wanders 
 on : 
 
 " I have posed for lots of pictures, but not for 
 so many as the little Jesus ; in every church I was 
 ever in there are two or three with him in them. 
 I wonder whether the artists always remembered 
 to give him his two sous ? " 
 
 As this seems to be a mild hint to Van, who is 
 strapping up his colors, he acts upon it immedi- 
 ately, and Charlotte trudges away, singing a song 
 of Lucien Gothi's, which Van has often heard 
 from her before, as she passes through the village 
 vending her vegetables, and which might be ren- 
 dered thus : 
 
 "Little Charlotte 
 Sells echalote, 
 
 Laurel leaves for the brave, 
 And sage for the grave; 
 Thyme, that gives us gray hairs, 
 Leeks, that weep for our cares. 
 She has in her kotte 
 All you need for your pot; 
 Then come, buy garlic and echalote.
 
 LA MERE ANGELIQUE. 1 03 
 
 Only one of the Breton market-girls; 
 
 But her onions are clustered orient pearls, 
 
 Each carrot a golden ingot. 
 Her radishes, red as my lady's lips, 
 Or as slender and pale as finger-tips, 
 
 Like kisses, are spicy and hot. 
 'Stead of flounces and ruffles, rainbow-hued 
 I have mushrooms and truffles, fresh and good, 
 
 To keep me from turning cocotte. 
 Instead of a silken trailing gown, 
 There jauntily droops from my shoulders do-wn- 
 
 A peasant's light willow hotte. 
 Never fancy for that I am happy the less, 
 Selling my parsnips, my parsley and cress; 
 
 Only look now how briskly I trot 
 Buy, then, of my salad, it costs but a sou, 
 I Ve given my ballad for nothing to you, 
 
 The ballad of Little Charlotte."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. 
 
 Life was a play, and yoar hands grasped after the roses of 
 
 heaven I 
 
 . . . Love is atonement 
 With God ; but love among mortals 
 Is but an endless sigh I He longs, and endures, and stands 
 
 waiting ; 
 Suffers, and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids. 
 
 LONGFELLOW'S CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 
 
 A S Eulalie entered her little shop with the twi- 
 light, after her second day at the studio, her 
 aunt started, and ran the needle with which she 
 was embroidering into her finger. " There ! " she 
 exclaimed with a grimace, " but that is droll. I 
 was thinking of thee, and expecting thee ; I said 
 to myself when the clock struck, She will be 
 here soon, and here I start when thou comest, as 
 though I had seen that which is impossible.'* 
 
 "That is because you are tired, aunt. Have 
 you had many customers; shall I light the 
 candles ? " 
 
 (104)
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. IO5 
 
 " Yes and no ; that is to say, I .have been 
 deluged with business, every idle person in the 
 village has been here, and I do not want any 
 candles. Thy dinner is waiting for thee, and after 
 thou hast finished, Adolph shall bring chairs, and 
 we will sit out of doors under the great chestnut 
 tree ; we can see if any one comes, an*l it is gayer 
 there. 
 
 "And now," she said, as her needles clicked 
 briskly over the knitting with which she always 
 replaced her sewing when it was too dark to see, 
 "and now I will tell thee who has been here. 
 In the first place, Monsieur le Cure*." 
 
 " Monsieur le Cure ! what could he want ? " 
 
 " That is evident enough. The children have 
 been saying their catechism to him for a month 
 past ; they will be ready soon for their first com- 
 munion. There are a great many girls this year, 
 and they will want their wreaths of white roses. 
 M. le Cure has always taken an interest in thee, 
 and he said there was no reason why the girls 
 should not buy their crowns of thee, instead of 
 going to Paris for them, as they did last year, or 
 to the milliner's at Vilier le Bel, who gets most 
 of the churches' custom simply because she has 
 dedicated her shop to St. Didier, and has a 
 painting of the archbishop in his robes, with his 
 14
 
 106 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 pointed hat and hook, over her door. And M. le 
 Cure" wished to warn you in time, that you might 
 have a good stock on hand a dozen and a half 
 for the village girls, and three dozen for the 
 pupils at the chateau. It is a large order. Thou 
 shouldst make enough from the communion this 
 year to pay for thine own wine and A me" dee's 
 for" 
 
 " Don't talk so, aunt ; thou knowest I do not 
 want to make money by it. I would give them 
 their crowns if I could," and the tears crept to 
 Eulalie's eyes as she thought of the beautiful 
 procession : the boys with their curling hair 
 uncovered, carrying the long tapers and chanting 
 as they went ; followed by the girls, modest little 
 brides, all in white, with their long veils, sweet, 
 "tremulous lilies," under the fluttering violet 
 banners, escorted by the dignitaries of the church 
 in scarlet and lace and gold and satin. How 
 they were met on the bridge over the castle moat 
 by the ladies of the Company of Jesus, with 
 their charges scattering rose leaves and singing, 
 Then the service in the castle chapel added to 
 that in the old church ! She would not gain a 
 penny by the roses, if only she might enter with 
 the procession and renew her vows with them. 
 
 " What makes thee so silent, Eulalie ? Here 
 are five minutes that thou hast said nothing."
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. 
 
 "I I did not mean to be silent. Did any 
 one else come?" 
 
 " Did not I tell thee that every one came ? The 
 next was the Mere Angelique. ' Eulalie is at 
 Paris,' said I. La Gazette, who was buying some 
 jet beads (she wanted me to take three yards of 
 passementerie that her daughter made in pay- 
 ment, but I made her pay for it in heavy copper ; 
 rich as she is, I say it is shameful), La Gazette, 
 who heard what I said, snapped out, ' What 
 omnibus did she take ? I was washing win- 
 dows all the morning at the Hotel du Nord, and 
 I did not see her go.' I could have bitten her, 
 but I pretended not to hear, and the Mere 
 Angelique went on to say that to-morrow is 
 Amedee's fete day,* and it would please him if 
 thou wouldst spend the day at the Chateau de la 
 Chasse." 
 
 Eulalie opened her eyes in astonishment that 
 the Mere Angelique could suggest such a breach 
 of French propriety. 
 
 Her aunt saw the look. "Ah, never fear; it 
 is all right. She is to come and fetch thee, and 
 will bring thee back. Thou wilt spend the whole 
 day with her, and thy uncle Paquerette will go 
 
 * Birthday of patron saint ; celebrated in France instead of 
 one's own birthday.
 
 108 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 too. She invited me also, but I must stay to 
 mind the shop. I will send Adolph to tell the 
 artists that thou canst not come to-morrow, for 
 this is the more important." 
 
 " No need of that, aunt I have to-morrow as 
 holiday already ; and, aunt, I will tell Ame'de'e 
 that I am posing ; I shall have plenty of good 
 opportunity. He may be angry, but he ought to 
 know." 
 
 " That shalt thou not," cried her aunt angrily. 
 " What ! wouldst thou give me the lie ? Did I 
 not say that thou wast at Paris ? Besides, child, 
 even if he forgave thee he would not suffer thee 
 to pose any longer, and though the artist has 
 been generous, yet, hast thou not earned my 
 Adolph's ransom ? Oh ! promise me, my child, 
 to wait until thou art married, then tell him all 
 thou pleasest ! Eulalie, Eulalie, am I not right ? " 
 
 " You are right, aunt ; Ame"dee would not wish 
 me to pose again. I have promised you to earn 
 the money, and you may rely upon me." 
 
 "Tell me about the artists. What dost thou 
 think of them, and which dost thou like the 
 best?" 
 
 " I like Monsieur Van best." 
 
 "That is the tall and black? " 
 
 " No, that is Monsieur Orsovitch."
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. IOO, 
 
 " But he is the handsomer ! ", 
 " Yes, but Monsieur Van is the better." 
 5 Monsieur Orsovitch is not then good ? What 
 has he ever said to thee ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! I 've no doubt he is good, aunt, 
 but I like Monsieur Van best : he is more like 
 one of us. Monsieur Orsovitch belongs to the 
 high noblesse. Then Monsieur Van knows so 
 much ; his wife will be very lucky, for she can 
 study all her life with him, and how nice it must 
 be to have a husband who knows more than 
 one's self." 
 
 Eulalie's aunt would have enjoyed questioning 
 her further, but the conference ended here, for a 
 neighbor stopped near them to chat. 
 
 The next day seemed to Eulalie the happiest 
 one of all her life. Mere Angelique came early. 
 Pere Paquerette had on a clean blouse and his 
 best cap, and he offered politely to carry the old 
 lady's immense lunch basket, which attention 
 Mere Angelique declined, for she was by far the 
 stronger of the two. Eulalie filled her work- 
 basket with a drift of snowy petals, for she meant 
 to commence the first communion roses while at 
 the chateau. The morning air was exhilarating, 
 and as soon as they left the village she gave free 
 vent to the frolicsome mood which possessed her,
 
 HO BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 and ran and gamboled like the child she was. 
 Life seemed a long play-day to her, and she so 
 very young, the years must be interminable ere 
 she should reach the age of those two plodding 
 on so slowly and yet so blithely. 
 
 " Sapristi ! " said Pere Paquerette, " the child 
 must have a balloon instead of a heart, it is so 
 light." 
 
 "In place of my head, more likely," laughed 
 Eulalie ; " that is empty enough, while the young 
 man coming yonder is enough to fill any girl's 
 heart, however large." 
 
 It was quite true, Ame'de'e was approaching, 
 with sincere delight illumining his handsome, 
 but usually gloomy, features. He kissed Eulalie, 
 after his mother, in the formal way permitted to 
 French lovers, and then walked by her side up 
 the avenue leading to the chateau. 
 
 What a day it was ! Never before had they 
 had any quiet and confidential talk about the 
 future. Like all French engagements, theirs 
 had hitherto been a very formal affair, with no 
 delightful intimacy or exchange of thought and 
 experiences. To-day they talked to their hearts' 
 content. Mere Ange"lique and Pere Paquerette 
 were there without being there, their presence 
 scarcely noticed by the happy lovers.
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. 
 
 Amed^e took them out to row upon the lake, 
 and Eulalie sang a duet with the echo. They 
 fished, roamed the forest for early wild flowers, 
 and explored the chateau, where Am6dee showed 
 them the room which he had fitted up for Eulalie. 
 " It is very beautiful," said she ; "let us sit here 
 for the rest of the day, I could never tire of it." 
 
 Am^dee looked happier and handsomer than 
 ever. " I was afraid you might be lonely and 
 homesick here," he said. 
 
 " Oh, never ! for you would be here ; and, see, 
 I should still have my work," and, opening her 
 basket, she showered him playfully with snow- 
 flakes. "Aunt will still keep the store, and I 
 know you will be willing that I should supply her 
 with flowers. I can gain nice little sums that 
 way. And I mean to make you an apple-tree 
 before ' winter, Mere Angelique," this to the 
 old lady, who was broiling the fish in the next 
 room, "a little one that you can set in your 
 window, so that passers-by shall stop and say, 
 ' How many fagots does the Mere Angelique 
 burn, that she has an apple-tree in blossom at 
 this season ? ' I shall make it natural enough to 
 deceive the wisest of them, be he an ancient 
 gardener like Pere Paquerette." 
 
 " Why don't you make her a Napoleon peach-
 
 112 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 tree, such as I had when I was gardener at 
 Montreuil ? " said the old man. " I trained it 
 against the south side of a stone wall. It had 
 eight branches ; the first ran up, slanted down, 
 and then shot up again, that made the N; the 
 second slanted up and down and twisted around, 
 
 that made the A ; and so on with all the letters. 
 Nom d'un chameau ! but you should have seen it 
 in blossom. Many are the fine people that came 
 to see it. One veiled lady in an elegant coup6 
 carried away some of the blossoms and left a gold 
 napoleon in my hand. I have always believed " 
 
 here his voice sunk to a mysterious whisper 
 " that it was the empress ! I had rare flowers 
 in that garden : white lilacs that I blanched from 
 cuttings from purple ones by a process that no 
 one else knows, and sold them in winter at a 
 price to take the eyes from your head. Ah ! if I 
 only had a little garden now, like yours, Mere 
 Angelique, I could make all our fortunes ! " 
 
 " I think Mere Angelique would prefer the 
 fleurde Us to your Napoleon peach," said Eulalie. 
 " She may have some that I have been making 
 lately. Monsieur Van says that violet is the most 
 perfect of colors, because it is made from red and 
 blue, the two most beautiful ones." 
 
 " Who is Monsieur Van ? " asked Ame"dee, but
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. 1 13 
 
 before Eulalie could reply, crafty Pere Paquerette 
 spoke up. " She means Monsieur Van Tromp, 
 the Flemish cheese merchant, who raises tulips 
 and has one famous one that is almost black. 
 Eulalie stopped to look at it in his window, and 
 he came out and asked her if she could make a 
 flower like that. Why, it was no more fit to be 
 put in the same box with Eulalie's flowers than 
 one of my sabots." Eulalie flushed with shame 
 and vexation. Was she never to free herself 
 from this network of falsehood? Pere Paque- 
 rette's subterfuge brought her forgotten secret to 
 mind again, and she longed to tell Ame'de'e, 
 frankly, the whole miserable story. If it had 
 been her secret alone, she would have done so. 
 Amedee looked at her admiringly ; how beautiful 
 she looked, sitting within the recess of the stained 
 window, 
 
 " Amid heraldic shields and banners set 
 In twisted knots and wildly tangled bands, 
 Crimson and green, and gold and violet, 
 Falling so softly on her snowy hands," 
 
 as she twined her roses. 
 
 " Tell me the history of all those devices," said 
 
 Amedee ; " I think you learned everything at the 
 
 Maison Eugenie." This with a touch of envy in 
 
 his voice ; it was the only hint of peasant boorish 
 
 IS
 
 114 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 ness of which he was capable, this distrust and 
 dislike of superior education. Eulalie' s wider 
 experience of Parisian life, though only as sales- 
 woman in a flower store, combined with the 
 natural instincts of a lady, more than the learning 
 of books, had placed her upon a higher plane than 
 Am6dee's. If one is quick to perceive, the 
 streets of Paris will give a wider education than 
 the halls of most universities. Slow as he was of 
 perception, Amedee saw this, and while he was 
 proud of her superiority it pained and angered 
 him at the same time. " I did not learn much at 
 the school," said Eulalie pleasantly, " only what 
 I will teach you in one winter if you care to learn. 
 But since I have known you and this old chateau, 
 I have been reading all the history I could lay 
 my hands on ; it is, oh, so interesting ! " and 
 Eulalie ran into an enthusiastic history of the 
 Montmorencis ; "and just to think!" she added, 
 "it was a daughter of that very Charlotte de 
 Montmorenci who nearly made the war between 
 France and Spain, by running away with the 
 Prince de Conde" to Brussels. It was her own 
 daughter who married William of Orange, and he 
 is Mr. Van's hero ! " 
 
 " I don't think it was any great match," said 
 Mere Ang&ique, " that a daughter of our castle
 
 FIRST COMMUNION ROSES. 1 15 
 
 should marry a friend of that Dutch cheesemonger, 
 Van Trump, and an orange peddler at that, I 
 believe you said." 
 
 Ame'dee saw Eulalie's confusion, and, thinking 
 that it was occasioned by his mother's brusque- 
 ness, changed the subject. " You shall teach me 
 all you know when we are married, Eulalie. I 
 have a thick head, but I believe you could make 
 a stone learn, and no task that you could set me 
 would be too hard for me to perform for your 
 sake. You shall make of me just what you see 
 fit. I am glad you know the most, for now it is 
 right as well as my wish that you should rule in 
 everything." They sat apart. Mere Angelique 
 and Pere Paquerette were unpacking the lunch- 
 basket and setting the table ; in the clatter of the 
 dishes they could not hear what was said. Was 
 ever any girl so happy, thought Eulalie, as she 
 answered, "I shall try to help you all I can, 
 Ame'dee, but I am not so wonderful as you think ; 
 you will be surprised, too, to find what a naughty 
 girl I am ; you must be ready for fearful revela- 
 tions when we are married." 
 
 " Do you suppose our married life will be at all 
 like this ? " 
 
 " I suppose it will be just like it, Amede'e." 
 
 "Then it will be a sacred communion," said 
 the young man solemnly.
 
 Il6 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Eulalie nodded, with tears in her eyes. " I 
 hope it is not wicked," she said, " but the same 
 thought has been in my mind all day : this is our 
 first communion." 
 
 After the dinner, Mere Angelique said, " Sing 
 some thing, Eulalie ; we must be going soon, or 
 it will be dark before we get out of the forest." 
 And Eulalie sang, to an air by Niedermeyer, that 
 sad love-song of Lamartine, The Lake, which 
 loses so much by translation : 
 
 I. 
 
 Toward shores unknown forever wafted, 
 Borne on through the darkness without return, 
 
 Fateful darkness, 
 On the Lake of Ages anchored never. 
 
 II. 
 
 O ye silent rocks, forest and lonely water, 
 Whom time spares, rejuvenates or passes, 
 
 Ye are changeless. 
 Moanedst thou thus in the year that a-gone is. 
 
 III. 
 
 Swept the wind thus thy waves to her dear feet, 
 And I come to thy shores again lonely. 
 
 Changeless Nature ! 
 Keep at least the souvenir of that eve. 
 
 IV. 
 
 That thy winds which murmur, reeds that sigh, 
 Faint perfumes, obscure forest and lake, may 
 
 One word utter : 
 Love, it, too, is eternal and changeless t
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE VILLA ADELINE. 
 
 I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honor more. 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE. ' 
 
 /^\N the morning succeeding the events which 
 have been described in the last two chap- 
 ters, Van received a note from Orsovitch, who 
 had not yet returned from Paris, saying that the 
 painting of the swan, which he was making, in- 
 terested him so much that he should spend 
 another day upon it, and asking him to inform 
 Eulalie that she need not call at the studio. 
 
 Having accomplished this errand, Van again 
 asked himself in what way he should occupy the 
 day ; and again his thoughts reverted to the Mere 
 Angelique. What little Charlo'tte had told him had 
 interested him in her for her own sake ; this time, 
 too, he was more successful, and, having seated 
 her in a sunny angle of the garden, he began 
 the picture to be entitled Ready for Harvest. 
 
 "7
 
 Il8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 It only needed a word to set the old lady 
 chatting. Van was a favorite of hers, and she 
 hardly ever came to pose without bringing him 
 some trifling present. Once it had been an 
 ancient Delft-plate, with a gaudy painting of a 
 tulip upon it ; at other times, a cream-cheese in 
 a tiny heart-shaped dish, a cabbage-leaf of straw- 
 berries, or a small nosegay. 
 
 Van began the conversation by telling her how 
 much he had enjoyed his day with the children. 
 "But Charlotte tells me," he added, "that you 
 are from Argenteuil, and have only lately come 
 here, while I had supposed you one of the oldest 
 inhabitants of Ecouen." 
 
 "And so I am," said the old woman, proudly ; 
 " I was born and brought up in the same little 
 gate-lodge where I live now, and only went to 
 Argenteuil when I was married." 
 
 "Then the house has been in M. Dupinceau's 
 family ? I had fancied from something he said 
 that he bought it only a few years ago." 
 
 " M. Dupinceau's family live in another part of 
 France ; he is only a new-comer, but he respects 
 the old house, though he has not so good a right 
 to it as I have, for my family have been ser- 
 vants there ever since it was built. Ah ! 
 many grand people have lived there first and last.
 
 THE VILLA ADELINE. 
 
 I have heard my father talk a deal of Mademoiselle 
 Adeline, the first owner ; it was built for her 
 more than a century ago. She was a comedienne 
 at a theatre in Paris, but very rich, and enter- 
 tained a great many noble people at the villa. 
 Wild parties from Paris would drive through the 
 village long after midnight, waking everybody up 
 with their laughing and their singing, bring- 
 ing Mademoiselle Adeline back from one of her 
 triumphs. And then there was a hurrying and 
 scurrying of the servants, and dinner to be got 
 for from ten to twenty people, without the least 
 warning, at four o'clock in the morning. She 
 could not stay rich long that way, monsieur 
 knows, for she threw the money that she earned 
 out of the windows. But my father never would 
 hear a word against her ; and, indeed, there 
 was none ever spoken, for she was as generous 
 to the poor as to her friends in higher rank, and 
 they have named one of the streets for her. She 
 was pious, as well as charitable. In the park 
 there stands a little chapel, with stained glass 
 windows, which was Adeline's oratory ; they use 
 it for a summer-house now, and the ladies take 
 their sewing there, and read novels and play 
 chess, and sometimes M. Dupinceau smokes a 
 cigar there, how wicked Adeline would have
 
 I2O BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 thought them ; and they sometimes speak as if 
 she were wicked, and I think both are good. 
 When the Revolution of 1789 came, and the 
 church was pillaged and turned into a temple 
 of reason, I have heard my father say that 
 Adeline would have nothing to do with the new 
 order of things. She sent the village painter to 
 cover the windows of the church, inside and out, 
 with a coat of whitewash, and that saved them ; 
 they would have been stoned if the committee 
 from Paris had seen the saints ; I don't know 
 why, I am sure, for I never heard but the saints 
 were decent people enough. The altar orna- 
 ments, the relics, and the vestments were taken 
 and sold at auction. The chief treasure of the 
 church was a crimson velvet banner, richly em- 
 broidered in gold by the Princess Anne Palatine 
 of Bourbon. Adeline bought it, and used it as 
 an altar cloth in her little oratory, but it disap- 
 peared with- her, and we never heard of it again 
 till one day M. Dupinceau bought it of some one 
 in Montmorenci, who had it made up as a fire- 
 screen, and knew nothing of its history. M. the 
 Cur6 saw it as it was brought through the village, 
 thought he recognized it from the church records, 
 and called on M. Dupinceau, asking him to give 
 it back to this church ; this M. Dupinceau would
 
 THE VILLA ADELINE. 121 
 
 not do, and M. the Cure cursed the house and all 
 within it ; and this is, perhaps, the reason that so 
 much of sorrow has happened there in time past, 
 though all has gone merrily of late." 
 
 " Who lived in the house after Adeline ? " 
 asked Van. 
 
 "Ah ! you must go to Pere Paquerette for that 
 story. It was one of Napoleon's generals ; he 
 had a daughter at the School of the Legion of 
 Honor at the chateau, and he died with Pere 
 Paquerette's father, at the Invalides. The old 
 man is never tired of talking of Napoleon, 
 canaille that he was ; but the next owner of the 
 villa belonged to the real noblesse. It was the 
 Comte de Champnoix, who came to Ecouen with 
 the Restoration. He entertained the allies 
 Prussians, Poles and English in his house, and 
 brandy flowed like water. Ah ! those days come 
 within my own remembrance ; but he kept the 
 house furnished in the style of the Empire, as 
 General Hautcoeur had left it, except a few rooms 
 that were arranged in the style of Louis XVI., 
 in honor of Adeline, and the comte liked those 
 rooms best. Adeline's chamber was left with 
 the same furniture that it had in the time of the 
 comedienne, a great square canopied bed, big 
 
 enough for six people, and mirrors all around in 
 16
 
 122 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 every wall, and mirrors set into the floor and 
 ceiling. We always prepared this room for the 
 comte when he sent word he was coming, for he 
 lived most of the time in his grand hotel in Paris. 
 His wife hated the country, and never came to 
 Ecouen. I saw her once when I went in with 
 the donkey to carry vegetables to the chef de 
 cuisine for the family. She was just stepping out 
 of her coach, and, though she was very finely 
 dressed, I could not help thinking that she was 
 the most disagreeable lady I had ever seen. 
 I think the comte used to be glad to get away 
 from her, and come out to Ecouen for a little rest 
 and quiet ; but it was not often that he could do 
 so, for he was court chamberlain to the king. We 
 were glad to see him come, for the great house 
 and park were lonely enough when there was no 
 one there. One morning I was placing a fresh 
 bouquet of fleur de Us on the little stand under 
 the tall portrait of Adeline in the white salon. 
 We always placed Bourbon lilies somewhere in 
 the house when the comte was at home, on 
 account of his political notions, for the comte did 
 not care for flowers for their own sakes. He had 
 arrived the night before, and came into the room 
 as I finished placing the bouquet. 
 
 " ' What are you thinking about, Angele ? '
 
 THE VILLA ADELINE. 123 
 
 said he, for I had stopped a moment, not know- 
 ing he was there, and was looking at the lovely 
 portrait. Mademoiselle Adeline was a very 
 beautiful woman ; in the picture she wore a light- 
 blue velvet dress, which fell straight to her feet, 
 without hoop or flounce, or fold or wrinkle of any 
 kind, very narrow and smooth, and trimmed 
 around the bottom with light gray fur. It had 
 the tiniest little corsage, hardly big enough for a 
 baby, and from it her white shoulders mounted 
 up, up, like a white rose bursting out of its little 
 thimble of green. 
 
 " ' What were you thinking about ? ' said the 
 comte again, touching me under the chin with the 
 tip of his finger. 
 
 " ' I was envying Mademoiselle Adeline her 
 beauty,' said I; 'but I hardly fancy, after all, 
 that she was as happy as we are when you are 
 here.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' said the comte, slowly, taking both 
 my hands ; ' then you love me a little, Angele ? 
 Truly, now ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh ! a great deal, Monsieur le Comte,' said 
 I r 'we all love you a great deal.' 
 
 " ' Well ! that is curious,' said he, letting go 
 my hands, and walking to the window. ' Is it pos- 
 sible that any one can love such an old bit of
 
 124 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 leather as I am, so tough that the surgeons 
 have thought best not to hack at me any longer. 
 How old are you, Angele ? ' and the comte took 
 a large pinch of snuff, so large that he had to 
 wipe his eyes after it, and did not notice that he 
 put the snuff-box into his pocket without screw- 
 ing on the cover, which he had let fall. 
 
 " ' Eighteen, Monsieur le Comte,' said I, and I 
 ran to pick up the cover for him, for the comte 
 had a wooden-leg, though he was none the less 
 handsome on that account I used to think it 
 made him all the more stately. As I handed him 
 the snuff-box cover, a gold oval with a coronet of 
 diamonds, he said, 
 
 " ' You need not have envied Mademoiselle 
 Adeline; you are every bit as beautiful as she, 
 Angele. It is only dress that makes the dif- 
 ference. How would you like to have just as 
 fine clothes as she had, have this house and park 
 ill for your own, as she did, and a coach to drive 
 out in whenever and wherever you liked ? Perhaps 
 I should come oftener and stay longer if you were 
 suited with such a plan, little Angele, and could 
 promise me to love me, not only a great deal, but 
 better than any one else in the world.' 
 
 " ' I don't know, Monsieur le Comte,' said I. 
 ' I love you very much ; but then, I love Emile
 
 :iIE VILLA ADELINE. 125 
 
 du Lac too, and I have promised to marry him, 
 and I am afraid he would not like it.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! ' said the comte again, thoughtfully, ' I 
 did not know that you were betrothed. But you 
 could give him up ; could you not, Ang61e ? 
 Come, choose between us. Which do you love 
 the most ? This Emile is a handsome fellow, I 
 suppose,' and the comte looked at himself in the 
 glass. 
 
 " ' Oh, no ! Monsieur le Comte,' said I, hur- 
 riedly ; 'he is not nearly so handsome as you. 1 
 
 " ' He is young, then.' 
 
 " ' Yes, Monsieur le Comte.' 
 
 " ' And poor ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, Monsieur le Comte.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! then he has the advantage of me. And 
 you love him best ? Come, now, don't be afraid 
 to say so.' 
 
 " ' Oh, no ! Monsieur le Comte,' I said, sob- 
 bing ; ' I love you best, you are so good and so 
 so magnificent.' 
 
 " ' Then you will say to Emile that he may 
 marry whom he chooses, and that you do not 
 care a button for him.' 
 
 " ' But that would not be true, Monsieur le 
 Comte.' 
 
 " ' Come, come, what a funny little Angela
 
 126 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 you are. Then will you leave it to me to decide 
 for you, since you cannot decide for yourself ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes, Monsieur le Comte, for my head 
 is all in a whirl, and you are so good and know 
 so much, you will decide it best.' 
 
 " And so he did ; for, though M. le Comte was 
 called a very worldly, godless man, God spoke to 
 his soul then, and I think the Evil One must 
 have been so astonished by his reply as not to 
 dare to speak for his soul when he died. What 
 he said next was, 
 
 " ' Then wait here just a moment, and I will be 
 back.' When he came I knew his step, but I did 
 not look, for my head was buried in my arms on 
 the sofa. ' You left this matter wholly for me to 
 decide, Angele ? ' he said. 
 
 '"Yes, Monsieur le Comte,' I replied, rising, 
 and trembling so that I could scarcely stand. 
 
 " ' I have just had a talk with your father about 
 Emile du Lac. He says that he is a very honest 
 fellow, and that he would have no objections to 
 your marrying him if he were not so poor. So I 
 have arranged all that, and provided some em- 
 ployment for him at Argenteuil. I should rather 
 you would not live just here, Angele, you under- 
 stand, where I should see you all the time after 
 you are married. I have tried to decide for your
 
 THE VILLA ADELINE. 1 27 
 
 best good, my child. Name one of your children 
 for me, so as not quite to forget me ; and so, 
 good-by.' 
 
 "The comte held out his hand to me, and I 
 covered it with tears and kisses. He drew me to 
 him, and said earnestly, ' I have not been selfish, 
 Angele ; God knows it is because I love you that 
 I have decided thus.' 
 
 "That was a long time ago, Monsieur Van, 
 but I have held for the Bourbon lilies ever since, 
 for I have thought if a simple comte could be so 
 noble, what must the king be. And I named my 
 only son for him, Ame'dee, and wrote to the comte 
 that I had done so. He did not forget him, for 
 in his will he desired his nearest kinsman, the 
 Due de Champnoix to take him into his service. 
 Ah ! the old noblesse could never do an ignoble 
 thing. I wonder, monsieur, if there is any real 
 nobility nowadays ? " 
 
 Van did not answer, but the lesson had sunk 
 deeply into his heart. He wished that Orsovitch 
 had been there to hear it with him, and somehow 
 after it he could not ask the old lady, as he had 
 intended, to gossip about Eulalie.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 
 
 GATHERING CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 
 
 Come, show us the rose with a hundred dyes, 
 
 The lily that hath no spot, 
 The violet deep as your true love's eyes, 
 
 And the little forget-me-not 
 
 BARRY CORNWALL. 
 
 "\ T 7 HEN Orsovitch showed Van the swan wh' 
 he had painted at Paris, the young man was 
 delighted. The whites were treated in a masterly 
 manner, and contrasted charmingly with the warm 
 carnations of the figure ; but what especially struck 
 him was the carriage of the swan's head and neck. 
 There was something snaky in the curve, the 
 head was drawn back, as though in act of striking, 
 and the eye, too, was that of a serpent, fiery red. 
 While praising the execution, Van remonstrated 
 again with his friend against Eulalie's face 
 appearing in the picture. Argue as Orsovitch 
 might, Van had still the same unconquerable 
 aversion to what he called an act of sacrilege. 
 To turn aside the dispute, which was becoming 
 
 (128)
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 1 29 
 
 almost angry, Orsovitch opened a package and 
 shook out a handsome waterproof cloak, navy 
 blue in color, and ornamented richly with passe- 
 menterie. " Don't you think she will be pleased ? " 
 he asked. " I shall give it to her over and above 
 the daily five-franc piece we agreed upon." 
 
 The next morning, just before Eulalie came, 
 two handsomely dressed American ladies, guided 
 by the garc_on from the village inn, tripped up 
 the stairs and fluttered into the studio. 
 
 Orsovitch had just placed his Leda upon the 
 easel, but on catching sight of the visitors he 
 replaced it in the cabinet with the smothered 
 ejaculation, " Shades of the mighty ! Van, there 
 are those St. Denis Americans." 
 
 Van had quite forgotten the incident Orso- 
 vitch had related at their meeting, but seeing 
 that his friend was disturbed, he stepped forward 
 to receive the ladies. 
 
 The elder regarded him with a stony stare 
 through her spectacles, and remarked, " We were 
 told that this was the studio of the Count von 
 Orsovitch." 
 
 The younger lady, who also wore glasses, but 
 
 of a more jaunty type, raised them and slowly 
 
 surveyed the apartment. At the end of her 
 
 scrutiny she gave an affected little squeak ; 
 
 17
 
 130 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " There he is now, Pauline ! " and dashing fonvard 
 she seized Orsovitch's hand, which he had not 
 offered, and gave him the exuberant greeting of 
 an old friend. Pauline, following in the wake of 
 her sister's flounces with a more dignified stride, 
 opened her card case as she passed Van, and 
 presented him, with dignity, a small card, on 
 which was inscribed, " Miss Precosia Pry and 
 Sister." The sister was the senior, but Miss 
 Precosia was a " professional," as Pauline Pry ex- 
 pressed it, and as a matter of business her name 
 was mentioned first. " And why have you never 
 called on us, my dear count," said Miss Pauline. 
 " I am sure Precosia sent you word where we 
 were staying, and she has painted the most mag- 
 nificent picture, something really extraordinary, 
 so pronounced by the best of judges. It has 
 been very favorably noticed by the press, too. 
 Here are a few clippings in regard to it." Miss 
 Pauline did not say that all of these notices were 
 written by herself, but she presently informed 
 Van that she had come to Ecouen to write up the 
 artists, and depended upon him to take her 
 round and introduce her. Orsovitch, who was 
 anxious lest Eulalie should arrive, remarked, at 
 the same time glancing at his watch, that it was 
 a thousand pities, but he had an engagement
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 131 
 
 for the day, and ought really to be away at that 
 moment. 
 
 " Oh, that is of no consequence," said Miss 
 Precosia, " we shall be in Ecouen for a week or 
 two, and if you are too busy mornings you can 
 take us around afternoons ; and, my dear count, 
 you really must spare me a day in Paris to look 
 at my picture." 
 
 "What is the subject?" asked Orsovitch. 
 
 " Oh ! the subject is Russian, and you are sure 
 to like it : The Battle on the Road to Iliali. All 
 the officers are from portraits. Prince Eugene, 
 especially, is said by a friend of his to be wonder- 
 fully life-like." 
 
 " I shall certainly call and see it," said Orso- 
 vitch ; and Van, who could stand it no longer, 
 tore a leaf from his sketch-book, wrote rpon it, 
 " N~e montez^pas encore, Mademoiselle Eulalie ; il 
 y a du monde" and hastening through the garden, 
 twisted it between the bars of the little gate. 
 Eulalie was not in sight. " She will see this when 
 she comes, and wait in the garden," he said to 
 himself ; " it would never do for those prying 
 creatures to see her here." When he returned to 
 the studio they were still talking, though Orso- 
 vitch had edged them politely to the door. 
 
 " And, my dear count," Miss Precosia was
 
 132 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 saying, " one doesn't paint battle scenss five 
 yards square, and go to all the trouble that I 
 have gone to for data and that sort of thing, 
 merely for one's own pleasure, you know." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then I am to understand it is an 
 order?" 
 
 " By no means ; I'm sure I wish it was ; the 
 picture is only fit for some gallery or a very 
 large private collection, and I have been thinking 
 that perhaps you might have some influence with 
 the Emperor of Russia. I should like ever so 
 much to sell it to him. I could afford to let it go 
 quite cheap, the mere fact would be such a card 
 for me, you know." 
 
 " I am not personally acquainted with the 
 emperor," stammered Orsovitch, for once thrown 
 entirely out of his self-possession by his intense 
 surprise. 
 
 " But I dare say you have some friend who is. 
 I see you are busy now, and we '11 talk it over 
 some other time, after you've seen it, perhaps. 
 Au revoir." 
 
 Shortly after they left, Eulalie came in, look- 
 ing white and frightened. " You read my note, 
 I suppose," said Van. 
 
 " Your note ? No, m'sieu ; did you give it tc 
 La Gazette for me?"
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 133 
 
 " No, indeed ; I wound it about the gate. 
 What made you think I could do such a foolish 
 thing as to trust it to that harpy ? " 
 
 " Because I met her a little way from here ; 
 she had a crumpled paper in her hand, and 
 smiled so maliciously as she bade me good morn- 
 ing, that I felt sure something had happened." 
 
 "And she frightened you so that you did not 
 see the note, that was all ; I will run right down 
 and get it for you." But the note was not where 
 Van had placed it, nor could he see it anywhere 
 upon the grass. It was very strange, for there 
 was no wind, and he wondered what could have 
 spirited it away. When he reentered the room, 
 Eulalie had donned her new waterproof ; she 
 had thrown the hood over her head without re- 
 moving the little white fichu which she usually 
 wore out of doors. She saw by his empty hands 
 that Van had not found the note, and an expres- 
 sion of despair came into her face. 
 
 " Oh ! keep that pose and look for one in- 
 stant," he cried ; " it is exactly that of Our Lady 
 of Seven Sorrows. Orsovitch, lend me your 
 model for only one hour, that 's a dear fellow ; 
 let me simply block in a sketch ; " and, seizing 
 his palette, Van painted rapidly what might have 
 been taken as a copy of the figure in the church
 
 *34 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 window, with the face restored and glorified. 
 The fleur de Us of two days before were lying 
 faded at her feet on the model stand, and he 
 painted them too. When he had finished, he 
 showed her his work. " It is the Virgin herself," 
 she said with awe ; " how I wish I might have a 
 copy of it" 
 
 " Keep it, if you like," said Van ; "the picture 
 is too sad a one for my liking ; and see, I have 
 gayer souvenirs of you," and, opening a sketch- 
 book, he showed her some twenty drawings of 
 her head taken from different points of view, and 
 giving varying phases of expression. "While 
 Orsovitch has been painting, I have been busy 
 with pencil," he said. "You are welcome to the 
 Mater Dolorosa, since I have these." 
 
 "Thanks m'sieu," replied Eulalie; "I shall 
 frame it with a wreath difleiir de Us ; I made too 
 many the other day for my garland for the Virgin." 
 As she laid aside her cloak, and folded it, her 
 eye was caught by the embroidery. " But this 
 is curious," said she; "this is the thistle pattern 
 that Sidonie la Poissonniere invented. She is the 
 only one who makes it here ; " and she pointed 
 out the graceful curling leaves and tassel-like 
 blossoms. 
 
 "It may be that it was she who made this,"
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 135 
 
 said Orsovitch, "for there was an old woman in 
 the same room of the store where I bought it, 
 whose face looked strangely familiar ; and, now 
 I think of it, she must have been La Gazette. 
 The girl who sold the waterproof joked about its 
 being for my true love, and the little old woman 
 looked at me so sharply from over her great 
 basket, that I noticed her." 
 
 " It was she," said Eulalie ; " she told my aunt 
 that she was to take her work to her patron 
 yesterday." 
 
 A cloud seemed to have come over them, and 
 conversation languished. " Please tell us some 
 of your legends," said Van. 
 
 " I do not think of any now," she replied ; 
 "but I will sing something, if you wish. I am 
 making some white flowers to-day, you see- 
 they are roses for the young communicants ; and 
 when these are finished, there is an order for 
 Madame Robusti's fete day, and, if you like, I 
 will sing you a song about the flowers." 
 
 The following may serve as a translation of 
 Eulalie's song. The witchery was all in the 
 singing and the singer:
 
 136 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 FLEURS STANCHES. 
 
 White flowers, white flowers, all flowers among, 
 
 Camellias, jasmine, roses ; 
 'Tis for the pure, the loved, the young, 
 
 Each sweet bud opes and closes. 
 
 White buds, on mossy beds at rest, 
 Like children's heads on mother's breast, 
 Sweet innocents, that bloom beside 
 Red flowers of passion and of pride, 
 Ye have not felt the thorn regret, 
 Nor known the canker-worm, as yet ; 
 But shine, like stars, 'mid leafy gloom ! 
 Tis for the young white roses bloom. 
 
 The jasmine blossoms, faintly sweet, 
 Tell of a bliss not yet complete ; 
 Midst leafy dusk, like maidens coy, 
 They hide their sweetness and their joy ; 
 And secrets, told by orange flowers, 
 Are safely kept in jasmine bowers. 
 O rare, sweet buds, shedding perfume, 
 Tis for the loved ye breathe and bloom 
 
 Pale altar lilies, stately fair, 
 
 What garland lies beside you there / 
 
 Their petals 'neath the taper's light, 
 
 Than hands that hold are not more white, 
 
 Those waxy hands on satin laid, 
 
 Whose soul was whitest God e'er made. 
 
 O marble flowers, on marble tomb, 
 
 Tis for the pure camellias bloom ! 
 
 White flowers, white flowers, all flowers among, 
 
 Camellias, jasmine, roses ; 
 Tis for the pure, the loved, the young, 
 
 Each sweet bud opes and closes.
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 137 
 
 The song seemed to have dispelled the cloud, 
 for, after they had thanked her, Eulalie said : 
 " This reminds me of the work-room at the fleu- 
 ristes in Paris, where I made flowers after leaving 
 the Maison Eugenie, until I came to Ecouen. 
 We used to sing that song often, though there 
 was only one of us whose specialty it was to 
 make white flowers, and that was little Marie. 
 She was the picture of innocence, that child, in 
 her long-sleeved, high-necked apron, filling a 
 basket like that with great branches of white 
 lilac ; you would have thought her an angel, she 
 looked so sweet and saint-like, with her great 
 aureole of blonde hair, and, meanwhile, she was 
 the completest little hypocrite that ever lived. 
 She slept in the same room with Mademoiselle 
 Ernestine, the forewoman, who had the keys of 
 the great safe where the money was kept. Our 
 house was a wholesale one, and did business 
 with England, Russia, and America, and some- 
 times there was a great deal of money in the safe. 
 Mademoiselle Ernestine had been in the house 
 thirty years, and was known to be perfectly 
 trustworthy ; but the money began to go all the 
 same, and no one could find out the thief. 
 Monsieur the head of the establishment was 
 for making a great fuss, calling in the police, and 
 18
 
 138 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 discharging all the employes ; but Mademoiselle 
 Ernestine said, ' Just wait awhile ; discharge no 
 one ; wrong-doing is always discovered, if you 
 let it alone long enough.' But it was hard to 
 wait patiently, when, regularly every night, a 
 five hundred franc note slipped away. We were 
 all very anxious that the thief should be found 
 out, for, of course, until that was done, we were 
 all suspected. But, dear me, one can never judge 
 by appearances. There was Reinette, whose 
 specialty was roses, but who had anything but a 
 rosy path through life, poor girl. She was the 
 handsomest girl in the establishment, and one of 
 the most skillful. She would go to one of the 
 flower markets every day, always on the look-out 
 for roses. She invented the creamy roses folles, 
 that made the success of the house one year, 
 worn with a long, drooping ostrich plume on a 
 Rubens felt hat. She seldom made but one 
 flower a day, but it was always something new, 
 in exquisite taste, and with a style of its own 
 that no one could give but she. She never made 
 anything that was not chic, though everything 
 was copied from nature, gloire des batailles, or 
 a triomphe de Luxembourg, or a spray of tender 
 wild roses and sweet briar. Then she would 
 hand it into the work-room, where the girls would
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 139 
 
 copy it, and turn out, each of them, a gross or 
 so a day. She had a salary which ought to 
 have kept her out of temptation ; but she was 
 known to be in trouble about this time, and often 
 came to the room with her cheeks white and her 
 eyes swollen. Mademoiselle Ernestine watched 
 her narrowly. Such a head as that woman had 
 she ought to have been prefect of the police, or 
 a gendarme, at least. She followed Reinette to 
 the markets, and from the keepers of the flower- 
 stands found out her secret. There was an 
 artist a fan decorator who used to come to 
 the stalls, too, to paint flowers. He was very 
 clever, and made lovely fans. I have seen them 
 for sale at the Palais Royal wreaths and gar- 
 lands and bouquets, on satin and gauze. They 
 brought very high prices ; and he told Reinette 
 that she could make more money painting flowers 
 than by copying them in her way, and that he 
 would teach her, ah, gentlemen, you artists are 
 not all good ! and now he had gone away, 
 nobody knew where, not even Reinette. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Ernestine next suspected Zizi, 
 a girl in the mourning department, who had a 
 past which made her an object of suspicion. 
 She had been a ballet girl at the Gymnase, but 
 she fell from the flying trapeze and broke her leg,
 
 140 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 and her profession was closed for her. But mis- 
 fortune could not take away Zizi's love of fun ; 
 she was always playing mad pranks, and would 
 come stumping down the stairs, with her little 
 crutch, faster than any of us, making more noise 
 than a detachment of recruits in sabots, and sing- 
 ing, with all her might, Pattes de Velours, or else 
 Peau de Satin, which was just as inappropriate, 
 for she had a complexion as black and rough 
 as the husk of a walnut. We always liked to 
 hear her coming, and would say to one another, 
 ' There is Zizi ; now we shall laugh.' Working 
 over mourning goods never made her sad ; she 
 ridiculed everything, pain, crime, love, happi- 
 ness, and death itself. Mademoiselle Ernestine 
 always looked at her out of the corners of her 
 eyes, for she had played a practical joke upon 
 her once. About this time, Paris was thrown 
 into a furore by a certain mysterious Mademoi- 
 selle de Barcelone, who had rooms at the Grand 
 Hotel, from which she issued at six o'clock every 
 evening, to ride to the Bois de Boulogne, in an 
 elegant coach, lined with pink satin. It was said 
 that she was very beautiful, and that she wore 
 magnificent costumes and jewelry. She had a 
 box at the Opera Comique, where she appeared 
 at each Sunday or Saturday night representa-
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. I4 1 
 
 tion, attired in a resplendent toilette. People 
 said, too, that she was carrying on a flirtation 
 with the leading actor, then the handsomest man 
 in Paris. All Paris was interested. Some said 
 she was a princess in disguise ; some, an adven- 
 turess. The papers discussed her, and we over 
 our work discussed the papers. Zizi was always 
 the most interested. 'More news about old 
 Barcelone,' she would say ; ' depend upon it, 
 she 's an impostor. So much the better. Vive 
 la bagatelle ! ' One day she read that the mys- 
 terious lady had bought a five thousand franc 
 ring at the Palais Royal, destined, no doubt, 
 for the fortunate actor. When Mademoiselle 
 Ernestine heard this, her eyebrows contracted. 
 On the night preceding the purchase of the ring, 
 five thousand francs had been abstracted from 
 the safe. The coincidence in the sums was re- 
 markable, and Mademoiselle Ernestine thought 
 if the nightly deficit was to be raised from hun- 
 dreds to thousands, it was high time the thief 
 was found. 'What is peculiar,' said Mademoi- 
 selle Aglae, the workwoman who, next to Made- 
 moiselle Ernestine, had been longest in the estab- 
 lishment, and enjoyed the reputation of being 
 the greatest fright, as Reinette did of being the 
 beauty, ' what is very peculiar is, that this fine
 
 142 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 lady never appears until after five in the after- 
 noon. She may live a very different life the 
 earlier part of the day, just as if one of our 
 girls should take a fancy for that kind of mas- 
 querading, and should leave the house every 
 afternoon at four. She. would have time to de- 
 scend from her room at the Grand Hotel, take 
 her drive, return to it, and be back here before 
 the doors were closed ; and Saturday and Sunday 
 evenings all the girls have to themselves.' 
 
 "'A very ingenious idea,' said Zizi, 'so in- 
 genious that no one could possibly have con- 
 ceived it, except the one who executed it also. 
 Mesdemoiselles, we have before us the borrower 
 of the funds of our firm, and mysterious Made- 
 moiselle de Barcelone, standing confessed, in one 
 and the same person, Mademoiselle Aglae ! ' 
 
 " Everybody screamed with laughter, for, as I 
 have said, Mademoiselle de Barcelone was said 
 to be strikingly handsome ; and the idea of poor 
 Mile. Aglae', with ~ her thirty-eight years, her 
 skeleton figure and projecting teeth, taking the 
 part of this enchanting myth, was too ridiculous. 
 Mile. Aglae was usually quite oblivious to jokes 
 on her personal appearance, but this one, with 
 its hint at theft, made her furious ; she seized a 
 great pair of shears, and there would have been
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 143 
 
 trouble, had not Mademoiselle Ernestine taken 
 them away from her, saying gently, ' Come, 
 come, my good Aglae", you are above suspicion, 
 and your idea is worth attention. There are only 
 two girls who leave at four o'clock : little Marie, 
 who takes her old mother to the oculist every 
 afternoon to have her eyes treated ; and Zizi has 
 never given any reason, except that she could 
 work more rapidly than the rest, and preferred, 
 when her work was finished, to amuse herself by 
 a promenade.' 
 
 " ' Then it lies between you and me, little 
 Marie,' said Zizi defiantly. 
 
 " Marie did not reply directly, but, turning to 
 Mademoiselle Ernestine, said, ' I am told the 
 mysterious lady walks with a limp.' 
 
 " ' When the mysterious lady next appears, she 
 will have a black eye,' shrieked Zizi, throwing 
 the ink-bottle, which stood on Mademoiselle Er- 
 nestine's desk, across the room, cutting an ugly 
 gash on Marie's forehead, and spoiling the bridal 
 wreath she was making. Mademoiselle Ernestine 
 came toward Zizi with a very peculiar expression 
 upon her face, and, taking her by the arm, led 
 her out of the room. Some time afterward, Marie 
 whispered about the news that Zizi was locked 
 up with her work. ' We shall see now,' she added,
 
 144 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 'whether Mademoiselle de Barcelone takes her 
 usual drive, and appears in her box at the opera 
 this evening.' Later I heard Mile. Aglae, who 
 had been sent to see, report that her coach drew 
 up in front of the Grand H6tel, and the coach- 
 man said he had orders to call for her, but 
 Mademoiselle de Barcelone was not in her room. 
 Another peculiar thing was, that for several days 
 while Zizi was in confinement, no money was 
 taken. Then Mademoiselle Ernestine thought 
 she was sure of her affair, and she had Zizi 
 arrested, though Reinette and I persisted, with 
 all our might, that she was innocent. Zizi 
 proved, at her trial, exactly where she had been 
 on every afternoon ; and others testified that 
 Mademoiselle de Barcelone had been seen in 
 public since her imprisonment, though she had 
 never gone near the Grand H6tel. The dresses 
 which she had left there could never have fitted 
 Zizi ; and all who had seen the mysterious lady 
 asserted that no disguise could have made Zizi 
 resemble her. 
 
 " Suspicion next fell upon Mademoiselle Agla6 
 herself, not as having anything to do with the 
 Barcelone affair, but as being the thief. It was 
 started by her behavior in throwing suspicion on 
 Zizi, and was confirmed by her giving up her
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 145 
 
 position in the house, and taking passage for 
 Martinique, immediately on Zizi's arrest. She 
 was very much provoked at being detained for 
 the trial, and Mademoiselle Ernestine felt sure 
 that at last she had found the real culprit. But 
 no ; that, too, was satisfactorily explained. Mile. 
 Aglae" had received an offer of marriage from an 
 old friend. It must be that women are very 
 scarce in Martinique, or he would never have 
 thought of her. Naturally she was impatient to 
 be off. Her department had been that of field 
 flowers. She would search the woods from spring 
 to autumn, and came back from the country with 
 a herbarium in a shawl-strap, and a botanist's 
 can full of ferns and mosses, grasses, cones, 
 and all sorts of wild flowers, with sprays of ivy, 
 and other vines. It was greatly owing to her 
 skill that wheat flowers and scarlet cockles, vio- 
 lets, and buttercups, and daisies became so fash- 
 ionable for spring wear. One cannot have all 
 the good gifts ; and if one is lacking in one 
 direction, it is often made up in another. Mile. 
 Aglae" was homely and clever, studied botany out 
 of working hours, and knew thoroughly all the 
 wild flowers of France. Lately I have heard 
 that she has written a book on the flora of the 
 country where she lives." 
 19
 
 146 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 "And was this thief never found?" asked 
 Orsovitch. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Just as I began to think that it 
 was my turn to be suspected, I was walking 
 through the street on which is the Hdtel Drouot, 
 when I saw a very large photograph in a window, 
 and I said to myself, ' Tiens, how much that 
 looks like our little Marie!' but I saw that it 
 could not be she, for the lady was dressed, a la 
 grande dame, in white satin and point lace. I 
 told Mademoiselle Ernestine, and the next day 
 she went with me. ' It is Marie,' said she. The 
 photographer said that it was the celebrated 
 Mademoiselle de Barcelone, but that she had 
 never called for it. And so Marie was found 
 out, for her mother had never had anything the 
 matter with her eyes ; and every afternoon Marie 
 had gone to a room which she had rented in the 
 Latin Quarter, changed her work apron for a 
 waterproof and bonne's cap, gone out and made 
 purchases, which she said were for her mistress, 
 and which she carried to the Grand Hotel. No- 
 body noticed her in the halls, there were so many 
 servants, until she descended the grand staircase 
 as Mademoiselle de Barcelone ; and yet, the child 
 had the face of an angel, with her fluffy blonde 
 hair, her sweet blue eyes, and, above all, hei
 
 CLOUDS AND FLOWERY PATHS. 147 
 
 innocent expression ; and she was only sixteen 
 years old ! How I have run on. You should 
 tell me not to talk when I weary you." 
 
 "You interest me very much," replied Orso- 
 vitch. " It is growing late ; but to-morrow, when 
 you come, tell me some more stories of your 
 friends' lives. They introduce me to a class of 
 society new to me, and to which I had never 
 before given a thought."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 
 
 "The first was dressed in rose-red silk, 
 
 And the second in velvet green, 
 The third in satin as white as milk, 
 Would their souls as white had been." 
 
 T)APA Robust! was a painter whose reputa- 
 A tion was made in a single picture, received 
 at the Salon, well hung, medaled and purchased 
 by the government. He might have gained a 
 fabulous income, had he been a hard worker. 
 The picture dealers clamored for his paintings, 
 and he snapped his fingers at them. Amateurs 
 flocked to see him, and he entertained them 
 right royally, listened to their honeyed words of 
 compliment, but sent them empty-handed away. 
 Madame Robusti and Corinne, who would have 
 liked a larger margin for spending-money, wept 
 and entreated ; but his reply was ever, " I have 
 achieved one success ; I know better than to 
 follow it up with a failure." And so Papa Ro- 
 
 (148)
 
 i.W Angeles, Cal, 
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 1 49 
 
 bust! never followed it up with anything, but 
 lived a life of elegant leisure on the interest of 
 money placed in certain safe though inartistic 
 investments. 
 
 The day on which Eulalie had posed for Orso- 
 vitch, and had told the histories of the flower girls, 
 was Mamma Robusti's fete day. The young men 
 had received much kindness from the worthy lady, 
 and, according to established custom, had pre- 
 sented themselves at her house on the previous 
 evening, to offer their compliments and two enor- 
 mous bouquets. Van, whose unlucky blundering 
 pursued him like an avenging spirit, carried a 
 bouquet composed of white lilac, white hyacinths 
 and tube roses, and learned afterwards that 
 Madame Robusti was afflicted with a sort of 
 chronic hay fever, and that all of her friends 
 were particular to give her only scentless flowers. 
 What made the mistake doubly unfortunate was 
 the fact that in France white flowers typify youth 
 or death, and such a gift to a lady of over sixty 
 summers was, in either light, a decided imperti- 
 nence. But Madame Robusti loved foreigners, 
 and easily forgave their mistakes ; she spoke a 
 little English, and usually managed to have sev- 
 eral Americans at each of her receptions. All 
 who called in acknowledgment of her fete were
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 invited to a dinner on the following day. As soon 
 as Eulalie had taken her departure the young 
 men commenced their preparations for the even- 
 ing. " Sport your white tie and lightest gloves, 
 Van," said Orsovitch. " This is a dress affair, 
 and we are likely to meet some high society. I 
 should not be surprised if my friend, the Due de 
 Champnoix, were there. You must look your 
 best, for little Corinne will have all the dandies 
 of her acquaintance to compare you with to- 
 night." Corinne was the daughter of the house, 
 and Van had found himself often in her society 
 during the past winter. Time was when the 
 remark which Orsovitch had just made, uttered 
 when he was performing the delicate operation of 
 shaving, would have occasioned him two or three 
 cuts, but now he went through its performance 
 with a tolerably steady hand. 
 
 The Robustis lived at Villa La Joyeuse, in a 
 neighboring village, a lordly piece of property, 
 though not kept up in its former grandeur. The 
 house, an elegant mansion in the style of an 
 Italian villa, dated from the year 1500, and was 
 situated in the midst of a magnificent park. Van, 
 while he envied Orsovitch the grace with which 
 he bowed himself into the immense white salon, 
 already partly filled with guests, to render his
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. I 5 * 
 
 own bashful awkwardness less conspicuous, en- 
 tered in the wake of an excessively dressed lady, 
 and, occupied by the phenomenon of seeing him- 
 self reflected and re-reflected five times in the 
 grand Venetian mirrors, and in thinking what a 
 good lesson it was in perspective, got himself 
 hopelessly entangled in her train and a Persian 
 rug, which slipped about on the polished floor 
 as though it were bewitched. He did not fall, 
 but felt himself grow very red in the face 
 during the process of disentanglement. Not so 
 the lady, who was perfectly mistress of the 
 occasion, and who said, languidly, " You are an 
 American, are you not ? So glad ! Will you 
 be so good as to take me up to the mistress 
 of the house ? I don't know her at all, and 
 my giddy little sister has run off with that 
 horrid Mr. Goth. I 'm Mrs. Poser from Chicago, 
 but she wont know me by that name. Say, 
 please, that I 'm Miss Fitz Flirt's sister ; Fanny 
 it> one of his scholars, at least, she brings hei 
 pictures to him for criticism." 
 
 As they passed through the room, Van caught 
 a glimpse of the Misses Pauline and Precosia 
 Pry. " There are two of our compatriots," said 
 he. " Perhaps you are acquainted with them." 
 
 " I ! " replied Mrs. Poser, " why, I make it a point
 
 152 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 never to know Americans ; I consider it just so 
 much valuable time wasted. I came abroad to 
 learn the languages, to have the advantages of 
 foreign society, to to well, not to get ac- 
 quainted with my own countrymen. Fanny 
 has hosts of American friends, chiefly young 
 gentlemen. She can't help it, they will find 
 her out ; and she is so impulsive that she don't 
 discourage them, as she ought. There's that 
 Mr. Norman Saxon Goth, that she is talking 
 with now ; he is such a great traveler, and so 
 very cosmopolitan, that, really, I don't object to 
 him ; but, I assure you, it is a great responsibility 
 to chaperone such an attractive girl as Fanny." 
 
 After presenting the lady to his hostess, Van 
 found himself for an instant by the side of Co- 
 rinne. She was dressed very simply and prettily 
 in white muslin, and let her eyes fall modestly as 
 he approached. She had only monosyllabic re- 
 plies for all his remarks, and never ventured an 
 idea of her own. He had always found her so ; 
 always the white dress, always the modest falling 
 lashes, and sweet silent lips ; but then, Mamma 
 Robusti's volubility left no room for conversation, 
 and her quiet seemed refreshing in contrast. 
 To-night, as he plied her with one leading ques- 
 tion after another with the same ill success, he
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 153 
 
 asked himself if her silence were all diffidence 
 or partly stupidity ; then he grew angry with 
 himself. Would it be any better to be pertly 
 and impertinently forward, like Precosia Pry, or 
 insinuatingly familiar, like Mrs. Poser ? Which 
 did he prefer, American or French society ? He 
 did not answer the question, for his thought flew 
 to another French girl, and he felt sure that her 
 bearing in such a company would be different 
 from either type. He was awakened from his 
 reverie by the announcement of dinner, and by 
 Mamma Robusti's whispered permission to take 
 the dear girl down. In the general procession 
 he found himself just behind Orsovitch, who was 
 escorting the young lady whom Mrs. Poser had 
 pointed out as her sister, and whom we already 
 know as Fanny Fitz Flirt. Their conversation 
 floated back to him, and, as he and Corinne had 
 nothing to say, he could hardly help listening 
 to it. 
 
 " So you have seen Miss Precosia Pry's grand 
 picture," said Orsovitch ; " what do you think 
 of it ? " 
 
 " I think it the most remarkable bit of mosaic 
 I ever saw." 
 
 " Mosaic ? I hardly comprehend." 
 
 "Well, I dorit mean album of contributions
 
 154 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 from friends. I won't say that another artist 
 than Precosia has ever touched a brush to it, but 
 every idea, every object in the picture is copied 
 and stolen. If the cards of the artists who have 
 indirectly contributed to that picture were strung 
 rosary fashion, and tied to it, the whole affair 
 would resemble a kite with the most extraordi- 
 narily long tail conceivable. Perhaps it does not 
 come strictly under the head of artistic forgery, 
 but, for my part, whatever faults a picture has, I 
 ask that it should be original. * Do see it your- 
 self, and tell me if the general composition of 
 the picture is not taken from No. of the battle 
 scenes at Versailles, if the sky is not a direct 
 copy from one of Theodore Frere's, if the first 
 sketches from which the horses were painted 
 could have ever been drawn by any oae but Du 
 Cheval they are so badly painted that the 
 original fine sketching is almost obliterated, but 
 one can see perfectly that the one who colored so 
 wretchedly could never have drawn the first out- 
 lines in so masterly away. And then the Asiatic 
 types, they are taken directly from young Le 
 Maure's sketches last winter among the Arabs. 
 As for foreground studies, and the wounded and 
 dying men, the figures betray too 'much fine fore- 
 shortening and knowledge of anatomy ; some of
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 155 
 
 those sharp-drawn features were sketched in the 
 morgue and at the time of the Commune, and 
 Precosia Pry never did it. The picture does not 
 hang together at all." 
 
 " Behold how you Americans love one another," 
 said Orsovitch, sarcastically ; and then Van lost 
 him in the confusion of looking for names on the 
 comic dinner cards, indicating the place of each 
 guest. 
 
 The floral offerings of the night before orna- 
 mented the table. In front of Van stood a 
 graceful basket of magnificent purple and white 
 lilac. " What perfect flowers ! " was his excla- 
 mation. 
 
 "That was Miss Fitz Flirt's gift," replied 
 Corinne ; " they ought to be perfect, they are 
 not natural." 
 
 "Yes; are they not lovely?" chimed in Mrs. 
 Poser, who sat opposite. " My sister had them 
 made to order by the little milliner at Ecouen ; 
 she makes exquisite things ! " 
 
 " She has made a great many flowers for me," 
 said Corinne. " I have one party dress trimmed 
 with roses en deux tons" 
 
 " Two tons of artificial flowers ! Surely not on 
 one dress," exclaimed the astonished Van, while 
 the working of Corinne's face told plainly her
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 intense d-ts re to laugh ; she only conquered it by 
 continuing the conversation : " It was a great deal 
 prettier than the dress I have on, though mamma 
 bought this at Worth's, touteconfectionnte" 
 
 Van glanced at the young lady's attire, half 
 expecting to find it garnished with bon bans, and, 
 in his surprise at not seeing any kind of con- 
 fectionery upon it, for the first time in his life 
 attempted a French joke. " I hope you got it 
 at a prix donx" said he ; but Corinne did not 
 understand, and, somewhat piqued at the impli- 
 cation of cheapness, devoted herself to her 
 coffee, and made no further attempts at chat. 
 After the dinner, Mamma Robusti took his arm, 
 and upbraided him for not having called oftener ; 
 gave him pleasant little details of their last sum- 
 mer at Biarritz, and promised that after one or 
 two other ladies had kindly given them some 
 music, Corinne should " sing for him an Ameri- 
 can ballad which a so pleasing foreigner whom 
 they had met at the seaside had taught her. There 
 were very many Inglees at Biarritz, and they 
 were all enchant^ with the ballad, which was 
 very a la mode in America." Van listened with 
 high expectation to the first notes struck on the 
 little upright piano by modest Corinne. He 
 expected to hear " Home, Sweet Home," or
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 157 
 
 the "Last Rose of Summer," and was hardly 
 able to preserve his gravity when Corinne sang, 
 with much pathos and dignity, 
 
 " Oh ! vare, and oh I vare, 
 Has my leetle tog gone." 
 
 "Why do you smile ? " asked Mamma Robusti. 
 " Is there anything in that song not suitable for 
 a young girl to sing? You Americans are so 
 very free. Ah ! if the dear girl knew that she 
 was singing anything improper she would cry 
 immediately, she is so very sensible." (Mamma 
 Robusti meant sensitive, and Van fortunately 
 understood her.) "Do you know all these 
 American ladies ? " she rattled on, partly in 
 French and partly in English ; " one sees so 
 many more of them nowadays. I suppose it is 
 because the opening of the Suez Canal shortens 
 the voyage. Am I not right ? " There was 
 something so appealing in the little woman's 
 ignorance, that Van could only assent that it 
 made a very considerable saving in distance, 
 provided one went that way. " If she can only 
 forgive my blunders," he thought, " I am sure 
 I can hers, funny as they are." At this point 
 Papa Robusti invited several of the gentlemen 
 to his studio, saying he wished to introduce 
 them to some distinguished guests. They were
 
 158 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 three portraits, which he had recently pur- 
 chased, and took this opportunity of exhibiting 
 to his friends. "All of these ladies," said he, 
 as he drew aside the curtain, behind which 
 the easels supporting the paintings were ranged, 
 "have been more familiar with this house than 
 we are. The one in rose-colored silk, standing 
 in the open window, is Marie de Valois, Duchesse 
 la Joyeuse, for several years Lady of Ecouen 
 after the sway of the Montmorencis. This 
 house was her favorite residence, and I am 
 confident that the portrait was painted here. 
 Examine the background and you have a view 
 of my park from the balcony of the ' chambre 
 rose' It represents a fete champetre, for there 
 are gentlemen and ladies inWatteau costumes 
 promenading on the lawn, and the gilded sedan 
 chairs, which have brought them from Paris, 
 are waiting under the great trees on the right. 
 The lady on the other side, in white satin, is 
 Diane de Poitiers. I had this portrait copied from 
 the one at Versailles, in order to make my trio 
 complete. The old Connetable de Montmorenci 
 was her firm friend, and she spent much of her 
 time here during the reign of Francis I. The 
 central picture is the gem of my collection. It 
 is Charlotte de Montmorenci, daughter of the
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. 159 
 
 connetable. Chronologically, too, she comes in 
 between the other two ladies. The picture was 
 purchased for me in Brussels, where she took 
 refuge when the infatuation of King Henry of 
 Navarre drove her from the court, and from her 
 own home." 
 
 Van glanced at the face, and started with sur- 
 prise : Eulalie's eyes were looking at him from the 
 canvas, there was Eulalie's forehead and 'Eulalie's 
 hair, but the lower part of the face was sharper, 
 more markedly French in outline, while the con- 
 tour of Eulalie's cheek and chin was so soft and 
 rounded that it had often made him think of the 
 prettiest peasant girls of Brabant. He looked at 
 Orsovitch, but he betrayed no surprise, and was 
 apparently examining the portrait as a connois- 
 seur, with an eye to its artistic merits only. 
 
 " Does it resemble any one that you have ever 
 seen ? " asked Van impulsively. 
 
 Orsovitch frowned slightly, and replied coolly, 
 " It reminds me of the Virgin of the Adoration 
 in the Raphael window of our little church." 
 
 " Very likely," said Papa Robusti. " The 
 Raphael window was placed in the church shortly 
 before the marriage of Charlotte ; it may be that 
 her father selected it on account of the resem- 
 blance in the face of the Virgin to that of hi 
 daughter."
 
 160 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " Do you think this an original portrait ? " 
 asked one of the guests. 
 
 " It bears the signature of Porbus," replied the 
 host proudly. 
 
 Van sudied the picture attentively. It was a 
 half-length portrait. A green velvet riding habit, 
 richly sewn down the front with jewels, draped the 
 slight but resolute figure ; her hands were filled 
 with her husband's lilies, while on a ribbon-like 
 scroll which encircled them was inscribed the 
 device, " Date manibus lilia plenis" The gentle- 
 man who had been pointed out to Van as Mr. 
 Norman Saxon Goth, remarked that this was one 
 of the mottoes of the Bourbon family. After a 
 little longer inspection of other paintings, the 
 gentlemen strolled down into the parlors, spend- 
 ing the rest of the evening in alternately dancing 
 and playing billiards. There was something quite 
 ridiculous to Van in their tumultuous entrance, 
 choosing the first partners they happened to meet, 
 whirling them violently through a waltz too 
 rapidly to admit of conversation, dropping them 
 into a window seat with an awkward bow, and 
 instantaneously retreating en masse to the billiard 
 room as soon as the music ceased. The smoke 
 in this sacred retreat nearly strangled him, and 
 he ventured to remain in the parlors between two
 
 SOME HIGH SOCIETY. l6l 
 
 of the dances. His presence seemed to act as a 
 dead weight upon the ladies ; as soon as they per- 
 ceived him all conversation ceased. Mamma 
 Robusti crossed the room and assured him that 
 she was so glad he had stopped, as they were just 
 going to serve a very aristocratic American 
 drink, and she wanted his opinion as to whether 
 her " Ponch au rhum " was a success. In effect, 
 the ladies were refreshing themselves with rum 
 punch, under the impression that they were fol- 
 lowing the example of the highest-toned Ameri- 
 can society. Nor did Mrs. Poser undeceive her 
 hostess, but sipped her tiny glass with evident 
 satisfaction. 
 
 As Orsovitch and Van walked homeward in the 
 clear, broad moonlight, Van admitted that he did 
 not much enjoy French high society. 
 
 "You haven't seen it yet," said Orsovitch; 
 " that was only bourgeoisie half-way stuff. Give 
 me a princess of the blood or a peasant girl : 
 extremes meet In my opinion, the society of 
 flower girls that Eulalie described is in every 
 way superior to that in which we have just 
 mingled. I doubt if there was a single lady 
 among them as deep a specialist in any scientific 
 study as Mademoiselle Aglae" in botany. Cer- 
 tainly Reinette must have been prettier than any
 
 ' 62 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 girl there, and Zizi infinitely more witty and 
 agreeable. In fascinating power, I would match 
 little Marie against Miss Fitz Flirt, and in what 
 society will you find a more perfect lady than our 
 Eulalie?"
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 
 
 How beautiful is the rain I 
 
 After the dust and heat, 
 
 In the broad and fiery street, 
 
 In the narrow lane, 
 
 How beautiful is the rain I 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 T TOW soothingly the gentle rain fell that 
 night. It wove itself with Van's dreams 
 and his waking thoughts, until he could scarcely 
 distingush the one from the other. 
 
 Grateful rain : springing like thankful tears from 
 reservoirs so full of content and sweetness that 
 they could hold no more. Pitiful rain : weeping 
 a sorrow not its own ; falling steadily on graves 
 over which no other tear-drops had ever fallen, 
 moistening afresh the sod over neglected and for- 
 gotten ones, freshening the garlands laid yester- 
 day on those whose care showed there were 
 hearts who could never forget. Comforting rain : 
 bringing a message of good cheer to those who, 
 
 (163)
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 while the world slept about them, still watched 
 and wept a sin long since washed away and for- 
 given, or a sorrow that refused to be healed ; 
 telling them that the same God "who covereth 
 the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for 
 the earth, healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth 
 up their wounds." 
 
 Very tender and loving was the message which 
 the rain brought that night, alike to the happy, 
 the sorrowing, and the sinning to all who had 
 ears to hear. It still rained, when late in the 
 morning Van entered the studio and found Orso- 
 vitch seated with a discontented air before his 
 picture. 
 
 " What disgusting weather," said he ; " there is 
 no light and shade ; I shall not be able to paint 
 on my Leda. How provoking it is ! just my luck, 
 too ; if I had commenced a picture requiring a 
 grey day, we should have had brilliant sunshine," 
 and opening the door he stepped out upon the 
 balcony, and regarded the sky with a glance as 
 lowering. 
 
 " It is really too bad," replied Van. " I shall 
 miss her pleasant little stories. I never thought 
 there could be anything of interest in the lives of 
 apprentices in an establishment for making arti- 
 ficial flowers. Yet look at those four girls, as
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 165 
 
 Eulalie sketched them : beautiful Reinette, wild 
 Zizi, hypocritical <Marie, and Mademoiselle Aglae 
 the botanist. A novel might be written, without 
 enlarging in the least, on the events of their 
 lives." 
 
 Orsovitch shrugged his shoulders after the 
 French fashion, which Van detested, on account 
 of its expression of utter indifference. " I would 
 much rather know something of Eulalie's life," 
 he said " how she ever became engaged to old 
 Grumpy Frumpy at the chateau." 
 
 " She would never tell you that," Van replied. 
 
 " Of course not ; you do not suppose I thought 
 her capable of recounting her love affairs in La 
 Gazette style to whoever cared to hear. Halloo, 
 here is old Father Dazy looming up the street 
 with a marvelous claret-colored umbrella. What 
 business can that old flower of spring have here ? 
 If it is to beg a sitting, he might as well have 
 kept his umbrella dry ; I think I see myself paint- 
 ing such a scarecrow as he is." 
 
 "Perhaps he has come with some message 
 from Eulalie," Van suggested ; " he is her uncle, 
 and might be both able and willing to give you 
 the information you wish in regard to her. He 
 gave me, unasked, his own history one day in the 
 church-yard, and Eulalie's pedigree through her
 
 T06 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 mother and grandfather, with the lives of various 
 other relatives and friends. I have no doubt he 
 would have gone on talking to the present 
 moment, if I had waited to listen." 
 
 Van's remark had a very appreciable effect on 
 Orsovitch. Not minding the rain, he ran down- 
 stairs and met Pere Paquerette at the gate. One 
 minute, five minutes passed, and Van began to 
 fear his friend would receive a thorough wetting. 
 Stepping to the door, he saw him standing in 
 an angle of the gateway, sheltered by Pere 
 Paquerette's umbrella. They seemed to be just 
 finishing their conversation, for they shook hands 
 like equals, and Van was never more surprised 
 when Orsovitch (than whom no more aristocratic 
 socialist ever lived) drew from his case a cigar, 
 lighted it at Pere Paquerette's clay pipe, then, 
 turning, ran lightly up the stairs and met him at 
 the door. 
 
 " Pere Paquerette is coming to pose for me 
 to day," said he; "he came to ask whether I 
 should want Eulalie." 
 
 " I thought you intimated that nothing could 
 induce you to paint that old scarecrow." 
 
 " There, Van, none of your chaff, or I shall not 
 let you sit and hear what he has to say about 
 Eulalie."
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 167 
 
 " You are going to ask him how she became 
 engaged to Amedee ? " 
 
 " No, my dear old blunderhead," said he, re- 
 placing the Leda on his easel by a blank canvas ; 
 " I flatter myself I am not so unsophisticated as 
 that. Don't you know that people never tell with 
 any spirit what you ask for? Besides, the old 
 gentleman would get an idea that you or I were 
 interested in his niece, and would be as tight as 
 a clam. Would be sure to tell her, too, we had 
 tried to pump him, and we could not get her to 
 come again. I will set him talking on "some side 
 topic that will lead that way, and you shall see 
 fiim running into it of his own accord, telling all 
 he knows on the subject. After which I shall 
 make him think he has rather bored me, and he 
 will go away ashamed of his garrulity, and in no 
 way inclined to mention it at home." 
 
 The plan seemed to Van a good one, and he 
 could not too much admire its successful working 
 at the commencement. 
 
 When Van sauntered into the studio after the 
 morning meal, he found Pere Paquerette seated 
 at a rough little table, against which leaned his 
 dripping umbrella, slowly forming a 'pool of dark 
 water. The hand which rested upon his knee 
 held his pipe, the other, with fingers half open and
 
 1 68 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 arm partly extended, was making a gesture explan- 
 atory of something which he might have been 
 saying. 
 
 " This is my idea," explained Orsovitch. " I 
 intend to make him the central figure of a group ; 
 he is telling a story, and the others shall be listen- 
 ing. A young girl on this side, profile perdue, a 
 little boy in front of her, standing back to us, 
 some toy, say a kite, held behind him so," and 
 Orsovitch chalked in the places of the figures. 
 " Then for background to fill up this space on the 
 right, I will show part of a window with the rain 
 falling and people passing with umbrellas. " 
 
 " What will you call it ? " Van asked. 
 
 " Oh, that is of the least importance, provided 
 only a picture is expressive, it names itself. To 
 Mr. X., it is ' Recollections of My Childhood ; ' 
 to Col. Y., it is 'How we Took the Fort ; ' for 
 Mrs. Z., it is 'The Village Story Teller;' for 
 me, it is simply ' One Rainy Day.' As that 
 name is simple, and meaningless enough not to 
 conflict with any of their fancies, or with those it 
 may suggest to some imaginative purchaser, I shall 
 call it so. Come, Pere Paquerette, a little more 
 expression, as if you were telling a capital good 
 thing at the Esp6rance to some of the other 
 boys ! "
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 169 
 
 "When I tell stories at the Esperance," said 
 Pere Paquerette, " it is always over a bock of beer, 
 a bock of good beer from Strasbourg." 
 
 "And that's a very good idea," said Orso- 
 vitch, placing a tall pewter tankard on the table, 
 and a still larger, gaudily painted earthenware 
 jug of Auvergne workmanship by its side. " Now 
 look up if you please." 
 
 But the old man's face was if possible more 
 lifeless than ever, and, without lifting his gaze 
 from the articles on the table, he replied : "I 
 can't get up no kind of an expression over an 
 empty mug. Nothing comes from nothing, m'sieu 
 knows." 
 
 "You are quite right," replied Orsovitch good- 
 naturedly. " Here, Van, if you have nothing 
 important on hand, do me the kindness to order a 
 bock of beer for Pere Paquerette." 
 
 " Good beer, mind," added the old model, 
 "good, strong Strasbourg beef. Ah, that will 
 do, that will do," he said, smacking his lips, and 
 drawing the back of his hand across them to 
 brush away the froth ; " and now for the expres- 
 sion that m'sieu wants. Fichtre ! that is not so 
 easy, after all. It is not this, is it ? Yes ? No ? " 
 
 "No, it is not that at all, Pere Paquerette," 
 said Orsovitch, " it is a story-telling expression 
 
 22
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 that I want. Suppose that instead of trying so 
 hard to give it, you think no more about it, but 
 tell us a story, and then the expression will come 
 naturally." 
 
 " A story, eh ? " echoed the old man ; " well, 
 what shall it be about, messieurs ? My father's 
 souvenirs of Napoleon are the best I know, but 
 people do not care for them now as much as they 
 did when I was young. If it 's the chateau you 
 want to hear about, I can tell you more than any 
 one else in the village, for my sister was there 
 four years as a scholar." 
 
 But Orsovitch was hard to please, and did not 
 care to hear anything of the Chateau de Mont- 
 morenci. 
 
 " Fichtre!" said Pere Paquerette again, with 
 more force than elegance, " there 's only the 
 Chateau de la Chasse left. M'sieu does not want 
 to hear of that, does he ? No ? Yes ? " 
 
 "What do you know about the Chateau de la 
 Chasse?" 
 
 " Not much, m'sieu, for I have only been there 
 twice, arranging for the marriage of my niece, 
 Eulalie, with the gamekeeper, Ame'dee du Lac. 
 I was so occupied with the business that I quite 
 forgot to look about the place, as I might have 
 done."
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 
 
 "So it was you, who made the marriage for 
 your niece ? " 
 
 "Ah! it is not a marriage yet, m'sieu, and 
 Amede^e is so difficult and Eulalie so high spir- 
 ited (she would be coquette, but that she knows it 
 would cause him pain). No, it is not a marriage, 
 only a betrothal; but, such as it is, I made it I 
 and a rabbit." 
 
 " I 'm afraid that Strasbourg beer was a little 
 too strong, Pere Paquerette ; what could a rabbit 
 have to do with it ? " 
 
 " Beg pardon, m'sieu, but if a grey rabbit with 
 a white tail had not scampered across the road to 
 Montmorenci, as I was coming home one after- 
 noon, and if I had not laid down the screen I 
 was bringing home for M. Dupinceau, a screen 
 covered with red velvet and gold, if I had not 
 laid it down on a stone beside a chestnut tree, 
 and started on a run after that rabbit, Eulalie 
 would not be engaged now to Amed^e." 
 
 " It is doubtless just as you say," replied Orso- 
 vitch, "but I really can't understand you; sup- 
 pose you tell us about it." 
 
 " It was a long race the rabbit led me, and 
 then it gained its hole before I could catch it, 
 for I am not so spry on my legs as I was in my 
 younger days ; there wasn't a rabbit in the forest
 
 I7 2 BOURBON LILILS. 
 
 could outrun me, when I wooed Josephine Haut- 
 coeur. You would not think, now, I had then 
 the handsomest legs in the village, would you?" 
 And the old man, quite forgetting he was posing, 
 lifted one withered limb, and eyed it ruefully. 
 " Well, I sat down by the rabbit hole and waited 
 till I thought I should grow cross-eyed, what with 
 one eye for the rabbit, and one for the guard, 
 you know. 
 
 " Pretty affair it would have been, if Amedee 
 had caught me then ; he would have handed me 
 over to the gendarme, and I should have been 
 put in prison, all for a miserable little beast like 
 that. Ah ! it 's too strong for me. I know I 
 shouldn't chase rabbits, but when one has been 
 a poacher in his youth, instinct never dies ; it is 
 like the sight of a pretty face to one of your 
 artist boys, Piff-paff ! there you are in full 
 chase before you know what you are about. I 
 got tired waiting for the rabbit after a while, and 
 stretching myself out on a bed of dry leaves, 
 where I could put my hand on the mouth of the 
 hole, and where the great trunk of a fallen tree hid 
 me so well that I did not think the guard coulc 
 see me, I lighted my pipe and went to sleep." 
 
 "Haven't we had almost enough of that rab- 
 bit ? " asked Orsovitch.
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 173 
 
 "Oh yes," replied the old man; "you have 
 heard all there is to tell about him now. When 
 I woke up and found that I had been asleep, I 
 knew that there was no use staying there any 
 longer, for the rabbit might be a couple of leagues 
 off, laughing at me for letting him escape so 
 easily. So I shook the ashes out of my pipe, 
 and went back to the road, where I found that 
 some little gamins, who had been chestnutting, 
 had hidden the screen, and I had all the trouble of 
 the evil one to find it. At last I saw one end 
 of it sticking out from a pile of dry leaves (it 
 was late in the fall, and they were lying in 
 great warm drifts everywhere) ; I carried it off as 
 fast as I could to M. Dupinceau, who scolded me 
 well for having been so long about it." 
 
 "I do not see anything very remarkable in 
 your story," said Orsovitch ; " nor anything about 
 your niece's engagement. I fear that rabbit has 
 led you astray from the subject." 
 
 "Not at all," replied Pere Paquerette, pettishly; 
 " but when I tell a story, I tell all the story. I Ve 
 just got to the interesting part now. You don't 
 want to hear any more ? Yes ? No ? When I 
 reached home, there was a great commotion in 
 the village; people were running hither and 
 thither, and the town crier was drumming as
 
 1/4 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 hard as he could to call them together. A laborer, 
 who had forgotten to lay down his pitchfork, 
 rushed into the church where the cure was saying 
 mass, and, without so much as taking his hat off, 
 began to ring the bell like mad. Arizoli, who 
 keeps the hardware store, gave all the peasants 
 in the street a new spade, and, marshaling his 
 battalion, set out with them at a brisk trot. The 
 gendarmes came running up the street, and the 
 firemen after them, buckling their helmets as 
 they ran. Monsieur le Cure left saying his mass, 
 and ran out in front of the church in his robes. 
 All the women dropped their work and ran to 
 the square with the children holding to their 
 dresses or in their arms, shrieking at the top of 
 their voices, waving their arms, and pointing to 
 the sky all black with smoke. ' What is the mat- 
 ter ? ' shouted I to Eulalie, who stood in her door, 
 looking wild with fright. ' Is it the Prussians 
 again ? ' 
 
 " ' Imbecile ! ' yelled her aunt ; 'the forest is on 
 fire ; it will never finish, the wood is as dry as 
 tinder.' 
 
 " My first thought was, glad I had got out of it 
 before the fire commenced. You see it was the 
 fire from my pipe that lighted it, though I did not 
 think of it then, it all came to me afterward.
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 
 
 Soon it grew dark and we could see flame reflec- 
 tions in the sky, the castle standing out in front, 
 black and flat as though cut out of cloth, with 
 every little point and pinnacle, and hung up 
 against it. FicJitre ! but it was fine. I heard 
 more than one of the artists say so, and stamp 
 the ground for very rage because they could 
 not paint like that. Later, the boys who had 
 gone to fight the fire came slowly back, each 
 black as a charcoal burner, and some with faces 
 and hands badly burned. They were not able to 
 do much, they said, for there was a high wind, 
 the flames were well under way, and there had 
 been no rain for weeks. There was reason to 
 fear that more than one person had been burned 
 alive ; for a family lived near the edge of the 
 forest, and their home had been found burned to 
 the ground ; the woman, too, was known to be 
 bedridden. She was a widow with a tribe of wild 
 boys, the very ones who had hidden my screen. 
 I had wished them all kinds of ill luck, but I was 
 sorry enough when I heard they were burned to 
 death. 
 
 " The fire burned down during the night, and 
 the next day the boys tried to get to the Chateau 
 de la Chasse, but there were so many burning 
 logs lying across the way, and the ground was
 
 176 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 so hot to their feet, that they had to give it 
 up until night. Then they found the woman 
 and her children all safe with Amedee in the 
 chateau. Shortly after the fire broke out he 
 had passed by their cottage, and helped the 
 oldest boys carry their mother out on an old 
 sofa. The woods on both sides of the road 
 were on fire, and it was impossible to go toward 
 either Montmorenci or Ecouen, so they carried 
 her back to the Chateau de la Chasse, the fire, 
 leaping from tree to tree, catching up with them 
 when they were almost there, reaching out hot 
 hands for them, and nearly stifling them with 
 smoke, Amedee' s clothes caught fire twice, and 
 his hair was singed, but he got them all in at last 
 where they were safe, for the chateau stands 
 between two little lakes. It must have been a 
 terrible sight through all that night to see the 
 fires around them, and they shut in alone by 
 the Lord God with walls of water and fire. It 
 would have given a man something to think 
 about. I wonder how Amedee could have car- 
 ried that womai~i so far she was a fat woman 
 and had the dropsy ; she must have weighed a 
 sight, without counting the sofa. It 's a strong 
 fellow, that Amedee, for all he is so little , 
 when a stroke of temper takes him he is a
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 
 
 little Hercules. He was mad enough when the 
 village boys got to the chateau, and said the 
 woods must have been set on fire, and he 
 would find out who had done it, and have the 
 vagabond punished to the full extent of the 
 law, The little boys said that an old man 
 carrying a screen had been loafing about the 
 woods just before the fire took, and Amedee 
 meant to hunt him up, for he had no doubt 
 he was the incendiary. When the village boys 
 said that, the cold sweat started out all over 
 me, and I felt already condemned to be hanged 
 ' Now, the question is/ said the boys, ' who can 
 this man be ? ' ' Yes,' said I, while my knees 
 shook, and my voice trembled with fear. ' Who 
 is it?' Then, all of a sudden, as though they 
 were so many accusing spirits, I heard above 
 me legion of voices, crying, ' Toi ! toi ! ! TOI ! ! ! ' 
 I looked up more dead than alive ; it was only 
 the crows that had been driven away by the 
 fire, flying back to their charred and blackened 
 homes. I went into the house and told Eulalie 
 about it. ' The gendarme will have his hand on 
 my collar soon,' said I, ' and there I am in prison 
 and executed, all for an unhappy little rabbit 
 that I did not catch.' Eulalie looked very grave. 
 ' You will be sure to be found out, uncle,' said 
 2 3
 
 BUUKBUN LILIES. 
 
 she, ' the town is full of people that would be 
 only too happy to inform upon you. The only 
 way is to get ahead of them. I will go down to 
 the chateau, and speak for you. I don't believe 
 the garde chasse can be a very hard-hearted man, 
 his mother is so good.' And that was how I got 
 off, for, on the contrary, Amede'e is a very soft- 
 hearted man, but very shy ; he never would have 
 found Eulalie in the world, but she found him, 
 and he surrendered. When Eulalie came back, 
 her eyes were wet, as though she had been 
 crying, but she was smiling at the same time. 
 ' He says for you to come and see him,' said she. 
 ' Fichtre,' said I, 'that is just what I don't want 
 to do.' ' Don't be afraid,' says Eulalie, 'he's not 
 half so ugly as he looks.' " Pere Paquerette paused 
 in his recital from sheer weariness. 
 
 " I congratulate you, Orsovitch," said Van, in 
 English, " on the clever way in which you have 
 drawn his story out of him. No one would have 
 guessed this was just what you wanted." 
 
 " And what is better," replied the other, " the 
 old gentleman will not think I am in love with 
 Eulalie ; " and, turning to Pere Paquerette, he 
 said, " So Amedee proposed for your niece as 
 soon as he saw you ? " 
 
 " Beg pardon, m'sieu, he did not, but we had
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. 
 
 not been talking together five minutes, before I 
 saw that it was a true affair of the heart." 
 
 "What did he say then, if he did not go 
 straight to the matter? I should like to know 
 the symptoms by which an affection of that kind 
 manifests itself." 
 
 "Well, m'sieu, he talked to me very much as 
 you have done this morning. There was no 
 question of a dowry, any more than there was of 
 my setting the woods on fire. You would have 
 thought the one was as far from his thoughts as 
 the other, and I suppose it was. He was mighty 
 careful not to pop out, and say he wanted to 
 marry Eulalie, but he asked me whether she 
 was betrothed, whether she had ever had a lover, 
 whether she had ever loved any one, whether she 
 was very fond of society, and a hundred ques- 
 tions, just as you did. I talked away, letting 
 him know all he wanted, and trying not to let 
 him know that I saw through it all. When he 
 had finished, I simply said, ' There won't be any 
 trouble, will there, m'sieu, about a poor fellow 
 happening to pass along the road with a screen a 
 little before the fire? His niece may be married 
 before long, and it would break the old man's 
 heart not to be at the wedding on account of 
 being in prison at the time.' Then Amedde
 
 180 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 slapped me on the shoulder, and told me to go 
 along for an old joker, but we understood each 
 other, and he brought up a bottle of capital old 
 wine from the dungeon down under the lake, 
 and we drank to the betrothal. The next day 
 Mere Angelique came to see us, and demanded 
 Eulalie in her son's name in the presence of all 
 the family." 
 
 Orsovitch bit his lips witlj vexation. " You 
 are a very knowing old man, Pere Paquerette," 
 said he, "but sometimes people may be too 
 knowing. So you suppose I am as much in love 
 with your niece as Amed6e ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose anything, m'sieu." 
 
 "Because, if you do, you are very much mis- 
 taken. I would have my hands full, indeed, if I 
 allowed myself to fall in love with every pretty 
 girl that posed for me." 
 
 " M'sieu is quite right ; besides, m'sieu and 
 Eulalie are of very different stations in life. 
 The poppies and the wheat look very fine 
 growing together, and they seem to take kindly 
 enough to each other's society, I must allow, for I 
 have loved out of my station in my time, too ; 
 but that does not signify, they are not the 
 same kind of weed after all." 
 
 " No " said Orsovitch, musingly ; " the noble
 
 ONE RAINY DAY. l8l 
 
 wheat is too stiff and harsh, all bristling with 
 sharp points of custom and prejudice, to make a 
 comfortable place in its ranks for such a tender 
 and sweet little field-flower as Eulalie." 
 
 " Turn that around, m'sieu, turn that around, if 
 you please," said the old man, flourishing his 
 hand. 
 
 Orsovitch looked at him in surprise. " What ? 
 My picture ? " he asked. " I have not done any- 
 thing on it yet." 
 
 " No, no, m'sieu, your sermon. It 's we peas- 
 ants that are the wheat, made to be ground 
 to powder, and eaten by the rich. Of what use 
 to Eulalie would be a fine husband like a gay 
 flaunting poppy of the field, such as M'sieu le 
 Cure says ' toil not, neither do they spin,' but 
 array themselves in all the glory of Solomon ? 
 Ah ! the poor girl has to work hard enough 
 now, without having a husband of that kind to 
 support. I don't hold much to marriage, any 
 way ; it 's generally a bad thing, and makes 
 trouble especially marriage with love in it. 
 When this matter was first started, I thought 
 it \\6uld be a good thing to make a double 
 wedding of it. There's the Mere Angelique, a 
 respectable widow, not too old, with a snug 
 little house, where she must feel a trifle lonely
 
 1 82 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 sometimes, and a garden to take care of,- and 
 a poultry yard ; she may well feel the need of 
 a strong man like me to help her gather the 
 fruit, make the cider, and drink it. I talked 
 over the affair with Amedee, but he soon per- 
 suaded me that it would not do at all. For, 
 in the first place, our political opinions differ; 
 our family have always been Bonapartists, while 
 the Mere Angelique is a legitimist, and holds 
 to the Bourbon Lilies. I should not wonder if 
 she really expected to see the Comte de Cham- 
 bord reigning as Henry V. one of these days.. 
 Then we should be always quarreling over relig- 
 ion, for I am a good Catholic, the saints be praised, 
 while she is little better than a Liberal." 
 
 "There," interrupted Orsovitch, "the sun is 
 shining; it is no longer the right kind of light 
 for this picture. You may go now, but come 
 again the next rainy day."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 
 
 " Dulciora melle ; 
 Rixae, pax, et oscula rubentis puellae." 
 
 A NEW color had come to the cheeks of Fanny 
 Fitz Flirt and a new sparkle to her eyes. Hard 
 work had brought it there, unremitting and unac- 
 customed work, but work which had for its spring 
 a fresh enthusiasm. Country living anSythe ab- 
 sence of Parisian dissipation had their good effect 
 upon her health, and invigorated health brought 
 with it Fanny's fresh flow of spirits. Monsieur 
 Robusti had this summer a class of girls, of 
 whom four or five were Americans and English. 
 Fanny became a favorite with them all ; and, 
 though perhaps the least advanced in art, was the 
 light of the studio. Her merry, mad-cap ways 
 were the gay stones in the mosaic of the day, for 
 her teacher as well as fellow-students. Precosia 
 Pry worked here too, and continual sharp-shoot- 
 ing was carried on between the two girls, Pre- 
 
 (183)
 
 184 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 cosia holding up Fanny's frightful daubs to the 
 withering blaze of her irony, and Fanny replying 
 with shots of witticism and sarcasm that were 
 always keenly relished by the class, with whom 
 Precosia was no favorite. 
 
 In the midst of this pleasant round of occu^ a- 
 tion came Mamma Robusti's party and again Orso- 
 vitch crossed her path. It was provoking, it was 
 too bad, she told herself rather bitterly, that this 
 high-bred, fascinating, but tantalizingly indiffer- 
 ent man should appear in this way whenever she 
 was enjoying herself thoroughly, for the express 
 purpose, it would seem, of spoiling her peace of 
 mind. She had no doubt that she could thaw 
 even this Russian iceberg, if he would only sub- 
 mit himself long enough to the sunlight of her 
 presence. How delightful it would be to under- 
 mine his serene self-satisfaction, and, when she 
 had transformed this marble statue into a lover, 
 quietly let him fall out of her life again. The 
 thought was such an attractive one that she 
 became absorbed once more, and the girls noticed 
 for several days after the party that Fanny was 
 abstracted, and even a little pale. 
 
 If Fanny despaired of ever being able to sub- 
 mit Orsovitch to the ordeal which she had in 
 thought planned for him, Mrs. Poser had not
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 185 
 
 come to Vilier le Bel simply to meet him at an 
 evening entertainment, and then give up all for 
 lost 
 
 "Come, my dear, put on that walking-suit I 
 like so much," she said to Fanny one afternoon, 
 "and come with me. I have determined to 
 improve the time while we are staying among all 
 these artists by having your portrait painted." 
 
 Fanny obeyed her sister without asking the 
 name of the artist she had chosen, and followed 
 her unsuspectingly into the studio occupied by 
 Van and Orsovitch. To Mrs. Poser's proposal, 
 Orsovitch replied that he was not a portrait 
 painter, and although the insinuating little lady 
 pleaded for a full half-hour, he was inexorable. 
 
 " If you are so anxious to obtain a portrait of 
 your sister," he said at last, " here is my friend, 
 who is much more clever than I at catching a 
 likeness. I assure you that if you put the matter 
 in his hands you will be much better satisfied than 
 if I had undertaken it." 
 
 " But, my dear fellow," expostulated Van, " I 
 never painted a portrait in my life, or sold a 
 picture ; I am only an art-student, not an artist." 
 
 " Listen to the frankness of the guileless 
 youth ! " exclaimed Orsovitch ; and then he 
 praised his friend so highly, bringing forward 
 
 24
 
 1 80 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 his studies of peasant heads, which the ladies 
 recognized immediately, that Mrs. Poser, reflect- 
 ing that the painting would at least be done under 
 the immediate supervision of Orsovitch, and that 
 it was too good an opportunity to be lost, at once 
 transferred to him the request she had made to 
 Orsovitch. 
 
 " But, Orsovitch," said Van, " I happen to 
 know that you have engaged a model for the next 
 few days, and as we use the same studio, I fear 
 this will interrupt your work." 
 
 " I am quite willing to let that picture dry for 
 a week," said Orsovitch ; and after the ladies 
 had gone he added, " Having Eulalie here is too 
 much of a pleasure to have it quickly over with. 
 I want to put off the evil day of parting with her 
 as long as I can, and she tells me that she cannot 
 reconcile it with her conscience to pose for me 
 after the picture I am at work on now is finished. 
 Then this is too good a chance for you to lose. 
 These ladies are wealthy enough to pay you a 
 good price, your painting for them will introduce 
 you among their set, and probably bring you 
 many more orders. I foresee, my boy, that it is 
 the first round in the ladder of fame for you." 
 
 " A round I should never have gained without 
 a friendly boost from you, old fellow," said Van.
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 
 
 Fanny sat for her portrait in full evening 
 dress, and Orsovitch soon became as much inter- 
 ested as Van in its progress ; he suggested, criti- 
 cised, directed ; and sometimes even took the 
 palette and brushes from his friend's hand and 
 gave a few touches to the picture, regarding 
 Fanny with the quizzical eye of a connoisseur 
 tasting a new kind of wine, the classification of 
 which baffles him. 
 
 At such times Fanny's cheek burned deeper, 
 and the little heart beneath the flowery bodice 
 fluttered with a consciousness of his admiration. 
 Her dainty coquetry was not unnoticed by Orso- 
 vitch, and it interested him quite as much as 
 Eulalie's perfect unconsciousness had done. With 
 Van, Fanny's manner was quite different. She 
 established with him at once a frank comrade- 
 ship, like that existing between boy and boy, or 
 between brother and sister of sympathetic tastes. 
 Mrs. Poser noticed it, and was relieved ; Fanny 
 regarded Van as a brother, there was no danger 
 in that direction for even her versatile affections ; 
 but all this puzzled Orsovitch. 
 
 " You Americans are a mystery to me," said he 
 to Van ; " she likes you, and she does not disguise 
 it ; she is astonishingly free with you, and yet she 
 is unmistakably comme il faut. She has seen as
 
 1 88 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 much of society as a married woman, and yet she 
 is naive as a baby she's a sphinx." 
 
 So the week went by. During her sittings 
 Fanny talked quite as much as Eulalie had done, 
 talked as an intelligent and sprightly American 
 girl can, and her witty repartee had a charm for 
 Orsovitch as new and bewitching as her face and 
 manner. At the close of the week Orsovitch 
 suggested that the portrait, which was almost 
 completed, should be laid aside for a while, Van 
 or himself to inform the ladies when it would be 
 best to resume the sittings. 
 
 The day after, Orsovitch called to reengage 
 Eulalie, but she had gone to Paris for a couple of 
 days, and the young man found himself with 
 unoccupied time upon his hands. He spent the 
 first day in putting things to rights in his studio, 
 and in answering neglected letters ; on the second 
 he started off on a long ramble. He returned to 
 find Van plunged in a brown study. 
 
 "What is the matter," he asked, giving his 
 friend a cheery slap upon the shoulder. 
 
 "Read that," replied Van, handing Orsovitch a 
 delicately-scented and showily-monogramed note 
 bearing Mrs. Poser's fine handwriting. The 
 note ran :
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 189 
 
 " DEAR MR. VAN : Fanny and I have denied ourselves every 
 kind of amusement for so long, that we feel it is time virtue had 
 its reward. We have accordingly decided to attend the theatre 
 in Paris this evening, returning by the midnight train. Unfor- 
 tunately, I have only ascertained since purchasing our tickets 
 that the omnibus for Vilier le Bel does not meet this train. Of 
 course, it is out of the question for us to walk from the station 
 aver to the village at that time of night, and I have decided to 
 throw myself upon your friendship, requesting you, if it does not 
 put you to too much inconvenience, to meet us at the station 
 with a carriage, allowing me, of course, the privilege of paying 
 for the vehicle. 
 
 " With regards from Fanny to yourself and Monsieur Orso- 
 vitch, in which I join most cordially, 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 " LILIAN F. F. POSER." 
 
 Orsovitch gave a long whistle. " I see that I 
 shall lose my comrade soon," he said ; " the young 
 lady is charming, and I wish you joy." 
 
 " Oh ! she 's not fishing for me," laughed Van, 
 " I 'm too small fry ; you would see how quickly 
 I 'd get my walking-ticket if I aspired to Miss 
 Fanny's hand." 
 
 " Well, I repeat for the thousandth time that I 
 do not at all understand the American way of 
 doing things ; but if this note means no more 
 than it says, why that afflicted countenance ? " 
 
 " Simply because there is, as you know, no 
 livery stable at either Vilier le Bel or Ecouen, 
 and I know of no vehicle which I could hire for 
 the ladies, with the exception of the charcoal 
 vender's cart."
 
 19 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " Dupinceau would lend me his open carriage 
 and span, if I asked him," said Orsovitch. 
 
 "Then do ask him and get me out of the 
 scrape, there 's a good fellow," entreated Van. 
 
 " But if I borrowed them I should feel it my 
 duty to drive them ; I could never trust a hair- 
 brained young fellow like you, with a couple of 
 giddy Americans on your hands, with a span of 
 racers like Dupinceau' s. And since the ladies 
 have not invited me, I feel a delicacy about 
 intruding my company." 
 
 " Hang your delicacy," exclaimed Van, " they'll 
 be delighted ; they'd have asked you in the first 
 place instead of me, but they knew you wouldn 't 
 understand them." 
 
 At the station, Orsovitch remained upon the 
 driver's seat, holding in the restive animals, while 
 Van met 'the ladies and escorted them to the 
 carriage. Mrs. Poser took a seat in the interior, 
 but Fanny, instead of following her, sprang up 
 beside Orsovitch and begged him to give her the 
 reins. " I am afraid you do not realize how 
 spirited these horses are," remonstrated Orso- 
 vitch. 
 
 " Oh ! yes I do," replied Fanny, " and they are 
 not nearly so lively as the four-in-hand I drove 
 in Saratoga, the summer before we left America
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 
 
 You should have seen them, Monsieur Orsovitch ; 
 such beauties ! Papa gave me a set of silver- 
 mounted harness for them on my eighteenth 
 birthday: he called it putting the reins in my 
 own hands. I drove them. afterward at Newport 
 and at Jerome Park. 
 
 "When Lil and I went to the Derby, Lord 
 Dashmore let me drive his coach ; uglier beasts 
 never were, but I kept them well in hand. Lil 
 is always afraid of breaking her precious neck, 
 but I Ve no doubt she 'd feel easier with me 
 driving than you." 
 
 " It shall be as Mrs. Poser decides," said Or- 
 sovitch. 
 
 " If Monsieur Orsovitch will sit where he can 
 take the reins, in case of danger, I shall be 
 most willing," replied the little lady, inwardly 
 trembling, but fancying that she saw an advan- 
 tage for Fanny in the situation. Away swept 
 the horses on the level road, which lay in the 
 moonlight, like a white ribbon, on the broad 
 unfenced meadows between the station and Vilier 
 le Bel. Orsovitch soon lost his anxiety in admi- 
 ration of the horsemanlike way in which Fanny 
 managed her steeds, and proposed, if the ladies 
 were not too tired, that they should continue 
 their drive a little further, returning to Vilier le
 
 I9 2 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Bel whenever they pleased. When the horses 
 gained the imperial highway, leading from Paris 
 northward through St. Denis, Ecouen, and other 
 villages, they settled down to a fine trotting pace. 
 Fanny's spirits rose, her eyes shone with excite- 
 ment, and she began a gay college song. Van's 
 clear tenor joined her from the interior of the 
 carriage, and " We won't go home till morning," 
 " Shool i rool," " Landlord fill the flowing bowl," 
 and other rollicking college glees were echoed 
 back by the quaint old walls and roofs of Ecouen. 
 As they passed the hotel, Pauline Pry's night- 
 capped face was distinctly seen, peering from 
 between her shutters, in the vain attempt to 
 discover the authors of this unaccustomed hi- 
 larity. Another pair of eyes were more successful, 
 for La Gazette, who wandered about at all sorts 
 of uncanny hours, stood with her cruche, or 
 earthen water-pitcher, beside the town pump as 
 the gay party swept by, and recognized the 
 occupants of the driver's seat. 
 
 They did not notice her, for now Fanny and 
 Van were doing justice, as far as two voices can, 
 to "Gaudeamus," and, after that, to "Lauriger 
 Horatius." Orsovitch understood the words, if 
 Fanny did not, and when with an arch glance 
 at him she caroled gayly of "oscula rubentis 
 puellae," he almost forgot himself and the com-
 
 GAUDEAMUS. 193 
 
 pany he was in. His eyes gave the kiss which 
 his lips dared not give, and Fanny's heart swelled 
 with triumph. 
 
 When they were all a little tired of singing, 
 and as they drove swiftly homeward,. Orsovitch 
 asked Fanny if she had ever read a description 
 of a ride in Swinburne. 
 
 " I have never read Swinburne at all," replied 
 Fanny. " Is he nice ? " 
 
 " I am glad of that," said Orsovitch. " He is 
 not at all nice, but you Americans do not seem 
 to have the same ideas about matters and things 
 that we Europeans have, and I did not know but 
 you were familiar with the author. The quotation 
 that I spoke of, however, was so good that I 
 think it has remained in my memory, and I will 
 repeat it to you, if you wish. 
 
 * ' Let us take to us, now that the white skies thrill with a 
 
 moon unarisen, 
 Swift horses of fear or of love, take flight, and depart, and 
 
 hot die. 
 They are swifter than dreams, they are stronger than death, 
 
 there is none that hath ridden, 
 None that shall ride in the dim strange ways of his life as 
 
 we ride. 
 By the meadows of memory, the highlands of hope by the 
 
 salt-pools, bitter and sterile, 
 Our wild steeds press on the night, strain hard through 
 
 pleasure and peril, 
 Labor, and listen and pant not, or pause for the peril that nears j
 
 194 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 And the sound of them, trampling the way, cleaves night, as 
 
 an arrow, asunder. 
 And slow up the sand-hills, and swift by the down, with its 
 
 glimpses of grass, 
 Sudden and steady the music, as eight hoofs trample and 
 
 thunder, 
 Shrill shrieks in our faces the blind bland air that was mutt 
 
 as a maiden, 
 Stung into storm by the speed of our passage, and deaf when 
 
 we past 
 And our spirits, too, burn as we bound, thine holy, but 
 
 mine heavy laden, 
 As we burn with the fire of our flight Oh! love, shall we 
 
 win at the last?'" 
 
 The monotonous music of eight hoofs, with 
 the measured accompaniment of the poem, had 
 been too much for Mrs. Poser, and she was 
 sleeping peacefully. Van only looked up, with 
 a swift, questioning gaze, into his friend's face 
 as he repeated the last words. Apparently 
 nothing personal was intended, for the next 
 moment he had alighted before the ladies' door, 
 and, holding the horses, requested Van to assist 
 Miss Fanny from her elevated seat
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BRIG A BRAG. 
 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
 And simple faith than Norman blood. 
 
 TENNY5ON. 
 
 A GAIN Eulalie came and posed for the 
 friends, and another day was passed in 
 pleasant familiar chat, not altogether as some of 
 the preceding had been, for Orsovitch was in 
 one of his peculiar moods by turns disputa- 
 tious and querulous, and by turns extravagantly 
 enthusiastic. Still it was a day to be remembered, 
 and one which afforded all three much enjoyment. 
 The studio which the young men occupied has 
 not hitherto been described, and as its furnishing 
 suggested the conversation of the day, it may be 
 well to introduce you to it here. 
 
 The house belonged to a wealthy amateur 
 artist, then traveling in the Orient, and Van had 
 rented it with the furniture. Orsovitch and he 
 used only the studio and two small bedrooms
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 situated in a side wing, the main part of the 
 house remaining uninhabited. The owner of the 
 studio seemed to have been more of an anti- 
 quary than an artist, and the apartment was 
 filled with curiosities from every nationality. An 
 ancient tapestry from the looms of Ghent was 
 stretched across one wall, the faded figures 
 looming dimly and ghost-like through the mist 
 of years. Persian rugs lay upon the floor. Two 
 arm-chairs, covered with Utrecht velvet embroi- 
 dered with the Christian initials, had come from 
 some old Episcopal palace. There was one chair 
 of slender gilded wood-work, very graceful and 
 delicate, covered with rich yellow satin, and this 
 again with exquisite point de Venise, the work 
 of some Italian lady of the seventeenth century. 
 Another, of a century earlier, of richly tinted 
 carved wood, with twisted legs, ending in claws, 
 and surmounted by the head of a lion, covered 
 with leather which still bore the faint traces of a 
 gilded escutcheon, was of Flemish workmanship. 
 The centre of the room was occupied by a carved 
 ebony table, inlaid with ivory and plates of silver, 
 while across it, in lieu of a table-cloth, was thrown 
 a brilliantly striped Spanish cloak. Various cab- 
 inets were ranged along the wall ; one, apparently 
 of East Indian workmanship, represented a
 
 ERIC A BRAC. 1 97 
 
 temple, with columns of jaspqr and lapis lazuli ; 
 the back and the sides were of looking-glass, 
 cleverly arranged at angles to carry back the 
 miniature hall in a long series of reflected gal- 
 leries. On the shelves of this cabinet lay a 
 collection of ancient cameos. Above, upon a 
 marble bracket, stood a Renaissance clock, sup- 
 ported on one side by a plate of eels in Palissy 
 faience, and on the other by a silver dish, 
 wrought with designs by Benvenuto Cellini. 
 Still above, arms were arranged in a fanciful 
 device. Next to the cabinet stood a prie Dieu, 
 supporting various old manuscripts and illumi- 
 nated missals, a little above which hung a St. 
 Jerome translating the Bible, executed by some 
 old master. A bureau, in the style of Louis 
 XIII., enriched with tortoise-shell and mar- 
 queterie, was the next article, its drawers being 
 filled with costumes in rich old brocades and 
 satin damask. Such was., the room as Van had 
 hired it ; the other articles which it now contained 
 belonged to the young men, and were of a very 
 common and useful nature. They had been 
 obliged to purchase everything necessary for 
 studio use, the furnishings of the apartment in 
 no way suggested that it had been used for work, 
 and it seemed doubtful to Van if a picture had
 
 198 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 been painted in it before their arrival. He drew 
 the attention of Orsovitch to his surmise on this 
 particular morning, and asked, " Do you suppose 
 he was a landscapist, that we see no signs of 
 indoor work ? " 
 
 " He was more probably a swindler," replied 
 Orsovitch, savagely. " A real artist does not 
 need to be surrounded by such clap-trap. He 
 will do his best work under the bare rafters of 
 the attic, or seated in the straw of the barn-yard. 
 This is, indeed, a pretty work-room. The man 
 who arranged it may have swindled himself, along 
 with his other admirers, into the belief that 
 he was a painter, but he was none the less an 
 impostor." 
 
 " To have a studio furnished in this way is the 
 ideal of most American artists," said Van. 
 
 " It is my ideal of the height of vulgarity," 
 replied Orsovitch. "What do you suppose the 
 man who lived here cared for these things ? 
 Nothing whatever. It was the most expensive 
 style of furnishing, and that was why he adopted 
 it. If it had cost more to fit up the room in 
 horse-hair, or in red furniture calico, he would 
 have done it." 
 
 "Perhaps he had the tastes of an antiquary, 
 and really liked to hunt about for old things in 
 out-of-the-way places," suggested Eulalie.
 
 ERIC A BRAG. 199 
 
 " Yes," added Van, " each piece may have its 
 history of personal interest to him, some heir- 
 loom owned in the family for centuries, souvenirs 
 of travel, articles purchased because once owned 
 by characters whose history he had studied until 
 he learned to love them, and which have since 
 figured in we know not how many pictures of his 
 painting." 
 
 The expression on the young Russian's face 
 was something like a sneer. " If either of your 
 suppositions were correct," said he, " we should 
 at least have genuine relics here. There is an 
 Indian cabinet that never saw India. That 
 leather-covered chair is Flemish, certainly, but it 
 is of modern make, cleverly imitated from ancient 
 models ; they will get you up whole sets of studio 
 furniture in that style in Mechlin. That heavily 
 embossed silver plate is only plaster metalized. 
 The 'old master' is a very poor copy, with 
 nothing of the original preserved except its 
 smoke and dilapidation. I wonder what shoe- 
 maker set in that patch which restores the old 
 gentleman's nose, with the stitches showing 
 across the room." 
 
 " But are all the articles in the room forgeries ? " 
 Van asked in amazement. 
 
 " No, certainly not, but the others were bought
 
 20O BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 at auction at the Hotel Drouot without method 
 or intention. The man had no favorite specialty, 
 it was all one to him whether he possessed a 
 Bible of the time of Luther, or an image of Osiris 
 belonging to one of the Ptolemies, provided only 
 it was something artistic. The genuine antiqui- 
 ties here are as really pretentious as the false 
 ones. What right have we, after all, with all this 
 cast-off finery of our ancestors ? What sympathy 
 has to-day with an age and customs that are 
 dead ? I have come to respect most of all what 
 people call vulgarity and commonness. What 
 could be more essentially bourgeois and inartistic 
 in character than Corot's lodgings ? Give me a 
 room furnished with modern comfort and ele- 
 gance. Chairs with delicious springs and stuffed 
 with some view to adaptability to the human 
 form ; neither so light and gimcracky as to fly 
 into splinters the moment you trust your whole 
 weight upon them, like that gilded, lace-bedecked 
 Italian abomination, nor ecclesiastically rock-like 
 as the others. And let the room be softly an I 
 warmly carpeted and hung with rich curtains. 
 Let it be all comfort, modern comfort, with not 
 an atom of pretense. Am I not right, Made- 
 moiselle Eulalie ? And you, Van, with all your 
 antiquarian foolishness, would you care to live in 
 theHdtel Cluny?"
 
 BRIG A BRAC. 2OI 
 
 " Perhaps I should want to trade off some of 
 the old treasures for a few modern conveniences," 
 Van replied. " Now that I come to take that 
 view of it, the Cluny Palace, perfect as it is as a 
 museum of ancient luxury, would make a very 
 poor home. But I think you are wrong in cutting 
 us off so completely from the past, and I cannot 
 believe that you are speaking your true feeling. 
 A man whose nobility dates as far back as your 
 own, and with associations connecting him so 
 intimately with by-gone times, can hardly be the 
 radical your words would seem to suggest." 
 
 "What is America good for," replied Orso- 
 vitch, " if not to teach us that we can do without 
 a past, and that worth is the only nobility ? But 
 we are both talking to very little purpose and 
 Mademoiselle Eulalie has not given her opinion. 
 She knows more of the workings of hereditary 
 caste than you, she is not fenced in by it as I 
 am. I am very sure it is her opinion that the 
 old systems have done their work very poorly, 
 and that the fewer reminders we have of them, 
 and the more earnestly we strive to act as indi- 
 viduals, forgetting all distinctions of class, the 
 better for us, our age, and the future." 
 
 Was Orsovitch growing crazy ? Van asked 
 of himself. Here they had drifted from a chat 
 26
 
 202 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 about old furniture, into as pretty a political 
 muddle as ever distracted the brains of the 
 French nation. What had so suddenly changed 
 Orsovitch into a red republican ? Was he in 
 love with Eulalie and trying to argue away class 
 distinctions in order to place himself on the same 
 social standing with her ? It certainly looked like 
 it, and yet this was the worst that could possibly 
 happen under the circumstances. How would 
 Eulalie answer him ? He was waiting for her 
 reply with all the eagerness of a second Numa 
 Pompilius listening to the political theories of 
 his Egeria. 
 
 " I do not know that the old times have, after 
 all, done their work so poorly," said Eulalie. 
 "That is just the way that Amedee talks; he 
 thinks we should all be communists. But Uncle 
 Paquerette maintains there never can be a gov- 
 ernment like the old empire, never a ruler like 
 the first Napoleon, and Mere Angelique believes 
 in the divine right of kings, and of the Bourbon 
 family to the throne ; which makes me think that 
 there was some good in all these systems. Per- 
 haps each one was best for its age, and the 
 present state of affairs is best for us. It seems 
 to me that circumstances fit themselves naturally 
 for us, or rather that God does it. I have a hor
 
 BRIG A BRAG. 2OJ 
 
 ror of all revolutions ; nothing good comes from 
 them. Oh ! if you had seen the Commune in 
 Paris, you would agree with me that it is better 
 to endure in whatever class you may be placed, 
 than to attempt violently to overthrow barriers 
 that are almost impassable. But I do not know 
 anything of politics. It only seems to me that 
 whatever is, is right. I have my own little duties 
 that keep my thoughts and hands full, and I let 
 the good God take care of all the great affairs." 
 
 " What do you think of my friend's idea of hav- 
 ing no reminders of the past about us ? " Van 
 asked, anxious to get the conversation back again 
 to old furniture and quite away from dangerous 
 themes. 
 
 " I think," said Eulalie modestly, V that when a 
 family has anything worth remembering in its 
 history, it is very beautiful to keep all relics that 
 may suggest remarkable events, or even the dear 
 old people themselves, though they did nothing 
 wonderful in all their lives. Oh ! I haven't quite 
 forgiven the communists for destroying the Na- 
 poleon rockery of my great-grandfather. I have 
 a watch that belonged to my grandfather on my 
 father's side which I keep very jealously, for to 
 me it is a proof that we are not descended from 
 peasants."
 
 204 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " I did not mean all family heir-looms," said 
 Orsovitch ; " or if I did include them, perhaps I 
 was a little too sweeping. There are treasures 
 of this kind that are as sacred to us as our mother's 
 wedding-ring, though, coming from remote ages, 
 it seems to me they can never have the personal 
 interest that the little mementos have which 
 belonged to those we once knew and loved. 
 After all, can you not grant me that nobility is 
 more a thing of circumstance than of race ; that 
 a convict and a titled hero, if their station in 
 life had been changed from their birth up, would 
 have given to the world totally opposite charac- 
 ters?" 
 
 " Hardly," replied Van ; " it seems to me that 
 character is never created by circumstance, only 
 developed by it. The thought struck me when 
 in the church the other day. I was looking at 
 the window at the left of the grand altar, where 
 Madeline de Savoie, the wife of the great Connd- 
 taole de Montmorenci, kneels at the head of the 
 procession of her daughters, her bosom swelling 
 proudly in her stiff, gold-laced bodice, with the 
 consciousness of having done her duty well by 
 church, and state, and family. Among the goodly 
 train of girls that followed her, there was one 
 childish face that impressed me at once as being
 
 BRIC A BRAG. 2O5 
 
 that of Charlotte Henriette. All of the possibilities 
 of the future were already marked in her baby fea- 
 tures. There was promise of enough beauty to turn 
 the head of even the husband of a Marie de Medi- 
 cis ; enough of her mother's proud virtue to keep 
 her true to her husband, the Prince de Cond6, 
 mingled with a wayward coquetry all her own, 
 which would delight in seeing France and Spain at 
 war on her account ; while there was something of 
 the resolution and iron will of her father in the 
 dashing carriage of the little head, which proved 
 her capable of the midnight flight from the castle, 
 the elopement with her own husband, and the 
 long, breathless ride toward the Belgian frontier. 
 Each of the other sisters might have possessed 
 some one of these characteristics, but no other 
 combined them ; and though I am not a fatalist, 
 and certainly do not believe in the Calvinistic 
 doctrine of predestination, I felt that Charlotte 
 de Montmorenci was set apart from infancy for 
 the role which she was to play in the history of 
 France." 
 
 " I give you credit for being ' set apart from 
 infancy' as a collector of old relics, and an 
 unwearying talker," said Orsovitch with a laugh. 
 " But, Mademoiselle Eulalie, the clock tells me 
 that I have kept you too long, and with your per-
 
 206 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 mission I will walk across the meadows with 
 you." 
 
 Van watched them as they went He walked 
 very near her, and seemed to be talking earnestly. 
 They parted at the edge of the village, but Orso- 
 vitch did not reenter the house immediately, and 
 Van saw the spark of his cigar moving firefly-like 
 slowly in and out amongst the shrubbery of the 
 garden until a late hour. 
 
 Van had retired when Orsovitch entered. He 
 came and leaned upon 'the foot of his friend's 
 bed, saying abruptly, "What a wonderful girl 
 she is ! Do you know, she really loves the garde 
 chasse, and I believe she would be true to him 
 even if she did not." 
 
 " Look here, old fellow," said Van earnestly, 
 " you are not falling in love with Eulalie, I hope. 
 You couldn't marry her, you know ; that sort of 
 thing would not suit the parentals." 
 
 " I know," Orsovitch replied ; " I have thought 
 it over, and have dismissed it from my mind 
 entirely it can't be." 
 
 " I trust you have not thought of another solu- 
 tion of the question," Van said gravely. 
 
 " Look at me, Van," replied Orsovitch hotly ; 
 " have you ever suspected me of any designs of 
 throwing a stone through the face of the Virgin 
 in the Raphael window of the old church ? "
 
 BRIG A BRAG. 2O/ 
 
 " Certainly not. Why ? " 
 
 " You know that I admired it, and that I could 
 never hope to possess it, and your last query 
 showed that you know me so little, that such an 
 apprehension on your part would be perfectly con- 
 sistent." And striding wrathfully into his own 
 room, he closed the door with a bang.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 
 
 Man weaves, and is dotfaed with derision; 
 
 Sows, and he shall not reap. 
 Oar life is a watch and a vision 
 
 Between a sleep and a sleep. 
 
 Swnmnon. 
 
 E would never have thought La Gazette a 
 conspirator, or supposed she had intellect 
 enongh to trouble herself with any deep-laid or 
 ambitious plans. The sharp, shrivelled face, 
 with its bead -like black eyes and garrulous 
 mouth, was quite suggestive of destroying the 
 plans and characters of others, but not of profit- 
 ing herself by such disaster. She looked a 
 simple marplot, a malicious, backbiting old 
 witch, whose chiefest pleasure would be in 
 covering with slime the fair fame of the whitest 
 character in the village. And yet, La Gazette 
 was much more than this. She was not destitute 
 of natural affection, and could be kindly enough 
 
 (208)
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 209 
 
 when the one soft spot in her almost wholly 
 petrified heart prompted her to it That soft 
 spot was only for her daughter now, the 
 daughter who had disgraced her in earlier life, 
 when there was something of pride and self- 
 respect to feel it ; and who had deserted her, 
 going away to St Cloud, to run recklessly hi bad 
 courses, until sickness and poverty, joined with 
 conscience, had caused her to make new resolu- 
 tions, and to return to her native village and to 
 the mother whose grey hairs she had brought 
 down in sorrow to the verge of the grave, deter- 
 mined to begin life anew. But this was not an 
 easy thing among the sneers and taunts of old 
 companions ; and Sidonie, though she held to her 
 resolution of amendment, grew hard and bitter, 
 answering scorn with scorn, while her mother, 
 seeing her daughter harshly judged, set herself 
 to work with a will to prove every other girl in 
 the village as bad as she. 
 
 The kindest woman in all the country round to 
 Sidonie was the Mere Angelique. La Gazette, 
 encouraged by this friendly treatment had pro- 
 posed Sidonie's marriage with Amedee. Mere 
 Angelique declined the proposal on the simple 
 grounds that Amedee was already betrothed, but 
 still La Gazette did not despair. If only Eulalie's
 
 2IO BUUKBON LILIES. 
 
 reputation could be blackened, and she be thus 
 reduced to the same social footing with Sidonie, 
 the latter's superior pecuniary attractions must 
 prevail, thought La Gazette, for Mere Angelique 
 had not told her how nearly Old-mine-of-gun- 
 powder (as Adolph called Ame'de'e) had exploded 
 when the plan had been mentioned to him. 
 
 After her return from Eulalie's shop, on the 
 second day that Eulalie had posed for the young 
 artists, she broached the subject to her daughter, 
 who, as yet, knew nothing of it. 
 
 Mother and daughter sat in the open air in the 
 shade of their poor house, making passementerie, 
 patiently sewing beads to yards of gimp and 
 braid, wound, so as to form the required pattern, 
 about pins fastened in a stick; and, while La 
 Gazette wove her thread in and out, she wove 
 meshes as intricate about Eulalie's feet, webs 
 which, in effecting her fall, were to lift Sidonie 
 higher. 
 
 " Sidonie," said she, " I have been building a 
 chateau en Espagne for you." 
 
 "It's of no use, mother; they always fall to 
 pieces, and when one has been dreaming one out, 
 and then looks around and sees only the walls of 
 one's garret, one is all the more dissatisfied." 
 
 " But suppose this is not in Spain, but an old
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 211 
 
 chateau of solid stone here in France, and you 
 may be the lady of it if you like." 
 
 " One doesn't often find chateaux begging for 
 owners in this country. And I tell you once for 
 all, mother, that if such a position were to be 
 gained by marriage, I would not hear to it. I 
 should despise the man who would marry me." 
 
 " Not for the sake of the child ? " 
 
 " And what good would it do the child ? As 
 long as she is at St. Cloud no one knows of her 
 existence, but if I took her home, even if any one 
 could be found willing to adopt her when he 
 married me, the shame of her birth would never 
 be forgotten, and would be thrown in her face by 
 all of these people as soon as she grew old enough 
 to comprehend it. No ! no ! I tell you it is 
 impossible ; and think what a life of humiliation 
 mine would be. Now I am at least independent, 
 and can out-stare any one, yes, and rival them 
 in insults, too, if they go from disdainful looks to 
 words. What family is there that would receive 
 me with decency in case the man could be found 
 mean enough to be bought by my money ? For 
 the man is not living who is good enough to 
 marry me for any other motive." 
 
 " I think I know of such a family, and a woman 
 who would treat you with as much honor as her
 
 212 BOUKBON LILIES. 
 
 daughter-in-law as if you were a saint, provided 
 always you were true to your husband." 
 
 " Who is she ? " 
 
 " The Mere Angelique." 
 
 Mother and daughter were silent for some 
 tim ~. At length Sidonie spoke : 
 
 tj You mean Ame'dee. I scarcely know him ; 
 but I believe what you say of his mother is true. 
 And so the chateau you spoke of is that dismal 
 old Chateau de la Chasse, and I should have to 
 be shut up there for the rest of my days. Well, I 
 have sometimes thought of going into a convent, 
 and it would not be any worse than that. But he 
 must understand it is all for the sake of the 
 child." 
 
 " See here, my child, that is not my plan at 
 all. You are young and handsome, and fond of 
 society ; and if I want you to marry Amedee, it 
 is not that you shall be buried alive, but that 
 these old eyes may see you, before I die, gay and 
 happy and envied by all your friends." 
 
 " Mother, you are crazy ! " 
 
 "Daughter, I am not Listen: this is my 
 
 plan. The Chateau de la Chasse is near the town 
 
 of Montmorenci, is it not ? Good. Plenty of 
 
 Parisians pass their summers at Montmorenci. 
 
 *The town is not big enough to hold them, the
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 2l3 
 
 h6tels are always full, and the villas rent for 
 prices to break your heart. Good. Strangers 
 are always driving out to the chateau, and they are 
 always thirsty when they get there, and the poor 
 creatures are obliged to drink water or else can y 
 their wine with them. Good again, and better. 
 Amedee is stupid ; he doesn't see that all he has 
 to do is to apply to the government for per- 
 mission to keep a hdtel and restaurant there, and 
 his fortune is made. It could be made the most 
 ,'ashionable resort in the neighborhood of Paris. 
 If they were not willing to have the precious old 
 ruin used in that way, so much the better. You 
 have money enough to build a villa, with plenty 
 of fresh paint and gilding, and little arbors in the 
 wood in which to serve meals, with colored lights 
 hung round at night, and music and a ball every 
 Sunday. I would come at first and work for you 
 as your cook, and as time went on, and you made 
 more money, you could afford to have a pastry- 
 cook and confectioner from Paris. You have 
 the inside of the fish market now, and could have 
 your table furnished with salmon a yard long, 
 fresh trout, lobsters, oysters, shrimps, anchovy 
 and all of the very nicest fish. That's enough 
 alone to make the reputation of your house ; and 
 I can make such sauce hollandaise and mayonnaise
 
 214 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 as would make even stale fish adorable. Then, 
 Amedee could shoot a little game on the sly, 
 and we could have gibelotte of rabbit, and pigeon 
 vol au vent ; and now and then a roast partridge 
 or a pheasant, served as I have seen them at the 
 great houses here, with the skin and all the gay 
 feathers of the bird laid over it, with a sheet of 
 paper between, so that it looked as if it was sitting 
 alive in the dish. And Am6dee could gain many 
 an extra five-franc piece by letting sportsmen 
 hunt in the forest, not too often, you know. 
 Your mother may be getting old, but she hasn't 
 lost all her senses yet, eh, Sidonie ? " 
 
 Sidonie nodded. " You are a marvel, mother ; 
 go on." 
 
 "Then you know the Mere Angelique could 
 bring over the vegetables and fruit from her 
 garden ; and Cousin Jean Maria Thiefer, who has 
 made so much money as wholesale wine mer- 
 chant (simply because he makes his own wines), 
 would set up our cellar for us. He would take 
 all that cider that I made from the frozen and 
 rotten pears which the artists gave' me last fall, 
 and just put a little pop and fizz into it, put it up 
 in nice-looking bottles, with wired corks and 
 handsome labels, and you'd have crack cham- 
 pagne. Then he would only have to add some
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 215 
 
 drugs from his pharmacy, a different one for each 
 particular bouquet, to that cask of sour mn 
 ordinaire which we made, from the dregs of the 
 vats at the last vintage, and by saving the water 
 in which we washed the bottles at the Hotel du 
 Nord, and there you are with your Chateau 
 Yquem, Chateau Lafitte, and Chateau Rose and 
 Margeaux, plenty of wax on the corks, and the bot- 
 tles well greased, and plenty of cobwebs and dirt 
 rolled around them. And you should sit behind 
 the counter and pour out the absinthe and ver- 
 mout and cura9oa for your customers, and order 
 your waiters about. That's not the first year, 
 nor the second, but you should have them at last, 
 waiters with napkins under their arms, and white 
 aprons trailing like a lady's dress, only in front 
 instead of behind. You should have two silk 
 dresses, an India shawl, and real diamond ear- 
 rings, which you can pawn whenever you have 
 need of ready money. Keep the cash-box your- 
 self, my dear, for Amedee's head is none too 
 strong where money is concerned ; only be gen- 
 erous with him, let him have his little luxuries, 
 that is the way to manage a man. You could 
 let rooms at a very high rate in the chateau to 
 English people, who are willing to pay for that 
 sort of thing, and could have the rooms restored
 
 2l6 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 in old style furniture for those who liked it 
 Then, with two or three smaller villas to rent for 
 the season to families who would take their meals 
 at your house, your income would be all you 
 could desire. We could make it a favorite resort 
 for the Ecouen artists ; they should have the 
 great hall in the chateau for a club-room, on con- 
 dition that each should paint a panel for it, as 
 they do at the inn at Barbizon. You would see, 
 you would soon have wedding parties from Paris, 
 and your hands and your purse would be always 
 full. No more crying fish about these dirty 
 streets, no more insults and injuries ; you would 
 have nothing but smiles and compliments from 
 every one ; and by and by you could bring your 
 daughter home from boarding-school, and marry 
 her well to a husband of your own choosing. 
 What do you say to that, Sidonie ? " 
 
 Sidonie did not reply in words, but she rose 
 from her seat, laid down her work, and kissed her 
 mother on both cheeks. It was the first time she 
 had done so since she had been a little child, and 
 there were people in the street who stared, sur- 
 prised at such demonstration, and women in the 
 house opposite who laughed derisively, but Sidonie 
 did not care. As for La Gazette, her small eyes 
 shone brighter than the jet beads she was thread-
 
 CHATEAUX EN ESPAGNE. 21 7 
 
 ing, and seemed almost to pop from her head, like 
 those of the shrimps in her daughter's basket. 
 " There is only one obstacle in the way," she 
 mumbled, "and I shall soon grind that to powder." 
 
 "Where is the obstacle, if the family are 
 willing ? " asked Sidonie. 
 
 "There," replied La Gazette, pointing across 
 the meadows, where in the gathering twilight 
 Eulalie was hastening home from the studio.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE FETE. 
 
 And all the village train, from labor free, 
 
 Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, 
 
 And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground, 
 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength went round ; 
 
 These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these. 
 
 With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please. 
 
 GOLDSMITH. 
 
 "\ 7" AN did not see Orsovitch all the next morn- 
 ing, and feared that he had seriously offended 
 him But after dinner he said pleasantly, at the 
 same time snatching from his hand the French 
 conversation book which he had been pretend- 
 ing to study, "What, still in smoking-cap and 
 slippers ? Go directly and make yourself present- 
 able, or we shall be late to the fete ; it comes only 
 once a year, and is one of the sights of Ecouen." 
 " That may be," replied the other, " but since 
 my exploit at Madame Robusti's soiree, I have 
 thought I had better make further progress in the 
 language before I ventured again into society."
 
 THE FETE. 219 
 
 "But, my dear fellow," replied Orsovitch", 
 "there is no way to succeed except by failure. 
 Come along to the fete ; I will warrant you will 
 learn more from what you hear there than from a 
 week's study of the conversation book. Of what 
 possible use in any society will such nonsense as 
 this be to you : ' Does the baker's wife's sister 
 buy the good cheese of the brother-in-law of the 
 shoemaker ? Do you like the pretty daughter of 
 the tailor ? I do not like the pretty daughter of 
 the^tailor, but I like the strong iron snuffers of 
 the rich old butcher.' ' 
 
 " Hold, hold, Orsovitch," Van cried, "you are 
 quite right, and I will go." 
 
 The fete was held on the Jeu de Paume, or old 
 ball ground of the town. It occupied a sightly 
 terrace at the foot of the castle, and commanded 
 a beautiful view of Ecouen and a score of other 
 circling villages. Grand old trees surrounded it, 
 forming delicious, green-vaulted, many-columned 
 promenades for those sentimentally inclined. At 
 one end of the grounds was the musicians' stand ; 
 at the other, under a fluttering canopy, enlivened 
 with flying flags and ribbons, was the chevaux de 
 bois, a merry-go-round, where, to the sound of a 
 hand-organ, the peasant girls and boys were in- 
 dulging in the luxury of a dizzy, whirligig race on
 
 22O BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 hobby-horses steadily propelled in a circle by the 
 turning of a crank at the centre. Pere Paque- 
 rette had considered himself fortunate in being 
 commissioned for this service, but before the day 
 was over, in spite of the refreshment of frequent 
 bocks of strong Strasbourg beer, the old man 
 gave out from sheer exhaustion. " You expect 
 a man to do that ! " he said ; " it is the work of ten 
 horses ; keep your unhappy two francs, I would 
 not do it for twice the money." 
 
 The grounds were lined with booths, in which 
 toys and refreshments were displayed ; but these 
 were comparatively deserted, as a little apart, 
 under a tent upon another terrace, was occurring 
 the event of the afternoon, a prize game, the gifts 
 awarded to the successful competitors being fur- 
 nished by the town. A circle of eager spectators 
 leaned upon the rope which circled the arena, 
 and Orsovitch and Van found seats among them. 
 From the centre of the tent a weighted cord was 
 suspended, while at a considerable distance stood 
 the players. Presently, amongst cheering and 
 uproarious laughter, an official brought forward 
 an immense, hollow papier-mache" head, upon 
 which a grotesque, grinning face was rudely 
 painted. This huge extinguisher was placed over 
 the head of little Charlotte, resting down upon
 
 THE FETE. 221 
 
 her shoulders, and completely blindfolding her. 
 A pair of scissors were then placed in her hand, 
 and she attempted to walk straight forward and 
 cut the cord. Her success would have been very 
 improbable, for the spectators tried their best to 
 confuse her with cries of a gauche, a droit, had 
 she not been guided by the sound of the drum of 
 the town crier, Martin le Maladroit, who walked 
 by her side, and claimed a kiss when she cut the 
 cord, as he did from all the others in return, for 
 his assistance. Lucky drummer ! how many 
 peach-blossom cheeks, and pouting, half-disdain- 
 ful lips were grazed by thy rarely-shaven stubble- 
 field of a chin. Light moccasin-footed girls, the 
 southern espadrilles being much in vogue among 
 the Ecouen peasantry, how gladly would Van or 
 Orsovitch have laid down palette and brush for 
 thy guiding drumsticks. There were those among 
 you whose sober faces told of more years, and 
 reddened hands of harder toil than the others, 
 who were not so carefully led to the goal, and 
 from whom, when a happy chance made them 
 successful, the drummer was not so eager to 
 claim his undeserved reward. Poor "over- 
 blown, pale roses," had Van been the drummer, 
 you should have had your dues with the rest ; 
 but no, I was too rash : Van was but human after
 
 222 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 all, and who could blame the recreant drummer 
 that Sidonie, la poissonniere, was among the 
 slighted. 
 
 The prizes were articles of clothing of the 
 cheapest description, but causing the most unaf 
 fected pleasure as the winner opened her packet. 
 After this game followed a foot-race for the boys, 
 the premium being a fine rabbit, which was 
 carried off by Eulalie's cousin, Adolph, a bashful, 
 long-limbed youth who seemed more embarrassed 
 than pleased by his distinction. Eulalie need 
 have had no fears for his safety, if in the presence 
 of the enemy he had manifested the same tim- 
 idity which he displayed before the village girls, 
 together with a fleetness of foot like to that which 
 had won him the honors of the day. As Van 
 looked back upon it in after years, Adolph's little 
 life dwindled into absolute insignificance in the 
 presence of all the suffering it caused to preserve 
 it, and perhaps the destiny which he finally 
 achieved was no nobler, or of more use to the 
 world, than to have formed a single figure on the 
 great arithmetical table on which the French 
 army works its examples of subtraction and 
 division. 
 
 The games were over, and the sun went down 
 behind the castle, every tower and pinnacle of
 
 THE FETE. 223 
 
 which was silhouetted sharply against a back- 
 ground of beaten gold. The dancing woula not 
 begin until night, and the artists had plenty of 
 time for their simple dinner. When they returned 
 the stars were glimmering through the trees, and 
 a boy was passing , around, lighting the colored 
 lanterns suspended from them. Van looked about 
 for Eulalie, he had wondered at her absence 
 during the afternoon, and Orsovitch too, must 
 have noticed it, though he had said nothing. 
 Now, a military band occupied the music stand, 
 and one of Offenbach's maddest waltzes chal- 
 lenged the best dancers of the village ; the reply 
 was simultaneous, and the floor vibrated to flying 
 feet, while little whirlwinds from fluttering dresses 
 caught Van's breath away, as he stood near the 
 steps leading to the floor. The old women of 
 the village, whose dancing days were long since 
 over, sat on the benches near and watched the 
 frolic. Lace, handed down to them by their own 
 grandmothers, covered hair as snowy ; and gayly 
 embroidered or plaided kerchiefs draped their 
 bent shoulders. The crow's-feet about their eyes 
 were deepened with laughter as they chuckled 
 and gurgled away among themselves over some 
 funny story, which they might have heard Abra- 
 ham tell, or a practical joke perpetrated in the
 
 224 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 days of Noah. Merriest of all, was the Mere 
 Angelique. She stood near Van, beside a mar- 
 velous copper kettle, hung above a little fire. 
 Too fat and jolly to recall one of Shakespeare's 
 witches, there was still that in her caldron which 
 had an uncanny and magical look, for she was 
 frying merveilles. She rolled them out with her 
 hand, in long thin strips, upon a little table, and 
 then dropped them into the boiling fat, where they 
 hissed and writhed and coiled like so many sea- 
 serpents, bloating and bobbing more comfortably 
 in time to the tread of the dancers as the fire 
 went down, and Mere Angelique was reminded 
 that it was time to untwist another fagot. She 
 transferred them from the kettle to the great 
 bright colored salad dish on the little table, by 
 means of a brass ladle that was wonderful in 
 color. Van watched with half -closed eyes the 
 reflected play of the colored foot-lights in it, as 
 the Mere Angelique flourished it deftly, and 
 thought he had never seen such a superb study 
 in yellows, since one day long ago, in the labora- 
 tory of his chemical class at college, he admired 
 the same exquisite blending of hues in some 
 sulphur crystals. The copper kettle was also a 
 study, in its way, of salmon tints shading from 
 delicate pink to deep bronze. Beside Mere
 
 THE FETE. 22$ 
 
 Angelique's crisp cake vipers stood great cliffs 
 of gingerbread, hard enough to have been made 
 during the lifetime of the great Conn6table de 
 Montmorenci. Van fancied that Am6d6e must 
 have dragged them petrified from the bottom of 
 the moat one day when fishing. Opposite this 
 stand stood La Possonniere, with a basket of 
 shrimps which she offered, served in little plates 
 on which were printed amusing pictures, couplets, 
 and even ballads. 
 
 Presently Am6d^e strolled in and stood beside 
 his mother, watching her brisk movements with 
 pride and affection. Van did not think it odd to 
 see him without Eulalie, for he knew that in France 
 young people, even when affianced, never attend 
 places of amusement together, the young girl 
 being invariably accompanied by her mother. 
 
 "How well you look to-night, mother," said 
 Ame'de'e ; " you have on your Saint Esprit ear- 
 rings and your Auvergnois necklace, too, and it 's 
 a long time since I have seen you wear either." 
 
 " It 's the last time, too," replied the old woman, 
 cheerily, "for I shall give them as a wedding 
 present to your wife, my boy, and I thought I 
 should like to wear my finery once more before I 
 said good-by to it." 
 
 Van knew that ArnddeVs father had come from 
 29
 
 226 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Auvergne, and he looked closely and curiously at 
 the trinkets. The necklace lay over the spotless 
 muslin neck-handkerchief, and consisted of curi- 
 ously wrought golden medalions, connected by 
 four chains of wreathen workmanship, each of a 
 different pattern. It could easily have been 
 taken for a piece of Moorish jewelry. With the 
 style of the ear-rings Van was already familiar, 
 for imitations of them were quite common in the 
 Palais Royal. They were of silver, closely stud- 
 ded with brilliants, and in the shape of a dove, 
 whence their odd name. The doves held in 
 their beaks rainbow -tinted sprays, consisting of 
 a small ruby, one pale and one dark topaz, an 
 emerald, a turquoise, a sapphire, and an amethyst 
 " How beautiful they will look upon Eulalie," 
 Van thought, and looking up, he saw her entering 
 the grounds with her aunt. Am6de and his 
 mother noticed her at the same time ; so did 
 Orsovitch, who, to Van's surprise, walked across 
 the grounds, and apparently asked her to dance. 
 Amde scowled until his eye-brows formed one 
 thick black line across his forehead, but his 
 mother heaved a sigh of relief. " Good, she has 
 declined," she said. 
 
 " I had rather she had accepted," replied Ame"- 
 de. "Why shouldn't she dance? It looks sus 
 picious to see her so prudish all of a sudden "
 
 THE FETE. 22/ 
 
 " It is thou who art suspicious," exclaimed his 
 mother ; " she dares not dance with any other for 
 fear of making thee jealous". Go ask her ; it is a 
 shame to let her sit neglected yonder, when she 
 should be leading all the rest." And as Amdidee 
 led her by to take their places upon the floor, the 
 old woman smiled and nodded good-naturedly to 
 her future daughter-in-law. Not so La Poisson- 
 niere. With one long, malignant look she scan- 
 ned Eulalie from head to foot; she was all in 
 white, and Van thought he had never seen any 
 one so waxy pure and spiritual ; but when Si- 
 donie's eyes caught the white flowers in her hair 
 and at her throat, they seemed literally to flash 
 fire with rage. " Mademoiselle has been making 
 her own orange blossoms," she said scornfully ; 
 " she might have spared herself that trouble ; 
 mademoiselle will not need them." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sidonie ? " asked the 
 Mere Angelique. 
 
 "I mean that Am6d6e may marry her if he 
 likes," said the girl, significantly. " I am sure I 
 don't grudge her the small consolation of a hus- 
 band. But that she should flaunt her orange 
 blossoms, that are never worn but by girls of 
 good conduct, in my face, I will not stand. There 
 was Marie Lepine, who went up the church-steps
 
 228 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 as proud as a peacock, with a bouquet as big as 
 your brass kettle. If Eulalie carries or wears 
 white flowers at her marriage, I will tear them 
 from her hair in the church porch." 
 
 She looked fully capable of it as she snapped 
 off the heads of her inoffensive shrimps, and Van, 
 seeing Orsovitch the centre of a little knot of old 
 women at some distance, walked across to his 
 part of the grounds. Something exciting seemed 
 to be^ going on, for La Gazette, whose every 
 grimace and gesticulation was the consummation 
 of spite, was saying, mockingly, 
 
 " Some folks have models ! model girls, too 
 virtuous to go in at the front door ; they must 
 haver little keys of their own, and come in slyly 
 at the back gate. I have posed for artists for 
 twenty years, and I never needed to be so 
 mightily proper." 
 
 " What does the creature mean ? " said Orso- 
 vitch, haughtily, but his nervous hands, under his 
 tight-folded arms, clinched and unclinched sug- 
 gestively. 
 
 " You know as well as I, Monsieur Hypocrite," 
 cackled the old crone. " Ha, ha, ha ! le roi 
 s amuse comme toujours. But in my day, models 
 did not slip slyly into gentlemen's rooms, and 
 were not asked to wait a while in the garden
 
 THE FETE. 229 
 
 when there was company, as though there were 
 something to be ashamed of " 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you villainous old harpy," 
 exclaimed Orsovitch, and his face was awful to 
 look at ; he seemed about to say more, but Van's 
 hand was on his arm, and his prudence regained 
 its mastery over his temper. But his threatening 
 look had been enough, and La Gazette, as though 
 she feared some personal injury, slipped through 
 a little opening in the crowd, and ambled briskly 
 away. 
 
 "Come home," whispered Van, "there is a 
 gendarme walking this way, and we may get 
 ourselves into trouble." 
 
 Swelling with rage, but putting on, as well 
 as he could, an expression of lofty indifference, 
 Orsovitch sauntered carelessly away. 
 
 When he reached home his pent-up wrath and 
 grief knew no bounds. " Oh ! my soul," he 
 groaned, as he paced the studio, " what misery I 
 have without intention caused that girl. Van, 
 Van, La Gazette is a covetous old soul, she loves 
 money even better than a scandalous story. Go 
 to her, take my purse, insure her silence at any 
 price." 
 
 It was a long time before Van could calm hin\ 
 saying that the mischief, whatever it was, was
 
 230 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 already done, and it was too late for any inter- 
 ference on their part. She had evidently told all 
 that she knew, and more ; any step of theirs now 
 would only give a coloring of truth to the whole 
 matter. It was in vain that he tried to console 
 him, arguing that if the whole truth did come 
 out there was nothing of positive wrong in it after 
 all. Orsovitch saw further than Van, and was 
 inconsolable. Van's sleep was troubled, too, 
 that night, for he felt that he was more to blame 
 than his friend ; it was his injudicious note on the 
 garden gate that had done it all.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE JANUS FACE. 
 
 
 
 Tekel, them art weighed in the balances, and art found 
 
 wanting. DANIEL v. 27. 
 
 Oh ! rank is good, and gold is good, and high and low mate ill, 
 But love has never known a law beyond its own sweet will. 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 r I "HE excitement into which Orsovitch had 
 been thrown had been so great that not 
 until the next morning did he think to open a 
 letter which had been handed him on his way 
 home from the fete. It was from an acquaintance, 
 the Due de Champnoix, who owned a chateau 
 and extensive hunting grounds in the neighbor- 
 hood of Ecouen, where he had frequently been 
 entertained, and invited him again to a boar hunt, 
 dinner, and night at the chateau. Orsovitch had 
 often spoken to the duke of his young comrade, 
 and this time Van was included in the invitation. 
 In any ordinary circumstances Orsovitch would 
 have enjoyed presenting his friend to a new phase 
 
 (231)
 
 232 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 of society, but in his present state of mind such 
 enjoyment was out of the question. For Van 
 invitations bearing coronets upon their seals were 
 not of ordinary occurrence, and a boar hunt at 
 this season was a rarity, it would be an event in 
 his European visit, and, urged by Orsovitch, it 
 was finally decided that he should go alone, and 
 be the bearer of regrets on the part of his friend. 
 The duke was not a complete stranger, for he had 
 met him once when he had called upon Orsovitch 
 at the studio, and he left his chum with high 
 anticipations of the day's sport drowning the 
 gloomy forebodings of the preceding evening. 
 
 Orsovitch sat alone in his studio ; there was no 
 picture upon his easel, and his palette was unset. 
 He looked like a man suffering with severe nervous 
 headache, or one who had been struggling long 
 and unsuccessfully with some difficult mental 
 problem. He had grasped his head firmly with 
 both hands, as though in so doing he could hold 
 his wits to the task before him ; his elbows rested 
 on the table, and his lips moved mechanically, as 
 he went over and over the same chain of reason 
 ing which he had pursued throughout the entire 
 night. Van had often said that Orsovitch had a 
 face which was in itself an argument and a 
 problem. It was an interesting face, at times
 
 THE JANUS FACE. 
 
 handsome, but it would have been difficult to tell 
 in what its beauty consisted, for the features were 
 not at all symmetrical, and had their irregularity 
 been carried a step further it would have reached 
 the grotesque. The first peculiarity that struck 
 the observer was in the growth of the abundant 
 black hair ; it had one of those obstinate freaks 
 called in vulgar parlance a cowlick, and on one 
 side of the face grew low, and clustering over 
 the smooth, white forehead, giving a deeper shade 
 to his dark eye, and a Grecian contour to the 
 profile; while upon the other it swept back, as 
 though wind-blown, displaying the intellectual 
 arch of the really high brow. A casual observer 
 would have noted no more than this, but for "Van 
 the face had a peculiar fascination ; he had 
 studied it carefully, and sketched it from both 
 sides, and he declared that the peculiarity was 
 not in the hair alone, but in every feature, and 
 that Orsovitch was a two-faced individual. Cer- 
 tain it was that the two portraits which Van had 
 drawn in profile, of the right and left sides, bore 
 no resemblance to each other, and would have 
 been taken for entirely different persons, with 
 almost opposite mental characteristics. On the 
 right side, the arch in the forehead was repeated 
 in a smaller corresponding curve at the base of 
 30
 
 234 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 the nose, which not unfrequently gave a cynical, 
 sneering expression to this view of his face ; the 
 eye was colder and sharper, with something of 
 distrust in its keen, clear depths; and in the 
 mobile eye-brow, which followed so easily the 
 other leading curves ; there was a lurking upward 
 twitch to the corner of the mouth, too, which 
 could hardly be called a smile, it was so mechan- 
 ically scornful and disagreeable. The left side 
 was by far the more lovable and loving ; there was 
 a passionate fire in the dark eye, and a sensuous 
 curve to the short chin, which, if it suggested a 
 nature which might be dangerous, unless held 
 under a strong check-rein of principle, was far 
 more pleasing than the other side. The two young 
 men had talked OVCF this peculiarity among them- 
 selves, and Orsovitch had his theory as to what 
 it might mean. "The unlikeness is not super- 
 ficial," he would say, "It's in the two lobes of 
 the brain ; mine are not identical ; I am all father 
 on one side and mother on the other. I often 
 find it difficult to think coherently, and have 
 directly opposing opinions on the same subject. 
 I think they might have been satisfied to disagree 
 on every point between themselves, and not have 
 bequeathed their warfare to me to carry on during 
 my whole life in my poor brain."
 
 THE JANUS FACE. 235 
 
 Orsovitch's theory was perhaps a fanciful one, 
 but the facts of his family history seemed to bear 
 him out in it. His mother was an English lady 
 of good family ; as a girl, she had been shy, 
 proud, and retiring. Ersil Orsovitch had met her 
 in her first season at London, and had become 
 deeply interested in the pale tall girl, who dressed 
 always in black, with the exception of a broad 
 belt of light blue, which drew attention to her 
 very slender figure. Her eyes would have been 
 the same tint as her belt, but they seemed faded 
 by unshed tears, and reminded him of nothing 
 so much as frozen sea-water, an indescribable 
 tint which he had seen in the heart of an iceberg 
 in the northern sea. She was an iceberg herself, 
 so cold and unapproachable, with her Nilsson 
 face and hair ; but there was now and then an * 
 intensity in the sea-blue eyes which seemed to 
 hint that she might belong to the class of wo- 
 men which Byron describes as frozen champagne, 
 all ice without and fire within. And Eleanor, 
 with all the force of a compressed nature, loved 
 the young Russian ; he was a noble, and she 
 worshiped nobility as something God-given, and 
 implying a corresponding, inherent elevation of 
 character. It needed only the first months of her 
 married life to revolutionize all inbred ideas of
 
 236 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " noblesse oblige" and to discover that her idol 
 was a self-indulgent, unprincipled man, hand- 
 some, fascinating, but lacking completely any 
 moral sense. Then all the fire died at her heart, 
 and she became ice to the core ; she no longer 
 believed in any goodness, since he whom she 
 had chosen of all the world, as its representative, 
 had failed her. Those who knew her now, knew 
 her as a bitter, sharp-tongued, merciless woman, 
 pitied her husband the life she led him, and 
 excused for her sake the many consolations which 
 he found outside of his home life. Into such a 
 family was Orsovitch born ; his presence seemed 
 to bring a new pang to his mother's heart but it 
 was suffering that humanized, that awakened 
 again the belief in the possibility of good, and 
 with all the earnestness of despair, she strove to 
 instil right principles into this new life. But even 
 with her little son she was not always gentle, and 
 Orsovitch could remember the fine scorn with 
 which she had said, having detected him in his 
 first lie, "Poor child, how can I expect you to 
 have any idea of honor; you are an Orsovitch." 
 Father and mother had been fighting within 
 him all night. The paternal, passionate, selfish, 
 unprincipled nature was strong within him, and 
 would not yield to the cold scorn and stern con-
 
 THE JANUS FACE. 237 
 
 damnation with which he regarded himself. He 
 was arguing in a circle, and he went on wearily 
 and hopelessly from one point to another ; but 
 he was growing tired, and his overtasked brain 
 refused to be kept to the tread-mill, and still he 
 groaned for the thousandth time, " I love her, I 
 love her; but I cannot marry her for her own 
 sake I cannot. She would never be received at 
 home, she would be scorned and slighted by all 
 my relatives. Cousin Otto tried the experiment, 
 and Fifine died of a broken heart ; he had better 
 have left her where he found her, the merry little 
 actress at the Gaiete. But I can't leave Eulalie. 
 I love her, and then I have compromised her ; I 
 owe it to her to shield her from the consequences 
 of my thoughtlessness. If I explained this view 
 of it to mother, perhaps she would take my part, 
 and say that at last an Orsovitch had some idea 
 of honor. But no, it would be too much to ask ; 
 she worships rank more than any of our family, 
 it is always so with women who marry into noble 
 families. If I were only an American like Van, 
 I would take her where no thought of caste had 
 come or ever could come. But I should have to 
 take her away from myself then. I have argued 
 myself down, and proved the absurdity of such 
 notions a dozen times, but to no purpose. I am
 
 238 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 an aristocrat by birth, and the old leaven remains. 
 My father would solve the question for me so 
 easily. How happy we could be together in the 
 villa Adeline ; Dupinceau would sell it to me, my 
 father would furnish me the money for the sake 
 of vexing my mother, and we could shut out the 
 entire world. What need of being married ? I 
 have known plenty of fellows who lived so, but 
 some way I never envied them ; I always won- 
 dered what they did with their consciences, and 
 what sort of mothers they had. Would Eulalie 
 consent ? Of course she would, and there is no 
 need of considering her yet ; I am thinking only 
 of myself. Am I willing that Eulalie should make 
 such a sacrifice for me ? What was it Van was 
 singing the other day? 
 
 ' I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honor more.' 
 
 Then the conclusion of the whole matter is that 
 I must give her up. This would be your way, 
 mother, and you were always right ; then I must 
 leave Ecouen directly and go to you, for I am as 
 weak as a little child." 
 
 Tired, overtasked nature had asserted its claims, 
 and his long-tossed mind soothed by some decision 
 being at last reached, his head sank upon the 
 table, and he fell asleep.
 
 THE JANUS FACE. 239 
 
 He was awakened by the opening of a door, 
 and the cool, sweet wind from the garden fan- 
 ning his face. He lifted his head, and Eulalie 
 stood before him. The maligned person is always 
 the last to hear a slander, and she had come as 
 usual to pose. She did not notice Orsovitch at 
 first in his shaded corner, and she stood before 
 the little bookcase, running over the titles of the 
 volumes, until Orsovitch rose, saying, "Is that 
 you, Eulalie?" 
 
 Both were startled, and there was an awkward 
 pause. " I thought I was quite alone," said 
 Eulalie ; " are you ready for me to sit now ? " 
 
 " I shall not need to have you pose any more, 
 Eulalie," replied Orsovitch ; " I am disgusted 
 with my picture, and mean to destroy it. Besides, 
 I do not know whether you are aware of the fact 
 or not, but La Gazette knows in some way of 
 your posing for us, and is determined to make 
 trouble, so perhaps you had better not come 
 again for some time." 
 
 Eulalie trembled, and supported herself with a 
 chair. "Thank you, M. Orsovitch, for your 
 warning," she said with white lips, "but I am 
 afraid it comes too late, if La Gazette has begun 
 to spread reports." 
 
 Orsovitch crossed the room impulsively. " Eu-
 
 240 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 lalie, my poor child, I would give my life to serve 
 you ; promise me that if you are in any trouble 
 you will call upon me." 
 
 "Thank you, m'sieu," she said simply; "but I 
 do not see how you can help me ; " and then, as 
 what this might lead to dawned upon her, she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Eulalie," said Orsovitch hoarsely, and all the 
 battle which he had so hardly fought and fancied 
 won but a little while before, was lost upon him. 
 " Eulalie, trust it all to me ; we will go far awa> 
 from this evil-speaking town. No trouble shall 
 ever come to you any more. Eulalie, I love 
 you."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 
 
 She was not fair, nor full of grace, 
 Nor crowned with thought, or aught profound ; 
 
 Nor wealth had she, of mind or face, 
 Yet won she love from all around. 
 
 ADAPTED FROM BARRY CORNWALL. 
 
 V\ 7AS it the indigestibility of a French dinner 
 of game, eaten at a very late hour, or the 
 unaccustomed honor of sleeping in a real chateau 
 belonging to a real duke, that kept Van awake 
 the next night ? It might have been either, or 
 both, but he gave all the blame to the girouette. 
 
 He should have slept well, for he had followed 
 the hounds all day on a hard trotter, and came in 
 at the death next behind the gamekeeper as he 
 raised his hat in signal to the duke that his pack 
 of twenty hounds were on the boar, and those of 
 the Comte de Joyeuse leaping the gate to join 
 them ; and yet, in spite of his physical fatigue, he 
 lay awake the greater part of the night listening 
 V (241)
 
 242 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 to a rusty weathercock that flapped and creaked, 
 banged and grated, in the wind above his head. 
 It was as if St. Michael were contending again 
 with his highness the Prince of the Power of the 
 Air, and, on taking a last look at the chateau, as 
 he left, he was not surprised to see that the 
 girouette was in the shape of a dragon, with 
 cloven tongue, scaly wing, and barbed tail. If he 
 had believed in ghosts, he would have thought 
 that old Sir Jehan himself, Chevalier of the 
 Toison d'Or, one of the duke's remotest ancestors, 
 was lamenting his infamous life in groans and 
 shrieks over the spot where once he rioted in 
 luxury and sin. 
 
 Morning came at last. Van was packing his 
 portmanteau, after dressing, when a small parrot 
 fluttered through the open window and eyed him 
 curiously from the back of a chair. It was of a 
 soft dove color, with a dash of scarlet upon each 
 wing, as though the bird had been transfixed by 
 an arrow, and blood had left its stain on either 
 side. Almost at the same moment there was a 
 knock at the door ; a modest little woman, in a 
 maid's cap and apron, entered, and with an 
 " Excusez, m'sieu," attempted to catch the parrot. 
 Then it was that the bird seemed endowed of the 
 very spirit of evil. Now it wheeled slowly around
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 243 
 
 the room, almost within reach of the patient 
 maid, and, just as her hand was upon it, there 
 was a whir of wings, and the exasperating thing 
 was perched upon the top of the great wardrobe 
 at the other end of the room. Here it com- 
 menced a remarkable performance, imitating to a 
 nicety the sounds of the girouette of the night 
 before. Van could almost have thought that it 
 was the parrot itself which had kept him awake. 
 
 "Whir-r-r, scree-unch, piff, paff, pom. Scree, 
 scree, SCREE ! " ascenda and diminuendo. " Pom, 
 pom, whir, whir. Ha ha ! la girouette, la girou- 
 ette, Finnette; Finnette, Finnette, la girouette ! " 
 Finnette was evidently the name of the maid, 
 and calling her thus, the bird slowly circled once 
 more about the apartment, and then darted sud- 
 denly out of the window, which they had neglected 
 to close. From this window, by craning their 
 necks, they could see him perched upon the 
 girouette itself, and rivaling it in noisy chatter. 
 
 Finnette with a courtesy left the room, and 
 Van followed soon after to thank his host for his 
 hospitality, and to bid him adieu. He was not to 
 return to Ecotien that morning, intending to 
 profit by his proximity to Auvers, to pay a visit 
 to Daubigny, of whose lovely landscapes, and 
 placid river views, with gleam of glancing sail
 
 244 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 and nestling village, he was already an enthusi- 
 astic admirer. The duke was aware of his intention 
 and had commissioned one of his valets to drive 
 him over. A charming drive it was, for their 
 way lay for a long distance through the hunting- 
 grounds of the duke, an ancient forest whose huge 
 trees had known his grandfather, and, it may be, 
 ancestors still further back. Adolph Jean Joseph, 
 seated, a la postilion, behind Van, managed the 
 reins from over his head. He was a talkative 
 fellow, lacking the customary reserve of liveried 
 servants, and seeming, on the contrary, to think 
 it incumbent upon himself to interest his master's 
 guest. Van began the conversation by speaking 
 of the event of the morning. " Ah ! that is a 
 long story," replied the valet. 
 
 " I am always ready for a story," said Van, and 
 Adolph Jean Joseph began : 
 
 "There is a girouette, exactly similar to that 
 one, on the other wing of the chateau, where the 
 servants' rooms are, Fifteen years ago Jerome 
 occupied the room directly under it. Jerome was 
 the coachman, and he was in love with Finnette, 
 who was a pink -cheeked young girl then, just 
 such an one as to set a fellow like Jerome wild 
 with despair; for though affianced to him she 
 would coquette with the other boys. A coach-
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 245 
 
 man and footman rarely get along well together, 
 and the duke's footman at the time was a re- 
 markably handsome man : he wore his mustache 
 always waxed and perfumed, and he was really 
 more distingut than the duke, and he had eyes 
 which no woman could'resist I don't remember 
 what his real name was, we always called him 
 Coq-a-bel-ceil. He was a new servant at the 
 chateau, but he had not been there two days 
 before there was trouble between Jerome and 
 Finnette. One morning Jerome came down late 
 to coffee in the servant's hall, and when he came, 
 he did not look as if he had slept a wink the 
 whole night. Coq-a-bel-oeil said hypocritically, 
 that he hoped there was nothing troubling his 
 mind ; whereupon Jerome told him to make his 
 dear sympathetic heart easy, as it was only the 
 girouette which had kept him awake. 
 
 " ' The girottette ! ' says Coq-a-bel-oeil, ' I don't 
 think it very complimentary to Ma'm'zelle Fin- 
 nette to call her such a name as that.' And 
 then the other servants laughed, and the laundry 
 maid, who was jealous of Finnette, said that it 
 was a very good name for her after all, for she 
 never knew her own mind, and was always carried 
 away by whatever wind happened to blow. 
 
 " ' She won't be troubled by breezes from my
 
 246 BOURBON 'LILIES. 
 
 quarter any longer,' says Jerome, 'for I am 
 going to America;' with that he left the room 
 and walked straight over to the library, where 
 Monsieur le Due was, and gave up his situation. 
 We all sat stunned with astonishment, all but 
 Finnette ; she turned white as death, and ran out 
 and waited at the library door until Jerome ap 
 peared. Then she caught him by the arm, but 
 he would not let her speak, but shook her off, 
 saying that he had no need of a girouette, and 
 then strode down the avenue to the road leading 
 to Paris. M'sieu is from America, is he not ? " 
 
 "Yes," Van replied, "Boston." 
 
 " Then m'sieu may have met Jerome, for we 
 heard afterward that he sailed the next week for 
 Valparaiso. Are the two towns near each other ? " 
 
 " Not very ; but is that all of the story ? Was 
 Finnette true to her lover ? " 
 
 " Yes, she was true to him ; she waited and 
 waited, and nearly cried her eyes out, for four 
 months, and then she married Coq-a-bel-oeil. But 
 the marriage was not a happy one. He was at 
 Paris a great deal, and Finnette grew suspicious, 
 and set some one to watch him. It turned out 
 that he had a wife and two children there already. 
 Well, the due was angry, for Finnette was a 
 favorite of his, and he turned Coq-a-bel-oeil off,
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 247 
 
 quick enough, I can tell you. Then Finnette 
 was free to do as she pleased, for the marriage 
 was not a legal one, as the other woman had the 
 first claim. It was just the same as if she had 
 not been married all, and she consoled herself 
 by marrying the valet-de-chambre. He was a 
 dapper little fellow, who had been a very fashion- 
 able hairdresser at Paris. He would charge 
 twenty-five francs for placing a camellia in a 
 lady's hair, and one had to pay for the camellia 
 besides ; but then the flower was nothing, it was 
 Alphonse's touch which gave it the style. He was 
 the rage, and it was a common thing to see ladies 
 of high rank drive up to his door, merely to have 
 him look at their heads, and say they were all right 
 before going to the opera. The duchess declared 
 that he was a real artist, and said no one could do 
 her hair like Alphonse ; so the duke paid him a 
 high price to come to the chateau and devote 
 himself exclusively to her ladyship. It was quite 
 a step up in the world when Finnette married 
 him, and we were mightily taken aback, I assure 
 you. The duchess would sit in her wrapper in 
 her own room, and wait while Alphonse did her 
 hair in another part of the chateau. It was very 
 curious to see him at work ; he had a head made 
 of wood and wax and papier-mache, of the same
 
 248 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 size as that of the duchess, and Alphonse would 
 stand it, with all sizes of combs stuck into his 
 own blonde curls, which he would take out (the 
 combs, I mean) and use as he wanted them. He 
 kept the different braids and curls and chignons 
 under lock and key in one little chest of drawers, 
 and the gold-dust, perfumes, and pomades in 
 another. Finnette would take out what he 
 ordered, heat his irons for him, or run down 
 to the conservatory for a certain flower, or over 
 to madame's room for an aigrette, with a diamond 
 clasp, for he would call for her jewels as though 
 they were his own. Finally, when the whole 
 work of art was completed, Finnette would take 
 it and place it on the head of the duchess, and 
 Alphonse would simply walk twice around her to 
 see if the effect was all right, and then tell her 
 what style of dress she must wear with it. He 
 had her arranged with a view to cherry satin one 
 day, but the duchess had a funeral to attend. 
 When she told Alphonse, he considered it neces- 
 sary to take the entire structure to pieces, and 
 arrange a coiffure in another style. The duchess 
 was late, and arrived at the door of the Madeleine 
 just as the procession was leaving it, but she had 
 the satisfaction of having her hair dressed a la 
 sympathie particulttre, indeed, had it been a
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 249 
 
 shade more severe, she would have been taken 
 for the widow, and the dead man himself could 
 not have demanded more sincere mourning than 
 that. It was the easy access that Alphonse had 
 to madame's jewels that caused the trouble be- 
 tween him and Finnette, for Finnette was an 
 honest girl, and when he told her that the diamonds 
 which madame now wore with so much pride were 
 paste, and, showing her the real ones hidden at 
 the bottom of one of his little pots of pomade, 
 proposed that they should run off together, why, 
 Finnette could not stand it, and informed upon 
 him, and Alphonse was sent to the Bagne for life. 
 Then Finnette was as good as a widow, but she 
 shook her head, and said that she had had enough 
 of young men. There were but two old men at 
 the chateau, the head waiter and the butler, 
 and when they heard that Finnette had said that, 
 they were both at her feet. 
 
 "The butler was the best natured, but the 
 head waiter was a man of such consequence, 
 and always wore such a nicely brushed up black 
 suit, with a spotless white tie and gloves, that 
 with his grey hair carefully brushed over his bald 
 head, he was quite irresistible. He always an- 
 nounced dinner, too, with such an air : ' Madame 
 est servie ; ' and then he would give a flirt to the 
 32
 
 250 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 napkin under his arm, and sink gradually back 
 into the heels of his slippers from which he had 
 risen ; and no one no, not even if he were a 
 member of the Institute dared resume his con- 
 versation until the head waiter had tiptoed out 
 of the room. So, of course, Finnette married 
 him, and " 
 
 " But, Adolph Jean Joseph," Van interrupted. 
 " I thought divorce was hard to get in France, 
 and this makes Finnette's third living husband ; 
 how was it managed ? " 
 
 " Why, m'sieu, when Finnette was married to 
 Coq-a-bel-ceil, it was at the parish church, and 
 at the Mairie, too, a double marriage, such as 
 nearly all French marriages are. But when it 
 was ascertained that Coq-a-bel-ceil had a wife 
 already, both records were written over, scratched 
 out, pasted together, torn out, and burned up. 
 Then when she married Alphonse, there was no 
 priest at the little church, and so the ceremony 
 took place at the Mairie only. But when she 
 went there the third time with the head waiter, 
 Monsieur the Maire said that it was indeed a hard 
 case, since Alphonse was at the galleys for 
 life, not to let her marry again, but he did not see 
 around it. Now, the head waiter thought he 
 did ; he was an Alsatian and a Calvinist, and he
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 251 
 
 took her to his country, where they were married 
 in a Protestant chapel, and no questions asked. 
 And a hard time she had of it afterward, for he 
 was so cranky and set in his ways, that there 
 was no pleasing him, do what she might, and then 
 he would swear at her so horribly, that at last the 
 poor girl could stand it no longer. So she told 
 her confessor, and he said that as the ceremony 
 had only been performed in a Protestant chapel 
 it was as good as no marriage at all, and she 
 might marry the butler that night if she chose, 
 which Finnette accordingly did. Now, it is not 
 at all convenient to have two husbands at the 
 same time, especially when they both live in the 
 same house. And if the head waiter was dis- 
 agreeable before they separated, he was ten times 
 worse now. He would keep calling for all kinds 
 of wine just in the places where you would least 
 expect them ; claret with fish, and carcassone 
 with the roast; champagne with the soup, and 
 liquors before the entremets were served. Now, 
 the butler, though he was very fond of Finnette, 
 usually made it a point to be drunk about dinner 
 time, and of no service whatever ; and as Finnette 
 dared trust the keys of the wine-cellar with no 
 one else, she would have to plod up and down 
 those stairs twenty or thirty times of an evening.
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 The thing got to be unbearable ; it turned out, 
 too, that this marriage was not exactly legal, for 
 she had only been wedded to him by the priest, 
 and Alphonse's was the last name that appeared 
 with hers on the books of M. the Maire. Now, 
 as good luck would have it, Alphonse was shot by 
 a guard while attempting to escape from the 
 galleys, and the certificate of this being shown 
 at the Mairie in black and white, Finnette was 
 very readily married to the gamekeeper, who had 
 long been in love with her, and went to live with 
 him at the lodge. As rn'sieu says, divorce is hard 
 to get in France ; we have too much respect for 
 marriage. Finnette was never divorced in her 
 life, she would not have done anything so dis- 
 graceful. She really liked the butler ; he was a 
 good, fatherly old man, with a jolly face, and a 
 great shock of white hair ; and, though he was an 
 habitual drunkard, he always treated her kindly, 
 even in his drink. He never saw her without 
 crying, and calling on all the saints to bless her, 
 for he knew that it was not her fault, and that 
 she would never have left him if the head waiter 
 had not madg it so uncomfortable for her. Bap- 
 tiste, the gamekeeper, loved her to distraction, 
 and things went 'on smoothly for several, years, 
 and poor Finnette began at last to take some 
 comfort in life.
 
 LA QIROUETTE. 253 
 
 "Then came the cold winter of 18 ; how it 
 did snow ! Fichtre ! nothing like it was ever seen 
 in France, it snowed so that those ditches were 
 even with the road." 
 
 As Adolph Jean Joseph spoke, he pointed to 
 a deep trench some eight feet wide, which encir- 
 cled the park to keep the game within limits. 
 
 "The worst night of all was the loth of Jan- 
 uary. I had gone to the village for the mail, and 
 though I rode the duke's fastest mare, Grisette, 
 the one that won the race at Longchamps, and 
 put her through her best paces, both my ears 
 were frozen before I reached the chateau. ' This 
 is a terrible night for any poor wretch of a 
 poacher who may be out trespassing,' I said, ' the 
 cold will kill him quicker than a shot from Bap- 
 tiste's gun.' How the girouette did clatter that 
 night ! it shrieked and howled like a lost spirit. 
 I had slept in Jerome's room ever since he went 
 away, and had the full benefit of its noise, but I 
 never heard it go on as it did that night. The 
 next morning, while we were all in the servants' 
 hall together, "before separating for the day's work, 
 Baptiste came running in, all out of breath with 
 wading through the snow. ' Come down quick, 
 some of you,' says he, 'there's a man at the 
 lodge who, I am afraid, is frozen to death, but we
 
 254 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 must do what we can to bring him to; I don't 
 think he is a poacher, for I did not find any gun 
 near him. More likely he is a traveler, who lost 
 the road, and fell into one of the ditches, for that 
 was where I found him, half covered with the snow. 
 He was dressed like a sailor, and much too thinly 
 to stand the cold of a night like the last. 1 When 
 we entered the lodge, we were all surprised to 
 see Finnette lying on the floor in a faint at the 
 foot of the lounge on which the dead man lay, 
 for he was dead, poor fellow, and all our restora- 
 tives, applied for hours, brought no signs of life. 
 When Finnette came to herself, she crept to the 
 lounge, and, seizing the dead man's hand, cried 
 out, ' Jerome, Jerome, forgive me ! oh, forgive 
 me ! ' We thought she was out of her head, for 
 time and trouble had so changed him that it was 
 some time before we recognized our old comrade, 
 Jerome. And then came the strangest part of 
 all. Finnette said that while Baptiste was gone 
 to the chateau, and she was trying to bring 
 Jerome to life, not having yet recognized him 
 herself, a voice not Jerome's, or any that she had 
 ever known, called her by name. While she 
 looked at him in horror to see whence the sound 
 came, for his lips were closed, the same voice, 
 coming straight from the dead man's breast,
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 255 
 
 repeated his last words to her so many years 
 before, calling her a girouette. We were certain 
 that Finnette was crazy now, when suddenly, 
 not from Jerome's breast, but from somewhere 
 in the air above our heads, came a wild discordant 
 cry, and a voice shrilling, ' Finnette, Finnette, 
 la girouette? Ah ! m'sieu should have seen the 
 rapidity with which we left that room ! And not 
 one of us would go back until the priest came to 
 bury Jerome, and sprinkled the door with holy 
 water. Then we found perched on the stag's 
 antlers above the fire-place, that little grey par- 
 rot. It had been in the breast of Jerome's jacket, 
 but was only numbed by the cold, and the warmth 
 of the room had revived it. In his bitterness, he 
 had taught it those reproachful words, and had 
 brought it here to haunt Finnette. Baptiste 
 wanted to kill it, but she would not let him, and, 
 strange to say, she took a great fancy to the dia- 
 bolical bird. She never had any children, and she 
 loves that little demon as if it were her own baby. 
 But she could not bear the hunting lodge any 
 longer, it recalled Jerome too vividly. Strange, 
 but I believe the woman even now loves the man 
 she was to have married, better than any she 
 afterward did. Monsieur the Cure* was right, 
 when he said at the time he married us, ' Mulier 
 hominis confusio est.' "
 
 256 - BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 "What, Adolph Jean Joseph ! " Van exclaimed, 
 "you don't mean to say that you married Fin- 
 nette ! Why, you are a mere boy." 
 
 " Certainly, sir, you see I had to take my turn. 
 Baptiste was shot by a near-sighted nobleman, 
 who took him for a stag, and this time Finnette 
 was a real widow. I was the only one left, and 
 if I am a trifle young, Finnette is getting old 
 enough now to be steady." 
 
 " Do you wish me to understand," asked Van, 
 " that Finnette married in turn all the servants 
 of the chateau ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, always excepting those who were 
 already married, and whose wives lived there 
 with them, so that they could not play Coq-a-bel- 
 ceil's little game, and one other who was not 
 married, a jocky like myself, and about my own 
 age. Amede'e du Lac used to say that he would 
 hang himself before he would marry her. But he 
 was always a queer fellow. He joined the army 
 after awhile, and then came back again, and is 
 the gamekeeper at the old hunting chateau in the 
 Foret de Montmorenci. He used to say that, 
 when he married, he meant to have his wife all to 
 himself; he would choose some one who had 
 never loved any one, and whom no one had ever 
 loved, and when once his wife, it should go hard
 
 LA GIROUETTE. 257 
 
 with him and her if he did not keep her as true 
 Vo himself as he meant to be to her. But then 
 Amedee always did have the most lunatic ideas 
 of any mortal living ; he never will be married at 
 all, that is how it will be ; or if he is, he will be 
 most beautifully fooled. Women are all alike, 
 and you might go many a mile and not find a 
 sweeter or better than my little Finnette." 
 
 For a moment the same question flitted through 
 Van's mind that troubled the Pharisees of old : 
 " Whose wife shall she be in the resurrection, for 
 the seven had her to wife ? " And then his 
 thoughts went back to Am6de"e. He had found 
 at last the key to his jealous, suspicious nature. 
 Surely no woman was better qualified to satisfy 
 his exacting temperament than Eulalie, and yet 
 he remembered the story of Desdemona, told by 
 one who knew well all human moods, and whose 
 personations were never overdrawn, and he trem- 
 bled for the result. 
 
 33
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 
 
 Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
 Charge for the golden lilies. 
 
 MACAULAY. 
 
 All the Foresters of Flanders, mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer, 
 Lyderick de Bucq and Cressy, Philip, Guy de Dampierre. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 TT was the same temptation placed before 
 Eulalie that Mere Angelique had faced in her 
 youth, only in the present case Eulalie had the 
 advantage of not loving the tempter, and she 
 answered resolutely, " But monsieur forgets that 
 t belong to Amede"e ; he has not given me up, 
 and I . cannot desert him ; " and then, before 
 Orsovitch could speak, as though fearing new 
 arguments, she asked, " Is M. Van in ? Here is 
 his history; I had learned a long lesson, t and 
 hoped to recite it to him ; will you tell him how 
 sorry I am I may not ever see him again ? " and 
 Orsovitch was almost sure there were tears in her 
 eyes. 
 
 (258)
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 259 
 
 " What is this little packet ? " he asked. . 
 
 "That is the watch which you asked me to 
 bring ; Uncle Paquerette will call for it in a few 
 days. It is very curious, is it not? " 
 
 Orsovitch had taken off the wrappings, and, to 
 hide his feelings and gain time, was examining 
 the quaint object. It was of gold, not large, but 
 quite thick, almost spherical in shape, a lady's 
 watch, with the name Marie de Bucq engraved 
 indistinctly upon it. 
 
 " She was probably my grandmother," said 
 Eulalie, as Orsovitch noticed it. " That must be 
 the old-fashioned way of spelling the name ; it is 
 a great deal prettier than ours. Bouk ! I never 
 could endure it, and nearly all my friends call me 
 by my mother's name, De la Croix." 
 
 " It is not a French name," said Orsovitch 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " No," replied Eulalie ; " grandfather was from 
 Belgium : he came in with the allies, married a 
 French woman, and remained here. My father 
 and my aunt were his only children. Aunt can 
 remember him ; she says that she thinks he must 
 have belonged to a good family, but had broken 
 with them for some reason, as he never wished to 
 go back to his home, or to talk about it." 
 
 Orsovitch opened the watch ; it seemed to him
 
 260 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 almost conclusive proof that Eulalie was w ;11 
 descended. How else could a simple peasant 
 have come in possession of so costly an object ? 
 The immense significance of this little trinket had 
 so engrossed him that he found himself speaking 
 as coolly and rationally to Eulalie as if he had 
 not just made her a passionate declaration, and 
 received in return a very decided negative. As 
 for Eulalie, the declaration had startled her, but 
 she had answered it ; M. Orsovitch seemed to be 
 satisfied, for he had not urged the matter further, 
 and to her matter-of-fact mind there seemed to 
 be no need of saying or thinking any more about 
 it. He was examining the watch now through a 
 microscope. There was a coat of arms engraved 
 within the case, supported by two deer, evidently 
 the device of the De Bucq family ; under the coat 
 of arms was an inscription so worn as to be quite 
 illegible. " Eulalie," said he, laying down the 
 watch and glass, and approaching her again, "will 
 you let me keep this watch for a week or two ? 
 If you have any other information that you can 
 give me in relation to your father's family, for 
 Heaven's sake let me have it. I feel that I am on 
 the eve of a great discovery a discovery which 
 may place you in point of rank far above me. I 
 tell you this because it is fair that you should
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 26 1 
 
 know what I conjecture. I shall devote myself 
 to proving the truth or falsehood of these indica- 
 tions. When I see you again I may have more 
 to tell you ; but whether you are a noble lady or 
 a simple peasant, what I told you a little while 
 ago will still be true, I love you, Eulalie." 
 
 " But m'sieu, m'sieu," began Eulalie ; but it 
 was useless, for Orsovitch had thrown his smok- 
 ing-cap across the room, and darted into the next 
 apartment for his coat and hat, and she was quite 
 alone. She left the house sadly : what did his 
 wild words mean ? Was Monsieur Orsovitch 
 going mad ? It was impossible that she could be 
 any other than Eulalie the fleuriste, with work 
 enough to keep hands and thought busy, and 
 just now a sore trouble rising darkly before her, 
 and swallowing up all other feeling in its shadow. 
 
 Orsovitch had determined to take the watch at 
 once to the office of heraldry in Paris. What was 
 his disgust, therefore, to find himself confronted 
 as he opened his door by Miss Precosia Pry and 
 Mr~ Norman Saxon Goth, with whom he had 
 spoken a few words at Papa Robusti's. 
 
 " So glad to see you, my dear fellah," was Mr. 
 Goth's greeting, as he walked into the studio. 
 " Queer old place this, excessively disagreeable 
 village ; how do you manage to stay heah ? No
 
 262 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 society, you know. I couldn't stand it, 'pon my 
 word I couldn't. But, then, I couldn't stay any- 
 where, you know. One's ideas actually get local." 
 
 " Do show us some of your lovely things," be- 
 sought Miss Pry, and while Orsovitch complied, 
 he remarked, interrogatively, " You have been a 
 great traveler, Mr. Goth ? " 
 
 "Lord bless you, yes," replied the other; 
 " commenced by going all over the United States, 
 from Michigan to Louisiana, from Maine to Cali- 
 fornia ; every State in the Union, and every 
 Territory, except Arizona. Then I did the West 
 Indies, and every city on the coast of South 
 America ; crossed the Andes from Peru, and 
 went down the Amazon in a canoe. I have 
 visited every country of Europe ; penetrated as 
 far into Africa as as I wanted to ; been to 
 China, India, Australia, Palestine, Ceylon and 
 Madagascar, " 
 
 "Dear me, Mr. Goth," sighed Miss Precosia, 
 "isn't it about time you went to heaven ?" 
 
 "Hardly," replied the imperturbable gentle- 
 man ; " you see, I have not entirely exhausted this 
 world yet. I am very fond of inscriptions, and am 
 something of an expert in deciphering them, as I 
 have learned a little of every dead language. Did 
 you ever study cuneiform inscriptions, Mr. Orso-
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 263 
 
 vitch ? They are very fascinating. I have sixty- 
 seven dozen photographs of different markings 
 in unknown tongues ; I will bring them out next 
 time I come, and read you my translations of 
 them. I see you are fond of bric-a-brac quite a 
 handsome collection. I have a magnificent coffin 
 of an Egyptian princess, four thousand years old, 
 that I can spare you, if you have any fancy for 
 such an article. You must excuse me, but I 
 couldn't possibly part with the princess ; she 
 was buried in ten coffins, so I can easily give 
 you one ; it would make a very neat clock-case. 
 I say, Miss Pry, did I ever show you my col- 
 lection of medals and crosses that I have received 
 from different sources for my discoveries. This' 
 cabinet of cameos reminds me of them. There 
 is one, nearly as heavy as a guinea, from the 
 Royal Exploration, Excavation and Exportation 
 Society ; and a badge, made of seven different- 
 colored ribbons, from the Societt pour le Vol des 
 Monumens Anciens." 
 
 " Can you read Chaldee ? " asked Miss Pry. 
 
 " Like a book," replied Mr. Goth. " Have you 
 anything in the way of inscriptions to try me on, 
 Mr. Orsovitch? I have never been deceived 
 yet." 
 
 " I have been puzzling over something of the
 
 264 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 kind of late," began Orsovitch ; and then, half 
 doubting his impulsiveness, " but I hardly think 
 it can be exactly in your line. Have you ever 
 paid any attention to heraldry?" 
 
 " Can a duck swim ? " replied Mr. Goth, with 
 engaging familiarity. " I have helped many a 
 family trace out its genealogy, and connected 
 some that you would not have thought of with the 
 proudest families in history. There were the 
 Weazles, of Titusville ; after they made their 
 fortunes in oil, they applied to me to look the 
 matter up. ' Any particular preference for any 
 particular nation ?' said I. 'Italian/ says Mrs. 
 Weazle. ' Nothing easier,' said I. And before 
 the month was out I had traced them back to a 
 Marchese di Erminetti of the sixteenth century, 
 family thought to be extinct, an only child having 
 mysteriously disappeared a hundred years ago, 
 supposed to have been kidnapped. Perfectlv 
 clear case. Mr. Weazle's grandfather way ap 
 prenticed to an Italian plaster of Paris image 
 man ; here was my missing link, and I froze to it 
 Traveled in Italy for them, found the Erminetti 
 palazzo, bought it for them, and made twenty-five 
 hundred dollars clear of traveling expenses by 
 the operation. Should be happy to serve you in 
 the same way, sir."
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 267 
 
 Orsovitch smiled. "I have no need of any- 
 thing of the kind for myself," said he, "but I 
 have an old curiosity here belonging to a friend. 
 It bears a coat-of-arms which we cannot make 
 out If you will decipher it for me, I shall be 
 much obliged." 
 
 Mr. Goth examined the watch with the eye of 
 a connoisseur. " It only needs the application of 
 a little acid," said he, " to become perfectly 
 legible. You can tell now that the motto is 
 Latin ; here is a dative in ibus, and there on the 
 shield a fleur de Us. Let me take it to my room 
 at the hotel for half an hour, and I will return 
 with it afterward ; or, if you are in the village, 
 you will, perhaps, do me the honor of passing my 
 way." 
 
 After his visitors had left, Orsovitch took up a 
 volume entitled Le Blazon, the only work on 
 heraldry which he happened to possess, and 
 applied himself to an earnest study of the sub- 
 ject. After a few pages he read the following 
 paragraph: " Les fleur de lys sont les pieces les 
 plus nobles de toutes celles qui se voient dans les 
 armoiries fran$aises." How could it be that a 
 Belgian family could carry the fleur de lys? 
 
 When, in Mr. Goth's rooms, he next held the 
 watch, the inscription was as plain as though 
 
 freshly cut. 
 
 34
 
 264 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " Look at it attentively," said Mr. Goth, " and 
 see how it corresponds with the following descrip- 
 tion, which I read of the arms of a certain noble 
 house : ' De France, au baton de gueles peri en 
 bande.'" 
 
 " It is identical," exclaimed Orsovitch. " To 
 what family does the description you have just 
 read belong ? " 
 
 "To Prince Conde" de Bourbon." 
 
 Orsovitch started, a princely family ; it was 
 beyond belief, and he was overwhelmed. " And 
 the motto," he said, vaguely, "is the same as 
 that upon the picture which we saw upon the 
 portrait the other evening, ' Date manibus lilia 
 plenis /' Now, what explanation do you offer? " 
 
 Mr. Goth shrugged his shoulders. He would 
 rather that Orsovitch should have drawn the con- 
 clusion himself, but, thus appealed to, he answered, 
 " It seems to me simple enough : the watch has 
 been the property of some member of the de 
 Bucq family, a descendant on the female side of 
 the Prince de Conde". If you care to consult Du 
 Chesne you will see that the descendants of the 
 Montmorencis and of Charlotte Montmorenci de 
 Cond6 were connected with many of the most 
 noble names of France and Belgium ; this is on 
 the Belgian side. You have, there, Mr. Orsovitch, 
 an interesting historical souvenir and relic."
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 267 
 
 Orsovitch sat buried in thought. He had so 
 little faith in this man ; and yet, if his conclusions 
 should be correct, would it not be best to let him 
 go and see if he could prove them ? If he only 
 established to the satisfaction of his family that 
 Eulalie was, however remotely, of gentle blood, 
 that was enough, and more than enough. What 
 mattered it to him whether her claims were really 
 valid ? Mr. Goth seemed waiting for a reply. 
 " This watch belongs to a lady," Orsovitch began. 
 
 ". Who has picked it up at the H6tel Drouot ? " 
 added Mr. Goth carelessly. " That watch, in the 
 hands of an unscrupulous and ambitious young 
 woman, would make her fortune. She has only 
 to swear that it belonged to some defunct ances- 
 tor, some unfortunate tmigrt, and she could 
 easily prove herself of noble birth. One can 
 prove anything, sir ; all that is needful is brains, 
 sir, brains and money. 'Pon my honor, I wish 
 I had the working up of the case." 
 
 " This watch really did belong to the young 
 lady's ancestor," said Orsovitch gravely. " Do 
 you believe that claims to such high connection 
 can be proved ? " 
 
 " I thought so," said Mr. Goth mentally ; "it is 
 Fanny Fitz Flirt. Mrs. Poser has found that 
 she 's got to bait the hook with a grandfather in
 
 268 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 order to catch him. I wondered what attractions 
 those ladies could find in Ecouen. Well, my 
 dears, I have no objection to helping you, but 
 you will have to pay dearly for it." It had been 
 Mr. Goth's turn to be silent, and Orsovitch spoke 
 again : " Let us understand each other," he said, 
 as he thought of the searching inquiry to which 
 his wife's claims would be submitted by his rela- 
 tives. " What I wish is not to establish a false 
 pretension to a title for this young lady, to prove 
 geese swans, or weazel skins ermine. I wish to 
 get at the absolute truth in the matter, even if it 
 should prove our hopes false." 
 
 " And then, my dear Miss Fitz Flirt or Mrs. 
 Poser," thought Mr. Goth, " I should not care to 
 be in your shoes ; " and he added aloud, " I will 
 devote myself to investigating the matter ; but it 
 will be a work of time, and it may also prove a 
 rather expensive project." 
 
 "That is of no consequence," said Orsovitch 
 loftily. 
 
 Mr. Goth bowed. " How very much in love 
 he must be," he thought, " to be such a fool." 
 
 A similar idea flashed through the mind of 
 Orsovitch. " This is too wild ; it cannot be 
 true." But still his great desire to prove it so 
 made him credulous. " You know more of such
 
 A LESSON IN HERALDRY. 269 
 
 matters than I do, Mr. Goth," said he; "only 
 prove to my satisfaction that the owner of this 
 watch is a descendant of the house of Montmo- 
 renci de Conde" de Bourbon, and I will pay you 
 ten thousand francs outside of all incidental 
 expenses. I will accompany you in order to be 
 the better convinced. If you are mistaken, I 
 will pay your expenses only. Are you willing to 
 undertake the mission on these conditions ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Mr. Goth, " and I may add 
 that I am perfectly sure of sucess." 
 " Where do we go first ? " 
 "To Brussels." 
 
 " Can you start this evening ? " 
 " I reside in my valise, Mr.Orsovitch." 
 " Very well, I will join you at the dep6t at ten 
 o'clock," and Orsovitch returned to his studio to 
 scribble a note of explanation to Van, to dine, and 
 to pack his valise.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE LETTER O. 
 
 A gipsy in the wood 
 Said she'd tell me something good 
 For his name began with O. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 
 "CRANNY Fitz Flirt had not seen Orsovitch 
 since the night of the drive, but she was 
 happier than she had ever been before. Orso- 
 vitch certainly liked her ; the first step had been 
 made when he had descended from his throne of 
 high and lofty indifference. She was an experi- 
 enced little surgeon in diseases of the heart, and 
 she was sure that she recognized the early 
 symptoms of a serious affection of that organ. 
 On the day after the departure of Mr. Goth and 
 Orsovitch, she decided to take a ramble in the 
 wood surrounding the Chateau de Montmorenci. 
 She had promised not to go out of sight of the 
 village, and Mrs. Poser had reluctantly consented 
 to her going alone. She stood now on the deserted 
 
 (270)
 
 THE LETTER O. 2/1 
 
 fete ground ; as she looked around her with inter- 
 est, La Gazette came scrambling up the hill, 
 quite out of breath from the haste with which 
 she had followed the young American lady. She 
 came forward, puffing and grimacing frightfully 
 in her toothless attempt at a smile. Fanny was 
 in doubt whether she ought to be frightened or 
 amused, when the strange creature extended a 
 small basket, whose contents she evidently wished 
 inspected. Fanny lifted several pieces of jet 
 passementerie, in the thistle-pattern, the work of 
 La Gazette's daughter, and several pairs of stock- 
 ings, worked across the instep and about the 
 ankle in fanciful designs with gay colored silks, the 
 remains of a small stock which she had offered 
 for sale during the progress of the fete. Fanny, 
 mindful of her croquet slippers, purchased two 
 pairs, one a light blue, decorated with daisies and 
 sprays of yellow wheat, and another of maize 
 color, wreathed with wild roses and buds. " What 
 is this circle ? " she asked of La Gazette, as she 
 crammed the stockings into a tiny silver-orna- 
 mented reticule that swung from her heavily- 
 chased belt. She pointed as she spoke to the 
 mark worn in the ground by the merry-go-round 
 which Pere Paquerette had turned during the 
 first part of the fete.
 
 2/2 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 La Gazette nodded mysteriously. " I can see 
 no circle, mademoiselle ; if there is one, it is the 
 work of the fairies ; they dance here on certain 
 nights in the year, and the first maiden who 
 comes to the spot on the morning after their 
 revel will see upon the ground, traced by their 
 feet, the initial of her married name." 
 
 "Then mine is to be O," laughed Fanny gayly. 
 "I wonder ," but as she spoke, a sudden con- 
 sciousness sent the color in a surging wave to the 
 roots of her hair and the tips of her dainty ears. In 
 another moment she was indignant. " How dare 
 you ? " she exclaimed. " You see that circle as 
 well as I do," and she walked quickly away. 
 
 But La Gazette called after her, hobbling nim- 
 bly behind the delicate girl, " Yes, mademoiselle, 
 I see the circle, and I see much besides. We 
 others are not so blind. Fine gentlemen do not 
 take fine ladies to drive on moonlight nights for 
 nothing. I used to pose for messieurs the artists, 
 and I have seen a painting of mademoiselle all in 
 white in a little boat. Mademoiselle knows how 
 it is cherished ? Ah ! when all this regards a fine 
 lady like mademoiselle, it means something ! " 
 
 Fanny walked more slowly ; the words were 
 sweet, why should she not listen to them ? She 
 turned and faced the old woman.
 
 THE LETTER O. 2/3 
 
 " To speak plainly, then, you really fancy that 
 Monsieur Orsovitch likes me ? " 
 
 " He adores you, mademoiselle, so much the 
 worse for us others." 
 
 " Why should it be the worse for you, suppos- 
 ing he did like me ? " 
 
 "Not for me, mademoiselle, but for a young 
 girl of my class. Hold, there she stands on the 
 church steps ; you can see her through this open 
 ing in the trees. She is indeed beautiful ; but 
 mademoiselle need not be alarmed, for when a 
 gentleman who is comme il faut, like Monsieur 
 Orsovitch, marries in our country, the old love 
 does not go on into the new life, and mademoi- 
 selle is so beautiful " 
 
 "Stop," said Fanny peremptorily, "you are 
 mistaken ; the girl you just pointed out to me 
 poses sometimes for Mr. Van, for he showed me 
 some pencil sketches he had made of her face, 
 but I have looked at all Monsieur Orsovitch's 
 sketches, and there is not one of that girl." 
 
 " If mademoiselle will take the trouble to ask 
 her for whom she was posing at the studio, 
 yesterday morning, when the young American 
 gentleman was not there. I was in the meadow, 
 digging dandelions for my rabbits. And if made- 
 moiselle will ask who it was that Monsieur 
 35
 
 2/4 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Orsovitch kissed beside his great window I 
 could not help seeing, and I thought that the 
 young American lady who wears glasses, Made- 
 moiselle Pry, saw also, for she came in then, if 
 mademoiselle will ask her." 
 
 " I will do nothing of the kind," said Fanny 
 decidedly and proudly, but her face was deadly 
 white ; and when La Gazette disappeared down 
 the winding path that led to the village, she still 
 stood mechanically smoothing the wrinkles out 
 of her dress. Such things were common here in 
 Europe. She would not have been surprised or 
 greatly shocked to have heard it of the marquis, 
 or of any other man in France, she told herself, 
 except only Orsovitch. Yes, there was one other 
 of whom she could never have believed such a 
 thing, and that was her "adopted brother Van." 
 And yet she had remarked to herself, when he 
 first showed her his sketch of Eulalie, that he 
 loved this little peasant more than he knew. " If 
 it is true, it is worse for him than for me," she 
 said to herself. Then a swift thought passed 
 through her mind of the only time she had been 
 in Eulalie's shop, to order a basket of flowers for 
 Mamma Robusti's party. Eulalie's aunt had 
 teased her niece about living in a castle some 
 day, and being a fine lady, and had mentioned
 
 THE LETTER O. 2/5 
 
 a black -haired lover who was very imperious, 
 and for whom Eulalie had immediately crossed 
 swords with her aunt. At the time Fanny had 
 imagined that the lover was only some blue- 
 bloused peasant, or at best a servant at the castle, 
 but now it was all plain. 
 
 As she turned to leave the forest, and walked 
 wearily down the beautiful avenue which leads 
 from the Chateau de Montmorenci, she saw that 
 a gentleman had just entered at the other end of 
 the noble arch of living green. He had recog- 
 nized her, and was coming forward with quickened 
 step, and a pleased, expectant look upon his face. 
 It was Van, and she could not escape him, though 
 an almost ungovernable impulse urged her to 
 turn and run back into the wood. He gave his 
 hapd with some gay word of greeting, but when 
 he saw her face the expression upon his own 
 changed instantly. "Are you sick, Miss Fanny ? " 
 he asked anxiously. 
 
 "No," she replied, "only troubled; Van," she 
 added after a moment's pause, "you and I are 
 friends, are we not ? " 
 
 " Of course we are," replied Van, "at least I 
 am very sure that I am your friend." 
 
 "I am going to confide in your friendship," 
 said Fanny, " and I want you to answer truly a
 
 2/6 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 few questions, and never to tell any one of this 
 conversation." 
 
 "You can depend upon me, little sister," 
 said Van, drawing the arm of the trembling gin 
 within his own. 
 
 "I have just heard to-day," said Fanny, "that 
 Monsieur Orsovitch is in love with the little 
 milliner ; is it true ? " 
 
 " I think it is," replied Van ; "I have thought 
 so for some time, and at last I am sure of it" 
 
 "Is your friend," asked Fanny painfully, "is 
 Monsieur Orsovitch a man of honor, as we Ameri- 
 cans understand the term ? " 
 
 "He is," replied Van bravely; "Eulalie is 
 perfectly safe." 
 
 "Then there is a possibility that he may 
 marry, if I that is, if nothing should interfere 
 to prevent" 
 
 " More than that, Miss Fanny, I have been led 
 to think that such a marriage was very probable." 
 
 " Thank you," said Fanny simply, and then, 
 moved by a great impulse of pity, she took his 
 hand and shook it warmly. " Poor fellow," she 
 thought, ' how he must suffer, and yet how 
 bravely he stands up for his friends ! Does he 
 know that I have guessed that he loves her too ? " 
 And Van pressed the little hand laid so con-
 
 THE LETTER O. 2/7 
 
 fidingly in his, until the diamond rings gashed 
 the slender fingers, and the delicate four-buttoned 
 kid glove was quite ruined, while in his heart of 
 hearts he pitied her, and called himself a brute 
 for telling the truth so bluntly. " I used to wish 
 I was handsome," he said to himself, "so that al) 
 the girls would fall in love with me as they do 
 with Orsovitch, but I don't believe I'm the sort 
 of fellow to enjoy it, after all." 
 
 The way seemed very clear to Fanny, as she 
 walked home. The only thing to do was to leave 
 Ecouen, and to leave at once. It was hard, too, 
 to give up the battle just as there was some hope 
 of success. It would have been so much easier, 
 she told herself, to have sent him back to Eulalie 
 with cutting words after he had been fairly con- 
 quered, and had unequivocally declared himself, 
 but to give him up in this ignominious way was 
 not pleasant, and yet it was the right way, and 
 the only right way. There was a hard fight, too, 
 with Mrs. Poser, but Fanny conquered, and a 
 few days later Van received a note saying that 
 the ladies were called to America by a telegram 
 announcing the illness of their father ; they would 
 take Fanny's portrait as it was, paying the price 
 at first agreed, and they hoped that some day Van 
 might be able to finish it at their home in Chicago,
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 DOUBT. 
 
 A soul mist, through whose rifts familiar stars 
 Beholding we misname. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 PAQUERETTE and Eulalie were 
 wandering in the meadows together. They 
 had been much in one another's society of late, 
 and had one great bond of sympathy. Neither 
 had any great show of affection from any other 
 quarter. So when Eulalie's aunt had said, "Tenez, 
 animal, you have not posed for a week past, you 
 do nothing but sit in the sun and sleep ; take this 
 pan and knife and go to the meadows for some 
 dandelions for a salad," Eulalie had risen, too. 
 "Wait a moment, my uncle," said she, "I will 
 go with you ; field flowers are all the fashion this 
 spring, but the models they have sent me are 
 so stiff that I know I can find better ones in the 
 fields, there will be buttercups, at least, and the 
 rosy -fingered little mtres des families." 
 
 Eulalie was more quiet than usual as she 
 
 (278.)
 
 DOUBT. 279 
 
 walked, but the old man chattered on, filling up 
 all pauses in the conversation, like the amiable old 
 magpie that he was. 
 
 "There," said he, "there is the Villa Adeline, 
 and that always makes me think of General 
 Hautcoeur ; what a grumbler he was, always 
 gruff, always silent. He never opened his mouth 
 except to growl or to swear. So different from 
 my father, he had lost almost everything else, 
 but he hadn't lost his tongue, dear. How he 
 would run on. I remember his showing me the 
 flags under the dome of the Invalides. ' That one 
 was from Eylau, boy,' he would say ; ' that 's 
 where my thumb and two fingers were frozen off. 
 Dog of a country. for cold, that Eylau. And that 
 was from Marengo. I saw my lieutenant, Gaston 
 Bonenfant, snatch it from the hand of its color- 
 bearer, and then a cannon ball came along and 
 took off my leg, and I did not see any more. 
 That torn rag higher up was taken at Austerlitz. 
 My colonel was killed there. Handsome man, 
 Louis Charles Chere, how the women must have 
 cried at Paris when they heard of it.' " 
 
 Eulalie had heard these recitals a hundred 
 times before, but she let the old man prattle on, 
 and at times assisted him in his soliloquy by 
 judicious questions. He was not dull, however,
 
 280 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 this little gimlet-eyed old man, and it struck him 
 after awhile that Eulalie was not bearing her part 
 in the conversation. 
 
 " What is the matter with you, child ? " he said, 
 suddenly. "Are you in love ? " 
 
 " No indeed," replied Eulalie indignantly, 
 while a hot flame swept from her cheeks up to 
 her hair. 
 
 "Well, I don't see why you should be so 
 touchy about it," replied the other ; " you are 
 betrothed now, and you can be as much in love 
 as you please, with Amedde, of course, you 
 wont have a right to fancy any one else until 
 after you are married." 
 
 " That is what 's the matter, uncle," said Eu- 
 lalie, thoughtfully. " I don't believe . I love 
 Amed6e enough ; and what if after we are mar- 
 ried I should find I did love some one else, and 
 that it'was all a mistake ? " 
 
 " Some one else ? Fichtre ! It isn't that black- 
 haired artist that you have been posing for, is it ? 
 Dieu merci! He left the village in the train the 
 other night ; he was late for the omnibus, and I 
 carried his valise to the depot. He looked as if 
 he were in love, for at first he forgot to pay me, and 
 then he gave me a five-franc piece, and did not 
 ask for any change ; but don't tell your aunt. I
 
 DOUBT. 28l 
 
 took it straight to the keeper of the Esperance, 
 and told him to give me a bock of beer every 
 night until it is used up. Well, he is gone, and 
 it is not likely that he will come back again, so 
 you need not trouble your head about him." 
 
 " I like Ame'dee a great deal better than M. 
 Orsovitch, uncle ; I could never feel at home 
 with him," and as she spoke the words, the con- 
 sciousness flashed through her mind that there 
 was some one with whom she did feel perfectly 
 at home, though she looked up to him as a superior 
 being, kindly, brotherly Monsieur Van. Was 
 the feeling then love which she had for him ? 
 
 " Fichtre f" said Pere Paquerette to himself, 
 " she can't make me believe that there is not 
 some one, if she is not contented with things as 
 they are." And then he added aloud, " Love 
 always makes trouble, and if you and the Mere 
 Ange"lique hold together, the two of you can 
 always manage Ame'dee, and there will be peace 
 in the house. You have not quarreled with the 
 Me"re Ange'lique, have you ? " 
 
 " I think I love her better than any one else in 
 the world." 
 
 " Then all is right Love between woman and 
 woman is a very good thing, so good that you 
 seldom find it out of heaven ; but between mar- 
 36
 
 282 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 ried people, it is quite another thing. Look at 
 Villa Adeline, yonder; there has been a -good 
 deal of love in it, but it always brought misery ; 
 and some married people but I never heard that 
 they loved each other. But, you know some- 
 thing of Villa Adeline yourself, for you used to 
 go there while I was gardener at Montreuil." 
 
 "That was when Madame la Baronne owned 
 the place. I don't believe she ever loved any 
 one or was ever very happy. She had an idea that 
 she wanted her conservatory filled with artificial 
 flowers. Reinette and I fitted it up for her. I 
 wish you could have seen it, uncle, for it was my 
 chef d' ceuvre ; but the Prussians destroyed it all, 
 and when M. Dupinceau bought the place of 
 Madame la Baronne, who ran away to England, 
 there was nothing left." 
 
 " Tell me about it, my dear," said the old man. 
 
 "Well, there was a great tank in the middle, 
 filled with water, with a fountain in the centre. 
 We put imitations of aquatic plants there, made 
 entirely of rubber ; water-lilies with long tube 
 stems, and the petals waxed so that you could 
 not tell them from real. I went to the Jardin 
 d' Acclamation and copied some of the tropical 
 plants ; some of them had huge bright-colored 
 leaves, that shivered on the surface of the water
 
 DOUBT. 283 
 
 as if our climate was too cold for them. I made 
 them do that, too. And Reinette was in her 
 element with the roses ; she made a perfect bower 
 of climbing ones at the end of the conservatory, 
 and some forty potted varieties. Then there were 
 boxes of Parma violets, mimosa, and other low, 
 small flowers, richly perfumed, and a great bank 
 of azaleas in vivid velvet. We worked six months, 
 and kept two foliage makers busy besides. It 
 was the best work we ever did, and we were well 
 paid for it, for Reinette became a favorite of 
 Madame la Baronne, who took her off to England 
 with her as companion." 
 
 Eulalie's interest in her art had overcome her 
 sadness, and she had talked long and enthusiasti- 
 cally with Pere Paquerette. This was just what 
 the little man had wanted, just what he had 
 planned, and so they kept each other's hearts up 
 in this dull waiting-time of uncertainty, so like 
 the fog that settles down about a vessel, making 
 long and monotonous the hours that may be fol 
 lowed by some sudden and terrible disaster, 01 
 the sultry calm that comes before the crash of 
 the thunderbolt. 
 
 Amedee felt these premonitions with less vague 
 ness than Eulalie. When he walked in the 
 village the town talk, which was hushed when her
 
 284 TOURBON LILIES. 
 
 innocent face passed by, burst out afresh, and 
 though he pretended not to hear, and strode on 
 apparently as unconscious and indifferent as 
 Mees, who sulkily followed her master wherever 
 he went, still he did hear and understand a great 
 deal too much. For awhile he buried himself in 
 the chateau, but his suspicious thoughts were 
 worse than the spoken insinuations of the street, 
 and one day he threw his velveteen jacket across 
 one shoulder and went down to see his mother. 
 He found her sooner than he expected. She had 
 been to the forest to gather fagots, and was 
 tottering down the avenue with a huge bundle of 
 them upon her shoulders. Ame'dee joined her, 
 and, with some commonplace greeting, walked 
 slowly along by her side. He did not offer to 
 carry the fagots for her. The lower classes in 
 France are not remarkably thoughtful or cour- 
 teous to women ; besides, suffering is terribly 
 selfish. What need was there to bear her burden 
 for her ? She was strong and well preserved, and 
 carried her bundle with head erect ; she was much 
 more able to bear her burden than he was to carry 
 his. 
 
 The Mere Angelique saw that something was 
 amiss, and wisely refrained from questioning; 
 she knew that the way to her son's heart was
 
 DOUBT. 285 
 
 through his stomach, and soon after reaching 
 the gate lodge of Villa Adeline, she set before 
 him a nourishing soup, fresh from the fire, some 
 slices of sausage, bread, an early salad from the 
 garden, some little sweet cakes, and anisette in a 
 glass so clear and tiny that it might have been a 
 great crystalized tear. Thus cheered, Amedee 
 looked up more manfully. Charlotte was making 
 a little garland of some bits of artificial flowers 
 which Eulalie had given her, and, in direct imita- 
 tion of her, was hanging it around a rude Renais- 
 sance picture of the Virgin over the mantelpiece. 
 As she worked she sang, as she had heard 
 Eulalie, 
 
 " Dame enclose entre fleurs-de-lis, 
 Reine etes vous de Paradis, 
 De France, et de tout le pays." 
 
 " Who taught you that song ? " asked Ame'dee ; 
 " it is quite pretty, and more proper for you to 
 sing than those ballads which you are so fond of." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't sing ballads any more. I 
 have made my first communion, and I am pious, 
 like Eulalie ; it was she who taught it to me." 
 
 The Mere Angelique had purposely avoided 
 mentioning Eulalie' s name, in the hope that 
 Amed6e would himself broach the subject She 
 looked at him now ; he did not seem inclined to 
 speak, but sat gloomily regarding his sabots.
 
 286 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 "This will not do," she thought, and she 
 added aloud, "Thou wilt never be like Eulalie, 
 Charlotte ; thou art a little hypocrite, while she 
 is true to the core, a little too religious, but a 
 good girl, in spite of her religion. She never told 
 but one lie in her life, and that was for me." 
 
 "What was it, mother?" asked Amedee, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 " It was at the end of the siege, when we were 
 all shut up in Paris, and thou wast away with the 
 army.. I was so sick of the food they gave us 
 that I could scarcely eat ; how I did long for a 
 little salad like that, or some fresh radishes, or 
 cabbage, or spinach. Finally came the capitu- 
 lation, and Eulalie said to me, ' There now, I 
 wager you a new cap that I will bring something 
 good before night to the Mere Angelique.' So 
 she and one of the other shop girls set out 
 together, but when they reached the barrier, there 
 was a Prussian officer, who would not let them 
 pass. They begged and entreated, but the man 
 would not hear to them ; he was civil enough, 
 too : ' I am sorry to refuse, madame,' he said, 
 'but my orders are to let no one go out without 
 a passport.' ' You '11 see I '11 succeed,' says 
 Eulalie in a whisper to the girl who was with her, 
 and with that she pulls out her handkerchief and
 
 DOUBT. 287 
 
 begins to cry. ' O, sir,' says she, ' my only child 
 and I were separated at the beginning of the 
 siege ; the little thing was left sick in the coun- 
 try, and I have not seen it since.' You see, she 
 saw that he took her for a married woman, and 
 that he was stupid and kind-hearted enough to 
 be imposed upon. And she was quite right 
 the man is not living that could resist Eulalie. 
 ' You may pass,' said he ; and the girls went as 
 far as St. Denis, and here Eulalie bought twenty 
 cabbages, which were all the vegetables they could 
 find. They met the Baroness de Viliers driving 
 back to Paris, with the floor of her coach covered 
 with potatoes, and some of them lying on her fine 
 dress. Everybody who could get out was in the 
 country, buying vegetables. When they reached 
 the barrier, ' Was the baby well ? ' asked the 
 officer ; and then, as he was off duty, he offered, 
 by way of making sport of her cabbages, to carry 
 her little package for her. But the girls took him 
 at his word, and came laughing home, with a tall, 
 yellow-whiskered Prussian carrying the cabbages. 
 But Eulalie's conscience troubled her, and on the 
 way home she told him her trick, and he did not 
 seem at all angry, but came in and talked with 
 me a long while, and asked leave to come again, 
 but Eulalie would not allow that. Ah ! the dear
 
 288 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 child could not forgive herself easily for that decep 
 tion ; she burnt I don't know how many candles in 
 penitence, and would not touch a morsel of the 
 cabbage, though I cooked them nicely every 
 morning with little sausages." 
 
 So Eulalie had lied ; and what a coquette she 
 was, to be sure, to be flirting with Prussian officers 
 when he was shedding his blood at their hands. 
 Mere Angelique's story had had an exactly oppo- 
 site effect to the one intended ; all his gloomiest 
 thoughts were roused again. He could not men- 
 tion his trouble to his mother after this new 
 confirmation of Eulalie's lightness, and he carried 
 his sore heart back with him to the chateau.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE MINE EXPLODES. 
 
 It has answered to the purpose, easy things to understand, 
 Better thou wert dead before me, though I slew thee with my 
 hand I 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 /^RSOVITCH had returned from his short 
 ^~ > ^ journey, and the two friends met again in 
 the old studio. It was Van's turn now to be 
 excited and indignant. After meeting Fanny 
 Fitz Flirt he had strolled into the village. An 
 inexplicable attraction drew him to Eulalie's little 
 shop ; his calling could not be of any advantage 
 to her at this time, and yet the reason that he 
 gave himself for going was that he might be of 
 some use to her. He was now giving an account 
 of this visit to Orsovitch. 
 
 "It is much worse than we feared," he said with 
 feeling, " the worst that could happen ; La Gazette 
 tracked her here, found my note, and now the 
 whole village knows it, with any amount of addi- 
 tion. Her aunt's manner when she met me was 
 37 (289)
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 not such as to reassure any lookers-on, and there 
 were plenty of them. I thought she would pull 
 the house down about my ears ; such a torrent oi 
 abusive lauguage I never heard in- my life. I tell 
 you what, Orsovitch, she was sublime ! For the 
 moment the artist in me triumphed over the man, 
 and I wanted to sit right down and paint her, 
 with a red flag in one hand, and a paving-stone 
 or petroleum can in the other, and call the picture 
 Vive la Commune ! I tried to calm her. ' But, 
 my dear madame,' said I, ' your niece is as inno- 
 cent as a flower.' I thought she would tear my 
 eyes out. ' Who knows it ? ' she shrieked. Eulalie 
 came forward, composed and quiet, not a bit of 
 that frightened look in her eyes. ' I know it, 
 aunt,' she said, ' and God knows it.' ' But 
 Amedee,' began her aunt. ' Amedee will never 
 believe anything wrong of me never.' You 
 should have seen her then, Orsovitch ; from the 
 way in which she said that, our little Eulalie 
 might have been a princess of the blood. She 
 had drawn her aunt's attention from me, and I 
 left the shop pretty quickly, I assure you." 
 
 Orsovitch listened to his friend's recital without 
 remark. He seemed changed and strange to Van 
 not at all the same man whom he had left, and he 
 had indeed passed through another crisis since
 
 THE MINE EXPLODES. 29! 
 
 the one in which his old ideas of rank and honor 
 had made him decide to give up Eulalie. The 
 watch had awakened hopes that marriage might 
 be possible, and on his way to Brussels with Mr. 
 Goth, new evidences came to his mind : Eulalie's 
 resemblance to Papa Robusti's portrait of Char- 
 lotte de Montmorenci, and to the window in the 
 church ; her thoroughly lady-like bearing and 
 instincts, so different from the peasantry and 
 bourgeoisie amongst whom she lived. He was 
 thankful now that he had said what he had, and no 
 more ; he had not yet compromised himself by an 
 offer of marriage, nor had he insulted her by any 
 intimation that less than marriage was in his 
 thoughts. At Brussels a heavy disappointment 
 awaited him. Mr. Goth found his patron a busier 
 worker than himself ; he consulted all the authori- 
 ties, he unearthed old records ; he made heraldry a 
 particular study, and he was soon better informed 
 upon the subject than Mr. Goth. It was impos- 
 sible to deceive him, the coat of arms was unmis- 
 takably spurious ; there never had been any 
 marriage between the De Bucqs and the Mont- 
 morencis, and Eulalie's parentage was as much 
 in the dark as ever. In his disappointment, a 
 feeling of resentment and indignation was the 
 ^first that manifested itself. Somebody had im- 
 
 '%,
 
 292 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 posed upon him. Mr. Goth was ready for such 
 an emergency ; when he saw that Orsovitch had 
 informed himself as to the facts of the case, he 
 frankly (?) acknowledged that he, too, had been 
 deceived; the owner of the watch must have 
 forged the escutcheon engraved upon it ; he vowed 
 that all he had done to it was to clean away 
 grease and dirt, artfully rubbed into the chasing 
 to obscure the device, and give it an appearance 
 of antiquity. Orsovitch discharged Mr. Goth 
 without questioning his explanation of the case, 
 and returned to Ecouen, and to a like miasma of 
 doubt to that which was clouding Amedee's poor 
 brain. And so he had been duped by an appear- 
 ance of simplicity ; the girl had played her cards 
 well, and had almost succeeded ; thank Heaven, 
 he understood her designing plans before it was 
 too late. He was glad all this had happened 
 while Van was away, and that his friend did not 
 know how completely he had been played upon. 
 While Van was speaking, the postman called 
 and left a letter for Orsovitch. " What is it ? " 
 asked Van ; " I trust not another invitation to a 
 shooting party, unless it should happen to be a 
 challenge to a duel. I could make one at such 
 an exercise with fire-arms with relish, especially 
 if that wretch of an Amede'e were my vis-ct-vis.
 
 THE MINE EXPLODES. 293 
 
 The idea of any one doubting such a divine 
 creature as Eulalie ! " 
 
 " Restrain your angry passions," said Orso- 
 vitch coolly ; " it is from Goupil. He is coming 
 out on Thursday with the amateur I told you of. 
 I '11 sell him my Leda at any price ; at least I 
 shall have the consolation of a little money from 
 this disagreeable business, though I would give 
 double what it will bring me if we had never 
 embarked in it." 
 
 All the following day Orsovitch worked dili- 
 gently on his picture ; the next he exhibited it to 
 the Russian amateur, and to Mr. Goupil. It was 
 set off by a handsome frame, the light was favor- 
 able, and both gentlemen were struck with the 
 painting. The Russian, an old gentleman, exam- 
 ined it critically with his eye-glass, then drew 
 the picture-dealer aside, and asked, " How much 
 shall I give?" 
 
 " Ten thousand francs," replied the other. '* It 
 is a gem ; it would be received at the Salon, and 
 be worth twice as much afterward. If you did 
 not care to keep the picture, it would still be a 
 good money investment ; you are sure to double 
 on this sum, if he will accept it. You have the 
 refusal of the picture, and if you do not take it, I 
 will. As for him, his reputation is made."
 
 294 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Van heard the conversation distinctly. He 
 was surprised at the dealer's unwonted enthusi- 
 asm, but had no chance to communicate with 
 Orsovitch, who was standing haughtily a little 
 apart, for the elderly gentleman now asked him 
 his price, to which Orsovitch replied that he 
 would rather the amateur would name one. 
 
 " I wilt give you five thousand francs," said the 
 wary customer. 
 
 " I accept your offer," replied Orsovitch unhesi- 
 tatingly. And the amateur, evidently elated, 
 counted out the money in crisp bank notes. He 
 would have given three times as much if Orso- 
 vitch had demanded it ; but it was not his nature 
 to bargain, nor was the sum paid an object to 
 him, other than marking a stage in his art prog 
 ress. The receipt was signed, and, promising to 
 box the picture and express it to Paris the next 
 day, Orsovitch accompanied the gentlemen to the 
 omnibus. One of the village tradesmen arrived 
 at almost the same moment with his account to 
 be settled. As this involved a comparison of 
 books, Van showed him into his own room where 
 they remained closeted together for five or six 
 minutes. Having shown him out, and returned 
 to the studio, Van was astounded to see standing 
 before the easel, with his eyes riveted upon the
 
 THE MINE EXPLODES. 295 
 
 Leda, which Orsovitch had neglected to replace 
 in the cabinet, the gamekeeper, while Mees sat 
 composedly on the model stand. 
 
 Amedee turned suddenly as Van entered. " So 
 it fs true," he said, " Eulalie did pose, and posed 
 like that. I would not believe La Gazette when 
 she told me that she entered secretly every day 
 with a private key, no, not when she brought 
 me the written proof, and told me that your friend 
 had bought a cloak in Paris, saying when he 
 bought it that it was for his mistress. I would 
 not believe any wrong of her when she laid aside 
 the embroidered thing to dance with me at the 
 fele. And when, after the dance, I brought it to 
 her, and wrapped it about her shoulders, lest she 
 should take cold, asking her playfully how she 
 came by anything so fine, I would not see the 
 truth when she replied that she had earned it, 
 but should not tell me how till we were married. 
 I would not believe the town talk. God knows I 
 came here this afternoon not to convince myself, 
 but to carry away your friend's word with which 
 to give the lie to La Gazette's story, to prove to 
 the village Eulalie's innocence, even as I believed 
 in it myself. I do not need any one's word, I 
 have the truth at last here." And touching the 
 spring in the handle of his dog-whip, he dashed 
 the stiletto through the picture again and again.
 
 296 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 At that instant Orsovitch entered the room. 
 He strode toward the young man, and seized him 
 by the throat. The guard turned slightly, and 
 closed with him. Mees made a spring to aid her 
 master, but Van caught her by the collar, tripped 
 and wrestled with her upon the floor. Orsovitch 
 and Amede were both powerful men, and Van 
 trembled for the result, but he was unable to 
 interfere, being completely occupied with the 
 dog. Orsovitch was the stronger, and succeeded, 
 little by little, in edging his antagonist to the 
 door and out upon a frail balcony which ran in 
 front of it ; then, with one final wrench, he freed 
 himself and staggered back into the studio ; but 
 the effort had thrown Ame'de'e violently against 
 the slender railing, which gave way with his 
 weight, and fell crashing with him to the ground. 
 Letting go of Mees, who, with one bound, fol- 
 lowed her master, Van looked over the balcony, 
 thinking that Ame"d6e must be killed. But no ; 
 he rose painfully, and, with his hand to his head, 
 walked slowly away. 
 
 Orsovitch burned the mutilated picture, and 
 wrote to his purchaser, returning the money, 
 saying that an accident had happened to the 
 painting. He resolutely refused two extremely 
 advantageous offers to reproduce it, and only
 
 THE MINE EXPLODES. 2Q7 
 
 waited to hear that Amedee had sustained no 
 serious injury from his fall, to pack up his effects 
 and go back to Russia. Ecouen had become in- 
 supportable to him, and he told Van that he 
 never should return. 
 
 It was with deep regret that Van saw him go, 
 for he had become much attached to him, and 
 a parting at any time would have been hard 
 enough, while there was something in the present 
 circumstances which threw a peculiar gloom over 
 their leave-taking. 
 
 "Will you give this little box to Eulalie?" 
 said Orsovitch, handing Van the watch ; " and 
 write me when they are married. I hope I have 
 not been the cause of breaking their engage- 
 ment. I have done my best to explain the 
 picture in this note, which you may take to that 
 hot-headed young fool, if you think it will do 
 any good." And with a clasp of the hand that 
 nearly put Van's wrist out of joint, Orsovitch 
 was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 
 
 Oh I why to those who know them not 
 
 Should costly things be given ? 
 How much is wasted, wrecked, forgot, 
 
 On this side heaven. 
 
 JEAN INGELOW. 
 
 \ 7" AN had only obtained a glimpse of what 
 Eulalie suffered from her aunt. It seemed 
 as if Madame Delacroix had entirely forgotten 
 that it was through her entreaties that Eulalie 
 had first consented to pose, and the girl's great 
 repugnance to doing so at the time. She saw 
 only that Eulalie had brought disgrace upon 
 herself and her family, and she reproached her 
 bitterly for it. Eulalie had not pursued her new 
 profession as a model long enough to furnish 
 what was lackin-g in the sum required by Adolph's 
 substitute, but advanced it, as she had agreed to 
 do, by selling off the greater part of her little 
 stock in trade at a great sacrifice, and gaiu.ing 
 Adolph's ill-will in consequence. Her aunt was 
 
 (298)
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 2Q9 
 
 no more kindly disposed on this account. Eulalie 
 was ruined financially, as well as in reputation. 
 One loss might have been borne, but both to- 
 gether, it was insupportab . On the day follow- 
 ing the scene at the studio her reproaches had 
 become so bitter that Eulalie felt flesh and heart 
 fail her, it did not seem as if she could bear 
 them any longer." 
 
 " You see very well," her aunt had said, " that 
 Amedee does believe the scandal. It was started 
 the night of the fete, and we have not seen him 
 since." 
 
 "Perhaps he has not been to Ecouen since, 
 aunt, and has not heard of it." 
 
 " Yes he has, several times," remarked Adolph 
 "I saw him yesterday evening, and he looked 
 drunk ; first time I ever saw Old Gunpowder on a 
 spree, but he hadn't any hat, and was talking to 
 himself as he walked." 
 
 Eulalie turned very white. "I think I will 
 write him a little note," said she, " and ask him 
 to come here and explain everything. I wish I 
 had told him the day I was at the chateau ; it 
 was the only right way. Will you carry it over 
 to Amedee for me, Adolph ? 
 
 " No indeed, I won't," replied that obliging 
 young man. " I don't want to ^o near him as
 
 300 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 long as he has his crazy fit on, and a note from 
 you wouldn't be apt to soothe him much, I 'm 
 thinking, especially if you are such a fool as to tell 
 him it 's all true." 
 
 " Adolph is right," said his mother, " acknowl- 
 edging a part is acknowledging the whole ; all 
 we have to do now is to deny the story straight 
 through." 
 
 " That's what you get for keeping me here," 
 added Adolph, sulkily ; " why couldn't you have 
 let me go to Africa instead of raising money by 
 underhand means, and getting into all this mess ? " 
 
 " You all talk as if Eulalie had disgraced the 
 family," spoke up Pere Paquerette ; " I can't see 
 that she has done anything to be ashamed of, 
 and even if she had, you ought to hold by her all 
 the same. Write your letter, my pretty pet, and 
 I will take it over to the young man for you. I 
 am not so quick at walking as my father was at 
 my age ; you see, Napoleon's soldiers were used to 
 long marches, and posing all day long makes me 
 used to standing still. But I Ve poached enough 
 in the forest to know the short cuts, so here's 
 your old carrier-pigeon all ready." 
 
 When the note was written Pere Paquerette 
 pinned it into the crown of his hat, took his stick, 
 and set out upon his mission. He had scarcely
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 3 O1 
 
 reached the end of the street, when he met 
 Amede'e himself coming toward him. The old 
 man halted suddenly, brought his stick up to his 
 shoulder with a sharp "Attention, company!" 
 then placing his ringer beside his nose, and 
 winking solemnly in token of secrecy, he shaded 
 his eyes with his hand, gazed intently up the 
 street, and then turned upon his heel and repeated 
 the same manoeuvre in the opposite direction. 
 This done he proceeded to investigate a court- 
 yard to the right, and an alley-way to the left, 
 and becoming convinced that there was no one 
 looking on, approached Amedee (who was re- 
 garding him all the while with astonishment), 
 and, having first taken off his hat and removed 
 the pin, which he carefully replaced, with one 
 more cautious look about him, he thrust Eulalie's 
 letter with a quick movement into the inner 
 pocket of the young man's shooting jacket. 
 Then with another expressive wink, Pere Paque- 
 rette ambled briskly away, congratulating himself 
 that he had performed his errand in the most 
 strategic manner possible. Unfortunately for 
 him, when making his reconnaissance, he had 
 forgotten to look up, and from an upper window 
 La Gazette had been a spectator of the scene. 
 She now slipped, in a cat-like way, down hex
 
 302 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 stair-case, and darted nimbly around the corner ; 
 and into the alley-way after Pere Paquerette. 
 The old gentleman was stepping gingerly along, 
 flourishing his stick in a somewhat youthful man- 
 ner, for his late performance* had awakened all 
 that there was of the romantic in his nature, and 
 had probably also revived old souvenirs of Jose- 
 phine Hautcceur, for Amedee, who looked after 
 him moodily, could almost fancy from his step 
 that he was humming some ancient dancing 
 measure. Opening Eulalie's note, but with his 
 eyes still fixed upon Pere Paquerette, he was 
 startled into something like a consciousness 
 of the present, by seeing La Gazette stoop, 
 remove her sabot, and deal the unsuspecting old 
 man a powerful blow on the back of the head. 
 Pere Paquerette struck out wildly, but did not 
 fall, and, turning, faced his antagonist with all 
 the prowess of a decrepid but not cowardly lion. 
 Fearing for the old model, Amedee darted to- 
 ward the field of battle ; but tearing La Gazette 
 away was no easy matter, and he was obliged to 
 hold her about the waist with a tighter embrace 
 than he had certainly ever expected to give her, 
 while Pere Paquerette, instead of profiting by 
 the instant in which she was held prisoner,-to 
 beat a retreat, stood rubbing his head, and re
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 33 
 
 peating a vocabulary of favorite oaths, Amed^e 
 maintained a firm grasp until La Gazette relaxed 
 her struggles, when he said something to her in 
 a low voice, which caused her to slip from his 
 arms, and disappear from the scene of action as 
 suddenly as she had come, dealing vigorous blows 
 with her sabot, from left to right, upon the heads 
 of the gamins who had started up like magic at 
 the beginning of the hostilities. Amed6e turned 
 to Pere Paquerette, and asked him what this 
 meant. 
 
 " Fichtre," said the old man, nodding gayly, 
 "we were only having a little explanation." 
 
 Amed6e looked at him sharply. " I think I 
 had better see you home," he said, and drawing 
 Pere Paquerette's arm through his own, he led 
 him toward home. 
 
 All unconscious of the duel going on in her 
 behalf, Eulalie sat in her little shop, trying not 
 to listen to the blame which her aunt still heaped 
 upon her. She laid her head wearily on the show 
 case before her, and fought back the tears. The 
 little bell attached to the door gave a sharp tinkle, 
 and she rose to meet her customer ; it was only 
 her uncle, who came in with his clothes dis- 
 ordered and covered with dust, his face scratched 
 and bleeding, and could it be, that that man 
 with the care-worn, old face was Amede'e !
 
 304 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 All the experience of a lifetime may be com 
 pressed into a very few hours, and when it so 
 happens, the aged face shows it as markedly as 
 though years had been taken to do the work. 
 Since the discovery of the Leda, on the day 
 before, Amede'e had suffered and lived much. 
 He had fought fierce battles with himself in that 
 lonely chateau, and he had come from them a 
 defeated, broken man. He did not appear to 
 notice Eulalie at all, but passed her without 
 salutation, and pausing at her aunt's work-table 
 said, " I found Fere Paquerette in difficulty, and 
 have brought him home." Then laying a letter 
 upon the table, he added, "Will you be good 
 enough to give this to your niece ? I think it will 
 explain everything." Then he turned and was 
 about to leave the shop with no further word, 
 when Eulalie sprang from her seat with flashing 
 eyes, and closing the door placed herself against 
 it, with her hand upon the lock, saying as she 
 did so, '"No, written words only mystify every- 
 thing ; here we are face to face, and, before we 
 part, let us understand one another. Aunt, will 
 you take uncle away, and do up his face for 
 him ? I think Ame"dee and I can come to the 
 truth better alone." 
 
 "For God's sake, no," said Ame'de'e; "I had
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 3S 
 
 hoped never to speak to you again, but if that 
 must be, let there be others to witness between 
 us." And he sat down at a little distance, not 
 having once looked her in the face, and with his 
 eyes now moodily fixed upon the floor. 
 
 There was a pause, and then Eulalie asked, 
 "You have read my note, Ame'de'e ?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied bitterly, " but your confession 
 was rather late, coming as it did after I knew all, 
 especially when you sent your aunt to me yes- 
 terday, before I called on Mr. Orsovitch, to deny 
 everything." 
 
 "Aunt, did you do this?" cried Eulalie, anc 
 her voice as she spoke had the sharp ring of paii . 
 in it, of one suddenly wounded. 
 
 " You need not blame me if I did," said her 
 aunt, and then quoting the words which she 
 herself had used that morning, as if they had 
 been Eulalie's, and she really thought they were, 
 she added, " I am sure I only did as you decided 
 we ought to, for you said that acknowledging a 
 part was acknowledging the whole, and it was 
 best to deny it up and down, from beginning to 
 end." 
 
 " It would have made little difference if you 
 had spared yourself the trouble of denying it," 
 said Ame"dee; "I don't blame you for lying, I am 
 39
 
 306 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 sure I only wish that it was possible for you to 
 deceive me." 
 
 "You do not mean that you believe what 
 Sidonie and La Gazette say about me," said 
 Eulalie ; " I have broken my promise to you, 
 made at the beginning of our engagement, and 
 have posed for an artist. You have reason enough 
 in that for breaking the engagement, if it has 
 become hateful to you. You are free, Amdee, 
 free. But you can not look at me and say, even 
 though it may be their scandal which has driven 
 you to this act, you can not look me in the 
 face and say that you believe it." 
 
 Amed6e groaned. " No, Eulalie," he said, " I 
 can not, it takes away my senses to look at you. 
 But though I can not say it to you,. I must believe 
 it, for I have seen the picture. Sidonie is bad 
 enough too, but I do not believe she would speak 
 harm of you, if it were not true. If she were the 
 promised wife of any man she would keep her 
 faith with him with the unconquerable resoluticn 
 of a woman who knows by bitter experience the 
 difference between right and wrong. Such sin 
 as hers might be forgiven, but yours has come 
 after your promise to me ; there is nothing to give 
 me any hope that there w>uld be any changf 
 after our marriage."
 
 FUTILE EXPLANATIONS. 37 
 
 The blue veins on Eulalie's forehead swelled 
 painfully ; she let go her hold of the latch, the 
 door swung open, and she stood back quietly to 
 let him pass out. 
 
 " Monster ! " shrieked her aunt, seizing Ame- 
 deVs shoulders in her powerful hands, and forcing 
 him down again upon the chair ; " Eulalie -has 
 finished, and now I will speak. Do you suppose 
 we are going to let you break your promises in 
 this way, and sit with folded hands while you 
 marry that baggage ? I tell you that unless you 
 marry my niece, I will strangle you. Do you 
 hear, viper ? I will str-r-r-r-angle you." And the 
 sinewy ringers were clutched before his face in 
 most expressive pantomime. 
 
 " Fichtre! Now, if it had only been she who 
 had met La Gazette instead of me," said Pere 
 Paquerette, admiringly, " wouldn't she have turned 
 the tables though ! " 
 
 " I am not going to marry Sidonie," replied 
 Amede"e, "and you may strangle me in welcome ; 
 if you do not, I shall do it myself. I feel as if I 
 were dead already, and dead men never feel their 
 losses, not even the loss of life." He put her 
 from him as though she were a child, and strode 
 away. 
 
 Then all the air turned laint and suffocating to .
 
 308 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Eulalie, and she felt that she must get away 
 somewhere by herself, away from every one, or 
 she would die. Her aunt handed her Amedee's 
 letter as she left the door, and more from dumb 
 habit than from any definite purpose, she walked 
 over to the church, kneeling before Our Lady of 
 Seven Sorrows to read it The letter was even 
 worse than Amddee's words had been, for in her 
 presence he could not help displaying, in the 
 tones of his voice, flashes of his old tenderness. 
 How harsh and stern it seemed as she read alone 
 in the solitary church : 
 
 EULALIE : The task which I have set myself is the 
 hardest of my life. I never thought that I should be 
 the first to break the engagement between us. And 
 it is not I who have done it; your own conscience 
 must tell you that you have done it yourself. I only 
 write to say that I know all, and that I have destroyed 
 the painting. I would have destroyed the artist, too, 
 were it not that that might be interfering with your 
 plans, and you have craft enough to manage your 
 own affairs better than another could for you. 
 
 And now there is nothing left but to say good-by. 
 Eulalie, you have broken my heart. May God forgive 
 you, may He forgive us both. 
 
 AMEDEE.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 CONSOLATION. 
 As one whom his mother comforteth. ISAIAH Ixvi. 13. 
 
 "\T THAT did it all mean ? There was some 
 terrible mystery which she could not 
 fathom. The explanation had left each more in 
 the dark than before ; she felt that it had been 
 useless, and was sorry now that she had forced 
 Amedee to speak. She turned to the letter, and 
 read it through again slowly, studying each word, 
 and praying for light to understand it. It must 
 be all La Gazette's story, for she felt that she had 
 done nothing to deserve this. Then, in the midst 
 of her own trouble, came a swift fear for Am6d6e 
 which swallowed up all the rest. What did his 
 parting words, and this last sentence of the letter 
 mean ? Could he intend to take his own life ? 
 " O, Mother of Sorrows, pray for me ! " she 
 moaned in agony ; but the stony gaze of the 
 painted Mater Dolorosa did not change, and in- 
 
 (309)
 
 310 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 stinctively her hand sought her pocket, and a 
 little, well-thumbed book, that had been given her 
 long ago at school by the sweet Soeur Celeste, 
 and which had often brought her consolation in 
 time past. It was the Imitation of Christ, by 
 Thomas-a-Kempis ; but her grief was too poignant 
 and frantic, now, for the sweet thoughts that lay 
 like so many pressed flowers within its pages, to 
 give her peace. She read mechanically. 
 
 " There is none in this world, even though he 
 be king or bishop, without some tribulation or 
 perplexity." 
 
 What of that ? she thought. It did not make 
 her own burden any lighter to know that others 
 had theirs. 
 
 " If thou canst be silent and suffer, without 
 doubt thou shalt see that the Lord will help thee. 
 And whom God will help, no malice of man shall 
 be able to hurt." 
 
 But she could not be silent, and God seemed to 
 have forgotten her. She could not be patient 
 now, and the words, " Indeed if there had been 
 any better thing and more profitable to man's 
 salvation than suffering, surely Christ would have 
 showed it by word and example," only roused 
 within her a fierce feeling of rebellion and injus- 
 tice. Then the thought came that it was here in
 
 CONSOLATION. 3 11 
 
 this church that she had received the sign that 
 induced her to pose ; the heavens seemed brass, 
 and she felt an irresistible longing for human 
 sympathy, for some one not cold, irresponsive, 
 unheeding, to whom she might pour out the whole 
 story. " I will go to the Mere Angelique," she 
 thought ; " Am6d6e is perhaps there now ; so 
 much the better, we will make her judge be- 
 tween us." 
 
 Through the poplar trees, with their nests of 
 mistletoe, that outlined themselves like feathery 
 palms against the sky, she saw the spire of a 
 church aslant with age. It was as though it had 
 grown weary of pointing its palsied finger to 
 heaven these many years, before the eyes of a 
 people all regardless of the sign. Action for a 
 purpose had brought with it hope, and Eulalie 
 caught a new meaning from the leaning spire. 
 " God still reigns overhead," she thought, " but 
 the church does not point to Him, and that is 
 perhaps the reason why I have gone wrong, and 
 have not found Him. I ought not to have sought 
 direction from the church, when I knew that the 
 straight way was the right one. I will not 
 distrust God ; it is I who have brought all this 
 trouble upon myself; it is not His fault." 
 
 No one looked out from the gate lodge as she
 
 3 12 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 rang the bell ; there was no one within but Mere 
 Angelique's pet raven, hopping solemnly about, 
 with its head askew, and Robespierre, the fierce 
 white cat, who lay sunning himself among the 
 geraniums on the window-sill. The doors were 
 opeji : perhaps Mere Angelique was in the garden, 
 and Eulalie passed M. Dupinceau's grand house, 
 and found herself among beds of brilliant bloom. 
 Garden tools were strewn on the ground near the 
 conservatory, and a watering pot running over 
 under the little stream, , which dripped and 
 plashed over the rockery, told that some one was 
 near at hand. She opened the door of the poultry 
 yard, and found Charlotte and Mimi feeding the 
 doves and pouter pigeons. This was generally 
 Mere Angelique's employment, for she was fond 
 of pets, and managed to have some odd one 
 always about her. The white rabbits, with eyes 
 like ruby currants, were her favorites, and Eulalie 
 caressed them, while Charlotte told her that the 
 Mere Angelique had gone to do their washing at 
 the Bime. The Bime was a pond in the forest 
 not far from the village, where the peasant women 
 generally beat out their washing on the stones. 
 Through the forest Eulalie threaded her way, glad 
 of the walk, to calm and clear her mind. The 
 wood was not dense, for every year one seventh
 
 CONSOLATION. 313 
 
 of it was cut, on the principle that it takes st- ven 
 years for a tree to attain its giowth. In these 
 open aisles God seemed nearer than in the church, 
 and if it had not been for the haunting fear that 
 Ame'dee might do something desperate, she tould 
 have accepted the explanation of suffering of 
 meek a-Kempis, and been quite at rest ; a trouble, 
 the full bitterness of which is tasted, is so much 
 easier to bear than a fear that outlines itself 
 vaguely in the future. Even now, troubled as 
 she was, habit made her notice the blackberry 
 vines, and think what a beautiful trimming they 
 would make for a ball dress. She counted the 
 leaves in each cluster, and noted their tinting as 
 carefully as though she intended copying them. 
 Nature was as beautiful and calm as ever, and she 
 could scarcely believe that there had ever been, 
 or could be, misery in the world. There was a 
 hope at her heart, too, for she was going to the 
 Mere Angdlique. 
 
 As Eulalie approached the Bime, she saw her 
 kneeling at its side, with her washing piled 
 around her, and was struck as an artist would 
 have been by the bouquet of color which it made. 
 At that distance the red flannel, faded blue 
 blouses, and purple petticoats were transformed 
 into crimson roses, tender blue forget-me-nots, 
 40
 
 3 14 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 and royal passion flowers, from the centre of 
 which Mere Angelique's dazzling caps rose like 
 a great snowy camellia. She had finished her 
 work, and seating herself on a little bank she 
 held Eulalie upon her knees as though she had 
 been a child, and listened to her pitiful story. 
 
 " I have been expecting thee every day since 
 the fete," she said, " for I too have heard rumors 
 of this, and I knew that my girl would come to 
 me with it. Ame"dee should have told me as 
 thou hast done, but though I gave him every 
 opportunity, he was as silent as an oyster ; he 
 knew well that I would take thy part. Now 
 show me the letter and let me see what my crazy 
 boy has written. Tiens ! " said she, after reading 
 it through, "this sounds serious. It could not 
 have been La Gazette's story alone, which 
 prompted this. All that she had to tell with any 
 proof was that you had posed, and as for the 
 rest, a child could see that it was made up by 
 her own envy. I have myself posed for one of 
 the young men at the studio, and he did not have 
 by any means a naughty air. Tell me, my child, 
 just how you posed, what you were doing, and 
 how you were dressed. Sometimes the artists 
 have costumes which they wish their models to 
 wear, which are not at all proper for young girls.
 
 CONSOLATION. 3 1 5 
 
 M. Dupinceau painted a blue velvet dress the 
 other day, that was so low in the neck that he 
 could not get a girl in the village to wear it, and 
 he had to put it on his wooden woman with the 
 hinges in her arms and knees. Why, it was 
 quite indecent ! Positively, it was fit only for a 
 duchess to wear, or for some other great lady. 
 And then, sometimes they paint courting pic 
 tures. There was red-headed Blanche, that had 
 to pose as if she were kissing her lover through 
 the bars of our gate ; there the girl stood pouting 
 out her lips for hours at a time ; M. Dupinceau 
 bothered more over that picture, than with any 
 that he made that year ; the girl never would give 
 him the right expression. ' Send down to the 
 Pomme d' Or, for Henri the hostler/ said I, 'to 
 stand on the other side of the gate, and the 
 expression will come quickly enough.' You were 
 not doing anything of that kind, were you, Eu- 
 lalie ? Am6dee would not like it, if he saw a 
 picture of you kissing some one else ; especially, 
 if M. Orsovitch had painted in his friend with 
 you, he might have thought that you posed thai 
 way all day long." 
 
 The color mounted to Eulalie's temples. " I 
 don't know what M. Orsovitch painted," said 
 she, " but I wore the dress I have on, and I sat 
 in a chair all the time making my flowers."
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 "Then Am6de must have seen some other 
 picture, that is certain. He will be arrested if 
 he does not have a care ; there is a law against 
 walking into people's houses and destroying 
 furniture, as though we were in the midst of the 
 commune. Though I don 't really know whether 
 pictures are furniture, and perhaps they could 
 not arrest him, unless he broke something which 
 was of some use. I am more afraid of his doing 
 himself some harm, than of other people hurting 
 him. All this comes from idleness ; if he worked 
 hard all day, he would not have time for jealous 
 fancies. But there he is in that gloomy old 
 chateau with nothing to do but to imagine trage- 
 dies. I tell, you Eulalie, that next to the priests, 
 the greatest enemy to religion is idleness. There 
 is nothing like work, Eulalie. I should have died 
 long ago, if it had not been for it ; but when 
 Death came and knocked at my door, saying, 
 ' Mere Angelique, I shall call for you soon, you are 
 sick now, send for the doctor.' I have always 
 replied, 'You mistake, Sir Death, I never have 
 time to be sick, and there is too much for me to 
 do in order to keep alive, to give me time to 
 think of dying.' And so Death, seeing that I did 
 not think it worth my while to trouble myself 
 about him, has thought it best, I suppose, to
 
 CONSOLATION. 3 1 / 
 
 slight me in the same way. Ah, there is nothing 
 like work, little Eulalie ; it will keep you from 
 being wicked, it will keep you from being sick, 
 it will keep you from being unhappy. If your 
 head aches so that you cannot think, don't think. 
 Thinking is poor business, and little good ever 
 came from it. Work ! do your own duty well, 
 and as much of other people's as you can, and 
 you won't have time to be miserable." 
 
 " I am willing to do," said Eulalie, submissively, 
 " if I only knew what it was my duty to do. Don't 
 think, Mere Angelique, that I have told you all 
 this simply to complain. Tell me what I ought 
 to do now, for it is all dark to me." 
 
 " No ; I know you don't mean to complain," 
 said the old lady, "and as far as I can see you 
 have done your duty, and if you are still troubled 
 in mind, try to do some of Amedee's for him. I 
 do not believe he has even asked what you did at 
 the studio ; if you could get the artists themselves 
 to call on him and explain matters, it might do 
 some good." 
 
 " Nothing but explanations ! " exclaimed Eu- 
 lalie, with a gesture of despair. " They are such 
 terrible things, and the truth is so hard to find, 
 we seem farther away from it than ever, after 
 them. This morning has taught me to look at
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 them as surgical operations : when one is suffer- 
 ing from an incurable disease, they only cause 
 agony uselessly." 
 
 "But sometimes, Eulalie, the wound is not 
 incurable, and the operation saves life." 
 
 This last word roused Eulalie ; she sprang 
 from Mere Angelique's lap. "I will try," said 
 she ; " but first let me help you carry home your 
 washing." 
 
 Nothing would have induced her to have faced 
 Amedee again for her own sake. Mere Angeli- 
 que had strengthened her in her conviction that 
 she was not to blame, and she felt that, with the 
 approval of her own conscience, she could bear 
 the gossip of the village and the taunts of her 
 aunt. Amedee had himself erased every trace of 
 the affection which she fancied she had felt for 
 him ; a lonely life stretched before her, but her 
 only regret for that was that now Mere Angelique 
 could never be really her mother. She could not 
 bear to tell her this, and fate was bringing it fast 
 enough without word or sign from her ; she would 
 still do her utmost ; if AmedeVs life was in danger, 
 she would make one more effort to save him. 
 
 "Perhaps it may help you to bear your bur- 
 den, little Eulalie," said Mere Angelique, as they 
 walked on through the darkening wood together,
 
 CONSOLATION. 3*9 
 
 " to know that a trouble came into my life when I 
 was several years younger than you are now." 
 " A trouble like mine, little mother ? " 
 " Like it, and not like it, for all heart-troubles 
 resemble each other; and yet it seems to me 
 that mine was the more serious, for there is no 
 trouble, however bitter, that cannot be borne by 
 strong heart and a true. I mean a heart like 
 thine, that can look back through all the misera- 
 ble business, a'nd say : After all I have done what 
 was right ; there is sin in it somewhere, but not of 
 my sinning. For all trouble is sin, little one, and 
 trouble that cannot be borne comes only to the 
 one who is to blame, and knows it." And then 
 Mere Angelique told the story of her youth, and 
 of the Comte de Champnoix. " And so I was 
 saved, my darling ; but it was none of my doing, 
 nor the church's doing, nor the doing of good 
 Christian people. It was the good God himself 
 who did it, Eulalie." 
 
 Eulalie had never before heard the Mere An- 
 g61ique refer to the Deity in any way. Some 
 even thought that she did not believe in God. 
 Eulalie wished that they could have heard her 
 reverent whisper, and seen the significant upward 
 glance that accompanied it ; they were sufficient 
 refutation of any charge of infidelity.
 
 320 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 At the gate of Villa Adeline they found 
 Adolph. " Dinner has been waiting this long 
 time," said he ; " I have hunted for you every- 
 where. Why didn't you come home before ? The 
 fact is," he added, as soon as they were out of 
 hearing, " mother has been terribly anxious about 
 you. She was afraid you had drowned yourself 
 somewhere, and has been blaming herself for 
 having helped drive you to it. However, that 
 will not hinder her scolding you well as soon as 
 she sees you safe and sound."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LAST BUGLE CHARGE. 
 
 He who so well the bugle played 
 Could not mistake the words it said 
 " Come forth to th death, 
 Victor Galbraith ! " 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 HHHE night after Orsovitch left, Van sat late 
 and lonely in the studio, troubled by a vague 
 apprehension which he was powerless to shake 
 off. The full moon streamed through the broad 
 windows, and looking out he noticed that the little 
 gate at the garden's end was wide open. He 
 wondered at this, remembering that Eulalie still 
 had the key, and, rising, took his hat to go and 
 close it, when he was startled by a quick, light 
 step upon the stair, and a little fluttering knock 
 at the door. The next moment he stood face to 
 face with Eulalie. 
 
 " O ! Monsieur Van," said she, "you and Mon- 
 sieur Orsovitch must go to Am&le'e ; he is insane, 
 41 (321)
 
 322 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 I think. O ! go, both of you, and tell him just 
 what I did here. Please go to-night, for I dare 
 not think what he may do if we leave him alone 
 in that dreadful chateau until morning." 
 
 " Orsovitch has gone away, but I will go with 
 you certainly," said Van, inwardly deploring the 
 unhappy fate which had taken his friend away 
 that afternoon. " I have a letter which he left for 
 Ame'dee, and I will add all that I can for you." 
 
 "O, do!" replied Eulalie. "I think he will 
 believe you ; all the villagers like you." 
 
 They passed through the meadows, avoiding 
 the streets, and struck just beyond the town the 
 great white road which led to Montmorenci. 
 How weird and ghostly the trees looked in that 
 lonely walk, poplars that guarded the road in 
 long military lines, or stood a little apart, drawn 
 up in hollow squares. It was a night for grotesque 
 fancies, and their black trunks, clothed with a 
 scraggy growth of twigs, outlined strongly as 
 they were against the moonlit sky, seemed giant 
 centipedes, dropping down from the heavens upon 
 a plague-stricken earth, on whose face the white 
 moonlight lay like mildew. The trees moved 
 slightly in the night air, and every one of their 
 myriad claws seemed to writhe and shudder, as the 
 voice of nature reminded Van that death was in
 
 THE LAST BUGLE CHARGE. 3 2 3 
 
 the world, and he thought of Poe's sonnet to the 
 Conqueror Worm. The willows, which they 
 passed in the swampy hollow a little farther on, 
 disfigured and stunted from frequent lopping, were 
 gnomes and deformed dwarfs, who leered at them 
 from the scores of eyes with which their gnarled 
 forms were studded. On, and still on, they 
 hastened ; the road had seemed a long one with 
 the jovial companionship of Orsovitch, it was 
 interminable now. Their rapid footsteps on the 
 rough paving of the deserted streets of sleeping 
 Daumont might have roused a fear within its 
 gates with carved escutcheons and ivy-hidden 
 houses, that a thief was hurrying by. As they 
 left the village, Eulalie's strength began to fail, 
 and she took breath for a moment upon a bench 
 under a little roof which covered one of the 
 crucifixes which mark the boundaries of French 
 villages. "Ave crux, spes unica" Van read, and 
 Eulalie kissed the white form of the murdered 
 Christ, her lips moving in agonized prayer. 
 After a time she grew calmer, and when she rose 
 from her knees, and turned her tear-washed face 
 toward Van, all the excitement and impatience 
 were gone ; she had brought her burden to the 
 foot of the cross, and left it there. 
 
 They resumed their walk, Eulalie now con-
 
 324 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 versing composedly as they went. " If Amede*e 
 could only take his trouble to God," she said, " I 
 should not fear for him, but he has not learned 
 the meaning of his own name ; he shuts his 
 trouble in his own heart, leaving it there to eat 
 like a cancer, instead of bringing it to Christ, who 
 careth for us." Then it was that Van began to 
 understand this heroic soul ; none of her anxiety 
 and grief was for her own ruined reputation and 
 blasted life, it was all for Ame'de'e. Something of 
 this Van expressed to her, and she replied with a 
 sublime look transfiguring her face, " I have no 
 need to be anxious for myself, I have God." 
 
 They entered the forest. If it had seemed 
 mysterious at midday, it was ghastly now. They 
 walked more slowly, for the moonlight penetrated 
 but dimly the heavy masses of foliage. Suddenly, 
 at the very point where Van had heard it upon 
 his last visit, there smote upon their ears the notes 
 of the hunting horn. Was it the time alone which 
 gave the charge that strange thrill of despair, con- 
 quered by determination ? Again and again the 
 echo swept it toward them, swelling louder, clearer, 
 more triumphantly, "a la mctoire, d la victoire /" 
 Fainter and fainter with each repetition, the notes 
 died away into silence. " Amedee is there," said 
 Van, "let us hasten." All the way he had been
 
 THE LAST BUGLE CHARGE. 325 
 
 trying to frame a defense of Eulalie, and now he 
 vainly strove to arrange the truth in coherent 
 form, and in a manner that would be likely to 
 carry conviction to a suspicious mind. They 
 had reached the open space in which stood the 
 chateau ; the window in the tower overlooking 
 the lake was open, and dimly outlined against the 
 white curtains they could see a dark form. " It 
 is Am6dee ! " exclaimed Eulalie ; " he beckoned 
 to me." Looking again, Van distinctly saw an 
 arm wave, and they hurried forward. In answer 
 to their heavy striking upon the iron knocker, 
 there came only the hollow reverberation of the 
 blows, and a dismal howl from Mees, who seemed 
 to be shut up in the lower hall. " There is 
 another entrance," said Eulalie, " which leads to 
 a little staircase in the tower," and springing into 
 the skiff which was moored upon the bank, she 
 sculled it rapidly across the lake to a low arched 
 doorway, whose threshold was washed by the 
 lake. Here the door gave way before their 
 united efforts, and Eulalie darted rapidly up a 
 winding staircase. Unacquainted with the way, 
 Van followed more slowly, but found himself 
 presently in a narrow corridor, on which opened 
 the door of the Prince de Condi's chamber. It 
 was ajar : he knocked, listened a moment ; then,
 
 326 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 as there was no reply, knocked again more loudly 
 and entered. One glance told him the whole 
 horrible truth. There, in the full light of the 
 window, stood Eulalie, supporting in her arms all 
 that was left of her lover. At his feet lay the 
 hunting horn, with which he had sounded his own 
 death charge, having died, as he had said he 
 wished he might, with the answer from the echo 
 vidette on the cliffs across the lake ringing in his 
 ears. Van sprang into a chair, and hastily 
 severed the rope fastened in the interlaced cres- 
 cents, from which he remembered Am^d^e had 
 said he meant to suspend bird or flower, or other 
 happy, pleasant thing, to give her sweet thoughts 
 They laid him upon the bed, and labored long 
 over him ; but the spinal column was broken, and 
 though but twenty minutes before he had sent 
 the wild charge thrilling through the forest, 
 death had been instantaneous, and there was no 
 hope. 
 
 " You may go for a physician and a gendarme," 
 said Eulalie at last despairingly, as the truth 
 dawned upon her, and she sank upon her knees 
 beside the suicide. 
 
 "And you ? " asked Van. 
 
 " I will stay here with him until you come. I 
 was to have lived here always you know." She
 
 THE LAST BUGLE CHARGE. Z 2 7 
 
 spoke bravely, but there was a tremor in her 
 voice ; the strain had been too much, and she 
 was breaking down. 
 
 "I shall not leave you," said Van; "it would 
 be enough to drive you crazy. There is no need 
 of any one staying with him, and I insist upon 
 seeing you home before giving the authorities 
 information." 
 
 Eulalie's only answer was a pleading look. 
 " I want to bid him good-by," she said. 
 
 Van bowed and silently left the room, pacing 
 backward and forward in the little hall outside 
 the door. No sound came to him from within, no 
 spoken word or sob, all was silent as the grave. 
 He gave a violent start when Eulalie noiselessly 
 opened the door, saying, " I am ready now, Mr. 
 Van." 
 
 As they left, Van took one long last look at the 
 face of the unhappy boy. It was very peaceful, 
 and were it not that his lips were as blue as the 
 fleiir de Us which spotted the pillow, he could have 
 said life-like. One thing he noticed, the missing 
 panes in the window had been replaced, and the 
 scarlet sign upon his breast was the sign of the 
 cross. 
 
 As silently as they had come they hastened 
 down the avenue together. The moon was setting,
 
 328 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 there would be several hours before dawn, and the 
 air was chill and damp. Eulalie trembled, and 
 walked unsteadily. Van drew her arm within his 
 own, she was too weak to resist, and so preoccu 
 pied that she scarcely noticed the action. The 
 silence was too oppressive ; Van could not bear 
 it ; he felt as if he should go mad if he did not 
 speak. 
 
 " It is terrible," he said, " for a soul to go out 
 into the darkness in this way." 
 
 " Yes," said Eulalie, " Am6dee has gone out 
 into the dark. But God is in the dark, too ; and, 
 though the way be a longer one, he will bring him 
 home at last." 
 
 So death to her, even such a death, was not " the 
 blackness of darkness forever." And Van real- 
 ized how to her mind the idea of purgatory must 
 be one of comfort, a punishment not eternal, 
 but remedial in its character, and in some illogi- 
 cal way, he tried to reconcile such a belief with 
 his own Protestant creed. 
 
 " I am very tired," said Eulalie, and again they 
 rested under the cross. When they resumed their 
 walk, she leaned heavily upon his arm, and Van 
 passed his own around her with the proud con- 
 sciousness of protection and support. 
 
 " Lean on me, Eulalie," he said, with a thrill
 
 THE LAST BUGLE CHARGE. $29 
 
 of happiness, as he felt that he could sustain and 
 help her in her trouble, be it in ever so slight a 
 degree. There was no feeling of conscious love ; 
 no thought that Eulalie was free, and that he 
 might claim this rare soul as his own. The 
 moment was too solemn, and Van's mind was too 
 naive, too ignorant of itself as yet, for such a 
 thought. He had never analyzed his emotions ; 
 never asked himself what this sympathetic, be- 
 witching girl might be to him. He had loved her 
 for some time past without knowing it ; his was 
 .the innocency of heart which only needed some 
 sudden shock like this to translate its own 
 emotions. In this regard, Eulalie was more 
 worldly-wise than himself ; she had repressed the 
 growing love of which she was painfully con- 
 scious, with a sublime self-control that had never 
 suffered her secret to be guessed. Through the 
 dull pain and weariness, which was gradually 
 numbing every sensation, she felt his protecting 
 arm, and heard his cheering words. Was it wrong 
 to accept, now at her sore need, a little of his 
 sympathy ? It seemed to her as if she could not 
 have dragged her tired limbs any further, but when 
 he said, " Almost there now, Eulalie ! " they re- 
 sponded mechanically. It would have been easy 
 to die there, under the cross ; she had suffered so 
 42
 
 33 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 much, but her head was on his shoulder, and that 
 was so sweet that she could not die just then. 
 And so she walked on, feeling that she could have 
 done so forever in despite of human ache and 
 \v eariness, were she only so supported. " Here 
 we are, Eulalie," said Van, as they paused at the 
 door of her little shop, which she seemed not to 
 have noticed. 
 
 She started like one awakening from a dream. 
 " Oh ! not here not here. Take me, please, to 
 the Mere Angelique." 
 
 "Not his mother," Van said, impulsively. 
 " Child, you should be the last to carry her such 
 news ; I will tell her myself, if you desire it. 
 Think, she is his mother, and in the first burst of 
 unreasoning grief, may hold you responsible for 
 events beyond your control." - 
 
 " She will be just," said Eulalie, and they walked 
 on. 
 
 As they reached the little gate-lodge, the 
 smoke floating above the chimney told that the 
 active old woman was already stirring. Van 
 bade Eulalie good-by. What passed between the 
 two he never knew, but through the window he 
 saw them weeping in each other's arms. 
 
 Mere Angelique was just.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe 
 Lie deep 'neath a silence, pure and smooth, 
 Like burnt-out craters healed with snow. 
 
 LOWELL. 
 
 A BOUT a week after the tragedy at the 
 chateau, Van found among his letters a 
 neatly addressed, black-bordered sheet, inviting 
 him " to assist at an expiatory mass in behalf of 
 the soul of Amedee Du Lac." The invitation 
 bore Eulalie's name, and in Gothic characters, at 
 the bottom of the page, were the words, De Pro- 
 fundis. 
 
 Van asked himself how he, a Protestant, could 
 conscientiously pray for the soul of one already 
 dead. A few days before he could not have done 
 so, but now there seemed no inconsistency in it. 
 Was not Amede"e somewhere in God's universe ? 
 Was it not limiting God's might to think there 
 was anywhere a spot His power could not reach ? 
 
 (33* >
 
 33 2 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Was it not limiting His mercy to think that 
 there was at any time a moment when prayer 
 was useless ? 
 
 There were few present at the mass. In one 
 of the front pews, all in widow's weeds, knelt 
 Eulalie. By her side, in her customary dress, 
 uncompromisingly skeptical as ever, sat AmedeVs 
 mother. She was there to show her love and 
 sympathy for Eulalie to the evil-thinking, evil- 
 speaking villagers, the ceremony was all mean- 
 ingless mummery to her. Van knew not which 
 to honor most her disbelief or Eulalie's faith. 
 Eulalie's aunt sat with the other women. Among 
 the men, he at first recognized but one face, that 
 of Pere Paquerette. He was crying weakly, as 
 usual, with reason, perhaps, on this occasion, but 
 Van remembered that he had never seen a funeral 
 procession pass to the cemetery without Pere 
 Paquerette in attendance. He certainly fulfilled 
 to the letter our Lord's command to weep with 
 those who weep ; that he rejoiced more seldom 
 was perhaps owing to the fact that joy is not so 
 levelling an emotion as grief, and those experi- 
 encing it are not so ready to ask sympathy from 
 every one. Heine has expressed the idea thus : 
 
 Every one can mingle tears, 
 But his joy can none discover 
 Save to those who are his peers
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 333 
 
 " Miserere, Domine," chanted the priest, and 
 some one tapped Van lightly on the shoulder. 
 Turning he recognized his young friend, Adolph 
 Jean Joseph, the Due de Champnoix's talkative 
 valet. 
 
 " I was not invited," he said in a whisper 
 which woke the echoes in the topmost arch of 
 the church, " but I heard it was all for the health 
 of my old companion, Ame'dee, so I thought I 
 would just drop in, and wish him bon voyage with 
 the rest. This comes from his fine notions about 
 women ; he ought to have been contented to take 
 them as he found them. They are all alike." 
 
 On returning to his studio, after the mass, 
 Van sat down and wrote a letter to his sister 
 Margaret, with whom, in time past, he had been 
 used to share all his emotions and aspirations. 
 As this letter gives a picture of the young man's 
 feelings at this time, so far as understood by 
 himself, it may explain his subsequent actions if 
 we insert it here. 
 
 ECOUEN, May zoth, 18 . 
 
 DARLING SISTER MARGEY : Will you be horrifie-d if 
 I tell you that I have just given the countenance and 
 approval of my presence to a mass for the dead? I, 
 who was such a radical "no popery" man at home. 
 Don't think me hypocritical or inconsistent. Have 
 you ever read Guizot's idea of a man's character? He
 
 334 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 says something like this : " After the man is dead, 
 and his biography written, we sum up the results of 
 the experience of his life, and at last think that 
 we have an idea of what the man really was. He 
 might have been this an hour before he died, but not 
 in his youth or in his mature years. Circumstance, 
 emotions, influences within and without, had been 
 going on all his life, constantly changing the man's 
 character, so that the man who held a certain theory 
 when he left his college was really a totally different 
 man from the one who held opposite views at fifty." 
 Now don't say that I am stupid, and pretend you 
 can't understand what I am driving at. I feel that I 
 am undergoing a transformation ; I am not the same 
 boy that you bade good-by to on the docks. Don't 
 tremble forme, Margey, if I have changed ; you may at 
 least be certain that it is because I think 1 have found 
 a better way. I have come to believe that even the 
 Catholic religion has, in its purity, as ennobling and as 
 elevating a power as our own. J have been studying 
 history of late, and admire and respect the first lord 
 of the castle under whose shadow I have lived so long, 
 the grand old Due de Montmorenci, Constable of 
 France. What if he fought vigorously in the wars of 
 religion for the Catholic side, persecuting the Hugue- 
 nots, whom we call martyrs; he was only a second 
 Saul of Tarsus, doing it for conscience' sake. Read 
 his counsel to the king, when Charles V., the enemy 
 cf France, was in his power : " Better to lose a kingdom 
 than break your word." No wonder that, dying, he 
 could say to his confessor, " Do you think I have lived 
 eighty years with honor, not to be able to die in a 
 quarter of an hour ? " I have taken him for my 
 example in one thing tolerance. Did you know 
 that the fiery old Huguenot, Palissy, was one of his 
 closest friends ! That he saved his life, procured his 
 freedom from the king, and, through Catherine de 
 Medicis, the title of Inventor of the Rustic Potteries
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 335 
 
 to the King and Queen Mother ? He was the first ta 
 patronize him afterward, setting the example to other 
 wealthy nobles, by ordering for this very castle oi 
 Ecouen a grotto of faience. In the basin of the foun- 
 tain were portrayed eels, wriggling in the current ; 
 spotted trout basking in the sun; dark, wary carps, 
 under the shadow of the rock, only waiting for the 
 reflection of a fishing-rod to dart away ; pointed-nosed 
 pike, lampreys and turbot, perch and salmon, plaice 
 and tench, slipping in loving fraternity over the shell 
 mosaic of the bed of the pool ; while on the margin, 
 frogs were poised in the act of springing, as though 
 frightened at your approach ; lizards and salamanders 
 were sunning themselves on stones that projected 
 from the water; crawfish opened their scissor-like 
 claws, with the amiable intention of amputating their 
 friends' unnecessary members ; snakes lay coiled up 
 asleep ; and vines, among which snails clambered and 
 birds darted, filled the whole concavity of the vault 
 with their leaves and fruit. 
 
 To oversee this work, Palissy must have spent a 
 great deal of time at the chateau. Do you suppose 
 that he and the old duke enlivened the visit by hurl- 
 ing arguments and dogmas and anathemas at each 
 other? I believe that Palissy was so suffused with 
 the primal religion of the garden of Eden, was so 
 much in love with the God of nature, the Father of all 
 His creatures, and the duke had so lifted himself above 
 the credo of his breviary into the spiritual life of the 
 Universal Church, that they met as on common 
 ground, and quite forgot that there was any differences 
 of belief between them. 
 
 I know those wars of religion, and the sturdy 
 whacks he gave the other poor Huguenots, are rather 
 a strong argument against this view of the case ; but 
 then, after all, they were partly political affairs, and 
 perhaps he looked upon them as entirely such. How- 
 ever this may be, I have found a friend, whose religion
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 though Catholic, is so spiritual and real, that I know 
 of nothing better to suggest in its place. I hardly 
 dare to think, Margey, what this friend may be to me 
 some day, for I have changed in more than one respect. 
 I have only just become conscious of it ; the trans- 
 formation has been so gradual, and I cannot tell just 
 when 
 
 " Love, with shut wings, a little ungrown love, 
 A blind lost love, alit on my shut heart." 
 
 I" cannot tell whether this love of mine will blossom 
 into blessedness ; I cannot even ask, for she sits under 
 the shadow of a great grief, a grief which I unwillingly 
 and unconsciously had some share in causing. But 
 the time will come when I can and will speak, and 
 until that time I can keep "my shut heart" hidden 
 under "a silence calm and smooth." Until I write 
 you again of this, dear Margey, you may keep my 
 secret for me as you have so many others. If you 
 never hear of the subject again, think of these confi- 
 dences as I do of the holes in my stockings, as mere 
 "airy nothings." You see that, in spite of my uncer- 
 tainty, I cannot be sad. I wish you could look from 
 my studio window with me such glorious clouds! 
 It has been storming all day, but now I think there 
 is a rainbow coming. 
 
 Ever lovingly, your brother 
 
 VAN. 
 
 Two days after writing this letter, as Van 
 sauntered across the village place, with his eyes 
 directed to their usual lodestone, Eulalie's shop 
 window, he saw, to his utter astonishment, that it 
 was closed, barred, and the placard " A Louer " 
 fastened conspicuously on the shutters. Eulalie 
 had gone. He inquired of the neighbors ; none
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 337 
 
 could give him any information, further than that 
 Pere Paquerette had remained with M. Bonenfant, 
 the keeper of the Esperance. Van went to him 
 at once, but he evidently knew nothing as to the 
 whereabouts of his sister-in-law and niece ; all thai 
 he could tell was that they had taken everything 
 and gone to Paris, and had promised, if all went 
 well, to send for him in a year's time. This in- 
 formation, indefinite as it was, gave Van hope. 
 He would keep track of Pere Paquerette ; what- 
 ever befell, here, at least, was a link with Eulalie. 
 He could not feel that he had lost her forever. 
 
 Eulalie's sudden departure created no very 
 great surprise : it seemed the one natural thing 
 for her to do. Amddee's mother might forgive 
 her even believe in her still but the vil- 
 lagers did not. The shadow of suspicion, a doubt 
 alone, even a lie lived down, and proved beyond 
 possibility of question to be a lie, is enough to 
 blacken a girl's life in France. While the artist 
 part of the community, and those of the upper 
 class who knew her, still believed in Eulalie, 
 she was insulted and scorned on every side by 
 those of her own condition in life. The Mere 
 Angelique knew she was going, and approved 
 of it She did not even ask where. " I shall 
 
 43
 
 338 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 miss thee sadly, my child," she said, " but it will 
 be better for thee." 
 
 And Eulalie had another reason for leaving, 
 which she did not tell even to the Mere Ange- 
 lique. Her quick woman's instinct had told her 
 that Van did not love her, and since that long 
 weird walk, she dared trust herself in his society 
 no- longer; she only hoped that she had not 
 already betrayed herself. She was too tired and 
 weak to battle any longer, and she felt in a blind 
 way that her only safety was in flight. Peace 
 came to her, too, as she left the little village in 
 which she had suffered so much. The summer 
 was all about her, the very air was full of balm 
 and happiness ; Ecouen dwindled smaller and 
 smaller as they rode away from it, and the great 
 white road swept on in front, leading the way to 
 a new and wider world. She felt as if Thomas 
 a-Kempis might have something to say to her 
 now, and drawing the little book from her pocket 
 she read, 
 
 "Whatever comes upon thee, calmly endure 
 it for the glory of Jesus Christ ; for after winter 
 followeth summer ; after night the day returneth, 
 and after a tempest a great calm."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP STRONGER THAN LOVE. 
 
 Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women. 
 2 SAMUEL i. 26. 
 
 the morning that Van had learned of 
 Eulalie's departure, he had, just before 
 crossing the village place, dropped a letter into 
 the post-office. This letter was for Orsovitch, 
 giving the tragic ending, at the Chateau de la 
 Chasse, of the little drama in which they had 
 acted. Having given these details, he touched 
 at the close of the letter another subject. " I 
 wonder," he said, "if you remember a queer 
 genius that we met at Mamma Robusti's fete, a 
 Mr. Norman Saxon Goth, a connoisseur of antiq- 
 uities. Comedy and tragedy go hand -in -hand, 
 and it is really comical to see how that precious 
 scamp has been fooling the wise-heads of Ecouen. 
 There is scarcely an artist that has not been 
 taken in, in some way. It seems that Papa 
 Robusti bought that portrait of Charlotte de 
 
 (339)
 
 340 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Montmorenci from him, supposing it to be by one 
 of the old Flemish masters. M. Dupinceau saw 
 it the other day, and swears that the face is 
 one that he began from the Mary in the Raphael 
 window in the church, and finished from our 
 little Eulalie. She was sitting at the window of 
 tne gate lodge, making her flowers and chatting 
 with Mere Ang&ique one day, when he happened 
 to be painting in the garden. He thought he saw 
 a resemblance, and she served him unconsciously 
 as a model while he put the finishing touches to 
 the face. This sketch Mr. Goth called not long 
 after and bought, as it was, for a mere song. He 
 evidently hired some Paris artist to put in the 
 rest of the figure, and the costume (and that 
 motto about the lilies, which never had anything 
 to do with the Cond^s), then clapped it into an 
 old Dutch frame, picked up at some auction, and 
 foisted it off on to Papa Robusti for as many hun- 
 dreds as the whole thing cost him in dollars. 
 This is only a sample of his neat little specula- 
 tions. I hope you haven't suffered, but Miss 
 Pauline Pry seems to think you have. She called 
 on me yesterday, and asked me if Mr. Goth did 
 not have something to do with your sudden trip 
 to Brussels. As you never enlightened me as to 
 the cause of that escapade, I was unable to afford
 
 FRIENDSHIP STRONGER THAN LOVE. 341 
 
 any relief to the overburdened curiosity of that 
 venerable damsel. She informed me, with many 
 mysterious and solemn shakes of the head, which 
 set her jet ear-rings jingling (until they reminded 
 me more and more of the iron crane, with its 
 numerous pot-hook pendants, in my grandmother's 
 kitchen fire-place), that when Mr. Goth returned 
 to the hotel with her sister, from a call which 
 they had made upon you, he borrowed of her a 
 small graving tool, and went down to his room in 
 the story below. Her sister's account of what 
 had happened at your studio so excited her curi- 
 osity that she partially removed a board which 
 covered an aperture in her floor, originally used 
 for a stove-pipe from a stove in the room below, 
 and which has since served her in good stead a? 
 a listening-tube and loophole of observation on 
 her unsuspecting neighbors ; and fitting her eye 
 to the crevice thus formed, she had a capital 
 view of the bald spot on the top of Mr. Goth's 
 head, and of his private papers, which lay upon 
 his desk directly beneath. She says that he first 
 effaced every trace of the shield within the watch 
 case, and then, opening a book of heraldic designs, 
 to that of the escutcheon of the Prince de Conde, 
 carefully engraved it in the vacant space. The 
 woman has the eyes of a hawk, but she says she was
 
 34 2 - BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 greatly assisted in her observations by her sister 
 Precosia, who fished her opera-glass from the 
 depths of her trunk, and, lying on the floor beside 
 her, confirmed all of her discoveries. She was 
 very much disappointed that you were not here, 
 says that she called the next day after the occur- 
 rence, but you had gone to Brussels, and she 
 had not heard of your return until a day or two 
 since. Now, the question in my mind is, Is the 
 woman crazy ? Can you see the slightest gleam of 
 reason in her story ? I 'm blessed if I do." 
 
 What was Van's surprise to receive in reply 
 to his letter the following telegram : 
 
 " Have G. arrested ; detain the P.'s as witnesses ; 
 will be in Ecouen next week." 
 
 Mr. Goth had left for parts unknown, so that 
 all Van could do was to persuade the Misses Pry 
 to remain awhile in Ecouen. 
 
 Orsovitch arrived at last. He entered the 
 studio as abruptly as though he had only been 
 across the street ; and, laying his hand on Van's 
 shoulder, asked, without any word of greeting, 
 
 " Where is Eulalie ? " 
 
 " She has gone," Van replied. 
 
 "Gone, I know it; I have just come from her 
 shop, but* where ? And why did you not men- 
 tion this in your letter? "
 
 FRIENDSHIP STRONGER 'lHAN LOVE. 343 
 
 " Because I did not know it myself then, and 
 now I know no more where she is than you do." 
 
 Orsovitch groaned ; and then, putting aside all 
 reserve, he confided fully in his friend : how he 
 had loved her so long ; all the fierce battle which 
 he had fought with himself, and his double defeat. 
 "Since I have been at home," he said, "my 
 father has died. His death was very sudden, no one 
 expected it ; it was perhaps a greater shock than 
 grief to both my mother and myself, but it drew us 
 nearer together than we have ever been before ; 
 and when your letter came, and showed me how 
 I had been deceived, and how I had wronged 
 Eulalie, attributing to her what I should have 
 known if I had not been a consummate fool, was 
 all that rascal Goth's doings, I told the whole 
 story to my mother. ' You have wronged her 
 more deeply than her peasant lover,' said she ; 
 ' evidently she is of good family, though she may 
 not be a Princess de Bourbon, or a Montmorenci ; 
 that will be difficult to prove, however, since her 
 coat of arms has been tampered with. That, too, 
 is all your fault ; you owe her every restitution in 
 your power. I do not know that marrying for 
 rank has ever brought me any happiness, and I 
 cannot counsel you to a similar course. Since your 
 father's death you are perfectly free to act your
 
 344 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 own pleasure, and I do not see that anything hin 
 ders you from marrying this girl ; indeed, it seems 
 to me that every honorable instinct within you 
 demands that you should at least offer her your 
 hand.' I look at the matter just as my mother 
 does, and I call upon you, Van, to lend me your 
 aid ; together we will search the whole world over 
 till we find her." 
 
 Van had grown strangely pale during his 
 friend's recital. " And after you have found her, 
 what if she does not love you ? " he asked. 
 
 " She does," said Orsovitch confidently ; " I 
 know she does." 
 
 " Very well," said Van, " I will do all in my 
 power to aid you." 
 
 For days and weeks the two friends searched. 
 Adolph had enlisted as a volunteer about the 
 time that Eulalie disappeared. They visited Pere 
 Paquerette. The old man had heard nothing 
 from the fugitives, and for some inexplicable 
 reason he believed that they had gone to America. 
 He only hoped that no harm would come to them 
 there, it was such a savage country, with elephants 
 running around wild, he was told. They called 
 to their aid the police of Paris, and were assured 
 that there were none answering to their descrip 
 tion in the city. Acting on Pere Paquerette's sur
 
 FRIENDSHIP STRONGER THAN LOVE. 345 
 
 mise, they searched the lists of steamer passengers 
 since the date of Eulalie's disappearance. Van felt 
 that in any event, the result of the search would 
 be misery to him, but he worked none the less 
 earnestly for that. On the passenger list of the 
 ill-fated Britannic, lost in the fog off New Found- 
 land, was the record, Madame Delacroix and 
 daughter. This was the name of Eulalie's aunt, 
 and Orsovitch exclaimed, with all the certainty of 
 despair, " It is they ; she is drowned ! " " Wait," 
 said Van, " many of the passengers were rescued ; 
 the American papers at my banker's will give 
 the list." 
 
 Eagerly they looked it over together. With a 
 trembling finger Orsovitch pointed to the name of 
 the mother only, among the saved. They needed 
 no further proof, and the two young men sat and 
 looked at each other, with something of the same 
 expression in the eyes of both. Orsovitch rallied 
 first from the shock. " I must travel," he said. 
 " Good -by, old boy, I 'm off for Central Asia, 
 shall keep on like the Wandering Jew ; perhaps 
 I shall reach America after awhile, and give a rap 
 it California, the golden knocker that the United 
 States so extravagantly displays at its back door." 
 Van wrung his hand silently, and went back to 
 Ecouen ; but he could not work, the whole place 
 
 44
 
 34-6 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 teemed with memories of her: the church, the 
 castle, the village, art itself. The atmosphere 
 acted upon him like a powerful opiate ; he lived 
 only in sweet, melancholy dreams, in a series of 
 retrospective pictures. He felt the need of a 
 change of scene, and more stirring and stimulat- 
 ing surroundings, and the next letter which his 
 sister Margey received, after the one quoted in 
 the last chapter, announced his intention of a 
 speedy return. 
 
 Just before leaving France, late one rainy even- 
 ing, on alighting from an omnibus in Paris, he 
 was cheered by hearing the welcome croak, 
 " Mar-r-r-r-chand de parapluies /" As he bought 
 an umbrella, a young girl passed rapidly by, and 
 kept steadily at the same distance ahead of him 
 for a block or two, as he pursued his way toward 
 the Hotel des Trois Princes. She had no um- 
 brella, and the rain threw up little splashes of 
 tawny water from the asphalt pavement against 
 her neat boots and cloak. He hastened his steps, 
 and offered his umbrella, intending to return to 
 the vendor, who was still croaking through the 
 fog, " Mar-r-r-r-r-chand de parapluies I ' ' 
 
 " Merci, m'sieur," said a familiar voice, "but I 
 have a waterproof." 
 
 The recognition was mutual ; it was Eulalie.
 
 FRIENDSHIP STRONGER THAN LOVE. 347 
 
 " O, Mr. Van," said she, " I believe Our Lady 
 of Sorrows sent you to me to-night. I can not 
 support aunt and myself here in Paris with my 
 flowers. If you will be so kind as to give me the 
 addresses of some of your artist friends, perhaps 
 I can obtain employment as a model." 
 
 They had taken the common name of Lepine, 
 and had been in Paris all the>time. Van did not 
 tell her of his search, but, giving her the ad- 
 dresses she wished, saw her to her home, and 
 returned to his room to think. What ought he to 
 do? Tell her the truth, and urge her to go to 
 America with him ? He felt that this simple flower- 
 girl would make a wife that he would he proud to 
 present in any society. And then he thought of 
 Orsovitch. His love was an honorable one, too, 
 and he had the first right. But what was there 
 to prevent his arguing his own claims ? He would 
 tell her that Orsovitch loved her, too, and she 
 should choose between them. Yet, however 
 warmly he advocated his friend's cause, he knew 
 that if Eulalie chose him, Orsovitch would think 
 that he had taken an unfair advantage, and in the 
 other event he could not bear that his friend or 
 Eulalie should know what thought had been in his 
 heart. " The setting of a great hope is like the 
 setting of the sun," yet crushing his own heart
 
 34 8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 he wrote to Orsovitch, " Eulalie is found ! " He 
 gave him her address, wished him all happiness, 
 and, having no other direction, sent the letter to 
 Russia in the care of his mother. 
 
 When he called on Eulalie to bid her good-by, 
 he found her cheerful with the prospect of work. 
 Her aunt had obtained the position of concierge 
 in the Hotel Carlotta, where they had been stay- 
 ing. "And now," said Eulalie, "we shall get 
 along grandly." 
 
 He did not give her any hint of Orsovitch. It 
 will be best as a surprise, he thought, and he left 
 her, promising to put her in his salon painting 
 when next he came to Europe. Eulalie was found, 
 but for Van, "All was lost save honor."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 LE JOUR DES MORTS. 
 
 And the dark will grow to light, 
 
 But the light will not pass away. 
 We part, we part jn the mirk midnight, 
 
 But we shall meet i ' the day. 
 
 DORA GREENWELL. 
 
 A -KEMPIS, Eulalie's favorite author, has 
 said, " By two wings a man is lifted up from 
 things earthly, namely : by Simplicity and Purity." 
 Eulalie, thus winged, lived through the long 
 summer; why, she could hardly have told, there 
 seemed so little left to live for. Her aunt did not 
 need her ; the office of concierge was a comforta- 
 ble berth for her, and so Eulalie's earnings, after 
 deducting the small amount necessary for her own 
 support, went to Pere Paquerette. She missed 
 him, and wrote for him to come to see her, and 
 the old man came not unfrequently, never betray- 
 ing her whereabouts to the inhabitants of Ecouen. 
 She found but one of her old-time friends in 
 Paris, and that was wild Zizi; wild no longer, 
 
 (349)
 
 350 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 except in a reckless, rattling mode of speech, 
 which she kept up from force of habit. Whenever 
 she heard that Eulalie was not engaged elsewhere, 
 she spent the day with her, bringing the materials 
 for her mourning flowers, and Eulalie worked 
 with her, thus often doubling Zizi's earnings, 
 while they chatted pleasantly of old times. But 
 Eulalie's nature craved more sympathetic food 
 than this, and was slowly starving. One day in 
 golden October, as the two girls sat together in 
 the window of the office, the only place in that 
 dark first-floor room where they could find light 
 enough for their work, Eulalie said, wearily, 
 " Nothing but jet beads, Zizi ; I thought jet was 
 ( going out of fashion." 
 
 " So it is," replied the other; " nobody wears 
 jet any longer; why, we can't even palm it off 
 on the Americans, and I should think by the 
 pictures that they must wear little else beside beads 
 when at home. How strange it is that, here in 
 Europe, they change not only their costume, but 
 their complexions. Do you suppose they paint 
 now?" 
 
 " I never knew but one American," replied 
 Eulalie, "and I don't believe he painted. But, 
 seriously, what are you going to do with these 
 flowers ? "
 
 LE JOUR DES MORTS. 351 
 
 " Oh, we had a large order for them from 
 Germany to rig out the widows made in our war. 
 It will be a very profitable affair for us, for those 
 Prussian women are immense, and it will take 
 yards and yards of crape to make flowers enough 
 to cover one bonnet ; and then there were those 
 Barrels of jet in the cellar, that no one knew what 
 to do with. I 'd like to weight down their plumes 
 with cartridges, and give them a delicate sprink- 
 ling of gunpowder. They would wear anything 
 we sent them, for they know that nothing is in 
 good taste unless it is French. How hideous they 
 will look in black, for mourning is always un- 
 becoming to blondes ; so much the better. I 
 enjoy filling this order far more than making the 
 mortuary wreaths for the cemeteries; but they 
 must be made soon, for the Jour des Morts is 
 almost here, and after that natural flowers on 
 graves will no longer be fashionable." 
 
 The Jour des Morts. It seemed a whole life- 
 time since the last one, when Pere Paquerette 
 came back from the burying-ground, and said he 
 had had a long talk with a pleasant foreigner, 
 who had given him money to buy garlands for 
 their graves, only he had spent it at the Espe- 
 rance. She had made inquiries and ascertained 
 that the pleasant gentleman was called Monsieur 1
 
 35 2 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Van, and that was the first she had heard of him. 
 She was thinking over the events of the past 
 year, and did not hear Zizi, who still went on. 
 
 "Do you know how one young woman of 
 talent provided herself with a jet cuirass when 
 tney first came in fashion ? She went to Pere 
 la Chaise on the Jour des Morts, and for several 
 days after, knelt around wherever she saw a 
 grave well provided with souvenirs, and a little 
 apart from observers ; and when she left the 
 cemetery, the arm under her cloak was covered 
 with wreaths in jet flowers. It only needed 
 three or four visits of that kind to glean enough 
 to make a costume stiff enough to turn the balls 
 of a regiment of sharpshooters." 
 
 " I should like to go to the cemetery this Jour 
 de* Morts" thought Eulalie, "but every one will 
 be there ; I shall have to content myself by send- 
 ing some flowers to Pere Paquerette, to place on 
 my mother's grave for me ; I could not trust him 
 to buy them, poor man." As the thought passed 
 through Eulalie's mind, she raised her head, and 
 saw, coming down the street, Pere Paquerette 
 himself. She rose to meet him, wondering what 
 could have brought him that day, he could not 
 need money again so soon. She was still more 
 startled when she heard his errand. "Mere An-
 
 LE JOUR DES MORTS. 353 
 
 gelique is dying," said Pere Paquerette; "she has 
 fought the fever a long time, and now that it has 
 left her, she has not the strength to get well. 
 When they told me that, I did not say anything 
 to any one, but just took my stick and set out 
 for Paris and Eulalie." 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Eulalie, putting a few articles, 
 which she thought might be useful, into a hand 
 bag, "I will go with you at once." 
 
 " And if you need it," said Zizi, " I will make 
 you the handsomest funeral wreath I know how, 
 and send it out to whomsoever you will say at 
 Ecouen." 
 
 " I wish you would go by way of Montmo- 
 renci," said Pere Paquerette, as they started ; 
 "I have an errand there, and I forgot it as I 
 came in. It is a longer way, but the train leaves 
 for that station first." 
 
 They had attended to Pere Paquerette's com- 
 mission, and were walking on through the beauti- 
 ful landscape together, Montmorenci among the 
 cherries. When Eulalie was here last every tree 
 was a bridal bouquet, and now the wind that 
 shivered through each spoke only of coming 
 death. There, in the wood, a little apart from 
 the road, but plainly visible from it, stood the 
 deserted hermitage of Jean Jacques Rousseau. 
 45
 
 354 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " Mon donjon a Montmorenci," he calls it in his 
 Confessions. It had the air of a haunted man- 
 sion, or rather of one untenanted, even by spirits, 
 but waiting, forlorn and lonely, for the return of 
 the gentle Jean Jacques. The wild flowers that 
 he loved grew mojre lush and rank than ever in 
 the wood ; Eulalie knew them by heart from 
 frequent excursions, and Rousseau tells us how 
 botany was his favorite passion, his first love. 
 " It is the only pastime," he says, " for a philoso- 
 pher and an idler." With his volume of Linnaeus 
 for letter of introduction, he made the acquaint- 
 ance of all his little neighbors, calling on them 
 again and again, and never making a record of 
 his analyses, in order that by forgetting them he 
 might have the pleasure of finding out anew their 
 names and lineage. A Don Juan among flowers 
 was Jean Jacques, for each new blossom filled 
 him with the same ardent passion, but he loved 
 best to discover his flower-loves in their own wild 
 homes ; a garden with beds of bloom was his 
 abhorrence, and he writes that he would sooner 
 attend the operations of the dissecting room, 
 than steal away oots and bark and seeds, and 
 even the sweet blossoms themselves, to dry for 
 simples for human ailments. Eulalie had read 
 all this, and it invested her love of flowers, which
 
 LE JOUR DES MORTS. 355 
 
 had previously been only an artistic one, with 
 something more of poetry, and she never passed 
 the hermitage without a kindly thought for the 
 unhappy philosopher and his flower children. 
 " If it were not so late in the season, I would 
 gather some of Rousseau's flowers for the Mere 
 Angelique," she thought, and then, as they came 
 out of the wood and walked between fields so 
 brown and sere, she remembered Van's picture 
 of the Mere Angelique, seated at the roadside, 
 against such a background, and waiting for the 
 reapers. What ailed Pere Paquerette too, that 
 as they left the forest, he should look over his 
 shoulder toward the Chateau de la Chasse, and 
 sing with his cracked voice. 
 
 " Viens creuser mon tombeau, 
 Pre's des bois verts, et des lilas en fleurs." 
 
 Mere Angelique was conscious and looked up 
 with such a pleasant smile on recognizing who 
 had come, that at first Eulalie was deceived, and 
 thought that Pere Paquerette was mistaken, and 
 that she would recover. But the old man's 
 judgment was correct. Mere Angelique had 
 borne a fearful mental and physical strain, and 
 
 " Overstrung may be the bow, all stringing o'er." 
 
 For several days she lingered, and Eulalie never
 
 356 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 left her ; day and night she hung over the dear 
 old face. Sometimes Eulalie read to her from the 
 "Imitation of Christ," for Mere Angelique had 
 flatly refused to see the priest, who came with 
 the host, and little Mimi was much distressed be- 
 cause now there would be no more sacraments, 
 for Father Francis Xavier had said that the Mere 
 Angelique had trampled upon the last one. 
 
 Eulalie could not see that she took any interest 
 in what she read, or even listened to it, until her 
 hand tightened upon her own, at the following : 
 
 " Let all doctors hold their peace ; let all crea- 
 tures be silent in Thy sight ; speak Thou alone 
 unto me. 
 
 " It wearieth me often, to read and hear many 
 things ; in Thee is all that I would have and can 
 desire." 
 
 "Mere Angelique," said Eulalie, "if you do 
 not wish to take God at second hand, will you 
 not pray to him yourself ?" 
 
 The Mere Angelique shook her head ; " I shall 
 see God face to face very soon, little Eulalie, and 
 I shall have all eternity in which to tell him all 
 I want ; but I shall not be with you very much 
 longer, and I would rather use what strength I 
 have left in talking with you." 
 
 After this, Eulalie did not vex her any more.
 
 LE JOUR DES MORTS. 357 
 
 but one day she made a request to be read to, of 
 her own accord. " Mr. Van's little book," she 
 said, and Charlotte, opening Mere Angelique's 
 chest, took out a little French Testament. " Mon- 
 sieur Van gave it to grand'mere with some -other 
 things, before he went away, and grand'mere 
 always said you were to have it with her Saint 
 Esprit ear-rings." 
 
 Eulalie opened the book where a leaf was 
 turned down, and read, "Him that cometh to me 
 I will in nowise cast out." 
 
 " I come," said Mere Angelique, in a voice 
 wondrously clear and cheerful. Eulalie went on 
 with her reading, but there was no further re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " How very still grand'mere is," said Charlotte. 
 Eulalie paused ; they were all so silent that they 
 could hear each other's hearts beat. Eulalie laid 
 her ear upon Mere Angelique's breast, the 
 lovingest heart of all was stilled. 
 
 A few days after came the Jour des Marts. The 
 village people stood back, and none spoke as 
 Eulalie hung over Mere Ange"lique's grave a little 
 painting of Notre Dame des Sept Douleurs, 
 framed in Bourbon lilies. The painting was Van's 
 work, and the frame her own, and the dear heart 
 that lay beneath loved them both. Some distant
 
 35 8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 relatives of Mere Angelique came and took Char 
 lotte and Mimi ; it seemed that they were the 
 only legacy the good woman had to leave. They 
 clung weeping about Eulalie's neck for a few 
 moments, and then they were separated, nevei 
 to meet again. Wearily Eulalie went back to hei 
 little room in Paris. " I have lost my last friend," 
 she said, as she lay down upon her little bed, and 
 drew the curtains that separated it from the 
 room. The next day she was in a high fever, and 
 the physician who was called said that she had 
 taken it while nursing the Mere Angelique. He 
 was right and wrong ; the disease was the same 
 as that of which the Mere Angelique had died, a 
 lack of interest in life, but its fever had burned in 
 her veins longer than the doctor knew. 
 
 Often in her delirium she reproached herself, 
 " I deserve to be unhappy," she moaned ; " Mere 
 Angelique never guessed it, but I was not true to 
 Ame"d6e, in my heart I was not"
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 A MAN'S LOVE. 
 
 'Tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, 
 We are sure to find something blissful and dear, 
 
 And that when we 're far from the lips we love, 
 We 've but to make love to the lips we are near. 
 
 MOORE. 
 
 XT" AN, since his return to America, was win- 
 ning "golden opinions from all sorts of 
 people." He was the pet of fashionable society ; 
 the critics were not only merciful, but flattering, 
 and still better, he was constantly receiving sub- 
 stantial certificates of approval from picture 
 buyers. Society reproached him for indifference 
 to his honors, but they honored him the more for 
 his irresponsiveness to their enthusiasm. Insen- 
 sibly, too, Van was becoming interested in his 
 own success ; it seemed so ridiculous to him that 
 any one should consider him an artist, or care to 
 purchase his pictures, when men in Europe, so 
 much farther advanced than himself, called them- 
 selves only students, and never thought of offering 
 
 (359)
 
 36O BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 anything of their own for sale. The change of 
 mental atmosphere was certainly doing him good. 
 Men seldom die of broken hearts ; " the care of 
 this world, and the deceitfulness of riches," have 
 their good uses, and not only choke the good 
 word, but with it disappointed aspirations and 
 broken-winged loves ; and the man goes on, not 
 quite forgetting, perhaps, but too much occupied 
 to be altogether wretched. Sometimes, late on a 
 lonely evening, as he gives aimless pokes to the 
 red anthracite in his grate, there sweeps over 
 him such a tide of memory that he can almost 
 fancy the empty easy-chair opposite tenanted by 
 a woman's form, but the delusion is transitory, 
 and he turns quickly to the actual and the 
 present. Van was more faithful, more conscien- 
 tious, than this. He was honestly unhappy that 
 Eulalie's loss did not make him more miserable. 
 He told hiniself angrily that he loved Eulalie 
 more than her boorish lover Amedee, but the 
 garde chasse had died for her, and he was living 
 on very comfortably, in spite of his disappoint- 
 ment. His indignation with himself received a 
 fresh impulse about this time, in a letter from 
 Orsovitr.h. It was postmarked Chicago, and ran 
 as follows :
 
 A MAN'S LOVE. 
 
 DEAR OLD FELLOW: For the last three weeks I 
 have been in Paradise, and, figuratively speaking, am 
 still there. To explain at once, for I hate mystifica- 
 tions: Paradise is the very appropriate name of a 
 camp occupied by the th U. S. Cavalry, on a river 
 of the same name (which is, likewise, well suited to 
 the cognomen), in Western Kansas. How did I find 
 myself in this garden of Eden ? I scarcely know. I 
 told you that I should probably keep going until I 
 reached California, and, having done this, I concluded 
 to make a complete circuit of the globe, and was 
 crossing overland, when I heard that General C., 
 whom I met in Europe, was in camp on the plains. 
 The general had pressed me very hospitably to enjoy 
 a buffalo hunt with him if I ever found myself in his 
 vicinity, and, on my sending him a dispatch, the invi- 
 tation was seconded by another, which left no doubt 
 as to its sincerity. I had expected to find a band of 
 rough men, living in the most primitive fashion, pre- 
 pared for Indian warfare, and did not know but I 
 might have a dash of this as well. You can imagine 
 my surprise when I found myself in the midst of what 
 seemed a court picnic. Under a delightful grove on 
 the banks of a pretty little stream, booths and pavil- 
 ions were arranged in the most tasteful and picturesque 
 manner possible. Officers strode about in the showiest 
 of uniforms ; the army, encamped on the opposite 
 side of the ravine, seemed there only to furnish them 
 with orderlies, hostlers, and handsome horses. I 
 caught glimpses of negro servants placing handsome 
 silver services on snowy damask ; of packs of expen- 
 sive blooded hounds, gamboling on the grass ; of 
 luxurious reclining chairs, couches, and tables strewn 
 with the latest European literature ; and still greater 
 wonder, of ladies, fashionably and elegantly dressed, 
 promenading and seated in this Paradise. The general 
 had sent an orderly and an ambulance to the station, 
 some five miles distant, anticipating my arrival, a nd 
 46
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 now came forward to greet me. He placed a tent, a 
 fine rifle, a magnificent horse, and a servant at my 
 disposal, and proceeded to introduce me to his officers. 
 The name of one of them, Major Poser, struck me 
 as slightly familiar, but I was not at all prepared for 
 hearing that gentleman say, "My wife and her sister 
 are in camp with me ; the general was speaking to 
 them of you last night, and they are under the 
 impression that they met you abroad last spring; do 
 let me relieve their curiosity by taking you down to 
 our tent for a few moments. I will bring you back 
 in time for the general's mess, and I am sure that he 
 will excuse you." Well, Van, you have already 
 guessed who they were. Of all things, to think of 
 meeting Mrs. Poser and Fanny Fitz Flirt again in 
 this fashion. You may fancy that I was surprised, 
 and not at all displeased, remembering, as you must, 
 how I admired them both the first evening that we 
 met them, at Papa Robusti's, in Ecouen. 
 
 Van stretched his powers of recollection to 
 their utmost, but, strive as he would, he could not* 
 recall the admiration of which Orsovitch spoke. 
 How forgetful I must be, he murmured, and then 
 went on with the letter. 
 
 Well, as I told you, I passed here the most delight- 
 ful three weeks of my life. Fanny had a perfect 
 little bower of beauty fitted up for her, and called 
 her reception tent. It was floored and carpeted 
 luxuriously, with here and there a wolf-skin, or other 
 handsome mat, for the convenience of Frolic, her 
 creamy-white greyhound. A'n American flag was 
 tastefully draped at the entrance, and at one end of 
 the tent stood her tiny upright cabinet piano, which 
 is carried about with them wherever they go, in their 
 "prairie schooner," or freight wagon, devoted to their
 
 A MAN'S LOVE. 363 
 
 own personal belongings. Delightfully indolent camp- 
 chairs abounded; in one corner stood a field-easel 
 and other sketching apparatus, with some canvases, 
 which showed that Miss Fanny possessed a good deal 
 of artistic feeling, much originality, entirely unmixed 
 with any real knowlege of drawing. In the opposite 
 corner stood a table supporting a handsome statuette 
 of Diana, and above her were suspended some dainty 
 firearms, and various votive offerings ; a beard from 
 a buffalo, slain by Miss Fanny's own hand ; a speci- 
 men of bead-work, which an Indian squaw had taught 
 her to embroider; quite a variety of other Indian 
 relics, and an eagle's wing from a bird shot by an 
 admirer. I always found Miss Fanny's tent a delight- 
 ful resort. Her musical repertoire, selected at Paris 
 only a few months previous with a great deal of 
 discrimination, happened to contain some of my 
 favorite pieces. The only nuisance was, that the 
 unmarried officers found the place as fascinating as I 
 did, and I rarely had the pleasure of a quiet tete-d-tete 
 with Miss Fanny. We often read aloud, the ladies 
 occupied in some light needlework, and sometimes I 
 played chess with Mrs. Poser, whom I found remarka- 
 bly skillful. Before dinner we invariably took a long 
 horse-back ride. The delightful monotony of this 
 midsummer night's dream had only two interruptions, 
 a buffalo hunt, and a pillow-case ball given Mrs. 
 General C. The former was the most exciting scene 
 in which I ever took part ; a Russian bear hunt is 
 nothing to it. I wish I could describe that wordless, 
 almost breathless charge over the crisp, brown prairie ; 
 the copper sun seemingly joining us in the dizzying 
 gallop ; the air, faint and warm when we stood still, 
 now sharp and intoxicating; the thrill in my own 
 tight-drawn nerves sympathetic to the one which 
 quivered in every straining fibre of my racing horse, 
 and the loud Ah, ah ! of the hunters, which greeted 
 each shot that told ; the sight of the huge creatures
 
 364 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 charging the hunters, or standing sullenly at bay, 
 pawing up the earth with their hoofs, receiving shot 
 after shot with sublime indifference, and, finally, 
 looking about in a strangely human way for a soft 
 spot, and kneeling down to die. Then, over and 
 above all, the ever-present sense of insecurity, with- 
 out the slightest element of fear, giving to everything 
 an insane fascination absolutely indescribable. Fanny 
 behaved in the most intrepid and dashing manner; I 
 never saw her appear to better advantage. She lost 
 her hat in an early stage of the chase, and her long 
 auburn hair, every bit of it her own, not a particle of 
 sham of any kfna about the girl, streamed after her, 
 like the tail of a comet. "Am I not right," she said 
 to me in one of the pauses in the hunt, " to make 
 Diana, Goddess of Hunting, my patron saint? delight- 
 ful old girl ; I don't believe you ever appreciated her 
 before." "No, nor you either, Fanny," was the 
 equivocal phrase with which I alone found time to 
 reply, but from that moment a man with a golden 
 hair of Lillith round his heart was not more surely 
 enslaved than I. I did not quite like the idea of 
 proposing at once; she had too many admirers for 
 me to feel at all sure of my ground, and so I deter- 
 mined to have a talk with Mrs. Poser. There was a 
 Colonel Bluster, who gave himself insufferable airs 
 of familiarity with Fanny, and I thought I would make 
 myself certain as to his status before wading in too 
 deeply The first chance that I had to speak with 
 Mrs. Poser alone was at the pillow-case party, a bur- 
 lesque affair, at which every one appeared robed 
 exactly alike, in sheets, with white cotton masks, and 
 a hood, like a capuchin's, formed from a pillow-case. 
 I recognized Major Poser first, noticed the lady with 
 whom he was most in company, and chalked her 
 sleeve with colored crayon. Later in the evening, I 
 asked her to accompany me in a promenade upon the 
 parade, where bonfires were lighted at intervals, and
 
 A MAN'S LOVE. $6$ 
 
 the regimental band was discoursing rather noisy but 
 exuberant music. This fete champttre was the most 
 European thing I have seen in America ; it reminded 
 me strongly of the fete at Ecouen with a difference. 
 I informed Mrs. Poser that I had discovered her 
 identity, and proceeded to be very confidential. She 
 was most sympathetic, and by degrees I divulged 
 more than I intended, and, emboldened by her solemn 
 assurance that her sister considered Colonel Bluster 
 impertinently presumptuous, I made a confession in 
 toto, at the close of which my audience of one burst 
 into a peal of merry laughter, and throwing aside her 
 mask discovered Miss Fanny herself. I was some- 
 what taken aback, though it was just as well as it was, 
 for if it had been her sister, I should have been as 
 thoroughly compromised, with the additional incon- 
 venience of having the whole declaration to go over 
 with again. 
 
 Well, here we are in Chicago, at Miss Fanny's 
 paternal mansion. The invitations for the wedding 
 are out, you will find one enclosed for yourself, and 
 Fanny joins me in hoping that you will be able to 
 honor us with your attendance. After the wedding 
 I shall take my bride at once to my home in Russia. 
 
 And, now, my dear boy, I am aware that I have 
 given you a very superficial view of the whole affair ; 
 but I do assure you that my love for Fanny is entirely 
 unconnected with any calculations as to the probable 
 worth of her father's grain elevators ; it is an earnest, 
 manly, and blessedly comfortable affair, quite different 
 from the agonies and paroxysms through which I 
 suppose ever}' man passes at some period of his 
 existence. I confessed all my Ecouen experience to 
 Fanny; am not sure that I would have done so had 
 she not catechised me pretty closely, showing that 
 she already knew almost everything, and guessed 
 considerably more. When I told her of the loss at 
 sea of the steamship on which Eulalie had taken
 
 366 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 passage, she cried like a baby, and I confess I thought 
 the more of her for her soft-heartedness. 
 
 Your letter from Paris, with quite a budget of other 
 correspondence, overtook me here yesterday. Very 
 fortunate for me that it didn't arrive sooner; now 
 any reconsideration of a question which I had sup- 
 posed irrevocably settled for me, is entirely out of my 
 power. I thank you for your interest, but all is very 
 well as it is. And now I close with old Marmontel's 
 advice, which I have found remarkabley good, and 
 which I advise you to adopt also : Qiiand on ria pas 
 ce qu'on aime, ilfaut aimer ce qu'on a. 
 Auf Wiedersehn, 
 
 ORSOVITCH. 
 
 Van folded the letter with a sarcastic smile. 
 And was this all, he asked, of an affection which 
 he had believed stonger tnan his own ? No, it 
 was not possiole ; good spirits had wrestled might- 
 ily in and for Orsovitch, but they had given him up 
 as not worth fighting for. Perhaps Orsovitch 
 felt more deeply than his letter implied, or 
 than Van gave him credit for. Van called several 
 times upon the newly-married couple before they 
 sailed for Europe, and was as well pleased with 
 Mrs. Orsovitch as with the Fanny of other days. 
 She was the same attractive, intelligent, true- 
 hearted American girl ; sufficiently accustomed 
 to European society to appear to advantage in it, 
 and with tact enough to keep in subjection the
 
 A MAN'S LOVE. 
 
 husband she had enthralled, his double nature, 
 good and evil spirits, and all. She was a better 
 wife than Orsovitch deserved. Van scanned him 
 closely, and could only see the model, devoted- 
 husband, until one evening when, before the gas 
 was lighted, Orsovitch seated himself at the 
 piano, and played thoughtfully Beethoven's Moon- 
 light Sonata. An old man is musing over his 
 life. Very pleasantly run his recollections through 
 the scenes of his youth ; when, suddenly, in the 
 midst of some happy souvenir, memory hurls 
 upon him a " De Profundis," which he had cov- 
 ered over and thought forgotten. Each happy 
 reverie is shattered with the same discordant 
 crash. Some black scene, such as the picture 
 gallery of most men's memories holds, rises, cast- 
 ing the shadow of remorse over all. The few 
 guests present were silent, magnetized by the 
 spirit with which Orsovitch rendered the sonata. 
 He said in a low voice to Van, who was standing 
 close beside him, as one of the bitter storm waves 
 rolled over the keys, "That memory is Eulalie. 
 Flowers, too, always make me think of her, 
 
 " I shall never be friends again with roses, 
 I shall hate sweet music my^whole life long." 
 
 Van could not reply; there seemed to be a 
 great wall between them.
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Shortly after the departure of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Orsovitch, Van's friends were surprised by the 
 announcement of an auction sale of his effects, 
 preparatory to a sudden leave-taking for Europe. 
 What seemed to him the unfaithfulness of his 
 friend had aroused all the antagonism of his 
 nature, and with it the really strong affection 
 which he felt for Eulalie. " If I could have fore- 
 seen this," he repeated constantly to himself ; 
 " but, please God, it shall not even now be too 
 late." The seemingly interminable voyage was 
 at last over, and, arriving in Paris at four o'clock 
 in the morning, Van ordered the coachman to set 
 him down at the Hotel de Louvre, intending to 
 take a nap, and call upon Eulalie as early in the 
 day as conventionality would permit. He threw 
 himself upon the bed, but could not sleep. A 
 strange restlessness had taken possession of him, 
 and he determined to walk in the garden of the 
 Tuileries until it should be late enough for him 
 to call. Toward daybreak he could control him- 
 self no longer, and involuntarily he walked in the 
 direction of the Hotel Bon Ange. It was so early 
 that no one would be up, but he reasoned that 
 the sight of the house in which she lived might 
 calm him, and,, after he had passed it once or 
 twice, enable him to return to his hotel and take 
 his breakfast like a perfectly sane individual.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 
 
 If he would come to-day, to-day, to-day, 
 
 Oh! what a day to-day would be I 
 But now he 's away, miles and miles away 
 
 From me, across the sea. 
 O, little bird, flying, flying, flying 
 
 To your nest in the warm west, 
 Tell him as you pass that I am dying, 
 
 As you pass home to your nest. 
 
 CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. 
 
 the night preceding Van's arrival in Paris, 
 in the little room that served as office for 
 the Hotel Bon Ange, Zizi watched at the bedside 
 of her friend. The heavy curtains were drawn 
 back from the alcove, that she might have air, 
 and the lamplight fell upon the sunken cheeks 
 and closed eyes of Eulalie. Very still and white lay 
 the face, like a marble mask, separated from the 
 whiteness of the linen by the dark hair, which lay 
 upon the pillow like skeins of tangled silk. Her 
 aunt dozed in the fauteuil beside the fire-place; 
 she would have gone to bed, for Zizi could have 
 47 369
 
 37 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 given the lodgers their keys as they came in, but 
 the doctor had said that this was the crisis night in 
 the fever, a crisis of whose result there could be 
 no doubt. Very soon, 
 
 " The sickness, the nausea, 
 
 The pitiless pain, 
 Would cease, with the fever 
 
 That maddened her brain 
 With the fever called ' living,' 
 
 That burned in her brain." 
 
 Zizi had wept so much* that her eyelids ard 
 cheeks were swollen, and she could scarcely see 
 the work that must be done though her heart 
 broke. A basket at her feet was filled with tufts 
 of black plumes, and little boxes of jet beads 
 were ranged along the side of the bed. It 
 seemed to Zizi as if she were preparing mourn- 
 ing for Eulalie's death. Her fingers trembled so 
 that the beads slipped from her needle to the 
 floor. She stooped to pick them up, and the 
 slight noise which she made roused Eulalie. " II 
 is 1, dear," she said, noting the startled expres- 
 sion. 
 
 " I thought it was Our Lady," replied Eulalie, 
 "come for her garland, and I have not begun it 
 yet. It is the busy season, so many orders, so 
 much work. Ask her to wait till morning, Zizi.
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 37 * 
 
 Tell her I will work all night, and she may rely 
 
 upon me ; I will surely have it dtme." 
 
 ' " What did she say ? " asked her aunt, waking 
 
 up. 
 
 " She thinks she is back at the flower store, 
 and has an order to finish," replied Zizi ; " it is 
 seeing me work, I suppose, that has put it into 
 her head. She watched me a long while some 
 time since, without speaking, and then closed her 
 eyes again ; they had quite a natural look, and I 
 fancied she was in her right mind once more." 
 
 " She hasn't spoken once during the afternoon," 
 said the other ; "I always humor her flighty 
 notions, whatever they may be, and sa*y something 
 soothing, pretending it is just as she thinks, for 
 it only confuses and worries her to contradict or 
 try to explain." 
 
 A gloomy day, it was only eight o'clock, and 
 yet it had been dark for more than three hours. 
 Zizi knew the exact time, no_t from the little 
 clock on the mantel, for she sat with her back to 
 it, but because Monsieur Le Maigre had just 
 asked for his key. He was an invalid, and always 
 entered directly after he had finished his evening 
 meal at the cafe, never indulging in the theatre, 
 or irregularities of any sort. He was very exact ; 
 when the needle pointed to two minutes cf eight
 
 372 BOURBON LIMES. 
 
 they always listened for his tread, a listless weary 
 one, as if he were too tired to lift his feet fairly, 
 but let them drag one after the other ; and yet,- 
 with all his languor, he was never late. He was 
 inquiring for Eulalie now in a monotonous voice, 
 that corresponded well with his steps. " He left 
 a bouquet for Eulalie yesterday," said the elder 
 woman. " Idiot, as if any one as crazy as she is 
 would notice flowers ; and I'll warrant you he '11 
 not think to bring any for the interment. I gave 
 the bouquet to Louis, who sells flowers between 
 acts at the Opera Comique. It will help pay for 
 all that medicine. She is speaking again ; listen." 
 
 " They must be all white flowers, for they are 
 for the great marriage supper," said Eulalie. " I 
 think I will begin with Uncle Paquerette. He 
 will not despise a daisy, though it is a common 
 field flower. I can't think of any flowers that 
 are all white. I must ask our lady to let me give 
 her some others." 
 
 " Speak to her, ask her something," whispered 
 her aunt. 
 
 " Don't work so hard, Eulalie," said Zizi ; " I 
 will help you with your garland ; leave it to me, 
 and sleep now, I will have it ready when milady 
 comes." 
 
 " It is not a milady ; it is Our Lady," persisted
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 373 
 
 the sick girl, " Our Lady of Seven Sorrows. She 
 stepped out of the church window while I was 
 praying to her just now, and told me she wanted 
 me to make a garland for her son." 
 
 " Some altar decorations, you mean, don't you, 
 for your little church in Ecouen ? " 
 
 " No, they were for one of the halls in heaven, 
 the most beautiful of all, the Throne Room, and 
 the flowers were to be human souls. She said 
 she would come for the garland herself. There, 
 I hear her footsteps, and it is not ready." 
 
 " It is only Mademoiselle Fafalata, going to the 
 theatre," said her aunt ; " I can tell her step at 
 any time of night, she comes down stairs with a 
 hop, skip, and jump, and then click, click, rat, tat, 
 go her little heels on the pavement. I don't 
 need to see the lodgers to know which is there. 
 I might wake up at any hour of night and tell 
 you the hour, and who was passihg simply from 
 hearing their tread. Each one has his times of 
 going and coming, and a different way of setting 
 his feet down." 
 
 " Madame Lepine, come here !" exclaimed Zizi, 
 in a frightened tone. " She looks so strangely, is 
 she dying ? " 
 
 Eulalie's eyes opened with a smile. " Oh, Zizi, 
 I have seen her again," said she, " and she says
 
 374 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 her son does not want all white flowers ; I am so 
 glad, they were so hard to find. He says the 
 angels' souls are all white, and He wants human 
 souls that have sinned and suffered, and repented. 
 And now I can weave in all my friends. Look, 
 there is Reinette, a spray of bleeding heart." 
 The exertion of speaking seemed to exhaust her, 
 for she lay silent a long time, though her fingers 
 twitched nervously on the coverlet. " Ears of 
 wheat," she whispered, " ripe and yellow, the 
 Mere Angelique." 
 
 Madame Lepine moved uneasily. " It is ten 
 o'clock," she murmured, " I hear the acc'ountant 
 coming." 
 
 He asked how Eulalie was, as he lit his bed- 
 room candle. Zizi lifted an unfinished funeral 
 wreath from her basket. " It will not be done in 
 time for her coffin," and she burst into tears and 
 hid her face in 'the coverlet. 
 
 "Is that you, Zizi?" asked Eulalie, "You 
 come next in my garland." 
 
 " I am not fit, my soul is as black as those 
 crape violets." 
 
 " All who have sinned and suffered," whis- 
 pered Eulalie. 
 
 " I don't know that I have suffered any," re- 
 plied Zizi, though the crutch which told of the
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 375 
 
 accident which had cut short a brilliant careef 
 lay close beside her crippled limb. " I was never 
 leceived and deserted like Reinette ; I adopted a 
 Jiast life because I could make money by it, and 
 because I thought it more amusing to be dancing 
 behind the footlights, than to be saying my 
 catechism to the priest. I got nicely paid for my 
 Choice, didn't I ? Well, it was no more than I 
 deserved, 'twould have served me right if I had 
 broken my neck. I wish I had, so that you 
 might live," and she bent tenderly over the sick 
 girl. Eulalie held her face in her hands. 
 
 " Christ wants you too, Zizi. You are a great 
 purple passion flower. You have wandered here 
 and there, all over the hot-house, making every 
 place bright with gay leaves and blossoms, doing 
 harm to no one but yourself, and Christ wants 
 the wandering passion-flower, for He looks down 
 into its heart and sees His own emblems, the 
 aammer and nails, and the crown of thorns." 
 
 " It is true, it is true," sobbed Zizi, in an agony 
 of tears. " Thou who knowest all things, Thou 
 knowest I repent. Thou knowest how many 
 years I have carried the thorns of remorse in 
 my heart. In thy mercy, make it possible for 
 me to find Eulalie again some day." 
 
 How very still the room was for several hours
 
 376 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 afterward. Eulalie neither spoke nor moved. 
 Zizi remained upon her knees. The lodgers 
 came and went, Madame Lepine served them 
 silently, wide awake, and awed a little by what 
 had passed, but still more by what she felt 
 was to come. When death is known to be ap- 
 proaching, an enemy is easily forgiven. A man 
 may have been a great sinner, but we forget all, 
 if he is dying before us. Eulalie had been the 
 most dutiful of daughters to Madame Lepine, 
 she could not remember a single wrong act which 
 she had committed against herself or any one 
 else, and suddenly and for the first time, all their 
 disagreements came before her in their true light, 
 Eulalie always in the right, and she in the wrong. 
 It was simply outrageous that she should die, and 
 Madame Lepine felt as if she must berate some 
 one, but she was powerless. With all her ef- 
 frontery she could not blame the Creator, not 
 now at least. She stood beside the bed, and 
 seeing that Eulalie was not asleep, asked, " Am 
 I, too, in your garland ? " 
 
 " Yes, aunt, there, the tiger lily ;" I can see 
 into heaven," she added ; " there are rows of 
 alabaster lamps, their golden flames reflected in 
 the crystal sea. Oh, so beautiful ! No, they are 
 not lamps, they are pond lilies, such as grew
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 377 
 
 around the Chateau de la Chasse. Our lady 
 wishes me to put one in her garland. That one 
 with the golden, odorous heart is AmedeVs soul. 
 It never opened here, for it lived in the cold lake 
 under the shadow of the chateau. We never 
 guessed what there was within the tightly-closed 
 petals, but there is sunshine there. Do you 
 remember the aloe that grows at Villa Adeline ? 
 Adeline planted it, but it only flowered last year. 
 I used to think, when I saw its sharp, bayonet 
 leaves, that it was a very ugly thing, and not 
 worth the room it took to grow in. I did not 
 think so when it blossomed. It shot up, up. 
 They had to take the roof off the conservatory. 
 That is the soul of La Gazette. She has love in 
 her old heart as strong as any we hold, - her 
 love for her daughter. She only hated me be- 
 cause she loved Sidonie. I must have an aloe 
 in my garland." 
 
 " I don't believe the Virgin will be pleased,' 
 said her aunt, grimly, "if you offer her such 
 trash as that." 
 
 " How heavy the garland is growing," said Eu- 
 lalie ; " take it off my chest, it crushes me," and 
 her fingers caught convulsively at the throat of 
 her night-gown. "I can't breathe; open the 
 window, please. I am so tired, and Our Lady 
 48
 
 37 8 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 will come, and will not find the garland ready. I 
 promised it by sunrise. It has grown so long 
 that it is hard to twist." 
 
 It was pitiable to see the little thumb and 
 wasted fingers, twisting, twisting, with that 
 peculiar movement, the first and most difficult 
 thing difleuriste has to learn, a movement as hard 
 to catch as some finger poses in violin exercises 
 twist, twist. 
 
 " That scarlet poppy is Sidonie, flaunting, 
 and wild, and willful ; but, see, it forms its spot of 
 color in the garland, it would be dull and cold 
 without it. This laurel spray is Monsieur Orso- 
 vitch, and the sprig of holly, Monsieur Van. It 
 was always Christmas where he was ; there will 
 never be any Christmas for me." 
 
 Her eyes closed, the fingers by degrees ceased 
 their motion, and Zizi cried again, in a low, 
 startled voice, " She is dying ! Oh, my God ! she 
 is dying ! " 
 
 " Not yet," said Madame Lepine, whose hand 
 was on Eulalie's heart. " She has talked too 
 much, that is all. We must not let her say 
 another word. What does it matter though ? " she, 
 added, despairingly ; " we can't save her, do what 
 we may. There is Popol," she said, after a pause.
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 379 
 
 " I did not think it was so near morning ; give 
 him his key, Zizi, No. 42." 
 
 Leopold, or Popol, as they called him, was 
 waiter at a cafe chantant, and never arrived a'., his 
 lodgings until three in the morning. " Here," 
 said he, drawing a glass of wine jelly from the 
 inner pocket of his coat, "that's for the sick 
 girl ; I filched it from the buffet ; it will do her 
 good ; don't break the tumbler." 
 
 Madame Lepine sprang to her feet, and out 
 into the court-yard after the frightened Popol, 
 glad to find some victim, however innocent, on 
 whom to wreak her pent-up anger. " Go to the 
 cemetery with your jellies," she hissed, in a low, 
 but frightfully penetrating voice. " She looks as 
 if she could eat ! As well give your sweet things 
 to the drowned people at the morgue. Don't let 
 me catch you insulting our misery like this again, 
 idiot," and Popol being by this time too far up 
 the staircase to hear her, she returned to the 
 office, and sat down again to her sullen despair. 
 
 Slowly an hour wore by, then another, and the 
 night-watchman stumbled sleepily in, and took 
 his key from its hook, for both of the women 
 had fallen asleep with weariness and grief. His 
 entrance awoke them, and Zizi sprang again to 
 the bedside, and placed her ear over Eulalie's lips.
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 " She is breathing quietly," she said ; " I think the 
 fever is leaving her. Oh ! if she could but live." 
 
 " But that is impossible," replied Madame Le- 
 pine ; " didn't she make her confession yesterday, 
 and partake of the sacrament ? Was anybody 
 ever heard to get well after that ? " 
 
 " You talk as if the communion were poison," 
 said Zizi ; " I think that what she said just now 
 was better than any confession. How beautifully 
 she pardoned those who had caused her so much 
 misery." 
 
 "What she said just now was all crazy non- 
 sense ; it sounded as if it had been read out of 
 a book," said Madame Lepine, " and not at all like 
 what a sane human being would say. Forgiving 
 enemies is the worst sign of all. When people 
 do that, you may be sure they are going to die. 
 It stands to reason, nobody in their senses would 
 ever do it. Pretty garland for the Virgin, old 
 Gazette and Sidonie would make ! I should like 
 to weave them a garland of another fashion, 
 ^it should be of good, strong hemp. Catch me 
 doing them up in flowers to send to heaven ; if 
 it depended on me, they would never get there." 
 
 A pale, chilly light crept into the room ; it was 
 the grey twilight preceding the dawn. Was it 
 this or death that gave Eulalie's face that ghastly
 
 OUR LADY'S GARLAND. 
 
 look ? Her fingers were feebly twisting, twisting 
 in her sleep. Suddenly a quick footfall was 
 heard on the pavement without, and on the tiles 
 in the corridor. Eulalie heard it, and raised her 
 hand. " Hark," said she faintly, " Our Lady has 
 come for her garland. Ask her to wait a moment, 
 only one flower more, mine and// is " 
 Her hand fell, and she lay utterly motionless. 
 Zizi turned, and looked toward the door ; she half 
 expected to see the Virgin enter to claim the gar- 
 land, and her friend's soul. 
 
 " It is no one who belongs here," said Madame 
 Lepine, answering Zizi's look. " The night-watch- 
 man is always the latest comer. It must be only 
 some passer." The steps were in the corridor as 
 she spoke, and there was a very gentle knock at 
 the door. Neither woman rose. The knock was 
 repeated. Madame Lepine, with her face ash 
 color, strode to the door, and threw it open defi- 
 antly. She uttered a cry of surprise, for it was 
 Van "Your name was the last upon her lips," 
 said she, pointing to the bed. Her aunt's excla- 
 mation had roused Eulalie ; she held out her 
 hands as though they were full of flowers, and in 
 a whisper finished the sentence, whose com- 
 mencement Van had not heard, 
 " Onlv a fleur-de-lis."
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 She had recognized Van, for a smile of wonder- 
 ful sweetness and content flickered upon her 
 face as she fell asleep. He turned, and saw the 
 sunlight lying in a broad field upon the floor, 
 the morning had come.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 A little longer yet a little longer, 
 
 Life shall be thine ; life, with its power to will ; 
 
 Life, with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer, 
 
 Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill. 
 
 A little longer still patience, beloved : 
 
 A little longer still, ere heaven unroll 
 
 The glory, and the brightness, and the wonder, 
 
 Eternal and divine, that waits thy soul I 
 
 ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR. 
 
 TN the midst of a lovely little park, in the 
 suburbs of the Centennial City, stands an 
 elegant home, the exact counterpart in architec- 
 tural style of the Villa Adeline. The interior 
 furnishings are the same, for it chanced that the 
 Villa Adeline was burned while Van was abroad, 
 and he purchased the rescued furniture from M. 
 Dupinceau. Here, in the oriel window, if the 
 great exhibition allowed you any time for one of 
 the most charming drives in the vicinity of Phila- 
 delphia, or in some one of the shady nooks of the 
 
 (383)
 
 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 exquisitely arranged grounds, you may have 
 caught a glimpse of Van during the summer; 
 and if you saw him, you may be sure that Eulalie 
 was not far distant, for they are inseparable now. 
 Death, with her physician, had been a foregone 
 conclusion ; but one, the wisest of mortals, wrote 
 long since, " Love is stronger than death." The 
 physician was mistaken ; Eulalie had strength 
 enough to carry her over the crisis, and the one 
 glimpse she caught of Van's face, with his soul 
 in it, remained with her through the long, health- 
 giving sleep, lying warm at her heart, so that it 
 could not grow cold, and making the days of con- 
 valescence not a weary waste, but a long, deli- 
 cious dream, and life was a certainty, because life 
 was love. That winter they spent at Capri, and 
 when spring came they turned their faces toward 
 Van's home in the New World. Theirs was a very 
 quiet wedding in Paris, only a few of Van's artist 
 friends, with Madame Lepine, Zizi, and Alphonse, 
 in the uniform of a corporal. Pere Parquerette 
 came with them. The old man cannot speak a 
 word of English, but he says that the flowers, 
 even in America, speak French, and he is fully 
 occupied and happy, reigning as a really skillful 
 gardener over Van's park, garden, and conserva- 
 tory. The broad circle under the oriel window is
 
 PEACE. 385 
 
 planted with royal fleur de Us, which grow lush 
 and tall from frequent watering. On summer 
 afternoons, while the faint perfume in the vase- 
 shaped blossoms, swaying like so many censers, 
 seems literally to burn, and the heat is still too 
 oppressive for out-door sketching, the oriel win- 
 dow is their favorite resort. Here Van and 
 Eulalie love to play chess together; perhaps 
 because the game is such a selfish one, that the 
 presence of more than the players is only an 
 intrusion, perhaps because the mimic tournament 
 brings up Old-World memories, 
 
 " Old slopes of pasture ground, 
 
 Old fosse, and moat, and mound, 
 Where the mailed warrior and crusader came ; 
 
 Old walls of crumbling stone, 
 
 With ivy overgrown, 
 And Ecouen's castles' glory-crowned fame." 
 
 For each castle to them means the old Chateau 
 de Montmorenci ; the white queen is Charlotte, 
 Princess of Conde, and the red is Catherine de 
 Medicis ; one of the red bishops is the scarlet- 
 robed cardinal, Odet de Coligny, who flames still 
 on the window next to Our Lady of Sorrows in 
 the little church ; one of the white knights is 
 Chevalier Bayard, "sans peur et sans reproche" 
 one of the red ones is Bourbon. Sometimes they 
 49
 
 386 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 change the names of the pieces, and work out dif- 
 ferent historical events by an ingenious mingling 
 of Hoyle and Froissart. Bourbon killed at the 
 storming of Rome is described thus : white 
 castle (St. Angelo) takes red knight A royal 
 visit at the Chateau de Montmorenci is king 
 castles. Various royal marriages are fool's mate, 
 and the analogs are carried deep into the intri- 
 cacies of the k- " But this is only play. Van's 
 work comes earliei . n the day, and later. He is 
 winning a reputation unique among American 
 artists, as combined figure and flower painter, 
 the first painter who has done justice to the 
 beauty of American gardens, posing his models 
 daringly among banks of brilliant flowers, and 
 having the rare artistic talent of making the 
 hazardous combination exquisitely harmonious. 
 The art world has but one reproach for Van : there 
 is sure to be one face in nearly all his pictures, 
 which, though exquisitely beautiful, it finds deci- 
 dedly monotonous. They say that when that face 
 is present, he need not sign his work. Wors 
 reproaches might be made of an artist than that 
 he should find most like second nature, more 
 familiar than his name, his *' own wife's face." 
 
 Eulalie has made many friends. High and low 
 praise the gentle little lady with the perfect
 
 PEACE. 387 
 
 manner, and the earnest, loving heart that lies 
 beneath. Those who know her find nothing 
 incongruous when Van paints her as some fair, 
 sweet saint, with her arms filled with lilies, or as 
 the Madonna herself, in Florentine style, against 
 a background of beaten gold. Since Van has 
 known Eulalie, .she and flowers have grown into 
 his life. Not only do living flowers blossom in 
 every possible niche of their home, but the walls 
 are hung with flower paintings from the brush of 
 Seghers, Watteau, Robie, De Heem and St. Jean, 
 for Van and Eulalie can say, with Mrs. Howitt ; 
 
 "We love these pictures that we see 
 At times in some old gallery, 
 Hung amid armed men of old, 
 And antique ladies, quaint and cold; 
 'Mong furious battle-pieces, dire 
 With agony, and blood, and fire; 
 Flower-pictures, painted long ago, 
 Though worn, and old, and dimmed of glow, 
 We love them, although art may deem 
 Such pictures of but light esteem. 
 
 " We love them most that they present 
 Ever some goodly sentiment ; 
 The virgin-mother, young and mild; 
 The cradle of the holy child; 
 Or, 'mid a visioned glory faint, 
 The meek brow of some martyred saio* : 
 And with their painters we can tind 
 A kindred sympathy of mhwi
 
 388 BOURBON LILIES. 
 
 Flowers are around us bright of hue, 
 The quaint old favorites and the new, 
 But with this fair array is brought 
 Full many a deep and holy thought, 
 And for us garden-buds and bowers, 
 Like the old pictures of the flowers, 
 Within their blooming depths enshrine 
 Ever some sentiment divine I " 
 
 YBR KNOb
 
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