THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 <
 
 THE FIERY DAWN
 
 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 BY 
 
 M. E. COLERIDGE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'THE KING WITH TWO FACES,' 'NON SEQUITUR,' ETC. 
 
 ' L'histoire passe si vite !' 
 
 A LEX AN ORE Dl/MAS fire. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 EDWARD ARNOLD 
 
 37 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 1901 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 (UI1LDFORD I 
 BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS
 
 p/? 
 
 > 1 
 
 NOTE 
 
 WRITERS of historic fiction are, for the most part, 
 thieves. Many of the following pages have been stolen 
 from Imbert de Saint-Amand, some from Louis Blanc, 
 a few from the ' Memoirs of Alexandre Dumas.' The 
 chapter called ' Maison Botherel ' was composed 
 almost every word of it many years ago, by Lamar- 
 tine, Feydeau, and Theophile Gautier. 
 
 807499
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER A ,K 
 
 INTRODUCTION : THE MILLER AND HIS MEN - I 
 
 I. THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN - II 
 
 II. THE POET FINDS HIS OWN - 27 
 
 III. THE SINGING OF A SONG 35 
 
 IV. FIRE BURNS - 4! 
 
 v. CORNEILLE'S DEFENDER - 48 
 
 VI. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS - 54 
 
 VII. CONVICTIONS AND COMMISSIONS - 60 
 
 vin. MARION'S LOVER - 66 
 
 IX. THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST - 74 
 
 X. THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL - 88 
 
 XI. THE CAPTURE OF BLUM - 98 
 
 XII. THE FORDING OF THE RIVER - 104 
 
 XIII. THE EMERALD RING - 113 
 
 XIV. THE CAUSE - 121 
 XV. THE WANDERINGS OF THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN - 128 
 
 XVI. TOO MANY MARQUISES - - 134 
 
 XVII. DE CIVRAC TO THE RESCUE - 144 
 
 XVIII. THE POWER OF STYLE - - 148 
 
 XIX. JEANNE BECOMES A POSTMAN - - 157 
 
 XX. A LETTER FROM TOULON - 165 
 
 XXI. CELINE - 
 
 xxn. THE ROBBERS' OAK 
 
 171
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXIII. THE SILVER KEY 196 
 
 XXIV. THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST - 211 
 
 XXV. WHO REMAINS ? 22O 
 
 XXVI. ' NOTRE-DAME DU BOUT DU PONT !' - 224 
 
 XXVII. THE OLD HOUSE AT NANTES - 23! 
 
 XXVIII. THE DAYS FLY FAST - - 235 
 
 XXIX. THE OTHER POSTMAN - 245 
 
 XXX. NIGHT - 252 
 
 XXXI. WHO LOVES BEST? - 264 
 
 XXXII. THE BARON - - 273 
 
 XXXIII. JEANNE REFUSES - 283 
 
 XXXIV. CAN IT BE ? - 2Q2 
 XXXV. MAISON BOTHEREL - - 312 
 
 xxxvi. ' LE ROI S'AMUSE ' 330 
 
 XXXVII. MADAME DE FEUCHERES 335 
 
 XXXVIII. BLUM LOSES HIS SITUATION - 341 
 
 XXXIX. JEANNE CONSENTS - 345 
 
 XL. DAWN - - 355
 
 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE MILLER AND HIS MEN 
 
 IT was the last night of a year the date of which is 
 unknown, in a country that may or may not have been 
 Holland. 
 
 It was, at any rate, a flat country, over which the 
 radiance of rising and setting suns might stream for 
 miles and never find so much as a hillock to cover with 
 shadow any part of it. Go where you would, the roar 
 of the sea was never far off ; and come upon it where 
 you would, the sea was never blue. Apparently, it 
 resented the fact of any land at all just there. Wherever 
 Nature gave an inch it took an ell,, and far inland, 
 among the fields, the canal water tasted brackish, and 
 the masts of tall ships might be seen sticking up oddly 
 out of the green grass. There was land, but land only 
 on sufferance ; in half an hour it might go back to be 
 water again if only the sea chose. Meantime people 
 lived in houses that looked like boats set up on end, 
 and they built windmills. It was a fair field indeed for 
 all the winds of heaven. From the north, from the 
 south, from the east, from the west, they rushed across 
 it, finding nothing to check them. The sails went
 
 2 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 round merrily, and the golden corn turned into dusty 
 flour. 
 
 On the night in question, however, there was no 
 wind the sails hung slack. The rain poured down 
 straight and steadily. The very air seemed to be 
 rotten with damp. As a rule, at this time of year the 
 canals were frozen, and if anything fell it was snow ; 
 but the season was warmer than usual. The canals 
 were full another drop would make them brim over 
 and still the rain went on. 
 
 In every mill but one bright lights were shining in 
 the windows. The sound of fiddles shrieked from 
 within, loud laughter echoed, and the thud of feet 
 dancing heavily, though with a right good will. They 
 were dancing and drinking the Old Year out, as the 
 saying is. 
 
 In one alone there was no light except the smoky 
 glimmer of an oil-lamp with an uneven wick, no sound 
 but the sighing and yawning of the master of the mill 
 as he sat by the fire, and now and then the wail of a 
 very young child from the room above. His wife had 
 died a week before. 
 
 He had never been very fond of her. He enjoyed an 
 odd sense of liberty now that she was gone, yet he 
 missed her, as one misses a familiar annoyance, and he 
 had not got over the bewilderment of the sudden ex- 
 change of that stout, bustling, loud-voiced presence for 
 the tiny creature that could not speak. Quickly, un- 
 expectedly, before he knew where he was, a new thing 
 had come to live in his house. He was not an imagina- 
 tive man ; he had made no preparation beforehand. 
 Still less was he prepared for the departure of all that 
 went that same day. His wife was one of those
 
 THE MILLER AND HIS MEN 3 
 
 persons whose tiresomeness seems to be a guarantee 
 of long life. It had by no means occurred to him that 
 she would not get well. In all his life before no change 
 had ever happened swiftly. People, as he knew them, 
 grew old, grew weak, grew silly and then they died. 
 A miracle would not have astonished him more than 
 the fact that his wife had died short off in this way. 
 
 For some occult reason connected with his general 
 amazement he disliked going to bed. He had only 
 to lie down and put out the rush-light, to feel more 
 wide awake than at any moment during the day. 
 The darkness made him uncomfortable, yet he would 
 not for anything have burnt a rush-light while he was 
 in bed ; it was against his instincts of economy. So 
 he sat up for the sake of the society of the oil-lamp, 
 and dozed uneasily on a wooden chair. In his dim, 
 confused way he wondered at the irrational customs of 
 mankind. Often and often, on a New Year's Eve, had 
 he been driven out to dance and make merry when he 
 would just as lief have stayed by his own hearthside. 
 Now, when he would gladly have gone anywhere for 
 the sake of seeing a human face, not one of his neigh- 
 bours but would have been shocked to see him. 
 
 Before the fire lay a cat that was neither tawny nor 
 black, with a rusty mark on her forehead. She belonged 
 to his wife. What business had she to go on living 
 when her mistress was dead ? He was not by nature 
 social, but he would have given something for the com- 
 pany of one of his own race that night. It was lonely 
 and dark in the mill. 
 
 Hark ! What was that ? 
 
 The wind making sounds like a voice. 
 
 Nonsense! He was dreaming. The wind, at any 
 
 i 2
 
 4 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 rate, could not say, ' Open the door.' The voice did. 
 It was the strangest voice that he had ever heard, for it 
 was high and low both at once. 
 
 'Open! open!' it cried again, still with the same 
 double sound. It was human there was no mistake 
 about that. 
 
 He went quickly and unbarred the door. A dark 
 figure, wrapped in a riding-cloak, from which the rain 
 was streaming, stood outside. As he looked, a part 
 detached itself, and he saw that there were two figures. 
 
 One moved aside to let the other pass first, but the 
 taller and stouter seized the arm of the younger and 
 more slightly built, and both crossed the threshold at 
 the same moment. 
 
 The miller was somewhat taken aback. Who were 
 they? 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' said he, ' if this be a frolic, you have 
 come to the wrong house.' 
 
 ' Frolic or no frolic, right house or wrong, here I 
 intend to stay,' said the taller of the two. 
 
 The younger looked up appealingly; he was not 
 much more than a boy. They seemed to be brothers, 
 the miller thought, as they stepped within the circle of 
 the glimmering oil-lamp. The next moment he changed 
 his mind. No two men could be more unlike. About 
 one thing, however, he felt certain he did not want 
 either of them under his roof. He was not fond of 
 novelty; he had had more of it than he liked during 
 the last few days. These two men were as different 
 from any men that he had ever seen as his wife dead 
 was different from his wife living. He lost no time in 
 asking the question that one man puts to another when 
 he wishes to make an enemy of him ;
 
 THE MILLER AND HIS MEN 5 
 
 ' Can you pay ?' 
 
 Thereupon the elder man asked a question that has 
 not always proved conducive to amicable relations 
 either : 
 
 ' Of what faith are you ?' 
 
 ' As good a Christian as other men, I hope,' returned 
 the miller. 
 
 ' I thought you were a Jew.' 
 
 The miller said nothing. Irony was a dead language 
 to him less, indeed : for had the stranger spoken 
 Hebrew he would have known that he did not under- 
 stand, whereas now he took the observation as a simple 
 statement of fact. 
 
 * If anything could make all men brothers, such a 
 night as this should do so,' said the younger man, 
 shivering. ' I would not turn a dog from the door.' 
 
 Nor would the miller have done so, for the matter of 
 that. He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'Dog yourself!' cried the older man. 'Dog in the 
 manger ! We want neither food nor drink. We ask 
 not so much as a crust. We do not even desire a bed. 
 All that we would have is, leave to sit by your fireside 
 until the day dawns. We can pay, however.' 
 
 With a sudden violent action that took the miller 
 by surprise, he tore out of his waistcoat pocket, for 
 which it was too big, a snuff-box of dull black horn, 
 and flung it on the table. His hands were large 
 and strong. 
 
 * We can give more than that,' said the younger man. 
 He detached from his watch-chain a little key of silver, 
 polished until it shone like a moonbeam between his 
 thin white fingers. 
 
 ' Which will you have ? The snuff-box will repay
 
 6 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 you at once, the key not till you find the lock that it 
 fits which may happen in three months or in thirteen 
 months, according to the state of the weather.' 
 
 The miller had taken up the snuff-box, and was 
 weighing it suspiciously in one hand ; he stretched out 
 the other for the key. 
 
 ' No,' said the younger man, drawing back, 'not both. 
 Which ?' 
 
 The miller relinquished the snuff-box ; it was light for 
 its size, and there was nothing inside, clearly. 
 
 ' Take care of it,' said the younger man, as he let go 
 the key. ' Remember what I say. In three months 
 or in thirteen months if you find the lock that it fits, 
 you will have made your fortune.' 
 
 This was an unfortunate phrase. The miller had 
 few convictions, but one of the strongest of them was, 
 that people who were about to ruin you always said 
 you were going to make a fortune. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 ' No,' he said at last, restoring the key. ' I'll not 
 have it. I'll have payment in honest coin of the realm, 
 or else out you go.' 
 
 The younger man said something in a foreign 
 language ; the elder shrugged his shoulders, and turned 
 to the miller again. 
 
 * My friend reminds me that we are not yet at the 
 end of our resources,' he said. ' Money we have not 
 got and cannot give you must understand that. You 
 refuse us shelter on a night when to do so is to be 
 answerable for the consequences. That does not touch 
 you ? Good ! You refuse our offers of payment 
 because you are afraid of the discovery of anything that 
 belonged to us in your house ? Good ! But you will
 
 THE MILLER AND HIS MEN 7 
 
 not escape. It is already well known by certain 
 persons that we have come hither. Inquiries will be 
 made. The mere fact that you have the reputation of 
 a churl, and that it cannot be proved that you took any 
 payment, will not acquit you. Now, I have something 
 to propose : let us sit here till morning. In the long 
 hours that must pass ' the younger man shivered 
 slightly ' we let fall certain words that you are careful 
 to remember. I will tilt my chair backwards when 
 it becomes important that you should notice what we 
 say ; my friend will tilt his forwards when it ceases to 
 be so. With the first glimmer of the dawn we quit this 
 hospitable roof. You will never see us again ; but 
 when you are questioned, say that we came here at 
 dead of night, that we insisted on remaining, that, 
 being one man to two, you could not expel us, that you 
 would take no payment, that, listening at the keyhole, 
 you overheard what you shall overhear without the 
 trouble of doing that. A word is a light thing. What 
 is it ? A little breath that leaves no trace in the air 
 even. Yet it outweighs gold. Play your cards as 
 badly as you will, and you are sure of fifty or sixty 
 pounds. If your memory serves you, if you play them 
 well, you may double the sum. Is it a bargain ?' 
 
 The miller hesitated. All his savings did not amount 
 to more than thirty pounds, and the funeral had made 
 a large hole in them. At last he nodded sullenly. 
 Thirty pounds apiece would, without doubt, be good 
 pay for the hospitality which he had not offered ; yet 
 an undefined feeling haunted him that it was dearly 
 bought. He set the best chairs in the room by the 
 fire, and retired himself to a deal bench on the other 
 side of the kitchen table.
 
 8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Begin,' said the elder man, laughing, after a long 
 silence. 
 
 ' I cannot,' said the younger impatiently, glancing at 
 the stolid face of the miller. 
 
 'Go to sleep, bumpkin!' said the other. 'Have 
 the grace to pretend to do so, at least.' 
 
 The miller dropped his head upon his hands ; he 
 could see well enough between the chinks of his 
 fingers. 
 
 'What a cat!' continued the elder man, poking the 
 animal with his foot. ' Good heavens, what a cat !' 
 He spoke as if it irritated him almost beyond endur- 
 ance. 
 
 Perhaps he irritated the cat in the same way. She 
 gave an angry hiss, as much as to say, ' Good heavens, 
 what a man !' bounded on to his knee, inflicted as 
 sharp a scratch as she knew how, and made off again 
 with her tail in the air. He seemed to be pleased 
 rather than otherwise. 
 
 ' Who would have thought, now, that the wretched 
 starved creature had life enough in it for that ?' 
 
 'They have a wonderful amount of vitality. I did 
 not know how much until I drowned a kitten the other 
 day. Bah! how it struggled!' He made a gesture 
 with his hands as though he were holding something 
 down under the water. 'A murderer might have felt 
 as I did.' 
 
 'The time will come when the murderer will be 
 looked upon as the only preserver of his race. We are 
 increasing too fast, that is certain. We know too much 
 to have the plague ; we love each other too well to 
 fight. Battle and sickness have slain their thousands. 
 Now it is the turn of peace and prosperity, and they
 
 THE MILLER AND HIS MEN g 
 
 will slay their tens of thousands. The earth will be 
 overrun ; it will become a vast hospital of the dying. 
 There is no chance but in the private murderer.' 
 
 ' An ancient prejudice against him exists, however.' 
 
 * As against every wholesome person that goes for 
 nothing.' 
 
 The older man tilted his chair back ; the miller was 
 all attention. 
 
 ' Have you heard from the Countess ?' 
 
 ' I have.' 
 
 ' Does she agree with me ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 The young man only raised his eyebrows. 
 
 ' Will she betray me ?' 
 
 ' Every man has his price. A woman can be bought 
 for less than a man, though we have done away with 
 slave-markets. You ought to know that.' 
 
 ' What message did she send ?' 
 
 ' Only these words : Quand tu le voudras.'' 
 
 Another creak. The younger man had tilted his 
 chair forwards. 
 
 ' She is a woman of many words, but when she 
 means anything she uses few.' 
 
 'A very charming young woman. I have a deep 
 respect for her.' 
 
 The steam from the soaked garments of the night 
 wanderers rose up around them as they drew closer to 
 the fire, and almost hid them from view. They said 
 little else. 
 
 Settling down as well as they could in their hard 
 chairs, they lay back and closed their eyes. The cat 
 purred softly to herself. Soon, by his regular breath-
 
 io THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ing, the older man seemed to be asleep. The miller 
 watched so long and so vigorously that he, too, fell 
 asleep at last, worn out with the effort, for it is very 
 wearisome to watch nothing. 
 
 He awoke with a start. Was it part of a dream that 
 he saw not two figures, but only one reflected in the 
 dusty mirror over the mantelpiece ? Was it part of a 
 dream that he saw the younger man creeping along 
 the wall by the side of the dresser, that he suddenly 
 stood erect, sprang back to his place by the fire, and in 
 a moment fell fast asleep again ? 
 
 The miller peered through his fingers at the older 
 man. He had not so much as changed his position, 
 but he was not breathing. Another moment, and the 
 long measured breaths began again. The miller slept 
 no more. 
 
 As the first gray light of morning shivered in through 
 the casement the child in the room above woke up and 
 cried. The two men by the fire started as if they had 
 been shot. 
 
 ' What is that ?' they said both together. 
 
 They were as pale as death. The miller rose and 
 moved towards the door. He had a vague fear that 
 their presence in some way threatened the child ; he 
 felt that he was its father. They both laughed. 
 
 ' It is high time that we were gone,' said the elder. 
 
 They put on their hats, fastened their cloaks round 
 them, and departed. The miller was careful not to 
 look which way they went.
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 
 
 IT is said that, when a man is on his way from one 
 friend to another, the intervening period of the journey 
 is spent in thought, half at the house which he has 
 left, half at the house to which he is going. So it was 
 with Lucien Sylvestre. 
 
 As he rattled along in the hot, crowded diligence 
 as yet the iron horses were not he seemed to himself 
 to be sitting on a yet harder seat than that beneath 
 him, in a wretched attic, and he heard, not the creaking 
 of the wheels and the snores of the passengers, but the 
 gruff, abrupt voice of a young fellow about his own 
 age, who said the same thing over and over again. 
 Wonderful is the power of anyone possessed of fortitude 
 and patience enough to do this ! 
 
 Socrates, according to later philosophers, owed much 
 of his authority to the use of the method. Women, 
 however, as a general rule, understand it better than 
 men ; they are keener to discount the value of appear- 
 ances. It was most probably a woman who first found 
 out that a drop of water wears away stone. A man 
 may seem to be impervious as the rock to a certain 
 idea, but let him only become addicted to the society 
 of someone who will reiterate it day after day, night
 
 12 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 after night, and ten to one it will work its way into 
 him at last, more especially if, like Lucien, he never 
 can succeed in saying the same thing twice himself. 
 
 At first, when his friend the journalist ventured to 
 suggest to him that his friend the marquis was playing 
 him false, he became indignant, furious it was 'im- 
 possible.' On the next occasion, when Blum threw out 
 a hint to the same effect, he could not adopt the same 
 line of defence it was ' highly improbable.' The next 
 time he asserted that he could see no motive. The 
 fourth time he declared that, even if it were so, he 
 should be the last man in the world to take any steps ; 
 the fifth time, that the evidence of his own senses 
 would not convince him that it was true. And, having 
 said this, he started off the day following, to give his 
 senses a chance. 
 
 Now, the result of this action was startling, and 
 it provoked discussion afterwards among Lucien's 
 acquaintance. Gentlemen considered that he had done 
 wisely, if not well. Ladies, on the other hand young 
 ladies even more vehemently than other ladies pro- 
 tested that he ought never to have behaved as he did. 
 Perhaps the initial mistake lay in the fact of his having 
 two intimate friends. If he had had one, or three, he 
 would not have been pulled opposite ways. Emotion, 
 like everything else, is very much a matter of arith- 
 metic. 
 
 For hours he kept up an imaginary conversation with 
 Blum in such a brilliant style of monologue a deux, 
 that even Walter Savage Landor, who was writing 
 about that time, could not have improved upon it. 
 He said all the things that Blum never said. He gave 
 himself always under the guise of Blum so many
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 13 
 
 excellent reasons why de Civrac must without doubt 
 be playing him false, that in the end he was quite con- 
 vinced. Probabilities ? Why, they were all in Blum's 
 favour. Motives ? Why, there was any number of 
 them, once Blum had begun ; the only difficulty was 
 to stop him. 
 
 When Lyons was left further and further behind, 
 however, when the suburbs yielded to villages, the 
 villages to hamlets, the hamlets to fields, the fields to 
 woods, the scene within the man within the diligence 
 changed. As one dissolving view fades and melts into 
 another, so did the attic fade and melt into a room 
 which was, of all rooms he had ever seen, the most 
 exquisite. The naked walls covered themselves with 
 prints from Diirer, the boarded floor (the chinks 
 between filled up with dust) changed to a Persian 
 carpet, the grate was wreathed about with chiselled 
 fruits of pomegranate and roses, the dingy windows 
 cleared into purest crystal, until there was apparently 
 no medium at all between the eyes of those within and 
 the sunshine. There were books about, but not too 
 many books. The room did not belong to them, they 
 did not fill it from floor to ceiling and spread their own 
 peculiar smell of fragrant silence round. The marquis 
 was a connoisseur, and no enthusiast. His dainty first 
 editions lurked under silken, embroidered curtains, on 
 little shelves carved with appropriate devices. People 
 did more than read and think they talked among 
 them ; and this cannot be done with any enjoyment 
 in your true library. Yet at the present moment the 
 imaginary conversation there was far less easy to carry 
 on than that in the attic. Lucien himself talked very 
 well, but the marquis was unaccountably stupid. He
 
 14 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 seemed to have no answers whatever. Once, even, 
 he was on the brink of an apology, but, of course, 
 Lucien would not permit that. He forgave him at 
 once, and from the heart, in the most magnanimous 
 manner; and therewith the diligence stopped, and he 
 was compelled to get out. He had never been sorry 
 to reach the end of that journey before. 
 
 It was a fine moonlight evening in April. The 
 marquis was eccentric, and dined at eight instead of 
 five ; he reckoned that he should be in good time. 
 
 Yet, now that he was actually on the point of arriving, 
 he shrank from it. There were two ways by which he 
 could strike across into the long, thin poplar avenue 
 that led to the chateau ; he might go by the road, and 
 this was the shorter ; or he might take to the woods. 
 He had never done that on former occasions never, 
 indeed, thought twice about it. But to-night he was 
 possessed with a desire to walk in the woods. The 
 more practical part of him suggested that he had found 
 them very dark, even at sunset, when the marquis 
 insisted on returning home by the longer round. But 
 it was surely the most practical part which responded 
 with the information that this was natural, because the 
 path lay along the eastern boundary, and no light could 
 penetrate till the moon was up. The moon was up 
 now. So he went by the woods, and beautiful enough 
 they were, but he did not enjoy their beauty. 
 
 As he drew near the house, it annoyed him to feel 
 none of the eager delight in the reappearance of its 
 familiar roof, curled outwards at both ends, which he 
 had always experienced of old. What absurd sensitive- 
 ness was this ! Why should he be forced to go through 
 the emotions of a despicable spy, coming in on false
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 15 
 
 pretences to discover the nakedness of the land, when 
 his sentiments towards the marquis were, as he assured 
 himself over and over again, completely unchanged. For 
 all that, he rang the bell as if he were ashamed. 
 
 'Why, Monsieur Lucien !' the old butler said, 'who 
 would have thought it was you ?' 
 
 He had not gone near the place for a long time, but 
 he felt sure of his welcome there ; for all his doubts, it 
 had never occurred to him to doubt concerning that. 
 
 The marquis showed more pleasure than surprise at 
 the sight of his younger friend, who was wont to come 
 whenever he liked sometimes very often, sometimes 
 after a more or less prolonged period of absence. It is 
 true that, since the beginning of their acquaintance, he 
 had never kept away for so many months together. 
 Lucien thought that the marquis ought to have been 
 astonished. To a man of warm feeling the occasion 
 called for some display of more than ordinary gratifica- 
 tion. They should not have sat down to dinner almost 
 at once. 
 
 The marquis could not endure the unadorned prose 
 of simple roast and boiled : he held that a good cook is 
 only another kind of poet, and he had secured the 
 services of a cordon bleu who was the wonder of all his 
 guests. The salary of this cook was discussed far and 
 wide throughout the Department, but the marquis him- 
 self asserted that wages had nothing to do with it. He 
 cherished a favourite theory that people are what you 
 make them. He believed that his cook was the best in 
 the country, and his cook responded to that belief. 
 
 ' Ah !' he sometimes said, with a sigh, ' if anyone had 
 ever believed that I was good for anything ' 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, leaving it to his
 
 16 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 hearers to fill up the blank I might have been with any 
 great name that they chose. 
 
 'Why do you not believe in yourself?' Lucien once 
 asked him. ' I have heard that genius is nothing more 
 than that.' 
 
 The marquis shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 'And I have heard,' said he, 'that genius is the 
 capacity for taking pains. But the man who made that 
 definition was no more a genius than the author you 
 quote, mon cher !' 
 
 That was in the days when talk was easy between the 
 two. 
 
 ' You will take some bisque ?' said the marquis, as they 
 sat down to table. 
 
 'If you please!' said Lucien, and could not, for the 
 life of him, think of anything else to say. His lips had 
 no language of their own ; they were of no use to him 
 whatever, when his mind happened to be busy with 
 something that was not words. As for concealing his 
 thoughts behind his speech, he could as soon have con- 
 cealed his nose. The particular words that he wished 
 to utter could not, it appeared, be said over the soup. 
 Soup, however good, is not an inspiring form of nourish- 
 ment. It disposes rather to calm, rhythmical reflection 
 between regular spoonfuls. He decided that he would 
 speak as soon as fish appeared. 
 
 So the soup came and went, and not another syllable 
 was exchanged. 
 
 Salmon, to the accompaniment of a sauce undreamed 
 of in any but the haute cuisine, appeared in due course. 
 Whoso hath not seen that sauce hath not partaken of 
 eggs and cream as they are when the gods partake of 
 them. Lucien then became conscious that the butler
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 17 
 
 was in the room that he could not speak before a third 
 person. Perhaps the marquis was conscious of it too, 
 for he began to talk a little on his own account, 
 obviously for the benefit of the butler, telling himself 
 what he expected to get for his hay in the autumn, 
 when a particular apple would be ripe in the orchard, 
 and other gentle, domestic facts of that kind. He 
 might have been whistling for anything that Lucien 
 understood. 
 
 An entree followed, adorned with a new kind of tomato, 
 grown in a hot-house, of the same glowing scarlet as 
 the old, but of the shape of a small and delicate pear. 
 Lucien helped himself absently, not because he felt 
 hungry, but because he needed mechanical occupation. 
 
 For the same reason he disposed of a portion of the 
 roti, still in profound silence. The marquis had 
 abandoned his hay even his apples. Good heavens ! 
 was there a pudding still to come ? There was indeed, 
 an exquisite pudding, white as a snow mountain that 
 should open suddenly and discover treasures of golden 
 apricot. The marquis spared him none of it. Macaroni 
 with cheese followed ; it came up bubbling. 
 
 ' Like the Castalian fount !' sighed the marquis. 
 ' But the cheese should have been Parmesan.' 
 
 A dish of purple grapes the light reflected from their 
 shining globes followed. What more ? A pineapple. 
 
 The Seven Ages of Dinner at last concluded, they 
 withdrew to the library, and there coffee was served. 
 Surely, surely, it was impossible to eat or drink any- 
 thing further, and the butler could not, on any pretext, 
 return now. Yet Lucien seemed to be no nearer 
 saying what he had it at heart to say nor, indeed, any- 
 thing else. 
 
 2
 
 i8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The marquis asked him several questions. He 
 answered at random or not at all. Now that he had 
 not even the semblance of a reason for remaining 
 silent, the silence seemed to grow into a palpable wall 
 between them. At length he began to hum Offenbach's 
 ' Fortunio.' The marquis' taste in music was classical. 
 When Lucien had hummed for a quarter of an hour, he 
 tapped upon his black snuff-box, and said : 
 
 ' I have heard that before.' 
 
 The wall fell swiftly, as it had risen. 
 
 * I want to speak to you about something,' said 
 Lucien. 
 
 'Ah!' said the marquis. 'I thought so. That is 
 why you have not spoken five words since you entered 
 the house, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' When did I come here last ?' 
 
 ' We keep but little count of time here ; it is not 
 worth while. But I remember that the leaves were 
 green.' 
 
 ' Eleven months ago. I do not think that I have 
 ever been away so long before.' 
 
 ' No ?' said the marquis indifferently. 
 
 ' Do you happen to recollect the subject of our con- 
 versation the night before I left ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly.' 
 
 ' It is so long since that I thought you might perhaps 
 have forgotten.' 
 
 * Eh, mon ami, I am older than you, but I am not in 
 my second childhood yet. It is the pendulum in my 
 own breast that marks time for me, not the clock on 
 the mantlepiece. Something that you read aloud that 
 evening made it strike the hour, and, to me, only a 
 few minutes have passed since.'
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 19 
 
 The veiled compliment brought back to Lucien an 
 echo of the delight of his heart when first the marquis 
 noticed him and he felt, and felt rightly, that the notice 
 of such a man was in itself distinction. 
 
 ' Mere flattery !' said the voice of Blum. ' He 
 makes a fool of you.' 
 
 Blum was a wholesale, not a retail dealer in praise. 
 But, after all, Blum was at Lyons. 
 
 'Monsieur le marquis,' said Lucien, 'tell me truly, 
 what did you think of of the thing that I read you ?' 
 
 ' I thought that it was the best poem by a young man 
 of your age since Villon.' 
 
 ' Are you still of that opinion ?' 
 
 ' I see no reason to change it,' said the marquis. 
 ' Good words are like wine. They grow better by 
 keeping, not worse.' 
 
 ' Can you recollect the name of the thing ? I have 
 forgotten.' 
 
 ' It was called " Les Marionettes de 1'Amour," ' said 
 the marquis, looking curiously at his friend. 
 
 ' Ah yes, so it was ! Well, the truth is I am afraid 
 you will think me very foolish ?' 
 
 ' I never thought you very wise, dear boy !' 
 
 ' But a year is a long time one changes, you know ; 
 the fact is, I want you to let me have it back.' 
 
 The marquis uncrossed his legs, put down his coffee, 
 and appeared to reflect. 
 
 ' You have forgotten the circumstances under which 
 you gave it to me,' he said at length. 
 
 Decidedly the first note of danger was sounded by 
 the marquis You have forgotten instead of Do you 
 remember ? 
 
 He took a key from his watch-chain, shook his 
 
 2 2
 
 20 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 head, selected another, and opened a Venetian cabinet 
 that stood against the wall. A sliding panel in 
 one corner gave way at his touch, disclosing a secret 
 drawer, which was empty, except for a sheet of note- 
 paper folded in two. He held it up to the light. It was 
 in Lucien's handwriting, and ran as follows : 
 
 ' I, the undersigned, Lucien Sylvestre, hereby deliver 
 into the hands of my friend, the marquis de Morfontaine, 
 the manuscript of a poem by myself, entitled " Les 
 Marionettes de 1'Amour," to be by him retained for a 
 period of seven years from this day, the 27th May, 1831, 
 unless he should see fit to ordain otherwise. I declare 
 that this is my will and pleasure.' 
 
 The document was duly signed, sealed, and witnessed 
 by the butler and the wonderful cook. 
 
 The marquis put it back again, and immediately 
 locked the cabinet. The author laughed. 
 
 * You were right at the time. I am very grateful to 
 you,' he said. * You told me that the thing was crude. 
 I am sure it was so. I am far better able to correct it 
 now than I should have been eleven months ago. I 
 have thought of several changes that would materially 
 assist the development of the idea. You said yourself 
 that it needed great alteration before it could be fit for 
 the public.' 
 
 ' For the public ? no,' said the marquis, who had the 
 weakness of caring very little about anything for which 
 he thought more than a dozen people cared much. 
 ' Any publisher would accept it just as it is. It would 
 make a stir, that I do not deny, and in a year from 
 the date of publication every line of it would have 
 perished.' 
 
 The voice of Blum began to be heard again ; the
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 21 
 
 marquis was an aristo, a despised of the people. To 
 Blum the people were everything. 
 
 ' Surely the verdict of one's fellow- creatures must 
 count for something ?' 
 
 ' The verdict of one's fellows certainly. It was in 
 order that this might be favourable, that I asked you 
 to let me have the manuscript. At present your fellows 
 would say that the poem lacks one thing, the touch 
 that only experience could give.' 
 
 ' I have had any amount of experience since then,' 
 said Lucien eagerly. ' I am most anxious to point out 
 to you the improvements that I desire to effect. I feel 
 quite sure that you will agree with me. Give me the 
 manuscript !' 
 
 ' I might have given you back the manuscript of my 
 own accord,' said the marquis, ' if you had come here 
 oblivious of the very name of Lucien Sylvestre, and of 
 everything else, for that matter : raving about some 
 impossible woman as if she were all the goddesses 
 rolled into one unable to eat your dinner hopelessly 
 down at heel as happy as a beggar one moment as 
 miserable as a king the next. Then I should have 
 known that it was in your power to correct.' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' said Lucien with some irritation. ' Any 
 Tom, Dick or Harry may fall in love and make an ass 
 of himself; he will not be able to write poetry because 
 he is unfit for rational employment. Experience has 
 nothing to do with it ; of that I am convinced. What 
 is imagination worth, if it cannot even supply the 
 miserable facts of the most humdrum existence ? I tell 
 you plainly that I hate women. I shall never care for 
 one in my life. My very conception of love of beauty 
 of the ideal woman renders it quite impossible. If
 
 22 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 you meant to wait until I was caught in the toils of a 
 vulgar passion, you should have made me lend you the 
 manuscript for seventy years, not for seven. Only 
 incipient dotage could bring me to such a pass.' 
 
 The marquis smiled. 
 
 ' Wait until the seven years have run out !' 
 
 ' I tell you I cannot wait,' rejoined Lucien, his anger 
 rising. ' It is all very well you are a rich man, you can 
 afford these caprices. I have known what it is to dine 
 off dry bread.' 
 
 'Good heavens!' said the marquis very calmly. 
 'Have you been compelled to throw up your situa- 
 tion ?' 
 
 Lucien moved impatiently on his chair. 
 
 ' I will not say that. Thanks to the secretaryship that 
 you found for me, I have enough to eat and drink for 
 the present. How long will it last ? Who can say ? 
 I am unable to face the thought of complete destitution. 
 If the " Marionettes" did nothing more, they would bring 
 me in a certain sum of ready money. Once again I 
 implore you to let me have the manuscript.' 
 
 The marquis took up his cheque-book, which was 
 lying open on the table, wrote his name at the bottom 
 of a cheque, and handed it to Lucien ; it was blank. 
 
 ' Fill that up for any sum that you require,' said he, 
 ' and let us talk about something else.' 
 Lucien tore it in pieces. 
 
 ' There is one thing I hate more than destitution 
 that is dependence.' 
 
 ' You need fear neither unless you behave like a fool. 
 There is no likelihood that the secretaryship will come 
 to an end at present ; but if it did, why should you refuse 
 to accept money from me ? It is only interest upon a
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 23 
 
 loan. Perhaps you will say that the loan- is not worth 
 much, financially speaking that you could not under 
 the most favourable circumstances make more than four 
 hundred francs by your poem (that is more than three 
 times as much as the English Milton got for the copy- 
 right of "Paradise Lost"). Look upon it as an in- 
 vestment in fame, not in funds, and the justice of 
 the thing grows plain. How long is it, dear fellow, 
 since you became so anxious as to pounds, shillings 
 and pence ? It was with great difficulty, I remember, 
 that I persuaded you to give up living on nothing 
 at all.' 
 
 ' I am not in the least anxious. That is just what I 
 wanted to say. You are quite right. You know as well 
 as I do that I care nothing about money. It was a 
 mere excuse. I have everything, more than everything 
 that I want. I did not like to say it it seemed conceited 
 but now that you have spoken the word yourself, I do 
 not care. I do believe, sir, that poem would bring me 
 fame.' 
 
 ' It cannot fail to do so, if you wait until the time 
 has come for you to make it perfect.' 
 
 ' How dare I wait ?' said Lucien. ' You know how 
 uncertain life is.' 
 
 ' Few of my people have died before seventy. But 
 I have provided for the contingency of my death ; I 
 have left minute directions in my will. My next of kin 
 will have no difficulty in finding the manuscript at the 
 appointed time.' 
 
 ' I never meant that,' said Lucien, somewhat taken 
 aback. ' Of course you will not die. How could you ? 
 I meant that I might die, and then there it would be 
 unfinished a mere fragment, so to speak.'
 
 24 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Have you any reason to feel uneasy about your 
 health ?' 
 
 ' Well, I had a cough last December,' said Lucien, 
 who had not once recollected this fact in the meantime. 
 ' It might come back any day. It might mean con- 
 sumption ; then where should I be ?' 
 
 ' Where you are now as regards the main point. 
 Your work is as good as it can be qua work; it is 
 rare Venice glass with no wine in it. If you live, 
 you will pour the wine in by-and-by, and all the 
 good company in the world will come and drink. 
 If anything should happen to you, my dear boy 
 which the gods forefend ! the Venice glass remains 
 intact ; it is neither better nor worse. Those who 
 have the misfortune to survive you will say : " Cor- 
 neille, had he died at that age, would not have left 
 more." 
 
 'All very fine!' said Lucien. 'The sun may shine 
 and we be cold.' 
 
 He was not really thinking of what he said; some 
 indefinite suggestion or half-suggestion of Blum's, re- 
 called, he knew not how, during the past few moments, 
 haunted his brain. What if the manuscript should be 
 lost ? What if de Civrac not only would not but could 
 not produce it? Did he only imagine that of old it 
 had lain in the same drawer with the document of his 
 signing ? What was all this about ' no difficulty in 
 finding it ' ? What if 
 
 ' I do not think you will feel cold,' said the marquis ; 
 ' you will find yourself too much in the sun, perhaps. 
 If you are mortally stricken, you conceal it very well. 
 What are all these megrims? Have you had a pre- 
 sentiment ?'
 
 THE POET SEEKS HIS OWN 25 
 
 Lucien could not say that he had. 
 
 ' You are very hungry for praise on a sudden,' con- 
 tinued the marquis. ' I will do you the justice to say 
 that I think, in the depths of your heart, you care for it 
 not much more than you care for money. I have seen 
 you turn sick at a large dose before now.' 
 
 There is no flattery so delicate as that conveyed in 
 the implication that a man is altogether above it ; yet 
 Lucien, who, if the truth must be told, was extremely 
 sensitive as to praise or blame, heard this remark with 
 only one ear. What was it but an attempt to change 
 the conversation to divert it from the main point at 
 issue ? 
 
 ' We have beaten about the bush long enough,' he 
 said. ' Can you not see that I am in earnest ? I want 
 my manuscript again.' 
 
 ' You have given me no sufficient motive for restoring 
 it to you. Do this and I will place it in your hands at 
 once.' 
 
 ' I cannot explain my motive.' 
 
 For the first time that evening Lucien enjoyed the 
 luxury of speaking the truth. It is strange that anger 
 will enable a man to do this at the last moment, when, 
 by a series of subterfuges, he has all but put it out of 
 his own power. 
 
 ' I thought as much,' said the marquis. ' Then 
 your motive is bad, and I shall not accede to your 
 request.' 
 
 ' What !' cried Lucien hotly. ' You refuse to give me 
 back what is my own ?' 
 
 ' I do indeed in your own interest.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that seriously ?' 
 
 ' Yes.'
 
 26 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Do you mean that you will not ?' 
 
 ' I will not.' 
 
 ' You cannot,' said Lucien suddenly ; ' you have lost 
 the manuscript.' 
 
 The next moment he would have given every prospect 
 of money or of fame to recall the words.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE POET FINDS HIS OWN 
 
 ' SINCE that is your belief,' said the marquis in the 
 tone of a polite stranger, ' I will restore the manuscript 
 to you instantly. May I ask you to come upstairs 
 with me ?' 
 
 It was not in the room, then. Lucien's desire to see 
 it vanished ; he had been driven mad by two opposite 
 convictions: one that his manuscript was lying there 
 ready to hand, yet invisible ; the other that it was not 
 in the house at all. Now he became conscious that he 
 had raised a storm about nothing. Nevertheless he 
 followed in silence. What else was there to do ? At 
 the head of the staircase, however, he appealed for 
 mercy. 
 
 ' Sir !' 
 
 The marquis turned. 
 
 ' I do not want to see ; it was nonsense.' 
 
 The marquis shrugged his shoulders and went on. 
 
 ' I am not going one step further,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' You will kindly accompany me.' 
 
 Again Lucien followed like a cowed schoolboy. 
 
 Who was it that had whispered strange suspicions 
 in his ear ? 
 
 The upper part of the house was unknown to him.
 
 28 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 If that portion which everyone might see was famous 
 among those who knew for its treasures, what might 
 not be expected where the fastidious eye of the master 
 alone surveyed them ? He felt as though he had pried 
 into his friend's secrets, and were trespassing where he 
 had no right to go. Who could have imagined that 
 there were so many stairs in the chateau ? 
 
 At the end of a long passage de Civrac opened a 
 door. The room into which Lucien followed him was 
 small and low in the roof. A hanging of coarse serge 
 divided them from the recess, which presumably held 
 the bed. Another hanging covered the window. No 
 carpet hid the bare boards. Instead of cushioned 
 chairs and couches, behold a high seat before a tall 
 wooden desk, like that which clerks use ; on it a toad- 
 stool inkpot of common glass, a long goose-quill, stand- 
 ing in a tumbler of water, a sand-box, three or four 
 sheets of blue paper, and a hare's foot. There was an 
 odd smell, as if someone had just blown out a candle. 
 The marquis set down the light he carried upon the 
 desk. On a plain chest of drawers close to the recess 
 lay a box of carved ivory the only thing of value there 
 and another box of plain deal. 
 
 ' Take what is your own,' said de Civrac, as he 
 placed the ivory box in Lucien's hands. ' Here is the 
 key. Unlock it !' 
 
 His tone grew more peremptory as Lucien stood 
 undecided. 
 
 ' I will not,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' You do not know how, perhaps ? Allow me.' 
 
 He took the box from Lucien and put it on the 
 chest of drawers. The key turned in the lock, but 
 when he tried to raise the lid, it stuck fast.
 
 THE POET FINDS HIS OWN 29 
 
 ' What ! Have I forgotten the way myself?' he said 
 impatiently. ' I was sure it went to the left.' 
 
 This time he turned the key in the opposite direction. 
 He raised the lid. The casket was empty. 
 
 ' Heaven be praised !' thought Lucien. 
 
 ' The devil !' said the marquis. He was silent for an 
 instant. 
 
 ' Look ! look !' he exclaimed. 
 
 Lucien's eyes wandered vaguely round the room. 
 There was nowhere to look. Everything lay naked 
 and bare. The manuscript was not likely to conceal 
 itself in a tumbler of water nor about the legs of a^desk. 
 
 Stay ! What was that ? The pointed toe of a little 
 moss-green velvet slipper under the window-curtain. 
 
 ' Cherchez /' repeated the marquis. 
 
 ' Cherchez la femme /' cried a voice from behind. 
 
 A small white hand, holding a bundle of manuscript, 
 was thrust forth. The ringers were unusually long and 
 slender. A ring containing a single emerald twinkled 
 and shone upon the third. 
 
 Never before had Lucien noticed the beauty of a 
 hand. 
 
 ' Perfect !' he said to himself. 
 
 Was he interested ? Was he annoyed ? It was like 
 a woman's vexatious ways to find a thing that a man 
 was only too glad to have lost. Certainly she had 
 exquisite hands. 
 
 The marquis leant across the desk and smiled. 
 Nevertheless, he gave a long sigh, like one who is much 
 relieved. He made no attempt to divide the curtains, 
 which were jealously held together at the back. 
 
 * You showed me everything else that was in the 
 house,' continued the voice, half plaintive, half, as
 
 30 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 it were, accusing. ' You never showed me that box. 
 You never told me what was in it.' 
 
 The marquis said nothing. 
 
 ' You left your watch and seals upon the table when 
 you went out riding this afternoon.' 
 
 The marquis made no observation, but his face grew 
 stern. 
 
 ' You may have it back again. It is enormously dull, 
 and it is long as long as your face.' 
 
 ' Return it to the author at once,' said the marquis, 
 ' and apologize to him for your behaviour.' 
 
 ' Ah, it is not yours, then !' she cried. ' How glad I 
 am ! I thought you never could have written it.' 
 
 ' There, for once, you thought rightly.' He turned 
 to Lucien. ' Take what is your own,' he said. 
 
 ' Oh, do take it !' cried the plaintive voice. ' It is so 
 heavy!' 
 
 The manuscript fell with a thud on the floor, all 
 Lucien's hopes of literary distinction falling with it. 
 The little white hand was withdrawn. 
 
 ' You have not done as I told you,' said the marquis. 
 * I should wish you to apologize to this gentleman.' 
 
 ' Pray pray !' interrupted Lucien. 
 
 ' I apologize to this gentleman,' said the voice, with- 
 out the slightest change of tone. ' Swear, sir, that you 
 have never seen me.' 
 
 ' I swear,' said Lucien. ' The oath is easy enough, 
 Mademoiselle, as I have not yet had that honour.' 
 
 ' Good-night !' said the marquis pointedly to the 
 curtain. 
 
 ' Good-night !' said the curtain pointedly to the 
 marquis. 
 
 ' Good-night !' said Lucien.
 
 THE POET FINDS HIS OWN 31 
 
 He had not the least idea what to do. One convic- 
 tion, and one alone, he held that nothing on earth 
 would induce him to pick up the manuscript. 
 
 After a moment's delay the marquis picked it up 
 himself, and they left the room together. 
 
 ' I must be going,' Lucien said desperately. 
 
 He could not stay another instant in the place where 
 he had made such a fool of himself. 
 
 ' Going ! At this time of night ? Impossible. You 
 can have your coffee as early as you like in your own 
 room to-morrow.' 
 
 ' No. I must go at once. I have private business. 
 I must return.' 
 
 \The diligence is a child of light. You do not pro- 
 pose to walk the whole way back to Lyons, I imagine ?' 
 
 ' I am going to see a friend on the road.' 
 
 ' You will find the entire household in bed.' 
 
 ' I am not going there immediately. It is a beautiful 
 night. I want to look at the moon.' 
 
 ' Permit me to observe that there is no moon to-night,' 
 said the marquis, glancing out of the window. 
 
 The clouds had gathered indeed since Lucien's 
 arrival, and everything lay black beyond that ghostly 
 corridor through the unshuttered window wherein he 
 saw himself, his former friend, and the candle, reflected. 
 To be out in a fearful storm, to be killed by lightning 
 the thought attracted him savagely. 
 
 ' It is imperative that I should leave this house,' he 
 said, in a tone that he himself admired, and he won- 
 dered why he had not said it before. 
 
 The marquis attempted no further resistance. 
 
 ' If you must go, you must,' he said. ' Only, remem- 
 ber, if it should rain, if you should feel it inconvenient
 
 32 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 to be out, we never fasten the back-door. You would 
 find your room ready. I will have your luggage sent 
 after you in the morning and this. You were wise to 
 claim the custody of it. With all my care, I could not 
 keep it safely.' 
 
 A vision of his manuscript arriving by post, as if it 
 had been rejected by an editor, made Lucien feel that 
 he could no longer endure life. 
 
 ' You are very kind, but I can take it with me. I 
 had rather take it. Good-bye.' 
 
 'A prosperous journey to you !' said the marquis, and 
 closed the door. 
 
 Lucien stood alone upon the steps. For the first 
 time since he had come he breathed freely, but the 
 touch of the paper burnt his fingers. What was to be 
 done with it ? That was the first consideration. 
 
 He hated the poor dumb thing as if it were a person 
 that had injured him. Why was there no fire anywhere, 
 so that it might be consumed at once and for ever ? 
 Why was there no water within reach ? It is wonder- 
 ful how the elements desert a man at his need. 
 
 This wretched heap of paper a thing that even a girl 
 could not read with patience had this made him the 
 laughing-stock of a chit with a little white hand, and 
 cost him the friendship of the best man he knew ? He 
 longed to tear it into a thousand pieces. Then he saw 
 the marquis, as he had seen the marquis long ago, when, 
 in the days of their first acquaintance, he tore up a 
 letter and threw it out of window, and his host prodded 
 with a cane one of the fragments upon the gravel path, 
 with an expression of disgust which said plainly, ' What 
 low, ill-bred fellow has done this ?' No, it could not be 
 torn in pieces within miles of the chateau.
 
 THE POET FINDS HIS OWN 33 
 
 He had seated himself on a bench below a great 
 sycamore that shaded one corner of the lawn. The 
 green carpet beneath his feet, the leafy roof over him 
 these were as much the marquis's property as the 
 house. Still, he could breathe here. After all, the 
 marquis had not paid the sun to shine on them nor the 
 wind to blow. 
 
 Presently the moon shone out again. There might 
 be some comfort in that, because the marquis had said 
 there was no moon. And, having lightly touched her 
 wound with this balm, Vanity, that had been up in 
 arms, fell prostrate without a word. She could not 
 stand the moon ; she was dead. 
 
 ' Why,' said Lucien, ' if I never wrote another line, 
 what would it matter?' 
 
 All at once there was a thin, scarcely audible sound 
 as of fine rain. He looked up in surprise, for the sky 
 was clear, and no drops fell on his hand. Was it rain- 
 ing only upon the gravel path ? 
 
 Above a row of white tulips at an upper window a 
 little white hand waved a watering-pot to and fro. The 
 room behind was dark, and before he had time to do 
 more than note the glimmer of the ring, it had vanished. 
 The drip of the shower on the gravel continued for some 
 minutes, and then ceased. The window was shut. 
 
 His dream of peaceful indifference broke with the 
 first vision of that hand ; try as he might, he could not 
 dream it on. The nightmare of the manuscript began 
 again instead. 
 
 ' If only this were a hollow tree !' he said, putting out 
 his hand to feel the bark. ' There are no hollow trees, 
 except in books.' 
 
 The little action roused him. He stood up. There 
 
 3
 
 34 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 was nothing now between him and the beauty of the 
 night. He was young and in youth solitude goes to 
 the head like wine. Undisturbed by the reflection that, 
 on the other side of the globe, half a world was awake 
 and stirring, he laughed for joy to find himself the only 
 live thing in this universe of flat, corpse-like sleepers. 
 
 ' By-and-by, in a year's time, I shall laugh at it all.' 
 
 He was beginning to know this about himself that, 
 however strong his emotions might be, they seldom 
 lasted. But again he heard the mocking voice, and it 
 mocked louder than his mockery. 
 
 As he dragged out hour after hour under the tree, 
 between sleeping and waking, he wondered whether he 
 had been taught in school that the night of April 29 
 is the longest night in the year. 
 
 The day dawned grim and gray at last, and he took 
 the road towards Lyons.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE SINGING OF A SONG 
 
 ' Do you think he will come to-night ?' said Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne. 
 
 She was on friendly terms with Charles Blum, because 
 she wished to be on friendly terms with his friend Lucien 
 Sylvestre. From her window on the floor below the 
 garret in which Blum lived, she had often watched the 
 two men as they walked back arm-in-arm ; at least, she 
 had seen two men coming, and had watched one. 
 
 ' He must be a poet,' she said to herself. ' It is in 
 his eyes ; it is in his hair.' 
 
 She would not read a line of poetry if she could help 
 it ; but she cherished a profound respect for poets, in 
 spite of the fact that she never wished for anything that 
 was impossible. Her least desire, even in its beginning, 
 was half a plan ; not altogether so, for she would have 
 liked best to become acquainted with Lucien by chance, 
 had not experience convinced her that chance, unless 
 assisted, takes a long time about the business. She 
 hardly confessed to herself, in spite of her unconscious 
 plotting, that she did care to know Lucien. Blum was 
 a practical man ; it would be useful to know Blum, she 
 said. 
 
 To this end she dropped her umbrella downstairs one 
 
 32
 
 36 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 day on purpose that Blum should pick it up. It did 
 not occur to him to do so ; he was not a gentleman by 
 birth, and he was standing at the bottom of the flight. 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne had to toil back herself. 
 
 'The other would have picked it up in a moment.' 
 A day or two afterwards she discovered that there 
 was a draught in her room under the door. She con- 
 sulted Blum ; he, being a practical man, was interested, 
 and came in, without asking leave, to see how things 
 were. 
 
 ' The other would have asked my permission.' 
 Blum cautioned her against buying felt in the street, 
 which gave annoyance, because she was practical her- 
 self, and had not meant to do so. He advised her as 
 to the shop where she would get it good and cheap, 
 and he profited by the chance to read her a long lecture 
 on the rights of shopkeepers, on the state of industrial 
 affairs in Lyons, on the desirability of a fixed tariff. 
 She listened with submission, and, as she was forced to 
 interrupt him in the middle that she might take back 
 some embroidery, she invited him to resume it the next 
 evening over a cup of tea English tea which had been 
 sent to her from London by her godmother. She ac- 
 quired the habit of drinking it in that country, she said. 
 
 * Mamma was English.' 
 
 She spoke softly, and to Blum the fact accounted for 
 anything that might have seemed odd in her conduct. 
 
 * Do you think he will come to-night ?' said Jeanne, 
 once more ; for Blum was not always clever at hearing 
 what she said. 
 
 ' I suppose so.' 
 
 Jeanne supposed so, too; she wished that he would 
 come. She had lighted a fire, although it made the
 
 THE SINGING OF A SONG 37 
 
 room too hot, and she could ill afford the money to pay 
 for coal, because she felt, vaguely, yet with a certain 
 strength, that if she made this sacrifice, Fate might not 
 prove unkind. She was burning, in pure wantonness, 
 fuel that would have kept her warm during the frozen 
 nights of winter when there was a stove in the 
 room, too ! Blum thought her an extravagant young 
 woman. 
 
 ' Do you know where he was last night ?' 
 
 ' In his own room, I should think,' said Blum. 
 
 ' Indeed he was not ; he never came in at all.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he went to the country to see that marquis 
 of his ; he sometimes does.' 
 
 ' He has not gone for a very long time.' 
 
 ' Then perhaps he did not,' said Blum. 
 
 ' I thought there might have been a quarrel.' 
 
 Blum shook his head gloomily. 
 
 ' No such luck.' 
 
 ' Why, you do not want him to fall out with his friend, 
 do you ?' 
 
 * I would give a year's salary that he should.' 
 Jeanne sat silent. To her mind a marquis should be 
 
 fit company for a poet ; she liked to fancy the beautiful 
 chateau, the wide, moonlit gardens. A lovely daughter 
 or sister, of course, the marquis had ; it was not so 
 pleasant to think of her. Still, instinctively Jeanne 
 took sides with the chateau from the beginning. 
 ' Do you know the marquis ?' she asked. 
 
 * Heaven preserve me from that honour !' said Blum, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 ' Why do you hate him so ? It seems unfair.' 
 ' I have no patience with people like that,' said Blum, 
 kicking the fender.
 
 38 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Like what ? Like the fender ?' 
 
 * You do not know them. It is fortunate for you that 
 you never will.' 
 
 ' I thought he owed everything to his friend the 
 marquis,' said Jeanne. 
 
 ' So he does, and a false sentiment of gratitude 
 makes him submit to restrictions that a man of his 
 age ought to be ashamed of. What business has a 
 marquis to interfere with the free development of 
 his intellect ? Why, he has actually got possession 
 of the manuscript of a poem of Lucien's, and exacted 
 a promise from the boy not to publish it for seven 
 years.' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' Oh, some rubbish or other ! He had never been in 
 love, and therefore he could not describe it.' 
 
 ' You think that people could describe love who 
 never felt it ?' 
 
 ' I think that he wants to keep Lucien dependent, 
 and therefore deprives him of the means of making an 
 honest livelihood. Or else he is jealous. He writes 
 himself, I believe. I told Lucien that I should get the 
 manuscript back again, if I were he.' 
 
 'Are you sure that it would be successful? Have 
 you ever read it ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Blum. ' But you have only to look at 
 Lucien to see what he was meant for. A social 
 reformer of the first rank ! Why should he waste 
 seven of the best years of his life ? Humanity wants 
 him ; I want him. Even now he acknowledges the 
 justice of my view of life the only sensible view. He 
 feels the greatness of it. He is with me in every 
 attempt to ameliorate the condition of the people. But
 
 THE SINGING OF A SONG 39 
 
 he will not consecrate his talent to the cause. He 
 would rather rhyme dove and love forsooth ; only the 
 marquis says he cannot.' 
 
 ' Is the marquis right ? Has he ever cared for any 
 woman ?' asked Jeanne. 
 
 Blum stared at her. 
 
 ' Never. Why should he ?' 
 
 ' People sometimes do, you know. What a noise 
 there is outside in the street !' 
 
 ' Oh, it is nothing !' said Blum. His face darkened. 
 ' Another crier arrested, perhaps. Sit still ; you cannot 
 prevent it.' 
 
 ' I must see,' she said, rising and drawing up the 
 blind so quickly that she almost broke the string. ' I 
 thought I heard a voice that I knew.' 
 
 ' Did you ?' 
 
 He rose and went to her side. She threw open the 
 window. The street was full of people all walking or 
 running one way, hurrying to join a knot at the farther 
 end. Exclamations and oaths made the air noise. 
 Jeanne felt as if she were breathing it in. Above them 
 rose a clear, fresh young voice, singing a broad, 
 popular tune. They could not distinguish the words. 
 
 ' He is on the steps of the Fountain. Who can it be ? 
 It is ' said Jeanne, and hesitated. 
 
 ' Upon my soul, you are right ! What is he doing 
 there at this time of night ? He will be arrested to a 
 dead certainty.' 
 
 ' Cannot you stop him ?' 
 
 Blum did not see how pale Jeanne had become. 
 
 ' The police ! I knew it !' he said. 
 
 A body of gendarmes had turned the corner, and was 
 marching along the pavement. The regular tramp
 
 40 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 of their feet sounded curiously different from the 
 confused rush hither and thither of scattered units of 
 the mob. 
 
 ' Police ! police !' shouted Blum, thrusting his head 
 as far out of the window as he could. 
 
 The cries were hushed, the Song ceased in an instant. 
 The singer sprang from the steps of the Fountain, and 
 disappeared among those who had been listening to 
 him. They melted away down one street and another. 
 By the time the police reached their destination, not a 
 man was left. Blum closed the window, threw himself 
 back in his chair, and laughed till he could laugh no 
 more. 
 
 * But is he safe now ?' said Jeanne. 
 
 ' Safe ?' echoed Blum. ' Yes, as safe as if the police 
 had him. He is safe from the marquis at last. He is 
 mine.'
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FIRE BURNS 
 
 1 1 WISH we knew for certain that they had not taken 
 him,' said Jeanne. ' I cannot understand. What was he 
 singing ? How could the police get wind of it so soon ?' 
 
 * They sleep with one eye open. As for what he 
 sang, it will be high treason soon to hum 
 " Savez-vous planter des choux ?" 
 
 outside the walls of your own house. The Govern- 
 ment is not musical.' 
 
 ' Hark ! there is someone singing now. Oh, I wish 
 they would stop ! It is the same tune. It is coming 
 down the street. Listen ! listen !' 
 
 More and more clearly came the sound. 
 
 ' Is the fellow mad ?' said Blum quietly. 
 
 It ceased for a moment at the entrance was taken up 
 again on the stairs. Blum opened the door. Lucien 
 dashed up, two steps at a time, shouting at the top of 
 his voice. 
 
 ' Be quiet !' Blum said with a smile, as he seized him 
 by the arm and dragged him in. ' Do you want to sing 
 us off to the galleys ? Have some respect for our 
 hostess's liberty, if you have none for mine !' 
 
 ' Your pardon, Mademoiselle Jeanne !' said Lucien, 
 with a charming bow. His eyes sparkled.
 
 42 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Sit down and rest,' she cried eagerly, pulling for- 
 ward the best chair in her room. ' You must be tired. 
 Let me give you a cup of tea.' 
 
 He thanked her, and drank it in silence. The bright 
 eyes seemed to Jeanne to be looking at things she could 
 not see. 
 
 ' A devilish good song it is, too !' said Blum. ' Who 
 made it ?' 
 
 ' I did,' said Lucien. A flash of silent laughter lit up 
 his face. 
 
 ' You made it ? When ?' 
 
 ' A quarter of an hour ago.' 
 
 ' And you ventured to sing it in public before it was 
 seven years old ? What courage !' 
 
 Lucien nodded. 
 
 ' The marquis will have something to say to that.' 
 
 ' He will have nothing more to say to any poem of 
 mine.' 
 
 Again the goblin gleam of mirth in the fixed eyes. 
 
 ' That's well,' said Blum, laughing loudly and long. 
 
 ' Hush !' said Jeanne, and put her hands to her ears. 
 
 Lucien looked up at her. 
 
 ' I want to destroy something,' he said, as he 
 drew a roll of manuscript from his pocket. ' May I 
 contribute to your excellent fire ? The night is cold. 
 Have 1 your permission ?' 
 
 'Hold hard!' cried Blum, 'what is it ? I will 
 answer for Mademoiselle Jeanne that she never con- 
 sumes flesh and blood.' 
 
 ' Monsieur Blum is right,' said Jeanne, smiling. ' It 
 is too expensive.' 
 
 ' Answer me one thing. Is that the " Marionettes " ?' 
 
 ' It is.'
 
 FIRE BURNS 43 
 
 Blum placed himself before the fire. 
 
 ' So you have got it back from the marquis ? Give it 
 to me. I desire to read it. Mademoiselle Jeanne de- 
 sires to read it also.' 
 
 But Lucien kept the roll in his hand. 
 
 ' It has been read and damned. Nothing remains 
 for it but eternal fire.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? The marquis himself ' 
 
 ' For a good Republican, my dear fellow, you are 
 singularly fond of talking about the marquis. He had 
 nothing to do with it.' 
 
 'Who damned it, then ?' 
 
 'A lady.' 
 
 Blum drew a long breath, but Jeanne could hardly 
 breathe at all. 
 
 ' May I inquire further ?' 
 
 'Oh yes!' Lucien said, tossing his manuscript up 
 to the ceiling and catching it adroitly. ' You may 
 inquire.' 
 
 ' Her name ?' 
 
 ' I do not know it.' 
 
 ' Her age ?' 
 
 ' I have not the least idea. It might be anything 
 under twenty.' 
 
 ' Too young,' said Blum, shaking his head. ' Why 
 have you such a respect for her opinion ?' 
 
 ' I am certain that she is right.' 
 
 ' Your reason ?' 
 
 ' You have read Pascal ? The heart hath reasons 
 reason knows them not.' 
 
 'Whew!' said Blum. 'You are in love with her, 
 then ?' 
 
 ' I never in my life before hated a woman.'
 
 44 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 * Ah !' said Jeanne, with a little involuntary sigh that 
 none of the three heard. 
 
 ' Nonsense !' put in Blum energetically. ' You have 
 not shaken yourself free of that man to be in bondage 
 to a woman a woman what do I say ? A mere 
 child !' 
 
 ' It is even so,' said Lucien, crossing his short legs. 
 * It came to pass because I followed your suggestion.' 
 
 ' A lucky thing that you asked for the manuscript !' 
 and ' What a pity that you went !' said Blum and Made- 
 moiselle Jeanne in a breath. 
 
 ' I agree with you,' said Lucien, including them in 
 one magnificent salute. 
 
 Blum swore under his breath. A humming silence 
 filled the room. 
 
 ' By the way,' Lucien remarked suddenly, ' you must 
 not mention, either of you, that I have seen this lady. 
 Your swearing reminded me, Blum. You must swear 
 you will never say that I saw her.' 
 
 ' What is she like ?' asked Jeanne. The beating of 
 her heart seemed to her to be louder than her voice ; 
 outwardly she was calm enough. ' Would it not be as 
 well for Monsieur Blum to know what sort of lady he 
 is to swear you never saw ?' 
 
 Lucien laughed low and sweetly. 
 
 ' Now that I come to think of it,' said he, ' I never 
 did see her.' 
 
 ' He will not speak of it,' thought Jeanne, tightening 
 her clasped hands. 
 
 ' I have heard you talk nonsense often enough,' put 
 in Blum, ' but this passes all. I suppose you invented 
 the whole story ? The lady never existed ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, she does she does exist !' cried Jeanne.
 
 FIRE BURNS 45 
 
 ' What ? Have you seen her ?' 
 
 Lucien looked up in astonishment, and the manu- 
 script fell from his hand. 
 
 ' She is little,' said Jeanne. ' She has shining fair hair, 
 gray eyes, a pale, delicate face, lovely white fingers.' 
 
 She had drawn a contrast to herself in this portrait, 
 for she was tall and dark, and her eyes were brown. 
 
 ' I cannot tell,' said Lucien, musing. ' Perhaps she 
 is like that. Certainly she had white hands.' 
 
 Jeanne glanced at her own. 
 
 ' I hate fair women,' continued Lucien. ' I made 
 that Song because I detested her because I hate all 
 women except yourself, Mademoiselle Jeanne because 
 I want to be free eternally. You would not like it. 
 The people liked it, though. I shall write three plays 
 next or four on Semiramis, Cleopatra, Fulvia 
 perhaps Jezebel.' 
 
 ' Will you have time to do all that ? You go so early 
 to your work, and when you come back you look tired.' 
 
 ' Oh, I shall have eternities of time ! I have thrown 
 up my situation.' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 * The marquis recommended me. . I cannot stand 
 indebted to him for my wages.' 
 
 ' Better and better,' said Blum, rubbing his hands. 
 ' We will have you on the staff of the Glaneuse. I 
 know the editor ; he is a sensible man. Have you 
 anything that we can take to him to-morrow ?' 
 
 ' No ; but I will write something to-night now 
 this moment. Give me a book to cut, slash, hack 
 about, hew in pieces. You must have plenty ; you are 
 always reading. I want a popular idol to destroy. 
 What is that sticking out of your pocket ?'
 
 46 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' " Marion de Lorme," by Victor Hugo. Here it is, 
 at your service.' 
 
 * I thought that you were an admirer of Hugo,' 
 Jeanne said to Blum, surprised. 
 
 ' They say he is good.' 
 
 ' He will not exist to-morrow,' said Lucien grimly. 
 ' Good-night ! Good-night, Mademoiselle.' 
 
 He picked up his manuscript and flung it into the 
 fire. 
 
 ' No, no !' cried Jeanne, springing forward as she 
 would have sprung to save a child, her eyes full of 
 horror. 
 
 Lucien seized her hands, held them fast as the 
 ' Marionettes ' roared in flames up the chimney, kissed 
 as he released them, pounced on the slim paper 
 volume that Blum was holding, and rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 Jeanne's first thought was for the manuscript, but 
 that was past help, and she soon came to the con- 
 clusion that it is not the part of a wise woman to cry 
 over burnt paper. She did not quite know whether 
 she was happy or unhappy, nor did she feel inclined to 
 sink away from sweet companionable life into the 
 loneliness of sleep. For a long while she sat without 
 motion, her busy fingers in her lap a strange attitude 
 for her ; for when she was not eating nor sleeping she 
 was always at work. At last she turned to the street 
 to satisfy herself that the steady standing houses looked 
 the same as on the night before. Her room afforded a 
 view of three windows on the opposite side. In the 
 centre window she often saw a baby, who was left there 
 hour after hour sitting in a high chair. She was teach- 
 ing it to kiss its hand to her, but the baby did not yet
 
 FIRE BURNS 47 
 
 understand. By this time, of course, it would be in 
 bed. She wished that she could have seen it. 
 
 The window to the left was hung with white curtains, 
 a frame without a picture. In the window on the 
 other side, which was a little lower down, and much 
 less wide, a shoemaker sat at work always at work 
 from dawn. When it grew dark he lighted a little 
 lamp and worked still. Mademoiselle Jeanne never sat 
 up late enough to see him put it out ; she watched in 
 vain to see him lift his eyes once from his task. To- 
 night as usual the lamp showed her his sallow counte- 
 nance in strong relief, his hard, rough fingers. 
 
 ' I wish,' she said, looking down at her own ' I wish 
 I had little white hands.'
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 CORNEILLE'S DEFENDER 
 
 ' TAKE me to your editor at once,' Lucien said to Blum 
 the next day. ' I have written two articles, one last 
 night, the other this morning. I have never written 
 anything half so good.' 
 
 He had slept late after hours of toil, and gone to 
 work again feverishly when he rose. It was now close 
 upon dusk. 
 
 'Let us go,' said Blum. 'The last news will be 
 coming in. We shall be sure to find him. Did you 
 read " Marion de Lorme " ?' 
 
 Lucien nodded several times, but made no remark. 
 There seemed to be nothing in the office of the 
 Glaneuse, when they reached it, except a green baize 
 table in one corner. The ceaseless scratch of a pen, 
 however, bore witness that someone must be writing 
 there, dark as it was. 
 
 ' Produce your editor !' said Lucien. ' Where is he ?' 
 ' Not so very far off, gentlemen.' 
 A little featureless man, of the colour of dust, 
 emerged from a recess. 
 
 ' Your pardon,' said Lucien. ' I did not know you 
 were in the room.' 
 ' No offence.'
 
 CORNEILLE'S DEFENDER 49 
 
 He begged them to be seated. The scratching pen 
 scratched on. 
 
 * This is my friend, of whom I have often spoken to 
 you,' said Blum. ' He is willing at last to devote his 
 remarkable talents to the true cause. The energy of 
 his vocabulary is astounding. You will find in him a 
 magnificent contributor. He is, in his own line, un- 
 surpassable.' 
 
 Lucien began to wish that Blum were in another 
 world or that he were. 
 
 ' I have no doubt whatever of the truth of what you 
 aver,' said the editor suavely. ' Your friend, of course, 
 has written much ? He has had great experience ?' 
 
 ' You have only to glance at his work to be convinced 
 of it.' 
 
 ' I had better tell you at once,' put in Lucien, ' that 
 I have had no experience whatever.' 
 
 ' You will make allowance for the modesty of my 
 friend,' said Blum, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 ' You have not, I suppose,' said the editor, lowering 
 his voice to a whisper, ' any news to tell me concerning 
 the movements of a certain great lady in whom the 
 public is now much interested ?' 
 
 Lucien looked blank, and Blum kicked his foot on the 
 floor. 
 
 ' You have, if I mistake not, many friends among the 
 aristocracy ?' 
 
 ' One friend I have or had,' said Lucien. ' He has 
 nothing to do with great ladies.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Very prudent. No one can be too cautious 
 nowadays. Of course I quite understand. Since the 
 failure of the rising at Marseilles it is, of course, needful 
 to observe great reticence. No one can state anything 
 
 4
 
 50 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 positively. It is impossible to do more than hint or 
 guess at the truth. Nevertheless, any conjecture as to 
 her whereabouts you have not, for example, heard 
 your noble friend mention a certain steamer, the Carlo 
 Alberto? 1 
 
 ' Never,' said Lucien. ' If you think that I can give 
 you information as to the plots of the duchess of Berry, 
 you were never in your life more mistaken. My friend 
 may be a Republican, for all I know to the contrary.' 
 
 ' That is not probable,' said the editor. ' The natural 
 prejudices of good birth are in favour of monarchy 
 mind, I do not say of a Bourbon monarchy. The 
 Orleans family has deserved well at the hands of 
 France.' 
 
 * It is a matter of complete indifference to me,' said 
 Lucien. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 ' I have brought two articles with me. If you like to 
 read them, you can judge for yourself as to my fitness 
 to contribute to your paper.' 
 
 'Thank-you,' said the gentle editor. 'Their titles 
 
 are ?' 
 
 4 " On the Superiority of Monsieur Victor Hugo to 
 Corneille;" and "On the Superiority of Monsieur 
 Victor Hugo to every other Living Writer, whether 
 of England, France, or Germany." ' 
 
 ' You are, then, an admirer of Victor Hugo ?' The 
 editor's voice became as honey. 
 
 ' No, sir, I am not an admirer of Victor Hugo I am 
 an adorer.' 
 
 ' A man's adorers are not always the people to do him 
 justice,' said the editor, a touch of sourness flavouring 
 the honey.
 
 CORNEILLE'S DEFENDER 51 
 
 ' It is enthusiasm enthusiasm, sir, that must carry 
 the day.' 
 
 'The readers of the Glaneme are not, I fear, en- 
 thusiastic about poetry.' 
 
 ' Then I will make them enthusiastic. I will show 
 them the immortal glory of the man they despise.' 
 
 'Are you so sure, sir, that his glory is immortal?' said 
 the man at the green baize table ; and the scratching of 
 the pen ceased for the first time. 
 
 ' I am as certain of it as that I sit here in this chair, 
 with my back to the light.' 
 
 ' With your back to the light !' observed the other 
 reflectively. ' Now, for my part I think that if there 
 were only one single line of Corneille left, that one 
 single line would be remembered when all the volu- 
 minous works of this young Hugo are forgotten.' 
 
 Lucien tore off the last blank page of his article, 
 scribbled a few words, and handed it to the editor. 
 
 ' I do not know your contributor's name. Will you 
 kindly give him this from me, assuring him that I 
 am ready to make good my words with sword or 
 pistol, whichever he may choose. Blum here will be 
 my second.' 
 
 ' Permit me to observe,' said the person alluded to, 
 ' that I cannot at this moment see well enough to read 
 any communication, however important. The Jewish 
 Rabbis cut twilight in half. The first half, they 
 maintain, belongs to the day ; they call it the twilight 
 of the dove. The second belongs to the night that is 
 the twilight of the raven. The twilight of the raven 
 draws on apace.' 
 
 Lucien scarcely listened. Since the evening before, 
 Victor Hugo had become the only man alive to him all 
 
 42
 
 52 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the rest were mere shadows : but at that moment a 
 shadow with a loud voice burst noisily into the office, 
 chanting the first lines of the Song for which Lucien 
 had just escaped arrest. 
 
 ' Ever hear it before ?' he cried, seizing the little 
 editor by the shoulders and dinning it into his ear. 
 
 * Hear it before !' said the editor testily. ' I should 
 think so. Why, I have heard nothing else all day. I 
 could not eat my breakfast for it this morning. I was 
 deafened with it at dinner-time. I do not suppose I 
 shall get a wink of sleep for it to-night.' 
 
 ' It is the finest Song that ever was sung in Lyons. 
 You have a finger in every pie. You know who wrote 
 it, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Plague take the man, whoever he may be !' said the 
 editor. 
 
 ' They say he is hush ! they say he is Victor Hugo.' 
 ' I do not think so,' observed the man at the green 
 baize table. 
 
 ' I am not at liberty to mention.' The editor spoke 
 like an editor, with dignity and reserve. 
 
 ' You can give me the last lines of the Song, at any 
 rate. I do not mean to leave your office without them. 
 The fellow I met could only recollect the beginning. 
 Give me the last lines at once. I will not leave the 
 room till I have got them.' 
 
 ' I am not at liberty to give them.' 
 ' But I am,' said Lucien. ' I happened to hear the 
 Song last night. I can oblige the gentleman ;' and he 
 trolled out the last stanza. 
 
 The young man waited not an instant. He darted 
 from the office, shouting it as he ran. The tune was 
 taken up in chorus by a number of others outside, under
 
 CORNEILLE'S DEFENDER 53 
 
 the leadership of a handsome boy. The goblin look 
 returned to Lucien's eyes as he sat in the twilight. 
 
 As the chorus crashed out the second time in full 
 vigour, the editor turned to him. 
 
 ' I see, sir,' said he, ' that I have the honour of speak- 
 ing to a distinguished poet. May I say that I shall be 
 happy to retain your services for my journal at a salarv 
 of ' 
 
 ' You make a mistake, sir,' said Lucien brusquely. 
 ' I am not the author of that Song. It is by a friend of 
 mine.' 
 
 The editor's countenance fell. 
 
 * What the devil do you mean, Lucien ?' cried Blum. 
 ' My friend is modest,' he added, turning again in 
 deprecation to the editor. 
 
 ' Perhaps your friend is cautious,' said the man at 
 the bureau. ' He cannot fail to know that the author 
 of that Song will shortly be in prison.' 
 
 ' I wrote the Song,' said Lucien. ' I do not care who 
 knows that I wrote it. And I will write a hundred 
 others like it but not for your money.' 
 
 He rose and walked out.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 
 
 ' BUT how do you intend to live ?' said Blum, when he 
 rejoined his friend a little later on. 
 
 Lucien was gazing in at the window of a fruit-shop. 
 The rosy apples for eating, the crude green apples for 
 cooking, the pippins, the amber and purple grapes 
 heaped up in baskets, the figs, the early strawberries 
 these charmed his eye. Sprays of the rare white lilac 
 blooming even now underground in the dark warmth of 
 a cellar ; tiny branches of lily of the valley were scat- 
 tered here and there among them. Overhead hung a 
 wreath of violets. 
 
 'The golden violet!' flashed through Lucien's mind. 
 'The golden violet that the poets won the crowning 
 prize, of three, at the Court of Love!' 
 
 In front, a row of tawny pineapples, crowned each 
 with stiff gray leaves, lay prostrate fallen monarchs 
 along the centre. The pale, thick yellow of the lemon 
 relieved the splendour of a gorgeous heap of oranges. 
 From the contemplation of all this gold Lucien turned 
 reluctantly, as Blum repeated his question. 
 
 ' Let me see ! I have got fifty francs somewhere in 
 an old box I know I have. My foster-mother left 
 them to me to buy a mourning ring.'
 
 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 55 
 
 ' Is that all ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear no ! The shoemaker opposite owes me 
 twenty. I can make him pay up at once unless that 
 baby of his is ill.' 
 
 ' Fifty and twenty makes seventy. Anything else ?' 
 ' Certainly. I saw a ten-franc piece in my drawer 
 when I opened it.' 
 
 ' Seventy and ten eighty.' 
 Silence. 
 
 ' Besides,' said Lucien, with brisk emphasis, * I must 
 be able to raise sixty at least on my watch and chain. 
 They are quite worth forty.' 
 
 ' Eighty and sixty it makes a hundred and forty.' 
 ' Who said it did not ? The Minister of Finance 
 could not add up the figures more correctly.' 
 ' You have saved nothing ?' 
 ' I tell you I saved ten francs last week.' 
 * Is there nothing to come to you from your relations ?' 
 ' Not a farthing. I have no relations. I do not 
 know who my father and mother were. My foster- 
 mother left me a key which I wear round my neck, and 
 two or three mysterious words. When I find the person 
 who has the key to the words and the lock for the key, 
 I shall be rich.' 
 
 ' That is all nonsense,' said Blum decisively. ' A 
 hundred and forty francs ! Well, with economy you 
 can live two months upon that ! What do you propose 
 to do afterwards ?' 
 
 ' Die, I suppose, if nothing better occurs to me.' 
 ' It is a pity that you have no convictions.' 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' Because a man with convictions can always earn 
 his living. If I could persuade you to listen to me for
 
 56 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 half an hour, you would be a convinced Republican, as 
 lam.' 
 
 Lucien looked up at the clock. 
 
 ' I am all attention,' said he. ' We can go home by 
 the Church of the Cordeliers.' 
 
 Blum asked no better. The great clock struck seven 
 as he spoke. 
 
 Long afterwards Lucien remembered that walk. He 
 started with a conscientious resolve to listen to every 
 word Blum said, but, alas ! he was not in the habit of 
 listening to Blum ; and listening is not an impulse ! 
 He heard the first few words and fancy flew away 
 with him. 
 
 It had been raining. Here, there, everywhere, lights 
 were reflected in gutter and pool, as though someone 
 were making golden flourishes with a great paint-brush 
 in depths of still, brown water. These flourishes were 
 brightest in the middle distance ; they faded away before 
 they reached his feet they dwindled into darkness 
 beyond. Gleams of thin faint green and red tinted the 
 pavement alongside. The wheels of carts and carriages, 
 as they went by, rolled upon half another wheel below 
 the level of the water. The houses stood upon them- 
 selves upside down. From one of them rose the sound 
 of Lucien's Song, hammered out on an old piano. A 
 waggoner shouted it as he went rattling by. A foot- 
 passenger hummed it loudly all out of tune. A street 
 boy warbled it in shrill falsetto. Behind within 
 without these walls it was a thing alive ; the air was 
 full of it. Lucien drank the subtle sympathy of the 
 townspeople as if he were drinking champagne. What 
 did it matter to him that they murdered the music, that 
 they mispronounced the words, that they did not know
 
 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 57 
 
 who he was ? They had rescued him from the delirium 
 of self-contempt in which he rushed back to Lyons. 
 Woman ! What was a woman compared to these ? If 
 that woman could only know ! 
 
 The clock of the Cordeliers struck eight. 
 
 What a thing is man, that he cannot choose to hear 
 the voice of the charmer, charm he never so wisely, yet 
 cannot choose but hear one piece of metal clang on 
 another! The booming bell made audible at last 
 to Lucien ^ the noise of words about his ear. Was 
 that Blum's voice triumphantly asserting something 
 about ' the duties of the true Republican the restora- 
 tion of the tariff in all its former purity by a section of 
 the sub-committee of the Society of the Rights of 
 Man'? 
 
 ' Well,' Blum was saying, ' I am afraid that I have 
 out-talked my time. You are a patient listener, I will 
 say that for you. What do you think of it all ? Are 
 you convinced?' 
 
 He spoke like a man who could be answered only in 
 one way. 
 
 'Why, no !' said Lucien. ' I cannot say that I am.' 
 
 Blum stared at him as if he were out. of his senses. 
 
 ' You have not even attempted to answer any one of 
 my arguments.' 
 
 ' Your arguments are unanswerable,' said Lucien. 
 ' I have not a word to say against them. But since 
 my early childhood, when my nurse used arguments to 
 convince me that I ought not to eat the plums in the 
 orchard, they have had no effect on me.' 
 
 Blum was silent, an occurrence so rare that Lucien 
 looked at him and saw he had hurt his friend. In 
 a moment his tone changed.
 
 58 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' What is this,' he said gravely, ' that it should come 
 between us ? Why must I label myself with one name 
 or another to earn a living ? Why must I live at all, if 
 it comes to that ? What is life on the earth ? I hate 
 these words that are for time only. Bourbon Orleans 
 the Republic what does it matter who reigns ? 
 Who cares what form of government there was when 
 Homer wrote ? Who cares what the poor suffered 
 then, or whether the laws helped them ? All this 
 belongs to time. I am an eternal spirit. I care for the 
 things of eternity.' 
 
 ' In the first place,' said Blum, recovering a little, 
 ' the distinction between time and eternity is ridiculous.' 
 
 ' Is it ?' 
 
 * It is. Time is nothing but a succession of thoughts 
 or events. Pray, what else is eternity ? In the second 
 place, literature will never flourish under a despot ; and 
 an unconstitutional King is a despot.' 
 
 ' Was Louis Quatorze a constitutional King ?' asked 
 Lucien. ' It seems to me there was a poet or two 
 about then.' 
 
 ' In the third place,' Blum went on, not heeding the 
 interruption, ' the better the man, the better the poet ; 
 and no true man neglects the practical side of life ; his 
 fellow-men may admire they cannot respect him if he 
 does. To be governed is the destiny of all ; and the 
 true man makes up his mind which way he wants to 
 be governed. I would rather see you a follower of 
 the silly romantic duchess of Berry, and her absurd 
 baby, than the indifferent weathercock that you are 
 now.' 
 
 ' Is that so ?' said Lucien. ' The silly romantic 
 duchess of Berry ! I never gave her a thought before ;
 
 THE QUEEN OF HEARTS 59 
 
 but now you speak of her like this, I begin to feel that 
 I might easily espouse her cause.' 
 
 ' You could not be such a fool.' 
 
 ' Are you so sure ? Any cause, you say, is better 
 than none. I dare say it is. But I see no reason to 
 take up one rather than another. For Heaven's sake 
 do not begin again ! We have heard arguments 
 enough this evening. I will adopt a cause instantly. 
 I will be quite impartial. I will make chance the 
 arbiter. What is that ?' 
 
 They were standing on the edge of a circle of light 
 reflected from a cluster of lamps about the steps of an 
 inn ; a little shining patch of pale green pasteboard in 
 the centre of one of the paving stones had caught his 
 eye. 
 
 'It is a card. Somebody must have dropped it. 
 How can you be so childish, Lucien ? Have you no 
 conception of the tremendous issues involved?' 
 
 ' I have indeed,' said Lucien. ' I may think that 
 they are infinitely little compared with those of art ; I 
 hold that they are far beyond the worldly calculations 
 of reason. It matters very much what we do nothing 
 at all how we come to do it. If this card at our feet 
 shows the Queen of Hearts on the other side, I live and 
 die for the silly romantic duchess.' 
 
 He turned it over with his foot as he spoke. 
 
 ' The Queen of Hearts !' 
 
 ' Ah !' said Lucien. ' I am for the Bourbons then, 
 malgre moi. Long life to the fifth Henry !'
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CONVICTIONS AND COMMISSIONS 
 
 IT so happened that Jeanne was standing outside her 
 door as the two young men went up. 
 
 'Well,' said she, 'are you successful? Have you 
 got work ?' 
 
 'No,' said Lucien, 'not exactly; but Blum thinks it 
 as good as if I had. I have got convictions. I have 
 taken up the cause of the duchess of Berry.' 
 
 ' Ah ! what made you say that ?' cried Jeanne, 
 clasping her hands. ' A gentleman was here this 
 evening. He knocked at my door by mistake. When 
 he found that you were out, he left a message for you ; 
 but I was on no account to give it if you had found 
 work on any of the Republican journals. I could not 
 answer for you ; I did not know.' 
 
 ' What was the message ?' 
 
 ' The message was to Monsieur Sylvestre alone,' she 
 said, with more than needful emphasis. 
 
 ' Oh, Blum will say nothing !' cried Lucien. ' Upon 
 your word and honour, Blum ?' 
 
 ' Upon my word and honour.' 
 
 Jeanne's heightened colour showed her annoyance, 
 but she could not insist.
 
 CONVICTIONS AND COMMISSIONS 61 
 
 * He gave me something that I was to deliver up to 
 you. Come to my room for a moment.' 
 
 She did not ask Blum in, but he followed. 
 
 ' Here it is.' 
 
 She took from her cupboard a little oblong parcel, 
 sealed with a plain seal, and fastened with a piece of 
 green silk, and put it into Lucien's hands. 
 
 ' The message is only a request to take this to 
 colonel de Nacquart, who lives at the chateau de la 
 Preuille, half a mile from the town of Montaign, on 
 the road from Nantes to Bourbon-Vendee. It is an 
 heirloom and very precious. It can be sent only by 
 the hand of someone who is to be trusted. You must 
 not travel by diligence ; you must either ride or walk.' 
 
 ' Upon my word, I am very much obliged to the 
 gentleman. Who is he, I should like to know, that he 
 expects me to ride or walk about the world, transacting 
 his family affairs for him ?' 
 
 ' He knows who you are very well.' 
 
 ' I have not the least recollection of him. What 
 inconceivable impertinence!' 
 
 ' He was not impertinent,' said Jeanne. * It is I who 
 cannot explain, because you are always talking. He 
 did not wish you to do this for nothing. If you will 
 undertake it, he will pay your expenses on the road 
 here is a purse and you will receive a thousand francs 
 when you arrive at la Preuille on the seventeenth of this 
 month the seventeenth, remember ! He was very par- 
 ticular as to the date. He said, too, that he had need 
 of a permanent agent. If you could carry out this 
 business for him, and if you were willing to remain in 
 his employment, he had no doubt that he should require 
 your services afterwards on the same conditions.'
 
 62 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Lucien stared at Charles Blum. 
 
 * I begin to think that you must be right,' he said, 
 laughing. * No sooner have I adopted definite con- 
 victions than an offer of maintenance presents itself. 
 What do you say, Blum shall I accept ?' 
 
 * Did the fellow leave his name and address ?' asked 
 Blum. 
 
 ' Yes. He is called le sieur de Coquet ; and a letter 
 addressed " Care of Mademoiselle Marie - Louise du 
 Guiny, 3, rue Haute-du-Chateau, Nantes," will always 
 find him.' 
 
 'I have never heard of anyone of that name,' said 
 Lucien, musing. ' I had better go and see him at 
 once.' 
 
 ' It would be useless. He quitted Lyons an hour 
 ago. If you do not wish to oblige him, you have only 
 to leave the packet here with me, directing a letter to 
 him at Nantes, and he will send for it.' 
 
 ' What is he like ? Is he a gentleman ?' 
 
 Jeanne hesitated perceptibly. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said at last. 
 
 'Tall?' 
 
 ' I cannot tell what he was like. I only saw him for 
 a moment on the threshold of the door, and the lamp 
 was not lit.' 
 
 ' My advice to you,' said Blum, ' is to have nothing 
 to do with the offer. I hate mystery.' 
 
 ' And how do you propose that I should live, then ?' 
 said Lucien, who had become practical on a sudden. 
 'Not at your expense, I presume ?' 
 
 ' You would be sure to get work, sooner or later. As 
 for this, you do not know what it is. For my part, I 
 should be strongly inclined to open the packet and see.'
 
 CONVICTIONS AND COMMISSIONS 63 
 
 ' Should you ?' said Lucien, keeping his fingers closed 
 upon it. ' I have often been told that journalists are 
 without a conscience.' 
 
 ' You have only to return it, if you do not wish to 
 go,' put in Jeanne. 
 
 ' I am determined to go. My best thanks to you for 
 delivering the message. I shall start to-morrow.' 
 
 ' You do not mean this, Lucien ?' said Blum, wrink- 
 ling his forehead into a frown. 
 
 ' I do, most sincerely.' 
 
 Already Lucien heard the dance of the leaves in the 
 fresh spring wind, and saw the meadows bright with 
 buttercups. 
 
 A different vision was before the eyes of Jeanne. 
 She saw the street below empty, the staircase empty, 
 the room in which they stood, empty. 
 
 ' I shall keep you informed of my movements,' said 
 Lucien. ' If I am robbed, you can come and help me ; 
 if I am murdered, you will live to avenge me.' 
 
 ' I hope that you will return as soon as possible,' said 
 Blum. ' How can you form any settled opinions in 
 that way ? You are only following your whims like a 
 girl.' 
 
 Lucien yawned. 
 
 ' Well, good-night,' he said. ' I shall go to bed. 
 Good - night and pleasant dreams, Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne !' 
 
 But Jeanne had other occupation. She sat up late 
 making a pink cotton dress to wear in the warmer 
 weather, and as her fingers travelled forward over the 
 stuff her thoughts travelled backward. 
 
 She was convinced that she had, that afternoon, seen 
 the marquis. This it was that made her stumble and
 
 64 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 beat about the bush when she was asked to describe 
 him. She could have done so well enough, but she 
 feared that Lucien would never undertake the mission 
 if he knew who had proposed it ; and there was a strong, 
 instinctive desire in her that he should. More and 
 more she disliked the thought of Blum's mastery, 
 feared his determination, distrusted his ideas of reform. 
 Poor people had been miserable always ; they were 
 miserable in the days of Moses, she supposed. What 
 was the use of trying to make them happier ? She was 
 poor herself; how would any change in the laws benefit 
 her ? There were worse things than poverty, after all. 
 It might be well for Blum, who could not write poems 
 and plays, to occupy himself with rates, taxes and 
 tariffs ; that was no work for ' the other.' 
 
 She had been struck with the voice and manner of 
 the bearer of the little packet, and she smiled and 
 shrugged her shoulders as she recalled Lucien's 
 question, 'Is he a gentleman ?' His brief yet not 
 abrupt inquiry, his exactitude about trifles, and appa- 
 rent carelessness as to whether Lucien accepted the 
 commission or not, piqued her curiosity, made her 
 anxious to see and hear more. One remark of his she 
 had kept to herself. 
 
 ' This affair has to do with a lady,' he had said, as 
 he put the packet into her hands. ' The messenger 
 himself must have no conception of it. I am sure that 
 I may confide in your discretion.' 
 
 ' What makes you think that you can trust me ?' 
 
 ' I have some experience of faces. Yours are not 
 lips that tell tales.' 
 
 She gave no promise he never asked for one yet 
 she felt that she had been honoured with a confidence
 
 CONVICTIONS AND COMMISSIONS 65 
 
 that nothing would induce her to betray. She envied 
 the beautiful fair girl who had such a courtly protector. 
 It appeared to her that the marquis was not a married 
 man ; he was the uncle of the fair girl most likely. 
 She pleased and grieved herself with thinking that 
 Lucien and this niece of his would meet would plight 
 their troth on the old battle-ground of la Vendee. She 
 was one of those dangerous women who neither live in 
 nor write romance, but spend their days creating it. If 
 she, by word or deed or silence, could help Lucien to 
 
 his castle and his lady But then her eyes filled 
 
 with tears. He was going to-morrow, and she remem- 
 bered that by one word she could have kept him. 
 Could she have kept him ?
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MARION'S LOVER 
 
 IT was gusty spring weather when Lucien set forth on 
 his travels. The hot sun flamed out at intervals, only 
 to be fast obscured by thick masses of cloud, floated 
 lightly across in a rollicking wind that shook the lilac 
 blossoms down as soon as they opened, flung to and 
 fro the golden hair of the laburnum, and covered the 
 freshly-springing grass with hawthorn buds. 
 
 Moved by lover-like recollections of the conduct of 
 the moon, he spent the first night and the second in 
 the open air ; but the weather became too cold, the rain 
 fell in angry showers, and on the third day he was 
 forced to think of taking shelter. He had walked for 
 some miles without coming upon a house at all, when 
 he beheld two, one on each side of the road, the 
 Cigogne and the Due de Bordeaux. As he was hesi- 
 tating which to enter, his eye was caught by the words 
 ' Marion de Lorme ' written in large red letter upon 
 the whitewashed walls of the Due de Bordeaux. 
 
 ' This is the inn for me,' he said to himself. ' Marion 
 against the world!' Nor had he any reason to repent 
 his choice, for he slept in sheets perfumed with lavender. 
 
 He reckoned that it would take him about a fortnight 
 to reach his destination, hiring a horse as often as he
 
 MARION'S LOVER 67 
 
 might, and walking when he could not get one. After 
 his long imprisonment in town, the freedom of open- 
 air life enchanted him. His head was full of chiming 
 words and fancies from the time he lifted it off his 
 pillow to the time when he laid it down again. 
 
 Towards nightfall of the sixth afternoon he reached 
 St. Gervais. Sure enough, there she was ! The door 
 of a stable belonging to an inn of the name of the 
 Fleur-de-Lis was conspicuously adorned in red after 
 the same fashion as that of the Due de Bordeaux. 
 
 'Marion once more!' said Lucien. 'I have found 
 her a good guide before now ; I will try her again.' 
 And he pulled the bell. 
 
 That evening, in the pauses of the rain, he heard the 
 first nightingale sing from an elder-bush underneath his 
 window. 
 
 He was beginning to wonder who the traveller could 
 be that kept always three days ahead of him, liked the 
 same inns, and cherished such an ardent admiration of 
 the fair, frail lady at present occupying his thoughts to 
 the exclusion or so he fancied of every other. When 
 he reached La Souterraine, he looked about for the 
 familiar sign. The name of ' Marion de Lorme ' curled 
 like a red ribbon round the old stone pillars of the 
 porch of the Grande Duchesse. His bedroom window 
 looked on an orchard white with blossom, through 
 which a little stream ran golden in the red gold of 
 the sun. Within there was a beautiful oak chest, 
 finely carved with wreaths of laurel and a crown of bay. 
 
 A ladybird flew in and settled on his hand ; he took 
 it for a sign of good luck. They told him hat Ronsard 
 had slept there once, and he dreamt of the Pl&ade. 
 
 Three nights later ' Marion ' deserted him. When he 
 
 H___o
 
 68 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 arrived at St. Benoit she was nowhere to be found. In 
 spite of many assurances to the contrary, he felt certain 
 that he had missed his way, but it was too dark to go 
 further, and he had to put up with such accommodation 
 as he could get. No scent of lavender, no bird, no 
 dream, no music ! His room was stuffy, and smelt of 
 boiled cabbage ; a horse in a stable below rattled its 
 chain so that he could not sleep for more than a few 
 minutes together, and he woke in the worst possible 
 humour. 
 
 The skies were heavy and overclouded, the road was 
 dull for two days after that. He took no joy in any- 
 thing on his way to Bressuire. As he walked up 
 the main street, however, he heard a voice he knew 
 singing the first verse of the Song that had set the city 
 of Lyons on fire. His spirits revived instantly ; he 
 stood listening for a moment to make sure of the 
 direction whence the sound came, and then entered 
 a courtyard, which was empty except for two men, 
 one of whom held a lantern while the other, whose 
 oval face and irregular teeth he remembered in the 
 editor's office the night before his departure, was 
 writing something in large letters to the left of the 
 door. He waited only to make sure that the first 
 letter was M, strolled in, ordered his supper, took out 
 ' Marion de Lorme,' which he had never looked at since 
 he started, and began to read with the air of a student. 
 
 Presently the singer made his appearance, seated 
 himself on the opposite side of the table, and drew 
 from his pocket a volume in size, shape, and colour 
 exactly like that which Lucien held. It seemed to 
 open at the same page ; without delay he also became 
 absorbed in it.
 
 MARION'S LOVER 69 
 
 A few minutes later the maid-servant entered, bearing 
 a roast fowl, which she set between the two admirers 
 of poetry. Having duly provided them with knives, 
 forks, and napkins, she waited a little ; then, as neither 
 of them took any notice, she left the room, observing 
 that she had plenty to do, and these gentlemen might 
 eat their own food if they wanted it. 
 
 ' I wonder if he heard ?' thought Lucien, who had 
 made no sign that he heard himself. 
 
 He was very hungry, but not for the gold of Croesus 
 would he have appeared to be less preoccupied than his 
 neighbour. He stuffed his elbows on to his plate, and 
 buried his head in his hands to exclude the delicious 
 perfume. 
 
 ' I wonder if he is going to finish the play before he 
 begins ! He must be in the fifth act now ; but there 
 are several pages to the end.' 
 
 The young man was clearly a swift reader. Read 
 as hard as he would, Lucien could not keep pace 
 with him. At length he turned the last page, noted 
 something with a pencil at the foot of it, and looked 
 up. 
 
 ' There,' said he triumphantly, ' this is the twentieth 
 time that I have read " Marion de Lorme," and I declare 
 that it is the most magnificent piece in the world. But 
 pray forgive me ; do not let me interrupt you. I noticed 
 that you were deep in the same work, and I felt that it 
 was a bond of sympathy between us. You have not 
 yet reached the conclusion ; we will wait to attack this 
 excellent chicken until you have done.' 
 
 ' On no account,' said Lucien, with a smile, shutting 
 up the book as he spoke ; ' I am not so inured to woe 
 as you. Possibly I should not be able to eat at all if I
 
 70 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 went through to the end ; I would rather leave off while 
 I have still a good appetite.' 
 
 The young man laughed, and looked at him with 
 sudden distrust. 
 
 ' You are not an Alexandrian ?' he said suspiciously. 
 
 * I do not know what you mean. I am very hungry. 
 Is that Alexandrian ?' 
 
 The young man burst into loud laughter. 
 
 ' Your pardon,' he said, choking. ' What it is to live 
 in the provinces for a person of real intelligence, too, 
 like you ! Have you never heard of Alexander Dumas, 
 author of "Antony"? There are those who say that he 
 is greater than Hugo. Very great he is not a doubt 
 of it; but "Antony" to "Marion" is a candle to the 
 sun; and I have not the least disposition to prejudice, 
 but I could not sit down to table with anyone who 
 preferred "Antony."' 
 
 ' Then,' said Lucien, ' you are safe with me, for I 
 have never even heard of " Antony." Besides, I agree 
 with you, heart and soul : " Marion de Lorme " is the 
 greatest play in the French language.' 
 
 The young man bowed. 
 
 ' My name is Ren6 le Remain. May I assist you to 
 a wing?' he said; 'or, perhaps, we had better divide 
 the hecatomb at once. I believe I am very hungry ; I 
 was not conscious of it before. But I warn you that, 
 when once I begin, my appetite is Gargantuan. I am 
 delighted to meet you ; I have not conversed with a 
 sensible person for weeks. I am reduced to writing the 
 name of my idol on the walls of every village in which 
 I happen to pass the night. It is true I make a sacred 
 duty of this. Who can tell ? Here and there one may 
 be able to read ; here and there one may say to himself,
 
 MARION'S LOVER 71 
 
 " ' Marion de Lorme ' ! Who is ' Marion de Lorme ' ?" 
 and, when he has said it to himself half a dozen times, 
 he may ^ it to some other, and that other may know. 
 " A bird of the air shall carry the voice."' 
 
 ' Have you seen Hugo himself?' asked Lucien. 
 
 He said it shyly, as if he had dared to wonder if 
 Le Remain were in love. 
 
 ' What a strange question ! Why, I was one of the 
 two that escorted him home to the rue Notre-Dame- 
 des - Champs every night when the dirty classicists 
 threatened to kill him if he did not withdraw " Hernani." 
 A good way round it was to go, for we were living then 
 in the Boulevard Montmartre.' 
 
 ' What is he like ?' 
 
 ' Magnificent ! The lion and the lamb. The grandest 
 fellow in the world. A man to die for, and thank God 
 that you had the chance of it.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said Lucien. 
 
 ' He is sorrowful enough just now, though. Nothing 
 but stern necessity would have made me leave Paris. 
 Poor Ernest de Saxe-Cobourg died of the cholera about 
 a month ago. He worshipped the ground that Hugo 
 treads on. He could not bear to feel .that they had the 
 river between them ; and when Hugo moved to the 
 rue Jean-Goujon, de Saxe-Cobourg moved too. Well, 
 there's a darker river between them now.' 
 
 ' Victor Hugo mourned for him ! Who was this 
 man ?' 
 
 ' A son of the duke of Cobourg. His beautiful Greek 
 mother lived with him. The father made them some 
 allowance, I believe. The boy shrank from making 
 acquaintances ; but if he was shy and reserved out in 
 the world, he made up for it among his boon com-
 
 72 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 panions. You should have heard him on the first night 
 of " Hernani." Not The"o himself in his scarlet waist- 
 coat roared louder than he did, and he went forty-four 
 times.' 
 
 ' I wonder why he cared about the world ! ' said 
 Lucien, pursuing his own train of thought. ' What 
 was it to him that his father would not, or could not, 
 act a father's part ? God made us ; we are the sons 
 of God.' 
 
 ' You think so ? For my own part, I acknowledge a 
 prejudice in favour of having parents ; but, then, I am 
 old-fashioned, except in literature.' 
 
 ' I wish I had known my mother,' Lucien said. 
 
 ' It was his mother who killed that poor Ernest,' said 
 Rene" gravely. 'She would not do what the doctor 
 ordered, because she thought it cruel. When all hope 
 was over, she fell at Hugo's feet ; she thought that he 
 could give her back her child; she would not believe 
 that she had lost him. Hugo spent the whole night 
 sitting by the dead body, trying to calm her. They say 
 she was frantic. Afterwards he nearly lost his own 
 little boy ; he cannot endure the sight of the black flag 
 at the end of the street since. It is an ugly thing, 
 cholera.' 
 
 * I would rather die of anything else. Why does he 
 not leave Paris ?' 
 
 ' He cannot bear to be alone now when it grows dark; 
 he needs his friends. His eyes are bad also ; he has 
 gazed too much on the setting sun.' 
 
 'Ah, well,' said Lucien, 'the man who wrote " Marion " 
 might die to-morrow.' 
 
 ' You would not say so if you saw him. It is impos- 
 sible to think of death at the same moment. Besides,
 
 MARION'S LOVER 73 
 
 he is bound to avenge " Marion." Think how the public 
 treated her!' 
 
 ' If I may ask the question,' Lucien said, ' why did 
 you omit her name on the walls of St. Benoit ?' 
 
 'The cooking was too bad,' said Rene; 'the wine 
 was not worthy of her. As far as I am concerned, 
 St. Benoit may go without the knowledge of her for 
 ever.' 
 
 ' But you have taken time by the forelock here ; you 
 did not wait to prove the cooking.' 
 
 ' No ; I must confess that I have an idle habit of sleep 
 in the morning. I am an inveterate card-player. When 
 I can find no one else to play with, I play cards with 
 myself. Are you a friend of whist, by the way ?' 
 
 ' I have never touched a card in my life except once, 
 and then with my foot.' 
 
 ' Ah, that's a pity ! Well, I am reduced to my own 
 fellowship. I shall sit up till my candle is burnt out, 
 and in the morning I shall wake only just in time to set 
 forth. That is why I took care to insure " Marion's " 
 place overnight ; for I am running a race with Time, 
 and I must be even with him the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 ' You remind me of my own obligations. I, too, am 
 bound to be at a certain chateau the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 The young man laid down his knife and fork. 
 
 ' I thought so,' he said ; ' I thought you were one of 
 the true men.'
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 
 
 PERHAPS the look of surprise that followed his last 
 remark chilled Rene", for he fell silent and betook him- 
 self to his cards. The uncomfortable sense of a pause, 
 just when he was about to give or to receive fresh con- 
 fidence, drove Lucien upstairs to bed. 
 
 ' One of the true men /' What did it mean ? An odd 
 coincidence, he supposed that was all. Some secret 
 club for the worship of Hugo, about which Rene chose 
 to weave an absurd mystery. It provoked him some- 
 what, and cooled his desire to make friends. He would 
 start early, before Rene got up ; it was better that they 
 should not meet again. 
 
 Alas ! the power of spirits to disturb each other is 
 not limited by their bodily presence. He could not get 
 rid of Rene", and solitude was no longer what it had 
 been. Ren6 came between Lucien and the sky. His 
 words were blown about in the wind. Sensitive as 
 Lucien was to every shade of opinion, strong excite- 
 ment, or the living calm of nature, would for the moment 
 banish his consciousness of self, but it always returned. 
 
 One of the true men ! What was a true man ? A 
 man with a name of some kind ; that was certain. As 
 a child Lucien had pondered much over his name. He
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 75 
 
 would sit in the sun under the great sails of the wind- 
 mill where he lived, thinking and wondering whether 
 it were for ever part of himself, whether it were, like 
 that shadow of his on the ground, attached merely to 
 outward form a thing with which the soul of him had 
 no onnection. Into so deep a trance would he fall 
 that he never heard the voices of the mill people calling. 
 When he awoke he would clasp his hands together 
 until they hurt, and cry, ' I am still Lucien !' 
 
 Later on he recollected asking his foster-mother who 
 bestowed that name on him. 
 
 She answered that it was St. Lucy, and told him 
 how she loved St. Lucy more than other saints, 
 though she loved them all. To this celestial friend 
 she had prayed in her deep longing for a child. One 
 wild December night the last night of the year she 
 went to her door, and there he lay, a babe of but a few 
 weeks old. The linen in which he was wrapped had 
 no mark upon it, nor was there anything to show who 
 he might be. Folded up in the robe was a canvas 
 bag with a considerable sum of money in silver, round 
 its neck a label, on which was printed in letters like 
 those of a book, ' // he lives he must receive the education 
 of a gentleman.' A few days after, a little silver key was 
 dropped in at her window by whom she did not know. 
 She hung it round the neck of the child. To the name 
 of Lucien she had added that of Sylvestre because 
 St. Sylvestre is the patron of New Year's Eve. All 
 this happened, she told him, before her marriage with 
 the worthy miller. She had not cared much for him, 
 but she felt for his motherless child, and she feared 
 St. Lucy, who had given her one for her own, might 
 be vexed if she refused. Spite of her tenderness, how-
 
 76 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ever, the child died, and the miller seemed to bear the 
 strange infant a grudge for it. He never took to Lucien ; 
 the boy grew up between the sun and the wind, caressed 
 and fondled by his nurse, frowned on and scolded by 
 her husband. 
 
 When he was nine he was sent, by the advice of the 
 priest, to the College of the Oratorians. He made no 
 friends in this place, and if it had not been for the 
 companionable thought of death, which sustained him 
 with the strength of a passion, he might have gone 
 mad there. 
 
 A beautiful girl in the village had died a month or 
 two before he went away. His nurse told him about 
 her spoke of her heavenly face, of the blessed angels 
 coming to take her soul. Ambition woke on the instant 
 deep ambition to die also, to see the white-winged 
 birds of God, to be talked about by everyone in quiet, 
 reverential tones. 
 
 As soon as he began to read of the deaths of heroes, 
 they took the place of the saintly girl. He lay no 
 longer on his little bed, surrounded by weeping and 
 admiring friends ; he perished in battle, he fell upon 
 the scaffold. The image of glorious death fortified him 
 to meet life's many terrors. Over and over again, when, 
 after failure to learn his lessons, he was shut up for 
 hours alone in a dark room, frightful to him because he 
 could not conceive that it was empty, he kept himself 
 sane by the resolute, detailed invention of some scene 
 in which he himself played the part of Cinq-Mars or 
 of another young, brilliant, and doomed conspirator. 
 Death is my helper ; I do not fear shadows. He followed 
 in the steps of the Greek without knowing it. 
 All day he struggled over uncongenial tasks, or
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 77 
 
 ceased to think of them, caught in the longing of 
 home-sickness, which made the sails of the mill go 
 round in his brain. Every night brought its own 
 distinct horror. The black dormitory was full of 
 murderous visions that he dared not look upon. Only 
 the blanket and his dream of death lay between him 
 and the wolves, the blood-stained daggers held by a 
 severed hand in the air, the bat-like old women measur- 
 ing drops of poison into a cup. Awful indeed is the 
 war of a child with darkness, when imagination is at 
 its height, and reason is scarcely born in him. 
 
 The Fathers Father Dominic especially were not 
 unkind, though they were ignorant. If they had known 
 the sick despair that closed round the heart of the boy as 
 he saw, with prayers to saints and angels that it might 
 last yet a moment longer, the last spark of the candle 
 vanish, they might have allowed him a light ; but the 
 same fear which held him waking kept him dumb. 
 Even now, as he harked back to this period, he could 
 not recall it without a shudder. 
 
 ' Childhood a happy time ! What do they mean who 
 say so ?' 
 
 He was beset by strange temptations to monstrous 
 kinds of sin, half understood, and this persistently. The 
 stories of the old chroniclers notably Froissart some- 
 times had power to deliver him out of his wretchedness, 
 to make him forget ; he was guilty of many derelictions 
 from actual duty in consequence. The little con- 
 traband shop near by, where so many of his comrades 
 would spend their substance on sweetmeats, did not 
 tempt him. He bought these things now and again, 
 that he might not appear unsociable, for, though he was 
 not fond of other boys, he shrank from their dislike,
 
 78 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 and dreaded their laughter more than the Fathers' 
 disapproval. 
 
 Sometimes the blind ambition to be first would bring 
 him to the front in a game of skill, in recitation, in the 
 plays and charades which the pupils were permitted to 
 act. In his own world he was first always. 
 
 Two starry moments shone out of the gloom one 
 when, in a little old brown leather diary, he chanced to 
 come upon the lines : 
 
 ' I saw her from my window, long ago, 
 Pass, like a princess, through the falling snow.' 
 
 He stole the diary (all the pages, except the first, 
 were blank), and began to write verses himself. His 
 own opinion of them was, that they were very fine ; he 
 never showed them to anyone, but they soothed him. 
 The other flash of light gleamed from the eyes of the 
 marquis who visited the school one day to see the child 
 of a friend, and chanced to look at Lucien. 
 
 In his fifteenth year he fell ill and was sent home. 
 ' He is an empty-headed boy ; he has no inclination for 
 knowledge.' So the report ran. 
 
 The fresh sights and sounds of the country, the gentle 
 care of his old nurse, revived him fast ; but he had lived 
 too long among abstractions, and they revenged them- 
 selves, as their way is. Every idea seemed to have left 
 him. He would sit alone for hours, not even wondering 
 how they passed. At the school, though he saw nothing 
 with his outward eyes, the inward eyes, when they were 
 not filled with nightmare, were for ever gazing on sunny 
 meadows, on the armour of knights, on the blue and 
 scarlet banners of strong armies ; but now they rested 
 also after their strained vision,
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 79 
 
 He was roused from this state of apathy by the death 
 of the miller. Feeling his last illness upon him, the old 
 man related to his wife the occurrences of the New Year's 
 Eve preceding that on which he married her. He had 
 retained the words then spoken, and could vouch that 
 his memory of them was accurate. No one had ever 
 questioned him concerning his two mysterious guests, 
 and he had never, till now, repeated them aloud ; but 
 the money that would be his in consequence of that 
 knowledge still shone before his dying eyes, and he 
 bequeathed them to his wife as part of her rightful 
 property. It had not struck him to connect them with 
 Lucien. She did so at once, and she impressed them on 
 his memory, making him say them over and over again 
 until she felt sure that he would not forget. In the 
 dreary days after the miller's funeral she confided to 
 Lucien her own fear of death. 
 
 ' I cannot understand it, mother,' he said softly. 
 * It is better to be there than here. Look how 
 beautiful it makes people, even when they were very 
 ugly before ! Besides, any of us may die any time. You 
 will live longer than I shall I am sure of that. But I 
 am not afraid. Why should you be more afraid than 
 I am?' 
 
 ' Ah, Lucien !' she said, shaking her head, ' the young 
 may die, but the old must. It is a very different 
 matter.' 
 
 She died peacefully in her sleep a year or two later ; 
 and Lucien was left alone. 
 
 By the advice of the priest he went to Lyons, where 
 the pittance he earned for copying manuscripts nabled 
 him to live, if that be life which consists only in meat 
 and drink.
 
 8o THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Loneliness weighed him down like lead. 
 
 Weary at last of its own weary inaction, ambition 
 stirred again this time the ambition to be famous, in 
 life, not only in death. It was roused by the sight of the 
 name of the marquis de Civrac on some old title-deeds 
 which he had to copy. If he could but make that man 
 hear of him ! Yet he took no further steps ; and no one 
 could have felt greater surprise than he did when he 
 received an invitation to Morfontaine. His copying 
 pleased the marquis, he was told. 
 
 Events followed each other swiftly after that. The 
 marquis found him a post as secretary to one of the 
 rich silk-merchants of Lyons, lent him the French 
 classics to read, encouraged his first passion of imita- 
 tion, praised, criticised. His fellow-lodger, Blum, also 
 began to take a marketable interest in him, and Lucien 
 fed on the praise of the man below, which was more 
 intoxicating, though less nourishing, than that of the 
 man above. Unlike the marquis, Blum did not criti- 
 cise. Unlike that hateful girl, Mademoiselle Jeanne 
 was dazzled. 
 
 He recollected strange words in the preface to 
 ' Marion ' words which had arrested and charmed him 
 before he entered upon the play itself words to the 
 effect that the conditions of the time were ripe that 
 now there would arise a dramatic author who should 
 be to Shakespeare what Napoleon was to Alexander. 
 He felt the strength of ten within him as he repeated 
 them. Like wind from fields of ice came the voice 
 of the marquis on that last evening at Morfontaine, 
 Take what is your own, and the laughter from behind 
 the curtain. 
 
 Lucien was one of those who remember not often
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 81 
 
 but acutely. Recollection was to him all but experi- 
 ence repeated, and he would defend himself from it as 
 from physical pain. If he once let go, everything else 
 was, for the moment, annihilated. 
 
 Thus had he lost himself now. 
 
 The whirr of a bird's wing, as it flew past, woke him 
 to the conviction that he had missed his way. 
 
 It was nearly dark. 
 
 There was no sign of any house or cottage near the 
 highroad had turned into a path the path was turning 
 into scrubby grass forests of trees had marched up on 
 either side, while he was at the mill in the school 
 dormitory up in Blum's attic far away at the chateau. 
 He turned back. 
 
 A few steps onward the path divided into three, and 
 the more he strove to feel certain as to the one by which 
 he had come, the more impossible it grew to arrive at 
 a decision. 
 
 ' I do not see how I can have come by any,' he said 
 to himself, with a desperate attempt at candour, ' or 
 else I must have come by all.' 
 
 He dashed down each of the three in turn. 
 
 Not one of them had any definite intention of leading 
 anywhere. They were mere sketches of paths, drawn 
 here and there among the bushes, wandering now this 
 way, now that, grass-grown, neglected of wayfarers. 
 
 He returned to the original spot where memory had 
 given him a shake and flown away. 
 
 He stood still. 
 
 Stories recurred to his mind of riders in the Bush, 
 who threw their reins on their horses' necks and were 
 taken home in safety. Mentally he threw the reins on 
 his own neck, so to speak. He shut his eyes, trying 
 
 6
 
 82 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 not to think, but no spirit in his feet guided him in any 
 direction. It was a disappointment, for he had lately 
 asserted in argument with Blum, who maintained the 
 contrary opinion, that there is something of the horse 
 in every man that this explains the ancient myth of 
 the Centaur. 
 
 Finding less of the horse in himself than he expected, 
 he resumed the man again, and sought his former friend, 
 the moon. 
 
 He could see her, like a little boat set on end behind 
 two bars of faint pink cloud. There lay the east, then ; 
 Montaigu lay to the west. 
 
 He walked boldly into the wood in the opposite direc- 
 tion. After all, what harm if he did spend the night in 
 the open air? But his heart was beginning to fail. 
 How if he missed his destination the following day ? 
 Fortunes might depend on it the whole of his future 
 life undying fame. He had not given the end of the 
 journey a serious thought before ; now it assumed vast 
 importance, and he cursed himself for a dreaming fool. 
 
 Farther and farther in he went, and the trees gathered 
 more closely round him. Some of them entangled him 
 in their hair, some of them caught him in their hands. 
 He began to feel at last as if there must be a deliberate 
 purpose in it, and half the beeches, birches, larches and 
 young oak in France had entered into a conspiracy 
 against Lucien Sylvestre. They opened out in front of 
 him, they formed up in his rear. Their slender boughs 
 waved and tossed softly in the cold night air so many 
 eloquent fingers to point him on and then hung still 
 and silent, or beat back on his face as he pushed his 
 way through. He became furious with all trees ene- 
 mies of man, of civilization, every one of them opposing
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 83 
 
 a dumb, wooden resistance. There were women in 
 them, he felt certain of that. The legends of Daphne 
 and Phyllis were true. Nothing in vegetable nature 
 could account for their stupid antagonism. 
 
 ' And you know I shall find my way in the end !' he 
 cried, apostrophizing a big and stubborn elm. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know it,' said the elm, ' but you have 
 come a long way round. Hush !' 
 
 Lucien looked up in utter bewilderment. Was he 
 taken at his word ? Had these terrible trees not only 
 got hair and hands like women, but the voices of women 
 too ? For it was a woman's voice, he could have sworn 
 to it and a voice he had heard before. All at once an 
 owl hooted. 
 
 No ! he was wrong. He breathed again. 
 
 A peasant boy dropped from the boughs and took off 
 his little woollen cap with a flourish ; there was a 
 tarnished gold button at the end of it. 
 
 ' Can I direct you, sir ? Which way do you desire to 
 go?' 
 
 ' To the town of Montaigu.' 
 
 ' Follow me, and I will put you on the right track.' 
 
 The slight figure glided on before him until it reached 
 a clump of gorse, beyond which a low gate stood out 
 white in the moon, a white-stemmed birch on either 
 side. 
 
 ' Now, listen !' the boy said, with the air of one 
 accustomed to command attention. ' Go through this 
 gate, take the third turn to the left, and the fifth on 
 the right, and keep straight ahead till you strike the 
 highroad. Then you are in the direct line for Montaigu. 
 Oblige me by repeating what I have said to you. You 
 have begun to lose yourself again already.' 
 
 62
 
 84 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Indeed, Lucien was busy observing what bright eyes 
 the boy had in his long pale face. 
 
 ' I go through the gate till I come to the highroad, 
 and then take the first turn on the left ?' he said doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 The boy whistled. 
 
 ' I thought you had not heard a word I said. You 
 are one of the people who do not know black from 
 white ! Never mind ; we must think of some other 
 way to guide you.' 
 
 He reflected. 
 
 ' You understand that you are to go through the gate 
 not to sit on top of it, nor climb over, but to go 
 through. You understand that ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly.' 
 
 ' We must be thankful for small mercies ! By-and-by 
 you will come to an old quarry of red earth. You 
 know a quarry when you see one ? Good ! Take the 
 path that runs along the opposite side. That will lead 
 you to a great rock oh, but an enormous rock, the 
 size of three or four ! It throws a long black shadow. 
 Take the path that cuts right across through the heart 
 of the shadow, and keep to it till you come to the high- 
 road. Once you are there, you can follow your own 
 nose. Most men, however poetical they may be, are 
 capable of that.' 
 
 ' I am deeply beholden to you. The gate, the red 
 quarry, the black shadow I shall remember. You 
 seem to be well acquainted with this forest ?' 
 
 The boy shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' How did you know what I wanted to do ? How 
 did you know that I should succeed in the end ?' 
 
 * You were very much in earnest. You must have
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 85 
 
 been to talk about it to the trees like that. When 
 people are in earnest they are sure to succeed if they 
 trust in God and St. Anne.' 
 
 He crossed himself devoutly. 
 
 ' Why in St. Anne more than in any other saint ?' 
 
 ' Because I say so. Good-night !' 
 
 The peasant dismissed his protege as though he had 
 been a King. Nothing remained for Lucien except to 
 bow and do as he was told. He had meant to express 
 his gratitude in a coin ; something told him it was not 
 possible. 
 
 He laughed as he went along to think how the boy 
 held him in check through the whole interview. When 
 he looked back he saw the little fellow seated on the 
 gate, waving his woollen cap. 
 
 It must have been ten or eleven o'clock before he 
 reached the principal inn of Montaigu. He was so 
 tired that he did not even look to see whether Marion 
 de Lorme kept house there before he went in. Hastily 
 ordering his supper, he threw himself down on a couch 
 by the parlour window to rest until it came. 
 
 Two men were seated outside on the veranda talking, 
 and, innocent of the fact that they could be overheard, 
 they continued to talk. Lucien did not mean to listen, 
 but one of the men was clearly the young campaigner of 
 the night before, and the first words caught his attention. 
 
 ' I thought we were sure to find him here,' Rene was 
 saying. 
 
 ' Why did not you keep an eye on him ? Treat every 
 man as your enemy till you know he's your friend that's 
 what my glorious old father always says, and, by 
 Heaven ! I believe he's right. Not but what I go on 
 the opposite principle myself always.'
 
 86 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' I fancied he would join me on the road. He was as 
 friendly as possible. But when I inquired, I found that 
 he had started an hour earlier, and I have not come up 
 with him all day.' 
 
 ' Singular ! If he were really bound for la Preuille, 
 he must have taken the same road that you did.' 
 
 ' He may have done so. He started on horseback, 
 and I noticed fresh marks of hoofs the road is not 
 much frequented, you know until I came to the last 
 village but one. There they stopped. I was afraid to 
 ask any questions for fear of rousing suspicion.' 
 
 ' Quite right. He could have been going to the 
 chateau only for one of two purposes. Heaven grant 
 he was not a spy !' 
 
 ' If he were, why should he tell me that he was 
 going ? He said so of his own accord. I never men- 
 tioned it.' 
 
 * Oh, holy simplicity ! To worm your secrets out of 
 you, of course.' 
 
 ' I do not think he can have been a spy. Ignorant, 
 simple those were not the words for him. Why, he 
 had never heard the name of Alexander !' 
 
 ' Impossible ! You should have been more wary. 
 He is a spy, Ren6 ; take my word for it. My splendid 
 old father would have unmasked him in a moment. 
 Why, when he was in Spain, and the troops came in 
 sight of Dulcinea's village and the three windmills, they 
 all began to clap. The commonest French soldier 
 knew the name of Cervantes. And you tell me that an 
 educated young man has never heard of the Cervantes 
 of our own time ! Bah !' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' said Ren6. ' Dumas is all very well ; 
 he is not Cervantes, and not within a hundred miles of
 
 THE PEASANT BOY IN THE FOREST 87 
 
 him. He never will be. Hugo, now, he has something 
 of the hidalgo if you like ; and my young man had 
 heard of Hugo knew " Marion de Lorme " by heart ; 
 noticed that I had written up her name which I did 
 as a hint for you, my fine friend ! every third day.' 
 
 ' All the more conclusive evidence that he was a spy. 
 He knew them both, depend upon it. He wanted to 
 make you talk. He saw that giving you Hugo was 
 like giving you brandy. Hugo goes to your head ; you 
 forget yourself.' 
 
 In spite of his fatigue, Lucien was becoming inter- 
 ested in this conversation. 
 
 Who was the irrepressible man with the hoarse voice 
 and the tiresome father, who insisted that he must be 
 a spy because he knew Victor Hugo, did not know 
 Alexander Dumas, and was on his way to la Preuille ? 
 
 Why were they afraid of spies ? 
 
 What were tney going to do ? 
 
 ' In any case,' Ren6 said, ' I told him nothing. But 
 the likeness, of which I spoke to you before, is extra- 
 ordinary. I noticed it the moment I saw him.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said the other man thoughtfully, ' this bench is 
 rather near the house, and walls have -ears. Suppose 
 we take a turn ?' 
 
 Lucien ate his supper and went to bed without 
 encountering either of them. 
 
 ' I wonder,' he said to himself as he put out his 
 candle ' I wonder who I am and what I am doing !'
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 
 
 LUCIEN came down early enough the next morning, 
 but the two gentlemen whose discourse he overheard 
 the night before had outstripped him. Rene had not 
 played cards with himself on this occasion. They 
 started, the host said, as soon as it was light. 
 
 ' Get ready a horse for me at once,' Lucien said. 
 
 It angered him to think that he could not by any 
 possibility reach the chateau de la Preuille so soon as 
 they would. 
 
 While he was drinking a cup of coffee, three other 
 men came in. They were not in uniform, but by their 
 bearing he judged them to be officers. Two of them 
 rode horses of their own, and stopped only to bait. 
 The third was on foot, and demanded one instantly. 
 
 ' I regret that I am unable to oblige you, sir. Two 
 of my horses are out, and the only animal at our 
 disposal is already engaged.' 
 
 ' I cannot help that,' retorted the officer. ' I am 
 willing to pay what you like, but I must have it. You 
 can make what excuses you will to the other man.' 
 
 ' I happen to be the other man,' said Lucien, rising. 
 ' I am sorry that it is impossible to do as you wish.
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 89 
 
 But I am bound to be at the chateau de la Preuille 
 this morning, and I have no time to lose.' 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon !' said the officer, with great 
 politeness. ' In that case I should not think of hinder- 
 ing you. I dare say some blacksmith will furnish me 
 with an old hack. Your pardon, sir.' 
 
 Lucien sprang to the saddle, and rode off at a gallop. 
 
 What was there about the name of the chateau which 
 acted like a charm on all the people that he met ? He 
 was within a few hours of it now. What should he 
 find when he got there ? 
 
 Presently he heard the sound of hoofs behind him. 
 Looking back, he saw the three officers riding as if 
 for life. 
 
 They also were on the road to la Preuille. 
 
 Everyone who was going there was going in a great 
 hurry. Lucien set spurs to. his horse. He was deter- 
 mined not to be beaten in this race, whatever happened. 
 
 The chateau de la Preuille ! 
 
 He pictured to himself a mass of towers and turrets 
 clothed in dark ivy, a drawbridge, a portcullis, a 
 withered hag ; and further than the withered hag he 
 had not gone, when he drew rein. 
 
 ' Stop at the first large gate that you come to,' Mine 
 Host of the inn had said. 
 
 It was a gate of curled and twisted iron, on one side 
 of which stood a neat little whitewashed lodge, with a 
 row of blue and pink hyacinths in the window. He 
 could hardly bring himself to ask the tidy old woman, 
 who came out like a figure in a weather-house, whether 
 this were indeed the chateau de la Preuille. 
 
 However, it is not safe to weigh one's own conviction 
 of the fitness of things against the direct testimony of a
 
 go THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 fellow-mortal, even if she be but a tidy old woman, and 
 the gate stood open as though it expected him ; so 
 Lucien galloped on between the bushes of laurestinus. 
 Several riders must have passed that way before. He 
 saw grooms and stable-boys with their horses as he 
 rode up. 
 
 There was not the faintest air of mystery about 
 the chateau de la Preuille. It was a solid, square, 
 comfortable, stone dwelling, built by a man of no 
 imagination. In front of it lay a broad, sunny lawn. 
 The door, like the gate, was standing open, and Lucien 
 could look into the hall, which seemed to be used as a 
 breakfast-room. A long table was laid out with glass 
 and silver, and all the preparations for just such a good 
 breakfast as he longed to make. 
 
 ' Tell colonel de Nacquart that monsieur Lucien 
 Sylvestre requests the honour of an interview \vith 
 him.' 
 
 The servant took his horse at once, as if it were a 
 matter of course, and ushered him in. 
 
 'Ah, there you are, my friend of the road!' cried 
 Rene le Remain, breaking from a group of six or seven 
 gentlemen round the fireplace, and seizing his hand. 
 
 ' He does not believe me to be a spy, at any rate,' 
 thought Lucien. 
 
 At that moment a small, stout, bald man, with a ring 
 of thin white hair, entered the room. Lucien was not 
 reassured by his manner. 
 
 ' Monsieur Sylvestre ?' he said, coldly inquiring. 
 ' The name is quite unknown to me. I have not the 
 pleasure of your acquaintance.' 
 
 The other men, who had gathered round, fell back a 
 little, except Rene.
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 91 
 
 ' Have I the honour of speaking to colonel de 
 Nacquart ?' 
 
 ' I am colonel de Nacquart, sir.' 
 
 'Then I have only to deliver this packet into your 
 hands. I was desired to bring it to you from Lyons.' 
 
 ' I am obliged to you,' said the colonel in tones 
 which suggested that he would rather have said, ' Be 
 hanged !' 
 
 But he took the packet, and, muttering a hasty 
 apology, went out. 
 
 There was an awkward pause. 
 
 No one spoke to Lucien. 
 
 Ren6 was so desirous to speak that he could find 
 nothing to say. 
 
 ' There is a very fine view from the windows, is there 
 not ?' he began at last. 
 
 * Very fine,' said Lucien, who could see nothing but 
 the lawn. ' Is that an owl hooting ? How strange in 
 broad daylight !' 
 
 The next moment he coloured at his own simplicity, 
 for a sound of hooting all round convinced him that the 
 owl he had heard did not wear wings. 
 
 The colonel was not long absent, however. 
 
 On his return he went straight up to Lucien and took 
 both his hands. 
 
 ' Forgive me, my dear guest. If I had known, your 
 reception would have been different. One cannot be 
 too cautious just now. I am sure you will understand 
 that. Have I your pardon ?' 
 
 ' I have nothing to forgive,' said Lucien. ' I fear that 
 I have thrust myself upon you at an inconvenient 
 moment. It is for you to forgive me.' 
 
 ' Well, well !' said the colonel, his small black eyes
 
 92 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 twinkling, ' suppose we go to breakfast without further 
 ado. We will have a private conversation afterwards, 
 if you please. Here comes my daughter-in-law ! This 
 is my friend, Monsieur Achille Guibourg. Allow me to 
 introduce you to him. Lay another place, Didier. See 
 that Monsieur Sylvestre makes a good breakfast. A 
 word with you, Achille.' 
 
 He drew Guibourg aside and whispered something in 
 his ear. The young man nodded, and returned to Lucien. 
 
 The colonel took the head, and his daughter-in-law, a 
 pretty blonde, with soft, straw-coloured hair, the foot of 
 the table. There were no other ladies present. Guibourg 
 and Lucien were placed together near the middle. 
 As Ren sat next madame de Nacquart, and the 
 gentlemen between were absorbed in eager conversation 
 among themselves, Lucien was thrown upon his new 
 acquaintance. 
 
 ' Have you been long in la Vendee ?' inquired Gui- 
 bourg. ' No ? Ah, it is terrible, the state of things 1 
 Madame de Nacquart here could tell you a tale. The 
 Government soldiers broke into this house the other 
 day, and smashed her work-table all to pieces.' 
 
 1 The wretches ! Were they afraid of an attack of 
 pins and needles ?' Lucien said, laughing. His spirits 
 had revived under the influence of a dish of scrambled 
 eggs and a glass of Beaune. 
 
 ' I do not know what they will take it into their heads 
 to be afraid of next. It is impossible that we can go on 
 as we are now. May I recommend you to take some of 
 this cabbage? It is not pancallier. I can assure you of 
 that.' 
 
 ' Pancallier ? What is pancallier ?' wondered Lucien ; 
 but he did not betray his ignorance.
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 93 
 
 'The state of the country is quite awful,' continued 
 Guibourg, with the utmost cheerfulness. ' For myself, 
 I should not be surprised whatever happened, should 
 you?' 
 
 ' Why, no,' said Lucien. ' I might be rather surprised 
 if there were an earthquake. Mere childishness, of 
 course. Everything is surprising in this world or 
 nothing. It comes to much the same.' 
 
 'Just so. We must be prepared for a social earth- 
 quake. Dermoncourt himself said to a friend of mine 
 the other day, " We old soldiers know the taste of war 
 from whatever part it may come, and the air from la 
 Vendee is full of it." If that be the opinion of Louis- 
 Philippe's generalissimo, whose interest it is to keep the 
 peace if possible, what is the common soldier likely to 
 think ?' 
 
 ' I heard in Lyons that there were numbers of secret 
 agents about everywhere.' 
 
 ' A perfect plague of them ! Vidocq is a great 
 organizer, no doubt; but if you overdo it, you may 
 find you are organizing a rebellion where you thought 
 you were organizing defence. People are beginning to 
 wonder where it will end.' 
 
 ' They are indeed,' said a gentleman on the other side 
 of Guibourg. ' The fish-ponds on the estate next to this 
 have been drained, for fear there might be weapons con- 
 cealed in the mud at the bottom !' 
 
 'The people of our village could get no bread last 
 week, because the soldiers had destroyed the baker's 
 oven in their search for powder,' said someone else. 
 
 'They spoil all the flax and the hemp with their 
 rummaging, too.' 
 
 ' Small wonder that not a priest for miles round
 
 94 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 can be got to say " Domine, salvum fac regem Philip- 
 pum r ' 
 
 ' They pray for Henri Cinq, I suppose ?' said Lucien. 
 
 ' I believe you. And for Marie-Caroline, Regent.' 
 
 * What was that ?' said de Nacquart, laying down his 
 knife and fork. ' I thought I heard wheels.' 
 
 Conversation ceased instantly all along the table. 
 
 ' No, no !' whispered madame de Nacquart nervously. 
 ' You made a mistake, papa.' 
 
 ' They are coming in at the gate,' he said. 
 
 Guibourg muttered under his breath a word that 
 sounded like ' Heaven be thanked !' As though moved 
 by a sudden irresistible impulse, every one of the guests 
 rushed to the window. Lucien followed, wondering. 
 Why all this agitation about an ordinary carriage full 
 of ordinary people ? They alighted quickly so quickly 
 that he had no time to examine them in detail. 
 
 Colonel de Nacquart looked at his daughter-in-law. 
 
 ' Let us take her upstairs at once. The room is quite 
 ready,' she said. 
 
 They seemed to have changed characters. She was 
 calm now he flustered and nervous. 
 
 ' Gentlemen,' she went on, turning to the rest, ' a 
 friend of the family is arriving earlier than we expected. 
 She must pass through this hall on her way upstairs. 
 I shall not introduce her to you. You will, I know, 
 forgive the complete absence of ceremony. She has 
 had a long journey ; she must be very tired.' 
 
 Madame de Nacquart spoke in a loud voice. 
 
 ' She wants the servants to hear,' thought Lucien. 
 
 The colonel made a rush for the door, bowing almost 
 to the ground. Lucien thought then thought he must 
 be wrong that, by a scarcely perceptible gesture, his
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 95 
 
 daughter-in-law tried to stop him. Yet she curtsied 
 herself. 
 
 A little lady dressed in gray, wearing a straw hat 
 and a green veil which concealed her features, entered 
 first. 
 
 After her came another lady and two gentlemen. 
 
 Everyone made way respectfully. 
 
 Not a word was spoken. A breathless hush prevailed 
 as they glided through the hall, and vanished in madame 
 de Nacquart's train, her father-in-law accompanying 
 them. 
 
 The look of strained attention on every face dis- 
 appeared. The younger men, without exception, grew 
 radiant, the others perplexed and doubtful. Guibourg 
 tossed a roll into the air and caught it again, as if he 
 could hardly contain himself. 
 
 Still no one spoke. 
 
 The butler and the footman solemnly continued to 
 hand round silver dishes of cutlets. Each man took a 
 cutlet, but no one had any appetite. They lay un- 
 touched on the plates. 
 
 ' Thank-you,' said Guibourg to the butler. ' We will 
 await the return of Madame ' his neighbour started 
 and stared at him ' de Nacquart,' he added hurriedly. 
 
 He drew a long breath as the servants left the room, 
 and the other guests testified to their satisfaction by 
 coughs, sighs, grunts, and suppressed laughter. But 
 no one knew how to begin. 
 
 ' It is,' one said at last. 
 
 ' Is what ?' asked Lucien. 
 
 ' Oh very hot this morning !' 
 
 ' The conditions have not been observed,' remarked 
 another stiffly.
 
 96 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Pancallier /' cried the young man beside him the 
 same who had lodged at the inn with Rene" the night 
 before. 
 
 Lucien could restrain his curiosity no longer. 
 
 ' Would you be so kind as to tell me the meaning of 
 that expression ?' he said. 
 
 ' I will, sir,' retorted the young man fiercely, as who 
 should say, If you want me to run a dagger into you, I have 
 not the slightest objection. ' It is a word we use in this 
 part of the country for a kind of cabbage that grows 
 very fast oh, very fast indeed ! and has plenty of 
 leaves, but no heart.' 
 
 ' May I inquire, sir, what caused you to allude to this 
 interesting vegetable ?' 
 
 ' Only, sir, the strange resemblance of some gentle- 
 men to a cabbage of that order. It strikes one painfully 
 irresistibly.' 
 
 ' Am I the only sane man among a bevy of lunatics, 
 or the only idiot in a houseful of reasonable people ?' 
 Lucien asked himself. 
 
 ' How exquisite she is !' murmured Rene. 
 
 ' I thought her plain.' 
 
 ' What did you think, sir ?' shouted the fierce young 
 man, turning on Lucien. 
 
 ' She may be Venus in person, or she may have 
 pink eyes, and snakes in her hair like Medusa, for 
 all I know. I saw nothing except a hat and a green 
 veil.' 
 
 ' Pancallier !' cried the furious young man. ' She 
 walked with the step of a ' 
 
 ' Goddess ?' Rene" suggested. 
 
 The young man had broken short off. Guibourg 
 strode up to him and took him by both shoulders.
 
 THE LADY IN THE GREEN VEIL 97 
 
 ' Look here !' he said, not unkindly. ' You forget 
 that Monsieur Sylvestre has come among us as a 
 stranger. Where are your manners, de Monti ? What 
 business have you has any one of us to discuss the 
 lady in this way ? Be quiet ! A cabbage is bad 
 enough, but, upon my conscience, a fool is worse !'
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CAPTURE OF BLUM 
 
 ' A gentleman wishes to speak to you, sir,' said the 
 butler. (The emphasis on the word was doubtful.) 
 ' He will not come in. He says he must see you at 
 once.' 
 
 Lucien rose impatiently, as if someone had called 
 him out of a theatre at the moment when the curtain 
 was going to rise. Who might this gentleman be ? 
 What did he want ? 
 
 His annoyance changed to astonishment when, at 
 the foot of the steps, he beheld Charles Blum, hot and 
 flushed, pounding his forehead with a tightly-rolled red 
 cotton handkerchief, which seemed to make it redder. 
 
 ' Plague take me if you are worth all the trouble I 
 put myself to on your account !' was his first observa- 
 tion. 
 
 Lucien thought that it called for no reply. Through 
 the open window he heard the voice of someone address- 
 ing those within. 
 
 ' You must return with me at once,' continued Blum. 
 ' You were sent here for no good I am convinced of 
 that. You will only be mixed up in a foolish Legitimist 
 rising which can have but one end. The duchess is 
 mad enough to attempt anything, but Louis-Philippe's
 
 THE CAPTURE OF BLUM 99 
 
 troops are all over the country. She has not a chance 
 of escape. Come back with me at once to Lyons. 
 The editor of the Glcmeuse will be thankful to give you 
 work on your own terms. He repented as soon as he 
 had let you slip. He charged me to bring you back at 
 any cost.' 
 
 Lucien hesitated. Through the window came the 
 murmur of voices ; now one rose higher and now 
 another. Here was an evident way out of the diffi- 
 culties that surrounded him. Why not avail himself 
 of it ? Blum spoke the truth, most likely, being seldom 
 fanciful enough to speak anything else. He had but to 
 leave a message to the effect that urgent business called 
 him away, and he would be quit of these odd people 
 and their enigmatical talk. But then he hated the 
 evident way. 
 
 ' You are a practical man, Blum. You must see that 
 I cannot afford to lose the fruit of my journey. I have 
 not yet been able to speak in private with colonel de 
 Nacquart, and before I have done so I cannot decide 
 upon my future course.' 
 
 Again those voices through the window. They were 
 all in accord now, speaking together. 
 
 ' Tell me,' said Blum : ' have you any idea what you 
 are about ? Have you ascertained why you were sent 
 here in the first instance ?' 
 
 ' I am as ignorant as on the day I set out.' 
 
 ' Do you know,' went on Blum, his voice rising louder 
 and louder, 'that this house is a noted stronghold of 
 disaffection that the whole neighbourhood is full of 
 conspirators ?' 
 
 ' And if it were ?' said Lucien, kicking a pebble. 
 
 ' Are you so blind to your own interests ?' 
 
 72
 
 ioo THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' For all I know, they may be better served by my 
 remaining. You forget that I am a Legitimist ; you 
 forget also that I have not been paid.' 
 
 Blum laughed. 
 
 * Well,' said he, ' let them pay you for what you have 
 done ; that is fair enough. I will wait until you have 
 finished ; then we can return to Lyons together.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! You cannot wait here ; it may be hours 
 before I am ready. Go back to Montaigu, and I will 
 come to you there.' 
 
 ' No,' said Blum, with dogged determination, ' I am 
 not going till you go with me.' 
 
 Immediately after Lucien's departure the marquis had 
 been pointed out to him in the streets of Lyons, and 
 the editor of the Glaneuse had mentioned that he was 
 well known in earlier days as an ardent partisan of the 
 Bourbons. Without even staying to tell Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne, Blum had started at once to aid and rescue the 
 victim. He would not be beaten now. 
 
 ' I will not trust you among these men,' he went on ; 
 ' I have no confidence in them. Can you not send word 
 to Nacquart that you are in haste, that you wish to see 
 him without delay ?' 
 
 Lucien shrugged his shoulders, and ran up the steps 
 into the hall, rather to escape Blum than to look for 
 the colonel. The gentlemen whom he had left were all 
 gathered about one of the windows. Nobody turned 
 round when he entered. He felt sure that they had 
 been watching him as he walked up and down with 
 Blum on the gravel terrace. 
 
 * Will you not ask your friend into the house, sir ?' 
 Guibourg said, speaking more gravely than the occasion 
 seemed to demand.
 
 THE CAPTURE OF BLUM 101 
 
 'Thank-you,' said Lucien, trying without success to 
 answer as if it were a matter of course ; * there is no 
 need. I shall rejoin him directly ; I am only waiting 
 to say good-bye to my host.' 
 
 ' The colonel is busy at present ; you may have some 
 time to wait.' 
 
 ' Yes,' Rene said, with eager interest ; ' he had far 
 better come into the house. I will go and fetch him.' 
 
 The air round Lucien seemed to be thick with cob- 
 webs ; as fast as he tore his way through them, invisible 
 spiders were weaving them again. One thing alone was 
 clear : Blum should not be permitted to enter the house. 
 
 'Do not go!' he said, detaining Rene". 'Indeed he 
 would rather remain outside.' 
 
 There was a hurried, indefinite stir and drawing 
 together of the party round the window. 
 
 ' Do you not see that he must either go or stay ?' 
 said Rene, in an excited whisper. ' The situation is 
 impossible.' 
 
 ' Impossible !' said Guibourg. 
 
 Lucien looked from the anxious faces beside him to 
 the threatening faces at the window, and out beyond to 
 the sturdy red face of Blum. Why was it impossible 
 that he should go on walking up and down the terrace ? 
 
 Again the sound of wheels. The same carriage drove 
 round to the door with fresh horses. Rene" gave a low 
 sigh. 
 
 ' Too late now ! We must run the risk.' 
 
 ' Who is the gentleman in front of the house ?' said a 
 gentle voice, which Lucien took to be that of madame 
 de Nacquart. 
 
 He looked in the direction whence it came. The 
 inner door was open ; there stood a little lady in gray,
 
 102 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 wearing a straw hat and a green veil, the former 
 occupants of the carriage, and the colonel. Madame 
 de Nacquart, however, was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Everyone looked at Lucien as though expecting him 
 to answer. Desperately conscious that, whatever the 
 occasion might be, it was not an occasion for telling the 
 truth, he could not find out any invention. 
 
 'It is a friend of mine. He came from Lyons to 
 speak to me on private business.' 
 
 ' Perhaps we might set him on his way,' said the lady. 
 ' May I inquire his name ? 
 
 In cold blood Lucien could have found a dozen 
 imaginary names in as many seconds ; not one would 
 occur to him now. 
 
 ' Charles Blum,' he said, and felt as if he were signing 
 a warrant. 
 
 ' I told you so,' cried one of the younger men. ' I 
 knew him; he writes for the Glaneuse. A low Republican 
 rascal !' 
 
 ' Pardon me,' said Lucien, stepping forward, his eyes 
 on fire, ' I do not hear him spoken of in those terms.' 
 
 The lady laughed. 
 
 ' We are all Republicans,' she said softly. ' It is 
 nothing but jealousy on the part of this gentleman 
 two of a trade. Let me speak to him.' 
 
 She went down the steps to the terrace, and accosted 
 the unwelcome visitor. 
 
 ' Yes, that will be best,' they heard her say aloud. 
 Then she addressed the colonel : ' Monsieur Blum is 
 willing to come with me as far as Bressuire. I told 
 him that we had all heard of the fame of his articles. 
 I cannot refuse myself the pleasure of a little discus- 
 sion. Besides, you know what we heard this morn-
 
 THE CAPTURE OF BLUM 103 
 
 ing. He may learn something to the advantage of his 
 paper.' 
 
 ' I shall wait for you at Bressuire,' shouted Blum, 
 waving his hand. 
 
 Lucien stood petrified. 
 
 ' Be sure you wait until he comes !' Rene" cried. 
 
 Bowing and smiling, Blum scrambled into the carriage. 
 In another moment he was seated opposite the little 
 lady ; Guibourg and two others jumped in after them, 
 and they were driven off.
 
 CHAPTER XII . 
 
 THE FORDING OF THE RIVER 
 
 ' I AM happy to make over to you the sum agreed upon,' 
 said the colonel, bestowing a thousand francs on Lucien. 
 'The person to whom this packet is addressed is not 
 here. I cannot believe that it is your intention to return 
 to Lyons. You would doubtless wish to pursue your 
 researches further ?' 
 
 Lucien, who was still pondering over the mystery of 
 the rape of Blum, did not reply at once. 
 
 ' He does wish to return to Lyons I knew he did !' 
 muttered the excited young man. ' Pancallier /' 
 
 The word roused Lucien. A man naturally dislikes 
 to be called a cabbage. 
 
 ' Of course I desire to take this packet to the person 
 to whom it is addressed,' he said. 
 
 The young man shrugged his shoulders ; he still said 
 Pancallier with his shoulders. 
 
 ' In that case ' de Nacquart drew Lucien into the 
 recess of a window ' you will have to stay here for the 
 next few hours. Names are not mentioned among us. 
 Two of my guests will accompany you to the right 
 place after nightfall.' 
 
 ' I am completely in the dark by daylight,' Lucien
 
 THE FORDING OF THE RIVER 105 
 
 said. ' Am I allowed to ask one single question ? The 
 name of one person only ?' 
 
 De Nacquart looked at him suspiciously. 
 
 ' Whose name do you wish to know ?' 
 
 ' That of the gentleman in w r hose service I find myself.' 
 
 The colonel's look of blank astonishment was quickly 
 followed by one of utter distrust. 
 
 ' I do not understand the young men of these days,' 
 he said. ' Go or stay as you like. I have no time for 
 talking.' 
 
 ' I have never heard the name of Dumas therefore 
 I am a spy. I do not know the Breton name for a 
 cabbage therefore I am a traitor. I do not know 
 because I have no means of knowing the name of my 
 employer therefore I am a spy and a traitor both. 
 What strange conclusions they draw!' thought Lucien ; 
 but all he said was, ' I think, sir, with your consent, I 
 will stay.' 
 
 ' Very well. Pray make use of my study there, or of 
 the garden, whichever you prefer. My two friends will 
 be ready for you here on the steps at five o'clock.' 
 
 Lucien availed himself of the permission to be free, 
 and wandered into the garden. 
 
 He cherished a hope that madame de Nacquart might 
 appear there. He thought her kind, and perhaps she 
 might be willing to talk otherwise than in riddles. 
 Even if she were not, he had longed, ever since that 
 night at Morfontaine, to measure himself against a 
 woman. Yet, unaccountably, he felt that she was gone 
 that she never would come ; and she never did. 
 
 He was resting under a hawthorn, his head on his 
 hand, when the glint of the sun upon a tarnished gold 
 button, at the end of a green woollen cap, caught his*
 
 106 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 eye. He started to his feet. It was yes no why, 
 yes it was the peasant boy of the night before, walk- 
 ing briskly across ! In such a world of strangers an 
 acquaintance of twelve hours' standing was better than 
 none. 
 
 ' Good-morning.' 
 
 The boy touched his cap. 
 
 ' So you got out of the wood ?' 
 
 ' I did thanks to your instructions.' 
 
 ' I have no time to stop. You must walk beside me 
 to the gate, if you wish for my company.' 
 
 He spoke with the air of one conferring a favour. 
 Certainly he was not like other boys. 
 
 ' Then you are not going to stay here ?' 
 
 ' Are you ?' 
 
 ' No. But I wish you could tell me again which way 
 I am going.' 
 
 ' I can,' said the boy. ' You are going to the estate 
 of le Mortier, not far from R^mouille. Do not tell 
 anyone. If anyone asks you, you had better not know 
 yourself. I was born in the forest. I wear the colours 
 of the forest. I understand these things. I hope you 
 will not be drenched.' 
 
 ' Why should you say that ? The sky is blue.' 
 
 ' The weather changes often in these parts,' the boy 
 said, with a sigh. ' Here we are at the gate. Farewell!' 
 
 Lucien had often heard it said that a boy's voice is 
 like a woman's, and he remembered this as he turned 
 back to the hawthorn. 
 
 He saw his fellows at the breakfast-table ride away, 
 one by one, down the avenue, at long intervals of time ; 
 and when the last was gone, the house lay still and 
 square and solid in the sunshine.
 
 THE FORDING OF THE RIVER 107 
 
 Slowly, slowly at first then quickly and ever more 
 quickly, everything about the house fell asleep. The 
 windows left off winking the leaves of the trees the 
 yellow tulips in the vases. They slept profoundly ; 
 and Lucien slept also. 
 
 He was awakened by a shower. 
 
 Good heavens ! was he only just in time ? The house 
 w r as still asleep not a gleam of light from the windows 
 dully asleep in the rain. There were two people 
 standing on the steps, heavily cloaked. He rushed 
 towards them. One was a delicate, elderly man with 
 courtly, old-fashioned ways. The other looked and 
 walked like a soldier, and carried a lantern. 
 
 The elder glanced anxiously at the sky; it showed 
 no sign of clearing. 
 
 They bowed, but said nothing. Lucien understood 
 their silence to mean silence, and dared not ask for the 
 colonel. Besides, he knew as well as if they had told 
 him, that de Nacquart was not there. No one was 
 there, of those who had been there. 
 
 Soon after they left the avenue it grew dark, and the 
 rain increased in violence, as if it were determined to 
 beat down the wind, while the wind strove to bear it 
 up, swinging the lantern roughly to and fro in the 
 effort. 
 
 They walked through fields of high grass till they 
 reached a large, half-timbered house which stood by 
 itself without garden or inclosure of any kind. 
 
 The lantern - bearer knocked slowly twice, three 
 times lightly and fast, and the door was opened by 
 the officer who had wanted Lucien's horse for la 
 Preuille. 
 
 ' Welcome to le Mortier !' he said, not discerning his
 
 io8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 third guest. ' It is a fearful night. I hope that you 
 will be able to persuade Petit- Pierre to stay.' 
 
 There was the peasant boy again, standing by a chest 
 in the entry, his hand on a pistol. Above his head a trophy 
 of ancient weapons gleamed coldly in the dim light. 
 
 ' My advice is, to stay,' said the soldier. ' No one 
 ought to be out on such a night as this.' 
 
 ' The ford is dangerous,' the other man added. 
 
 The boy's face kindled at the word. He nodded his 
 head gravely. 
 
 ' Very well. As you will,' said the soldier. 
 
 The master of the house made no further remark, and 
 they set forth again, the soldier and the boy in front, 
 with a rough-looking man in a sheepskin, who had 
 helped to unbar the door. 
 
 'You are the" guide Le Normand?' the light-bearer 
 said to this last recruit. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'They speak as little here, as if every word cost a 
 franc,' thought Lucien. 
 
 ' How long will it take us to get to Bellecour ?' 
 
 ' It is four miles by the road.' 
 
 ' And the soldiers ?' 
 
 ' They are encamped all along.' 
 
 ' But if we crossed the Moine ?' 
 
 ' The Moine is dangerous.' 
 
 ' How much time should we save ?' 
 
 ' Nearly an hour.' 
 
 ' We escape the soldiers, too ?' 
 
 ' Yes, but the Moine is dangerous.' 
 
 ' We will go by the Moine,' said the boy. 
 
 So said, so done. Le Normand left the beaten track, 
 and plunged in among the bramble-bushes.
 
 THE FORDING OF THE RIVER 109 
 
 Some time after, they came out on to a low cliff, as 
 Lucien judged by the brawl of water down below. All 
 at once the lantern went out. 
 
 ' Useless to try and relight. We must do without it.' 
 
 ' There is no bridge ?' 
 
 ' No only planks laid across.' 
 
 ' I know the Moine. It is full of choking water- weeds. 
 Be careful, de Charette.' 
 
 De Charette ! The name of the great chief of la Vendee 
 startled Lucien. What was his descendant doing in 
 this wild place in the heart of the night ? 
 
 They were on the edge of the cliff now. They could 
 not see the torrent at their feet, but the roar of it 
 conquered the wind. 
 
 ' Hold back, de Mesnard !' cried the baron. 
 
 A little hand put him gently aside. 
 
 ' I go first,' said the boy. 
 
 ' If the plank gives way,' shouted the guide, ' there is 
 another higher up. Give me your hand, sir. We will 
 come back for these gentlemen.' 
 
 What followed, Lucien, though he strained his eyes, 
 could hardly see. 
 
 Between Le Normand and the baron their charge 
 crossed one half-rotten plank in safety, and the first of 
 the great water-worn boulders which formed a chain 
 of stepping-stones through the flood was gained. A 
 moment more, and he stood firm upon the second, 
 Le Normand still leading. 
 
 * They are half across now. There is only one more 
 stone left. Ah ! what was that ? Have they slipped ?' 
 
 ' Come ! come !' cried Lucien. 
 
 He took the old man on his shoulders. The weight 
 which he acquired in this way enabled him to withstand
 
 no THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the terrific force of the current. He was broad and 
 thickset, and the water was not more than four or five 
 feet deep, yet he felt as if his legs were of straw. Just 
 when, for sheer lack of breath in the buffeting of wind 
 and wave, he thought he must have failed, he won the 
 shore, and let his burden slip gently to the ground. A 
 dripping figure stooped and helped the old man to rise. 
 An anxious voice cried : 
 
 ' You are not hurt, Monsieur de Mesnard ?' 
 
 ' No, no ! And you what happened ?' 
 
 ' Le Normand slipped,' said the boy. ' He had my 
 hand and pulled me in. The baron tried to hold me, 
 but I was stronger than he ; I dragged him down. Yes, 
 Monsieur le baron, I am stronger than you.' 
 
 ' Agreed ! agreed !' said de Charette. ' You had the 
 courage to let go my hand. If you had not done so, 
 we should both have been killed.' 
 
 ' You never made a sound.' 
 
 ' It is not my way,' the boy said. 
 
 He threw his head back, then bent it for a moment 
 over his clasped hands. 
 
 ' God and St. Anne to the rescue !' thought Lucien. 
 'Brave little fellow!' 
 
 ' You have not heard the end of the story,' the hoy 
 went on, laughing and turning to de Mesnard. 'The 
 baron brought me to land, feet foremost. What a 
 special providence, Monsieur le baron, that you knew 
 how to swim !' 
 
 ' It is not a special providence that Le Normand and 
 I should have lost our cloaks in the torrent,' said the 
 baron. ' We have nothing to put round you. We 
 must return to le Mortier at once. You cannot go on 
 as you are.'
 
 THE FORDING OF THE RIVER in 
 
 Without a word the old man put a cloak round the 
 boy's shoulders. His teeth were chattering, and he 
 accepted it. 
 
 A shade of astonishment crossed Lucien's mind. 
 After all, the boy was young, and monsieur de Mesnard 
 was not. 
 
 ' The adventures of the Owls were far worse/ he said 
 as he fastened it. ' Well, to-day I have been under 
 water ; to-morrow, we must hope, I shall be under fire. 
 The episode will look funny enough in my Memoirs. 
 It is a good beginning.' 
 
 His Memoirs ! What business had he to think of his 
 Memoirs ? A remarkable peasant boy, no doubt. Per- 
 haps he had designed his dress also with a view to his 
 Memoirs. 
 
 ' You can take us back to le Mortier without crossing 
 that cursed river again ?' de Charette asked of the 
 guide. 
 
 Le Normand signed assent. 
 
 Lucien thought that it must be midnight by the time 
 they stood once more under the low porch. He could 
 hardly believe his ears when he heard an astonished 
 voice say : 
 
 ' What ! back again ! It is only an hour and a half 
 since you started.' 
 
 ' You do not say so ! What luck ! Quick ! some 
 brandy and a change of under-clothing.' 
 
 The boy was hurried upstairs by his host, de 
 Charette and de Mesnard following. Le Normand 
 disappeared into the kitchen. Lucien sank down on a 
 fur rug close to the stove. He was thankful for rest 
 and warmth, and he hoped they would stay there until 
 morning.
 
 H2 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The hour that followed seemed to him to be five 
 minutes long. 
 
 ' Are the horses ready ?' 
 
 It was the inexorable boy calling over the balustrade. 
 
 ' Dear me !' thought Lucien. ' Are we going to ride 
 through that river now ?' 
 
 ' They are ready,' said the voice of the host below. 
 
 De Charette came forward. 
 
 ' Monsieur Sylvestre and I will walk in front/ he 
 said. He turned to the boy, speaking with great 
 respect, but firmly : ' You will be on horseback behind 
 Le Normand. De Mesnard is to ride in the rear. If 
 there is any sign of danger, I will lay my hand on your 
 bridle, and you must fly fly for your life. Will you 
 promise me this ?' 
 
 ' I promise,' the boy said. 
 
 ' Where are we going ?' Lucien asked. 
 
 * To Bellecour, as before. But we cannot go by the 
 river. We must get there while it is still dark ; and 
 one of us is too young, and one too old, for more 
 walking ; that makes the horses imperative. Still, they 
 increase the risk. By the way, are you able to walk ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly.' 
 
 Le Normand sprang into the saddle. 
 
 De Mesnard was already on horseback. 
 
 De Charette had turned back to reload the pistols he 
 carried with him. 
 
 The boy looked round. 
 
 ' Will no one help me to mount ?' he said. 
 
 In an instant Lucien knew that this was not a boy at 
 all, but a woman.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE EMERALD RING 
 
 LUCIEN pondered over his discovery as he walked 
 along by the side of de Charette. The wind was 
 conquering the rain at last. 
 
 He had thought the boy a strange boy always, but 
 he was accustomed to find strangeness in things which, 
 to common people, were common enough. He had 
 been a strange boy himself, so that he discounted first 
 impressions. Most boys were not like that so much 
 he had learnt by this time. The boy was probably as 
 common, for a boy, as the elm-tree out of which he 
 dropped might be for an elm. Only the twilight hour, 
 the budding, bewildering wood, the. fancy of the live, 
 womanish trees, caused them to appear magical. Yet 
 he had pleased himself exceedingly with the recollec- 
 tion. For once the world without claimed some con- 
 nection with the inner world, and common-sense could 
 not explain everything. 
 
 But if the boy were a woman ? 
 
 Later on, at le Mortier, when he saw the deference 
 with which his lightest wish was treated by the elder 
 men, it struck him that the peasant's dress must be a 
 (iisguise. This was perhaps the scion of a noble house,
 
 H4 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 deeply compromised in some Legitimist plot. But a 
 woman ! 
 
 ' She is not pretty she is not in the least pretty,' 
 Lucien said to himself, as if the words were a defence. 
 
 'The tents!' muttered de Charette. 'I wish the 
 rain had not stopped. It was darker before. Slowly 
 more slowly, Le Normand !' 
 
 ' Do as he tells you !' cried de Mesnard in the tone of 
 a man whose nerves are strained beyond endurance. 
 
 ' Hush !' said the little figure. ' There is no cause 
 for uneasiness yet.' 
 
 The quiet pacing of the horses rang like thunder in 
 Lucien's ears. How was it possible the sentries should 
 not hear ? 
 
 Yet they went on unchallenged. 
 
 Suddenly a bugle rang out. 
 
 De Mesnard groaned. 
 
 Le Normand pulled up. 
 
 Even de Charette hesitated. 
 
 ' Go on,' said the quiet voice again ; ' it is nothing.' 
 
 ' Who can she be ?' thought Lucien. 
 
 Row upon row of tents. Did they reach to the end 
 of the world ? Would they never be passed ? If they 
 caught her, what would they do to her ? 
 
 The glimmer of the camp-fires died away at last ; but 
 there were houses all along the road. Here and there 
 a light gleaming from a cottage window showed that 
 one was sick and one was wakeful and one was dying in 
 the little village of Montbert. 
 
 De Charette signalled a halt. 
 
 ' We cannot take the horses down the street. Some- 
 one would be sure to look out. Ride back, Le Nor- 
 mand, and be sure you make no noise. We must
 
 THE EMERALD RING 115 
 
 walk the rest of the way. Are you very tired, Petit- 
 Pierre ?' 
 
 ' I never felt fresher in my life,' Petit- Pierre said, 
 springing lightly to the ground. 
 
 That was her peasant name, then ! What softly-sound- 
 ing Louise, Claire, Isabelle, had she exchanged for it ? 
 Where was her father where were her brothers, that 
 they let her go masquerading through the world in this 
 manner ? Anything might happen ; a furious desire to 
 protect her filled Lucien's soul. 
 
 It was one in the morning before they reached Belle- 
 cour. 
 
 De Charette repeated the heavy double knock, the 
 three light taps. An old woman opened the door, and 
 smiled a broad beneficent welcome. 
 
 ' Take the little gentleman here to the kitchen. Make 
 up a good fire and get some supper. Where are the 
 others, Marie ?' 
 
 ' Upstairs,' the old woman said, pointing to a ladder. 
 Once more de Charette led the way. 
 In a kind of loft, playing cards by the light of a 
 candle stuck in a hole in the side of a cask, sat three 
 young men, one of whom Lucien recognised as the 
 adorer of Marion, another as the son of an illustrious 
 father. The third was very young indeed, and hand- 
 some, with a trick of blushing like a girl. 
 
 ' Where have I seen him before ?' thought Lucien ; 
 and remembered him as the boy who led the crowd 
 outside the editor's office in Lyons. 
 
 ' So the warrants are out against you, Edouard ?' 
 ' That is nothing new. They will have to run a long 
 way before they catch me. Le Remain here and Pre"- 
 vost de Saint-Marc are ready to answer for that.' 
 
 82
 
 n6 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' With our lives !' de Saint- Marc said, and blushed 
 crimson. 
 
 ' Go down, Rene" le Romain,' said de Charette ; 'there 
 is someone in the kitchen whom you will be interested 
 to see. Keep your tongue in your head, by the way, if 
 Marie is about.' 
 
 Le Remain descended the ladder with an agility 
 which suggested that he was familiar with that descrip- 
 tion of staircase, but in a minute or two he came back. 
 
 ' What did you tell me to go down there for ? If this 
 is a joke, I call it a very silly one.' 
 
 * Why, my dear fellow, you saw ' 
 
 ' A boy that looks like a drowned rat ! A refractory 
 conscript, I suppose ? joined us because he cannot stand 
 the drill.' 
 
 De Charette laughed low, like a man accustomed to 
 control his emotions. 
 
 ' Come down, all of you !' 
 
 Lucien was filled with great contempt for Le Romain. 
 A refractory conscript ! Had he no eyes ? 
 
 The kitchen looked warm, comfortable and bright 
 after the draughty, mouldy garret. Shining plates, 
 adorned with pictures of scarlet cocks and hens, were 
 ranged along the dresser. The light danced on the 
 pewter pots and saucepans. Petit- Pierre had taken 
 off his thick, muddy shoes, and was holding his little 
 stockinged feet straight out to the fire. 
 
 De Charette glanced at the old woman and laid a 
 finger on his lip. She placed a dish of stew upon the 
 table and went away. He took out his watch, held it 
 in his hand till it had marked the flight of five long 
 minutes, opened the door cautiously and shut it again. 
 
 ' All's well,' he said. ' There is no one listening.'
 
 THE EMERALD RING 117 
 
 Petit- Pierre had not taken any notice of these pro- 
 ceedings, nor of the three young men, but now he raised 
 his hand and saluted. 
 
 As he did so, the flame leapt for an instant in a ring 
 of emerald, which he wore on the third finger, and 
 Lucien's heart stood still. 
 
 Where had he seen that ring last ? 
 
 On the little hand that thrust itself through the cur- 
 tains at Morfontaine, and dropped a manuscript at his 
 feet. 
 
 ' Introduce me to these gentlemen, Monsieur de 
 Charette!' said Petit-Pierre. 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and took off his green woollen cap. 
 
 He cut an odd figure standing there in his yellow 
 waistcoat and dark-blue overall; yet Lucien felt no 
 inclination to laugh. He was in the room with a very 
 grand lady. Petit- Pierre let him see that. 
 
 'Allow me to introduce to you,' said de Charette, 
 ' my good friends, Monsieur le Romain and Monsieur 
 Prevost de Saint-Marc, and my young aide-de-camp 
 and cousin, Edouard de Monti de Reze". For a year 
 past, whenever I have been in peril and that is not 
 seldom Edouard has taken care to endanger his life 
 at the same time.' 
 
 ' I trust to know more of him very shortly. Now 
 you must introduce me.' 
 
 ' We stand in the presence of Madame Marie-Caroline, 
 duchesse de Berry, mother of Henri Cinq, Regent of 
 France,' de Charette said. 
 
 In the dead silence that followed it seemed to Lucien 
 as if the troops far away beyond Montbert must have 
 heard ; and old Marie, as she lumbered to and fro up in 
 the garret.
 
 u8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 De Saint-Marc had turned white as a sheet. 
 
 ' Is the apparition so dreadful ?' she said, laughing. 
 
 'It is it is indeed!' he cried. 'To know you here 
 you you in the midst of your enemies the mother 
 of my King the hope of France ' 
 
 He stopped. 
 
 A look of longing for some distant person flitted over 
 the duchess's face and was gone. 
 
 ' It is for him that we are here, both you and I,' she 
 said softly. ' You have suffered for him more than I, 
 Monsieur. If you could see how sweet a child it is, 
 how gallant, how courageous, you would be ready to 
 suffer to the death, as I am.' 
 
 ' That is our part, Madame, not yours.' 
 
 ' You must not be afraid for me. God and St. Anne 
 protect me. I have no fear no fear at all. Besides, I 
 feel as those ladies of Scott's feel in the Waverley 
 Novels. I was Mary Stuart once long ago at a ball. 
 I am Mary Stuart now. I have always loved wandering 
 Queens.' 
 
 She broke off. 
 
 ' Come, let us go to supper ! You must put some red 
 into those white cheeks of yours, or I shall call you my 
 Knight of the Cholera. It is the cholera that is King 
 of France now. Monsieur de Charette, will you sit on 
 my right? Monsieur Sylvestre, here? I have been 
 your guide before, have I not ?' 
 
 ' And you have been my judge, Madame,' said Lucien, 
 with a glance at the ring. ' I did not know at the time 
 that I stood before such an august tribunal.' 
 
 The other men looked blank. 
 
 ' It is our secret his and mine,' said the duchess, 
 laughing. ' We may have yet another to discuss before
 
 THE EMERALD RING 119 
 
 bed-time. I know my secret will be as safe with you, 
 Monsieur Sylvestre, as yours will be with me. Your 
 hand upon it !' 
 
 She said the last words with great seriousness. 
 Lucien could not conceive what she meant. She laid 
 her brown fingers lightly on his. 
 
 ' But the hand was white.' 
 
 Were his thoughts audible to her ?' 
 
 ' Walnut -juice, applied by a great artist like myself, 
 paints a hand brown as well as Rembrandt could,' she 
 said pensively. 
 
 'But I have seen her you you yourself since 
 then.' 
 
 ' Yes. It was a duchess who arrived at la Preuille 
 it was madame de Nacquart and it was Petit- Pierre 
 who went away. She took the duchess's gray dress, 
 her hat and cloak, you see and a pencil that I never 
 meant her to take but Petit-Pierre kept her ring. Come, 
 supper is getting cold. Look at my poor Cholera ! He 
 must eat.' 
 
 Had she caught a spark of the fire of the sun where 
 she was born ? No one could come near her but he 
 was warmed and brightened. The kitchen glowed with 
 hospitality. The sour cider tasted like wine because 
 she said it was good. 
 
 Spite of hunger, each man declined a second portion 
 of the stew, but the duchess insisted on finishing it her- 
 self, because the cook would be disappointed if any of it 
 were left. 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness showed greater courage just 
 now than at the crossing of the Moine,' said old de 
 Mesnard, with a smile, as they drew their chairs from 
 the table.
 
 120 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Perhaps I did perhaps I did,' said the duchess. 
 ' Nothing venture, nothing have. After all, I was 
 hungry. Where am I to sleep ? Shall I stay here ?' 
 
 De Charette held a hurried consultation with Marie, 
 who was clearing away the dishes. 
 
 ' There is a bed, Madame.' 
 
 ' You do not say so ! How enchanting !' 
 
 ' It is the only one in the house. But the comte de 
 Suzannet was laid there to die of his wounds after the 
 affair of la Roche- Serviere. You may not like ' 
 
 ' Oh yes !' she said. ' I shall sleep all the better for 
 resting where a brave man died. Go you, then, and 
 get it ready for me. Monsieur de Mesnard, I insist on 
 your retiring for the night ; you are very weary. Leave 
 Monsieur Sylvestre here. I want to speak to him.' 
 
 Was Lucien happy or terrified to be left alone with 
 her? 
 
 He did not know.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE CAUSE 
 
 THEY were both silent. 
 
 It seemed to Lucien as though the hour of some 
 tremendous event in life had struck to die, or to be 
 married when he was unprepared. That he could 
 not even conjecture what the event might be, made 
 no difference. Only he repeated to himself over and 
 over again, violently, defensively, as he had said 'She 
 is not beautiful,' a later observation ' She is not young.' 
 
 To her it seemed as though she were about to risk 
 all that she valued most on a single throw of the 
 dice. 
 
 ' But I must do it,' she said ' I must do it.' And 
 she prayed to St. Anne. 
 
 Then, without preface of any kind, she dashed straight 
 at the thought that was piercing her like a dagger. 
 
 ' Monsieur Sylvestre, I am a woman. The sight of 
 blood is terrible to me. Bah ! if I cut my finger I hate 
 to look.' 
 
 Lucien tried to understand. She was saying that 
 she hated the sight of a scratch. This was not 
 what he had braced himself to hear. He made no 
 reply. 
 
 * You are like the rest,' she cried. ' You think I do
 
 122 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 not know, I do not care. You think I am weak, light 
 that I have no strength to endure to the end. You 
 think I am for myself alone.' 
 
 ' I think nothing of all this,' Lucien said. 
 
 He spoke earnestly, yet she did not hear him. Her 
 restless eyes fixed themselves on a distant corner of the 
 room, as if she saw there something from which they 
 could not lift themselves. 
 
 ' You forget,' she went on. ' God did not kill my 
 husband. A man killed him. It was red. I have 
 seen. I know.' 
 
 She paused, shuddering, as if she had reached the 
 limit of words. 
 
 ' It will be red again. They will say I did it. They 
 will curse me. How can I help that ? He told me to 
 come. You will succeed in la Vendee. I heard him. 
 It was no dream. He spoke to me my saint in heaven. 
 He remembered his child.' 
 
 She turned suddenly upon Lucien. 
 
 ' I am the child's mother. There is no one else to 
 defend him. He has no one but me. Am I right ?' 
 
 Into her eyes, into her attitude, as she bent a little 
 towards him, she threw a force of passionate entreaty 
 that staggered the singer of songs. It was the rush of 
 spirit against spirit. 
 
 ' You are right,' he said gravely. 
 
 ' Will you help me ? ; 
 
 She spoke as though enforcing a claim, yet graciously 
 preferring the tone of one who asks a favour. 
 
 ' I will indeed.' 
 
 He raised the little hand to his lips, as if it were holy 
 bread. He trembled in every limb. 
 
 She leant back for a moment, and her eyes closed.
 
 THE CAUSE 123 
 
 She rubbed them open again. She seemed to rub the 
 brightness back. 
 
 ' They told me you were my worst enemy,' she said. 
 
 'I?' 
 
 ' Others think it strange that you are not. I knew 
 you from the first.' 
 
 'Ah !' said Lucien. ' I do not know who I am. I 
 am your servant until I die.' 
 
 ' If you wished, you might make it impossible for my 
 son to be King.' 
 
 She looked at him till he felt as if she saw, not his 
 eyes, but something that shrank from her behind them. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? I was a foundling ; I have 
 no parents,' he said. 
 
 ' Are you sure of that ?' 
 
 ' I do not care to know the name of my father. 
 Whoever he was, he wronged my mother. If I have 
 longed to see her face, that is human. I have wept 
 over the misery that I caused her. I would never hurt 
 women.' 
 
 ' It was a cruel woman that disowned you,' said the 
 little duchess, her eyes flashing. 
 
 ' She gave me life,' said Lucien. ' Some day I will 
 give it back to her. I will make her famous.' 
 
 All at once the scene of the return of his manuscript 
 became vivid. She would laugh she must she was 
 bound to laugh. To his relief she took no heed of the 
 words. 
 
 ' I think you are the bearer of a packet for me,' she 
 said, stretching out her hand. 
 
 Lucien had forgotten the charge altogether. He felt 
 in his pockets, full of unreasoning fear. No yes it 
 was there.
 
 124 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Someone has tampered with this,' the duchess said. 
 ' It has been opened on the way. The silk is frayed 
 look ! and the paper has been folded twice.' 
 
 ' I was told to give it to colonel de Nacquart, and I 
 did so. I am sure he never opened it.' 
 
 ' You did not observe the difference when the packet 
 was given back to you ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' What are your eyes for ? You see many things that 
 no one else can. When anybody might see, you are 
 blind.' 
 
 Lucien sat silent. He knew it was so. 
 
 * Perhaps,' he said, after a moment, ' Madame de 
 Nacquart opened it after she had put on the green 
 veil ?' 
 
 The duchess looked up at him as she untied the silk, 
 and smiled mischievously. 
 
 * Not so bad,' said she. 
 
 The packet contained a snuff-box of black horn. She 
 raised the lid ; a miniature was painted on the inside of 
 it, representing a young man with gray eyes and some- 
 what heavy features. 
 
 * Do you see any likeness in this to anyone with 
 whom you are acquainted ?' she asked, holding it 
 towards him. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 She gave a little short, impatient sigh. 
 
 She drew from her waistcoat-pocket a tiny mirror in 
 a frame of ivory. 
 
 'Take that in one hand and the snuff-box in the 
 other. Look at the miniature first, then at the glass.' 
 
 Lucien did so. 
 
 He started.
 
 THE CAUSE 125 
 
 ' Myself!' he said. 
 
 'The portrait is that of my late husband, Charles- 
 Ferdinand, due de Berry.' 
 
 Intent as Lucien was upon the painted face, the eyes 
 of the duchess were yet more intent upon the face before 
 her, but she could gather nothing from its expression. 
 
 ' If that be true which mirror and miniature assert, 
 you have a great inheritance,' she said, when at last he 
 shut the lid down. 
 
 ' No greater than I knew before, and no less.' 
 
 He was walking in some high dream. The marquis 
 de Civrac Blum the city of Lyons his hopes and 
 dreams of fame all these were gone. In the whole 
 world there was no one but himself and the duchess. 
 
 * This is Nature's freak. It is not true.' 
 ' But if it were ' 
 
 ' I would deny it. I am only your servant. You 
 have given me the whole world and more,' he said, 
 not knowing what he said. 
 
 ' You know the marquis de Civrac ?' 
 
 ' He was my truest friend.' 
 
 * Was ? He is not dead.' \ 
 
 * No ; but our friendship is.' 
 
 ' You are wrong there. You might as well say that 
 his friendship for me was dead. You heard how he 
 spoke to me at Morfontaine ? He had to speak like that 
 for fear you should guess. He apologized afterwards. 
 Hush ! let me tell you. He is one of the best friends 
 I have, but he was against my coming ; he did every- 
 thing that he could to dissuade me. By a strange 
 chance, I was driven to take refuge in his house. He 
 hid me in the room on the upper floor, because no one 
 but himself ever entered it. There was another room,
 
 I 2 6 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 at the end of the passage, where I was to sleep, but I 
 found it was not quite ready. I had promised to go 
 to bed at dinner-time when all the servants except 
 the butler, who knew would be busy, and there was 
 no chance of meeting anyone in the passage. I had 
 nothing to do while I waited, and I opened that box 
 and read the poem. And then you came ! That 
 likeness I could have killed you. I know what poets 
 are. I said the thing I knew would hurt you most.' 
 
 ' I wished that I had died before I heard it,' said 
 Lucien, smiling. 
 
 ' Ah !' she cried, ' can you forgive ?' 
 He knelt at her feet. 
 
 ' Do you know who it was that sent you to me ?' 
 'No.' 
 
 ' The marquis de Civrac. I told him you were like 
 my saint. He had never noticed it.' 
 Lucien started up. 
 ' Where is he ?' 
 
 ' I do not know. Not here. There was a letter from 
 him with the snuff-box, when I opened it at la Preuille. 
 He said that he had reason to connect it with your birth, 
 but he gave no explanation, and he declared that you 
 could give none. If I withdrew from a struggle which 
 must end in bloodshed, nothing more would occur. If, 
 on the other hand, I persisted, inquiries would be made 
 which might divide the party of the Legitimists for 
 ever.' 
 
 ' I would rather live in ignorance for the rest of my 
 life than ask a single question which might cause you 
 uneasiness. If I had only known before !' 
 
 ' I could not speak alone with you. There were too 
 many watchful eyes at la Preuille. That is why I
 
 THE CAUSE 127 
 
 pretended that I had not received the packet. Tell 
 me, do you know anything of the circumstances of your 
 birth ?' 
 
 Lucien told her the New Year's Eve tale, in which, 
 that night, he hardly believed himself. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' I can make nothing of this. It sounds like a mere 
 mystification.' 
 
 ' So I think.' 
 
 ' And now you will return to Lyons ?' 
 
 ' Nothing shall drive me from your side.' 
 
 ' We will leave the marquis to draw his own con- 
 clusions,' she said, with a gleam of mischief. 
 
 ' I had no suspicion that it was he who sent me. I 
 will write.' 
 
 4 You cannot communicate with him at present. We 
 do not know where he is. It would not be safe to send 
 letters. My own belief is, that he will come himself. 
 He is a loyal heart. He would give his life to prevent 
 me from endangering mine ; but when the first shot is 
 fired, he will fly to us. He is no coward. Good-night, 
 Monsieur Sylvestre. Here come the Grooms of the 
 Chamber. My bed must be most beautifully made, 
 Monsieur de Reze. I have never had such strong 
 housemaids. And now I come to think of it, you have 
 taken nearly an hour.' 
 
 'You must forgive us, Madame,' de Monti said, 
 bowing low. ' We have never made beds in our lives 
 before. Every one of us had a different theory.'
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE WANDERINGS OF THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN 
 
 'Husn!' said de Monti, as Lucien came down the 
 creaking rungs of the ladder. She is still asleep. She 
 had a bad night.' 
 
 ' She is not ill ?' 
 
 ' No ; it was those brutes of cabbages. I wonder you 
 did not hear them. We had to wake her.' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' Oh, a letter urging her to countermand the Order 
 for the 24th.' 
 
 ' What is the Order for the 24th ?' 
 
 ' Only an Order for all the Royalists in France to 
 rise that is all.' 
 
 ' Hurrah !' cried Lucien, flinging up his cap. 
 
 ' Hurrah !' cried Rene. ' I always knew you were 
 one of the true men. No cabbage, eh, de Monti ? 
 What answer did she send the villains ?' 
 
 ' Simply these words : " The Order for the zqth remains 
 unchanged." '' 
 
 ' Bravo ! And we ?' 
 
 ' We stay here. It is important for us to know that 
 d'Autichamp has countersigned the Order before we 
 meet those cabbages and confound them. He holds
 
 THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN 129 
 
 the left bank of the Loire. My uncle has sent the 
 sacristan of Montbert to Nantes for letters.' 
 
 ' To Nantes ? I wish I had known that he was 
 going,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' He will return to-night. You can see him then.' 
 
 In the kitchen Marie was preparing sour milk and 
 sour bread for breakfast. 
 
 ' That little gentleman is not a gentleman at all ; he 
 is a lady, hein ?' she said shrewdly, peering up into 
 Lucien's face. 
 
 ' What makes you think he is a lady, Marie ?' 
 
 Marie shrugged her shoulders and replied that she 
 had eyes in her head which statement being incontro- 
 vertible, Lucien made a lame remark to the effect that 
 the little gentleman dressed like a gentleman. 
 
 ' He is, I think, a countess,' Marie rejoined ; and 
 Lucien began to have a poor opinion of his gifts 
 for conspiracy, and felt thankful to see de Charette 
 enter. 
 
 By the end of the day Madame had recovered her 
 strength and was merry as ever. 
 
 ' How good to think that we shall all sleep soundly 
 the whole night through 1' she exclaimed, when they 
 had finished supper. 
 
 * Do not say so, Madame ! You tempt Fate. Here 
 comes our messenger.' 
 
 ' Bring him in,' she cried, with a sudden assumption 
 of dignity that sent Lucien flying from the kitchen 
 turned Audience Chamber. 
 
 He waited anxiously, sitting on the lowest rung of 
 the ladder, until de Monti half opened the door and 
 beckoned to him. 
 
 'A pretty affair, thisl' he said. 'The sacristan has 
 
 9
 
 i 3 o THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 been arrested half a mile from Nantes. He may have 
 had news of d'Autichamp.' 
 
 ' And all my clothes that he was bringing with him !' 
 cried Madame. ' My riding-habit, my hat, my beautiful 
 white feathers all my linen, too ; I could cry !' and she 
 laughed instead. 
 
 ' He may have had letters,' de Charette said gravely. 
 ' We must not stay here. I have taken counsel with 
 Jean. He thinks we had better go to Chaimare. It is 
 a desolate place enough. They are good people, well 
 affected. I know farmer Deniaud. Can you be ready 
 in ten minutes ?' 
 
 ' In five !' she said ; and was as good as her word. 
 
 The owners of la Chaimare were asleep when they 
 arrived, but the burly farmer recognised de Charette 
 and his nephew at once, and asked no questions con- 
 cerning the rest. 
 
 ' The little gentleman looks tired,' said he. ' I may 
 as well sleep with the others in the outhouse. He will 
 do me the honour of accepting my room. Nonsense, 
 little gentleman ! You are in my house. You must do 
 as I say.' 
 
 She took his hands in both of hers. 
 
 ' No,' she said ; and again there was in her manner 
 that quick, irresistible dignity. * Let no one be dis- 
 turbed. I want a bundle of straw ; that is all.' 
 
 The farmer led the way into an outhouse, divided 
 only by a barrel and a rotten beam or two from his 
 cattle-shed. The floor was covered with straw, and 
 dry, except where the water oozed through holes in 
 the roof. 
 
 The walk had been long and wet, and cries and 
 gleaming signals had alarmed the little party more
 
 THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN 131 
 
 than once as they crossed the wide heath. The duchess 
 flung herself down as if she could not stand a moment 
 longer. The lantern light fell full on her white face. 
 
 ' Thank-you,' she said. ' I am so comfortable here. 
 Now let me sleep.' 
 
 De Mesnard looked at his dripping cloak, then at his 
 mistress. 
 
 ' No, thank-you,' she said, with a weary little smile. 
 ' That would be to give the mother of Henri Cinq 
 rheumatism for a blanket. Good -night. I am as 
 happy as I can be. Let me sleep oh, let me sleep !' 
 
 Was it her cry of weariness that kept Lucien waking 
 half the night, as he tossed to and fro on the floor of 
 the damp cattle-shed ? She would never live through 
 the dark, he fancied. When they came to look for her 
 next day, she would be lying there cold and dead. 
 
 Here she began to mingle with remembrance of the 
 beautiful dead girl in the village where his childhood 
 passed. 
 
 ' But she is not beautiful,' he said to himself. 
 
 Through his short, broken slumber he argued on and 
 on with the marquis that she was not beautiful and not 
 dead yet, and the marquis said she must be one or the 
 other. 
 
 The turning of the stable door upon its rusty hinges 
 woke him ; the fresh air and the light rushed in together. 
 
 A dark, wild-looking girl stood on the threshold, the 
 rosy sky behind her. He shut his eyes a moment, 
 thanking God he was no longer in a dream. The milk 
 fizzed down into the wooden pail. Presently the girl 
 went out; and on the other side of the partition he 
 heard a voice, clear and bright as the morning. 
 
 ' Ah, that is good of you ! I should like a bowl of 
 
 92
 
 132 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 milk above all things. How sweet it is ! how warm ! 
 I have slept well. Now let me sleep again.' 
 
 Lucien slept also till the sun was high in the 
 heavens. 
 
 They dined that day in the cowshed, when they had 
 moved the barrel into the centre for a table. 
 
 ' It is like the barn in " Redgauntlet," ' Madame said. 
 ' We will have a dance here some day.' 
 
 ' Look !' the farmer's wife whispered, pointing out her 
 guests to her three thin, solemn children. ' These are 
 the Owls.' 
 
 The children nodded, but said nothing. 
 
 ' You may trust them,' said the farmer. ' The babies 
 of la Vendee have no tongues.' 
 
 ' Have they not ?' cried Madame ; and in a few 
 minutes one of them was seated on her knee, feeding 
 her with green soup out of his porringer, while the other 
 two were in hot dispute as to who should offer her the 
 hunch of black bread, and the largest and brownest of 
 new-laid eggs, boiled hard as a stone. 
 
 ' What a dear little gentleman that is !' muttered the 
 dark-eyed milkmaid to her father. 
 
 Lucien's heart went out to her. He loved enthusi- 
 astically all people who loved Madame. 
 
 Towards evening Jacinth de la Roberie arrived from 
 the ancient house of la Mouchetiere, where he lived as 
 his ancestors lived before him. 
 
 ' The name of pure devotion might be Jacinth de la 
 Roberie,' Rene declared. ' Madame is our cause yours 
 and mine ; but she is his religion.' 
 
 Lucien looked at the small gray man with jealous 
 interest. A full crest of gray hair crowned a head not 
 otherwise remarkable. He wore a short gray beard like
 
 THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN 133 
 
 a goat. The eyes were of a dull water gray, as if they 
 had often wept. 
 
 He spoke of de Courson's magnificent Division of 
 Gaulier of the perfect confidence of Cathelineau, a 
 man worthy of the heroic name he bore. 
 
 'Do you bring us any news of the commander-in- 
 chief on the left bank of the Loire ?' the duchess asked, 
 as they sat talking together. 
 
 'Alas, no, Madame!' 
 
 ' It does not matter. I am sure of him as sure as I 
 am of you, my brave field marshal of the future.' 
 
 ' As my fathers were, I am,' he said. ' If fidelity 
 were all, your son would be upon the throne to-day, 
 Madame.' 
 
 ' To-day or to-morrow. What does it matter ? The 
 day after we shall think it was just the same. You 
 have a little boy, I think ?' 
 
 The father smiled. 
 
 ' Ah !' she said. ' I must go to la Mouchetiere ; I 
 should like to see him. I love all little fellows.' 
 
 ' I wish we had news of d'Autichamp,' murmured de 
 Monti.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 
 
 NEXT day, when they reached the estate known as 
 le Magazin, a messenger rode in with the Order for the 
 rising on the 24th, countersigned by the general on the 
 left bank of the Loire. 
 
 ' I told you it would be so,' Madame said. ' Now we 
 must meet those others; we shall have something to 
 say to them.' 
 
 De Charette smiled pleasantly. 
 
 The abb6 Pineau, prior of St. Etienne-de-Corcoue", 
 dined that evening. To him, as to Jacinth de la Roberie, 
 the sight of Madame was as the sight of an angel. He 
 drew Lucien on to tell him little stories of her courage, 
 her cheerfulness and kindness. 
 
 ' Ah !' he said, with a sigh, * God has sent her to this 
 distracted country. If we are but thought worthy to 
 follow ' 
 
 ' The silly romantic duchess of Berry and her absurd 
 baby: 
 
 The words came across Lucien with a sense of trouble 
 and shame, as though they had been blasphemous. 
 
 Half a mile back from the highroad stood their inn 
 for that night, the desolate farm of le Meslier. In 
 front a garden, free from rail or fence, rambled away to
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 135 
 
 a great, straggling vineyard. Behind, a rickety open 
 staircase led from the huge barns on the upper story 
 into a walled courtyard paved with mossy stone. 
 
 ' If you fed the hens on Indian corn, my good woman, 
 you would have a more constant supply of eggs.' 
 
 Did Lucien dream these words in the morning, or 
 was it a well-known voice that came up to him through 
 the holes in the floor of the barn where he had slept ? 
 He could not think it was a dream ; he was not given 
 to dream about cocks and hens. 
 
 He dressed himself and ran down. 
 
 ' Can you tell me whether the marquis is here ?' he 
 asked breathlessly of de Monti. 
 
 ' My dear Sylvestre, how do I know ? Half a dozen 
 marquises are about the place. You may take your 
 choice. One arrived late last night, and went away a 
 short time since, saying he would return. He did not 
 give his name ; to my mind he looked more like a 
 marquis than the rest. Benjamin de Goyon is ex- 
 pected, and the marquis de Tinguy. The marquis de 
 Goulaine has just come. Which marquis do you want ?' 
 
 * Thank-you,' said Lucien. ' I will wait for the one 
 without a name. Where is your uncle ?' 
 
 ' Gone to la Louvardiere to confer with de la Roberie 
 about the rising of the third army corps. (Ren6 has 
 gone too.) He confided Madame to de Goulaine ; but 
 she is busy upstairs. Two days more ! We have very 
 little time.' 
 
 ' Two days an eternity !' 
 
 ' We may all be dead in two days; it is as likely as not.' 
 
 ' Likely is a ridiculous word. If you have any sense 
 in your head, it does not exist.' 
 
 Lucien ran away into the vineyard.
 
 136 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The thought of meeting the marquis again lay under- 
 neath his other thoughts all day, but he would not dwell 
 on it. Once more the passion of solitude claimed every- 
 thing ; he longed to be alone as a thirsty man desires 
 cold water. There was no room for any other wish. 
 The curling tendrils of the vine charmed him, and his 
 own fancy. 
 
 Now and then he took out ' Marion ' and read a few 
 words here there where the book chanced to open. 
 
 * Women are good,' he said to himself, ' all women.' 
 A small, merry angel with the features of Madame 
 
 went flitting in and out of the tracery of stems and the 
 stiff poles round which they twisted. 
 
 He saw her bend over a half-unfolded bud and kiss it. 
 
 She came towards him. 
 
 ' What are you reading ?' she said. ' Ah, " Marion 
 de Lorme"! I do not like it. Marion was a bad 
 woman. Mary Queen of Scots is the true heroine. 
 Have you ever read " The Abbot " ?' 
 
 * No, Madame.' 
 
 ' We will read it together some day. Never speak to 
 me about Marion.' 
 
 She was gone again. 
 
 Lucien smiled. This was what he had heard of 
 women that was the way they talked. Tender to all 
 the world cruel to each other ; cruel, even then, only 
 in word. 
 
 ' Women are good,' he said again, ' all women. But 
 I love ladies ; I will write a poem in praise of noble 
 ladies.' 
 
 The resolution welled up in him from a depth below 
 words ; it had the force of a deed. 
 
 The shadows of the leaves moved on across them ;
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 137 
 
 the black mark at the foot of every pole grew longer 
 and longer. 
 
 'What are you doing?' said de Monti, on his way 
 through the vineyard with Pre'vost de Saint- Marc, an 
 hour or two later. 
 
 * Drinking wine.' 
 
 Lucien pointed to the clusters of tiny hard green 
 grapes. 
 
 ' The sun is making wine all round me. It is rising, 
 rising from the darkness under the earth where the dead 
 lie. It is streaming down from the old ball of fire that 
 heated grape-juice for Solomon when he poured it into 
 the Song of Songs, which is a song about women.' 
 
 * Little sweetness you are like to get out of the vines 
 of la Vendee,' said de Monti, and pulled a wry mouth. 
 
 ' Sour grapes ?' 
 
 ' Ay, I believe you.' 
 
 ' A thousand times, no !' Lucien said, with an air of 
 knowledge. ' They must be gathered when the bloom 
 is dewy on the full globes. They must be dried in the 
 sun three days. They must be soaked in sea-water 
 that hath lain thirty days in the dark, twenty days 
 clear in a cedarn cask. A girl should pull them from 
 their stems one by one.' 
 
 ' Were you a wine-merchant in some former state of 
 existence ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps. It is the way they make wine in Cos, 
 anyhow.' 
 
 ' It is the way they do not make it in Montaigu, 
 then, to judge by the result. Oh for a draught of 
 good Bordeaux !' 
 
 ' Edouard !' called the voice of the duchess. 
 
 ' How many secrets these grapes will force people to
 
 138 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 tell ! The wit of Voltaire may be ripening here in the sun 
 and the silence. Wine is laughter. The comfort of dying 
 souls in the wine of the Sacrament also wine is blood.' 
 
 ' Well, I have done with you,' said de Monti. ' You 
 seem to me to be talking as much nonsense as if you 
 were tipsy. I wish to goodness I knew what you had 
 found to get tipsy on.' 
 
 ' Edouard !' called the duchess again. 
 
 The repetition was disagreeable to Lucien. That 
 she should ever have to ask for anything twice ! 
 
 He had not been quite sincere in his discourse upon 
 wine. The mention of Marion, and Madame's dis- 
 approval of her, had reminded him of Corneille's de- 
 fender, of that man behind the green baize table ; and 
 he had been trying to talk as that man talked ; it was 
 thus that a poet should talk, he thought ; but the 
 effect upon de Monti was not remarkable. 
 
 ' Go ! go !' he said, with some impatience. 
 
 The weathercock veered round, the weather changed. 
 A wind like the breath of an iceberg began to blow, and 
 Lucien withdrew to the farmhouse, for he hated wind. 
 As he leaned over the ruinous balustrade of the stair, 
 watching the last gleam of a stormy sunset, the duchess 
 called to him also. 
 
 ' Come in at once !' she said. ' Come to the parlour. 
 It is bitterly cold. The fire will not burn, there is no 
 light, but we must sit there. It is a Council of war that 
 they insist on. De Goulaine, de Goyon and de Tinguy 
 have come. De-la-Roche St. Andre" is wax in their 
 hands. They know de Charette is away, and they are 
 all against me. But we cannot go back now. Anything 
 is possible, only not that. Come quickly ; give me your 
 support.'
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 139 
 
 On a rough table in the midst of the smoke a single 
 candle burnt as if it had not any flame to spare, 
 and yet resented what was left of daylight. At first 
 Lucien could see no one, and he heard nothing except 
 an outburst of cough. 
 
 'Ah ! the hooting of the Owls !' he said to himself. 
 
 Slowly the wreaths of darkness curled away, and he 
 made out Madame seated in the armchair, a bent figure 
 by the mantelpiece, another opposite, and two smaller 
 men in the recess of the window. They all appeared 
 to him to resemble the birds after which they were 
 named. He was tormented at this time of his life by 
 the likeness of everything in nature to something else. 
 The Owls blinked their grave eyes, but took no notice 
 of him ; they were busy with their own thoughts. 
 
 Whatever counsel they might wish to give, no one 
 seemed anxious to begin. There was grave embarrass- 
 ment in the silence of the men, and a certain malice, 
 Lucien believed, in that of Madame. Never before had 
 he seen her sit still so long. Thunder was in the air. 
 
 ' Speak, my friends,' she said at last. ' Say what 
 your conscience bids you say. Tell me the whole 
 truth.' 
 
 No one responded. 
 
 The room was growing darker every moment. The 
 travelling clouds over the vineyard went faster than 
 before, driven by the wind. The duchess settled her- 
 self upon her chair, lifted her little head proudly. 
 
 ' You say nothing, gentlemen ? You look surprised 
 to see me ? Yet all is ready. We take up arms on the 
 night of the twenty-third. Everything is prepared. 
 You were expecting me. I did not hesitate a moment.' 
 
 'The presence of Your Royal Highness in these
 
 140 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 parts was a great surprise to us,' said the elder Owl 
 with slow deliberation. ' I am very much afraid ' 
 Lucien wondered whether he were ever going to finish 
 the sentence ' that we are not in a condition to move 
 at present.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you !' the duchess cried. 
 ' Whose doing was it that I came ? More than thirty 
 messengers, over a hundred and fifty letters, did I 
 receive at Massa. Those letters were written by people 
 whom you know well. I am told that the whole 
 organization of the rising is complete, that you desire 
 nothing except my presence. Very well, here I am. 
 And now, gentlemen, you state that I am not expected, 
 that nothing can be done. You, Monsieur de Goulaine, 
 declare that you have not even two thousand men ? 
 You say it is impossible to raise ten thousand in two or 
 three days ? I am told that your Division is the most 
 complete of all. I was assured that I might remain here 
 in perfect security. I have been deceived, I suppose ?' 
 
 De Goulaine flinched at the word, but he controlled 
 himself and answered steadily : 
 
 ' Yes, Madame.' 
 
 There was a pause, as if he and s-he were straining 
 at the opposite ends of a rope, the strength of one 
 balanced by the strength of the other. 
 
 ' It is my duty to speak,' de Goulaine continued. 
 ' I have a mere handful of men at my disposition. I 
 grieve that necessity should force me to say so, but I 
 am convinced that everything you are advised to do 
 will be harmful to the cause of your son. We are 
 well affected about here, Madame; but unless we are 
 powerfully reinforced, we have but a barren devotion to 
 offer.'
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 141 
 
 ' What, gentlemen !' cried the duchess. ' In the hour 
 of her glory no single member of my family ever shared 
 the perils of la Vendee ; we have been justly re- 
 proached with that. I make no count of difficulties I 
 come and for me you can do nothing ?' 
 
 ' It is time to tell you the truth, Madame,' put in 
 de Goyon from the window. ' We have been assured 
 over and over again in your name that la Vendee 
 would only be called upon to arm in the event of Your 
 Royal Highness' success in the Southern provinces 
 in the event of the proclamation of a Republic by 
 the Parisians, or in case of foreign invasion along the 
 frontier. All this we have repeated to our followers. 
 Not one of us can do anything after the failure at 
 Marseilles. Your Royal Highness is compelled to 
 hide. Pursuit is organized against you. We cannot 
 deceive our peasants. They are depressed and dis- 
 heartened. The papers have it that you are a prisoner, 
 and they believe this. In one word, Madame, they will 
 not rise we are sure of that.' 
 
 ' Many of the leaders of la Vende'e have come to me,' 
 chimed in de Goulaine ; ' in fact, they are with me 
 now ; they beg me to entreat you not to listen to those 
 who counsel a rising.' 
 
 The pale cheeks of the little duchess glowed. Colour 
 became her. 
 
 'The generals on the right and left banks of the 
 Loire will do their duty, you may be sure of that !' she 
 said defiantly. ' I have this moment received a letter 
 from monsieur de la Roche-Mace". He tells me that 
 his Division will rise to a man.' 
 
 ' For my own part, Madame,' said de Goulaine, who 
 in his turn was growing warm, ' I am persuaded that
 
 142 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the general on the left bank, count Charles d'Auti- 
 champ, will never give the order for the rising.' 
 
 ' Are you sure of that ?' said Madame ; her eyes 
 sparkled. 
 
 ' We are certain,' the four men said together. 
 
 She drew from her pocket the Order signed by 
 D'Autichamp the day before, and read : 
 
 ' " MADAME, 
 
 ' " The general who has just arrived in la 
 Vendee has transmitted the Order for a rising on the 
 twenty-fourth of this month to all our faithful followers 
 in the provinces of the West and South. Every 
 royalist in France has been warned, and will act in 
 consequence. By giving this Order to the corps that 
 you command you will communicate to the brave 
 people of la Vendee the confidence inspired in us by a 
 Princess who has escaped, as if by miracle, the pursuit 
 of her enemies. God has protected her ; He will pro- 
 tect us also. We are about to fight for His holy cause.' 
 
 With dumb rage Lucien saw that not one of the four 
 men had changed countenance. 
 
 ' Very unwise,' de Goulaine said. ' You bid me speak 
 the truth, Madame. A rising at the present moment is 
 impossible. It must be countermanded.' 
 
 The very forms of politeness were falling away. The 
 words were few and earnest. They had come to close 
 quarters at last. 
 
 ' Too late !' she "exclaimed ; ' it would be quite im- 
 possible to warn the West in time. The farthest 
 Divisions would be in arms ; we should sacrifice them.' 
 
 Still no one of the four responded.
 
 TOO MANY MARQUISES 143 
 
 ' When I was with you at la Grange four years ago, 
 there was a night-lamp at my bedside, and round the 
 rim was written : " Rest quietly. La Vend6e watches." 
 Has she fallen asleep ?' 
 
 No response. 
 
 Madame sat up straight and stiff, and spoke in an 
 altered tone : 
 
 ' If your colleagues now at la Grange decline to 
 march at the head of their Divisions, they must give me 
 their refusal in writing, that de Charette may fill their 
 places. I see too clearly, Monsieur de Goulaine, that I 
 cannot count upon yours to defend me.' 
 
 He did not contradict her. 
 
 She looked round, utterly bewildered. Lucien would 
 have thrown himself at her feet, but she turned to 
 de Goulaine as if there were no one else present. Into 
 her next words she thrust every power that she possessed. 
 
 ' But you in person,' she went on ' you, the noble 
 marquis, the Gentleman of the King's Bedchamber 
 will you be at my side in the day of peril ?' 
 
 The appeal was so imperious that Lucien, startled 
 though he was, could not resent it. 
 
 ' I will, Madame.' 
 
 De Goulaine bowed low. 
 
 The other three echoed his words. 
 
 ' The Council is dissolved,' she said, rising. 
 
 What was it that transformed her ? She touched 
 the ceiling as she stood.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DE CIVRAC TO THE RESCUE 
 
 THE four allies went out. 
 
 The chair that had been as the throne of a Queen was 
 all too large now for the little shrunken figure that sank 
 back into it. The fire still smouldered, the candle flared 
 and guttered. Night had let down her curtain between 
 the vines and the clouds. 
 
 ' They are all against me,' she said. 
 
 ' God is for you, Madame.' 
 
 Lucien knelt at her feet, kissed her cold hand. The 
 voice of the four men was nothing but air. Certain as 
 the assurance of his nature that he would one day be 
 famous was his persuasion that the duchess must win ; 
 but for his part he would have had her win with one 
 adherent, nor w r as he at all desirous that she should 
 win quickly. 
 
 * Let them go,' he said ; ' you are stronger without 
 them.' 
 
 She shook her head sighed. 
 
 There was a low tap at the door, and de Civrac 
 came in. 
 
 He bowed to Madame, whom he had seen before, 
 greeting Lucien with neither more nor less emotion than 
 if he had just arrived at the chateau de Morfontaine.
 
 DE CIVRAC TO THE RESCUE 145 
 
 The boy sprang to his feet, blushed, blushed again in 
 anger because he blushed. 
 
 ' I was not able to return earlier,' said the marquis. 
 ' Permit me to suggest, Madame, that you should take 
 some repose. Our friend here will tell me the result of 
 the conference.' 
 
 ' You will be glad of it. You will be sorry for me. 
 You will think me a fool. You will not leave me ?' 
 
 She took his hand. 
 
 ' No assurance is needed, I think, on that point.' 
 
 She glided from the room like a shadow ; the marquis 
 seated himself in the vacant arm-chair. 
 
 'They told Her Royal Highness they had not men 
 enough to fight, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' They did.' 
 
 ' They urged her to countermand the rising ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Which she refused to do ?' 
 
 ' Naturally.' 
 
 A grave smile played over the face of the marquis. 
 
 ' Yet men are not less ready to fight in real life than 
 they are in a book,' he said; 'they are 'only less ready 
 to lead others to fight. By the way, have you written 
 anything of late ?' 
 
 The familiar question for which Lucien had often 
 waited, and longed, in the old days ! 
 
 ' No,' he said, with a touch of joyous defiance ; ' but 
 I have burnt " The Marionettes of Love." ' 
 
 * Foolish boy ! You cannot afford to throw away 
 plots in that fashion. The plot was well contrived ; 
 by-and-by you would have cared to read it, if no one 
 else did.' 
 
 They laughed together. 
 
 10
 
 146 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Can you tell me who wrote the Song that everyone 
 in Lyons man, woman, and child was singing about 
 three weeks ago ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes ; I did,' Lucien said. ' I forgot that. Besides, 
 I never wrote I only sang it.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I did not hear it, but I heard of it. You 
 are coming on !' 
 
 A bevy of hopes cracked the shell, and flew, like 
 downy fledgelings, in Lucien's bosom. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 ' The next poem I write will be much better,' he said. 
 ' It has a better subject the subject of noble ladies. 
 How strange that I should meet you again here !' 
 
 ' Stranger things than that have happened, and will 
 happen again,' said the marquis. ' Madame told you 
 of my letter to her ? Perfectly ! I begged that you 
 might not, on any account, be informed of it. There 
 is no safer method of conveying a secret.' 
 
 * But,' said Lucien, much bewildered, ' you said I was 
 to return to you.' 
 
 The marquis rubbed the arm of the chair slowly. 
 
 'You are young in the ways of the world, Lucien 
 Sylvestre. So, for the matter of that, is Her Royal 
 Highness ; and she will never be older. But you, 
 twenty years hence, may understand.' 
 
 ' You meant me to follow her ?' 
 
 * That is for you to find out,' said the marquis. 
 Lucien frowned. 
 
 ' I have no time for all that,' he said. ' I want to 
 write poems. I want to fight to fight for Madame. I 
 care about nothing else.' 
 
 The marquis put one leg comfortably over the 
 other.
 
 DE CIVRAC TO THE RESCUE 147 
 
 'There will be no rising, however. Madame has 
 refused de Goulaine, de Goyon, de Tinguy. Berryer 
 will be here to-morrow ; she will not refuse him.' 
 
 ' Who is Berryer ?' said Lucien, as who should say, 
 ' Who is that mean hound ?' 
 
 ' The only man for whom the entire Assembly once 
 rose to its feet.' 
 
 ' It will need more to sweep Madame off hers.' 
 
 'We shall see. He came to this neighbourhood a 
 month or two ago to defend some wretched labourers, 
 who were accused of having given hospitality to the 
 Owls. The men had not a chance. He spoke for half 
 an hour. Judge, jury, witnesses they were all speech- 
 less. A judge weeping ! It beggars imagination. But 
 that was Berryer.' 
 
 ' If his last action was to deliver her adherents, I 
 should have thought he was hardly the man to stop the 
 duchess.' 
 
 ' He is under the thumb of Chateaubriand. The 
 Genius of Christianity has no desire to fight. He is 
 " weary of everything, even of hope." He has no incli- 
 nation for the office of " Plenipotentiary of Night, charge 
 d'affaires to the Shades." He " does not know how to 
 be guilty of faith unless he is taken in the very act." 
 Still, he is one of the Secret Committee now sitting in 
 Paris. It appears to me that he prefers this to the 
 battlefield. But all these phrases sound well. He has 
 a magnificent style.' 
 
 ' His style be hanged !' cried Lucien. 
 
 ' My dear boy,' said the marquis, as he uncrossed his 
 legs again, ' you do not see the importance of it. Heaven 
 grant you a proper appreciation of style !' 
 
 10-
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE POWER OF STYLE 
 
 THAT night Lucien could not sleep. 
 
 He would fain have asked many questions have 
 talked much longer ; but the marquis had an unmis- 
 takable way of indicating when he had talked enough. 
 Therefore Lucien wrapped himself in a cloak and sat out 
 on a broken step of the stone staircase to watch the stars 
 as they moved across the sky, never fast but unceasingly. 
 
 What did it mean ? 
 
 Who was this hateful Berryer, who could do so much 
 himself and yet was eager to abandon the whole enter- 
 prise because Chateaubriand, who had a magnificent 
 style, was weary of all things, even of hope ? Style 
 governed the world, it appeared. 
 
 Would the duchess ever give in ? 
 
 If she did, what would become of her ? 
 
 What would become of him, Lucien ? 
 
 But she would not give in. 
 
 How still it was ! The wind had fallen. There was 
 no murmur even among the branches. What was that ? 
 A shadow out of the shadow of the wall. 
 
 ' A fine night !' said the marquis, glancing at the stars 
 as he spoke. ' They care very little up there who is 
 King of this country ;' and he disappeared again.
 
 THE POWER OF STYLE 149 
 
 Lucien began to wish he had gone in some time ago. 
 He felt too cold and drowsy to stir now. 
 
 Presently a shadow and then another shadow, very 
 long and thin was cast above the shadow of the little 
 railed gateway. 
 
 ' The shadows all come first and the men after,' 
 Lucien said to himself dreamily. He was not asleep ; 
 yet the fragrant spring air and the starlight were folding 
 him in dreams. 
 
 ' A plague upon it !' said the voice of the elder Owl. 
 
 Was he really there ? 
 
 Was he a dream ? 
 
 Clumsy hands were fumbling with the stiff bolt. 
 
 Lucien sat still where he was, not inclined to help. 
 What business had the fellow to return at this time of 
 night ? 
 
 The bolt slid back, however. 
 
 ' I will stay by the gate,' said de Goyon. ' She does 
 not like me. Ask for her you. Bring me word of her 
 decision when you can.' 
 
 ' Who is that on the staircase ?' asked a voice of such 
 strange clearness that Lucien wondered whether it 
 would not wake Madame. Yet the speaker had not 
 raised it. 
 
 ' I do not know. A farm-servant most likely. Ask 
 him.' 
 
 The tall, thin man crossed the yard. 
 
 ' Can you tell me if Monsieur Charles lives here ?' 
 
 As if the voice came breathing through an instrument 
 of silver ! The exquisite shades of sound in it so con- 
 fused Lucien that it was a moment before he collected 
 himself enough to answer : 
 ' No, sir.'
 
 150 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Oh, but I think he does !' the silver voice continued. 
 
 ' I wish I could tell you that he did,' said Lucien, 
 laughing to free himself from an irresistible impulse to 
 say whatever he was asked. 
 
 ' I can do so, I believe.' The marquis emerged from 
 the inky blackness of the porch. 
 
 * Monsieur Charles in the South is Petit- Pierre in the 
 West. The little gentleman does not expect you, sir, 
 but I am sure that he will wish to see you. Come in 
 here first. You need food.' 
 
 ' I need water still more,' said the guest, staring 
 ruefully at his legs, which were splashed with mud up 
 to the thigh. 
 
 The marquis led the way in. Lucien followed. 
 
 ' We will not rouse the servants,' he said in a whisper, 
 and briefly directed Lucien where to find meat and 
 drink. 
 
 ' Is there time ?' said the stranger. 
 
 ' How long an interview do you desire ?' 
 
 ' Half an hour.' 
 
 ' When do you start again ?' 
 
 ' Before dawn.' 
 
 ' You have time and to spare, then.' 
 
 ' Good ! I will take it before. Can you give me 
 a basin of water and a towel ?' 
 
 ' I dare not. The stairs are old, and creak. She 
 would hear. There is a pump in the yard.' 
 
 ' That will do. Can de Goyon wait anywhere ? He 
 has had nothing to eat. He found me on his return, 
 and brought me round by the swamp at the back that 
 we might not make any noise. He is desperately 
 afraid of the little gentleman. He is out there by 
 the gate.'
 
 THE POWER OF STYLE 151 
 
 ' Fetch him in, Lucien. He can wait here.' 
 
 A fine courtier returned from the pump instead of the 
 muddy fellow who went thither. Nature had cut this 
 man in her chiselling mood, and, humouring Nature, he 
 himself had taken care that his clothes should fit him. 
 
 De Goyon sank into the merest insignificance. 
 Lucien served the two men, who ate with the eloquence 
 of hunger, while the marquis sat by, his arms wreathed 
 over one of his legs humped up on the other. 
 
 A pine torch stuck in a cleft beam, resting on the 
 huge bars of the fireplace, lit up this midnight festival. 
 
 ' Now,' said the stranger, when they had finished 
 everything on the board, ' I will sleep. Call me an 
 hour before dawn.' 
 
 He threw the cushion of the armchair on to the floor 
 for a pillow, stretched his long limbs in front of the 
 grate, which was empty save for a glimmering heap of 
 ashes, and fell asleep in an instant. 
 
 ' Napoleon had that power,' said the marquis pen- 
 sively. 
 
 Lucien resumed his watch under the stars. How 
 would the little duchess resist this man ? But it was 
 nothing to the stars whether she did or not. 
 
 A long, sleepy interval, and the marquis touched him 
 on the shoulder. 
 
 ' Knock at the door of the bedroom, Lucien. Say 
 that Monsieur Berryer is here, that he comes from 
 Paris, that he solicits an audience. There is no time to 
 be lost.' 
 
 Lucien looked up at her window. All was dark. 
 ' I know,' said the marquis. ' We have let her sleep 
 as long as we could. She must be roused now.' 
 Lucien climbed the staircase reluctantly.
 
 152 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Ah, from Paris ! Let him in, then.' 
 
 Madame was lying on a rough bed of white wood, 
 covered with very fine sheets. She had thrown a red 
 plaid shawl over her shoulders, to protect herself from 
 the draughts, and she was wearing the head-dress of 
 the country a woollen cap, with long, falling lappets. 
 On a table in the middle of the room a brace of pistols 
 and numerous papers were strewn ; on the chair beside 
 her lay her peasant's dress and the brown wig with 
 which she was wont to cover her fair hair when she 
 went out. A tallow dip threw shadows rather than 
 light all around. 
 
 ' I bring with me a letter from Paris, Madame.' 
 
 ' Be so good as to read it.' 
 
 She settled herself against the pillow in an attitude 
 of reflection. The cap became her as if it had been a 
 crown. 
 
 Berryer sat down on the table. The marquis took 
 the chair, Lucien a stool. 
 
 He understood passing little of the letter. Here and 
 there he caught a phrase that sounded like something 
 the marquis had said before ' Plenipotentiary of Night, 
 charge d'affaires to the Shades ' but for the most part 
 his ears alone drank in the silver voice, and he was 
 busy reading Madame's countenance. Every tint of 
 colour had faded even from her lips. Just as he was 
 about to spring forward the blood came rushing back, 
 the dangerous flash of the eyes began. 
 
 At the end there was a momentary pause. Madame 
 put out her hand for the letter, turned to the last page, 
 held it up. 
 
 ' There is no signature.' 
 
 She glanced fiercely at Berryer.
 
 THE POWER OF STYLE 153 
 
 ' I am not the author of the letter, Madame. The 
 Committee entrusted me with the task of delivering it 
 to Your Royal Highness.' 
 
 ' Anyone who can undertake such a task, sir, is quite 
 capable of being the author. Return to those who sent 
 you. Tell them that the Regent can pay no attention 
 to an anonymous request.' 
 
 Berryer leant forward a little, as though to deprecate 
 her wrath, but remained silent. 
 
 ' If she would but let him go now !' thought Lucien. 
 
 He was right. Not to know when we are beaten may 
 mean victory in the end ; not to know we have won 
 means certain defeat. 
 
 Unluckily there were two born orators in the room. 
 
 ' My friends in Paris cannot be aware of the state of 
 the country,' she went on, with growing eagerness. 
 ' They hear of it only from people who are opposed to 
 the movement. Believe me, Monsieur Berryer, people 
 a hundred miles off are not in a position to decide on 
 the proper moment for a rising. The result of the 
 earlier war would have been very different, if Paris had 
 not always insisted on directing the .provinces of the 
 West.' 
 
 ' It may be so, Madame.' 
 
 Berryer raised his head. 
 
 ' The example of the duke, my husband, is ever before 
 my eyes. If, in the year '15, he had consulted only his 
 bravery and the greater number of his friends if, in 
 one word, he had placed himself at the head of la 
 Vendee instead of listening to those false counsellors 
 who surround all princes much sorrow would have 
 been spared, miserable divisions among the leaders 
 would never have occurred, and France would not
 
 154 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 have been invaded a second time. Say that I go I 
 go, and I will not return ; for I will not return with 
 foreigners. They are biding their time you know 
 that very well the time is at hand. They will 
 come and ask for my son not that they care much 
 more for him than they did for Louis-Philippe nineteen 
 years ago but it will be a pretext for them to gain 
 a footing in Paris. Well, they shall not have my son ! 
 They shall not have him for all the wealth in the world. 
 I would rather carry him off to the mountains of 
 Calabria. What would France have to pay for a third 
 invasion ? The partition of France, without a doubt. 
 I am a Frenchwoman. My very blood rebels at that 
 thought.' 
 
 She covered her burning face with her hands. 
 
 ' I give you my word,' she said, as she looked up 
 again, ' my son shall never reign if he has to buy the 
 throne of France by giving up one province one fortress 
 one house one cottage like the cottage in which the 
 Regent of France is receiving you at this moment.' 
 
 ' It is for that reason, Madame, that all who wish well 
 to Henri Cinq deprecate any attempt at this moment. 
 So long as your influence remains intact we are safe 
 to win France the whole of France in the end. It 
 wanes every day that you linger.' 
 
 ' I cannot, I will not, go. My enemies would say I 
 was a mere adventuress ; they would be right.' 
 
 ' That is not the name by which your enemies, or 
 your friends, call you, Madame. Nevertheless, in the 
 long-run you cannot escape the troops.' 
 
 'The troops of Louis- Philippe are scattered,' she 
 said. ' The peasants will be able to master them easily, 
 isolated as they are at the different farms. No, nothing
 
 155 
 
 can shake my decision. My cause is just. I refer it 
 to God.' 
 
 ' You are right, Madame ; it is impossible that you 
 should go,' said the silver voice, without an instant's 
 hesitation. 
 
 Had Lucien heard aright ? He could scarcely believe 
 his ears. 
 
 'To stay here will annihilate your party,' Berryer 
 continued. ' What of that ? You, Madame, will be 
 safe. In you the hope of the Royalists will survive.' 
 
 She turned her head away. 
 
 ' It is impossible that you should go. Louis- Philippe 
 declared as much.' 
 
 Her eyes were fixed upon the speaker. 
 
 ' When someone told him that you had left the coasts 
 of France, " Impossible !" said he.' 
 
 'Why?' asked the duchess, a flame of fury lighting 
 up the words. 
 
 ' The wish fathered the thought, Madame.' 
 
 ' He wish me to stay !' she cried. 
 
 ' That you should stay is, very properly from that 
 point of view, his most earnest desire. He knows the 
 Legitimists will not fight. I saw de Bourmont as I 
 came through Nantes. He has issued a counter-order 
 to every chief of every Division throughout la Vendee.' 
 
 ' He has not dared ?' 
 
 ' You know his hand, Madame ?' 
 
 She looked at the piece of paper that Berryer held 
 up, as if she could not take in the sense. 
 
 ' Louis - Philippe will hear of this. He has spies 
 everywhere. He knows that, however long the Regent 
 may remain in hiding among the peasants, she must be 
 taken at last. Then, what a chance for him to show
 
 156 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 his royal clemency ! Put her to death ? Oh no ! 
 Keep her in prison ? Oh no ! He will release her to 
 the tune of the plaudits of Europe. He will show how 
 firmly his throne is founded on the love of his people. 
 She harm him after that ? Never ! Even she herself 
 must feel grateful to such a magnanimous conqueror.' 
 There was a pause. 
 
 ' Where shall I embark ?' said the duchess. 
 Lucien sat aghast. Something impossible seemed 
 to him to have happened. The marquis betrayed no 
 surprise, nor did Berryer. 
 
 ' Off the coast of Brittany, Madame. A boat lies in 
 readiness. Sorin, the miller, is taking some sacks of 
 flour to Nantes if you did not object to go hidden 
 among them ? I myself will meet you at le Magazin 
 in three hours' time.' 
 
 ' I cannot read,' she said, brushing her hand across 
 her eyes. 
 
 She tore the paper in two. 
 ' At le Magazin, then ? Farewell, sir.' 
 Lucien delayed a little outside the door. He heard 
 her hurrying to and fro, up and down, hither and thither 
 like a caged animal, distracted. 
 
 Unable to bear it longer, he ran down after the 
 others. 
 
 ' Poor lady !' the silver voice was saying. ' She has 
 stuff enough in her head and her heart to make twenty 
 Kings. Walter Scott is the real culprit. He ought to 
 be hung !' 
 ' Style again !' said the marquis.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JEANNE BECOMES A POSTMAN 
 
 HEROES and heroines are, after all, not uncommon ; 
 but it is a question whether, if they always knew before- 
 hand the price to be paid for heroism, there would be 
 quite so many. Often, as she sat by herself in dull 
 emptiness, Mademoiselle Jeanne was tempted to wish 
 that she had not delivered that message to Lucien. 
 He might have gone even had she refused ; but then he 
 might not. Threatening rumours were abroad, hints 
 of red trouble to come. If he would but return ! 
 
 Blum, anxious and annoyed himself, wrought her 
 anxiety still higher. She said no word to keep him 
 back when he informed her that Lucien, by the agency 
 of the marquis, had become involved in a Royalist plot, 
 and announced that he meant to rescue the victim. It 
 seemed to her that he had lost the influence which he 
 once possessed ; in her heart she wondered not so much 
 that he had lost as that he ever gained it. Still, if he 
 could bring back Lucien, well and good ! If not, other 
 means must be tried. She had not bargained for war 
 when she sent him off. 
 
 About this time she received an order for a large 
 piece of Church embroidery, from a convent in the 
 neighbourhood of the town of Nantes. If she chose
 
 158 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 to execute it, she would have to go thither in the course 
 of a few days, that she might do so under the super- 
 intendence of the nuns of the Visitation. They had 
 not room for her in the convent, but they undertook 
 to find a lodging and to pay her well. She did not 
 hesitate to accept this offer. 
 
 Nantes ! That was the address which the marquis 
 had given her. 
 
 The Legitimists were known to be gathering round 
 Nantes. 
 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne was not imaginative, but she 
 was able, as the vulgar say, to put two and two together. 
 Two and two made four in her reckoning, not forty nor 
 four hundred as with the fanciful. 
 
 Blum often marvelled at her correctness from this 
 point of view. Her power to calculate had the force of 
 intuition. Lucien, whose intuitions came fast enough, 
 never paid any heed to it, but Blum had proved the 
 wisdom of the oracle again and again. 
 
 Thus, on his return to Lyons, Jeanne was the first 
 person whose aid he sought. There were factors in his 
 experience which would, if rightly added up, afford a 
 valuable result ; he felt sure of that ; but he was not 
 strong in mental arithmetic. 
 
 She received him with greater cordiality than usual ; 
 she welcomed him with all her heart, as she would have 
 welcomed any beggar who could give her news from the 
 West. He did not know how could he ? that perfect 
 candour may be more deceptive than guile. 
 
 He told her how, with some difficulty, he had traced 
 Lucien to la Preuille ; how he had not been allowed 
 inside the house, though a large company seemed to be 
 gathered there. He narrated at great length all the
 
 JEANNE BECOMES A POSTMAN 159 
 
 arguments he had used the arguments which must 
 have induced any reasonable man to return. ' And then 
 I said ' followed ' And then I said ' many times. It was 
 only too evident that Lucien had not returned. 
 
 ' And then,' said Jeanne at last, in a voice that led the 
 way onward, ' you were interrupted ?' 
 
 A very intelligent lady, whose knowledge of his 
 opinions was astonishing, carried him off, and set him 
 down at the principal inn of Bressuire. He could not 
 deny that he had enjoyed the drive ; she entered into 
 all his ideas. They walked in the garden of the inn 
 together, so that he might develop them to the fullest 
 extent. Towards the middle of the afternoon she left 
 him to take some rest, advising him, before he followed 
 her example, to go and talk to a gardener who was 
 cutting cabbages at some little distance. 
 
 ' You never can tell where you may make a convert,' 
 said she. 'You talk so well and so convincingly that 
 you have only to be heard to be believed.' 
 
 In accordance with her desire, he had talked long and 
 convincingly to the gardener, and he believed that he 
 made a convert, for in the end the man had nothing to 
 say. As he was retracing his steps, a small bright object 
 shone on the path before him. He picked it up ; it was 
 a silver pencil-case, such as a lady uses. 
 
 ' I believe you have one yourself, Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne ?' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; go on !' 
 
 He meant to return it to the lady, but she had 
 departed. The people at the inn affected complete 
 ignorance. Yes, she had been there, sure enough. She 
 rested her horses, that was all ; and she was gone. 
 Whither ? Who could say ? She employed her own
 
 160 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 coachman ; she left no message. They had never done 
 any business for her ; her name was unknown. 
 
 ' You kept the pencil-case ?' Jeanne said. 
 
 ' Here it is. I can make nothing of it.' 
 
 ' There are initials.' 
 
 ' Are there ? I never saw them.' 
 
 ' " M. C." ' 
 
 ' Well, what of that ?' 
 
 ' " M. C." Marie-Caroline. You were driving with 
 the duchess of Berry.' 
 
 Blum pondered her words for a moment. 
 
 'The cunning cat!' said he. 'She never could have 
 cared about the tariff. Her politics are altogether op- 
 posed to law and order and material progress. Why, 
 she must have been deceiving me the whole time !' 
 
 Jeanne thought it probable, but did not say so. 
 
 ' I shall reveal the plot to Thiers at once ; he is the 
 only man. She must be apprehended ; she is a desperate 
 woman, prepared to deluge France with blood.' 
 
 * After all,' Jeanne said, ' these may not be her initials. 
 They may stand for Marthe-Charlotte, you know.' 
 
 Blum shook his head. 
 
 ' It is known that she is about in those parts.' 
 
 ' What was the lady like ?' 
 
 ' Oh, just like any other woman !' 
 
 Jeanne longed to shake him. 
 
 ' Why have men got eyes ?' she said. 
 
 ' To see with,' said Blum. 
 
 Irony was lost on him, as on all people who are 
 sincere. He could not see, because he saw only en bloc ; 
 and Lucien could not see, because he saw only in detail. 
 Jeanne and the duchess were not made like that. 
 
 ' I shall start for Paris to-morrow morning. I must
 
 JEANNE BECOMES A POSTMAN 161 
 
 warn the editor of the Glaneuse first. If the Government 
 can but find, can but arrest her, we shall have stopped 
 a war, and Lucien will be saved for the one cause worthy 
 of him.' 
 
 The words that Blum had spoken were true ; for once 
 his oracle agreed with him, except as to the cause for 
 which Lucien was to be preserved. To that, as to all 
 causes, she was profoundly indifferent ; but she feared 
 and hated the thought of war as of some huge, incal- 
 culable extravagance which might cost her dear. That 
 Lucien should be the Flying Mercury between Legiti- 
 mists with sounding titles seemed to her a chivalrous 
 arrangement ; but she had no desire that chivalry should 
 lead him to fight. So long as the duchess of Berry 
 wrote, plotted, schemed for her son, Jeanne was on her 
 side : she would have done the same herself in like 
 circumstances; but the spectacle of any woman who 
 could stir up men to wound and kill each other, for any 
 cause whatever, raised all her instincts of revolt. Men 
 were enough inclined to violence by nature, she thought. 
 If she could not make peace between them, the woman's 
 part must be to war with words. Actual warfare was 
 merely a horrible game of hazard, in which the best 
 man was as like to fall as the worst. 
 
 Therefore, whatever might be Lucien's view of the 
 matter, she did not regret that she had helped Blum 
 if she had helped him to hunt down the duchess. The 
 shortest way to end strife was to strengthen the hands 
 of those who were strong, not those of the weak. She 
 did not like Blum's account of all the armed men he 
 had met. 
 
 A day or two after, he came in to say that Thiers had 
 seen him was led by collateral evidence to believe that 
 
 ii
 
 162 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the initials on the pencil-case were those of the duchess 
 and had set his spies to work accordingly. 
 
 She did not mention her work at Nantes until, one 
 evening, he came to her with a clouded brow. 
 
 * I have heard from Thiers' agent,' said he. ' There 
 is no trace of the duchess anywhere ; they have lost 
 every clue. He is terribly afraid that she may have 
 escaped.' 
 
 ' The best thing that could happen. Let her go, and 
 we shall have peace.' 
 
 ' You are wrong ; she is a mere firebrand. In a year 
 we shall have the same trouble over again. It is im- 
 possible to watch every mile of the coast ; and yet she 
 must be stopped at all hazards.' 
 
 ' Her followers will never betray her.' 
 
 ' No ; but she might betray herself.' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 ' She might insist on remaining in France against 
 their wishes. If she did, we must find her in the end.' 
 
 ' She is not likely to insist on staying now, is she ? 
 You yourself told me she would be beaten at every 
 point.' 
 
 * The agent says it is by no means certain that the 
 insurrection has failed in the South. One of the spies 
 intercepted a letter yesterday. If it could be conveyed 
 to the duchess, he is sure that she would not endeavour 
 to leave the country. She will not go while there is a 
 chance of success left.' 
 
 'What a pity he intercepted it, then!' said Jeanne 
 dryly. 
 
 Blum did not understand. 
 
 ' That is just what I say. Why could he not let well 
 alone ? These agents are so stupid. Now, nothing
 
 JEANNE BECOMES A POSTMAN 163 
 
 will serve him but that I must take it. I cannot leave 
 my work again.' 
 
 ' Why does he want you to go ?' 
 
 ' Because he can trust me. Because I am acquainted 
 with the country, having just returned. Because I 
 know Lucien by sight, and if I could find him and give 
 him the letter, it would reach the duchess ; they are in 
 close communication, it seems. Thiers would pay all 
 expenses. But I cannot go. I should lose my place.' 
 
 ' Where is the letter ? " Monsieur Bernard, Care of 
 Monsieur Clemenceau, advocate, Nantes." What a 
 simple address!' 
 
 ' She was known by the name of Bernard in the 
 South. They will recognise it.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Jeanne, still keeping possession of the 
 envelope, ' that I had better go. I have to visit Nantes 
 on business of my own. I can take this on the way.' 
 
 ' You do not mean it ?' 
 
 ' Indeed I do. You will give me directions. I shall 
 not be missed here as you would be. Trust me, I will 
 not fail.' 
 
 ' I have every confidence in you.' 
 
 Jeanne smiled. She scarcely heard what he said, but 
 she was smiling to her own thought. 
 
 ' Here are the notes,' he said. ' I think you will find 
 them sufficient. If not, you can apply for more.' 
 
 No ; Jeanne did not like the look of the notes, and 
 he could not persuade her to take them. She refrained 
 from suggesting what was quite clear to her that the 
 letter must be a fabrication. If Blum were simple- 
 hearted enough to think it genuine, why should she un- 
 deceive him ? But she could not accept secret-service 
 money ; and she had not determined whether to play 
 
 II 2
 
 164 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 this card or no. The missive seemed to her dangerous, 
 and she was resolved to get it into her own hands that 
 was all, so far. 
 
 Blum, however, clung to the principle of ' fair work, 
 fair wages.' If Jeanne became the postman, the post- 
 man's wages she should earn. Skilfully she avoided 
 argument, always letting him feel that he got the better 
 of her, always keeping tight hold of the envelope. 
 
 ' As you say,' she observed, when he stopped for lack 
 of breath, ' I can easily send for the money, later on. It 
 would be a mere encumbrance to-morrow.' 
 
 She gave a sigh of weariness when he went upstairs 
 to his room. Why did he need so many explanations ? 
 Why did he not know what she had known for the last 
 three months that her will was always his in the end ? 
 
 Next morning she went to the Church of the 
 Cordeliers ; knelt a reasonable time in prayer ; offered 
 a candle at the shrine of St. Julian Hospitator, patron 
 of travellers (she liked .to think that he was also the 
 patron of travelling minstrels) ; and returned home to 
 pack her modest luggage. 
 
 The baby was at play in the window opposite. She 
 kissed her hand to it before she left ; it smiled and 
 kissed a little fat hand in return. Jeanne sighed, and 
 sudden tears stood in her eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 A LETTER FROM TOULON 
 
 ON the morning after Berryer's departure, as Lucien 
 was leaning against the wall of the courtyard, half 
 asleep in the sun after many a restless hour, something 
 fell suddenly out of space, as it seemed, at his feet, and 
 a hoarse voice said : 
 
 ' Give that to Monsieur Bernard.' 
 
 No voice could have been more unlike the silver 
 accents of the night before. 
 
 ' Where are you ?' 
 
 He sprang up looked round could see no one. 
 
 Quick as thought he pulled a loose brick out of the 
 wall and scrambled to the top. No one was to be seen 
 on the further side. 
 
 ' Where are you ?' 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 He jumped down he ransacked the little copse 
 adjoining. He broke the song of a thrush as it swung 
 on a hawthorn bough ; but not a trace of any human 
 being could he find ; and he returned to the courtyard. 
 
 There on a mossy stone lay the letter, and on it was 
 written in large, stiff characters : ' Monsieur Bernard, 
 Care of Monsieur Cle'menceau, advocate, Nantes.' 
 
 The postmark was Toulon.
 
 166 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 It came, then, from the South. Who was Monsieur 
 Bernard ? 
 
 The same person as Monsieur Charles most likely 
 the same person as Petit - Pierre. He felt a strong 
 reluctance to deliver it. Another treacherous general 
 a new defection of troops. Must he stab her again ? It 
 was all over. She was going. What more could they 
 want ? What business had anyone to trouble her now ? 
 
 He wished the marquis were at home ; but the marquis 
 had gone with Berryer and de Charette to await Madame 
 at le Magazin. De Monti and the other two were still 
 absent. 
 
 What if the letter meant nothing at all ? Should he 
 destroy it ? 
 
 What if it came as a warning ? The troops of Louis- 
 Philippe were in the neighbourhood. She might be in 
 imminent danger. 
 
 Nearer and nearer to the house the letter drove him 
 in this dumb struggle. Still undecided, he crossed the 
 threshold. 
 
 In the parlour sat the Regent. 
 
 He started when he saw her. Was it possible that a 
 few hours could have made such a difference ? Her face 
 was worn, haggard. Her lightless eyes wandered over 
 the vineyard, vacant of expression as if she were blind. 
 Her hands lay idle in her lap ; she did not hear him as 
 he came. 
 
 Whatever it might contain, the letter could not make 
 things worse. Perhaps 
 
 Alas ! that man should be always a gambler even in 
 his truest instincts ! 
 
 He laid it on her knee. 
 
 ' Monsieur Bernard ?' she said, with languid interest.
 
 A LETTER FROM TOULON 167 
 
 ' That is not for me. I cannot open it. Bernard ? 
 Bernard ?' 
 
 She passed her hand across her forehead, trying with 
 pain to recollect. All at once 
 
 'Yes !' she said. ' I was called Bernard down in the 
 South for a day or two. It seems long ago. But I 
 remember now.' 
 
 ' It comes from the South, Madame. The postmark 
 is Toulon. 1 
 
 She opened the letter with slow, listless hands. 
 
 * No,' she said, ' it is nothing. Look ! " Monsieur 
 Georges Rod begs to thank Monsieur Clemenceau for 
 his kind condolences on the occasion of the death of 
 Madame Georges Rod, senior.' " 
 
 She tossed it into the fire; but the next moment 
 she snatched it back. Her countenance changed like 
 lightning. There stood the duchess once again. 
 
 ' No, no !' she cried, ' I will not go. Read !' 
 
 The warmth of the fire had rendered visible a sentence 
 written between the lines, ' The South is in /lames. 1 
 
 To Lucien it was as if a thunderbolt of fact had 
 fallen into the midst of the world of vision in which he 
 lived. He saw fair homesteads burning mills, like the 
 old mill where his childhood had been passed he 
 heard the screams of women. Yet in the eyes of the 
 woman before him there burnt a fire of joy and 
 triumph. 
 
 ' We cannot, cannot let those lovely provinces be 
 destroyed. La Vendee must make a diversion.' 
 
 She seated herself at the table and wrote rapidly. 
 
 ' Take this to de Charette,' she said. ' There is a 
 note inside for Berryer, another for de Bourmont. 
 The miller is starting at once ; he will guide you. But
 
 i68 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 I shall stay I shall stay. Oh, thank God, I shall stay ! 
 You have given me back my life, Lucien Sylvestre ; you 
 have given back France to my son.' 
 
 Had she no doubt at all ? Yet he seemed to himself 
 as a heretic when he ventured to ask her if she knew 
 who wrote the letter. 
 
 ' Oh no !' she said. ' It came like a miracle. It is a 
 miracle just when I thought that all was lost. Thank 
 God ! Thank God and Saint Anne !' 
 
 Fast, fast as he could go, Lucien raced to le Magazin. 
 trying to outrun thought. 
 
 Berryer, yellow with fear, stood at the door ; three 
 others behind him. 
 
 ' Where is she ?' he whispered breathlessly. 
 
 ' She has not come.' 
 
 He fell back with a cry. 
 
 ' Where is Monsieur de Charette ?' 
 
 De Charette seized the note, tore it open, and read, 
 Berryer and the marquis reading over his shoulder. 
 
 ' MESLIER, 
 
 ' May 23. 
 ' DEAR CHARETTE, 
 
 ' I remain among you ; I am writing to tell 
 Berryer of my resolve. The other letter is for the 
 marshal. His orders are to come to me immediately. 
 
 ' I remain because my presence here has compromised 
 a number of my faithful servants. It would be cowardly 
 in me to abandon them. Besides, I hope that, in spite 
 of the unfortunate counter-order, God will give us the 
 victory. 
 
 ' Farewell, dear friend. Do not resign your post ; 
 Petit-Pierre will not resign his.' 
 
 The orator bit his bloodless lips.
 
 A LETTER FROM TOULON 169 
 
 ' She is a cruel woman.' 
 
 ' Permit me to observe, sir,' cried Lucien, joyfully 
 losing all self-control, ' that whoever speaks in that way 
 of Her Royal Highness is a traitor.' 
 
 The cry relieved him. In the tumult of his breast 
 one only thought rode clear detestation of anyone who 
 could put into words his own flash of horror. 
 
 Berryer shrugged his shoulders, and a look from the 
 marquis made Lucien feel as if he were four years old. 
 The other men gathered round the table, their heads 
 bowed, their hands clenched. 
 
 ' This cannot be all,' said de Charette. ' Go on, 
 Sylvestre ! What has she heard ?' 
 
 ' A letter was thrown over the wall, addressed to 
 Monsieur Bernard. I could not find the messenger. 
 The postmark is Toulon. There was but one sentence 
 that meant anything, " The South is in flames." ' 
 
 ' And that meant nothing,' observed the marquis. ' I 
 heard from a friend in Toulon yesterday. All is quiet 
 there.' 
 
 ' You may be wrong, sir,' said de Charette. 
 
 'I may be,' said the marquis, not -much as if he 
 thought so. 
 
 ' Any way, the die is cast now. We must fight.' 
 
 ' I shall return to Paris,' Berryer said. His voice 
 had lost the silver-bell tone ; it rang sharp like an in- 
 strument out of tune. 
 
 For a minute no one else spoke. 
 
 ' I shall go back to le Meslier,' said de Charette ; 
 ' she cannot be left alone. Edouard, you will oblige 
 me by taking this note to de Bourmont at Nantes. I 
 doubt his being able to leave the town. Madame does 
 not calculate ways and means.'
 
 170 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Nor anything else,' Berryer muttered between his 
 teeth. ' As you love the cause, persuade her to fly. 
 She must be taken if she stays.' 
 
 ' I agree with you,' said de Charette, ' unless it is 
 just a chance unless there should be any truth in this 
 rumour about the South.' 
 
 They held a hurried consultation. 
 
 ' It is a plot of the Reds to catch her.' 
 
 ' If she insists on believing ' 
 
 ' We shall never be able to induce her to fly now.' 
 
 ' There are spies all round.' 
 
 ' What do you advise ?' said de Charette to the 
 marquis, who had remained silent. 
 
 As usual, there was a tendency to consult the one 
 person who showed no wish to be a counsellor. 
 
 ' She had better stay where she is for the present. 
 They must have some idea of her whereabouts, or they 
 would not have sent this to le Meslier. They think 
 one of two things either that she will go to the South, 
 or that she will disbelieve the report and fly to the coast.' 
 
 ' Right !' said de Charette, after a moment's re- 
 flection. ' She must stop at le Meslier.' 
 
 * In a day or two it may be safer for her to go to 
 Jacinth de la Roberie at the Wolfs Den or at la 
 Mouchetiere. He has a famous hiding-place there.' 
 
 * De Bourmont will be obliged to come, and we shall 
 see what he says. She may listen to him.' 
 
 De Civrac shook his head. He did not see much 
 chance for the marshal when the Chrysostom of the 
 Law Courts had failed. 
 
 ' Depend upon it, we shall fight,' he said quietly. 
 ' Ce que femme veut you know the rest of the quota- 
 tion.'
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 CELINE 
 
 EULALIE DE KERSABIEC, a daughter of one of Madame's 
 most devoted adherents, arrived at le Meslier shortly 
 after their return. She was of the same height as 
 Madame, a brunette, with dark, sparkling eyes, light- 
 hearted, adventurous. It was considered that she might 
 personate the duchess in an emergency. Petit- Paul 
 they christened her ; and Madame would amuse herself 
 dressing up her friend as a boy, and declare that 
 Eulalie looked the part better than she did. The 
 marquis was appealed to on the point. 
 
 * Either lady would make her fortune,' he said, ' at 
 the Come'die-Frangaise.' 
 
 Lucien noted with surprise that Madame was not at 
 all cast down to find that she had been deceived about 
 the South. 
 
 'The message was providential all the same,' said 
 she. ' It saved me from going, and now everyone 
 agrees that it is best for me to stay. We are quit of 
 Berryer too. He has gone back to the Plenipotentiary 
 of the Shades of Night, I suppose.' 
 
 De Bourmont arrived from Nantes on the Friday, 
 and stayed a day and a night. Madame was disin- 
 clined at first to forgive him the counter-order, but one
 
 172 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 of her sunny disposition could not harbour malice ; 
 and when she heard that Berryer had visited Nantes 
 before he came to le Meslier, she grew more lenient. 
 Perhaps she was not sorry to find that Berryer had out- 
 witted somebody else. The counsels of de Bourmont 
 were very different now. 
 
 Far from persuading her to fly, the marshal en- 
 couraged her to remain. He had seen too many 
 vicissitudes to think anything impossible. 
 
 At last there was but one subject of dispute between 
 them. She was determined that the rising should take 
 place on Friday, June i, the day appointed for it in 
 Paris ; while he was equally resolved that it should be 
 on Sunday, June 3, when the peasants would be 
 gathered together in the churches to hear Mass, and no 
 suspicion would attach to their movements. In the 
 end he convinced her, and she yielded the point. 
 Neither of them knew as yet the disastrous results of 
 the counter-order. 
 
 Many a story the old marshal told Lucien, basking 
 among the vines, or sitting long at table after a slender 
 meal, of the old days in la Vendee, when he had been 
 the last man to lay down his arms. Madame would 
 come and listen, too, while he spoke of the years that he 
 spent in prison for making an infernal machine of which 
 he had never heard ; of the hole pierced in the cell, and 
 the cord swung over the ramparts of Besangon ; of the 
 murderous cold in Russia ; of the battle of Liitzen ; of 
 the wild fighting in Africa. 
 
 'Ah!' he said, 'Cardinal Ximenes could not get rid 
 of the pirates, nor the Knights of Rhodes, nor Charles V., 
 nor le Roi Soleil, nor the great men of England but 
 I did. And there I left my son my second son out of
 
 CELINE 173 
 
 the four who went with me. He was the only officer 
 killed. He was about your age,' he added, turning to 
 Lucien. 
 
 ' How well he died !' said Lucien gently ; and the old 
 father nodded. 
 
 ' All the world says,' cried Madame, ' that if you had 
 been in Paris two years ago, my child would never have 
 left it.' 
 
 'They say truly, Madame. At any rate, he would 
 have left it over my dead body ; and I am tough.' 
 
 He sighed, still thinking of his boy's grave at 
 Staoueli. 
 
 ' Have you warned de la Roberie that the rising has 
 been put off for two days ?' asked the marquis. 
 
 ' No,' said Madame ; ' I will see to it.' 
 
 She spoke as if she did not hear. In her hand was a 
 letter. Her eyes brightened as she read, and they grew 
 soft, but she said nothing of the contents. 
 
 The envelope, which she had torn off, lay on the 
 table. It came from Sicily. 
 
 Lucien, who did not observe such little incidents, 
 noticed this because the marquis looked long at it. 
 
 ' You will not forget ?' he said to her after a while. 
 
 'Oh no.' 
 
 Next morning he left, ostensibly that he might 
 inquire into the affairs of Monsieur Clemenceau ; while 
 the marshal returned to the right bank of the Loire to 
 direct the movements of the troops for seizing Angers 
 and Nantes. 
 
 Madame had intended to leave le Meslier for the 
 Wolfs Den on May 29, but when it came to the point 
 she had an odd reluctance to go, and showed it, not in 
 open opposition, but by every excuse that she could
 
 174 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 think of to stave off the dreaded moment. At length 
 de Charette insisted. He had remarked suspicious 
 characters lurking in the neighbourhood. The first of 
 June was at hand. It could not be safe to wait longer. 
 
 They got silently to horse about midnight. Madame 
 kissed her hand to the vines. 
 
 A cloud of depression settled down upon the little 
 band. Lucien did not wonder whether the rest felt as 
 he did; he knew it. The very horses walked slowly, 
 with downcast heads. 
 
 They had not gone far from le Meslier when 
 Madame was thrown. Quick to recollect her fore- 
 bodings, he thought she was killed. She was not even 
 hurt, but thereafter he rode as if the darkness were full 
 of hidden enemies, as if every tree on the road, every 
 insignificant stream they forded, threatened her life. 
 
 Confidence returned with the first streak of gray 
 dawn. Given that he had the light for him, he could 
 protect her against the world. 
 
 About an hour before sunrise they reached an old 
 mill. 
 
 All mills, whether of wind or water, belong to the 
 same family. Lucien's heart went out to this one as to 
 the old home which had sheltered him in the days of 
 boyhood. 
 
 ' De la Roberie and the younger Jacinth were to be 
 here,' said de Charette anxiously. 'There is not a 
 sign of them.' 
 
 He put his hands over his mouth and raised the 
 hoarse cry of the owl, but no one responded. 
 
 ' I never knew him fail before. Is it possible that 
 Your Royal Highness's messenger did not reach him, 
 that he still thinks the rising is for to-day ?'
 
 CELINE 175 
 
 ' I did not send,' said Madame ; ' I forgot.' 
 
 The colour flushed her cheeks. She looked ashamed 
 and conscience-stricken, like a naughty child found out. 
 Lucien could have forgiven her anything ; so, it seemed, 
 could de Charette. 
 
 ' You had much on your mind,' said he. 
 
 ' Yet,' he remarked aside to Lucien later on, ' it is 
 odd ; she used not to forget.' 
 
 ' She had received a letter from Sicily, and she was 
 thinking of it all day. I noticed that she scarcely spoke 
 to us.' 
 
 De Charette reflected for a minute or two, then shook 
 his head. 
 
 'No, I do not understand. It cannot be helped. 
 We dare not go to the Wolfs Den now, in full day- 
 light, without the master. I can find my way to the 
 house of his brother-in-law. We had best seek shelter 
 there ; they will know his movements. He may wish 
 to receive us at la Mouchetiere, where he and his 
 family live.' 
 
 De Charette was right. Jacinth himself was still 
 absent, but the two elder daughters came at once on 
 receipt of a message from their uncle; and Madame 
 was persuaded to change clothes with Luce, who re- 
 mained behind, and to return with Pauline, Lucien 
 taking another road, that the village people might 
 observe nothing. His mind worked with unnatural 
 clearness, as the mind will when a certain stage of 
 weariness is over after a fast of many hours' duration. 
 
 The sun was going westward as they turned in at 
 a high iron gateway, rusty with age. Stone pillars, 
 wreathed in ivy, guarded it on either side, one of them 
 surmounted by a fox with a broken nose, who sat upon
 
 176 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 his hind-legs, holding a battered shield. Within, the 
 grass grew long and rank it had not been mown for 
 years; tall buttercups were springing everywhere. In 
 front was a tangled bed of rose-bushes, covered with 
 buds; the blossom on their boughs weighed down 
 the may-trees over it. The house looked as if it 
 were woven of ivy; stone was hardly visible except 
 where the topmost gables cut the sky. The oaken 
 door, deep-set within the porch, studded with nails, was 
 rotten ; the dust lay thick on latticed windows, and 
 iron bars held crumbling mullions together. Under 
 the black crown of a clump of Scotch firs, whose trunks 
 were ruddy with sunset, the rich light of evening poured 
 in upon the diamonds of glass and set them all aflame. 
 Over and through the undergrowth Lucien caught a 
 glimpse of the fair locks of a little boy of the streaming 
 brown hair of a girl whose petticoats flew out to the 
 wind. The pair swung to and fro, now high among 
 the boughs, now almost on the ground, singing lustily 
 as they rose and fell. 
 
 'What are they singing?' said the duchess; and she 
 paused with her hand on the gate. 
 
 Clear and distinct over the golden air came the 
 children's voices, accenting every word with gleeful 
 vigour : 
 
 ' Death is gone a-riding 
 
 Where many riders be. 
 Not a man is hiding, 
 
 Never a man would flee. 
 Pale his horse to look upon, 
 Pale is he !' 
 
 ' A Song they sing in Lyons,' Pauline said. ' My 
 brother brought it home to us.'
 
 CELINE 177 
 
 ' How cheerful they are !' said the duchess ; and she 
 broke off with a sigh. 
 
 The children had caught sight of them. The swinging 
 and the singing ceased in the middle of a line, and they 
 ran up to their elder sister. The girl was about fifteen, 
 but looked younger. 
 
 ' Well !' she cried. ' Have you seen the duchess ? 
 What is she like ? Is she pretty ?' 
 
 ' You have seen her too,' said the duchess, putting 
 her arm round the girl's neck. ' What do you think ? 
 Is she pretty? No not at all!' and she looked down 
 mischievously into the depths of the soft hazel eyes 
 upturned to hers. 
 
 ' Celine, Celine ! when will you learn discretion ?' 
 cried the elder one. 
 
 ' Nay I will have my answer !' the duchess insisted. 
 ' She is not pretty, is she ?' 
 
 Celine flushed crimson over cheek and brow. 
 
 ' I thought you were my sister Luce. Luce is very 
 pretty,' she said. 
 
 The duchess laughed, and let her go. 
 
 ' You shall be one of my Maids of Honour by-and-by, 
 and teach my courtiers to speak the truth will you, 
 little one ?' 
 
 Celine clasped the hand of her Princess and covered 
 it with kisses, half passionate, half devout. She was 
 trembling. 
 
 ' I will go and tell grandmamma,' she said, almost in 
 a whisper. ' We never thought that you would come. 
 We never dreamt of anything so beautiful ;' and she 
 glided in under the dark porch. 
 
 ' Me, too !' shouted the boy. 
 
 Madame yielded her other hand to him with a smile. 
 
 12
 
 178 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 * How old are you, my fine fellow ?' 
 
 ' I shall be twelve next May, and then I shall fight 
 for the King.' 
 
 ' Ah, he is just eleven !' murmured the duchess ; 
 and her clear bright eyes grew dim for an instant as 
 she gazed far away across the sea at her boy in 
 Scotland. 
 
 In the porch Celine reappeared, leading a frail old 
 white-haired lady, who seemed afraid of the sound of 
 her own voice, and even more afraid to remain silent. 
 She was Jacinth de la Roberie's mother, she said. His 
 wife she sighed was long since dead. Her son had 
 been very anxious. The whole night he and her grand- 
 son had waited at the mill; they thought there must 
 have been an accident. Would not Madame come 
 in ? The house everything in it everyone in it was 
 at her service. Celine would take her to her room. 
 Pauline would attend to her. 
 
 ' There is bad news to-night,' she added tremulously. 
 ' Monsieur de Villiers, who is with us, only just escaped 
 arrest when he went out. A band of gendarmes pur- 
 sued him. Thanks to a swift horse, he escaped. But 
 he is a very foolish young man. As soon as he saw that 
 he was safe, he shouted, " Vive Henri Cinq /" ' 
 
 ' Brave fellow !' cried Madame. 
 
 The old lady shook her head. 
 
 ' They will find out that he came from this house ; 
 and my son is already suspected.' 
 
 There was a note of piteous appeal in her voice. 
 
 Monsieur de la Roberie came through the gate at 
 that moment. 
 
 ' I cannot even try to express in words my joy at 
 beholding Your Royal Highness under this unworthy
 
 CELINE 179 
 
 roof,' he cried, the wild-fire of enthusiasm kindling his 
 mournful features. 
 
 ' Papa,' cried Celine, ' Her Royal Highness has told 
 me that I shall be her Maid of Honour.' 
 
 ' Great glory for you, my child !' 
 
 He stroked her hair fondly. 
 
 ' But I shall be the King's page,' said the boy. 
 
 ' Did you hear anything more, Jacinth ?' asked his 
 mother. 
 
 ' Yes. There is a very unusual movement going on 
 in the cantonments. The suspicions of the troops are 
 aroused. One patrol I saw outside the gates. We 
 must be prepared.' 
 
 ' I knew it,' said she, turning away. 
 
 'Your Royal Highness will forgive?' said de la 
 Roberie. ' My mother is old. She has had many 
 sorrows in life. She is as devoted as we are ; she would 
 give everything for the cause. My eldest son would 
 have hastened to pay his respects to you, but he is out 
 watching the Reds.' 
 
 ' You left him alone ?' cried the grandmother. 
 
 ' A brave man never is alone,' said de'la Roberie. 
 
 Celine took Lucien to his room, and pointed out 
 with pride a peacock, his tail displayed, parading on 
 the lawn below. 
 
 ' I cannot think what is the matter with that cherry- 
 tree,' she said, leaning out of the window. ' I did not 
 notice it just now, when I went to cut a bough for 
 Madame. All the blossom is outside, and there are 
 no flowers in the centre. Do you see ?' 
 
 ' Like the bride in the old ballad of " The Mistletoe- 
 bough " nothing but a white veil and her bones,' 
 Lucien said; and they both laughed. 
 
 12 2
 
 i8o THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Or like a beautiful lady with no heart that would 
 be worse. You are like me. You have days of think- 
 ing everything is like everything else.' 
 
 ' I never saw anything like you.' 
 
 * You will, then. There is somebody just like me in 
 a picture downstairs. She died when she was fifteen. 
 I hope I'll not die. There is somebody just like Loulou 
 too. Sometimes we play at being pictures, and then 
 we hardly know which is which, do we, Loulou ?' 
 
 ' Yes, we do,' said Loulou. ' I am always me.' 
 
 But when he saw the whole family assembled round 
 the table at supper, under the still row of their ancestors, 
 Lucien held that Celine was right in her contention. 
 The same clear pale brow, the same eyes hazel or 
 water-gray the same sensitive lips. One after another 
 the grandmother told the tradition connected with 
 each how this one had fallen in battle, that one had 
 died young, and that one, again, had disappeared, no 
 one knew how, and these had shed their blood in the 
 old wars of la Vendee. The story might be different, 
 the end was always the same as, indeed, it is in all 
 stories. 
 
 ' Will she die too ?' 
 
 Lucien looked from the young face to the face that 
 had been young a hundred years ago, and never aged. 
 He could not think of death and of this girl together. 
 He remembered the portrait that Madame had shown 
 him. 
 
 ' I, too, am but a living picture.' 
 
 ' I wish Jacinth had come back,' said Celine, after 
 supper. ' It is so dark, and the Reds are about. And 
 grandmother loves us all, but she loves the boys best. 
 And I never feel safe without Jacinth.'
 
 CELINE 181 
 
 ' Nonsense !' said Loulou. ' You have me to take 
 care of you.' 
 
 They went to rest early, for Petit-Pierre was tired 
 and Petit-Paul was indisposed. It was decided that 
 she must remain at la Mouchetiere in any case, as she 
 could not be fit to travel. 
 
 For the first time in his life Lucien found out that 
 sleep loves not the overweary. He could not control his 
 room. So long as daylight lasted it was quiet. Up to 
 within an hour of midnight it was quiet, though restless. 
 Then, just when every other room was hushed, this 
 room began to make noises. It creaked, it breathed. 
 Someone tramped about in the wall. Sometimes there 
 were wires through it, and the wind played on them. 
 He felt as if he were a stretched wire, his nerves 
 vibrating at every sound. 
 
 There was a cupboard by the fireplace, the door of 
 which was always opening of itself silently unlike the 
 other door, which never ceased to rattle, though it was 
 closed. The window did not fit, and rattled also. 
 Except the dumb door, opening on to blackness, how- 
 ever often he shut it, the only noiseless piece of furni- 
 ture was the portrait of an old young gentleman over 
 the mantelshelf, his hand on the hilt of a sword. Like 
 all the well-bred pictures of his day, he sank back into 
 the wall as if a hole had been cut in it. 
 
 The bed had a tester of faded blue. The curtains 
 shook out dream after dream, and they went flying 
 forth, but only if Lucien kept his eyes open to let 
 his eyelids fall was nightmare. The fire never blazed 
 for more than a minute ; do what he would, it burnt 
 low, and the heaped-up coals crumbled. 
 
 In vain he reasoned with himself. Reason for fear
 
 182 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 there is none anywhere in a true man ; and yet no 
 reason avails against it. Lucien feared he knew not 
 what, but he feared slavishly, as in the days when he 
 was a child. 
 
 At length he rose, dressed himself, unbarred the 
 shutter, and threw open the window. 
 
 Down below, under the cherry-tree, what was that ? 
 
 A ghost ? 
 
 Was it the girl in the picture, revisiting her maiden 
 haunts ? 
 
 No, there was Loulou there was someone else. 
 
 Celine looked up and beckoned him to come. 
 
 Before he had lit his candle she was at the door, 
 breathless. 
 
 ' Jacinth is here. The Reds may be here any moment. 
 They want to put Madame into the hole. She cannot 
 cannot hide there. She would die. Come down, 
 come down and save her !' 
 
 There in the hall stood the old young gentleman of 
 the picture, leaning against the table as if he could 
 hardly stand, his hand on the hilt of his sword. 
 Madame stood beside him. Loulou had perched him- 
 self upon a cabinet, his eyes round with wonder and 
 excitement. The grandmother was weeping. 
 
 ' My son has been out all night,' said de la Roberie 
 in answer to a question. ' The Reds are patrolling 
 close by. We may expect a visit any moment.' 
 
 ' Show me the hiding-place,' Madame said. 
 
 ' She cannot, cannot !' whispered Celine, clutching 
 Lucien's arm. 
 
 Her father took the lamp and led the way down a 
 long dark passage into a kitchen at the back. 
 
 ' Where is it ?'
 
 CELINE 183 
 
 ' There, under that heap of potatoes.' 
 
 With the help of his son Madame holding the lamp 
 he cleared them hastily away. Breathlessly they 
 heaved up the great stone that lay underneath, and 
 Madame bent over; but the light illumined only her 
 haggard countenance. Two or three steps went down 
 into the darkness. A mouldy smell of stone came up. 
 Something crawled out. 
 
 * There is just room for Your Royal Highness,' de la 
 Roberie said. ' We can make it appear as if the stone 
 had never been lifted.' 
 
 Madame turned deadly pale ; her eyes glared in their 
 terror. Lucien held his breath. Celine's fingers 
 tightened on his arm. Everyone kept silence. Even 
 de la Roberie dared not urge her. 
 
 A full moment of suspense, and she shook her head. 
 
 ' I will go,' she whispered. 
 
 The grandmother, who was standing behind, clasped 
 her hands together. Neither by word nor look did 
 Madame betray that she had seen, but Lucien felt sure 
 of it. 
 
 ' Are you able to walk a few miles before day- 
 break ?' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I have slept well.' 
 
 ' Then I will take you at once to Stephen's Mill, 
 where you can rest until nightfall. When the moon 
 is up, we will ford the river and go on to la Brosse. 
 Madame Redoi lives there.' 
 
 ' Has she a son ?' 
 
 ' No,' said de la Roberie, looking surprised. 
 
 ' Agreed ! agreed !' 
 
 * Could Your Royal Highness put on wooden shoes 
 like a country woman ?'
 
 184 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Alas, I cannot ! I have tried before. They hurt me 
 too much.' 
 
 ' No matter,' said Celine. ' We can send one of the 
 peasants to rub out the footmarks.' 
 
 Madame ran upstairs to fetch her cloak. 
 
 ' Unbar the outer door, child !' 
 
 Celine, who had let in her brother at the back, 
 obeyed. 
 
 A chill breeze was stirring the leaves and the white 
 buds on the rosebush. The stars had begun to fade. 
 
 'Oh, I wish I could come too!' she cried wistfully, 
 gazing out into the dark. ' How soon, how soon she 
 will be gone ! Perhaps I shall never see her again.' 
 
 Lucien stood shy and silent. The wild, beautiful 
 eyes, the ring of the breaking voice, startled him as if 
 he had heard his own voice uttering thoughts not to be 
 uttered. In the dim light Madame came down the 
 staircase. 
 
 ' Give me a kiss, little one, and kiss my Henri's page 
 for me. Do not forget.' 
 
 The girl flung herself down on the ground, seized 
 Madame's cloak, raised it to her lips, burst into sudden 
 tears and fled. 
 
 Madame gazed after her with a curious expression. 
 
 ' To think all that will be a man's in a year or two !' 
 she murmured. 
 
 The words jarred on Lucien, and he made no re- 
 sponse. 
 
 They had walked some way when Madame turned to 
 him, raising her mouth as if she tasted the keen air, 
 drawing it in with long breaths of delight. 
 
 ' I could not do it, could I ? I could not stay. Dead 
 first and buried afterwards. But to be buried first !'
 
 C&LINE i8s 
 
 Her companion understood that she was talking to 
 herself, not to him, and did not answer. 
 
 ' If the troops had come if they had killed the 
 people of the house ' 
 
 Her quiet tones fell on Lucien like flakes of snow. 
 Could she speak of it thus ? But she was right, of 
 course. 
 
 ' If they had made the servants drunk ' She 
 
 paused, then added slowly : ' I should have been for- 
 gotten down there. I never could have lifted that 
 great stone.' 
 
 Lucien shuddered. 
 
 ' It might have happened very well ; but I would 
 rather much rather be shot. That old mother, too, 
 how frightened she was ! And they were all so fond of 
 each other ! I could not bear it.' 
 
 They walked on for some time in silence, de la 
 Roberie far ahead out of earshot. 
 
 ' Do you know the real reason why I could not stay?' 
 she said suddenly. 
 
 ' You feared to compromise them ?' 
 
 ' No,' she cried ; ' I feared that girl. I dared not 
 look at her. She loves her own people. By-and-by 
 she will love some man who loves her, and be happy. 
 I might have been as she is now. I am not. The man 
 who first made a woman Queen deserves to burn in 
 hell !' 
 
 Lucien was not able to add one thing to another like 
 Jeanne. Where inspiration failed he was defenceless 
 and rather stupid. He could not even conjecture what 
 she meant.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 
 
 ' FAREWELL, Madame ! I must return. My son will 
 be at your command,' said de la Roberie as they came 
 within sight of Stephen's Mill. ' Heaven bless you and 
 keep you safe !' 
 
 ' And you, my friend.' 
 
 He turned sadly away. 
 
 ' I do not know how it is, I feel as if that man were 
 marked out for misfortune. I am glad he is not coming 
 further with us,' she said. 
 
 Several Royalists were gathered together at the Mill, 
 Rene le Remain and Pre"vost de Saint- Marc among 
 them. Their faces boded no good. 
 
 No one knew what had happened. The counter- 
 order had not reached all the chiefs in time. The worst 
 was to be feared. 
 
 In the course of the day de Monti arrived, with two 
 younger friends of the cause. 
 
 The others crowded round them. 
 
 1 Well ?' 
 
 ' All is lost !' 
 
 ' A little vague that,' said Rene le Romain. ' Come to 
 details. In the Romantic School everything depends 
 upon details.'
 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 187 
 
 ' At Bressuire our forces were crushed at once, and at 
 Deux- Sevres.' 
 
 ' " There is a world elsewhere" ' 
 
 ' Who said that ?' 
 
 ' Shakespeare. He's all the rage in Paris now. Hugo 
 swears there is nobody like him.' 
 
 ' Outside France there is no world for a Frenchman. 
 He must have been a fool.' 
 
 ' Once we are at peace again, I shall challenge you. 
 Go on.' 
 
 ' The counter-order did not reach Brittany and Poitou 
 in time. The people rose, but they were overwhelmed 
 by numbers.' 
 
 ' Not de Courson's Division ? Impossible !' 
 
 * There were two obstinate fights, after which they 
 dispersed. He is badly wounded.' 
 
 ' Briant was with him ?' 
 
 ' It was he who cried out " I am a dead man, but 
 long live Henri Cinq !" as he fell. Then he called for 
 a priest. The Abb6 Laisis, chaplain of the Division, 
 took him on his shoulders, confessing him as he went. 
 When they were hard pressed by the Reds, he put him 
 down, seized his gun, shot one, wounded another, took 
 up his burden again and went on. The confession was 
 finished ; and Briant died in peace.' 
 
 ' I will never laugh at a priest again,' said Ren6 le 
 Romain. 
 
 ' But Clouet Clouet ?' 
 
 * Clouet was very ill when he received the counter- 
 order, but he started at once to take it to Gaulier. As 
 soon as he came up, he heard the rattle of musketry 
 the firing had begun. He rushed into the thick of it, 
 and would have fallen, he was so weak, but that Gaulier,
 
 i88 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 with fifteen men, protected him. They kept in check a 
 column of four to five hundred for five hours at a stretch. 
 They reached Saint-Charles without the loss of a single 
 trooper, but they could do no more.' 
 
 'And Cathelineau ?' asked Madame. 
 
 ' Dead. Shot by the Blues five days ago. They 
 found him in a hayloft where he was hiding with 
 Moricet and another friend. The farmer old pere 
 Guinehut kept eight hundred pounds of powder there 
 there was lead too and there were moulds for casting 
 balls any number of printed proclamations, also, though 
 he did not know how to read himself. His son gave 
 warning, and the three gentlemen were all under the 
 floor of the hayloft by the time a detachment of the 
 29th of the Line came up. 
 
 '"Look here, pere Guinehut," said they, "you're a 
 capital fellow. You don't want the war to go on and 
 on without rhyme or reason. Own up ! You know 
 you're sheltering more than one of the old leaders." 
 
 ' " If you think they're in my house, look for them," 
 said pere Guinehut. 
 
 ' So they did. They looked high they looked low 
 they found nothing. They were going away at last, 
 when, as ill-luck would have it, one of them spied a 
 copy of the Quotidienne, which had been left about in a 
 corner when the three gentlemen jumped up from their 
 dinner to hide.' 
 
 'Well?' 
 
 ' Peasants do not take in the papers, as a rule.' 
 
 ' Exactly. It was, " Oh ho, pere Guinehut ! This is 
 more communicative than you are." 
 
 ' " Papers are not forbidden, sir. I suppose I may 
 have a paper like the rest of the world ?"
 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 189 
 
 ' " Oh, it is your paper, is it ? Read us the news, then." 
 
 'They caught him out there he could not read. 
 The search began over again. He was obliged to walk 
 in front, and open every door. At last they came to the 
 hayloft. He saw at once that there was a bit of straw 
 sticking up through the trap, moved to the side, put his 
 foot on it. Nothing was to be found. 
 
 ' " Well, you old Owl you !" said the officer in com- 
 mand, out of all patience, "you have laughed at His 
 Majesty's troops for the last time. Show us where 
 these men are, or we will shoot you and set fire to the 
 loft. There will not be much left of you or your farm 
 either in an hour or two." 
 
 ' Our old friend, madame de la Paumeliere, told me 
 the rest in Guinehut's own words. 
 
 ' " I said to myself, The farm is not mine. Have Ijthe 
 right to let it be burnt when I could stop the thing ? 
 But then I answered, My master is a Royalist. If he 
 were here, he would do like me. Besides, when they 
 have killed me, they will be satisfied, and perhaps they 
 will not burn the house after all. So I said : 
 
 ' " ' Gentlemen, you command here. Shoot me when- 
 ever you will.' 
 
 ' " They made me kneel down they knocked out one of 
 my front-teeth here the musket was at my lips all that, 
 a few steps from the trap-door. The gentlemen below 
 heard everything. Unhappily, they risked their lives. 
 
 ' " ' Do not fire.' 
 
 ' " Up went the trap-door, and there they were, all 
 three of them. 
 
 ' " The soldiers were taken by surprise. 
 
 '"'Shoot the Owls!' cried their officer; but they 
 were in no hurry to obey. He seized a musket and
 
 igo THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 fired on the one nearest to him monsieur de Cathe- 
 lineau who fell dead. The soldiers cried out." ' 
 
 ' What of the other two ?' 
 
 ' They were taken prisoners. They were driven into 
 Cholet in the same cart with the dead body.' 
 
 ' And that very day the secret papers were found by 
 Dermoncourt's men in the wine-bottles in the cellar at 
 la Charliere.' 
 
 ' What all ?' said the duchess, putting her hands to 
 her head. 
 
 ' All, Madame.' 
 
 ' The last blow to my hopes ! Oh, my boy, my boy, 
 you will never know !' 
 
 She turned away. 
 
 ' Achille Guibourg is in the Prison Neuve at Nantes. 
 He was caught early next morning. Dermoncourt vows 
 he will shoot him.' 
 
 'This bloodshed must be stopped at any cost,' she 
 cried, with feverish decision. ' Is it impossible to get 
 the counter-order out ?' 
 
 ' Too late, Madame. The position is desperate. All 
 that remains for you to do is to gain the coast and to fly.' 
 
 ' I tell you, I will not !' she said proudly. ' I dismiss 
 the first man who mentions the word flight to me. I 
 am going to la Brosse. Is everything ready ?' 
 
 'A boat will be in waiting for Your Royal Highness 
 by ten o'clock,' said the younger Jacinth. ' The moon 
 is nearly at the full to-night. I have sent word to the 
 guides to meet us on the further bank.' 
 
 ' If Your Royal Highness will take my advice,' said 
 de Charette, ' you will rest while you can.' 
 
 She included them all in one sweeping bow and left 
 the room.
 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 191 
 
 ' Indomitable !' 
 
 It was de Charette who spoke. 
 
 ' She is not like other women. I have never in my 
 life seen her cry.' 
 
 * This is the first day that I have not heard her laugh.' 
 
 ' If she cannot teach us to win, she can teach us 
 to die,' said Rene. 
 
 ' Die ? Not she ! She will not die till she is ninety.' 
 
 'Joan of Arc was made of stuff like this Blanche 
 of Castille Maria Theresa. She will rescue us in the 
 end.' 
 
 ' One thing is certain,' said Rene* le Remain. ' I 
 follow her to Paris or to heaven, and I do not know 
 that I care which.' 
 
 ' We have nothing to do with our ultimate destination 
 just now, sir,' said de Charette. ' That is a matter beyond 
 generalship. Meantime we must make our dispositions. 
 I am told that a number of picked men are assembling 
 at la Penissiere. I desire that you will let me know 
 within the next hour, whether you desire to join that 
 contingent or to remain with me. We shall cross the 
 Boulogne together, and then divide forces. I have some 
 arrangements to make. Farewell for the present.' 
 
 ' What is this force at la Pe"nissiere ?' said Lucien. 
 ' We never heard of it before.' 
 
 ' I shall go,' said Rene le Remain. ' I am tired of this 
 idle life. De Charette cannot leave Madame ; he will 
 not bring on an action while she is in the neighbour- 
 hood. There is nothing for it but to die and we 
 may as well see something first. La Penissiere for 
 my money !' 
 
 'For mine, too!' said Lucien. 'I will go with 
 you.'
 
 iga THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 At last he saw the flash of swords within reach of 
 him. He thirsted for the moment of the fight for the 
 moment after when he should sing of it. 
 
 ' I wish that I could accompany you,' said de Monti, 
 ' but I am pledged. " Never make a promise," my 
 glorious old father used to say ; " but if you make it, 
 never break it." ' 
 
 ' De Mesnard will not leave Madame, and Jacinth de 
 la Roberie is under a solemn vow to his father never 
 to quit her side. There are only two, then, for la 
 Penissiere.' 
 
 The river was flowing crystal smooth in glassy love- 
 liness that night when the four younger men rowed 
 across the boat that held the fortunes of France. 
 Madame sat in the bow. She had loosened her fur 
 mantle, for it was warm ; she leant over the edge, 
 trailing her white hand in the water. Now and then a 
 light breeze rippled the surface and shook the water- 
 stars into a snaky chain of fire. The air was full of the 
 scent of lilac. The nightingales were calling to each 
 other from distant groves. 
 
 'Ah!' she whispered as they drew to land, 'why 
 could it not go on like that for ever ?' 
 
 She looked wan and tired in the moonlight. 
 
 ' It is not far to the Robbers' Oak, Madame. The 
 guides will meet us there,' said Jacinth. 
 
 One guide was to take Madame to la Brosse, 
 while the other conducted her guard to Montbert. 
 
 But when they reached the Robbers' Oak, the guides 
 had not come. 
 
 ' Let me lie down for a few minutes. We are early ; 
 they will not be here yet.' 
 
 De Monti set upon the grass the little portmanteau
 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 193 
 
 which held her clothes and papers, and disposed a cloak 
 over it. 
 
 ' That will make a beautiful pillow !' 
 
 In a moment her head was resting there, and she had 
 fallen asleep. The gnarled branches of the ancient tree 
 covered her with a network of shadow. 
 
 ' There sleeps the last Queen of France !' 
 
 Who said it Lucien did not know. 
 
 ' Oh, if she could but sleep till we had all died, and 
 wake to find herself Queen indeed !' 
 
 This also was only a voice of the night. 
 
 ' It is the old place of execution. Many a thief, as he 
 looked his last on the moon from these boughs, must 
 have cursed her ancestors.' 
 
 ' Hush ! perhaps that is why she is asleep to-night 
 underneath them.' 
 
 ' Some people would say that we are thieves our- 
 selves.' 
 
 ' Stealing her child's kingdom for her dying that 
 this tree may be called his ?' 
 
 ' Why not ? It is a cause like another. Her con- 
 science is good, at any rate. Look how- she sleeps !' 
 
 ' The duchess of Berry and her absurd baby* Again 
 Blum's words recurred to Lucien. 
 
 Far away in dreary, crowded Lyons, Blum was toil- 
 ing for an army of labourers who had no inheritance, 
 not so much as an hour in the twenty-four of which 
 they could say, ' That is mine !' It was the end of 
 this hard, ungrudged, and unrewarded labour that 
 Blum called 'the cause.' As he breathed the sweet 
 smell of the woods, deep thankfulness possessed Lucien 
 that he had found another. Yet pity stirred within 
 him for those poor people who had loved his Song. 
 
 13
 
 194 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 He murmured over the words of one of B6ranger's, 
 which had haunted him ever since he heard it sung 
 about the streets two years ago : 
 
 ' Us penseront a notre peine, 
 Et, 1'orage enfin dissipe", 
 Us reviendront sur le vieux chene 
 Que tant de fois il a frappeV 
 
 Rene" took up the cue : 
 
 ' Pour prddire au vallon fertile 
 Des beaux jours alors plus constants, 
 Les oiseaux que 1'hiver exile 
 Reviendront avec le printemps.' 
 
 Presently, on all fours, the guides came stealing 
 through the thicket. The crackle of the bushes awoke 
 Madame, and she sat up. 
 
 ' Let us confess, gentlemen, that we look much 
 more like a band of robbers than like the honest folk 
 we are !' 
 
 Her merry laugh rang clear and fresh through the 
 forest. 
 
 Old de Mesnard put up a warning finger, but the rest 
 were in no mood to check her. 
 
 'Well, I suppose there is not a moment to spare. 
 To me, my followers ! What ! only three ?' 
 
 ' Edouard and I are bound for Montbert, Your Royal 
 Highness.' 
 
 ' Is it even so ? Farewell ! Farewell, Edouard ! 
 And you, Monsieur le Remain, are reinforcing la 
 Penissiere ? You are not going to leave me ?' 
 
 Her voice changed as Lucien fell on one knee and 
 kissed her hand. 
 
 ' Do not go ! Why will you go ?'
 
 THE ROBBERS' OAK 195 
 
 ' To return, Madame !' 
 
 Her hand shook. She turned aside. To him alone 
 she said no word of parting. He walked away quickly, 
 outstriding Rene le Remain. 
 
 ' Look ! look !' his comrade called after him. 
 
 Looking back he saw the little figure in the full light 
 of the moon, erect upon a fallen elm, and heard her 
 cry : 
 
 * Courage, my friends ! Courage ! courage ! And 
 hope !' 
 
 132
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE SILVER KEY 
 
 IN thin, fine rain, three days later, Lucien and his 
 friend arrived at the chateau de la Penissiere. A mist 
 was rising. Only the upper boughs of the trees 
 appeared, hung in the air, it seemed, having no root 
 nor stem on earth. The house was without founda- 
 tion. They saw the gabled roofs of the long irregular 
 upper story, and the tower of the Chapel and the 
 topmost angle of a great barn which formed the wings. 
 
 ' Here is the churchyard !' said Le Remain. 
 
 ' Where ?' 
 
 ' Why, the chateau, of course ! We shall all be flat 
 on our backs there to-morrow.' 
 
 ' It is better than growing old.' 
 
 ' Certainly. I never could see the use of old people 
 myself.' 
 
 * I like old women,' said Lucien, thinking of his 
 nurse. 
 
 ' Extraordinary man ! But you like young women, 
 too, I suppose ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 No no and no, he said to himself again. Madame 
 was not young. Mademoiselle Jeanne did not count ; 
 she was ' Mademoiselle Jeanne.'
 
 THE SILVER KEY 197 
 
 The first person whom he met on the threshold was 
 the marquis. 
 
 ' You are surprised to see me ?' said the marquis. 
 ' But I was born in la Vendee.' 
 
 He seemed to think this fact explained his conduct. 
 
 ' Why did you leave the Regent ?' he went on. 
 
 ' Sir,' said Lucien, ' my friend here, monsieur le 
 Remain, told me that the general was determined not 
 to fight anywhere in her neighbourhood.' 
 
 The marquis frowned, and smiled. 
 
 'Ah, well!' he said, 'I have been young myself. 
 Your poetry will be none the worse because you have 
 seen a few shots fired.' 
 
 ' I hope to fire a few myself, sir.' 
 
 ' It is a curious thing,' said the marquis, ' but I have 
 never known a man of letters who was a good marks- 
 man. You will probably shoot me by mistake. Not 
 that it matters. ^Eschylus did not win the Battle of 
 Marathon, but it is a good thing for the world that 
 ^Eschylus was there. You will find an excellent col- 
 lection of books in the armoury at the other end of 
 the passage small but choice. I advise you to study 
 Epitaphs.' 
 
 Not till he found himself once more in a room the 
 walls of which were lined with books did Lucien recol- 
 lect how long he had gone without them. Feverishly, 
 as a famished man eats, he fell upon them, and de- 
 voured now this, now that, unwitting how they tasted, 
 conscious only that here was food at last. 
 
 Rows of tall old brown volumes in straight, severe, 
 dusty lines stood ordered in their cases from floor to 
 ceiling, divided by Oriental knives, rapiers, daggers, 
 swords, pistols, coats of mail. The silver gleam of
 
 ig8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 steel relieved the mossy drab of ancient binding. The 
 curved grace of the scimitar, circling this way and that, 
 played like a crescent moon between the rigid stiffness 
 of one bookshelf and the next. The light those yellow 
 folios drank was given out again from the boss of a 
 shield, from the spike of a helmet. The flickering 
 beauty of weapons wrought by the dark hands of the 
 East, the fine edge rippled in imitation of Nature's 
 craft of wave and flame, the flash of eyes, ruby and 
 sapphire, the tiny round of turquoise blue let in to rest 
 the human eye, wearied with brightness all these 
 dazzled Lucien with a sense of the wonder of warfare. 
 He had been living among trees and flowers, no songs but 
 those of birds in his ear. Now there awoke in him the 
 chant of battle, the cry love hears in death, death in love. 
 
 Above his head hung a pair of russet iron gauntlets, 
 the word 'Amor' engraved upon their fluted cuffs. 
 Who and what was the man who carried that word into 
 mortal combat four hundred years ago ? A prince 
 among his fellows, no doubt ; one who thought, like the 
 duchess, that the ends of love were served by fire, 
 famine and slaughter. 
 
 On the saddle close by, decorated with polished 
 stag's horn, was depicted a woman holding a long scarf 
 with this inscription : 
 
 4 1 am here, I know not how. 
 I go hence, I know not whither. 
 Welladay ! with my will thou art never forgotten.' 
 
 A man held the other end, and spoke thus : 
 
 ' I go, I stay ! The longer I stay 
 The fiercer is madness. 
 Thine for ever, thy betrothed the world over !'
 
 THE SILVER KEY 199 
 
 Again on the woman's side : 
 
 1 But if the war should end ?' 
 And on the man's : 
 
 ' I rejoice to be there, there always.' 
 Below, upon the panel of a cinquedia, stood this : 
 ' God and Nature have made nothing in vain.' 
 
 Nothing in vain ! Long since the swan, whose per- 
 fect breast the armourer copied for his headpiece, had 
 floated down the river to die, long since had died 
 artificer and warrior and the high prince they served. 
 
 Not in vain ! 
 
 Mindful of boyhood, Lucien took down a manuscript, 
 an old copy of Froissart, illuminated by a patient, careful 
 monk, whose peaceful heart rejoiced in the embroidery 
 of war. He opened on a little glowing picture of blue, 
 gold and crimson, wherein two banners were displayed, 
 one covered with lions and fleurs-de-lis, one bearing the 
 cross on a white ground. Over against them a man 
 mounted on a skeleton of a horse, bent forward, till he 
 was half deformed by eagerness, the forefinger of his 
 right hand on the thumb of his left, was speaking with 
 persuasive vehemence. Underneath Lucien read : 
 
 ' What have we deserved, or why should we be kept thus in 
 bondage ? We be all come from one father and one mother, Adam 
 and Eve : whereby can they say or show that they be greater lords 
 than we be ?' 
 
 It was Blum, Charles Blum of Lyons, who preached 
 out of the mouth of the ' foolish priest ' in the great 
 chronicler. Blum and the ' foolish priest ' were wrong, 
 were deadly in their error. Yet for an instant Madame
 
 200 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 had seemed to be at one with them, in that strange cry 
 of hers against the man who first made Kings and Queens. 
 Outside people were tramping to and fro in the 
 passage, clattering up and down the stairs, filling the 
 little bedrooms as rabbits fill a warren. Fresh arrivals 
 every minute, servants lighting fires, bringing bread 
 and cheese and beer, quarrels, differences, altercations 
 peace wherever the marquis happened to be, battle and 
 confusion everywhere else. A motley company was 
 gathering at la Pe"nissiere in its master's absence. 
 Le Romain, who came at length to call Lucien to 
 supper, brought word of it. 
 
 'A strange crew, and no mistake !' said he. ' Picked 
 men ! What could the general have been thinking of? 
 There are three officers of the Royal Guard, it is true, 
 and two of the Line, and there are three trumpets of 
 the Voltigeurs they have half deafened me already ; 
 but as for the rest ' 
 
 ' Who are they ?' 
 
 ' Ancient peasants that sailed with Noah in the Ark, 
 I should think; boys who left college about three 
 weeks ago ; beggars come in for shelter from the rain. 
 I cannot imagine what the marquis is about, receiving 
 every one of them as if he were a prince.' 
 
 ' A prince has only two arms and two legs. I should 
 back the beggar to win, if it came to a hand-to-hand 
 tussle. Is there no one else ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes. Eugene de Girardin is here and his three 
 brothers, Fourre" and two of his, Joulin and his father, 
 Aubert, Aucler, Guinefolle, de Chevreuse ' 
 
 ' I do not know them,' said Lucien, smiling. ' Count 
 me among the beggars !' 
 
 ' Not while you look so like a prince, my friend ! 

 
 THE SILVER KEY 201 
 
 When first I saw you I trembled for the duchess. 
 These chance resemblances are very odd ; but there is 
 nothing in it, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Nothing in life !' said Lucien. 
 
 ' Come !' 
 
 ' The rain has cleared off, it is a glorious evening !' 
 said the marquis when they had finished supper. 
 ' There is a target and a good range on the bowling- 
 green. Who will hit me this white cockade ? What 
 say you, gentlemen ? Is it a bargain ? We will drink 
 the winner's health in champagne.' 
 
 Loud cries of approval greeted the suggestion. 
 
 They ransacked the armoury. Pistols of various 
 sizes and ages were produced. The white cockade was 
 pinned to the centre of the target. The range was 
 quickly found, and the competitors formed up in file. 
 
 ' Sound trumpets !' cried the marquis ; and the con- 
 test began. 
 
 No one, however, hit the mark. It was the waning 
 light, said some. It was the white dazzle of the ribbon, 
 said others. The marquis was busily inscribing in his 
 notebook the names of those who had done best. 
 
 * Here, take my pistol, Sylvestre !' cried Rene". ' It is 
 your turn now.' 
 
 ' I ?' said Lucien. ' I never shot anything in my life.' 
 
 He had paid little attention to the game. He was 
 happy to feel his chill hands touched by the long, slant- 
 ing rays of the sun, to breathe the clear, washed air, to 
 catch the glitter of raindrops on leaf and spray. Never- 
 theless, he took the pistol. 
 
 ' Hold it straight !' cried Rene 1 . 
 
 Lucien did as he was told, aimed slowly, steadily. 
 The white cockade fell from the target. 

 
 202 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 A burst of frantic applause hailed the achievement. 
 
 'Hulloa!' cried Rene", 'you keep your accomplish- 
 ments dark, young man !' 
 
 The marquis smiled. 
 
 ' I did not know that you could shoot, Sylvestre.' 
 
 ' I was unaware of it myself, sir, until two minutes 
 ago ; it was pure accident.' 
 
 The hero who discredits himself puts the finishing 
 touch on his popularity. Lucien's comrades hoisted 
 him shoulder-high and bore him in triumph back to the 
 chateau, where he drank his champagne standing on a 
 table, and delivered a speech on the favours of Fortune. 
 He found himself the marvel of the evening. Shouts 
 of delighted laughter interrupted him every moment. 
 
 ' It appears that he can speak as well as shoot,' said 
 the marquis. ' I suppose that is an accident also.' 
 
 ' Bravo !' cried Ren6 le Remain when he had done. 
 ' This is only a rehearsal, Sylvestre. We will encore it 
 the night that Henri Cinq is crowned.' 
 
 ' Long live Henri Cinq ! Long live the Regent !' 
 shouted Lucien, the rest shouting after him till they 
 were hoarse. 
 
 ' To think that forty-two men can make such a noise !' 
 said the marquis, unstopping his ears when it was over. 
 ' I should have said there were eighty, at least.' 
 
 ' There are only thirty-nine men, sir,' said Rene ; ' but 
 there are three trumpeters. You forget that.' 
 
 ' You made as much din as thirty trumpeters in your 
 own person,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' Well, I am glad I did,' said Rene". ' We shall be 
 quiet enough this time to-morrow night, some of us. 
 Do you think I shall see you again in the other world, 
 Lucien ?' 

 
 THE SILVER KEY 203 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' I do not know ; you are better than I am. I wish 
 there were a priest here ; I should like to confess.' 
 
 ' I absolve you.' 
 
 Lucien did not say it lightly. 
 
 ' Ah, but you do not know ! If you had lived in 
 
 Paris Lucien, if I am killed, will you promise me 
 
 one thing ?' 
 
 * Anything in the world, dear friend.' 
 
 ' It is this : Will you go to Victor Hugo go to him 
 the night his new play comes out, when all the flatterers 
 have done and say to him, " Rene le Remain is dead, 
 and on his tombstone are these words : ' Here lies one 
 who believed in Victor Hugo ' " ? I have had the tomb- 
 stone cut in marble ; it is all ready.' 
 
 Lucien smiled. 
 
 ' I will do your errand,' he said. 
 
 The world was wonderful that night. The coming 
 near of the unseen was welcome to him always. He 
 did not for an instant believe that Ren6 would fall. 
 Rene w T as of the earth, earthy and red-faced ; a dear 
 good fellow as ever lived ; a little tiresome now and 
 then about Victor Hugo. 
 
 ' You are not the kind of man who dies young, 
 Rene. You are the kind of man who lives to be a 
 hundred.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Rene, laughing, ' if I do not fulfil my 
 destiny, remember to fulfil yours.' 
 
 ' What is it ?' 
 
 ' To live to live more than a hundred years.' 
 
 Lucien made no answer. 
 
 His friend's words echoed and re-echoed in him like 
 the voices of the people in the streets of Lyons two 

 
 204 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 months before. He would have done anything for 
 Rene" le Romain. 
 
 The others had gone out whilst they were talking. 
 The house was still ; the very stillness of it was musical 
 with praise. 
 
 Only the marquis remained, sitting at the end of the 
 table, a long way off, drawing a plan of the house with 
 a pair of compasses and a pencil. 
 
 ' Fifteen windows,' he said, as though to himself 
 * fifteen windows in front.' 
 
 ' You seem to be making preparations for a siege, sir,' 
 said Ren. ' Permit me to say that I have never, even 
 in the War Office, beheld a plan more beautifully drawn 
 to scale. Look here, Lucien !' 
 
 ' It is no news to me that the marquis can do anything 
 and everything,' said Lucien. 
 
 De Civrac took no notice. He went on filling in a 
 staircase. 
 
 ' I thought we were to go to Cugan to-morrow morning 
 to disarm the National Guard.' 
 
 ' Maybe,' said the marquis, with the utmost in- 
 difference. 
 
 ' I shall go and clean my pistols, I think.' 
 
 The marquis made no motion, either to encourage 
 or to restrain ; Lucien was full of his own immortal 
 works; and Ren6 left them in search of gayer com- 
 panions. 
 
 ' That young man talks too much,' said the marquis. 
 ' He is an excellent young man, but he makes my head 
 ache. Sit down, Lucien. The sooner you get it out of 
 your head that you are going to disarm the National 
 Guard to-morrow, the better. Louis- Philippe's troops 
 are in great strength all round us. They will never
 
 THE SILVER KEY 205 
 
 permit us to leave this place alive as a body, I mean. 
 One or two may escape. You think that you will be 
 among the number, do you not ?' 
 
 ' I mean to write a poem about the fight, sir.' 
 
 ' Happy confidence of youth !' said the marquis. ' I 
 have no Song of Battle to write ; I have the forty-second 
 part of a bare chance of escape. To-morrow I may be 
 here or elsewhere ; in case it is elsewhere, I wish to 
 explain my conduct towards you. I should like to tell 
 you also that your future, if you live, is assured ; I have 
 left you all that I possess.' 
 
 ' Why ?' said Lucien. 
 
 It was the only word that occurred to him in his 
 bewilderment. 
 
 ' Firstly, I believe that you will, when you are a little 
 older, write good poems. I am doing the best I can for 
 my country if I endow you. Dark enough life has been, 
 bright here and there with poetry; but I should not 
 have made you my heir if you had not proved in the last 
 eighteen months that you are capable of earning your 
 own livelihood. I see now that if I help France to 
 another poet, I shall not deprive her of a man.' 
 
 ' I cannot accept,' said Lucien. ' I can only write 
 sometimes, not always. I found that out when Blum 
 tried to make me work for the papers. If I took the 
 money, and did nothing, I should be dishonoured ; I 
 had rather starve.' 
 
 ' You are right ; it would be better for you,' said the 
 marquis. ' But hear my second reason. You have not 
 lived to your present age without any conjecture as to 
 the circumstances of your birth ?' 
 
 ' I do not allow myself to think,' said Lucien, after a 
 moment's pause. ' I honour my mother's memory.'
 
 206 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' You are right there, too,' said the marquis. 
 He seemed to meditate. 
 
 ' I am not going to tell you a long story,' he went on 
 later ; ' narrative is not my strong point. The heroine 
 of " The Tempest " a play I like much better than that 
 " Macbeth " about which the Romantic School makes 
 such a fuss the heroine of " The Tempest," I say, fell 
 asleep while her father was explaining to her how she 
 came to be born, and I do not desire that you should 
 play Miranda to my Prospero. Transcendentally, it 
 does not matter in the least whether or no, for forty or 
 fifty years, you call yourself by the name which I bear. 
 I am not your father. Could I have killed the man 
 who was, I would have done so.' 
 
 ' Tell me, sir, I beseech you : is my mother living ?' 
 The marquis shook his head. 
 ' Except in you no.' 
 ' Then, I am like her ?' 
 
 ' So like her that in you I see no one else. Madame 
 was the first to point out to me another resemblance ; 
 that may or may not be deceptive. It was the last 
 hope that I had of stopping her in this mad enterprise, 
 and I did not scruple to use it. I do not ask your 
 forgiveness.' 
 
 ' Then, my father ' 
 
 ' I do not know who he was. Your mother's brother 
 was a hard man ; he compelled her to go with him in 
 disguise, I think to some remote country place, where 
 he told me that she herself, in a fit of madness, destroyed 
 her child. This I never believed. She sent for me in 
 secret before she died ; she could hardly speak then. 
 She gave me the snuff-box which I forwarded to the 
 duchess by you, and a locked casket with a label, on
 
 THE SILVER KEY 207 
 
 which she had traced the words : " Promise me that you 
 will never open this till you have found the key." ' 
 ' Here is the key !' said Lucien. 
 
 He unfastened the silken chain that he wore round 
 his neck, and handed it to the marquis, who looked at 
 it curiously. 
 
 ' What would I not have given once for the posses- 
 sion of that ?' he said. ' Well, all things pass !' 
 When he resumed, it was in his usual tone. 
 ' Keep it ! You have more right to it than I. If 
 you survive me, you will find the casket inside the deal 
 box on the chest in my room. I have no idea of its 
 contents. Was this your sole inheritance ?' 
 ' Except a few words, yes.' 
 
 As he had told it to Madame, Lucien told the tale 
 of the stormy night of the two strangers of their 
 conversation in the same words that his foster-mother 
 used when she told it to him. He felt quite unmoved. 
 It was like fitting together the bits of a puzzle his life 
 was not concerned. 
 
 The marquis looked thoughtful. 
 ' The two strangers were your uncle and your mother,' 
 he said at last. ' Clearly they desired to leave upon the 
 mind of their host the impression that they had killed 
 something. It was New Year's Eve, you say. Your 
 mother died in the month of March in the year 1812. 
 Your uncle was killed by a fall from his horse in the 
 February of the following year.' 
 
 ' Three months and thirteen months.' 
 
 ' Yes ; it seems to tally, but there is no link. They 
 
 could not have known that they would die beforehand. 
 
 The casket may contain the missing clue. The allusion 
 
 to another woman puzzles me. I thought that no one
 
 208 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 but myself had any knowledge of the story. Stay ! 
 Your uncle, having no direct heirs, left all that he pos- 
 sessed to madame de Feucheres, who was a mere girl 
 at the time. Your mother made a pet of her, and she 
 was often at the house ; but it occasioned some talk. 
 They used to call her " the countess " in jest. You 
 must find madame de Feucheres.' 
 
 ' Who is madame de Feucheres ? Where can I find 
 her?' 
 
 ' Who is she ? That is what many men would like 
 to know. You will find her in Paris. Ask anyone 
 there and he will tell you who she is ; only, no two 
 people will agree. For myself I do not choose to 
 speak of her. But she can do you no harm. She is 
 rather old now. And she may tell you something that 
 it is right you should hear.' 
 
 Again the shadowy past eluded Lucien just as he 
 thought he was about to grasp it. Madame had seemed 
 to hold it the marquis had seemed to hold it now 
 this unknown madame de Feucheres held it. After all, 
 it was but as a tale that is told. Before him lay the 
 bright future, alive and glorious. 
 
 ' You see,' said the marquis, ' I have the right to 
 provide for you. Your mother gave me nothing else, 
 but she gave me that.' 
 
 Lucien remembered the bare, austere walls of the 
 cell-like room at Morfontaine. 
 
 ' You will sell Morfontaine, or live there, as you please,' 
 continued the marquis. 
 
 Blank terror of desolation overcame the younger man 
 at the words. 
 
 ' I cannot ' he said, and stopped. 
 
 ' I have no son of my own,' said the marquis. ' There
 
 THE SILVER KEY 209 
 
 are certain provisions in my will with regard to the 
 cook, for example I rely on you to carry them out, 
 Lucien. The cook has done her duty by me.' 
 
 ' Sir,' said Lucien, ' I will try to do mine.' 
 He had smiled at the recommendation of his pro- 
 tector; but, with quick reversion, ' I cannot!' he cried, 
 putting his hand before his eyes. ' I never can.' 
 
 ' Hush !' said the marquis, ' do not exaggerate. Re- 
 member if you are wounded or killed to-morrow, you 
 owe it to me. I sent you to Madame. I knew that 
 what has happened would be likely to happen. I knew 
 it was improbable that she would listen. There was 
 but a slender chance ; she outwitted me and her own 
 conscience. Yet I thought and I still think it was 
 right to risk your life to save that of others. War 
 between men who speak the same speech is a terrible 
 thing. Do you agree ?' 
 
 ' When you sent me to Madame, sir, you made a 
 mere existence life. Can you ask me if you were 
 right ?' 
 
 ' Ah !' said the marquis, ' then that was not life in 
 Lyons ? I thought as much. Your friend what was 
 his name ? failed to satisfy you in the end ?' 
 
 ' He was and is my friend,' said Lucien. ' After your- 
 self, sir, I love and respect him. But I could not live 
 as he does. He does not know the duchess.' 
 
 ' She is a remarkable woman, no doubt,' said the 
 marquis after a pause. ' Religion loyalty are not 
 mere words to her. She refused the duke of Condi's 
 offer to endow her son with his vast property, for instance, 
 because she would have nothing to do with madame de 
 Feucheres. But I appealed to her in vain to stop this 
 bloodshed. If I live, I shall appeal to her once more 
 
 14
 
 210 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 after to-morrow. Why did not de la Roberie join her 
 
 at the Mill, by the way ?' 
 
 ' Her Royal Highness forgot to warn him.' 
 
 ' Ah, she forgot !' said the marquis. ' Women are 
 
 women, not angels. Remember that !' 
 Lucien reserved his opinion.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST 
 
 THE night passed quietly enough the morning rose 
 gloomy and dark. 
 
 The three trumpeters, who had gone out to recon- 
 noitre, came home about ten o'clock, and gave it as 
 their opinion that it would be safe to venture on Cugan. 
 
 The marquis shrugged his shoulders, but made no 
 further comment. 
 
 They were tearing down the old trophies which adorned 
 the hall, busily arming themselves with any weapon they 
 could find, when a loud shout made everyone start, and 
 a tremendous cry rang out, ' To arms /' . 
 
 ' The sound comes from the direction of Clisson,' said 
 the marquis ; ' the Reds must be near enough. We 
 cannot get out that is certain but they shall find 
 that it is not so easy for them to get in. Up to the 
 landing on the first story, boys ! Quick ! Monsieur le 
 Remain will command there.' 
 
 He tore a leaf from his pocket-book. 
 
 * There are eight windows. The four brothers de 
 Girardin the elder and the younger Fourre Rene le 
 Remain one of you to each, and take what supports 
 you need. I will see to the seven windows on the 
 ground-floor. Go with Le Remain, Sylvestre. Anyone 
 
 14 2
 
 212 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 who has pistols, here ! You twelve men to the Chapel ! 
 Trumpeters on the first-floor ! Carbines and bayonets, 
 there ! Look to your swords ! The rest, load and pass 
 up!' 
 
 The clamorous voices hushed. Each man got silently 
 to his place. Lucien held the window in the centre, 
 next to Le Romain's. When he looked up, the marquis 
 was standing by him. Under the gray sky the hostile 
 regiments pressed on. 
 
 'There are thousands of them!' cried Le Romain. 
 ' Will they never stop ? May we fire, sir ?' 
 
 ' Not yet. Wait till they reach the Chapel. We 
 have not much ammunition. Remember not to waste 
 it. Steady !' 
 
 He laid his hand on the shoulder of an eager marks- 
 man whose fingers were trembling. 
 
 Stillness had fallen on the defenders. Every man 
 was at his post. Everyone had his lips tight his eyes 
 keenly set. Nearer and nearer came the cries. 
 
 ' Surrender !' 
 
 'Yield!' 
 
 ' Surrender !' 
 
 ' May we shout, sir ?' 
 
 ' No, wait.' 
 
 ' Surrender, brigands that you are !' 
 
 ' When ?' said Le Romain, between his teeth. 
 
 ' Not yet, not before they touch the angle of the Chapel 
 wall.' 
 
 ' How slow they are !' 
 
 Even as he spoke Lucien saw that the soldiers were 
 coming on at a run. 
 
 ' Sound trumpets !' cried the marquis. ' Long live 
 Henri Cinq !'
 
 THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST 213 
 
 The clangour of brass mingled with the wild shout 
 that echoed him. Fifteen men fell from the front rank. 
 Every shot from every window had gone home. The 
 soldiers halted. 
 
 Lucien shut his eyes for a second. 
 
 ' Is this murder that I have done ?' 
 
 'Again !' said the marquis. 
 
 ' In the image of God ' 
 
 The words flashed before one of the defenders bright 
 as the flash of the muskets. 
 
 ' Long live the Regent !' cried Le Romain. 
 
 The loaded weapons were given back the second 
 volley whistled through the air. 
 
 Again fifteen men fell ; but their places were filled up 
 rapidly from behind, and this time the men came on 
 only a few steps, however. The blood rushed back to 
 Lucien's heart, the faint horror left him as a ball flew 
 past his head and lodged in the wainscot. 
 
 ' They are aiming wildly,' said the marquis. ' A few 
 more rounds like that, and they will retire. Gentlemen 
 against the world, always !' 
 
 He was right. Encouraged by their officers, the Reds 
 made a few more half-hearted attempts, and fell back. 
 
 Lucien and his fellows took breath. 
 
 In the momentary lull the marquis was here, there, 
 everywhere. He had no need to complain of the spirit 
 of his little garrison. 
 
 Peals of laughter greeted him. 
 
 Everyone worked with a will. 
 
 ' Let not a man cross the yard !' he cried. ' If they 
 fire the house, we are lost. Pull down the ceiling, you 
 lazy loons here ! Get out the beams ! We must have 
 loopholes up above. Consolidate the barricades !'
 
 214 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Glorious !' shouted Le Remain. 
 
 ' Glorious !' cried Lucien, seizing the musket as it 
 was passed up to him and firing again. All the time 
 he thought that glory was very much like murder. 
 
 ' Glorious !' repeated Le Remain. ' If Victor Hugo 
 were here, he ' 
 
 The rest of the sentence was lost in the clatter of 
 falling beams, as a gigantic man with an axe let the light 
 in behind. 
 
 * They are within twenty steps of us. Fire !' 
 
 A hail of bullets descended. The besiegers shook, 
 wavered, fled. Shrieks of derisive triumph went up from 
 the besieged. 
 
 ' See, they are coming on again !' 
 
 Again they rushed across the yard. Again they came 
 within twenty paces, only to be repulsed with heavier loss. 
 In the pause that followed, Lucien heard a little clock 
 on the mantelshelf strike five, and wondered if he had 
 gone mad. Had they been fighting there seven hours ? 
 
 ' Volunteers for a forlorn hope !' cried the marquis. 
 ' They are trying to get into the barn. If they set it on 
 fire, the wind is towards us we are lost. There is no 
 loophole in that gable the farm wall gives them cover. 
 Volunteers to defend the barn !' 
 
 ' Here am I !' 
 
 Lucien heard his own voice alone. 
 
 ' It is desperate, sir,' said Le Remain, ' no one can 
 possibly escape.' 
 
 * One will do,' said the marquis. ' Down the corridor, 
 Lucien the first door on the right. There are planks 
 across. Hold the window of the barn while we pull 
 the roof down. If they get that ladder planted, retire.' 
 
 Out of the storm of heat and noise into the momen-
 
 THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST 215 
 
 tary silence, the cool, narrow darkness of the arched 
 passage ! As he ran Lucien touched the thick stone 
 wall with his hand to feel the fresh cold of it. 
 
 A moment after, besiegers and besieged saw his form 
 clear against the sky on the plank bridge leading from 
 the house to the barn, and heard a strong young voice 
 sing: 
 
 ' Death is gone a-riding 
 
 Where many riders be. 
 Not a man is hiding, 
 Never a man would flee.' 
 
 There was a breathless pause on either side. The 
 last two lines were lost as he clambered in. 
 
 ' Fire !' cried the leader of the Reds. 
 
 Lucien had reached the window of the barn and flung 
 it open. When the smoke cleared away, there he still 
 stood, laughing and singing. 
 
 A ringing cheer went up from his own broke, as if 
 by compulsion, from the ranks of the enemy. He 
 levelled his musket, and the private advancing with the 
 ladder fell. 
 
 A second took it, a third, a fourth, only to meet the 
 same fate. 
 
 The young fellow singing at the window bore a 
 charmed life. Within the chateau itself man after man 
 fell, badly wounded. Nothing could touch him. The 
 roof was coming down bit by bit, but slowly, because 
 few could be spared from the windows. The party in 
 the Chapel had been compelled to retire ; they rein- 
 forced the workers. While the ladder was not set up 
 there was hope, for the Reds could not fire the barn. 
 
 Suddenly a harsh yell of delight rent the air. Sixteen 
 men out of fifty had run the gauntlet along the wall ;
 
 216 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the ladder was planted. One tall stout man had his 
 foot on the second rung. Lucien's last round was fired. 
 A shot, whizzing by, grazed his cheek. 
 
 ' Retire ! retire !' shouted the defenders. 
 
 Leaning far out from the window, putting forth all 
 his strength in one great effort, Lucien hurled his 
 assailant down the ladder. The air rang round him 
 with cries of mingled wrath and admiration. The 
 ladder was planted again this time securely. 
 
 Again a crowd of men advanced to the assault. 
 
 ' Retire !' 
 
 The voice of the marquis came, clear and stern, across 
 the yard. 
 
 Lucien stood for an instant, holding his useless 
 musket, raised his eyebrows as the balls whistled harm- 
 lessly round him, waved his hand to the colonel of the 
 regiment, fled back over the wooden bridge. His com- 
 rades cheered him lustily as he walked in amongst them. 
 Above the cheers, and with some different sense, he 
 heard the quiet ' Well done !' of his leader. 
 
 ' What a queer Song that was, too !' said the marquis. 
 
 ' A young lady sang it, sir, at la Mouchetiere,' said 
 Lucien. 
 
 Meantime the Reds though several of their number 
 were fallen on the ground wounded had climbed the 
 ladder were throwing bundles of lighted hay, packets of 
 gunpowder, in at the window of the barn. They had 
 scarcely time to withdraw before it burst into flame. A 
 column of smoke rose up, blackening the sky. Gallantly 
 the trumpets still blared forth defiance ; but Rend turned 
 pale. 
 
 ' We shall catch fire,' said the marquis. 
 
 ' Oh for the rain !'
 
 THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST 217 
 
 But the rain, that had fallen in torrents the day before, 
 held off. The wind blew the flame steadily against the 
 doomed house. 
 
 ' What is that muffled sound ?' 
 
 ' Rolling nearer and nearer. Like thunder. What 
 can it be ?' 
 
 ' Drums, gentlemen,' said the marquis. ' They have 
 paid us the compliment of sending for reinforcements.' 
 
 ' Bravo, 2gth of the Line !' screamed Rene, clapping 
 his hands. 
 
 The fusillade quickened. The woodwork of the 
 windows flew under the bullets. 
 
 ' Cut the bridge !' cried the marquis. ' It will give us 
 five minutes more. 
 
 But even as he was speaking the stifling smoke 
 rushed through the doorway. The beams shuddered 
 and groaned. 
 
 ' The rain has begun look !' said Rene", pointing to 
 a few great drops on the window-sill. 
 
 'Too late!' 
 
 The trumpets sounded fiercely as ever. 
 
 ' Quick quick there with the muskets !' cried Lucien. 
 ' They are crossing the yard. They have lighted fagots 
 bundles of straw on the end of their bayonets. 
 Quick !' 
 
 * We have fired our last shot,' said the marquis. 
 Lucien looked round from the window, and saw that 
 
 he was the only man still at his post. The room was 
 full of white, resolute faces. Those below had rushed 
 up when their ammunition failed ; the cracking and 
 creaking of the roof had forced others to descend. In 
 the centre stood the marquis. 
 
 * Friends,' he said, ' we have made a brave fight, but
 
 218 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 we cannot stay here. Let us die as the men of la 
 Vendee should. Let us say our prayers first.' 
 
 He fell upon his knees. With one accord they 
 followed his example. Twenty-two were wounded 
 mortally, or dead. The deep voices of the rest sounded 
 as one. 
 
 ' Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam 
 tuam.' 
 
 The air was thick with bullets. The crackling flames 
 increased. Lurid tongues of flame shot through the 
 smoke. 
 
 ' Et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum dele 
 iniquitatem meant.' 
 
 The beams cracked as if they were strained to burst- 
 ing. Lucien could no longer see the face of the man 
 next him for the smoke. He had a wild impulse to 
 fight it back with his hands, but he kept them clasped. 
 
 ' Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea, et a peccato meo 
 munda me.' 
 
 The beams above were giving. 
 
 At the last verse they rose. Lucien felt the floor 
 shake under him. Every man grasped the hand of his 
 fellow. 
 
 ' Farewell !' 
 
 The little word was louder than the roar of the 
 flames. But when he came to Lucien, the marquis 
 stooped, kissed his forehead silently. 
 
 ' Forward, trumpets ! After me ! Lead the way !' he 
 cried, and made for the staircase. 
 
 His figure was lost instantly in the rolling clouds ; 
 but the steady note of the trumpets led, though they 
 themselves had become invisible, and the rest formed 
 up, passed in good order through the flaming room,
 
 THE FIRST FIGHT AND THE LAST 219 
 
 down the falling steps, out by the door into the garden. 
 It was stiff on its rusty hinges, but one strong thrust 
 burst it open, and they came forth, advancing at a run. 
 A mighty crash behind told that the roof had fallen in. 
 
 'On!' cried the marquis, for one or two stopped, 
 stupefied. 
 
 There fell Emile de Girardin. There fell Mouy, 
 Gazeau, Leclerc, Jary. There fell many a brave man. 
 
 There fell Rene" le Romain. And when he saw this, 
 Lucien stopped. 
 
 ' On !' cried the marquis. ' He is dead.' 
 
 Across the meadow they struggled on they fell. 
 
 Lucien's fleetness of foot saved his life. He reached 
 the river and plunged in. Fevered as he was, the touch 
 of the ice-cold water came to him like the deep refresh- 
 ment of sleep. He reached the other side, and sank 
 exhausted.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 WHO REMAINS? 
 
 ' THEY have killed Celine.' 
 
 These were the first words that Lucien heard, knowing 
 certainly that they were spoken by someone else, not in 
 his own sick brain. 
 
 Who was that sobbing ? 
 
 He lifted his eyelids with an effort surely there were 
 tons of lead upon them. He was on a couch in a low 
 dark room. At the foot sat Madame, her head buried 
 in her hands. 
 
 ' She never weeps.' 
 
 He remembered hearing someone say this long ago. 
 A pang of jealousy shot through him because, in some 
 subtle way, Celine the girl Celine had made her 
 weep. He could not keep his eyes open. And when 
 he looked again she was gone. 
 
 ' They have killed Celine.' 
 
 Where had he heard the voice before ? 
 
 Celine dead. 
 
 Rene" dead. 
 
 And the marquis ? 
 
 * Come away,' said another voice gently. 
 
 He thought it was his old nurse, bidding him go out 
 into the field and gather poppies.
 
 WHO REMAINS? 221 
 
 'The poppy papaver means forgetfulness,' said 
 Father Dominic of the Seminary. 
 
 But this time he knew that Father Dominic spoke 
 only in his light head. 
 
 ' Can you tell me how it was ?' the old voice far away 
 out there in the room went on. 
 
 ' It happened on Tuesday, before noon,' said the 
 voice that was like Father Dominic reciting something 
 he had got by heart. ' We were all away. There was 
 no one at home except the steward. He is eighty. He 
 had not even a gun. The lyth of the Line came up. 
 They killed him and his wife and son the boy on the 
 farm, too. 
 
 ' When they burst in, Loulou was standing near the 
 secret hole. They thought Madame was hidden there. 
 One of the soldiers put his rifle to the child's breast. 
 
 ' " Tell me where she is, or I will fire !" 
 
 ' He never stirred. He is a brave little fellow.' 
 
 ' Go on !' said the old voice tenderly. 
 
 ' Celine was just behind. She ran forward, screaming, 
 trying to save him. The ball went through her heart.' 
 
 ' More than one must have fired. The child put out 
 a wad that was burning in her hair,' said a different 
 voice. 
 
 ' Who told you ?' 
 
 ' Monsieur de la Roberie himself. He was in our 
 camp at la Beliniere the night before last. They 
 brought him word at dawn. I never saw de Charette 
 so moved. The men were raging ; they swore to 
 avenge her ; they wanted to rush Pont- James.' 
 
 'Why did they not?' 
 
 ' Hush It was near la Brosse. We dared not risk 
 Madame. De Charette made for le Che'ne. We had
 
 222 
 
 reached the bridge, when we saw the Reds dash forward 
 to meet us. It would have done your heart good, sir, 
 to hear the shouts of the old campaigners, " Now we'll 
 show you how we used to fight long ago !" Your father 
 fought like a hero, Jacinth. Twice we drove the Reds 
 back.' 
 
 The door opened softly. Lucien was still too weary 
 to lift his eyes, but he knew Madame had returned. 
 
 The second speaker went on. 
 
 'Your son, Monsieur de Mesnard, did wonders; he 
 had his horse shot under him.' 
 
 'Stop!' cried a wild voice that startled even Lucien. 
 ' This is no time for talk. A detachment of the enemy 
 is signalled. Down down to the trenches.' 
 
 A tall, thin figure stood in the door, the cheeks gaunt 
 and bright with fever, the eyes hollow. He laid a 
 burning hand on Lucien's arm and forced him up. 
 
 ' Who is it ?' whispered Lucien to de Monti. 
 
 ' Bruneau de la Souchais. He and four others ' 
 (Edouard did not say that he had been one) ' led the 
 men across the bridge at le Ch6ne. He was wounded. 
 Madame bound up the wound herself when he arrived. 
 Look ! there is de Charette alone, too ! Hush ! not 
 a word ! Quick ! The ditch at the bottom of the 
 garden !' 
 
 Flying, silent figures closed round them in the rain 
 de Mesnard, young de la Roberie, Eulalie, two others 
 Lucien recognised them all now, but still as in a dream. 
 The marquis never came. No one spoke of him. 
 
 There, for six hours, did they remain, half sunk in 
 water, the tall grass growing round and over them, a 
 high, quickset hedge on one side, a thicket of bushes on 
 the other. And the rain never ceased. Madame took
 
 WHO REMAINS? 223 
 
 off her shawl and wrapped it round de la Souchais, 
 who was too weak to resist. 
 
 The Reds were searching the neighbourhood search- 
 ing the house. At last their loud voices were heard in 
 the garden. 
 
 'Trapped!' Lucien thought, feeling neither surprise, 
 relief, nor fear. 
 
 The branches trembled overhead, and he crouched 
 lower still. The Reds passed on. At a sign from 
 Madame he pushed aside the long, wet blades of grass, 
 and peered through. 
 
 'Only cows eating the hedge!' muttered a rough 
 voice; and he drew down again with quiet caution. 
 No one looked out after that. 
 
 At length, to his unspeakable comfort, night fell. 
 There was no question of returning to la Brosse, and 
 they walked on. It was better than the ditch. All the 
 while, Celine's Song rang in his head. 
 
 'But there were no horsemen she was a child!' he 
 kept saying stupidly to himself. ' And she had not got 
 the words right.' 
 
 Madame had recovered. 
 
 ' Robert Bruce only mounted the throne of Scotland 
 when he had been defeated seven times. I will be 
 constant as he.' 
 
 So she spoke. Lucien heard her out of his deafness, 
 though he heard nothing else before or after. 
 
 Celine dead. Rene dead. And de Civrac ? 
 
 No one spoke of de Civrac. 
 
 He dared not ask.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ' NOTRE-DAME DU BOUT DU PONT !' 
 
 ' THREE miles to Nantes ! Monsieur de Kersabiec's 
 house is near the College de Monseigneur le Due de 
 Bordeaux. The name sounds well in my ears,' said 
 Madame, consulting a map. ' That is the destination 
 of Petit- Paul and Petit- Pierre. Do you feel as if you 
 could walk home to-day, Eulalie?' 
 
 ' To Nantes, Madame ? It is full of your enemies.' 
 
 ' That is why I mean to go. They will believe any- 
 thing of me except that I can walk straight into the 
 midst of them. Wherever they look for me, they will 
 not look for me there. No, no ; I shall be hidden in a 
 cave in Brittany, or at the bottom of a chest of drawers 
 in la Vendee. People are so romantic.' 
 
 ' The Romantic School may surely count among its 
 members Your Royal Highness ?' Eulalie said, with a 
 laugh. 
 
 ' Me ?' she rejoined seriously. ' Never ! I am classic 
 to the backbone. At the present moment I am a 
 market-woman ; so are you, Eulalie. You, Lucien, are 
 a farm-boy, with a basket of cauliflowers. Allow me to 
 introduce Mesdames Mariette and Fran^oise ; they are 
 bringing our dresses. They are the true market-women, 
 born and bred. Be it our endeavour to imitate them in
 
 'NOTRE-DAME DU BOUT DU PONT!' 225 
 
 all things ! The red aprons are charming, and the white 
 caps. Bah ! those thick woollen stockings ; they will 
 be abominably hot to-day. And the shoes will be worse 
 than the stockings.' 
 
 Dawn was warming and yellowing into sunrise. 
 They had not gone far when she sat down on the edge of 
 a ditch, and divested herself of shoes and stockings both. 
 
 ' I cannot bear them/ she said, as she thrust them 
 into her pocket, and resolutely plunged her little white 
 feet into the black mud below. ' I cannot walk in them. 
 Do not frown, Eulalie. I will put them on again when- 
 ever we come to the gates of a town.' 
 
 ' You will hurt your feet, Madame.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! There is always grass along the side of the 
 road. I will walk there.' 
 
 Lucien remembered Celine. He went still as if but 
 half conscious, hearing her voice in his ears, and seeing 
 the sudden peace upon the face of Rene, when the 
 marquis cried, ' He is dead.' He was not sorry for 
 them, but he was all day long accompanied by a dumb 
 wonder where they were. He said their names over 
 and over again, and the mere names killed everything 
 except wonder. 
 
 Madame was the only being who had power to rouse 
 him ; he was wide awake to all that concerned her. 
 Still, the one question that he asked ceaselessly of 
 himself he never dared to ask anyone else. Had the 
 marquis escaped ? 
 
 Presently, as he trudged along behind the two true 
 and the two false market-women, he heard Madame say : 
 
 ' Yes, dear Eulalie, I will come to you. It is wrong ; 
 I have endangered you too much already; but if the 
 house should be suspected, two Legitimist ladies, rue 
 
 15
 
 226 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Haute-du-Chateau, No. 3, are willing to take me in. 
 That is quite close to you, is it not ?' 
 
 ' Not five minutes' walk. Mesdemoiselles du Guiny 
 live there. They are old friends of ours, and we are all 
 very fond of them. Mademoiselle Pauline is my god- 
 mother.' 
 
 Du Guiny rue Haute-du-Chateau Lucien surely 
 knew those words. Yes, it was there that the sieur de 
 Coquet was to be heard of. The sieur de Coquet was, 
 he believed, the marquis. Hope flashed up in him, for 
 reason has little to do with the comings and goings of 
 hope. He could ask these ladies ; the right to ask 
 would give him the power. They would not know 
 that he was anything to the marquis, or the marquis 
 to him. 
 
 At this point in his reflections, the little group was 
 challenged by a sentinel a stupid, boozy fellow, who 
 let them go fast enough. 
 
 They had no leisure for thought afterwards. The 
 posts were doubled at every gate. Agents of the police 
 were swarming everywhere. At the bureau de doudne on 
 the bridge of Pirmil, which they had to cross in order 
 to reach the town, sat an officer of the Customs writing 
 busily at a table, and no one was allowed to pass with- 
 out examination. They halted for an instant, Madame 
 questioning Eulalie with a look. 
 
 * There is no other bridge,' said Eulalie. 
 
 Mariette went up first. 
 
 ' Where do you come from ?' 
 
 ' From la Haute-Menantie.' 
 
 The official thrust his hands hither and thither in her 
 basket, found nothing but eggs and cabbages, and let 
 her pass.
 
 'NOTRE-DAME DU BOUT DU PONT!' 227 
 
 ' Have you anything to declare ?' he asked of 
 Madame, who came next. 
 
 ' Nenni /' said the voice of the peasant-boy whom 
 Lucien had met in the forest, and she boldly put for- 
 ward her basket. Her sleeve ran up as she did so, and 
 showed a white arm, very unlike the brown hand at 
 the end of it. Eulalie shivered. Lucien counted the 
 arches of the bridge, and found there were eleven. 
 The officer of the Customs did not expect to see a 
 white arm just then, however, and he did not see it. 
 
 They crossed several other bridges, Madame and her 
 companion sometimes in front, sometimes behind. 
 Mariette and Frangoise took their leave, and went on 
 to the market-place. The sun glared down out of a 
 cloudless sky; even the river ran like molten steel. 
 Weary of the heat and the dust, the two ladies sat 
 down to rest on the parapet of a bridge dedicate to 
 the Virgin. 
 
 A rough hand was laid on her shoulder, and Madame 
 started. But it was only an ancient apple-woman who 
 had put down her basket, and could not get it up on 
 her head again. 
 
 ' Help me, children !' said she, ' and I will give you 
 an apple apiece for your pains.' 
 
 Lucien dared not interfere. Madame took one handle, 
 Eulalie the other ; between them they hoisted the 
 basket, full as it was and very heavy. 
 
 The old woman thanked them, and was turning 
 away when Madame caught her arm. 
 
 ' And our two apples have you forgotten those ?' 
 
 ' There they are !' said the old woman, smiling ; and 
 Madame tossed one to Eulalie, and sat down to munch 
 the other herself.
 
 228 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Fair wages for fair work !' said she. ' When I came 
 into Nantes four years ago, the market-girls had written 
 up everywhere, " Our fruit, our flowers, our hearts are 
 Madame's." Now they grudge me an apple ! I thought 
 I should have broken my arm. How like the old woman 
 her apples are, by the way wrinkled and rosy-cheeked ! 
 Shall we look like that forty or fifty years hence, 
 Eulalie ?' 
 
 Celine was safe, thought Lucien, with a thrill ; she 
 never could look old. 
 
 ' What are all those people crowding down to the 
 other end of the bridge for ?' said Madame, rising. ' I 
 shall go and see.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! Let us walk on,' cried Eulalie. ' There 
 are so many soldiers about, and it is nearly eight 
 o'clock.' 
 
 ' You are right, dear ; but that bit of paper is interest- 
 ing. I want to see what it says.' 
 
 Eulalie cast a glance of despair at Lucien ; he shook 
 his head. To thwart Madame was to increase her 
 determination. 
 
 * Stay here !' he signed to Eulalie; he himself sauntered 
 down to the other end in the train of her mistress. 
 
 A man in Government uniform was pasting up a 
 royal Proclamation, in letters of huge type, on the door 
 of the Customs office. Therein it was stated that the 
 four Departments of Maine -et- Loire, Vendee, Deux- 
 Sevres, and Loire-Inferieur were in a state of siege 
 and that a large reward would be given to anyone who 
 apprehended the person of Marie-Caroline, Duchess of 
 Berry, height about five foot three, pale complexion, fair 
 hair, blue eyes, hands small and white. 
 
 Madame glanced down at hers, and laughed.
 
 'NOTRE-DAME DU BOUT DU PONT!' 229 
 
 ' Well done, Louis- Philippe !' said she. ' Here am I 
 in front of my own portrait, and nobody knows it. You 
 are right to be afraid of me still.' 
 
 She turned to go back, but the crowd was increasing 
 every minute, and a detachment of infantry chancing to 
 cross the bridge just then made it impossible for them 
 to return. 
 
 ' I know the officer in command,' cried Madame, 
 seizing Lucien's arm. ' Let us go. He used to be on 
 guard at the Tuileries.' 
 
 It was all very well for her to speak. They were 
 surrounded on every side. 
 
 ' There is nothing for it but to wait now.' 
 
 The clock of the Bouffai struck. Lucien counted the 
 strokes as he had counted the arches under the bridge 
 of Pirmil. One two three four five six seven 
 
 eight. 
 
 ' Notre-Dame du bout du pont, 
 Secourez-moi k 1'heure qu'il est !' 
 
 murmured Madame. 
 
 It was the old Song that the women of Navarre sang 
 before the birth of Henri Quatre that she herself had 
 sung when Henri Cinq was born. 
 
 The men were halted opposite the Proclamation. 
 The officer was gazing fixedly in their direction. He 
 half lifted his hand. Every instant Lucien thought to 
 hear the word ' Arrest !' but the officer wheeled quickly 
 round, and gave the order to proceed. Madame drew 
 a long breath. 
 
 ' He stared hard,' she whispered. ' I think he knew 
 me again. If he did if the luck turns he shall see 
 that Caroline of France remembers the debts of Caroline 
 of Vende'e.'
 
 230 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Her meeting with the officer formerly on guard at the 
 Tuileries had sobered her. She marched forward, no 
 longer assisting old apple-women nor lingering to read 
 descriptions of her own face and figure. 
 
 She became practical, gave Lucien the address of the 
 ladies du Guiny, and told him to go to them for advice 
 as to his lodging. 
 
 At last Lucien saw her disappear, accompanied by 
 Eulalie, behind a modest back-door in an alley. There 
 was nothing now between him and the answer to that 
 question about the marquis, drumming and beating in 
 his brain ; but he could not go on without food. He 
 snatched a hasty meal at a cafe and set off at once for 
 rue Haute-du-Chateau, No. 3.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE OLD HOUSE AT NANTES 
 
 IT was a picturesque old house, one side looking to the 
 river. A broad road, dusty white in the sun, swept past 
 in front. On the other side lay the Castle moat grim, 
 gray walls rising above it in dreary grandeur. Up in 
 the sky sailed a cloud like a tortoise with a little white 
 head and a curly tail. 
 
 ' I shall never see another cloud like that,' said Lucien, 
 to justify his irresolution as he stood looking. 
 
 At length he forced himself to knock. 
 
 The voice and manner of the maid who let him in 
 were quiet, almost cloistral. The cool, cave-like air 
 of the stone corridor through which' she ushered him, 
 the soft reposeful silence, stilled and refreshed him. He 
 crossed a little yard, followed his guide up a staircase 
 with iron railings, and found himself in a long, low 
 parlour, between dark wainscoted walls on which a 
 stain of faded colour showed here a maiden against an 
 urn, there a dovecot, and there, again, a ruined tower 
 against a tranquil golden sky. In the shadowy window- 
 seat, an open book on her knee, sat a tall, graceful lady 
 in a white cap. Near the table stood another, filling 
 a bowl with deep red roses. The beautiful hair drawn 
 straight up from her forehead was white, and there were
 
 232 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 lines along the brow though she was not yet old ; the 
 hazel eyes were full of half-wistful regret of the un- 
 spoken tenderness of one who does not readily express 
 herself in words. Under her strong, nervous hands the 
 roses seemed to grow this way and that. 
 
 ' Monsieur Sylvestre, I believe ?' the elder lady said, 
 coming forward with gentle eagerness. 
 
 Neither she nor her sister showed surprise, only 
 pleasure ; he knew at once that, by name, at least, he 
 was no stranger to them. 
 
 ' We have a letter for you from the sieur de Coquet,' 
 she continued, smiling as she placed it in his hands. 
 ' Pray be seated, sir. The heat has made you a little 
 faint, has it not ?' 
 
 Still Lucien could not speak. This question beat in 
 him like a live thing, choking utterance. 
 
 1 Is the marquis well ?' he said at last. 
 
 ' Quite well,' said mademoiselle du Guiny. ' We do 
 not call him " the marquis " at Nantes, you know. He 
 is the sieur de Coquet. Be so good as to read your letter. 
 There may be a message in it for me.' 
 
 Lucien opened it as she suggested ; but his hand 
 shook, and for a minute he could not see. It was a 
 short note, merely informing him that mesdemoiselles 
 du Guiny would see to his accommodation, and provide 
 him with anything that he wanted. 
 
 ' Where is he where is the sieur de Coquet ?' 
 
 ' I do not know myself ; he escaped from the fight at 
 la Penissiere, but he has been in close hiding ever since. 
 The Orleanists were furious ; they lost heavily.' 
 
 'You are very anxious about him ?' asked mademoiselle 
 Pauline. 
 
 ' I thought he was dead,' said Lucien, turning away.
 
 THE OLD HOUSE AT NANTES 233 
 
 They were all three silent. 
 
 ' Ah, well !' said the elder lady, ' I should never think 
 the sieur de Coquet was dead, unless he told me so 
 himself. His guardian angel takes good care of him ; 
 he has escaped five or six times when any reasonable 
 man would have been killed. It ought not to surprise 
 you, sir, so much ; if what I hear be true, it is not your 
 fault that you left la Penissiere alive either. Now that 
 we have told you all we can about the sieur de Coquet, 
 have you any news to give us of Petit- Pierre ?' 
 
 There was something in the manner of Mesdemoiselles 
 du Guiny which encouraged autobiography in those who 
 talked to them. They did not only listen ; they followed 
 Lucien along the dusty road, over the dangerous bridge. 
 Never before had he felt conscious that he possessed 
 remarkable power as a story-teller. 
 
 ' Dear Eulalie !' murmured mademoiselle Pauline. 
 ' Those moments on the bridge before you came back 
 what they must have been for her !' 
 
 ' And to think it was all happening an hour or two 
 ago, when we were down in the kitchen scolding Marie 
 because the coffee was not hot enough !' said her sister. 
 ' One can hardly bear it.' 
 
 Little by little, not questioning much, but by their 
 craft of silent expectation, of looks, of sighs, of half- 
 breathed cries of sympathy, they drew from him all that 
 he knew of Madame almost all that he knew of himself. 
 Nor did the time, though the tale of a life was told in it, 
 seem long to any of the three. Mademoiselle Pauline 
 set the last rose in the bowl just as he finished. 
 
 ' And now,' her sister murmured, with a glance at the 
 failing light, ' we must not keep you. We are following 
 our leader in Nantes ; we mean to be bold. I have
 
 234 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 obtained permission for you to lodge in one of the 
 deserted rooms of the Castle ; they will not suspect a 
 Royalist of hiding there. An old servant of ours takes 
 care of the State apartments ; she will see to your 
 comfort, and the oftener you favour us with your society, 
 the better we shall be pleased. In a day or two who 
 knows ? Petit- Pierre may be under this roof. Our good 
 friend, monsieur de Kersabiec, is in prison, and suspicion 
 will, I fear, attach to his house. We have a famous 
 hiding-place upstairs.' 
 
 ' A famous hiding-place !' 
 
 Lucien recollected the hole at la Mouchetiere 
 shuddered thought what a fool he was to shudder.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 THE DAYS FLY FAST 
 
 As he entered the large, bare room, bright with bouquets 
 of la France, which mademoiselle Pauline had prepared 
 for him, Lucien little thought that this would be his 
 home for five months yet to come. 
 
 Strong desire urged him to quit Nantes at once for 
 Paris. The marquis was there ; Hugo was there ; 
 madame de Feucheres who might, perhaps, tell him 
 his name was there. Stronger desire held him fast to 
 that room in the Castle. Madame had not gone. How 
 could he go ? how could he leave her ? As for his name, 
 what did that matter? He meant to make himself a 
 name. 
 
 At the end of three days Madame came to the 
 demoiselles du Guiny, bringing with her monsieur de 
 Mesnard, and Stylite de Kersabiec instead of her sister 
 Eulalie, who had broken down after the long strain. 
 She still kept the same resolute silence about the 
 marquis. Once or twice, when Lucien mentioned him, 
 she affected not to hear ; nor did she ever speak of the 
 fight at la Penissiere. 
 
 Lucien appealed to the elder of the two hostesses, 
 who looked distressed. 
 
 ' I fear there has been a misunderstanding,' said she.
 
 236 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' I do not know what it is. The sieur de Coquet has 
 the most loyal heart in France.' 
 
 On June 20 Madame took a step which surprised 
 them all. 
 
 She asked Lucien to help her draw up a circular 
 addressed to the chiefs of la Vendee, wherein she 
 counselled them to avoid fight except in self-defence. 
 She did not like the task, she said ; but she felt happier 
 when it was done. 
 
 Six days later de Charette contrived to visit the 
 house. He was urgent with her to fly while there was 
 yet time. 
 
 ' I shall always have time to quit France,' she said. 
 
 Her hopes were reviving. 
 
 Many of the Legitimists even those recently in 
 opposition had come to think as she did during the 
 interval. New proofs of the unstable character of Louis- 
 Philippe's Government, of the disaffected condition of 
 the people, poured in thick and fast. European com- 
 plications were imminent ; war with Holland was ex- 
 pected. Her sister, the Queen of Spain, advised her to 
 stay. All this she pressed upon de Charette. 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness will compromise your followers. 
 If you are taken ' 
 
 ' Let me be taken, then !' cried Madame. ' It will be 
 all the better. If they cut off the head, they will let the 
 body alone.' 
 
 ' It is only a question of weeks,' de Charette observed 
 to Lucien afterwards. ' She cannot stay. It is a pity 
 that she has quarrelled with de Civrac.' 
 
 ' Quarrelled ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; he had an interview with her after la Penissiere. 
 I believe that he entreated her to stop the war. If any-
 
 THE DAYS FLY FAST 237 
 
 one had a right to speak, he had ; for he had done her 
 kingly service. But she was very angry.' 
 
 ' She has not seen ' said Lucien, as there rose before 
 
 him in terrific strength a host of recollections which he 
 was fighting, night and day, to banish. 
 
 ' No. But I do not think that was all. She is 
 curiously tolerant of difference of opinion more tolerant 
 than any woman I know. He must have asked her 
 some question criticised her conduct in some way. 
 Their meeting ended in a storm of passion ; she declared 
 that she would never see him again. Those who were 
 in the house at the time say that they never saw her so 
 indignant. It was the day she wept for mademoiselle 
 de la Roberie.' 
 
 'Ah!' 
 
 'Vexatious for the moment, because it loses us de 
 Civrac's head, which is as good as de Civrac's arm, 
 and better ! He is hiding in Paris. No great danger, 
 I think. He knows very well how to hide. He can 
 take care of himself. I have my work cut out for me, 
 for I shall have to try and get Achille Guibourg out of 
 the Prison Neuve. He is in some peril.' You must do 
 what you can to persuade Madame to beat a retreat.' 
 
 ' I will try,' said Lucien, a dagger going straight 
 through his heart. 
 
 It is no easy matter to give advice to a lady when she 
 is not in the humour to be advised. He succeeded so 
 well that Madame forbade him to mention the subject 
 again ; whereat his spirits rose marvellously and he re- 
 turned with zeal to the study of the twenty-four different 
 kinds of cipher that she used for her correspondence. 
 He was able to help her often, for the white ink which 
 it was needful to employ fatigued her eyes.
 
 238 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 When she could no longer write, she would draw 
 and paint the roses under mademoiselle Pauline's 
 guidance. 
 
 ' Lilies for our Bourbons ! Laurels for Henri ! Roses 
 for Louise !' she would say, recalling the inscription on 
 the triumphal arch under which she had passed on her 
 way through Nantes four years before. ' I have done 
 nothing for my Louise !' 
 
 She would paint the roses until she tired of them, and 
 then take up her work, copying in delicate embroidery 
 the poppies that Lucien brought her after long walks 
 into the country, for she was clever with her needle as 
 with her pen and her brush. Any instrument on which 
 the little white hand closed seemed to acquire some- 
 thing of its grace, of its light firmness. 
 
 One day she made up her mind to paper the dingy 
 walls of the garret she shared with Stylite, in softest 
 gray. No craftsman could have done the business half 
 so well, mesdemoiselles du Guiny declared ; they would 
 keep the garret always like this in memory of their 
 sweet guest. 
 
 Up to the garret she would fly, whenever the sound 
 of a bell was heard on the ground-floor. Often her 
 quiet dinner with the three ladies and de Mesnard 
 would be interrupted in this way, but as yet there was 
 no cause for serious alarm. Lucien came and went at 
 dusk or in the early morning, and his frequent visits 
 passed unobserved. Stylite and de Mesnard left the 
 house rarely she herself, never, in spite of the heat 
 within doors, which wearied her and made her pale and 
 thin, though not a whit less gay. 
 
 She showed Lucien the secret place behind the 
 panelled fireplace of her room.
 
 THE DAYS FLY FAST 239 
 
 ' I hope it will not come to that,' she said with an 
 odd look at him. 
 
 ' I hope not.' 
 
 ' But if I have to go, will you come too ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 She saw his gravity, and laughed. 
 
 Once, however, Lucien found her much disturbed. 
 This was after a conversation with Stylite's eldest sister, 
 Celeste, who had implored her to write to her aunt, 
 Marie - Amelie, wife of Louis - Philippe, on behalf of 
 monsieur de Kersabiec, now awaiting his trial. 
 
 Celeste wept and entreated. Stylite remained stoi- 
 cally silent, refusing to say a word in support of her 
 sister. De Mesnard uttered a grave remonstrance. 
 
 ' My son is in prison at Niort,' said he. ' I do not 
 know how far he is compromised. I have almost 
 as much to fear for him, ladies, as you have for your 
 father. Nevertheless, I should think myself guilty in- 
 deed if I prevailed upon Madame to take a step which 
 might compromise her.' 
 
 Celeste would not or could not hear reason. There 
 would be no risk to Madame. A friend had told her of 
 a faithful emissary whose name she could only disclose 
 to Madame in private. Madame had known and trusted 
 him before. Marie-Amelie would have no conception 
 from what quarter of the globe the letter came ; but she 
 had always loved her niece she would move the King 
 to be merciful. Monsieur de Kersabiec had powerful 
 enemies. It was a matter of life and death. 
 
 ' It is a matter of life and death for more than one,' 
 cried de Mesnard, forgetting his usual courtesy. 
 
 ' Come with me, Celeste !' said Madame. ' I want to 
 hear the name of the envoy.'
 
 240 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Stylite rose, and they left the room abruptly. 
 
 ' If Madame yields, we are all dead men,' said de 
 Mesnard. 
 
 Lucien stood looking down into the courtyard. 
 
 He had been a dead man so often in the estimation 
 of monsieur de Mesnard that the words had little signi- 
 ficance. 
 
 ' There goes mademoiselle Celeste, as if the police 
 were on her track !' he remarked presently. 
 
 ' She deserves that they should be. I hope Her Royal 
 Highness gave her a good lecture before she sent her 
 flying. Well, there is an end of that business, Heaven 
 be thanked !' 
 
 Lucien made no response. 
 
 Stylite rejoined them soon afterwards, but he read 
 nothing in her set face as she bent over the table, busying 
 herself with some accounts. De Mesnard took up a 
 book. The air of the room grew close, grew stifling all 
 at once. 
 
 There was an instant sense of relief when Madame 
 glided in, threw herself on her knees beside Stylite, put 
 her arms round her, and whispered : 
 
 ' Forgive me, dear ! I could not help it ! I gave her 
 the letter.' 
 
 Stylite's slow tears began to fall one by one. 
 
 ' It is not right it is not right. He would rather 
 have died.' 
 
 De Mesnard's face changed. 
 
 ' Hush !' he said. ' Her Royal Highness is an example 
 to us all. She has faith in Heaven. Let us have faith 
 too!' 
 
 Lucien had faith more than faith. Against his sober 
 judgment he was filled with joy. It was to him incon-
 
 THE DAYS FLY FAST 241 
 
 ceivable that this lady of all ladies should ever take the 
 lower the less heroic part. 
 
 ' The secret agent is a man in whom I have every 
 confidence,' she told him later on. ' I know the fellow 
 well. He used to carry despatches to my sister of 
 Spain, and to Portugal, when I was at Massa.' 
 
 That evening Lucien received a note from the marquis. 
 
 ' Come to Paris as soon as she has left,' thus it 
 ran. ' Ask for me in Montmartre at the Hotel of the 
 Three Elephants. Do not answer this.' 
 
 ' As soon as she has left ah !' 
 
 Because of Madame, Lucien was growing fonder and 
 fonder of his bare room high up among the deserted 
 attics of the Castle. Because of Madame, he laboured 
 to forget he almost did forget the deep eyes of Celine, 
 and Rene dead in the flower of youth. The love of 
 Blum was gone from him as though it had not been, 
 and Jeanne passed like a shadow from his remembrance. 
 Only now and again the dead, by that strange power 
 they have, compelled him to remember. At such 
 moments he wondered if Madame forgot. Because of 
 her, the hope of fame burnt red as never in life before. 
 
 Hugo was the only man of whom he felt much afraid 
 Hugo the Victor, Hugo the ineffable poet, who had 
 weak eyes and lived in Paris. 
 
 Bdranger was old ; Alexandre Dumas as yet a 
 mere name to him. Hugo, however not to speak of 
 ' Marion ' had written ' Les Orientales' and ' Hernani,' 
 and he was understood to be at work upon another 
 play, ' Le Roi s' Amuse,' finer than any of these, to be 
 acted at the Theatre Fran9ais some time in November. 
 
 ' Go to him the night his new play comes out, when all 
 
 the flatterers have done, and say ' 
 
 16
 
 242 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Lucien had not forgotten his promise to Rene". 
 
 Before the final moment came, he must write some- 
 thing that would live. He dared not see the greater 
 poet till this was done. He must write something not 
 unworthy of Madame. He wrote and wrote until the 
 pen dropped from stiff fingers ; but what he wrote 
 whether it was good, bad, or indifferent will never be 
 known, for seven days after it was written he always 
 put it into the fire. His Songs came to him of them- 
 selves ; he had to go far afield for his Plays, and when 
 he had found them, they were not his, but Victor 
 Hugo's. 
 
 Nothing daunted, he began again upon a great 
 success as soon as he had destroyed the last failure. 
 
 Now he was carried away with delight, now over- 
 whelmed by dejection. He shrank with sensitive 
 terror from the thought that Madame should even 
 suspect his labours. When the hour struck, he would 
 lay his triumph at her feet. In common with the rest 
 of the Romantic School, he was studying the reign of 
 Elizabeth. He saw himself a new Spenser, if not yet 
 quite a Shakespeare, at the Court of the Faery Queen. 
 
 No sovereign ever ruled a more bewildered kingdom 
 than was hers now, a kingdom of night, of shadows, 
 that existed only in the sun's absence. 
 
 Lucien, as was his custom, had caught a fancy from 
 some true aspect ; his heroine was the Lady of a land 
 that vanished every morning at sunrise, to reappear 
 with the rising moon. 
 
 ' A prince among the Shades while he was still alive 
 on earth !' said the duchess one day, when she read in 
 the paper the death of Napoleon's only son, the due de 
 Reichstadt. ' Oh, Lucien, will my son's fate be his ?'
 
 THE DAYS FLY FAST 243 
 
 ' No, Madame !' said Lucien firmly ; for he felt sure 
 that miracles were among the most common events in 
 the world. 
 
 In the rare moments that she had to spare, when she 
 was neither painting, papering, nor corresponding, the 
 duchess would make him read aloud her favourite 
 Waverley Novels. Together they mourned the death 
 of Scott that year. Together their cheeks flushed, their 
 eyes glowed, over the adventures of Morton, of Frank 
 Osbaldistone, of Darsie, and Alan Fairford. The 
 lyrics of ' Waverley ' and of ' The Heart of Midlothian ' 
 drove all the heroes and heroines out of Lucien's head. 
 And then Madame, deciding that he had not attended 
 to the plot, would say severely : 
 
 ' I prefer deeds to words.' 
 
 Mesdemoiselles du Guiny would bend low over the 
 wreaths on their embroidery-frames to hide a smile. 
 
 Deferring to their guest in all serious affairs, they 
 treated her in lesser matters as a beloved child; and 
 she repaid them with the gentle playfulness that made 
 life under the same roof with her a merry business. 
 Their little interests became hers, as her great interests 
 were theirs. Lucien moved in a charmed circle of 
 sweetness. 
 
 And so the roses waned, the spotted lilies carrying 
 the seven spears that were, Madame said reverently, 
 ' the Seven Sorrows of Mary,' followed ; and in the 
 gardens of Nantes thistles pushed up their balls of 
 spiky blue, and travellers' joy starred the cracked walls 
 with purple. 
 
 Lucien knew little of the outward changes of 
 Nature, though he went late to bed and rose early. 
 He was compassed round with forms of fire at night 
 
 16 2
 
 244 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 and the fiery rising of the sun drew him day by day to 
 his window ; but for the most part he was fast asleep 
 with his eyes open, and saw nothing but a world of 
 dreams and one face. 
 
 Early in August Achille Guibourg had escaped from 
 the Prison Neuve, walking out in the face of a dozen 
 soldiers ready to fire on any prisoner who attempted to 
 make his exit. He remained hidden with de Charette, 
 who had assisted him, first in one house, then in 
 another ; and they both came, now and again, under 
 cover of night, to the parlour at No. 3, rue Haute-du- 
 Chateau. Finally Achille Guibourg took up his abode 
 there. 
 
 ' It is always on the rainy nights that they come, 
 never when it is fine,' said the only person who watched 
 outside the house. ' But he goes always, whether it is 
 wet or fine, only he waits until it is dark, and every 
 night he comes away by a different street. Where does 
 he live, I wonder ?' 
 
 There was but one being called he in Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne's vocabulary, and that was Lucien. She be- 
 lieved that the marquis was hidden in the old house. 
 
 She had heard from others of his conduct in the 
 fight at la Pe"nissiere, and she remembered enough to 
 feel something stronger than a suspicion that he had 
 friends at Nantes. 
 
 So, while the clematis was still in flower, Michaelmas 
 daisies began, and the chrysanthemums thrust forth 
 their red and gold.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE OTHER POSTMAN 
 
 ' THE letter is not signed,' said the Minister of the 
 Interior ; ' but, then, they never are ! Important State 
 secrets it sounds well, it sounds well, Charles Blum. 
 There is one that I would give a thousand pounds to 
 know just now, and that is, where the duchess of Berry 
 sleeps to-night. Louis -Philippe's house is not safe. 
 Constitutional monarchy will never rest on a solid 
 foundation so long as that Will-o'-the-wisp is free to 
 wander. Well, she has not left France ! The note 
 you posted to your friend over the wall stopped that. 
 She has had no opportunity since. Every port is 
 watched. Have you any idea what became of your 
 friend after the fight at la Pe"nissiere ? His name was 
 not among the killed.' 
 
 ' I believe him to be hiding in la Vend6e.' 
 
 ' Have you any reasons ?' 
 
 Now, Blum could not endure bewilderment. If 
 reasons were not forthcoming, he made them. 
 
 ' Wherever the duchess may be, he is not far off. 
 The safest course for her would be la Vendee.' 
 
 ' She is a woman,' said Thiers, his Southern accent 
 sounding more strongly than usual, as it did when 
 he became animated. 'A woman does not take the
 
 246 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 safest course. I have no great opinion of female 
 genius. What do you yourself think of the duchess ? 
 Has she genius ?' 
 
 ' She is clever.' 
 
 * Undoubtedly ; but, like many another clever woman, 
 she makes attempts that are mistaken for results. She 
 has missed the natural grace of the being that keeps its 
 place. She is punished for not having kept it by want 
 of charm, by disorder of mind, by a celebrity the burden 
 of which the strongest man could scarcely bear. We 
 shall have no peace, however, till she is caught. Let 
 me see !' He pondered over the missive. ' This 
 anonymous person requests me to go alone to-night to 
 meet her of course it is a woman near the rond-point 
 of the Champs Elyse'es, in the shrubbery bordering on 
 the Alice des Veuves. " Widows' Alley " that sounds 
 appropriate.' 
 
 ' Do not go alone, sir,' said Blum ; ' the place has an 
 ill name. You cannot tell that it is a woman. There 
 may be some plot.' 
 
 The Minister of the Interior did not seem to hear 
 him. 
 
 ' I shall start immediately. Write to your Lyons 
 editor and tell him to divert public attention from the 
 duchess, and not to call her " Caroline." It is bad 
 taste. I shall find you here on my return ?' 
 
 ' Let me come with you, sir.' 
 
 Thiers shook his head. 
 
 ' Warn the police. Have someone within call,' urged 
 Blum. 
 
 Again his entreaty fell on deaf ears. A few minutes 
 later he heard the hall door close. For an instant he 
 hesitated ; then he rang the bell.
 
 THE OTHER POSTMAN 247 
 
 ' Send Monsieur Joly to me. I have a message for 
 him from the Minister.' 
 
 Joly was the Commissioner of Police in attendance 
 on Thiers, and in spite of his real anxiety Blum enjoyed 
 giving this order in the brief style of the potentate, the 
 rising man, the last favourite. 
 
 He had written half his letter to Lyons before the 
 servant came back. 
 
 ' Monsieur Joly is out, sir.' 
 
 ' Send for one of his men.' 
 
 The letter was finished. The servant reappeared. 
 
 ' All Monsieur Joly's men are out, sir.' 
 
 ' No matter. I am going to the post. I shall be 
 back directly.' 
 
 He set forth at once for the Champs Elyse"es, but he 
 had not gone far when he recognised first one of Joly's 
 men, then another, lastly Joly himself, all going the 
 same way. He shrugged his shoulders and returned. 
 It was like Thiers : often he would appear to disregard 
 advice which he followed afterwards. 
 
 Blum felt some elation as he possessed himself of the 
 Minister's chair under the shaded lamp-, in the beautiful 
 study rich with trophies of the art of the Renaissance. 
 
 Not that these affected him in the least. He was not 
 sensitive to refinements of comfort or of beauty. He 
 never wasted a glance on the fine casts of the Farnese 
 Hercules, of Mercury, of Cellini's Perseus, of Michael 
 Angelo's Day, Night, Evening, and Morning. If he 
 looked at Colleone's statue, it was only to remark that 
 the action was unusual in a horse, and to wonder why 
 the Minister of the Interior liked it. 
 
 No ; he saw before him vast opportunities for the 
 only art he cared about the art of moulding the lives
 
 248 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 of others. The cry of his brethren toiling, dying, in the 
 Silken City, rang in his ears. When once he had risen 
 to power, he would not rest till he had helped them 
 when once he had gained Lucien to their cause had 
 rescued him, the one man whom he loved, from the 
 snares of the wicked duchess. Blum no longer thought 
 her absurd. 
 
 He was filled with bitter wrath against her. The 
 trick she played on him when she sent him with 
 madame de Nacquart to Bressuire had convinced him, 
 once for all, that she was not an antagonist whom he 
 could afford to despise, this woman who had stained 
 France with blood. She was laying heavy burdens on 
 those who, but for her, would have stood forth the 
 champions of the poor and the afflicted. She had 
 brought politics to a dead-lock. She had wrought con- 
 fusion among the wisest. She was Evil personified. 
 That it should be personified in a woman was no 
 matter to Blum, who took little account of the laws of 
 chivalry. 
 
 When he thought of a woman with any gentleness, 
 he thought of Jeanne of her alone. 
 
 For the sake of France, for the sake of his friend 
 Lucien, and, in some undefined way, for the sake of 
 Jeanne, the duchess must be found. 
 
 ' There was nobody,' said Thiers, interrupting his 
 meditations ' not a trace of anyone. The whole affair 
 is a hoax. There was no one at all. I never thought 
 there would be.' 
 
 Blum suppressed an inclination to ask why, in that 
 case, the Minister of the Interior had gone. 
 
 ' The note stipulated that I should come alone,' he 
 continued, as if to himself. * It is unlikely that the
 
 THE OTHER POSTMAN 249 
 
 police agents were seen ; they took care to hide. Still, 
 traitors have sharp eyes. There is a story that the 
 due de Berry might have been saved if Charles X. had 
 not neglected a similar warning. I wish I could forget. 
 It makes a fool of me. I am sorry I went. Good- 
 night, my dear Blum. A demain /' 
 
 Blum reflected on the character of his chief. He 
 admired success, and Thiers was a highly successful 
 man. 
 
 Next day he seized a moment, when they were alone, 
 to put a dirty envelope into Blum's hand. Inside was 
 written : 
 
 ' You were accompanied. Come alone to-night. You 
 will be rewarded.' 
 
 ' It is just,' he said. ' I begin to think it must be a 
 man so cautious ! After all, he risks more than I do. 
 Wait for me in tjie study again this evening.' 
 
 Again Blum waited. 
 
 When the Minister came in, later than on the preced- 
 ing night, his eyes, half hidden under their bushy eye- 
 brows, were sparkling. 
 
 ' Well,' said he, ' she is at Nantes.' 
 
 ' Impossible !' said Blum. * She would never dare !' 
 
 ' What did I tell you ? Caution was left out in the 
 superior sex.' 
 
 ' Then you have perfect confidence in the betrayer ?' 
 
 ' He is an abject creature. I do not think he could 
 invent even a lie. I never saw such a mean thing.' 
 
 ' You found him in the shrubbery ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; there was no one else. Traitor was written all 
 over him. I knew I could not be mistaken. 
 
 ' " You summoned me. Here I am. What do you 
 want with me ?" I said.
 
 250 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' " Five thousand francs." ' 
 
 ' Five thousand francs !' cried Blum. 
 
 ' I took it more philosophically than you, my 
 friend.' 
 
 ' " Done," said I, "if you give me the information I 
 want. Whom does this precious secret concern ?" 
 
 ' Even then he hesitated, looked round as if he thought 
 the sycamores were spies, stammered at last : 
 
 ' " Madame." 
 
 ' It seems he is, or was, one of her letter-carriers. I 
 cannot congratulate her on the choice of her postman. 
 She sent a letter to the Queen by him. He vows she 
 is at Nantes, but he does not know in which quarter of 
 the town. I tried in vain to make him disclose the 
 source of his information, but he will come to the 
 Ministry of the Interior by the secret door to-morrow 
 night. If I am satisfied and I think I shall be ; I 
 think he is sincere I shall warn the prefet of Nantes, 
 Maurice Duval, and Joly. Joly arrested Louvel, the 
 murderer of the duke. He is accustomed to look after 
 the affairs of the de Berry family. I should wish you 
 to go to Nantes with him. You know the duchess well 
 by sight ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly,' said Blum, who thought she was the lady 
 that dropped his pencil-case madame de Nacquart. 
 
 ' If your friend is with her, as you think, you may 
 find him about the town. He might help you to trace 
 her. Joly is not acquainted with him.' 
 
 ' I suppose the former stipulation holds good, sir ? 
 If I help in the arrest of the duchess, I am to be allowed 
 to contrive my friend's escape ? I am heartily on your 
 side, as you know ; but I will not undertake the busi- 
 ness except with this proviso.'
 
 THE OTHER POSTMAN 251 
 
 ' A bargain, as usual,' said the Minister of the Interior. 
 ' Well, I am in the humour for granting bargains. Be 
 it so ! By the way, what is your friend ?' 
 
 ' A poet, sir.' 
 
 ' Oh, a poet ! Let him go, then. He will do no 
 harm. I have always cherished a weakness for litera- 
 ture.'
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 COMING events do not always cast their shadows before 
 them. The sun rises and sets as usual on the day that 
 changes life ; but the actions that loom so large in the 
 brief career of man are not caught between light and 
 the earth. 
 
 There fell a day in September when, correspondence 
 being unusually slack at No. 3, rue Haute-du-Chateau, 
 Lucien had seized the chance of working hard at his 
 last Play. He had been bending over the table for 
 three or four hours at a stretch, when suddenly, in 
 an instant, all his ideas failed him, and not a single 
 word would answer to the mental image. When this 
 happened it was vain, as he knew from experience, to 
 make any further effort ; he was in a state of weary 
 irritation that nothing but the open air could soothe. 
 
 Blessing Heaven for twilight, he sallied forth and 
 found himself, after a few minutes' walk, on the banks 
 of the river. He did not go there as a rule, preferring 
 the open country beyond ; but that day he had a strong 
 wish to see water flow. Certain motions of water 
 cloud fire or wind attracted him when his own vital 
 forces ran low. 
 
 Cloudy skies wove a gray, ungenial atmosphere, and
 
 NIGHT 253 
 
 he was stamping up and down as hard as he could to keep 
 himself warm, when he was struck by the melancholy 
 grace of a gentleman leaning against a tree by the water- 
 side. There is about some people a distinction which 
 makes the commonest action not altogether common. 
 The gentleman an Italian by his dark hair and colour 
 was trying to hit a stake in the water with a stone. 
 He never succeeded, though the stake stood close enough 
 to the shore. 
 
 Lucien smiled to himself. 
 
 ' I could imagine that man would fling away wealth, 
 talents, life itself with the same carelessness.' 
 
 Every time he roused himself to make the effort the 
 stone splashed into the water, now short of the stake, 
 now beyond. He did not exert any great strength, 
 nor did he grow impatient. After an interval of a few 
 minutes he always began again. 
 
 ' Will he ever hit the stake before dark ?' thought 
 Lucien ; and, idly fascinated by the game, he passed 
 and passed again. The face of the man was very hand- 
 some ; there was just light enough left to see the sensitive 
 nostrils, the tremulous, delicate lines of forehead and 
 mouth. 
 
 ' He looks as if he might be Tasso or Ariosto, and 
 there he is, and he cannot hit a stick with a stone !' 
 
 The light had faded altogether. Only a lamp here 
 and there, or a lantern slung from the boats or flitting 
 and gliding about them, flashed spots of red and yellow 
 on the darkness. The Italian still continued to amuse 
 himself by paving the river-bed. 
 
 ' He is just such a fellow as might woo my Maid of 
 the Moon ! He is himself a piece of shadow. He would 
 never go anywhere but at night. He would sing like this.'
 
 254 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The lines of a Song that flowed as the river flowed 
 began to run in Lucien's head. Almost everyone was 
 gone. It was the supper-hour of the good folks of 
 Nantes ; and pleasant odours rose even from the boats. 
 Partly the rhymes of the Song, but for the most part a 
 kind of obstinacy, kept Lucien walking up and down till 
 the Italian should move. 
 
 Suddenly a boy, with a bundle under his arm, came 
 across the bridge stood for an instant watching just 
 as Lucien watched picked up a stone hit the stake at 
 once and passed on. The gentleman threw once or 
 twice more without the slightest change of manner, 
 and then strolled quietly away. Lucien felt glad to 
 do the same, for, after all, it was cold by the water- 
 side. 
 
 As he was stepping briskly past the Column of 
 Louis XVI. he encountered Stylite. 
 
 ' You out at night, mademoiselle ? Wonders will 
 never cease !' 
 
 ' Madame has given me leave,' she whispered. * It 
 is Eulalie's birthday ; I am going to sleep at home. 
 Celeste will be there too. We have not supped together, 
 all three of us, for four months.' 
 
 Lucien looked after her as she went up the street ; he 
 loved the movements of ladies. She had not reached 
 the corner when she turned and came back to him. 
 
 ' Are you on your way to No. 3 ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lucien courteously, though he had not 
 intended to go, Madame, as it chanced, having given 
 no invitation. 
 
 ' Will you be kind enough to tell Her Royal Highness 
 that I left the new cipher in the lower drawer of the 
 chest, at the end of the passage outside her room ?
 
 NIGHT 255 
 
 has no lock. I would go back myself, but if it is not 
 a burden to you ' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted.' 
 
 Glad at heart at the chance of any service, however 
 small, he hurried back to No. 3. Mademoiselle Pauline 
 was alone in the parlour. 
 
 ' May I see Madame ?' 
 
 Mademoiselle Pauline smiled. 
 
 ' She is not at home.' 
 
 The look of horror on Lucien's face made her laugh 
 gently. 
 
 ' She wearied so for the fresh air. We thought it 
 could do no harm if she went at dusk.' 
 
 ' Which way did she go ?' 
 
 ' Down by the river. It is quite deserted there. No 
 one ever passes except the bargees ; she thinks a man 
 in a boat is stupider than any other kind of man.' 
 
 ' Pray Heaven she thinks right !' said Lucien, with 
 some anxiety. ' I have just come from the river myself, 
 but I did not see her.' 
 
 * There she is ! I hear her voice in the corridor.' 
 
 The draught of fresh air had wrought a change in 
 Madame. There was a flush on her cheek, a brightness 
 in her eyes. 
 
 ' To think so little can do so much !' murmured 
 Pauline to Lucien, half pleased, half sorrowful. ' The 
 meanest beggar may breathe the air she cannot !' 
 
 ' Why do you look sad ?' cried the little lady, shaking 
 the rain-drops from the brown cloak in which she had 
 wrapped herself; the hood fell back a little and there 
 was dew upon her hair. ' No woman in the world is 
 happier than I am. Nantes is the most beautiful town 
 I have ever seen. Just as I was turning homeward, the
 
 256 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 rain began. Oh, how good it was to feel it beat in my 
 face again !' 
 
 * You are covered with diamonds,' Lucien said. 
 
 'You will take off your cloak,' said Mademoiselle 
 Pauline. ' It is wet.' 
 
 She held it tightly across her, laughing. 
 
 ' No, no ! I am not so lost to all good manners. I 
 will take it off in my room.' 
 
 She fled. 
 
 ' We will light the fire for her,' said mademoiselle 
 Pauline. ' She will be cold when she comes down. What 
 a girl it is ! Ah, I wish we knew that she were once in 
 safety! And yet my sister and I how we shall miss 
 her ! We cannot remember that we are old when she is 
 by. There is a favour we want to ask of you, Monsieur 
 Lucien. Will you dine with us, and if it is not incon- 
 venient to you remain here for the night ? Monsieur 
 Guibourg does not return before to-morrow. Since he 
 has occupied the room on the ground-floor, we have felt 
 more at ease, for dear monsieur de Mesnard is very deaf. 
 Something has gone wrong with the bolt of the front- 
 door, and it cannot be repaired for a day or two ; the 
 locksmith is ill. I did not mention it before Her Royal 
 Highness she would have said there was no need but 
 should you object to take monsieur Guibourg's place ?' 
 
 ' I shall be happy to do so. I will go back to my 
 lodging early to-morrow, before Madame rises.' 
 
 ' Thank you ! She will believe that you are returning 
 home as usual after dinner. I sometimes think she tires 
 of watch and ward. See how different she looks to- 
 night because she drew breath freely for half an hour !' 
 
 Madame had come in and taken her place by the 
 window to watch the drops of rain.
 
 NIGHT 257 
 
 ' Look ! look !' she cried. * Crowds of tiny gray men, 
 bobbing up and down on the pavement out in the 
 road over the roofs everywhere !' 
 
 ' You would think she had never seen the rain fall 
 before ! ' said mademoiselle du Guiny, laughing softly. 
 
 ' I never saw the little gray men. What a hurry 
 they are in about nothing ! How human they are ! 
 Everything is human to-night.' 
 
 * I think so, too,' said Lucien. ' When I was down 
 by the river, he had a voice. I could hear what he 
 said, I know that. And now the wind is rising, he has 
 a voice, too.' 
 
 Madame listened. 
 
 ' It cries like a woman. The wind was a woman 
 once, I am sure.' 
 
 ' In Germany they say he was a Wild Huntsman.' 
 
 ' No, no a woman who had not what she wanted. 
 There is nothing so dreadful for a woman.' 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness bears it well,' said Lucien, 
 stooping to kiss her hand. 
 
 She let him keep it for an instant. 
 
 ' Do you agree with Pascal ?' she asked abruptly. 
 ' If Cleopatra's nose had been half an inch longer, 
 would it have changed the history of the world ?' 
 
 ' Cleopatra would have been Cleopatra still,' said 
 Lucien. ' No one would ever have seen her nose. 
 The world is not governed by noses. Eyes are different. 
 He should have said, " If Cleopatra had squinted ' 
 
 Madame did indeed look different. She seemed at 
 all times wonderfully young ; that night the years fell 
 away from her. 
 
 With subtle fellow-feeling mademoiselle du Guiny and 
 her sister devoted themselves to the amusement of old 
 
 17
 
 258 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 de Mesnard, that she might enjoy the society of her 
 boyish companion, and Lucien felt as though he were, 
 for the first time since she had spoken with him at 
 Bellecour, alone with her. The presence of others only 
 secured him against intrusion. They said no word that 
 might not have been overheard by the whole of Nantes, 
 yet they were talking hidden language. In the long 
 pauses when she did not speak, a strong swift current 
 of harmony bore him along, carried them nearer and 
 nearer. So far he had known two people in her 
 the heroine claiming devout homage the genial boon 
 companion, whose mirth turned everything in life to 
 laughter ; now there awoke a third a woman mysterious 
 as these were not, weak as they had been strong, irre- 
 sistible in her weakness. Where she had commanded 
 she now appealed. 
 
 ' Tell me,' said she, ' are you afraid of growing 
 old?' 
 
 ' No,' said Lucien. ' I used to be ; but now I am 
 afraid of death.' 
 
 ' I might have believed it, if you had told me before 
 the fight at la Pe"nissiere,' she said, and laughed. 
 
 The first time she had mentioned the fight ! Had 
 she forgiven the marquis ? 
 
 * I am not afraid of being shot through the heart 
 some day, if that is what you mean. I should like it 
 some day. The face is not disfigured.' 
 
 He stopped, for he was thinking of Ren6, but the 
 clear vision of Renews face would not return to him he 
 could see only the duchess. 
 
 ' What do you fear, then ?' 
 
 ' To die before I have finished my Play.' 
 
 To his own bewilderment he spoke of it without the
 
 NIGHT 259 
 
 least hesitation. A look of gentle surprise almost 
 reproach flitted across her features. 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 Lucien considered. 
 
 ' I do not know I want to finish it. If I could finish 
 it, I should not be forgotten.' 
 
 ' The love of fame is strong in you. Would you feel 
 the same if you were on a Desert Island, where no one 
 could ever read your fine speeches ?' 
 
 Lucien broke into a laugh. 
 
 ' Why, yes,' he said ; ' it is very silly, but I should. 
 I want to finish.' 
 
 For the first time in their acquaintance she did not 
 laugh when he did. 
 
 ' You love the work of your own hands more than 
 anything in this world ?' 
 
 She asked as if her life depended on the answer. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 She was tearing from him a secret which, up to that 
 moment, he had not known himself. His own answer 
 startled him. 
 
 ' You love something more ?' 
 
 He was dumb. 
 
 ' Ah !' she cried. ' I have fame. I would give it all 
 for But I shall soon be old.' 
 
 ' Never !' 
 
 ' This hair of mine will be gray wires. Here on my 
 forehead Time will rule with his ruler. I hear him 
 always whispering in my ear, " You will grow old." ' 
 
 ' He tells a lie.' 
 
 Soft tears stood in her eyes. 
 
 ' You have read to me from the old poets. To-night 
 I want to hear the youngest of them all remember ! 
 
 172
 
 260 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Sing to me something of your own. I have heard you 
 singing.' 
 
 How much may be concealed in a few careless words ! 
 In one sense, if she had asked for his life then and there, 
 she would have asked for less. 
 
 ' How should you choose to die ?' she went on. 
 
 ' Fighting,' said Lucien, ' or else upon the sea. Not 
 in my bed. Not for a little while yet.' 
 
 ' Not for a little while yet,' she murmured dreamily. 
 
 Monsieur de Mesnard left them after dinner. Madame, 
 who had been sitting silent, signed to Lucien to go to 
 the harpsichord. 
 
 * Is it safe ?' said mademoiselle Pauline, with an 
 anxious glance at her sister. ' We have not played for 
 so long.' 
 
 ' I do not care. I must have music to-night. I 
 cannot live without it any longer.' 
 
 She rose and strayed restlessly hither and thither in 
 the room. 
 
 ' I will play the " Marseillaise," ' Lucien said. ' No 
 good Republican objects to that.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, anything. Only sing.' 
 
 ' It is quite safe,' said mademoiselle du Guiny. ' The 
 harpsichord is very faint. No one can hear outside.' 
 
 One, standing outside in the darkness, did hear, and 
 hid her face in her hands. 
 
 ' It is a woman,' she said. ' He is singing that to a 
 woman.' 
 
 Yet Jeanne had not heard the words ; and perhaps no 
 one had heard them. Lucien could not remember them 
 afterwards. He only knew that Madame ceased to 
 wander that she threw herself into a chair by the 
 harpsichord that she fixed her eyes on him, hardly
 
 NIGHT 261 
 
 breathing till he had finished ; and when he ended, she 
 so quick to praise fell silent. He played a few chords. 
 
 ' Hush !' she whispered. ' That was perfect ! Good- 
 night. Nothing more !' 
 
 She was struggling with an uncontrollable fear. Her 
 breast rose and fell quickly. She was fighting her own 
 heart, as she had fought more open enemies, and she 
 would not yield. 
 
 ' Good-night,' she said again. 
 
 ' Your little walk tired you,' said mademoiselle 
 Pauline. ' You are not accustomed to walking now.' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, with feverish energy. ' I am tired. 
 Good-night.' 
 
 She kissed them as though she had been a girl, 
 putting her arm round mademoiselle du Guiny's neck, 
 touching lightly mademoiselle Pauline's forehead, her 
 eyelids, her mouth and went away. 
 
 ' If she were only our child !' murmured mademoiselle 
 Pauline. 
 
 Hour after hour Lucien sat by his bed in the room 
 downstairs. The rain beat on the window, but he took 
 no note of it. He was deaf to the wild call of the wind. 
 Sunk in a dream of ecstasy he had forgotten all the world. 
 
 At last, worn out with rapture, he fell asleep, and 
 dreamed no more. 
 
 In the middle of the night he awoke with a start of 
 horror. 
 
 What was it that he had forgotten ? 
 
 What was it that someone said beneath the Column 
 of Louis XVI. ? 
 
 The cipher ! 
 
 It must be lying still where mademoiselle Stylite had 
 left it.
 
 262 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Oh, special Providence, the night was not yet over ! 
 No servant could be stirring yet. He would find it 
 keep it until the morning. 
 
 He took off his shoes that he might make no noise, 
 and stole out, carrying a lighted candle. On tiptoe, not 
 to disturb her, he crept past Madame's door and down 
 the narrow passage. He shivered as he went. It was 
 cold and damp, and draughts from the old-fashioned, 
 ill-fitting windows almost extinguished the flame. At 
 last he made out the chest found the drawer with- 
 drew the cipher as quietly as possible and was about 
 to go downstairs again when a gust of air from the 
 casement above left him in darkness. 
 
 There was a crack of light under Madame's door. 
 Was she sitting up late ? Had she a lamp always lit ? 
 As he groped his way to the head of the stairs, a yellow 
 circle flared out just above ; quick, silent as thought, a 
 tall figure came on. Lucien was about to spring forward 
 when the door over the crack opened without a sound 
 the little white hand was thrust out seized that of the 
 stranger drew him within. 
 
 The cry that never rang from Lucien's lips had all 
 but riven his heart. He stumbled back against the 
 chest, and sat there stifling through what was left of 
 the hours of the night. When the dawn broke, they 
 seemed short to him ; he could have wished them to 
 last for ever. The moment that he dreaded came. 
 
 The door opened in the same noiseless way ; but this 
 time two figures crept out. They glided down the stairs 
 like ghosts. They were long below so he thought. 
 
 As Madame reappeared on the landing, he caught her 
 face transfigured in the dawn. He rose not so silently 
 but that she heard him ; he came to the head of the
 
 NIGHT 263 
 
 stairs. There, for a full minute, they stood fronting 
 each other. 
 
 Her eyes, at the first instant blind with terror, took 
 the expression of a hunted thing caught in a trap. 
 Overcome by swift, intolerable pity, he averted his. 
 Then he felt the look turn to one of defiance. 
 
 ' I have something to tell you, Monsieur Sylvestre,' 
 she said at last, pride and modesty so blended in her 
 that Lucien could not have told which sent the crimson 
 over cheek and brow. ' I was married in Rome last 
 winter to the count Lucchesi-Palli. He belongs to an 
 old family one of the oldest in Sicily.' 
 
 Lucien bowed very low. He let her pass to her room 
 and returned to his own. 

 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 WHO LOVES BEST ? 
 
 MADEMOISELLE JEANNE had waited in vain that night. 
 She saw the windows darkened one after the other ; but 
 Lucien did not leave the house. Tired, sick at heart, 
 she waited. Still no one came. At length, afraid to 
 stay out longer in the rain, she made her way home 
 through the silent streets. 
 
 ' A woman ! a woman !' 
 
 She could not sleep. As soon as it was light her feet 
 carried her back to a corner where she could watch 
 unseen. She did not think to see Lucien ; but she 
 could not stand there all day, and she could not wait 
 till it was dark to stand there again. 
 
 Suddenly, before she knew where she was, he had 
 passed her. 
 
 Was it Lucien ? 
 
 Never in life had she seen him look thus. 
 
 Amazed and terrified by the sudden change, she 
 cast about in her mind to discover what could have 
 happened. Cruel, dumb walls which knew everything 
 that she longed to know, and would not tell her. How 
 she hated the house ! Yet there was something in it 
 that he loved. 
 
 Had the marquis been arrested ?
 
 WHO LOVES BEST? 265 
 
 No. He was a marked man since the day at la 
 P6nissiere ; the news would have gone ringing through 
 the town. 
 
 Was he ill ? 
 
 No. In that case Lucien would never have left him. 
 
 Had he died ? 
 
 Impossible. Even as she stood there the blinds were 
 pulled up, the curtains drawn aside, the quiet, regular 
 life of the place that she had watched for months began 
 again just as usual. She saw the cook come to the 
 door, take in the milk for the household, smile and 
 laugh at the milkman. She heard the housemaid hum- 
 ming as she scrubbed the steps. Presently mademoiselle 
 du Guiny came out with a covered basket, on her way 
 to the market square. Her calm face bore no signs of 
 disturbance. 
 
 Only one person altered ! What was it that had 
 done this thing ? 
 
 The necessities of the day drove Jeanne away at last, 
 but she could not forget, and when the dusk fell she 
 took a sudden resolution that she would go and ask the 
 caretaker at the Castle she knew by 'this time that 
 Lucien Sylvestre lodged there how he was. 
 
 '.I will say I am an old friend I saw him in the 
 street, and thought he looked ill. That is quite true.' 
 
 The caretaker was a sympathetic woman, and, in 
 common with most of her sex who came across him, 
 she liked Lucien. 
 
 ' Ah, poor young gentleman !' said she. ' He is not 
 himself. He is ill. Go up and see him, dear ! Your 
 pretty face will do him good. He has no friends at all 
 in Nantes. Nobody ever comes. He has hardly let 
 me enter his room since he came back, and he will
 
 266 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 not eat. Tell him he will be ill if he goes on like 
 that.' 
 
 Jeanne ran quickly up the dilapidated staircase and 
 knocked. For four long months she had been wonder- 
 ing how she could do this. Now she was frightened at 
 the ease with which she did it. 
 
 A careless voice bade her enter, and she thanked 
 God. She had dreaded she knew not what utter 
 silence. 
 
 The windows had been thrown wide open. 
 
 Lucien was sitting by the table without fire or lamp. 
 
 ' Ah, is it you ?' he said, rising and coming forward 
 to take her hand. 
 
 There was a languid pleasure in his recognition at 
 which her heart bounded. Clearly, he thought it 
 natural she should be there. 
 
 ' I am ill,' he went on ' light-headed, I think. If I 
 say odd things, you will not believe them, will you? 
 You know they are not what I saw ; they never really 
 happened.' 
 
 ' Oh no !' said Jeanne. ' I should not dream of 
 thinking they really happened.' 
 
 He drew a long breath of relief. 
 
 ' Then it is all well. You will not let anyone else 
 come in, will you ? I am sorry the room is too hot, 
 but we must not sit by the window ; people would see. 
 You were so good to that poor man who had the fever ! 
 Will you put your little white hand on my forehead 
 once only once ?' 
 
 A light broke in upon Jeanne. He did not know 
 her; he thought he was talking to the lady who hid 
 behind the curtain at the chateau de Morfontaine. It 
 was she she who had driven him out of his senses.
 
 WHO LOVES BEST? 267 
 
 ' Will you tear up this for me ?' he went on, pointing 
 to a heap of manuscript, loose and disordered, on the 
 table. ' Marthe would never understand. I have been 
 trying all day to tear it up. I could not find page I. 
 There are little black things crawling.' 
 
 He looked down with fastidious disgust. 
 
 ' It used to be white,' he said. 
 
 ' I will arrange all that for you,' said Jeanne, quickly 
 gathering the papers together. ' Now you must do as 
 I tell you. You are very tired feverish. Go to bed, 
 and madame Marthe will bring you some good hot 
 soup. To-morrow I will come again.' 
 
 ' I cannot go to bed ; I should dream.' 
 
 While she was speaking, Jeanne had closed the 
 windows, drawn the old curtain across, found the 
 matches and lighted a candle. Now she simply re- 
 peated her commands as if he had not heard them. 
 
 ' I will not come again unless you do as I bid you,' 
 she added. 
 
 ' I will,' he said ; ' I will do anything you bid me. 
 Only one question. I know why you did that. I 
 understand. I remember what you said about women 
 and Queens. You could not help yourself ; it came to 
 you. But why did you never tell little Celine ? Why 
 did you let Ren6 fight ? They died. You have the 
 dead against you. Why had you no compassion ? 
 Why did you never tell ?' 
 
 ' I will explain everything to you by-and-by,' said 
 Jeanne. ' I was quite right ; I always am.' 
 
 ' It is not the marquis, then ; it is the niece of the marquis 
 who lives in that house ?' 
 
 Jeanne had time to ask herself many questions be- 
 tween the first and the last steps of the stairs.
 
 268 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' What has she done to him ?' 
 
 Her blue eyes grew fierce. In her opinion the niece 
 of the marquis, in spite of her dramatic defence of the 
 doings of that lady, had not behaved well. 
 
 The days that followed were for Lucien as though 
 they had not been ; for Jeanne they were full of 
 mystery, excitement, a bitter happiness. She came 
 whenever she was able to spare the time. Since he did 
 not know her, how could it matter ? The old woman, 
 glad of her help, did everything to encourage her. She 
 dared not send for a doctor, it appeared ; she dared not 
 get in a nurse. It would be as much as her place was 
 worth, if anyone discovered that she was sheltering a 
 man in the Castle. 
 
 ' It is better for him to have the fever than be sent to 
 prison and guillotined, poor young gentleman ! Be- 
 sides, this is not cholera. People only die of cholera 
 nowadays.' 
 
 Jeanne agreed, or seemed to agree. The old woman 
 was right : what could they do ? 
 
 As for provisions, they had all that they wanted. 
 Achille Guibourg came often. He had grown very fond 
 of Lucien during the last month, and every few days he 
 bought a flask of brandy and entreated Jeanne to give 
 large and frequent doses of the same. Except about 
 the health of his friend, he asked no questions, and 
 Jeanne, grateful to him because he appeared to take her 
 presence for granted, decided that she would ask none 
 either. 
 
 When the shades of evening gathered, one tall, stately 
 lady or another would glide up the stair, bring a bowl 
 of soup or jelly, a lump of ice, a basket of fruit, 
 linger for a while by the bedside, depart as she had
 
 WHO LOVES BEST? 269 
 
 come. Neither of these could be the niece of the 
 marquis. 
 
 After the first evening Lucien was dumb. Had it 
 not been for a stray utterance now and then, broken or 
 stopped at once as if by some strong effort of the will, 
 they might have thought him incapable of speech. The 
 fancy that Jeanne was that someone else of whom he 
 was always thinking did not last. Whether he recog- 
 nised her or not she could not tell, but every morning 
 when she came in he searched her face with great bright 
 eyes, and every morning turned away from it with a look 
 that cut her to the heart. He was always listening, 
 listening for a footstep outside. A momentary gleam lit 
 up his face when the door opened, only to fade again as 
 Marthe, or Guibourg, or one of the tall ladies, entered. 
 
 ' Who is she ?' whispered Jeanne one night when he 
 was very restless. 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' If she did come, I would not let her in. She has 
 half killed you already.' 
 
 Jeanne's lips formed the word ' Never,' though she 
 was not speaking aloud. 
 
 But ' Never ' is a long word, illness is a strange 
 lengthener of time, and time works wonders. Only 
 a day or two after this Jeanne slipped outside the door 
 and caught mademoiselle du Guiny by the sleeve. 
 
 ' When is she coming ? He will die if she does not 
 come.' 
 
 ' My child, she cannot.' 
 
 The tall lady put her arms round Jeanne, and Jeanne 
 let herself be soothed by that embracing sympathy, even 
 though the words were a refusal. 
 ' Have you told her ?'
 
 2 ;o THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Mademoiselle du Guiny bent her head. 
 
 'Then it is she that will not come. She will not 
 save his life when she could.' 
 
 ' Alas ! alas ! she cannot !' 
 
 Mademoiselle du Guiny tightened her clasp of Jeanne, 
 drew her close. It was years since she had cried. They 
 clung together in silence. 
 
 ' But if she does come, I will go,' said Jeanne to 
 herself. ' I could not stay in the room with her. I 
 hate her !' 
 
 Next day Lucien refused all food. He had not slept 
 for three nights. 
 
 Mademoiselle du Guiny arrived at the usual hour. 
 When she saw how it was, she signed to Jeanne to 
 follow her out. 
 
 ' Can you stay here to-night ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Jeanne without hesitation. 
 
 ' She will come. You will leave the door on the 
 latch. But no one must see her, no one must know. 
 She will be here at eleven. Can you get Marthe out of 
 the way ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 Marthe was glad enough to be told to go and lie 
 down for the first part of the night ; she asked no 
 questions. 
 
 Lucien wandered a little ; he was growing weaker. 
 Jeanne fought off the thought of the hour to come, 
 kept herself steadily to the work in hand, and succeeded 
 well until there was nothing more to do. Then a wave 
 of rebellion surged up in her. Why must she stay to 
 see the cruel, coward beauty who had brought Lucien 
 low, and now, when he was at the last gasp, just conde- 
 scended to cross the road that she might look at him
 
 WHO LOVES BEST? 271 
 
 and make him well ? That would be the result, Jeanne 
 had no doubt. She never reckoned all that she had 
 risked herself. There was no merit in it ; she could 
 not have done otherwise, that was all. But a fierce 
 contempt filled her soul for the other woman, who 
 risked nothing. Why should it be she she alone 
 who could heal ? 
 
 Jeanne checked the raging vehemence of question, 
 terrified by her own hardness. Would she not have 
 given her life that Lucien might recover ? Only that 
 morning had she not felt that she could give it, even 
 for a chance that the sight of the one face he desired 
 might soothe him ? Had it not been her own resolve 
 that she would bring that face to his bedside, if any 
 earthly power could do so ? 
 
 ' Oh, I am wicked ! I am wicked 1' 
 
 Hiding her face in her hands, she prayed to be 
 delivered from herself ; and still her thoughts raged on 
 beside her prayers. 
 
 Was this what it came to, then, to be a great lady ? 
 Was this what he must love a broken reed that ran 
 into his hand and pierced him when he leant on it ? 
 She must be beautiful indeed ! Perhaps she did not 
 mean to come after all ; she might deceive again. 
 
 A little figure in a long brown cloak slid through the 
 door, her finger on her lip, and stopped beside the bed. 
 
 She had come. 
 
 Jeanne held her breath looked. 
 
 * Not beautiful not even young !' 
 
 She could have cried for joy, but the next impulse 
 was to doubt. 
 
 ' Can it be she ?' 
 
 From under the cloak a small white hand stole forth,
 
 272 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 rested on Lucien's forehead. He had been lying with 
 half-shut eyes, now he opened them. He looked at 
 her, shook his head, pointed to the door. 
 
 * No, no, not you ! not you ! You are ugly !' 
 
 The lady covered her face with her hands, and shrank 
 behind the bed. Jeanne moved swiftly towards her, 
 full of sudden compassion. 
 
 ' He does not know,' she whispered. 
 
 The little lady drew herself up with such pride that 
 it was Jeanne's turn to shrink, made the sign of the 
 Cross over the bed, and vanished. 
 
 No sooner had the door closed on her than Jeanne 
 flitted to a square of looking-glass hung on the wall, 
 and surveyed her own features. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' I am prettier.' 
 
 She felt a rush of kindness in her breast that all her 
 praying had not brought her. 
 
 From that night Lucien began to improve.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE BARON 
 
 'Wno made him a baron, I wonder?' said Guibourg. 
 ' I am pretty sure that he did not inherit the honour.' 
 
 Lucien smiled with languid amusement. He was 
 much better, though he still looked pale, as he sat in 
 what had been once a very grand arm-chair, found for 
 him by Marthe somewhere in the recesses of the Castle, 
 and supported by an infirm arrangement of stools instead 
 of a fourth leg. Jeanne was by the table, at work upon 
 the tall straight lilies of the Nuns' banner. She had 
 neglected them of late, and they had not grown so fast 
 as she promised they should; wherefore, every minute 
 was precious. Guibourg had come in. to see Lucien, 
 and they were discussing the arrival of a gentleman 
 who called himself the baron de Gonzague, and wished 
 to be received at No. 3. 
 
 ' Do you care so much about rank ?' said Lucien. 
 
 ' I care about rank because the best blood wins in the 
 end because it means, as a rule, that the fellow has 
 been brought up in proper surroundings.' 
 
 ' I care nothing about that. I was born no, brought 
 up in a windmill.' 
 
 ' Brought up ? Yes, I dare say. Anyone who had 
 
 1 8
 
 274 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 had the pleasure of looking at you for two minutes 
 would know that you were not born in a windmill.' 
 
 Jeanne glanced away from her work, like a bird hear- 
 ing the song of another bird ; so she had often thought. 
 
 ' It makes little difference,' Lucien said wearily. ' We 
 were all born when the world began.' 
 
 Guibourg laughed. 
 
 ' In the case of the baron the stock has degenerated.' 
 
 ' You have seen him ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I saw him at Mass in the Chapel at the Convent 
 of the Visitation the place that was recently searched, 
 you remember. He goes to Communion there every 
 day ; he has a hoarse voice, but he says the responses 
 with great devotion. The Superior is charmed ; she 
 asked me to introduce him, but I declined. There are 
 too many in the secret as it is.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me to go ?' broke in Jeanne. ' I have 
 never been told the secret.' 
 
 ' Dear Mademoiselle Jeanne,' said Guibourg readily, 
 ' you must have guessed it.' 
 
 Jeanne smiled. 
 
 ' I guessed it a long while ago.' 
 
 ' How ?' said Lucien, his face changing. ' Did I name 
 her?' 
 
 ' Never.' 
 
 ' How, then ?' 
 
 ' By her ways. I knew she must be a duchess.' 
 
 'When ?' 
 
 ' The night that she came in to see you.' 
 
 ' She came ?' said Lucien eagerly ' she came ?' 
 
 Jeanne stitched away hard. 
 
 ' When ?' 
 
 * The night that you slept for the first time.'
 
 THE BARON 275 
 
 She compelled herself to say it, though her voice 
 stiffened with the effort. 
 
 ' It was like her,' said Guibourg. 
 
 Jeanne felt as if the room had grown cold. 
 
 Lucien said nothing. 
 
 ' When did she ever fail in kindness ?' Guibourg con- 
 tinued. ' I believe myself, it is out of pure kindness 
 that she will insist on seeing this doubtful member of 
 the nobility.' 
 
 ' How did she hear of him ?' 
 
 ' Through mademoiselle Celeste, who goes often to 
 the convent. She says she remembers him at Massa. 
 He used to take despatches to Spain.' 
 
 ' He was the man who carried the letter to Marie- 
 Amelie, then, on behalf of monsieur de Kersabiec. Has 
 that had any result ?' 
 
 ' None, so far as we know. For my own part, I do 
 not feel sure that it was received.' 
 
 'There is a man in Nantes now, who took a letter 
 that I had for the duchess of Berry, about four months 
 ago,' said Jeanne. ' I have often wondered whether it 
 reached her hands.' 
 
 Both men looked at her, greatly startled. 
 
 She had always meant to tell Lucien, and now she 
 saw her chance. In clear, business-like accents she 
 spoke of Blum's return to Lyons ; of the initials on the 
 pencil-case; of the intercepted letter from the South, 
 which she believed to be a forgery. She had almost 
 reached Nantes, she said, when a man, whose voice 
 was hoarse and his manner deprecating, yet insistent, 
 accosted her one day on the highroad, informed her 
 that he came from monsieur Thiers, and requested her, 
 in the name of that Minister, to give him the letter. 
 
 1 8 2
 
 276 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 She had no means of resistance, and she saw herself 
 compelled to surrender it, though with a feeling of 
 strong reluctance. 
 
 ' I had that letter from the South. I gave it to her,' 
 said Lucien. ' It was a forgery, of course.' 
 
 ' The man is in Nantes now,' said Jeanne. ' I saw 
 him yesterday.' 
 
 ' If he should be the baron ?' 
 
 The two friends stared at each other. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle du Guiny's brother has been ordered 
 off to bring the baron this very night. Such a night, 
 too ! Listen to the storm !' 
 
 ' Is du Guiny acquainted with him ?' 
 
 ' No ; he did not like the business. By the way, he 
 was to be at the Hotel de France by six o'clock, and, 
 if the baron had the other half of a card which Madame 
 had kept, du Guiny was to conduct him down the rue 
 Jean-Jacques, along the road from Pont Maillard, to 
 No. 3. She is rather annoyed with de Mesnard, and 
 with me, for opposing the plan. I think she wearies of 
 her prison ; she wants to play a scene to amuse herself. 
 A pity to run risks, though, when she is within an ace of 
 escape.' 
 
 ' I do not understand. No chance of another rising, 
 is there ?' 
 
 Jeanne stopped, her needle in her hand. 
 
 ' About as much as there is of the millennium. But 
 she has yielded at last. To-morrow fortnight she leaves 
 France. The ship is chartered. What is the matter ? 
 Are you faint ?' 
 
 * Nothing ! The heat of the room. To-morrow fort- 
 night, did you say ?' 
 
 ' To-morrow fortnight. Well, I must go back ; I do
 
 THE BARON 277 
 
 not desire that the baron should pay his respects in my 
 absence. Come with me, Lucien ; I should like to have 
 your opinion.' 
 
 Jeanne leaned forward across the table. 
 
 ' He must not he cannot go. He has hardly breathed 
 the air yet. It is a wild night.' 
 
 Lucien rose. 
 
 ' In a fortnight, you said ?' 
 
 ' Do not be disturbed, Mademoiselle ! He has only 
 to cross the road; he will return in a few minutes. 
 Seat yourself at the window. I am sure those keen eyes 
 of yours have discernment. I will contrive to carry a 
 lantern for the baron when he comes out. As he passes 
 the moat, I will flash it in his face. You shall tell us if 
 you recognise your companion of the road.' 
 
 Jeanne laughed with her lips. 
 
 ' Thank-you ; I cannot stay.' 
 
 Guibourg went on ahead ; she touched Lucien's arm. 
 
 ' I have never asked anything else of you. Do not 
 go!' 
 
 He looked at her, but there was no response to the 
 entreaty. 
 
 ' I must. I shall not be long. Wait for me here !' 
 
 With a piece of lead at her breast instead of a heart, 
 Jeanne waited. 
 
 They had not set foot outside when Guibourg asked, 
 in the off-hand manner of the young man who has made 
 up his mind to say a difficult thing : 
 
 ' Of course you are engaged to that pretty girl ?' 
 
 ' No, why should I be ?' 
 
 ' For reasons that should be plain to an honest man.' 
 
 Lucien felt as if his trusty friend had turned round 
 and fired a pistol at him twice over.
 
 278 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Was it not enough to have said that Madame was 
 leaving France in a fortnight ? 
 
 He could not speak, he could not think. He had not 
 considered the violence of the storm without. Weak as 
 he was, he found it hard work to struggle across the 
 road ; and yet the dark tranquillity of the house, when 
 once he found himself again within those sheltering 
 walls, was worse to bear. 
 
 Guibourg took him up to the room on the third story. 
 The ladies and old de Mesnard greeted him warmly ; 
 someone else was there. 
 
 ' Has she come ?' said a rough voice that Lucien had 
 heard before, as he sat on an old sunny wall, under a 
 bright blue sky, one day in June. It was the voice of 
 the air, as a letter fell at his feet. 
 
 ' Has she come ?' it repeated. 
 
 * You heard the bell ring, did you not ?' said de 
 Mesnard. 
 
 ' I will go and see !' cried mademoiselle du Guiny, 
 mademoiselle Pauline, and Stylite, rising as one woman. 
 
 There was a noise of footsteps outside of opening 
 and shutting of smothered exclamation. Madame 
 appeared, ceremoniously ushered in by the brother of 
 the two ladies. She was wearing a hat and a thick 
 shawl. The baron staggered back. 
 
 ' Here I am, dear Deutz ! Be more composed, friend.' 
 
 She pushed a chair towards him. 
 
 ' Do not go !' she cried, turning swiftly to Lucien. 
 1 You will have to take me home again, you know. 
 You will forgive me while I talk to this gentleman ?' 
 
 Lucien understood that she wanted the baron to think 
 she had come with him. Guibourg drew him down on 
 to the sofa at the back, as far from the carrier of de-
 
 THE BARON 279 
 
 spatches as space would admit. Du Guiny joined them. 
 All the while Guibourg's question went sounding on 
 in his brain, ' Of course you are engaged to that pretty 
 girl ?' 
 
 The duchess and the baron talked to each other in 
 low tones by the window, for a long time as it seemed. 
 Again and again Lucien could not avoid overhearing 
 phrases which whirled round after each other in the 
 tumult of his brain : Don Miguel loan of ten million 
 arms ammunition the Queen of Spain. 
 
 The baron appeared to be timidly insisting Madame 
 resisting all in the friendliest manner. 
 
 At length she rose. 
 
 * I must ask you to stay a few minutes longer, while I 
 leave the house,' she said aloud. 
 
 The baron fell on his knees before her, lifting the 
 hem of her gown to his lips. 
 
 * Eve the Serpent !' 
 
 Lucien was about to spring forward when Guibourg 
 laid a strong hand on his arm. 
 
 * Only consent to make me your Plenipotentiary !' 
 murmured Deutz. ' Only confer on me the degree of 
 baron in your illustrious court !' . He would have 
 gone further, but trembled so that he could hardly 
 speak. 
 
 ' Stand up ! Stand up, friend !' said Madame. ' We 
 will discuss this matter by-and-by. To-night I cannot 
 spare the time. Here is our kind ally who will convey 
 you back to your H6tel as soon as I am gone.' She 
 made a sign to du Guiny. ' He will be always at 
 your service, if you have anything further to com- 
 municate.' 
 
 ' You will find me at No. 2, Place de la Prefecture.
 
 28o THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 My rooms are on the third floor,' du Guiny said. ' We 
 have light here, and that is not always the case with 
 conspirators. Let us look well at each other, sir, that 
 I may be sure to know your face and you may be sure 
 to know mine !' 
 
 The baron seemed to be doubtfully convinced of the 
 wisdom of this precaution. He raised his eyes for an 
 instant and let them fall again at once. 
 
 * Monsieur du Guiny is a good Breton,' said the 
 duchess. ' You may have perfect confidence in him. 
 There are no bounds to his devotion.' 
 
 She signed to Lucien to lead her out, as du Guiny 
 had led her in. He found a tiny scrap of paper in his 
 hand when she withdrew hers, and instantly con- 
 cealed it. 
 
 ' You will follow me in five minutes' time,' she called 
 through the door. 
 
 An awkward pause followed. 
 
 Deutz knelt on, still covering his face with his hands. 
 No one knew whether to sit or stand, whether to stay 
 or to depart. The same noises that had preceded 
 Madame's supposed arrival preceded her supposed de- 
 parture. A sickening conviction that they would never 
 deceive anyone crept over Lucien. 
 
 ' Shall we go ?' said du Guiny, and marshalled the 
 baron out. 
 
 ' Pouf !' cried Guibourg. ' Open the window, Lucien. 
 Why should he turn pale when du Guiny looked at 
 him ? Shyness, perhaps he's no beauty ! What was 
 that ? Madame laughing ! Ah well, I have not heard 
 her laugh for many a long day ! A quelque chose malheur 
 est bon.' 
 
 She entered, chatting gaily with de Mesnard.
 
 THE BARON 281 
 
 ' So that is what he said to you !' she cried, throwing 
 herself back in a chair. * He is mad. He wants to 
 be my "Plenipotentiary" he wants to be a baron. 
 Well, let him pass for a baron ! Let us make him a 
 baron !' 
 
 ' Plenipotentiary to the Shades of Night !' thought 
 Lucien. The expression sounded familiar. 
 
 ' I always thought his baronetcy wanted confirma- 
 tion,' observed Guibourg. 
 
 ' His affection needs none. No one ever kissed the 
 hem of my skirt before.' 
 
 ' I only hope he did not see what I did that Your 
 Royal Highness's skirt was remarkably clean for a skirt 
 that had been taking a walk in the same direction as 
 Your Royal Highness's boots.' 
 
 ' Dear Monsieur Guibourg, he is not a born detective 
 as you are.' 
 
 1 1 do not understand how Your Royal Highness can 
 possibly trust him,' put in de Mesnard. ' In my opinion 
 he is a traitor.' 
 
 ' What is your opinion, Monsieur Lucien ?' 
 
 Lucien's voice shook. 
 
 ' Madame, it agrees in every point with that of Mon- 
 sieur de Mesnard.' 
 
 Her face clouded over. 
 
 ' But he was recommended to me by more than one 
 of the Cardinals.' 
 
 ' Indeed !' said Guibourg politely. 
 
 'By the Pope himself !' 
 
 No one said anything. 
 
 She grew impatient. 
 
 ' In short, I trust him as I should one of yourselves.' 
 
 All three were silent.
 
 282 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Heavens !' cried Guibourg. ' I forgot the lantern. 
 They cannot have crossed the courtyard yet. Lucien, 
 the lantern !' 
 
 A minute or two afterwards Jeanne, watching at her 
 window, saw the light flash upon the face of the timidly 
 insistent man who had taken the letter from her on the 
 highroad to Nantes.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 JEANNE REFUSES 
 
 THERE was no doubt left in her mind. He was Thiers' 
 agent. 
 
 What if Lucien were taken ? This very night some 
 dreadful, inevitable thing might occur. 
 
 She was putting on her hat when Guibourg burst 
 into the room ; she could have fallen on her knees when 
 she saw Lucien behind him. 
 
 ' Well, Mademoiselle Jeanne ! What of the baron ?' 
 
 ' He is the man who met me on the road.' 
 
 ' One of Thiers' spies. I thought as much. So did 
 you ' 
 
 Guibourg turned to his friend abruptly. 
 
 Lucien nodded. 
 
 ' Her Royal Highness must be warned at once.' 
 
 * He does not know that she is living at No. 3. He 
 thinks she came from a long distance.' 
 
 ' Does he, I wonder ?' said Guibourg. ' He must be 
 very simple if he does simpler than I take that fellow 
 to be. A man who could deceive Madame and let a hat 
 and shawl and a pair of muddy boots deceive him ! Of 
 course he acts badly. I thought at one moment it could 
 not be acting at all. No, do not come with me, Lucien. 
 You are not fit for any more detective work to-night.'
 
 284 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' I must know.' 
 
 ' Let us have a signal ! You see the centre window 
 of the parlour ? She may decide that nothing can be 
 done at present ; she may decide on active measures. 
 If the blind rises twice, I will come over to you as soon 
 as I can. If it rises only once, you will know that I am 
 going to bed, and you will have the goodness to follow 
 my example. You were right, Mademoiselle Jeanne ! 
 I ought not to have taken him. Give him some 
 brandy.' 
 
 Lucien was indeed white as a sheet. He did not ask 
 Jeanne to stay ; he seemed to forget her ; but when she 
 had put on her hat and jacket and bidden him good- 
 night, he pointed to the window across the road and 
 said : 
 
 ' Stay !' 
 
 Two notes were crushed together in his hand 
 Madame's, and another from the marquis, which made- 
 moiselle du Guiny had given him. 
 
 A few minutes later the blind was slowly raised and 
 lowered ; it did not rise again. 
 
 ' I must go home now.' 
 
 * Wait wait a moment ! Why are you in such a 
 hurry ? Your lilies are not finished.' 
 
 ' I cannot finish them to-night ; I hate lilies !' 
 
 Lucien continued to gaze out of window. 
 
 ' Mademoiselle Jeanne,' he said slowly, ' you have 
 been good to me. You have done for a friend what few 
 women would have done except for a lover or for the 
 love of God. I want to ask you this will you take 
 me, your friend, for your husband ?' 
 
 ' No,' said Jeanne, as she would have answered an 
 indifferent question, her voice neither raised nor lowered.
 
 JEANNE REFUSES 285 
 
 This the question of questions to her was to him 
 indifferent. She knew that; still, it was well for her 
 that she could not see the look of relief on his face. 
 Had she done so, the word she added in her heart 
 might have been a longer word than Not yet. 
 
 ' You will let me be your brother ?' he said more 
 grateful to her now than at any previous moment of his 
 life. He longed to give her something. 
 
 Jeanne nodded assent. She was full of horror at 
 herself because she shrank. 
 
 Quicker to feel than to understand, he knew dimly 
 that he had said a cruel thing, and distress for he was 
 gentle of heart confused him and made him blunder 
 worse. 
 
 ' I used to think that I honoured women too little to 
 love them,' he explained, with fervent conviction. ' You 
 have changed that. I think I honour them now too 
 much.' 
 
 If Jeanne had not laughed, she must have cried. 
 She took the braver part and laughed more than was 
 needful. 
 
 Lucien, though bewildered as to the cause of her 
 amusement, breathed again ; he could not have hurt 
 her much, if she laughed. 
 
 ' But why ?' said he. ' I cannot tell you how grateful 
 I am.' 
 
 ' Oh, not that, not that !' she cried, and the laugh 
 changed into another sound. 
 
 ' Why not ?' 
 
 Jeanne plucked up courage. She was on safe ground 
 now she could speak. 
 
 * Brothers and sisters are never grateful to each other.' 
 
 ' Are they not ? I never had any. I do not know.'
 
 286 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' They know. It is a matter of course. If you were 
 really my brother, you would not think of being grateful.' 
 
 ' I never did think of it before to-night,' said Lucien, 
 musing. 
 
 ' Then do not think of it any more, Monsieur Sylvestre.' 
 
 ' I will not, if you will call me Lucien.' 
 
 ' Very well.' 
 
 ' " Very well Lucien /" ' 
 
 ' Very well, Lucien !' 
 
 ' And I shall call you Jeanne,' said Lucien, much 
 satisfied with the result of the discussion. 
 
 He had done as honour, in the person of Guibourg, 
 bade him, without hesitation not without a tremor. 
 It was easy to be Mademoiselle Jeanne's brother ; the 
 arrangement defined the character of their intercourse 
 well and pleasantly. As for the mere thought of marriage, 
 that was terrible. He felt no certain assurance that 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne's husband could write. He shud- 
 dered when he looked down the abyss to the edge of 
 which Guibourg's mistake had brought him. 
 
 ' Are you cold ?' 
 
 Lucien considered whether he was or not, and decided 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 Jeanne closed the window and went. 
 
 Thinking is a tedious affair for people who feel often 
 and vividly, and, from the bent of nature, rely more on 
 their intuitions than on their reason. The process 
 seems to them obscure, the result uncertain, compared 
 with the brilliant assurance of the lightning flashes to 
 which they are accustomed. // / had known, they say 
 in piteous accents afterwards. 
 
 // I had known, Lucien might have said, had he seen, 
 but a few paces from him, Jeanne shaken with the rush
 
 JEANNE REFUSES 287 
 
 of swift, overwhelming, momentary tears as she clutched 
 her arms together to keep them down. However, see 
 he could not. There was a piece of wood between them 
 and more than that. 
 
 He would think about her some other time, he said 
 to himself not now. She had prevented the fulfil- 
 ment of his burning wish to read Madame's note. He 
 could not open it while she was there. It lay in his 
 hand, a mute protest against his very words to her. 
 Yet now that she was gone he dared not read it, and 
 he broke the seal of the other note first. 
 
 There were only three words in it : ' Come at once.' 
 
 His first instinct was to obey. He would go this 
 night this minute. He would not read Madame's note 
 till he had taken a seat in the diligence. 
 
 No, no, impossible to wait so long ! He tore it 
 open. 
 
 ' On the night of the 6th we keep the Feast of St. Charles, 
 my patron Saint. Dine with me at half-past five. 
 
 ' M. c: 
 
 Swiftly the marquis was swept away, as though he 
 had not been. 
 
 Lucien hid the scrap of paper under his pillow, and 
 while it lay there he could not sleep. The charm of 
 the little white hand that had rested on it shot through 
 his blood like flame. 
 
 He rose. He burnt it in a candle. Then he could 
 not sleep because he had burnt it. 
 
 No wonder that, in the course of the following day, 
 Jeanne received a message from Guibourg to the effect 
 that her patient was very unwell again. 
 
 She hurried to the Castle.
 
 288 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 Backed by Guibourg, who was alarmed at the result 
 of the former night's imprudence, she enforced her 
 orders, and Lucien was not allowed to stir. Twice, 
 when neither of his gaolers happened to be present, he 
 tried to go as far as the door, and, having failed through 
 sheer weakness, gave in with what grace he might. 
 Had he wished to leave Nantes, he could not have 
 done so. 
 
 On Sunday evening Jeanne reported that she had 
 seen the baron again in the Nuns' Chapel. 
 
 ' He wants another interview, plague take him!' said 
 Guibourg. ' The sight of Madame, it seems, made such 
 an impression that he forgot to give her news of Our 
 Sovereign Lord and Master, Henri Cinq, and his august 
 sister. I reminded her of Mademoiselle Jeanne's story ; 
 she would not listen. De Mesnard implored her to 
 have nothing further to do with him ; it was of no 
 avail. She is mad to hear of her children. I believe 
 she will see him on Tuesday.' 
 
 On the Monday night Lucien revived somewhat, and 
 took a sudden resolution. He did not feel strong 
 enough to argue the matter with Jeanne (there were 
 drawbacks to the possession of a sister, he found), but 
 no power on earth would keep him from going to meet 
 Madame the following day, and therefore he resolved on 
 flight until such time as argument could be of no avail. 
 Watching his opportunity next morning, while Marthe 
 was out of the way, he stole up to the roof of the Castle 
 by a little snail-like stair in the wall, and there re- 
 mained. The air was pleasant he had taken care to 
 bring bread and meat and he enjoyed an elfin sense of 
 security. It rather amused him to see Jeanne arrive, 
 to imagine her bewilderment when she found the bird
 
 JEANNE REFUSES 289 
 
 flown ; he had not the least idea that she would feel 
 hurt. He could not see the tears that made her blind 
 in the bright autumn sunshine when she came out into 
 the street. 
 
 He was thinking about Madame, about ' the Good 
 Duchess,' who had stayed in the Castle hundreds of 
 years before ; about her marriage with Louis XII., 
 father of his people. 
 
 The reverie lasted long. He was roused from it by 
 the strains of a military band in the distance. 
 
 ' Unusual at this hour !' he thought. ' I wonder what 
 they are doing ?' 
 
 It was near sunset when he caught sight of Guibourg 
 coming across, and descended to his own room. 
 
 ' Any news ?' 
 
 ' Yes. But where have you been ? Your nurse is in 
 a fine state of anxiety about you.' 
 
 ' I went to take the air. I start for Paris to-morrow, 
 and I must practise breathing first. I have been shut 
 up five days in this hole.' 
 
 ' That was not the reason. You went because you 
 mean to dine with Madame to-night, and you knew 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne would dissuade you.' 
 
 ' Now, how the deuce did you know that ?' 
 
 ' She told me herself.' 
 
 ' Then, how the deuce did she know it ?' 
 
 ' Hum !' said Guibourg. 
 
 ' She does not care for me. You were quite mistaken.' 
 
 Guibourg's eyebrows went up, and his shoulders 
 likewise. 
 
 ' I asked her to marry me, and she refused. I am 
 not at all sorry that I did it. We are going to be 
 brother and sister.' 
 
 19
 
 ago THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Oh !' said Guibourg. ' I congratulate you. A very 
 good temporary arrangement. How if someone else 
 asked her to be his wife ? Would she still continue 
 to be your sister ?' 
 
 ' Of course.' 
 
 ' Oh !' said Guibourg again. 
 
 'Could you not say Ah! for a change, my dear 
 fellow ?' 
 
 ' No. I appeal to Time, father of truth.' 
 Come, your news !' 
 
 * Madame saw Deutz again in the same room, in the 
 same way, only an hour ago.' 
 
 ' Heavens !' 
 
 ' You may well say that.' 
 
 ' He had only just arrived when a letter in white ink 
 was brought upstairs. De Mesnard wetted it, and she 
 read it aloud. It came from a person with the exquisite 
 name of Jauge. She was warned to be on her guard, 
 because a man whom she trusted completely had 
 betrayed her sold her to monsieur Thiers. 
 
 ' " Perhaps you are the man ?" she said, smiling, to 
 the baron.' 
 
 'And he?' 
 
 ' Oh, he smiled back again, and said, " Possibly." 
 
 'Jauge ! And what next ?' 
 
 ' Long stories about the children. But the finale 
 was always the same. He wanted money money for 
 Paris, money for Spain, money for Portugal. Madame 
 told him she could not give it. I think she tired of 
 protestations, for she walked out of the room after a 
 dozen of them, and left de Mesnard to maintain her 
 offer of twenty-five louis to go to Paris, and a letter 
 of credit. As soon as my honest friend found he could
 
 JEANNE REFUSES 291 
 
 get no more than that, he was mighty anxious to depart ; 
 but he condescended to take the despatches. I do not 
 think we shall see any more of him.' 
 
 ' I do not agree with you. He is like a burr. He 
 sticks.' 
 
 ' We are quit of him for one night, anyhow. Well, I 
 must be going ! Do not come, Lucien. Mademoiselle 
 Jeanne thinks that something is going to happen. I 
 think so, too.' 
 
 'The duchess invited me. A royal invitation is a 
 command.' 
 
 ' I have told her that you are not well enough. They 
 have only laid places for two.' 
 
 ' You may say what you like. I am well and strong ; 
 but if I were a dying man I should go.' 
 
 ' Well, so should I ! But if there were anyone so 
 anxious about me as that pretty girl is about you, I 
 should think twice.' 
 
 ' I cannot. It is not my habit. And I desire that 
 you will leave my sister's name out of this conversation.' 
 
 ' Good ! I have done as I promised her. Make 
 haste ! Madame de Charette and the elder made- 
 moiselle de Kersabiec are expected. Brush your hair, 
 for goodness' sake ! You look as if you had been sitting 
 in a haystack.' 
 
 19 2
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 CAN IT BE ? 
 
 A LONG ray of the moon lay right across the floor of 
 the chamber, lighting up a great armchair on which 
 the duchess knelt in a position that was unusual with 
 her, her arms folded on the back of it, her white face 
 dreamy with emotion. 
 
 ' Hush !' she said in a whisper. ' Come here. Look ! 
 No do not light the candles.' 
 
 Lucien remained beside her. Guibourg went forward 
 and stood looking down into the street. 
 
 Everything lay bathed in a flood of silver, everything 
 except the strong, thick walls of the Castle, which had 
 gathered into itself all the blackness that the moon had 
 left, and rose, a fort and stronghold of the dark, against 
 the pure, unclouded sky. 
 
 ' Too beautiful !' she whispered. ' It will not last.' 
 
 She sprang down from the chair. 
 
 * Ladies and gentlemen, I invite you all to a supper 
 in the moon !' she cried. 
 
 Guibourg did not seem to hear, for he stood still in 
 the same attitude. Was it the moon that made him 
 look so pale ? Suddenly his voice rang through the 
 room. 
 
 ' Fly, Madame, fly !'
 
 CAN IT BE? 293 
 
 The moon was flashing on a line of serried bayonets 
 at the far end of the street. Each moment they were 
 drawing nearer in perfect silence. So dumb they were 
 that not a child had come to window or door anywhere. 
 
 ' Five minutes to decide !' said Guibourg. 
 
 ' The secret chamber ' 
 
 ' Yes. There is no choice. Come with me, Stylite 
 Monsieur de Mesnard Monsieur Guibourg ! We are 
 proscribed. We stand or fall together. Monsieur 
 Sylvestre ' 
 
 ' I go with you,' said Lucien. 
 
 * No, no. To be found with me is death to you. 
 You are not proscribed.' 
 
 ' I cannot reach the Castle. I shall compromise 
 these ladies if I stay here.' 
 
 ' Lucien is right, Madame,' said Guibourg. 
 
 De Mesnard was old. He needed a younger arm for 
 the defence. 
 
 She reflected. 
 
 ' Madame, there is not a moment to lose.' 
 
 ' Come, then but on one condition ! I am respon- 
 sible for the other three I can protect them. I can- 
 not protect you. Promise me, if any chance of escape 
 offers, that you will take it.' 
 
 ' Promise, for goodness' sake, promise ! There is no 
 chance,' added Guibourg in a whisper. 
 
 Lucien promised. He saw de Mesnard take a lump 
 or two of sugar from a basin that stood on the table 
 and drop it into his pocket. Monsieur de Mesnard was 
 a person who always thought of breakfast-time at supper. 
 
 ' The white portfolio !' cried the duchess. ' Give me 
 that.' 
 
 ' The money ?'
 
 294 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' It is there already we keep it there,' said Stylite. 
 
 ' Quick !' 
 
 They dashed up the staircase into the garret. There 
 was nothing in the grate, and by chance the panel had 
 been left open. 
 
 ' Here behind the fireplace ! In with you ! Go 
 first, Monsieur de Mesnard to the left, it rises on 
 the left you are the tallest. Monsieur Guibourg 
 Lucien Stylite nonsense, Stylite, go forward ! If 
 you were a good tactician, you would know that the 
 general marches last in a retreat.' 
 
 Upon her hands and knees she crept behind, and 
 closed and bolted the sliding panel. 
 
 ' What an admirable contrivance it is!' said Guibourg. 
 
 ' For rats yes !' 
 
 She laughed nervously. 
 
 ' Celine would not have let her do it,' thought Lucien. 
 
 In the thick darkness they were mere voices to each 
 other scarcely that for though they knew they could 
 not be heard, they whispered. 
 
 For hours, it seemed, they remained silent. 
 
 ' How still it is ! Are we the only people left alive ? 
 Perhaps the Judgment Day has come. " In an hour 
 that ye know not " Hark ! that was a trumpet !' 
 
 ' And that was a man,' said Guibourg, as a grinding 
 shriek, ' A has, Caroline !' made her put her hands to 
 her ears. ' I think, if Your Royal Highness will forgive 
 me for saying so, the Judgment Day has not come yet.' 
 
 ' Fiends of Hell !' muttered de Mesnard, as the 
 thunder of shouts and execrations redoubled. 
 
 ' Oh to be at the throat of one of them !' 
 
 Guibourg clenched his fists. 
 
 ' I did not know that I was hated so much.'
 
 CAN IT BE? 295 
 
 ' No one could be loved as you are and not hated,' 
 said Lucien, so that she only should hear. 
 
 He began to understand the sensations of the blind. 
 On the further side of the panel there were no visible 
 men there were blows and voices ; on his own side, 
 whispers merely. They pressed against each other; 
 each felt the other tremble. They thought the house 
 was coming down about their ears in the uproar that 
 followed. Stamping, trampling, banging, swearing, 
 screaming ' I shall be deaf next !' thought Lucien. 
 
 ' Have they let loose the Mad Asylum ?' 
 
 ' What was that ?' 
 
 ' The crack of a pistol.' 
 
 ' Are they righting ?' 
 
 ' Impossible ! There is no one to fight with.' 
 
 A stern voice made itself heard from below. 
 
 ' Dog ! idiot ! There is no knowing what a police- 
 inspector will do next. Shot his own elbow, did he ? 
 Order ! order ! or I shoot every one of you.' 
 
 A momentary lull ; the storm broke forth again with 
 greater fury. There was a sound of crashing glass, of 
 crockery smashed on the ground. 
 
 ' Order, I say !' cried the same indignant voice. 
 
 ' Take the maid to the barracks of the gendarmerie. 
 Interrogate her there !' 
 
 ' She is as safe as her mistresses. She loves me. 
 Marie will never tell,' said Madame. 
 
 ' Escort Mademoiselle de Kersabiec and her sister to 
 their own house,' continued the voice. ' Do not leave 
 them.' 
 
 '"And her sister"?' whispered Sty lite. 'Ah, yes, 
 I understand ! Madame de Charette has taken my 
 name.'
 
 296 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Dearest, that you were in her place !' 
 
 ' I would not change,' said Stylite. ' Listen ; they 
 are on the stairs ; they are coming.' 
 
 Lucien held his breath as the soldiers flung open the 
 door and rushed into Madame's own apartment. 
 
 ' This was the audience chamber,' said a hesitating, 
 craven voice on the other side of the partition. ' Here 
 is the letter signed Jauge.' 
 
 Madame shuddered. 
 
 ' He is not French my one comfort ; he is a Jew, a 
 German Jew.' 
 
 * They are breaking the cabinet.' 
 
 ' They will find nothing there. The white portfolio 
 is safe.' 
 
 ' Lights ! lights ! What has become of the sappers ? 
 Send for a mason ; bid him bring all his men !' cried 
 the officer. ' Have you searched every bed ? every 
 cupboard ? We may have to take up the floor.' 
 
 ' It is possible, sir, that the duchess may have taken 
 refuge in the adjoining garden.' 
 
 ' Right ! Surround the houses on each side. Garrison 
 No. i and No. 5. Have the general's directions been 
 carried out ?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir. Lorriere and his men are in front. The 
 general himself is coming up by the rue Basse du 
 Chateau. The 56th will not be left alone.' 
 
 ' That is well. Draw a cordon all round. Let no 
 one go in or out. Twelve hundred men against one 
 woman ! We are the laughing-stock of Europe if we 
 fail. Where is the architect ? Is it possible, sir, that 
 there could be a hiding-place here ?' and, marching 
 straight into the garret, he laid his hand on the mantel- 
 shelf.
 
 CAN IT BE? 297 
 
 The little company huddled closer together. 
 ' Quite impossible,' said the clear voice of the archi- 
 tect. ' Comparing the formation of the inner with that 
 of the outer wall, it is absolutely impossible that there 
 could be room, even for one.' 
 
 ' I did not know that I had a friend amongst archi- 
 tects,' whispered Madame gleefully. 
 ' Into No. 5, then ! Try there.' 
 
 ' Here, Master Mason !' cried a more rasping organ. 
 ' Sound those walls thoroughly. Oh, it is not that I 
 distrust your word, sir, but we are bound to take every 
 precaution ! The devil is not more cunning than the 
 duchess of Berry.' 
 
 ' I wish that were true !' she sighed. 
 ' It is Maurice Duval ; I know him well the ruffian !' 
 said Guibourg. 
 
 ' I think, Monsieur le pr6fet ' they heard the gentle 
 tones of mademoiselle du Guiny 'that I have a right 
 to protest against this destruction of my house and 
 property.' 
 
 * If the workmen destroy your house, they are quite 
 capable of building it up again,' said Duval. ' Out of 
 the way, or we shall all be smothered !' 
 
 The men, under the guidance of the master mason, 
 were tapping and sounding the walls in every direction. 
 Clouds of dust, penetrating through chinks that were 
 almost invisible, half choked Lucien. 
 
 ' Bah ! I never knew what plaster tasted like before,' 
 muttered Guibourg. ' It is not pleasant, though very 
 Homeric, to bite the dust. It is classical, do you think, 
 Lucien or romantic ?' 
 
 ' Classical ! classical ! There is no such thing as 
 dust in the Romantic School.'
 
 298 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The duchess did not respond. In agony she listened 
 to the hard breathing of her companions. Neither 
 Stylite nor de Mesnard had spoken for some time. 
 Fierce blows began to descend on the other side of 
 them. Suddenly she gave way ; they heard a low sob. 
 
 ' My children, we shall be cut to pieces. It is all 
 over, and it is for my sake that you are here here in 
 this horror.' 
 
 ' We can bear anything only not to see you weep, 
 Madame,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' Anything !' echoed Guibourg. 
 
 ' Pray to the Saints,' murmured Stylite, trying to 
 soothe her. 
 
 ' I cannot pray, Stylite ! I dare not !' 
 
 * They must break through the outer wall in another 
 moment ; I felt it shake,' said de Mesnard. ' If they 
 do, we shall have to give ourselves up. We are between 
 two perils ; the worst is on this side. If they hear our 
 voices, they will not wait to think ; they will fire.' 
 
 ' Hush ! I will open the panel,' said Madame. 
 
 She laid her hand upon the bolt ; she hesitated. 
 
 ' Not yet not for five minutes.' 
 
 Again the outer wall trembled. 
 
 She pushed the bolt, but drew it back. 
 
 ' One more blow of the hammer ; it falls.' 
 
 She leant forward. Lucien could hear her praying : 
 
 ' St. Anne ! Dear St. Anne ! Holy Mother !' 
 
 The blows stopped all at once. 
 
 ' You have done enough for to-night,' said the voice 
 of the officer. ' The troops have been ordered into 
 barracks. Let two of the police guard every room ! 
 The rest may go. I shall return early to-morrow.' 
 
 Madame leant back, gasping.
 
 CAN IT BE? 299 
 
 ' A miracle !' whispered Stylite. 
 
 * She came. I knew she would. It is Saint Anne. 
 Do not speak. Let me thank her !' 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness will be exhausted without 
 some nourishment,' said de Mesnard. ' May I entreat 
 you to take this ? There is some sustenance in sugar.' 
 
 She laughed a little when she felt the two lumps of 
 sugar on the palm of her hand. Stylite refused to 
 touch them, and more to please her friend than for any 
 other reason, she consented. 
 
 ' Delicious !' she murmured. 
 
 She knew that the old man would feel strengthened 
 because she had sucked his lumps of sugar. 
 
 ' Would you not have known that Monsieur de 
 Mesnard would have something in his pocket ?' Guibourg 
 whispered to Lucien. 
 
 They heard the voices grow faint, and fainter, the 
 steps depart. One miracle had happened, surely 
 another must. 
 
 Yet, as time passed, and they lived on into the 
 dreadful hour after midnight, Lucien felt his heart sink. 
 
 * How cold it is !' said Stylite, shivering. ' I suppose 
 the mists are out by the river.' 
 
 He wished she had not spoken. Until she did, he had 
 been unconscious that his feet were blocks of ice. 
 
 The mists are out by the river. Oh to be there ! to 
 breathe ! to stretch one's limbs ! to cry aloud ! 
 
 ' A good fire and plenty of logs now !' said Guibourg. 
 ' I used to think you kept the room too hot, Monsieur 
 de Mesnard. Never again shall I think that !' 
 
 ' Hush ! there is someone coming !' 
 
 ' As cold as Christmas !' said a rough voice in the 
 garret. ' The mists are out by the river.'
 
 300 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' A good fire now ; but there's nothing to make a fire 
 with in this accursed hole !' 
 
 ' There are peats down in the hall. If you were worth 
 your rations, you'd fetch them up.' 
 
 ' Catch me !' 
 
 ' Well, I don't care if I do it myself that is, if you 
 keep the first watch. Mind, I don't stir a minute 
 earlier than four !' 
 
 ' All right, I'm your man.' 
 
 With muttered oaths the first fellow tramped down 
 the stairs, and returned with a bundle of peats, which 
 he and his fellow proceeded to arrange in the grate. 
 
 ' How many are there ? I can't rightly make out.' 
 
 ' There's Caroline that's one ; and an old count that 
 goes here, there, and everywhere with her that's 
 two; and young Guibourg him that broke prison in 
 August.' 
 
 ' That's three. The table was laid for eight. Well, 
 the old ladies and poor old Kersabiec's daughters ! 
 They ought to have had more sense. I knew their 
 mother well a decent, civil-spoken lady she was !' 
 
 ' There's a mistake somewhere. I know those girls 
 as well as I know my own face. One's gone home all 
 right. That other woman is no more like a daughter 
 of Kersabiec than I am.' 
 
 ' She's made off with the duchess, then. There's the 
 eight places for you !' 
 
 ' They'll make short work of Caroline when they do 
 catch her. There's my cousin, the big butcher in the 
 Place St. Jean ; he lost a fine son at la Pe"nissiere. 
 He's sworn to be revenged. And Dammartin, the 
 greengrocer down by the New Bridge, both his nephews 
 are gone shot down like vermin in Maine, and their
 
 CAN IT BE? 301 
 
 mother a poor widow ! Dammartin has to allow her 
 three francs a week. She's a damned hussy, that 
 Bourbon woman ! She'll go to hell, that's certain ! 
 Duchess or no duchess, they do when they're as bad as 
 that.' 
 
 ' Now for my part,' said number two as he rubbed 
 the flint on the tinder-box, ' I like Caroline. After all, 
 she's a woman and a mother. And I remember as if it 
 were yesterday one morning when I was on guard at 
 the Tuileries it was a foggy morning enough and she 
 looks up at the sun, as he was doing his best to shine, 
 and, " Poor old fellow !" says she. Upon my word, it 
 never struck me the sun was old before. But it's true, 
 for all that. Pretty little boots she had on, too fur 
 round the top.' 
 
 ' And that's all you know about it !' returned number 
 one. ' She won't have fur round her boots when she 
 comes to die.' 
 
 * That may be or it may not,' quoth number two. 
 ' All the same, I like Caroline. Caroline's the woman 
 for me.' 
 
 ' Bless the man !' whispered the duchess, as he flung 
 himself down on his camp-bed with a resounding yawn. 
 
 ' Warmth ! warmth ! how good !' cried Stylite under 
 her breath. 
 
 The fire that had been lit for two warmed seven now. 
 
 For the first time for some hours Lucien saw. A 
 chink turned to a thread of flame, then darkened. 
 
 ' It is well enough now but by-and-by ?' 
 
 A few minutes later, the stuffy peat-smoke, pouring 
 through a hole which they had not perceived, became 
 all but unbearable. De Mesnard thrust his hand up 
 cautiously through the rafters above his head and dis-
 
 302 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 placed a slate or two, by which means a tiny opening 
 was contrived. They laid their mouths to it in turn. 
 Lucien began to wonder if he were really there at all, if 
 the delirium of fever had not come back. 
 
 ' Listen !' gasped Madame. ' The other is snoring 
 now. He will forget to keep up the fire.' 
 
 She was right. 
 
 Gradually the sliding panel cooled, and the wall 
 behind ; they breathed more freely again. 
 
 The knocking on the other side had ceased. Deep 
 stillness fell upon the house. Every sound died away. 
 Even the sentries at last slept without noise. A slow, 
 slow terror, more dreadful than anything he had felt 
 yet, crept upon Lucien in the dark. 
 
 What was it ? Why did she not speak ? 
 
 He was listening intently for a word, a whisper, from 
 Madame ; everyone else was listening too ; it did not 
 come. 
 
 Stylite called to her softly ; there was no response. 
 
 ' Has she fainted ?' 
 
 ' Has the smoke stifled her ?' 
 
 ' Is she dead ?' 
 
 ' I cannot bear it !' said de Mesnard, and grasped 
 her arm roughly. 
 
 She had fallen fast asleep, standing. Now she awoke 
 with a start. De Mesnard apologized. 
 
 ' Do not distress yourself, dear friend. These are 
 perhaps the last free moments that I shall spend in life. 
 I do not want to lose them. But I was tired ; it came 
 upon me suddenly. It will sometimes, when I have 
 been excited. You cannot endure to stand any longer ; 
 you will fall. Sit down ; we will make room for you.' 
 
 De Mesnard stumbled forward as she spoke. The
 
 CAN IT BE? 303 
 
 irksomeness of the position was greater for him than for 
 the rest, seeing that his height prevented him from 
 standing upright. They shifted themselves as well as 
 they could, to let him sink upon the floor. 
 
 ' If Your Royal Highness would but allow one of us 
 to take your place ?' said Guibourg. ' You are nearer 
 the fire than anyone.' 
 
 ' No, no,' she laughed. ' That is my only title to 
 honour now. You could not ask me to resign that !' 
 
 Silence fell again ; more slowly than ever went the 
 long, leaden-footed hours. They spoke little, every 
 power, every faculty concentrated on mere endurance. 
 At length even that wore thin. How long ? How 
 long ? How long ? 
 
 A horrid fear that he was losing manhood possessed 
 Lucien. If he could but breathe ! This lack of air 
 of simple air was turning him to a beast. There 
 came a moment when he could have knocked down 
 Guibourg to force his way out. He wrung his hands 
 together. 
 
 ' Guibourg !' 
 
 ' Well ?' 
 
 ' I think my senses are going. If- 1 go mad if I 
 scream choke me.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Guibourg. ' You will do the same 
 by me, if I behave like a donkey.' 
 
 And, lo ! the horror vanished at a word. It might be 
 that the strength of life was running low ; but the desire 
 to struggle melted away in peace the spirit, tired of its 
 wild fluttering, thankfully rested. Lucien reached a 
 stage where everything, without the need of definite 
 thought, grew 'clear more than clear, softly bright. 
 He dreaded any movement.
 
 304 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Odd,' said Guibourg. ' I never was happier in my 
 life than I am now.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' said Lucien, under his breath. 
 
 ' And I never was colder,' continued Guibourg. ' I 
 feel too cold to shiver. It must be early morning.' 
 
 ' I think, if I could hear a cock crow, I should not be 
 so cold,' murmured Stylite. 
 
 ' There they are again ! But they are not knocking 
 with such a will as before. The night has gone faster 
 for those poor fellows than for us, I bet you.' 
 
 ' They may not be knocking so hard,' said de 
 Mesnard, ' but I, who am deaf, hear them better. 
 They must be concentrating their forces round us.' 
 
 ' Right. Hulloa ! They have broken through they 
 will see the loose slates.' 
 
 They did see ; but no suspicions were aroused. 
 
 ' Is it possible that I have friends among the soldiers, 
 too ?' whispered Madame. 
 
 ' They are returning to the garret. They must have 
 waked the sentries.' 
 
 Once more the hiding-place resounded with the 
 strokes of hammers here, there, everywhere, over, 
 under, on every side of the sliding panel never upon 
 it. Once more the loosened plaster came through in 
 clouds of dust. 
 
 ' Another blow and ' 
 
 A bell rang. The workmen trooped off to breakfast 
 in a body. 
 
 * No, they will never find Madame,' whispered Gui- 
 bourg. ' It is the will of God that she should be saved.' 
 
 ' Amen.' 
 
 ' We have no enemies now, except weariness and 
 hunger.'
 
 CAN IT BE? 305 
 
 ' Courage !' she murmured. 
 
 Only the cold of morning, not the light ! What better 
 test of courage is there ? 
 
 The captives proved wrong in their conjecture ; the 
 excellent gendarmes had been little disturbed by the 
 masons. After a long interval of quiet, however, he 
 who had but slumbered gave him who had slept a good 
 shaking, and observed that it was his turn now. 
 
 Grumbling and groaning, the sleepy guard vacated 
 his couch, and strove to revive the ashes of the fire, 
 which were still a-glimmer. No success attended his 
 efforts till he discovered a bundle of newspapers at the 
 bottom of one of the cupboards, and threw them on. 
 
 In a moment volumes of thick smoke forced their 
 way into every hole and cranny. The masons had 
 cracked the wall of the chimney ; the sliding panel, not 
 yet cool, quickly became red-hot. 
 
 Lucien put forth all his strength in an attempt to 
 force Madame aside and to take her place, but she 
 stood firm, and it was all he could do not to trample 
 on de Mesnard in the recoil. Guibourg and Stylite 
 vainly entreated. She could not speak, she was breath- 
 ing hard and fast, but she would not give way. In vain 
 they strove to press themselves back against the wall 
 that they might leave more space round her. 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness must open the panel,' urged 
 de Mesnard. ' You have done enough for your honour.' 
 
 ' No, no !' she gasped. 
 
 A smell of burning followed. Her stuff dress had 
 caught fire. By the quick flare Lucien saw the faces 
 of his companions as if they were already dead. He 
 did not know Madame. She put out the flame with 
 her hands. 
 
 20
 
 3o6 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Open, open ! You must open it now !' cried de 
 Mesnard. 
 
 ' She must ! She will die if she does not !' exclaimed 
 Stylite in agony. ' Oh, Monsieur Sylvestre, tell her, 
 tell her she must indeed !' 
 
 Lucien made no answer. 
 
 ' Monsieur Guibourg, save her, save her ! Say that 
 she must !' 
 
 ' Madame is the only judge,' said Guibourg. ' I am 
 Her Royal Highness's to command.' 
 
 Denser and yet more dense grew the air. The loud 
 breathing of the others frightened her who had no fears 
 for herself. 
 
 ' Oh, God ! Must I give myself up ?' 
 
 The burning heat dried burning tears of anger as 
 they fell. 
 
 Another flash a stronger smell of burning again 
 her skirt was on fire. As she struggled to put it out, 
 she touched the bolt of the sliding panel, and a crack 
 opened. Stylite instinctively attempted to push the 
 bolt burnt her hand and drew back. 
 
 ' Hulloa !' cried the guard. 'Rats rats in the 
 chimney. Wake up, Dick !' and he drew his sword, 
 laughing. 
 
 Neither of them laughed when the panel was seen to 
 move a second time. It moved, but, swollen with the 
 heat, it did not open. Someone kicked it from behind. 
 
 ' Who is there ?' 
 
 ' We yield we will come out. Extinguish the fire.' 
 
 It was Stylite's voice. 
 
 Another vigorous kick from Guibourg, who did nothing 
 by halves, sent down the panel. The sentries hurriedly 
 dispersed the flaming papers.
 
 CAN IT BE? 307 
 
 ' The duchess ?' 
 
 ' Yes I, myself. You are Frenchmen soldiers. I 
 rely on your honour.' 
 
 There she stood, a little pale ghost in her brown 
 stuff dress and her list slippers. The hand that she 
 held out was furrowed with burns. The old soldiers 
 of the Guard knelt down before her ; they kissed it, 
 trembling. 
 
 ' Is there a chance ?' Guibourg whispered. 
 
 A fancy that she might, with the help of these men, 
 escape over the roofs, while they gave themselves up, 
 seized him in its grip. 
 
 She smiled and shook her head. 
 
 ' Which of you was lying on the camp-bed between 
 midnight and four o'clock this morning ? This fellow ? 
 There are thirteen hundred francs in gold for him. The 
 bag, Stylite ! This is the last chance I shall ever have 
 of rewarding a friend.' 
 
 The sentinel stood open-mouthed. 
 
 * Speak to him, Monsieur Guibourg !' 
 
 ' You see that we are all here,' said Guibourg, address- 
 ing the men with great firmness. ' You will bear witness 
 that we were found without arms. Her Royal Highness 
 is in an exhausted condition. She desires to speak with 
 the general immediately. Go, one of you, and tell him ; 
 the other keep guard outside the door of Her Royal 
 Highness.' 
 
 They did as they were bid. 
 
 ' Now, Lucien, into the next room ; as soon as they 
 enter this one, walk down the stairs and out into the 
 street. Those fellows are bewildered they do not know 
 how many they have seen ; but the authorities expect 
 to find four, and four they will find. Our names are 
 
 20 2
 
 308 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 familiar ; there is no chance of escape for us. There is 
 an excellent chance for you, and you can help us from 
 without. You heard what that man said.' 
 
 His voice sank to a whisper that could not be heard 
 by the others. 
 
 ' They will try to tear her limb from limb. I shall 
 be helpless. De Mesnard is of no use. I only beg you 
 to do what I would do myself, if I could. Wait about 
 the door. Make a diversion when she comes out. Get 
 yourself arrested anything ! It is the post of greater 
 danger. Go !' he added aloud. 
 
 ' Go, Lucien, I command you !' cried the duchess. 
 ' Remember your promise.' 
 
 ' Go 1' said Stylite and de Mesnard. 
 
 Lucien walked slowly down the stairs through a rabble 
 of men and officers, crowding, pushing, struggling, right- 
 ing their way along, not one of whom so much as per- 
 ceived him. 
 
 He passed Dermoncourt, who had lost every trace of 
 composure. He passed mademoiselle du Guiny, white 
 and resolute, on the threshold of her own bedroom. 
 The men who had been sent to guard it were rushing 
 upstairs with the rest. She started as he came down, 
 but gave no other sign of recognition. 
 
 ' The parlour !' she cried. ' Is no one left to guard 
 the parlour ?' 
 
 Nobody paid the slightest heed to her except Lucien, 
 who felt sure, especially as it was not repeated, that the 
 exclamation had been meant for his guidance. He 
 stumbled into the room, his head swimming, his knees 
 shaking under him. Someone had partaken of copious 
 refreshment there overnight. The table was littered 
 with food.
 
 CAN IT BE? 309 
 
 Justifying to himself his excessive greed by the curious 
 reflection that he would probably be killed in the next 
 five minutes, Lucien seized a piece of bread and meat, 
 poured himself out a brimming glass, ate and drank like 
 a wolf. The wild clamour outside the house increased 
 every moment. Furious animals not men and women 
 seemed to be raging in the courtyard. For an instant 
 he shrank. Remembering la Pe"nissiere, he bent his 
 head ; raised it again, resolved ; struggled on, still 
 against the unending stream of soldiers, until he reached 
 the steps. After sixteen hours of darkness he was half 
 blind, yet he felt the savage eyes that gleamed all about 
 him. He entertained some confused idea of forming a 
 guard for the duchess. 
 
 'Who is on my side?' he shouted, catching hold of 
 the rail to steady himself. ' I am for Madame la duchesse 
 de Berry, mother of Henri Cinq, Regent of France !' 
 
 There was a rush towards him. 
 
 ' Fools !' cried a girl in the crowd. ' Do you not see 
 that he is mad ? Look at his face !' 
 
 She flung herself between him and the mob. 
 
 He made a step forward to protect, her, missed his 
 footing, and fell. 
 
 ' Hush !' she whispered, as she helped him to rise. 
 ' Charles Blum is over there, on the other side of the 
 steps. His back is turned. If you make another 
 
 sound They say the duchess is just coming out. 
 
 We cannot stir till she has passed. Give me your arm I* 
 
 She clung to him that she might keep him by her, 
 but there was no need. The crowd had swallowed them 
 up in an instant ; neither could move, excepting to sway 
 as those around them swayed to and fro. The half-hour 
 that went by was made of other stuff than time. Lucien
 
 3io THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 had recognised the hopelessness of his appeal ; there 
 were no friends of the duchess here. His only thought 
 was to wait until she came to die for her or with her. 
 Meantime the air was good, the sun was good, and Jeanne 
 smiled when he turned to her. 
 
 'You ought not to be among these men,' he said. 
 ' You ought to go home.' 
 
 'You might as well say I ought to go to the moon 
 up there,' she cried, with a joyous laugh. 
 
 ' Why did you come ?' 
 
 ' I knew where you were.' 
 
 He wondered a little, and the next moment forgot 
 everything that he might watch. 
 
 Word came at last for the soldiers to form a line. At 
 the point of the bayonet they forced the people back on 
 either side. An angry silence followed, uglier than the 
 shouts. 
 
 Through the open door Guibourg and de Mesnard 
 could be seen in the hall. 
 
 Stylite's frightened voice reached his ears. 
 
 ' Her Royal Highness cannot go on foot, sir ; it is 
 not right.' 
 
 ' Permit me to differ from you, my dear young lady !' 
 It was Dermoncourt at his courtliest. ' Should anyone 
 venture to insult Madame I do not think it likely a 
 carriage will not guarantee her from violence. My arm 
 I answer for it will be her shield. Trust to me, Your 
 Highness ; let us go on foot !' 
 
 ' Ah, general !' cried the voice that Lucien lived only 
 to hear, ' if you had not fought me a la St. Lawrence 
 and, let me tell you, that method is not in keeping with 
 the honour of the army you would not have me on 
 your arm at this moment !'
 
 CAN IT BE? 311 
 
 The gay, fearless laugh rang out once again. 
 
 It did but intensify the silence of grinning hate on 
 every face. 
 
 Stylite walked first, accompanied by the pre"fet, Maurice 
 Duval ; Guibourg and de Mesnard brought up the rear. 
 Between them went Madame, leaning on Dermoncourt ; 
 the National Guard and two regiments of the line formed 
 a double hedge on either side. It was all they could do 
 to resist the multitudes behind, but they stood to their 
 arms. Not a whisper was heard as Madame came down 
 the steps, her cheek flushed, her eyes feverishly bright. 
 Someone had thrown a cloak round her, and she was 
 wearing a large black hat that belonged to mademoiselle 
 du Guiny. She reached the middle of the courtyard in 
 perfect stillness. As the gate was thrown open, a low 
 growl spread from rank to rank behind the soldiers, 
 and someone cursed the duchess. 
 
 Dermoncourt stopped, his black eyes flashing fury. 
 
 ' Where is the respect due to prisoners above all, 
 when those prisoners are women ?' 
 
 The noise ceased. 
 
 He walked on at the same pace as before. 
 
 Through the gate over the drawbridge ! The great 
 gates of the Castle closed. 
 
 She was safe. She was gone for ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 
 
 IN what had been once the spacious drawing-room 
 of some great lady of the time of the Pompadour, a 
 numerous company of the most distinguished and the 
 most rebellious sons of the gay city of Paris were 
 assembled. The walls were undergoing decoration at 
 the hands of such a body of house-painters as had never 
 gathered together there before. The tall pier-glasses 
 multiplied the number. There were so many of 
 these that each one had before him, as he worked, the 
 living image of his comrade, crouched like himself on 
 a ladder, a rose behind his ear, a cigarette between his 
 lips, a palette on his wrist. The room resounded with 
 the noise they made, as one after the other trolled out 
 some fragment of a Ballad of Victor Hugo some snatch 
 of a Song by Alfred de Musset, which was caught up 
 instantly by more or less harmonious brethren, and 
 echoed, corrected, or supplemented, as the case might 
 be. Sometimes a sudden fury of silence fell upon them 
 all, and then the decoration advanced by leaps and 
 bounds. They were all hard at work except a gentle, 
 t)ird-like youth, who flitted hither and thither among 
 them, his feet scarcely touching the ground as he went. 
 ' People who have not got the needful must have the
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 313 
 
 superfluous/ he remarked, with a sigh of content, at 
 the end of one of his infrequent pauses. ' Even poets 
 cannot live on nothing at all.' 
 
 ' That is very well for you, Gerard de Nerval,' returned 
 another, whose hair was so smooth that it might have 
 been thought he had painted it on to his own head. 
 ' You are not contributing either the needful or the 
 superfluous. You are extraordinarily unproductive, even 
 for a poet.' 
 
 He stepped back to survey, in the critically affectionate 
 manner common to artists of all ages, a group of tipsy 
 Bacchanals, their wreaths of ivy slipped among their 
 wild black locks. 
 
 ' Yes,' he commented, more to himself than to any- 
 one else, ' that thick brute in the corner certainly has 
 a touch of Velasquez ! Well, Gerard, what have you to 
 say for yourself ?' 
 
 ' Ungrateful fiend ! It was I who invented the ball 
 for the first night of " Le Roi s' Amuse," to begin with. 
 It was I who declared that pictures by the first masters 
 in France would refresh any man who had not the mis- 
 fortune to be born a bourgeois, better than ices from 
 the Palais Royal. It was I who advised you to crown 
 yourselves with flowers like the ancients, instead of 
 sporting round hats and cod-tail coats.' 
 
 ' Tho would not wear a round hat and a cod-tail 
 coat to save his life would you, The"o ?' inquired a blue- 
 eyed Raphael, who was painting a Naiad in the white 
 absence of costume peculiar to those ladies. 
 
 ' Yes, I think so,' said the person addressed, finishing 
 with extreme care a dainty bow of mauve ribbon that 
 looped up the petticoat of the mistress of a picnic a la 
 Watteau with which he intended to fill the space under-
 
 314 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 neath a great oval mirror. He wore a huge pair of 
 yellow slippers that hailed from Constantinople, and 
 a thick velvet coat, part of which was hidden by the 
 long dark chestnut hair that fell to his waist. 
 
 ' I am very much disappointed in you, The'o,' said 
 a gentleman who was busy with a masquerade of Turks 
 at a Carnival ; ' I thought you were a man of principle. 
 Is it true that you knocked down a bourgeois with your 
 fists on the first night of "Hernani"? I am almost 
 afraid you did not.' 
 
 ' It was not the will that was wanting, but the fists,' 
 said The'o. ' I take seven-and-a-quarter in gloves. But 
 if I had done the deed, I should never have dared to 
 boast of it in the room with L6on Gozlan here. In the 
 days when he was a pirate, he killed the captain of his ship 
 because the miserable thing was a bourgeois eh, Lon ?' 
 
 ' Yes/ said a young man like a beautiful Jew, in 
 accents which recalled the sunny shores of his native 
 Marseilles, ' I did kill him. But I ate him afterwards, 
 so that every trace of the crime disappeared.' 
 
 ' I am prepared to kill and eat a bourgeois to-morrow 
 night,' said The'o reflectively. ' Every one of us must 
 be prepared. It is no common occasion. By the way, 
 I have one seat to spare. No, do not all speak at once ! 
 It is not a seat for anybody. It happens to be the very 
 best in the Theatre. I have made up my mind that I 
 will give it only to a duke, or to a new poet. If I do 
 not come across one before to-morrow night, the seat 
 will remain vacant. Hulloa, who comes here ?' 
 
 A tall fellow whose twenty-one summers had tanned 
 his face to Cordova leather, except for the high bright 
 red on the cheek-bones and a certain marked blackness 
 of eyebrow, strode by in the wake of a less remarkable
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 315 
 
 companion looked round as a falcon might look at a 
 troop of doves before he pounced seized a piece of chalk 
 that belonged to the new Velasquez, sketched in three 
 great palm-trees waving over a mosque, and went out 
 silently as he had entered. 
 
 All the other pictures on the wall seemed to die away 
 except the delicate work of one dreamy craftsman high 
 up near the ceiling. 
 
 ' Excellent !' said he. 
 
 It was the first word he had spoken that day ; and 
 he worked away the harder at the gray, tufted trees 
 with which he was planting his landscape. His name 
 was Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot. 
 
 ' There's a dash of the East about that customer,' 
 said Theo, turning round on the top of his ladder, and 
 taking the cigarette from his mouth. ' He has a nose 
 like a beak. Cairo gives you a nose like that, it appears, 
 and the sun over there either puts your eyes out or gives 
 you eyes that put out other people's. The East 
 the country of the dawn Bah ! I can scarcely wink. 
 Come here, Baby !' He laid his hand on the shoulder 
 of the handsome boy who had corne in with Prosper 
 Marilhaut, and began to declaim : 
 
 ' Viens, nous verrons danser les jeunes bayaderes 
 
 Le soir, lorsque les dromadres 
 Pr&s des puits du desert s'arretent fatigues.' 
 
 ' What is that ?' said the boy, his eyes fixed on the 
 white palm-trees and the mosque. 
 
 ' A line out of " Les Orientales." ' 
 
 ' What is that ?' repeated the boy, as if he were in no 
 way enlightened. 
 
 ' The masterpiece of Victor Hugo !' came in deep
 
 316 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 bell-like tones from a mighty man, who, though he was 
 not tall, gave the effect of height because he seemed to 
 recognise a vast space between himself and the floor, now 
 stooping as though to gather up a new idea at his feet, 
 now rising on tip-toe as if to catch it in its flight through 
 the air. He was dressed in the white flannel robe of a 
 Carthusian, out of which his thick white neck rose like 
 a short pillar, crowned with masses of thick black hair. 
 His black eyes pierced the boy like beneficent arrows. 
 
 ' It is the masterpiece of Victor Hugo !' he said again, 
 as if he were in church. 
 
 ' Then what is Victor Hugo ?' 
 
 The'ophile Gautier bent his head reverently. 
 
 1 A poet a very great poet the greatest of all poets.' 
 
 ' Have done, Tho I' cried Gerard de Nerval, flitting 
 noiselessly from the other end of the room. ' The baby 
 does not know what you mean. He looks like a carp 
 listening to a nightingale. He has not said, " What is 
 a poet ?" but he is asking it with his eyes, with his hands, 
 with every bit of him down to his toes. What is a poet ?' 
 
 A handsome, curly-locked dandy, dressed in a velvet 
 jacket which, by comparison with those of his fellows, 
 looked singularly black, just as his shirt-front, taken in 
 the same connection, looked singularly white, began to 
 answer. 
 
 ' A poet is ' 
 
 ' No, Gavarni !' interrupted Celestin Nanteuil, turning 
 round with such haste that he left a blue smear on the 
 arm of his Naiad, ' it is not your business. You wear 
 English shoes with red heels to them. You cannot 
 possibly tell what a poet is. Stick to your odious cari- 
 catures and let Th6o tell him 1 It is TheVs affair. He 
 is on the look-out for poets.'
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 317 
 
 The"o settled himself, with deliberation, on one of the 
 lower rungs of his ladder. 
 
 ' A poet, sir,' said he with great gravity, ' is a sort 
 of evil beast who goes on four paws, waves a dragon's 
 tail over his back, emits fire from his nostrils, hisses 
 like a serpent, and projects a forked dart from between 
 his teeth. From time to time, when the weather is 
 dry, for instance, this horrid beast puts on a human 
 form. It dresses in red, wears a wig of the period of 
 Louis Quatorze, and shoes with painted toes; carries 
 a Toledo blade, and leads the tipsiest life imagin- 
 able, consisting of nothing but orgies at which golden 
 bowls are filled to the brim with the foaming wine of 
 Syracuse at which the ladies dress in gossamer 
 at which they play the most infernal games, as you 
 may see for yourself in the opera of " Robert le 
 Diable." When those orgies are at an end, the poets 
 go home not to work (it is certain that they never 
 work and that they have nothing whatever to do with 
 their own verses), but to receive editors, who fall down 
 on their knees to them and offer them piles of gold upon 
 silver salvers. Now you know, sir, what a poet is I Be 
 so kind as to tell your friends and acquaintances, if you 
 happen to have any.' 
 
 ' I have one who knows better than that,' said the 
 boy. ' He's a poet himself.' 
 
 ' Is he indeed ? What is he like ?' inquired a fervent 
 pupil of Ingres, whose ' Diana Bathing ' was somewhat 
 strangely surrounded by a tropical forest. 
 
 ' Very like Th6o's description !' said the boy, not 
 without malice, ' I myself saw an editor on his knees to 
 him.' 
 
 ' Then,' observed The"o, ' he may be a poet, but he is
 
 3i8 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 not an immortal poet. The immortal poet is a different 
 kind. I myself am one.' 
 
 'Bravo, " Albertus" !' cried the rest. The pupil of 
 Ingres tossed up a little book bound in pink, bearing 
 this title, and caught it again. 
 
 ' I got it very cheap,' he remarked. 
 
 ' It will be dear enough by-and-by,' said Th6o com- 
 posedly. ' So will the earlier works of Dom Mar ' 
 he signed to the white flannel Carthusian ' whom I 
 here present to you under the already famous style 
 and title of Monsieur Honore" de Balzac. It will be 
 the same with the earlier works of my illustrious friend, 
 Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot, up there and perhaps 
 with those of my illustrious foe, Gavarni, down here. 
 As for that poet of yours, he's no more an immortal 
 poet than you are.' 
 
 For all his answer the boy sang, in a clear young 
 voice, the first verse of a Song. 
 
 ' I have heard that before,' remarked Adolph Leleux, 
 and the Bacchic revel waited while he sang the second 
 verse himself. ' A friend of mine who lives in Lyons 
 sent it me, five or six months ago. All the boys and 
 girls there went wild over it. They thought it was 
 Victor's.' 
 
 ' It is not Victor's, but it is good,' said The"o deci- 
 sively. ' Who is this friend of yours, Baby ?' 
 
 ' He is called New Year's Eve.' 
 
 ' Rubbish ! What do you mean ?' 
 
 ' He told me so himself. He said he had no other 
 name. He has come to Paris to look for one.' 
 
 ' Come to Paris to look for a name well, many of us 
 have done that !' said Balzac, with interest. ' Paris is 
 a glorious hunting-ground for game of that kind. I go
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 319 
 
 a-hunting to-night Gozlan with me. Why should he 
 not come, too ? He has only to read the signs of the 
 shops ; he will find all kinds of names pompous ridi- 
 culous odd paradoxical enough to rejoice the heart 
 of a writer of vaudevilles virtuous names wicked 
 names fearfully wicked names ; these last are usually 
 those of chandlers and confectioners.' 
 
 ' Yes, but it is not a name for one of his characters 
 that he wants ; it is a name for himself. And I do not 
 think he is either a writer of vaudevilles, a chandler, or 
 a confectioner,' said the boy. ' He does not look like 
 that.' 
 
 ' What does he look like ?' 
 
 ' A duke.' 
 
 ' Heigho ! I was not aware that you consorted with 
 dukes.' 
 
 ' I have seen the picture of the due de Berry. I 
 suppose most people have done that.' 
 
 The door opened, and Lucien came in on the word. 
 A thrill of surprise ran through the studio. 
 
 ' Room for His Royal Highness, the poet and the 
 duke !' Th^o cried. 
 
 Everyone stopped and bowed. The painters in the 
 looking-glass bowed too, the reverse way, and the pupil 
 of Ingres trolled out the third verse of the Song, several 
 of his friends joining in chorus. 
 
 Lucien smiled, and bowed slightly in acknowledgment. 
 
 ' Bravo !' muttered Balzac. 
 
 ' You perceive that you are not unknown here, sir,' 
 said Theo. ' Is it true if I may venture to ask without 
 indiscretion that you are not sure upon what name 
 you design to confer immortality ? His Reverence, 
 Dom Mar, is anxious to assist you.'
 
 320 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' My name is Lucien Sylvestre. I am not, sir, a 
 duke. I hope to be more.' 
 
 ' Be seated, sir !' said de Nerval, pointing magnificently 
 to the rungs of an unoccupied ladder. ' We make you 
 duke of the country of Gallant Bohemia, your title to 
 be subject to confirmation by the Lord of the Land.' 
 
 'Ah, Victor Hugo!' said Lucien, with a catch in his 
 breath. 
 
 ' You desire to pay your respects to him ?' 
 
 Lucien could not express it in that way. 
 
 Theo laughed. 
 
 ' His Majesty will be charmed. Speechless at the 
 mention of his name 1 You will probably faint when 
 you behold him. Never mind I I have gone through 
 it all myself. They rather like you to faint. But I do 
 not advise you to seek an audience to-day. He is at 
 the theatre, amusing himself with another monarch. 
 What is the matter, Dom Mar? Are you going to 
 faint, too ? I suppose you were not in bed before eight 
 o'clock this morning ? It is impossible for me to talk 
 while you stand blinking there like a bat. You can 
 hardly keep your eyes open. Lie down on that sofa 
 and go to sleep, in the name of Dante ! He never 
 thought it waste of time to shut his eyes; he made 
 something out of his dreams.' 
 
 Balzac fell rather than sank upon the couch that 
 Leleux wheeled back for him. The piercing black eyes 
 closed. He was asleep in an instant. 
 
 ' Now for business!' Th6o went on, turning to Lucien. 
 ' May I ask you to accept this ticket for to-morrow 
 night ? It is the first night of a play of which you may 
 have heard, " Le Roi s'Amuse." ' 
 
 ' I have heard of it,' said Lucien.
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 321 
 
 Once again his friend's voice sounded in his ear on 
 that last night at the chateau de la Pe*nissiere. 
 
 Aloud he only said : 
 
 ' Thank-you.' 
 
 'You look almost as young as my esteemed friend, 
 the baby,' Theo said, with a curious glance at him. 
 ' Have you ever gone to the theatre before ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Why not ?' 
 
 ' I never had money enough.' 
 
 That is no reason at all. We none of us have money 
 enough, but we go every night of our lives. Think 
 again.' 
 
 ' I suppose it never occurred to me. When there 
 was a Moon I could see her out of my room at 
 Lyons.' 
 
 ' Ah, now we get to the root of the matter ! Perhaps 
 you had better not go to-morrow. You will be dis- 
 appointed.' 
 
 ' Disappointed in " Le Roi s' Amuse !" ' cried the 
 pupil of Ingres, as who should say, ' Disappointed in 
 Heaven !' 
 
 ' The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts, sir,' 
 said Lucien, making no motion to give back his ticket. 
 
 ' Disappointed ? What do you mean, Theo ?' 
 
 ' What I say. You have no idea of the expectations 
 of ignorance ; and the expectations of an ignorant poet 
 are the worst of all. They are in the habit of attending 
 theatres of their own. I have one myself. It is called 
 the Theatre Theophile Gautier a very odd institution 
 very superior to the Fra^ais.' 
 
 ' What is it like, Th<k> ?' 
 
 Gautier threw himself back in an armchair, and put 
 
 21
 
 322 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 both hands over his eyes, as if he were gazing far away 
 into the distance. 
 
 ' Oh, there are glow-worms instead of footlights, and 
 a beetle stands at the conductor's desk, and beats time 
 with his antenna! The cricket has his place in the 
 orchestra ; the nightingale plays first flute ; tiny fairies 
 that live in the flowers of the sweet-pea hold double 
 basses of lemon-peel between their pretty little legs, 
 more white than ivory, and fiddle away as hard as they 
 can go with bows made of Titania's eyebrow stretched 
 on a spider's web.' 
 
 ' Not bad !' said Gavarni, proceeding to draw the con- 
 ductor. ' What is the curtain like ?' 
 
 ' It is woven of butterfly-wings, thinner than the skin 
 of an eggshell. Three taps, and then it rises slowly, as 
 every well-behaved curtain should.' 
 
 ' The audience ?' Gerard de Nerval asked. 
 
 ' Mushrooms who keep their hats on insolent beggars 
 violets on tiptoe between the blades of grass, their 
 blue eyes wide open to see the hero go by souls of 
 poets in mother-of-pearl stalls, looking on at the play 
 through dewdrops mounted on the gold pistil of a lily 
 their opera-glasses, of course.' 
 
 ' And the scenery ? You must not leave that out,' 
 murmured Corot. ' For my part, I never see anything 
 else at a play.' 
 
 ' It is not like any scene that ever was mounted before. 
 The country it represents is more unknown than 
 America before its discovery. Even your palette does 
 not show half the colours that prevail there. They are 
 rather odd, perhaps no end of emerald green, Antwerp 
 blue, ultramarine, crimson and yellow lake. The sky is 
 greenish-blue, striped with broad bands of pale yellow
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 323 
 
 and fawn ; in the middle distance little delicate slender 
 trees, the light visible through their thin, dead-rose 
 coloured foliage ; and far away, instead of drowning in 
 blue mist, they are of the loveliest apple-green, spirals 
 of golden smoke rising among them here and there.' 
 
 ' No, Tho. I do not like your apple-green distance,' 
 Corot said. ' You must mend that, or I will not come 
 to your theatre.' 
 
 Theo, who was launched on the full tide of his 
 eloquence, went on, heedless of interruption. 
 
 ' Stray beams of light ruined temples towers towns 
 full of belfries, pyramids, domes, arcades, balconies, 
 reflected from the hillsides where they cling in lakes 
 of crystal great, broad-leaved chestnuts with clouds 
 heaped on their heads like snowballs their twisted 
 roots grip the soil like the fingers of a giant, and the 
 eyes of dwarfs gleam from among their branches. The 
 woodpecker keeps time on them with his horny beak, 
 and emerald lizards bask in the sunshine on the moss 
 at their feet, while the bullfinch and the linnet bend 
 from the boughs to prompt the actors in the play.' 
 
 ' A different kind of play from Hugo's !' 
 
 ' Very different ! The characters do not belong to 
 any particular country, nor to any particular time. 
 They come and go, no one knows how nor why ; they 
 do not eat and drink ; they live nowhere, and they have 
 no profession; they own no property; they draw no 
 income. Only sometimes they carry under their arms 
 a little casket full of diamonds as big as a pigeon's egg. 
 Not a drop of rain falls from the petal of a flower as 
 they pass they do not stir an atom of dust along the 
 road. They dress in the most extravagant, fantastic 
 way in the world. They wear steeple hats with brims 
 
 212
 
 324 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 the size of a Chinese parasol, and tall feathers, torn 
 from the bird of Paradise and the phoenix. Their 
 cloaks are striped with bright colour ; their doublets of 
 velvet and brocade slashed with satin or cloth of silver, 
 and trimmed with gold lace ; their breeches are puffed 
 out like balloons ; their stockings are embroidered in 
 scarlet ; their high-heeled shoes are decorated with 
 huge rosettes; they carry little slender swords, the 
 point up and the handle down, all over odds and ends 
 of lace and ribbon.' 
 
 ' Are there no women in the play ?' asked the pupil 
 of Ingres, who was listening intently. 
 
 ' Yes, a great many the women of Delia Bella and 
 De Hooghe. Their dresses are full and billowy, with 
 wonderful folds of shifting rainbow colour like the 
 breast of doves, great sleeves with other sleeves coming 
 out of them, ruffs of open lace rising higher than the 
 head so as to frame it, bodices charged with bows and 
 sparkling embroidery, aigrettes of the heron's plume, 
 necklaces of big pearls, peacock - feather fans with 
 mirrors in the centre, little slippers, and pattens.' 
 
 ' Can they speak, or are they marionettes ?' inquired 
 Celestin. 
 
 ' Oh no ! they talk in sweet, low voices, without any 
 hurry, like well - bred people who attach no great 
 importance to what they do.' 
 
 ' Where is the motive of the play ?' 
 
 * There is none. Effects have no causes, and causes 
 no effects. The aristocratic father arrives post haste 
 from China in a bamboo junk, on purpose to recognise 
 the little girl who has been carried off. The action 
 plunges into the Ocean under the topaz dome of the 
 waves, and walks about at the bottom of the sea through
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 325 
 
 forests of coral and madripore, or flies up to the sky on 
 the wings of the lark and the griffin.' 
 
 ' And what language do they talk in those parts ?' 
 
 ' The dialogue is very universal. Sometimes the lion 
 says " Oh /" Sometimes a wall talks through the 
 chinks.' 
 
 ' Very charming, but not much like life, as the 
 butterfly said to the snail.' 
 
 ' On the contrary all this pell-mell disorder is much 
 more like real life in the end than the most minute 
 study of manners. Every man includes in himself all 
 humanity, and if he only writes what comes into his 
 head, he succeeds better than if he copies objects out- 
 side himself with the help of a microscope.' 
 
 ' I always thought he would,' said Lucien, musing. 
 
 ' If you mean to discuss instead of to describe, I am 
 off!' cried Gerard de Nerval. 'I have found a rose 
 with the heart of a lily. I am going to look at it. 
 Fare you well, poets all !' 
 
 And he fluttered out of the door, followed by a joyful 
 chorus of brethren in search of their dinner. 
 
 ' Yes, go !' said Lucien to Provost de Saint-Marc, his 
 young admirer ; and the boy followed the rest. 
 
 Dom Mar, Theophile Gautier and Lucien were left 
 alone. There was silence for a minute or two, counted 
 by the soft, regular breathing of the sleeper. 
 
 ' You wish to ask me something ?' Theo said, fixing 
 his brilliant eyes on Lucien. 'Do I, by some happy 
 chance, know the address of the lady of your affec- 
 tions ? Can I be of use to you in any affair of litera- 
 ture or of love ? I like your look. I am your most 
 obedient humble servant. I will even read one of 
 the half-dozen plays in manuscript, which are no doubt
 
 326 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 lying in your drawer at this moment mind I say 
 one /' 
 
 * I will not put your friendship to so severe a test, 
 sir,' said Lucien, laughing shyly ; ' but ' 
 
 'Well, go on. I am weary of But. There is no 
 word in the world that is used so often.' 
 
 ' Can you tell me where I may find madame de 
 Feucheres ? Can you tell me who she is ?' 
 
 For once The"o forgot himself. He whistled and his 
 whistle awoke Dom Mar. 
 
 'Traitor! thief! assassin!' he cried, starting up 
 furiously. ' You have lost me ten thousand francs. If 
 I had kept awake, I should have followed out the thread 
 of a story that would have brought me at least that 
 sum, without the later editions. You have made me 
 miss interviews with bankers editors duchesses I 
 shall be too late to take up a note. That fatal sleep 
 may cost me millions.' 
 
 ' Hush, Dom Mar,' said Theo in a whisper. ' There 
 are things more important than money. This young 
 man wishes to know who madame de Feucheres is.' 
 
 Dom Mar fell instantly into a silence which was even 
 more full of astonishment than TheVs whistle. 
 
 ' Well, who is she, The"o ?' he said at last. ' You are 
 fond of definitions. Define this lady.' 
 
 ' She is, or she appears to be, the eternal Helen, the 
 everlasting other man's wife, the thing behind the bars 
 that everybody desires and no one gets. I am not sure 
 that everybody desires her quite so much since the 
 month of September, 1829, though, eh ?' 
 
 ' What have you to do with her, young man ?' asked 
 Balzac abruptly. 
 
 ' I do not know who I am,' said Lucien. ' My friend,
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 327 
 
 the marquis de Civrac, does not know. He thinks 
 that madame de Feucheres does.' 
 
 ' It is certain that she knows many strange things,' 
 Balzac said, in slow, reflective tones. ' De Civrac told 
 you to seek her out ? I remember him of old. An out- 
 and-out classic, but a fine fellow for all that. Not a 
 touch of the bourgeois about him. Curious advice, 
 though, to give a young man ! Most people think she 
 murdered the late Duke of Conde" in the month of 
 September, 1829.' 
 
 ' No, no, Dom Mar !' said Theo, ' that is not 
 proven. Alexandre Dumas had it from the doctor, 
 that it was bond-fide suicide on the part of the old 
 duke.' 
 
 ' (Ja n'empeche pas. She had made his life intoler- 
 able for some time beforehand.' 
 
 * You do not credit the rumour that she wanted to 
 insist on his marrying her?' 
 
 ' No, there is something more in it ; and what that 
 something may be, Louis- Philippe is afraid to inquire. 
 Bah ! the age is degenerate ! Grave suspicions of foul 
 play and the last of the Conde's ! It would have been 
 an affair of the scaffold in any age but this.' 
 
 ' The little duchess is mad ; but she did well to reject 
 that legacy for her son. If Louis-Philippe had kept his 
 
 hands equally clean ' 
 
 ' He would have been in gaol, and Henri Cinq on 
 the throne this day, my friend. Madame de Feucheres 
 has made and unmade Kings before now.' 
 
 ' How is this fellow here to get sight of her ?' said 
 TWo. 
 
 ' I do not know ; I have no power.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! You are acquainted with every sus-
 
 328 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 picious character in Paris. Look at his face ! You 
 can see at a glance what may depend on it.' 
 
 ' I saw that when he came into the room. But she 
 is not easy to see.' 
 
 ' You are talking for talking's sake. You have 
 arranged more difficult affairs than that.' 
 
 Balzac reflected. At last he turned kindly to 
 Lucien. 
 
 * Trust me a little further. Tell me what you know 
 of yourself. At present I have nothing with which to 
 persuade her. If I had your story, I could repeat it. 
 I can tell a story sometimes in a way that makes 
 people listen.' 
 
 Once more Lucien told of the stormy night at the 
 mill, of the strangers and the strange words, of the 
 key and the snuff-box. He was growing very tired 
 of it. 
 
 ' Thank-you !' said Balzac, when he had finished. ' I 
 can make her listen to that. I could have done with 
 less. What a fortune for a young man to enter on life 
 with such a story ! No woman could resist it. You go 
 to the play to-morrow night, of course ? You mean to 
 dance at the ball here afterwards ? No ? Well, then, 
 come to my house, rue Cassini, near the Observatory, 
 half an hour after midnight. Forgive me for recom- 
 mending you to take precautions. I am a marked man ; 
 I cannot come and go like others. Kindly ring the 
 bell seven times, and when the porter appears, say to 
 him, " Caviare is in season now." Directly after, you 
 will meet my valet on the stairs. Say to him, " I have 
 a snuff-box for the lady." There will be a maid on 
 the first landing, and you will just let fall the words, 
 " Monsieur de Civrac is quite well." I hope he is quite
 
 MAISON BOTHEREL 329 
 
 well, by the way? We thought he was killed at la 
 Penissiere.' 
 
 ' He is quite well, thank-you.' 
 
 ' I am delighted to hear it ! I met a friend of his 
 three days ago, who told me for certain that he was 
 dead. Now let us talk of real things ! What do you 
 think of my " Firmiani," Theo ?'
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 'LE ROI S'AMUSE' 
 
 ' WHAT are they hissing now ?' 
 
 * Paul Veronese. The costume was designed from 
 the double-bass in " The Marriage of Cana." ' 
 
 ' Kings must not appear in dressing-gowns do you 
 see ? Louis-Philippe never does.' 
 
 ' Hang Louis- Philippe !' 
 
 ' With all my heart ; but he was nearly shot to-night.' 
 
 ' The devil ! I got in late. Was that the reason of 
 the icy stillness after the first Act ?' 
 
 ' It was. Not good taste to feel much interested 
 when the King had escaped with his life, you know! 
 Besides, they hated our singing the Marseillaise. 
 Prevost de Saint- Marc refused to sing, by the way. I 
 believe the boy is a Legitimist in the depths of his 
 heart. The*o stopped it after the second Act. Too 
 late ! The wretched players had lost their heads ! 
 They behaved like idiots ! I would have hissed myself, 
 if it had not been for Hugo. I say, wake up, young 
 man ! I have never heard you applaud once. You 
 seem to me to be sound asleep. I was told you were a 
 duke and a poet. You have all your trade to learn as 
 a claqueur. Remember, you never paid for your ticket.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said Lucien hurriedly.
 
 'LE ROI S'AMUSE' 331 
 
 He was longing for TheVs audience of mushrooms, 
 violets, and souls of poets. The audience at the 
 Theatre Fran^ais appeared to him to be composed 
 entirely of snakes. When the curtain drew up, however, 
 he sat enthralled, entranced. He saw nothing, heard 
 nothing, thought of nothing except Victor Hugo. 
 When it was down he saw Renews face, heard Rene" 
 saying, ' The night his new play comes out, when all the 
 flatterers have done ' 
 
 ' Shall you go home with Hugo to-night ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 'And you ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' And you ?' 
 
 Celestin Nauteuil shook his head. 
 
 ' And you ?' 
 
 ' No,' said The'ophile Gautier. ' He is best alone 
 to-night. He will have to tell dear little madame Hugo, 
 who is sitting up for him.' 
 
 ' Poor fellow !' 
 
 ' Never let me hear you say that again !' Lucien re- 
 marked, with such majesty that Adolphe Leleux cowered 
 away from him, taken aback by astonishment. Was 
 this the meek person who had been sitting hitherto as if 
 he were deaf? Leleux began to think that he might 
 be a duke after all. 
 
 The noise and clamour on both sides reached Lucien 
 as mere foolishness. Up to this moment he had not 
 heeded it. Why, because the divine beauty of certain 
 lines filled his eyes with tears, was he to strike his 
 hands together to make a silly, senseless, discordant 
 din ? As for stamping with his feet, he abhorred both 
 the exertion and the result of the exertion. He never
 
 332 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 carried an umbrella. Unless he could not help shout- 
 ing, he objected to shout. 
 
 Now, however, it was brought home to him that he 
 had not been doing his duty. In the depth of his heart 
 he wondered at the conduct of his hundred-and-forty- 
 nine companions, especially at that of The"o; but he 
 followed suit with greater zest because he had caught 
 sight of monsieur Berryer in a box, and monsieur 
 Berryer did not applaud. The curtain fell for the last 
 time. 
 
 ' Shall I name you ?' said Triboulet, the Fool, from the 
 side-scenes ; and they knew that he spoke to the author. 
 ' Sir, I believe in my piece rather more since it has 
 failed.' 
 
 Lucien recognised the figure of the man who had 
 defended Corneille against Victor Hugo in the office of 
 the editor of the Glaneuse at Lyons. He sprang to his 
 feet, gave one last cheer, discovered that he was in- 
 audible from hoarseness, and fled. 
 Outside the theatre he hailed a cab. 
 ' Can you drive fast ?' 
 
 ' As fast as the devil himself, young gentleman !' 
 ' Then drive like the devil to No. 6, Place Royale, the 
 house at the corner of the square. The devil take you 
 if you are not there in five minutes !' 
 
 The streets were empty. The hissing rain without 
 stung like the hissing snakes within. Snakes ! snakes ! 
 The world was full of snakes ! Was this what it meant 
 to be the greatest poet on earth ? To be forsaken alike 
 of friends and foes ! At least there should be one to 
 meet to greet him. At least he should hear the voice 
 of the worshipper who had died thinking to the last 
 of his glory. The dead should make amends.
 
 'LE ROI S'AMUSE' 333 
 
 * Wait !' he called to the driver as he jumped out. 
 
 By the look of the house he knew that he was in 
 time, that the master had not come home. 
 
 ' No,' he said to the sleepy servant, ' I do not wish to 
 see madame. Do not announce me. Monsieur knows 
 that I am coming on business. I will await him here.' 
 
 He saw a woman's figure on the stairs, pushed open 
 the nearest door, and went in at a venture. 
 
 Clearly he had not been seen. 
 
 ' I thought it must be Victor. Will he never come ?' 
 said the wife plaintively. 
 
 She listened a moment, and retreated upstairs again. 
 
 Lucien found himself in a small, round sitting-room, 
 dimly lit by a shaded lamp and the last embers of a 
 dying fire. On the table, under the lamp, a large manu- 
 script volume lay open at the last page, as if someone 
 had just finished reading. The last lines were adorned 
 with a pen-and-ink sketch of a man in motley, his 
 elbow on his knee, his head on his hand, and under- 
 neath it the words, The last Fool thinking of the last 
 King. 
 
 A minute later he heard the key turn in the lock of 
 the door outside, and flying feet on the stair. 
 
 ' Well ?' 
 
 Apparently the husband's face told what had 
 happened. 
 
 There was a long, quivering sigh ; that was all. 
 
 The soft skirts rustled up again. 
 
 ' Put out the light before you come !' she called over 
 the banisters. 
 
 ' I will put out the light.' 
 
 Lucien shrank back as Victor Hugo entered ; but he 
 was not noticed. The words that he had meant to
 
 334 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 speak turned to breath on his lips. He felt that he saw 
 Hell. 
 
 The poet sat down on a couch in the attitude of his 
 own hero, rested his head upon his hand thought. 
 The face was gray with thought. 
 
 He rose, turned down the lamp, looked round as if 
 to see whether there were anything else he could extin- 
 guish beheld the last spark of the fire glimmering still 
 on the hearth fetched a jug of water from a recess, 
 flung it on to the ashes, and went out.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 MADAME DE FEUCHERES 
 
 ' MONSIEUR BALZAC has wonderful invention ; he can 
 even invent sometimes what is true,' said madame de 
 Feucheres. 
 
 Lucien made no reply. 
 
 The strange eyes of this woman mesmerized him. 
 They were deep with the experience of long life, yet 
 there was not a line in the forehead above them. He 
 only knew for certain that she was not young and not 
 old. Her voice had the same agelessness. Instinctively 
 he feared her at once. 
 
 ' She could make me believe anything she liked. If 
 she tells me that she is good, I shall believe her.' 
 
 But madame de Feucheres did not tell him that she 
 was good. 
 
 ' Monsieur Balzac told me that I once cared for de 
 Civrac. It was an invention, of course.' Her smile 
 had more than sweetness in it. ' Monsieur le marquis 
 is always monsieur le marquis ?' 
 
 * Always, Madame.' 
 
 ' You are his son ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' I knew you were not his own son,' she said with a 
 dark gleam of amusement. ' I knew that directly I
 
 336 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 saw you. You are your mother's and your father's. 
 Most people see the father in you ; I see the mother, as 
 he does. He has made you his heir, has he not ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'That he should endow with all his worldly goods 
 the child of the due de Berry ! Ah, in the old days, 
 how he would have hated him as I hated your mother !' 
 She spoke without the least emotion, but passed her 
 hand over her forehead as if to recall what she had 
 once felt. ' Sit down !' she said ; ' I will tell you about 
 yourself. I sent for you for two reasons. I wished to 
 see whether you were indeed so like your father as 
 de Balzac insisted that you were. If he spoke the 
 truth, I thought it might be of some assistance to the 
 duchess of Berry. I have a liking for her ; I cannot 
 tell why. She is a perfect fool. Oh, do not look so 
 angry ! Only children and fools grow angry.' 
 
 ' I am a fool, then,' said Lucien. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' No ; you come of too good parentage. The due 
 de Berry married your mother in secret five years 
 before his wedding with the present duchess. It was 
 a legal marriage, but I alone had the certificate. I 
 threatened to destroy it, and to expose her, if she did 
 not conceal the birth of a child from everyone even 
 from her husband, who was in exile at the time. Her 
 brother, with whom she lived, found out. He did not 
 believe in the marriage, and I held my tongue. He 
 took his sister away with him ; he insisted that the 
 child must disappear. In common with him, I thought 
 that she herself had drowned her infant. She would 
 not go, she said, unless she were allowed to do this. 
 Even then she outwitted us. A child, unlawfully born,
 
 MADAME DE FEUCHERES 337 
 
 had died in a cottage near the inn where they were 
 staying. She buried that child in the river. She had 
 you carried off to a distant village, and left in charge of 
 a woman there. Her brother never knew, and for years 
 I remained in ignorance.' 
 She paused. 
 
 The odd, museum -like room, in which pictures, 
 statuettes, bric-a-brac of every description, relics of 
 every kind, were jumbled up together, filled with the 
 recollected presence of those long dead. 
 
 ' In three months I had told her I should return. I 
 was not in France at the time. I vowed that I would 
 find out whether she had obeyed me. She was to leave 
 a token at the windmill by which I might feel sure. The 
 key was the key of the casket which held the certificate. 
 It was not in the lock when I happened to find the 
 thing. The snuff-box had belonged to the due de Berry. 
 She dropped it on the road by accident, and it was picked 
 up by a beggar, who sold it to the owner of a curiosity- 
 shop in the nearest town. I dare say you may remember 
 the place, for it was close to the College of the Oratorians, 
 where, it seems, you were educated. There the marquis 
 de Civrac found and bought it. He collects snuff-boxes, 
 as he collects everything else. Monsieur de Balzac's 
 collections are not so choice, although they are larger. 
 Monsieur de Civrac did not know whose hands had held 
 that snuff-box.' 
 
 Again the ageless eyes looked at some face that Lucien 
 could not see. 
 
 ' He did not know who her husband was, nor that a 
 child of hers lived. I had sent her brother a message 
 by her, " Quand tu le voudras," which meant that I 
 was not afraid (he had a secret of mine, as I had one 
 
 22
 
 338 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 of his) that I would betray him without remorse unless 
 I was convinced that they had done as I desired. I 
 added that, if anything prevented my return, I should 
 send the Prince of Conde in a year and a month. I 
 had my reasons for fixing that date, but you are not 
 concerned with those. Well, it is not what we hope 
 that comes to pass, and it is not what we fear; it is 
 something we never thought of! On that night your 
 mother caught a chill, from the effects of which she 
 never recovered. Three months later I heard that she 
 could not live ; and at her urgent request, that she 
 might set her brother's mind at rest before she died I 
 sent her back the certificate, on condition that he should 
 pay me, within two years, a sum of money of which I 
 stood in need at the time. There had been passages of 
 love between us, which made it easier.' 
 
 Lucien shuddered to hear that word on her lips. 
 
 ' The due de Berry returned from England soon 
 afterwards, to find that his wife was dead. He knew 
 nothing about the child ; and there was then no motive 
 for declaring a marriage which would have embroiled 
 him with all his relations. Ten months later your uncle 
 was killed accidentally. I profited by the accident 
 that was all. I have profited by accidents throughout 
 life.' 
 
 ' Is there anything in life by which she has not 
 profited ?' thought Lucien, as the exquisite lines of her 
 mouth softened into the glimmer of a smile. ( You 
 never came to the mill ?' he said. 
 
 ' There was no need. I had all that I wanted. 
 Everyone else concerned was dead, so far as I knew, 
 except the duke. That man at the mill would have 
 wanted payment ; they always do. Some women would
 
 MADAME DE FEUCHERES 339 
 
 have forgotten the whole affair. I am not like others, 
 unluckily. I have a conscience.' 
 
 The smile deepened. 
 
 ' Here it comes,' thought Lucien. ' She is going to 
 say she is good.' 
 
 ' I regretted that the due de Berry had not been quite 
 fairly treated. So long as he had no son, I felt anxious. 
 When he married the present duchess, I thought I 
 should be able to forget. Her first child was a girl. 
 The second was a boy it only lived two hours. She 
 must be a fool ! Why could she not arrange it better 
 than that ? Then came the assassination of the duke 
 at the Opera-house the birth of the Child of the Miracle. 
 I offered her the Conde fortune all that would have 
 come to the due d'Enghien, had he lived. She was 
 proud ; she suspected my motives, and she refused. 
 Can you not see that she was a fool ? The Citizen- 
 King is not so scrupulous. Even then I would have 
 saved her for her child's sake. I knew of the plot at 
 Nantes. Did she receive a warning letter signed 
 "Jauge"?' 
 
 ' She did. It came too late. She stood committed 
 beyond retrieval.' 
 
 ' Ah ! it came too late,' said madame de Feucheres 
 indifferently. ' She is a very good woman, but not 
 clever. If you have brains, you can strike a bargain 
 with the Minister now on her behalf. You must not 
 mention my name, of course but you may mention 
 me. Thiers will not spread the news abroad. As 
 regards other people, I do not ask you for a promise. 
 You have your mother's eyes. You are too like her to 
 speak when you should not.' 
 
 ' Tell me ' said Lucien. 
 
 22 2
 
 340 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 He looked at her with resolute entreaty, as if he, too, 
 must be able to see that other woman whom madame 
 de Feucheres saw his mother present before them in 
 the room. 
 
 ' By what you are yourself, you know who she was.' 
 
 ' Alas, Madame,' said Lucien, ' what am I ?' 
 
 ' A King of Hearts,' said she. 
 
 The gracious gesture of her hand was a dismissal.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 BLUM LOSES HIS SITUATION 
 
 ' WELL,' said the marquis, ' who are you ? The eldest 
 son of the due de Berry ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' Lucien said thoughtfully. ' I intend to make 
 good my claim to Thiers,' he added. 
 
 ' I thought you despised Kings that you had no 
 ambition except to be a poet.' 
 
 ' It is true.' 
 
 ' I see. You urge your claim. If he consents to 
 release Madame, you desist ?' 
 
 ' I promised her that my claim, if claim there were, 
 should never be enforced. But I think she would forgive 
 this, as things are.' 
 
 ' She has nothing to forgive you. She has forsaken 
 her own cause.' 
 
 ' I know,' said Lucien. ' But I must not for- 
 sake it.' 
 
 ' I only knew because of a certain free-masonry that 
 exists between those who have had a like experience,' 
 said the marquis. ' But you ?' 
 
 ' Sir, you have the right to ask any other question 
 you like of me.' 
 
 ' Does anyone else know ?' 
 
 ' Not a soul.'
 
 342 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 'You had not heard of this when we were at la 
 Penissiere ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' She must have been very imprudent.' 
 
 Lucien was silent. 
 
 ' I should do as you do,' said the marquis at last. 
 ' After all, what is the use of life except to live ? How 
 do you propose to set about it ? How will you get 
 at Thiers ?' 
 
 ' I must find my friend, Charles Blum. He is hand- 
 and-glove with the Minister.' 
 
 ' Do not see him at his own house ! Meet him some- 
 where. You will have to exact a promise that your 
 liberty is not interfered with. Remember that you have 
 compromised yourself. You are no more safe than I 
 am. If Thiers refuses to have any dealings with 
 you ?' 
 
 ' I must save her some other way.' 
 
 ' It is just possible that Thiers may welcome your 
 interference. She exasperated him ; but it was a false 
 move to take her prisoner. What are they going to do 
 with her ? We are not in the Middle Ages.' 
 
 ' She cannot remain in their hands ; she must escape. 
 I will find Blum at once.' 
 
 ' You have not far to look. There he goes ! Stay, 
 do not attract attention ! Walk along on the other side 
 of the street until he sees you.' 
 
 Lucien followed the advice, but Blum seemed to be 
 afflicted with blindness. He plodded past, his eyes on 
 the pavement, and never raised them once. 
 
 ' Blum !' 
 
 Apparently the person addressed was deaf as well as 
 blind. He made no sign whatever.
 
 BLUM LOSES HIS SITUATION 343 
 
 They were by this time at some distance from the 
 Three Elephants. Lucien crossed over, and, laughing, 
 took him by the shoulder. 
 
 ' What a fool you must be, Lucien !' cried his friend 
 angrily. ' It was bad enough at Nantes, where you 
 were always running under my nose. Do you want to 
 compel me to give you up to the police ?' 
 
 ' I want to see Thiers. I will see him, too, and at 
 once. You must take me to him.' 
 
 In his short passage up the street, Lucien had con- 
 trived to forget every word of de Civrac's warning. 
 
 Finally, Blum consented. When Lucien had a thing 
 at heart, he was, to certain natures, irresistible ; and 
 Blum was one of these. 
 
 The Minister of the Interior was at home. 
 ' Our friend, the poet ? Oh yes, I shall be charmed 
 to see him ! The interview must be private, you say ? 
 Ah, well, Joly and two of his men are in the next room 
 waiting to speak with me ; but there is a curtain between 
 they will hear nothing. You can wait in the study.' 
 
 Blum waited twenty minutes, after which the Minister 
 came out alone. 
 
 'You will not see your friend again just at present,' 
 he remarked. 
 
 Something in his unusually suave tones alarmed Blum. 
 ' What has happened, sir ?' 
 
 ' I think he is not quite sane,' said Thiers. ' We shall 
 try the effect of a little restraint. In the present excited 
 state of the country, it is not safe for lunatics to be at 
 large. A great English thinker suggested once that a 
 nation, like an individual, might go mad. The possibility 
 of it has been proved over and over again in France. 
 It was proved the other day in the case of the duchess.
 
 344 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 The Jeunes-France who are the maddest of the many 
 madmen about saluted this young fellow as a Duke at 
 the Maison Botherel. We have Dukes enough, as it 
 is. Besides, I find that he all but set Lyons on fire 
 six months ago. I underrated the power of a Song, it 
 seems. I cannot give him the chance again.' 
 
 ' Sir,' said Blum earnestly, ' you promised that no 
 harm should come to him.' 
 
 ' Exactly. I am keeping him out of harm's way. I 
 can give you no further information about him now. 
 Good-night, my dear Blum.' 
 
 ' I must know where my friend is, sir.' 
 
 Blum's temper was rising. 
 
 ' He is quite safe.' 
 
 ' If you can tell me nothing further, sir, I must leave 
 your service.' 
 
 'As you will !' said Thiers indifferently. ' I dare say 
 you are right in your decision. There are forty other 
 applicants for the post.'
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 JEANNE CONSENTS 
 
 ONCE more, upon a quiet moonlit night in cold and 
 early Spring, Lucien walked up the avenue of poplar 
 trees at Morfontaine. 
 
 He moved gravely, slowly, as if he suspected a foe 
 behind each thin rounded stem. The eyes that had 
 been wont to gaze up and away were now alert as those 
 of a fox ; and he was listening not with his ears only, 
 but with his eyes. He took minute care not to make 
 the least noise as he went. Yet within he was shouting 
 and singing. The eighteen months that had passed 
 since Thiers arrested and threw him into prison had 
 given him an outward cautiousness of manner that 
 might last a week, perhaps ; they had hot broken that 
 independent spirit. 
 
 ' If they were all dead,' he cried to himself, ' Madame 
 the marquis Jeanne that blessed dear old fool, 
 Charles Blum still I am free !' 
 
 A sudden chill of horror froze his soul in the midst 
 of his exultation. 
 
 ' All these are older than I am excepting Jeanne. 
 It will be true one day.' 
 
 He glanced at the moon. 
 
 ' Not a minute older.'
 
 346 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 And, ' Not so old as you were this time two years 
 ago !' he cried to the backward buds of the poplar- 
 trees. 
 
 The moon rode on, remote and peaceful ; the boughs 
 waved softly in the wind. 
 
 1 Excepting Jeanne !' Lucien said to himself again. 
 
 ' The marquis is well, sir,' said the old butler, ' but 
 he is away from home. You are expected, sir. Your 
 room is ready. The fire is lighted there. It has been 
 lit every night since the marquis returned home in 
 November.' 
 
 ' Where is he ?' 
 
 ' He has gone to Lyons. He has been much away 
 from home of late. He begged that you would not 
 attempt to follow him, sir that you would wait 
 for him here. There is a document in the deal box 
 in his room ; he said you would know what to do 
 with it.' 
 
 ' I come from a long way off,' said Lucien, with hesi- 
 tation. (It was true morally not literally.) ' Can you 
 give me any news of Her Royal Highness, Madame la 
 duchesse de Berry ?' 
 
 He looked up at the moon as he spoke. 
 
 ' No one about here speaks of her now, sir ; she is 
 quite forgotten.' 
 
 ' Not dead ?' said Lucien violently. 
 
 ' Dear no, sir ! Her Royal Highness is not of the 
 stuff to die. Everyone believed, though, that she would 
 die in prison, before the child was born.' 
 
 ' The child ?' 
 
 For a moment even the old butler, for whom life 
 could hold very few surprises, looked startled. Had 
 Monsieur Sylvestre come from the grave that he had
 
 JEANNE CONSENTS 347 
 
 never heard of this ? But surprise was not allowed to 
 get the better of courtesy in the house of the marquis. 
 
 ' No doubt, sir, you have heard of the secret marriage 
 of the duchess ? All the world knows it now. She 
 joined the Count Lucchesi-Palli in Sicily last summer, 
 I believe.' 
 
 She was free then. 
 
 His long imprisonment counted for nothing. 
 
 But she was free. 
 
 When the old man left him, Lucien hurried upstairs, 
 fitted the lock into the key, and, opening the box, drew 
 out the bit of parchment it contained, the certificate of 
 his mother's marriage. He gazed at it with an utter 
 absence of emotion, tore it in two, burnt it. Long he 
 sat thinking of that other kingdom where succession is 
 not by inheritance. 
 
 After supper, alone by the charred fragments, he let 
 his thoughts return to the duchess. There was no 
 shade of bitterness in them. She, too, had entered on 
 a kingdom on a kingdom to which all men and women 
 alike were born. She had forgotten. Well, what then ? 
 She was forgotten too. He saw the little light figure, 
 the child in her arms. To the child he could give her 
 up. He wandered out again into the garden, and stood 
 beneath the tree, as he had stood when the white hand 
 stole from the window. She seemed to stand there 
 now again, to wave farewell to him. 
 
 With the dawn of day he was up and on his way to 
 Lyons. 
 
 As he drew near the town, he felt surprised that he 
 should be the only passenger in the diligence while 
 every diligence that passed him c on the road was crowded. 
 The driver was reticent, the guard declared that he could
 
 348 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 give no information ; but some miles short of the town 
 they stopped, the former declaring that he would not 
 go further. 
 
 ' If you take my advice, you will stop where we do,' 
 said the guard. 
 
 Lucien shook his head. 
 
 ' I have friends in the town.' 
 
 He walked on. 
 
 Hurrying towards him, with white scared face, he 
 perceived the boyish friend, PreVost de Saint- Marc, 
 whom he had seen last among the painters and poets 
 in the drawing-room of the Maison Botherel. 
 
 ' Tell me what has happened ?' he cried. 
 
 ' You !' cried the boy. ' You !' 
 
 Lucien thrust his arm through Saint- Marc's and 
 compelled him to walk in the direction in which he 
 was going. 
 
 ' You must tell me. I have no time to lose. I will 
 let you go when you have done.' 
 
 The boy looked up with frightened eyes. 
 
 ' Lyons is full of you ; it is you they want ! We 
 thought you had been killed,' said he. 
 
 ' Well, now you know I am alive ! I have been little 
 better than dead, though, for a year and a half. You 
 yourself look like a ghost, and so does everyone else 
 along the road, for the matter of that. What is the 
 matter with Lyons ?' 
 
 ' Your Song is the matter. Look there, that is not 
 the smoke of the factories.' 
 
 ' I see tongues of flame. Has there been a great 
 fire?' 
 
 ' Where do you come from ?' said the boy. 
 ' From prison.'
 
 JEANNE CONSENTS 349 
 
 ' You have heard nothing ?' 
 
 ' Nothing ! Tell me ! be quick !' 
 
 'Twenty thousand looms ceased to work about a 
 month ago. That is all.' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' Scarcity of foreign orders. Scarcity of home orders. 
 Reduction of twenty-five centimes in the price of plush. 
 And your Song.' 
 
 ' Twenty-five centimes that meant starvation.' 
 
 ' When they did not cry they sang they went about 
 in bands, singing that Song.' 
 
 Lucien caught his breath painfully. 
 
 ' Go on !' 
 
 ' Half the masters shut up their houses and fled. The 
 rest were determined on war. They have provoked the 
 men in every way. Blum, of the Glaneuse, did all he could 
 to stir them up. He never let them forget that Song.' 
 
 ' He never does let people forget.' 
 
 'At one moment we thought peace was coming. 
 They had called in the marquis de Civrac to arbitrate. 
 He almost persuaded them to be reconciled. Armand 
 Carrel and Cavaignac were turned back, just as they 
 were leaving Paris, by the news that the looms were at 
 work again.' 
 
 ' What stopped them ?' 
 
 ' The arrest of Blum and five others, after the strike 
 was over. He escaped, but the people were roused to 
 fury. There was not a chance after that. Besides, the 
 spies of Government went everywhere, egging the men 
 on. They wanted to strike a good blow and have done 
 with it. They were afraid of the sympathy of the troops ; 
 they ordered the colours to be carried, so that every 
 deserter might be shot instantly.'
 
 350 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Blum escaped, you say ?' 
 
 ' Yes. He has been busy enough since. The day 
 before yesterday the Lieutenant-General encamped on 
 the Place Bellecour, Fleury up at La Croix Rousse, 
 Buchet outside the Archbishop's palace, Dietmann at 
 the H6tel-de-Ville. The yth of the Line guards the 
 Place St. Jean.' 
 
 ' They have not hurt the Cathedral ?' 
 
 ' Not yet. It is full of troops you can see the points 
 of bayonets between the mouldings.' 
 
 ' When did all this begin ?' 
 
 'The night before last. I could not sleep. I wan- 
 dered about the streets. Terror everywhere ! Now a 
 wild, helpless crowd, now utter desolation. One moment 
 I could scarcely keep my footing for the rush the next 
 I was in a desert. Yesterday was better.' 
 
 ' Yesterday ?' 
 
 ' The tocsin rang out from the Church of the Cor- 
 deliers from St. Nizier. The black flag floated on the 
 tower of St. Polycarp and over the Asylum. Some 
 boys tried to construct a barricade mere children. I 
 was in the crowd, looking on. I burned to help, but 
 the people were all silent. At last a man stepped for- 
 ward joined the boys. Instantly one of the gendarmes 
 stabbed him. He reckoned without his host. Under 
 the clothes they found the belt of an agent of the police. 
 He had been urging us on, so that the soldiers might 
 have an excuse to fire. After that it was civil war. I 
 heard the first cannon on the Place Louis-le-Grand. 
 The shipping down at the quays burst into flame 
 look ! down there ! You can see the smoke. A boat 
 loaded with hay went down the river all alight. 
 Pont Chazourne caught as it went underneath, and
 
 JEANNE CONSENTS 351 
 
 three of the arches were burnt there ! do you see ? 
 The great Squares were on fire. We had no arms. 
 Most of our chiefs had fled. Blum was glorious. He 
 went everywhere, singing your Song, and wherever we 
 sang it we conquered. But we had not leaders enough.' 
 
 ' Where was de Civrac ?' 
 
 ' I do not know. They say he joined the enemy.' 
 
 ' That he did not.' 
 
 ' He held out for peace till there was no hope any 
 longer. Then he was for crushing the insurrection at 
 once by force of arms. It could have been done, Syl- 
 vestre ; it would have been more merciful in the end, 
 but they would not listen to him. They wanted rebel- 
 lion so that they might revenge themselves.' 
 
 ' You will never win if you have de Civrac against 
 you,' said Lucien slowly. ' Why did you run away ?' 
 
 ' To find you.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' 
 
 ' It was your Song that made us win. If I could but 
 find you, I knew you would lead.' 
 
 ' I will,' said Lucien. ' Where can I meet Blum ?' 
 
 ' He lives still in the old house. It has not been hurt. 
 They are strong yet in the quarter of the Cordeliers.' 
 
 Lucien took the boy's hand. 
 
 ' Farewell !' he said, and went. 
 
 Along the desolate, deserted quays he walked 
 through the long streets of burnt and desecrated houses, 
 room after room where quiet mysteries of birth and 
 death had passed lying now pitifully naked to the cold 
 light. Those houses that still stood were locked and 
 barred, and not a face showed at any window. For the 
 moment there was a lull. The soldiers were on guard. 
 The barricades were manned by silent, eager com-
 
 352 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 batants, but they had not yet been attacked. The rebels 
 had found two pieces of cannon at St. I re" ne'e and dragged 
 them up to the heights of Fourvieres, whence they were 
 shelling the Place Bellecour with bits of iron and powder 
 dried in the sun. 
 
 Around the Church of the Cordeliers, however, all 
 was different. 
 
 As Lucien turned the corner of the street in which he 
 had lived with Blum and Mademoiselle Jeanne, he felt 
 amazed to see a familiar figure by the Fountain where 
 once he stood to sing his Song. It was Blum, haranguing 
 a vast and restless crowd, his face resolute as ever, but 
 thin and worn, his eyes full of fire. 
 
 ' Here where I now stand !' he cried, ' there stood 
 among you, just two years ago, a poet one who 
 would have made Lyons famous. Where is he at this 
 moment ? Who knows ? He is dead, perhaps, the 
 victim of political intrigue, the martyr of the people. 
 You who have his words by heart, you to whom liberty 
 to sing the song of freedom is dear as life, say, will you 
 not deliver or avenge him ? All those who agree with 
 me follow me to the Church of the Cordeliers ! We are 
 still strong there. All those who agree with me hold 
 up their hands and shout " To-morrow !" ' 
 
 The shout that arose far and near deafened Lucien ; 
 he put his hands to his ears. A man behind pulled 
 them down roughly. 
 
 ' You never shouted !' he exclaimed. ' Cry " To- 
 morrow," or I denounce you as a spy of the Govern- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' To-morrow !' Lucien shouted. 
 
 ' Police ! police !' 
 
 The warning notes rang from a window close at
 
 JEANNE CONSENTS 353 
 
 hand. The old cry cleared the street just as it had 
 done two years ago. Blum vanished in the swarm of 
 his adherents, and Lucien pursued his way alone to the 
 house. 
 
 He stole up quietly, opened the door without noise. 
 In the well-remembered room everything was the same. 
 It was as he had often pictured it in the days of his 
 captivity, bright with the cheerful light of the sun, the 
 first glimmer of gold showing among the green spiky 
 cages of the crocus leaves at the window. Only one 
 thing was changed the only thing he looked for. Jeanne 
 sat there not at work, but with a child on her knee. 
 
 A jealous pang shot through him. She was counting 
 its fingers, and every time she counted them she kissed 
 them, while the baby laughed. 
 
 ' Jeanne !' said he angrily. 
 
 She set the child down on the floor. She rose, and 
 she fell back again, and no word came to help her. 
 Such a wild light of love leapt to her blue eyes that 
 Lucien trembled as at a vision. 
 
 She never heard the child, though it was crying. 
 
 ' Not her baby !' thought Lucien, and. bent down to 
 soothe it. 
 
 Suddenly she became aware, stooped, caught it to her 
 breast. 
 
 ' Ah ! if she held a child of mine ' 
 
 His own thought seized him, turned him to stone. 
 
 She quieted the frightened baby and took it out. He 
 watched her go across the street. He watched her 
 swift return. She went and came in a flash, yet she 
 was careful to close the door behind her. As she stood 
 up against it he saw how beautiful she was that she 
 was pale that her hands were almost transparent. 
 
 23
 
 354 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 ' Jeanne ! Jeanne !' he cried. ' Why do you look 
 like that ?' 
 
 She did not answer, yet he seemed to hear her saying : 
 
 ' You ask ? It is a year, and half a year, since that 
 day' 
 
 ' Jeanne !' he said. ' Dear Jeanne !' 
 
 But still she did not speak. 
 
 He caught her silence. The room was swimming, 
 humming round them both. A loud noise beat at his 
 heart. 
 
 'Jeanne! dearest Jeanne!' he whispered. ' Now 
 always both together !' 
 
 And in her happy heart Jeanne cried ' A t last /' but 
 with her lips she only said : 
 
 ' Lucien, it is too soon !'
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DAWN 
 
 ' You thought you could not write Songs if you cared 
 for me,' said Jeanne. 
 
 ' I was a fool !' said Lucien, with conviction. 
 
 The day was wearing to its end. The sun had 
 vanished early behind clouds that were dark with the 
 whiteness that would soon cover the earth. Neither 
 of them noticed it. Jeanne, the practical Jeanne, had 
 forgotten everything. One duty she recollected, as, for 
 the first time, she heard the city clocks give out the hour. 
 
 ' I must go to the Church of the Cordeliers,' she said. 
 ' I have gone there every day to ask that you might be 
 set free. I want to go now.' 
 
 ' I will go with you,' said Lucien. 
 
 ' Monsieur de Civrac is here every morning to know 
 if you have come, and Charles Blum every night. 
 They both expected you. Charles Blum hates the 
 marquis more than ever ; but I think the marquis does 
 not know he exists. How did you escape ? Tell me !' 
 
 ' I was released without a word. I found that I was 
 within a few miles of Morfontaine, and I walked there.' 
 
 ' Monsieur de Civrac told me he had some papers 
 of yours that might embarrass the Government. He 
 threatened at last to publish them if you were not 
 released. He said that monsieur Berryer would prevai- 
 
 232
 
 356 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 with the Government in the end. Were you very 
 miserable in prison, Lucien ?' 
 
 ' Miserable ? Oh no ! I wrote a long poem in 
 Alexandrines the best thing I have done yet.' 
 
 Jeanne laughed. 
 
 ' After all, it is we three who were in prison,' she 
 said. ' Oh, Lucien, why do we trouble about you ? 
 Whatever you do, and wherever you go, you are happy. 
 I wish I were a poet.' 
 
 Perhaps nothing testified more fully to the fact that 
 Lucien was in love than the fact that he did not shiver 
 at this remark. 
 
 ' It is going to snow,' she continued, as she looked 
 out at the gloomy sky. ' I must put on my cloak. No 
 monsieur de Civrac ! No Charles Blum ! What can 
 have become of them ? Ah ! they will be so happy, so 
 happy that they will make friends !' 
 
 ' And you have been in danger ?' 
 
 ' Oh no ; I never thought about it. I stayed at home 
 because the marquis said I should be there for you, if you 
 came. Baby's father is on the barricades. That is why 
 I fetched her this afternoon, for the poor wife is anxious. 
 Of course I went to church every day. Last night they 
 were making powder and melting balls in the nave of 
 the Cordeliers. Else I have seen nothing. Monsieur 
 de Civrac says it will all be over to-morrow.' 
 
 Here and there, round great fires in the streets, pale 
 soldiers were encamped. Lucien saw them ; Jeanne 
 scarcely noticed. 
 
 When they reached the Church, a strange sight met 
 their eyes. It was crowded with fierce, thin men, 
 carrying pistols, knives, sticks, any rough weapon they 
 had been able to pick up. Not a woman anywhere. 
 
 Jeanne knelt for a moment, resolutely closing her
 
 DAWN 357 
 
 eyes. When she looked up, Blum was standing beside 
 them, his hand in Lucien's hand. Silently he took 
 hers, held them together. Jeanne bent her head. 
 With a rush of self-accusing consciousness she under- 
 stood he loved her that he had loved her always. 
 The knowledge of it struck Lucien like a blow. 
 
 ' This is the last time we shall meet,' said Blum. ' It 
 is over. Here we shall make our last stand to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I am with you,' Lucien said. ' Tell me what I can 
 do. I love these people. I have the right to lead them.' 
 
 ' You shall command here,' said Blum, as if it were 
 the most natural thing in the world. ' My place is out 
 there on the barricade. First we will see you home, 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne.' 
 
 ' No,' she said ; ' I cannot go home. I will stay here. 
 If anyone is wounded, you will want a woman. I can 
 "bind up wounds. I know how. Lucien will tell you 
 that I am a good nurse.' 
 
 Blum made no objection. 
 
 ' We have an ambulance in the Lady Chapel,' he 
 said. ' You can sleep there.' 
 
 All night long Lucien mused and watched outside 
 the carved doors of the Lady Chapel. ' Without, upon 
 the barricade, Blum watched and mused. But Jeanne 
 slept blissfully. 
 
 Lucien rose at length, and looked steadily at the 
 darkness. 
 
 ' I owe it to Blum,' he said. ' I have taken his life. 
 I owe it to these people. I gave them mine. If no-one 
 ever died, there would be no good Songs.' 
 
 With dawn of day the great Church was alive. A 
 furious fight raged without. Two companies of the 
 Line, sustained by artillery, attacked the barricade, and 
 carried it after a struggle which halved the defenders.
 
 358 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 By Lucien's order the door swung open to admit the 
 wounded and those who were still alive, and closed 
 again before the soldiers could leap down. At once 
 there was a rush for them. They shuddered, yielded, 
 fell, like live things beaten. A sergeant, his face black 
 with powder, urged on the men with savage oaths in 
 front, and bade them fire. A terrific discharge shook 
 the very walls of the building. Lucien's ragged regi- 
 ment had begun bravely enough, but now they broke 
 and fled, rushing to shelter themselves behind the pillars 
 in the Chapels. Lucien, Blum, and a dozen men round 
 them, stood firm. Vainly the voices of the priests rose 
 up, imploring mercy for those already vanquished. From 
 the ranks of the foe the marquis de Civrac stepped 
 forward, quiet, commanding, a sneer upon his lips. 
 
 ' Does His Majesty war with women ?' he asked, 
 pointing to Jeanne. 
 
 The eyes of the maddened soldiery struck down on 
 her. She stood their gaze unshrinking. De Civrac 
 turned the instant to account. 
 
 ' If Monsieur Blum will give himself up,' said he, ' I 
 will answer for it that the King's troops will not fire 
 again. I will answer for his safety as for my own.' 
 
 ' Traitor ! traitor ! He is betraying us. We want 
 no aristocrats in the army of the Citizen-King !' shouted 
 the sergeant. ' Fire ! Fire again !' 
 
 Cries of agonized terror rang through the Church. 
 
 One or two of the soldiers levelled their muskets at 
 de Civrac. Blum came forward, pistol in hand, and took 
 deliberate aim at him. He would have been killed but 
 for Lucien, who dashed up to the highest step of the 
 altar and began to sing. 
 
 A momentary pause followed, for the wild crowd that 
 filled the Church, and the King's soldiers, saw a spirit.
 
 DAWN 359 
 
 With folded arms he stood singing, as once before 
 not laughing this time his face radiant. 
 
 Blum let the pistol fall. The clang of it on the pave- 
 ment broke the spell. 
 
 ' Fire ! fire !' cried the sergeant. 
 
 There was a sudden discharge. When the smoke 
 cleared away Lucien was lying down below, and the 
 white steps of the altar were stained with blood. 
 
 They wrapped him in a long cloak, and laid him there 
 where he had fallen, crossing the hands upon the breast. 
 The poor shoemaker, to whose child Jeanne had been 
 good, led her home. 
 
 She said nothing, but the radiance of Lucien's eyes 
 shone still in hers. Even he who loved most dared 
 not pity her. 
 
 Quickly, silently they stole away, for everyone was 
 weary to faintness, and yet more anxious than weary. 
 Everyone had a sum that must be reckoned ere he 
 could sleep the sum of those left to him. 
 
 ' He sleeps well enough ; no one will wake him,' said 
 a weaver. 
 
 ' He will watch the Host that one as well as if he 
 were a regiment,' cried one of the beggars. 
 
 A priest, who had worked hard all day, counselling, 
 comforting, hearing confessions, cast a wistful look at 
 the door of the Sacristy, hesitated an instant, took 
 down the tall silver candlesticks, lighted the great wax 
 candles, knelt down and crossed himself, and rose. 
 ' God will watch him !' said he. 
 
 Then he also vanished, and the whole Church was 
 wrapt in quiet darkness save for the burning island 
 of light in the midst of which lay the dead. 
 
 Presently, with hushed footsteps, a worn and stately 
 man drew near.
 
 360 THE FIERY DAWN 
 
 As he sat watching, his eyes watched the face of a 
 woman whom he had helped to bury in the earth a long 
 time ago. 
 
 There was a sound of rough moving on the pave- 
 ment, and another man approached. 
 
 He, too, sat down to watch, and as he watched he, 
 too, saw the face of a woman in whom, for him, the 
 future lived. He hid his head in his hands. 
 
 Thus the hours passed, neither slowly nor quickly, 
 over the three men, one asleep and two dreaming. Of 
 the dreams, that which concerned the past was far less 
 real than that which concerned the future. To Blum, 
 strong in limited, solid, matter-of-fact power to strike a 
 bargain with results, the immediate future and for him 
 there was no other seemed more actual than that past 
 which he had heard and seen, and in which he had lived, 
 could be to the more speculative mind of the marquis. 
 
 At last, in the gray dawning, they saw the slender 
 form of a girl, her head veiled, coming along the aisle. 
 
 By common consent they withdrew, turning away to 
 one of the side-chapels. 
 
 Neither of them had looked at her, but when they 
 were out of sight each looked at the other, and for the 
 first time in life their eyes met. 
 
 ' He \vas my only memory !' said de Civrac. 
 
 ' He was my one hope !' said Blum ; and they clasped 
 hands. 
 
 The sun streamed through the great East window as 
 they spoke, and made the candles dim. 
 
 THE END.
 
 October^ 1901. 
 
 Mr. Edward Arnold's 
 
 New and Popular Books. 
 
 Telegrams : 37 Bedford Street, 
 
 1 Scholarly, London.' Strand, London. 
 
 LINKS WITH THE PAST. 
 
 By MRS. CHARLES BAGOT. 
 Demy 8?^., with Photogravure Portrait ', i6s. 
 
 This interesting volume of reminiscences goes back a long way into 
 the century just closed. The author was born in 1821, and her parents 
 and grandparents had taken their share in the public affairs of their day, 
 so that the book contains ample justification for its title. It is full of 
 anecdotes and entertaining episodes, and throws new side-lights upon 
 several important historical events in the shape of personal recollections 
 by those who took part in them. In addition to the stories transmitted 
 in the author's family and narrated by her, the work is carried beyond 
 the range of her own memory by means of extracts from the valuable 
 private diaries of Miss Mary Bagot, a Staffordshire lady, who saw much 
 of Society at the beginning of the nineteenth century ; she was a singu- 
 larly clever woman, and possessed a fund of penetration and critical 
 observation which make her diaries extremely good reading. Her 
 pictures of Society and anecdotes of well-known personages of the time 
 are singularly vivid.
 
 MEMORIALS OF 
 THE VERY REV. W. C. LAKE, D.D., 
 
 DEAN OF DURHAM, 1869-1894. 
 
 Edited by his Widow, KATHARINE LAKE. 
 
 One volume, &vo., with Photogravure Portrait ', i6s. 
 
 At the time of his death in 1897, the late Dean of Durham was engaged 
 upon his Reminiscences, but they were unfortunately left in a very frag- 
 mentary and incomplete condition. Mrs. Lake has, however, put the MSS. 
 in order, with the co-operation of Canon Rawlinson, of Canterbury, and 
 supplemented it with such additional materials as were in her possession, 
 including a selection from the Dean's full and varied correspondence. 
 
 Dean Lake was a Fellow and Tutor of Balliol during the height of the 
 Oxford Movement, and was afterwards a member of the famous Royal 
 Commission on Education, which may be said to have laid the foundation 
 for all subsequent legislation on the subject. He was on intimate terms 
 with the leading men in the English Church during an eventful period of 
 its history, but, though a strong Churchman, he was a thorough man of the 
 world, of broad views and wide culture. Mrs. Lake has been permitted to 
 publish letters to her husband from his numerous friends, including Arch- 
 bishop Tait, Dean Church, Dean Stanley, Mr. Gladstone, Canon Liddon, 
 Dr. Pusey, Lord Halifax, and others letters that not only add considerably 
 to our knowledge of those distinguished characters, but contain many 
 valuable comments upon large questions of permanent interest. 
 
 THE NATAL FIELD FORCE OF 1900. 
 
 By ERNEST BLAKE KNOX, B.A., M.D., 
 
 LIEUTENANT ROYAL ARMY MEDICAL CORPS. 
 
 With Plans and Illustrations. One vol., demy 8ro. 
 
 Mr. Knox is exceptionally qualified for writing an account of the work 
 of the Natal Field Force, having been present with the attacking force in 
 all the engagements of General Buller's army from Colenso to the final 
 breaking up at Pretoria. His object has been to lay before the general 
 public in a concise and clear way the history of General Buller's campaign, 
 the difficulties and hardships encountered, the fighting, and the treatment 
 of the sick and wounded. Incidentally, Mr. Knox includes many interest- 
 ing anecdotes, and notes of the fights from the enemy's point of view.
 
 LIVES OF HOLY MEN. 
 
 MONSIEUR VINCENT. 
 
 A SKETCH OF A CHRISTIAN SOCIAL REFORMER OF THE 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 By JAMES ADDERLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'FRANCIS, THE LITTLE POOR MAN OF ASSISI,' 'STEPHEN REMARX,' ETC. 
 
 Small crown 8v0., elegantly bound, with devotional Portrait, 35-. 6,/. 
 
 This little life of St. Vincent de Paul does not aim at supplanting 
 larger biographies, but it contains enough to make the reader feel that 
 to know nothing of St. Vincent would be a serious loss to anyone who 
 desires a knowledge of the History of the Church and her advance 
 towards the solution of social problems. 
 
 HUGH OF LINCOLN. 
 
 By CHARLES MARSON, 
 
 VICAR OF HAMBRIDGE, TAUNTON. 
 
 Small croum %vo., elegantly bound, with Portrait, 35. 6d. 
 
 This volume is uniform in design with the preceding, and will, it is 
 hoped, form part of a little series of the Lives of Holy Men, which may 
 be helpful to Churchmen of the present day. The portrait in the 
 frontispiece is based upon a statue surmounting a pinnacle of Lincoln 
 Cathedral, specially photographed for the purpose. 
 
 FRANCIS : 
 
 Xittle poot % flban of "Hseisi. 
 
 A SHORT STORY OF THE FOUNDER OF THE BROTHERS MINOR. 
 By JAMES ADDERLEY. 
 
 Second Edition, with photogravure Portrait of St. Francis^ 
 crown 8vo. t 3^. 6d. 
 
 ' Mr. Adderley has written a pleasant, sympathetic, graphic account of the most 
 fascinating of mediaeval saints. We can heartily recommend Mr. Adderley's book. It is 
 thoroughly up to modern knowledge, and contains references to works as recent as 
 M. Sabatier's publication of the "Tractatus de Indulgentia S. Mariae in Portiuncula." A 
 useful abridged translation of the Franciscan rule is appended.' Guardian. 
 
 ' Admirers of St. Francis will gladly welcome this little book. The story of his life Is 
 told clearly and in beautiful language. 1 Ave Maria.
 
 SEVEN ROMAN STATESMEN. 
 
 By C. W. OMAN, 
 
 DEPUTY CHICHELK PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD. 
 AUTHOR OF 'THB ART OF WAR,' 'A HISTORY OF ENGLAND,' ETC. 
 
 Crown 8 ?'<?., with Portraits, 6s. 
 
 This work contains a detailed study of some of the great Romans whose 
 fame is eternal. Caesar, Pompey, Sulla and the Gracchi were the men who 
 made Roman History, and their characters and actions are of living 
 interest to-day. Professor Oman's volume is based upon a series of 
 lectures given in Oxford, thoroughly revised for publication, and he has 
 selected the portraits with great care. 
 
 IMPERIUM ET LIBERTAS. 
 
 By BERNARD HOLLAND. 
 One volume, octavo, i2s. 6d. net. 
 
 In this work Mr. Holland has essayed for the first time to treat the 
 constitutional relations between the various self-governing portions of the 
 British Empire as a single connected subject. In order to obtain historical 
 completeness he has included in his survey the relations between Great 
 Britain and the American Colonies just before the rupture, and sets before 
 us the salient points of the debate on the constitutional questions at issue 
 between the rebels and the Mother Country. The persistence of similar 
 problems throughout the nineteenth century is shown in detail in the inves- 
 tigation of the typical and crucial case of Canada, where all the difficulties 
 arising from distance from the Mother Country, vast extent of territory, and 
 differences of race, language and religion were successfully grappled with 
 and overcome. Nearer home the different but analogous case of Ireland is 
 dealt with on similar lines. Finally, while Mr. Holland was actually at 
 work the inauguration of the Australian Commonwealth supplied him with 
 material for another chapter on his great theme. 
 
 RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF THE 
 TRANSVAAL WAR. 
 
 By E. T. COOK, 
 
 Recently Editor of the Daily News. 
 
 SECOND IMPRESSION. One volume, demy 8v0., i2s. 6d. net. 
 
 ' We must congratulate Mr. Cook most warmly on his achievement. Whatever else 
 may be read about the diplomacy that preceded the war, his book must certainly be read. 
 It will immensely increase a reputation that already stood very high. No recent book 
 on any political question has been so good, and we are inclined to think it marks out Mr. 
 Cook as the ablest political journalist of the day. The writing is of a masterly lucidity.' 
 Literature. 
 
 ' Mr. Cook has produced a handbook of the political history of the War, the practical 
 utility and instructive value of which it would be difficult to exaggerate.' World.
 
 FINLAND : 
 
 3ts public anD private Bconomg. 
 By N. C. FREDERIKSEN, 
 
 FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL ECONOMY AND FINANCE IN THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF COPENHAGEN. 
 
 Crown 8v0., cloth, 6s. 
 
 SUMMARY OF CONTENTS : I. Peculiarities of Finnish Civilization. II. The 
 Agricultural Classes. III. The Land Laws of Finland. IV. Methods and 
 Conditions of Agriculture. V. Forestry. VI. Mining and Manufacturing 
 Industries. VII. Commerce, Navigation, and Fisheries. VIII. Money and 
 Banking. IX. Means of Communication. X. The Exchequer, and Civic 
 Duties. XI. The Government of Finland and its Future. 
 
 TROOPER 8,008 I.Y. 
 
 By the Hon. SIDNEY PEEL, 
 
 BARRISTER-AT-LAW. 
 
 With 1 6 Illustrations from Photographs, and a Map, demy &v0., "js. 6d. 
 FIFTH IMPRESSION. 
 
 1 We congratulate Mr. Peel most heartily on his frank and manly book. That it will obtain a very 
 jarge number of readers we do not doubt, for it is a fascinating record of service in perhaps the most 
 interesting body of troops that took part in the war. In his book we get war as seen from the ranks, 
 recorded not only by a singularly able and cultivated man, but by one who had plenty of experience 
 of men and cities, and one who had a first-hand acquaintance of generals and politicians before he 
 went campaigning.' Spectator. 
 
 1 This book seems to us to be perhaps the best contribution to the literature of the war that has yet 
 been written. It is a plain soldierly narrative of what the writer actually did and saw, set down in 
 unvarnished language, yet in English which it is a pleasure to read for its straightforward fluency." 
 St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ' From first page to last it is a good book.' Pilot. 
 
 ' A most lively and amusing record." Daily Express. 
 
 ' Written in a remarkably easy and interesting manner, leaving one with a vivid impression of what 
 campaigning under present-day conditions really means." Westminster Gazette. 
 
 KING EDWARD'S COOKERY BOOK. 
 
 By FLORENCE A. GEORGE, 
 
 TEACHER OF COOKERY IN KING EDWARD'S SCHOOLS, BIRMINGHAM. 
 
 Crown 8v0., 3*. 6d. 
 
 This little volume is designed to give p/actical instruction in simple 
 cookery. It takes nothing for granted, and gives sensible notes and rules 
 for every phase of culinary work. The chief part of the book is occupied 
 with recipes suitable for ordinary English households under economical 
 management. It will be found equally useful in Schools of Cookery and 
 for domestic purposes.
 
 THE BALANCING OF ENGINES. 
 
 By W. E. DALBY, M.A., B.Sc., M.lNST.C.E., M.I.M.E., 
 
 PROFESSOR OF MECHANICAL ENGINEERING AND APPLIED MATHEMATICS IN THE CITY AND 
 GUILDS OF LONDON TECHNMCAL COLLEGE, FINSBURY. 
 
 Demy 8vo., with 173 Illustrations. 
 
 A HANDBOOK ON FERMENTATION AND 
 THE FERMENTATION INDUSTRIES. 
 
 By CHARLES G. MATTHEWS. 
 
 Crown 8vo., fully Illustrated. 
 
 HUMAN EMBRYOLOGY AND MORPHOLOGY. 
 
 By A. KEITH, M.D., F.R.C.S. ENG., 
 
 LECTURER ON ANATOMY AT THE LONDON HOSPITAL MEDICAL COLLEGE. 
 
 With nearly 250 Illustrations demy 8v0. 
 
 A TEXT-BOOK OF ZOOLOGY. 
 
 By G. P. MUDGE, A.R.C.Sc. LOND., 
 
 URER ON BIOLOGY AT THE LONDON SCHOOL OF MEDICINE FOR WOMEN, 
 POLYTECHNIC INSTITUTE, REGENT STKEET. 
 
 With about 200 original Illustrations, crown Svo., "js. 
 
 THE PHYSIOLOGICAL ACTION OF DRUGS. 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION TO PRACTICAL PHARMACOLOGY. 
 
 By M. S. PEMBREY, M.A., M.D., 
 
 JOINT LECTURER ON PHYSIOLOGY IN GUY'S HOSPITAL MEDICAL SCHOOL, 
 
 C. D. F. PHILLIPS, M.D., LL.D., 
 
 EXAMINER IN MATERIA MEDICA AND THERAPEUTICS IN ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY. 
 
 Fully Illustrated, demy Sv0., 45. 6d. net. 
 
 PHOTOTHERAPY. 
 
 By N. R. FINSEN. 
 Translated by J. H. SEQUEIRA, M.D. 
 
 Demy Sr0., with Illustrations, $s. 6d. 
 
 CONTENTS. I. The Chemical Rays of Light and Smallpox. II. Light as a Stimulant. III. Treat- 
 ment of Lupus Vulgaris by concentrated Chemical Rays. 
 
 PHYSICAL DETERMINATIONS. 
 
 JfaboratorB Instructions for the Jprirrmination of flhcsual (SJnantUtfs ronnrcteb toith tntral 
 ghgsirs, $fitt, CUrtmitg ano ^Hagnctism, Slight a 
 
 By W. R. KELSEY, B.Sc., A.I.E.E. 
 Crown 8ra, cloth, 45. 6d.
 
 7 
 
 NEW NOVELS. 
 
 Price Six Shillings each. 
 
 THE FIERY DAWN. 
 
 By M. E. COLERIDGE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE KING WITH Two FACES.' 
 
 CYNTHIA'S WAY. 
 
 By MRS. ALFRED SIDGWICK, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' THE GRASSHOPPERS,' ' THE INNER SHRINE,' ETC. 
 
 THE ARBITER. 
 
 By MRS. HUGH BELL, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE STORY OF URSULA.' 
 
 MR. ELLIOTT : a Story of Factory Life. 
 
 By ISABELLA O. FORD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'ON THE THRESHOLD,' 'Miss BLAKE OF MONKSHALTON,' ETC. 
 
 T' BACCA QUEEN. 
 
 By THEODORA WILSON. 
 
 THE BETTALEY JEWELS. 
 
 By E. M. BALFOUR BROWNE. 
 
 HALF MY LIFE. 
 
 By CAPTAIN W. T. HICKMAN. 
 
 CASTING OF NETS. 
 
 By RICHARD BAGOT. [. 
 
 RED POTTAGE. 
 
 By MARY CHOLMONDELEY. thirteenth /,/*. 
 
 THE KING WITH TWO FACES. 
 
 By M. E. COLERIDGE. {Eighth Impression. 
 
 Price Three Shillings and Sixpence. 
 
 TWO BABES IN THE CITY. 
 
 By CHRISTINE SETON AND ESTRA WILBRAHAM.
 
 ESSEX HOUSE PRESS PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 MR. EDWARD ARNOLD has much pleasure in calling attention to the 
 fact that almost without exception these interesting books have all been 
 bought up and become out of print before publication, while one or two 
 that have found their way into the sale-rooms have commanded a high 
 premium. 
 
 These books are printed at Essex House, on the presses used by the 
 late Mr. William Morris at the Kelmscott Press, which were purchased 
 by the Guild of Handicraft. Members of Mr. Morris's staff are also 
 retained at the Essex House Press, and it is the hope of the Guild of 
 Handicraft by this means to continue in some measure the tradition of 
 good printing and fine workmanship which William Morris revived. 
 
 Subscribers to the complete series of Essex House Publications are 
 given priority for any new book issued, and the number of subscribers 
 is constantly increasing. 
 
 Among the volumes expected to be published during the coming 
 season are the following : 
 
 ERASMUS' Praise of Folly. SIR THOMAS CHALLONER'S 
 Translation (Elizabethan). With a set of illustrations, borders, 
 frontispiece, and initial by WILLIAM STRANG, and a cloth cover 
 in motley by C. R. ASHBEE. 250 copies. $ 33. 
 
 The Psalms of David. This book will be in the new 
 type with a fresh set of historiated ' bloomers ' designed by 
 C. R. ASHBEE. 250 copies. 
 
 American Sheaves and English Seed Corn. Essays 
 and Addresses by C. R. ASHBEE. 
 
 The Essex House Song Book will be issued in about 
 100 folio sheets, three or four songs coming on to the sheet 
 of four pages. The sheets will be printed red and black in 
 the new type, with wood-cut embellishments, and uniform 
 in size with the Essex House ' Shakespeare.' Three hundred 
 copies only will be issued, of which 100 are reserved in the 
 first instance for America, The sheets will be published in 
 batches of about ten sheets at a time, at a cost of is. a sheet, 
 and over a period of two or three years. Subscriptions can 
 only be received for the whole work, payable as the sheets are 
 ready for delivery. Subscribers to the regular series of Essex 
 House Press Publications will not be expected to subscribe 
 if they do not wish to do so, but will be given first refusal. 
 
 Intending subscribers and persons who desire to receive announcements of the forth- 
 coming publications are recommended to enter their names as soon as possible.
 
 9 
 
 ESSEX HOUSE PRESS PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 The Publications already issued are: 
 
 1 . Benvenuto Cellini's Treatises on Metal Work and Sculpture. 
 
 By C. R. ASHBEE. 600 copies. A few still left. Price 355. net. 
 
 2. The Hymn Of Bardaisan, the first Christian Poem, rendered into 
 
 English verse from the original Syriac, by F. CRAWFORD BURKITT, of Trinity 
 College, Cambridge. 250 copies. [Out of print. 
 
 3. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. Edited from the earlier editions 
 
 by JANET E. ASHBEE, with a frontispiece by REGINALD SAVAGE. Vellum 
 cover. 750 copies. Price 303. net. 
 
 4- The Church of Saint Mary Stratford atte Bow. 250 copies. 
 
 [Out of print. 
 
 5. Shelley's AdonaiS. Vellum series. 50 copies. [Out of print. 
 
 6. Shakespeare's Poems. 450 copies. [Out of print. 
 
 7. The Eye Of St. Agnes. By JOHN KEATS. Vellum series. 
 
 125 copies. Price 2 2s. net. [Out of print. 
 
 8. The Courtyer of Count Baldesar Castillo, divided into Foure 
 
 Bookes. Done into Englyshe by THOMAS HOBY. 200 copies. [Out of print. 
 
 9. Gray's Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. The 
 
 third of the Vellum Series. 125 copies. [Out of print. 
 
 10. Walt Whitman's Hymn on the Death of Lincoln. 125 copies. 
 
 [Out of print. 
 
 11. An Endeavour towards the Teaching of John Ruskin 
 
 and William Morris. Being an account of the Work and Aims of the 
 Guild of Handicraft. By C. R. ASHBEE. 250 copies. This is the first book 
 in the new Essex House type. [Out of print. 
 
 12. John Woolman's Journal. Uniform with the 'Bunyan.' In 
 
 red and black, with white vellum cover. With a wood-block frontispiece by 
 REGINALD SAVAGE. 250 copies. 2 2s. 
 
 13. Erasmus' Praise of Folly. 250 copies. $ 33. 
 
 14. Penn's Fruits Of Solitude. Uniform with the 'Bunyan.' 
 
 With a wood-block frontispiece by Mr. STURGE MOORE. 250 copies. 2 2s. 
 
 These volumes are published on behalf of the Essex House Press by 
 Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD, and can be ordered either from him or from any 
 Bookseller.
 
 10 
 
 KING EDWARD THE SEVENTH'S 
 PRAYER-BOOK. 
 
 This will be a sumptuous edition of the Book of Common Prayer, 
 which, by gracious permission of His Majesty, will be entitled ' King 
 Edward the Seventh's Prayer-Book.' 
 
 The new Prayer-Book will be hand printed at the Essex House Press, 
 and whilst conforming to the Authorized Version will rank, as a piece 
 of typography, with the Great Prayer-Book of Edward VI. It is to be 
 in new type designed by Mr. C. R. Ashbee, with about one hundred 
 and fifty woodcuts, and is to be printed in red and black on Batchelor 
 hand-made paper. There will also probably be a special binding of 
 green vellum with a gold block design and clasps. The preparation of 
 the work is expected to occupy about eighteen months. 
 
 The Prayer-Book will be published by his Majesty's printers, Messrs. 
 Eyre and Spottiswoode, acting under the Royal Letters Patent, who will 
 superintend the work of the Essex House Press. 
 
 Exceptional circumstances connected with the Book of Common 
 Prayer render it essential that this work, in order to be of historic value, 
 shall be issued with the imprint of the King's printers ; but Mr. 
 EDWARD ARNOLD has arranged to secure for subscribers to the Essex 
 House Press publications the first offer of copies, and orders should be 
 sent in before October 31, 1901, after which date such priority cannot 
 be guaranteed. 
 
 The edition will be strictly limited to a total of four hundred copies 
 for England and America, at a price of Twelve Guineas (12 125.) net, 
 and there will also be five copies on vellum at Forty Pounds (^40) net. 
 
 ARNOLD TOYNBEE. 
 
 a "Reminiscence. 
 
 By LORD MILNER, G.C.B. 
 
 A New Edition. Crown &vo., cloth, zs. 6d. 
 
 This little book has been out of print for some years, and has been re- 
 issued in the belief that there still are many who would like to possess it, 
 but have been unable to obtain copies. 
 
 ' An admirable sketch, at once sympathetic and discriminating, of a very remarkable 
 personality. It is a masterly analysis of a commanding personal influence, and a social 
 force of rare potency and effect.' Times. 
 
 ' An exquisite appreciation.' Daily Chronicle.
 
 II 
 
 YALE BICENTENNIAL PUBLICATIONS, 
 
 DEDICATED TO THE GRADUATES OF YALE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 MR. EDWARD ARNOLD has pleasure in announcing the issue of an 
 important series of scientific works in connection with Messrs. Charles 
 Scribner's Sons, of New York. 
 
 With the approval of the President and Fellows of Yale University, the 
 series has been prepared by a number of the Professors and Instructors, 
 to be issued in connection with the Bicentennial Anniversary, as a partial 
 indication of the studies in which the University teachers are engaged. 
 The list of volumes includes some of a special and technical nature, 
 others of a more general character. Social Science, History, Literature, 
 Philology, Mathematics, Physical and Mechanical Science are all repre- 
 sented, the object being to illustrate the special function of the University 
 in the discovery and orderly arrangement of knowledge. 
 
 Several of the volumes are now ready, and it is hoped that nearly all 
 will be published before the Bicentennial celebration in October. 
 
 The Education of the American Citizen. By ARTHUR TWINING 
 
 HADLEY, LL.D., President. 
 
 Soeietology. A Text-Book of the Science of Society. By WILLIAM 
 G. SUMNER, LL.D., Professor of Political and Social Science. 
 
 Two Centuries' Growth of American Law, 1701-1901. By 
 
 Members of the Law Faculty. 
 
 The Confederate States of America, 1861-1865. A Financial 
 
 and Industrial History of the South during the Civil War. By JOHN CHRISTOPHER 
 SCHWAB, Ph.D., Professor of Political Economy. 8vo. los. 6d. net. (Now 
 ready. ) 
 
 Essays in Historical Criticism. The Legend of Marcus Whitman, 
 
 The Authorship of the Federalist ; Prince Henry, the Navigator ; The Demarca- 
 tion Line of Pope Alexander VI., etc. By EDWARD GAYLORD BOURNE, Ph.D., 
 Professor of History. (September.) 
 
 India, Old and New. By EDWARD WASHBURN HOPKINS, Ph.D., 
 Professor of Sanskrit and Comparative Philology. (September.) 
 
 The Great Epic Of India. Its Character and Origin. By EDWARD 
 WASHBURN HOPKINS, Ph.D. 8vo. i;s. net. (Now ready.) 
 
 Life in Greece in the Homeric Age. By THOMAS D. SEYMOUR, 
 
 LL.D., Professor of Greek. 
 
 Plutarch's Themistoeles and Aristides. Newly translated, with 
 
 Introductions and Notes. By B. PERRIN, Ph.D., LL.D., Professor of Greek. 
 (October.) 
 
 Historical and Critical Contributions to Biblical Science. 
 
 By Members of the Biblical and Semitic Faculty. (October.) 
 
 2 2
 
 12 
 
 YALE BICENTENNIAL PUBLICATIONS-^/^*/. 
 Biblical Quotations in Old English Prose Writers. By ALBERT 
 
 S. COOK, Ph.D., L.H.D., Professor of English. (October.) 
 
 Shakesperean Wars. I. Shakespeare as a Dramatic Artist. By 
 THOMAS R. LOUNSBURY, LL.D., L.H.D., Professor of English. (October.) 
 
 The Gallego-Castilian Court Lyrics of the 14th and 15th 
 
 Centuries. By HENRY R. LANG, Ph.D., Professor of Romance Philology. 
 
 Chapters on Greek Metric. By THOMAS DWIGHT GOODELL, 
 
 Ph.D., Professor of Greek. 8vo. 8s.6d.net. (Now ready.) 
 
 On Principles and Methods in Syntax, with special reference to 
 
 Latin. By E. P. MORRIS, M.A., Professor of Latin. (October.) 
 
 The Conjunction Quod in Republican Latin. A Contribution 
 
 to Latin Syntax and Semasiology. By J. W. D. INGERSOLL, Ph.D., Assistant 
 Professor of Latin. 
 
 Five Linguistic Lectures Introductory to the Scientific Study 
 
 Of Language. By HANNS OERTEL, Ph.D., Professor of Linguistics and 
 Comparative Philology. (October.) 
 
 The Elements of Experimental Phonetics. By EDWARD W. 
 
 SCRIPTURE, Ph.D., Assistant Professor of Experimental Psychology. (October.) 
 
 Elementary Principles in Statistical Mechanics, developed 
 
 with especial reference to the rational foundation of Thermodynamics. By J. 
 WILLARD GIBBS, Ph.D., LL.D., Professor of Mathematical Physics. 
 
 A Short Treatise on Vector Analysis. Founded upon Lectures 
 
 by Professor J. WILLARD GIBBS. Edited, with copious examples, by EDWIN 
 BIDWELL WILSON, B.A., Instructor in Mathematics. (October.) 
 
 Light. By CHARLES S. HASTINGS, Ph.D., Professor of Physics. 8vo. 
 8s. 6d. net. (Ready.) 
 
 The Mechanics of Engineering 1 . Vol. L, Kinematics, Statics, and 
 
 Kinetics. By A. J. DuBois, C.E., Ph.D., Professor of Civil Engineering. 
 
 Studies in Evolution. Being mainly Reprints of Occasional Papers 
 selected from the Publications of the Laboratory of Invertebrate Paleontology, 
 Peabody Museum. By CHARLES EMERSON BEECHER, Ph.D., Professor of 
 Historical Geology. 8vo. 2is. net. (Ready.) 
 
 Contributions to Mineralogy and Petrography from the 
 Laboratories of the Sheffield Scientific School. Edited by s. L. 
 
 PENFIELD, M.A., Professor of Mineralogy, and L. V. PIRSSON, Ph.B., Professor 
 of Physical Geology. 8vo. I7s.net. (Ready.) 
 
 Studies in Physiological Chemistry. Edited by RUSSELL H. 
 
 CHITTENDEN, Ph.D., Professor of Physiological Chemistry. 
 
 Research Papers from the Kent Chemical Laboratory. Edited 
 
 by FRANK AUSTIN GOOCH, Ph.D., Professor of Chemistry. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 2s.net. (Now ready.) 
 
 Studies from the Chemical Laboratory of the Sheffield 
 
 Scientific School. Edited by HORACE L. WELLS, M.A., Professor of 
 Analytical Chemistry and Metallurgy.
 
 BIOGRAPHY AND REMINISCENCES. 
 
 Adderley. FRANCIS OF ASSISI. (See page 3.) 
 Adderley. MONSIEUR VINCENT. (See page 3.)! 
 
 Alexander. RECOLLECTIONS OF A HIGHLAND SUBALTERN 
 during the Campaigns of the 93rd Highlanders in India, under Colin Campbell, 
 Lord Clyde, in 1857-1859. By Lieutenant-Colonel W. GORDON ALEXANDER. 
 Illustrations and Maps. Demy 8vo., cloth, l6s. 
 
 Arnold. PASSAGES IN A WANDERING LIFE. By THOMAS 
 ARNOLD, M.A. Demy 8vo., with Portrait, I2s. 6d. 
 
 Bagot. LINKS WITH THE PAST. By Mrs. CHARLES BAGOT. (See 
 page i.) 
 
 Boyle. THE RECOLLECTIONS OF THE DEAN OF SALISBURY. 
 By the Very Rev. G. D. BOYLE, Dean of Salisbury. With Photogravure Portrait. 
 Second Edition. One vol., demy 8vo., cloth, i6s. 
 
 Clough. A MEMOIR OF ANNE J. CLOUGH, Principal of Newnham 
 College, Cambridge. By her Niece, BLANCHE A. CLOUGH. With Portraits. 
 8vo., I2s. 6d. 
 
 De Vere. RECOLLECTIONS OF AUBREY DE VERE. Third Edition, 
 with Portrait. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Fenton. THE JOURNAL OF MRS. FENTON IN INDIA AND 
 THE COLONIES, 1826-1830. 8vo., 8s. 6d. net. 
 
 Hare. MARIA EDGEWORTH: her Life and Letters. Edited by 
 AUGUSTUS J. C. HARE, Author of ' The Story of Two Noble Lives,' etc. With 
 Portraits. Two vols., crown 8vo., i6s. net. 
 
 Hervey. HUBERT HERVEY, STUDENT AND IMPERIALIST. 
 By the Right Hon. EARL GREY. Demy 8vo., Illustrated, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Hole. THE MEMORIES OF DEAN HOLE. By the Very Rev. S. 
 REYNOLDS HOLE, Dean of Rochester. With Illustrations from Sketches by 
 Leech and Thackeray. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Hole. MORE MEMORIES : Being Thoughts about England spoken in 
 America. By Dean HOLE. With Frontispiece. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Hole. A LITTLE TOUR IN AMERICA. By Dean HOLE. Illustrated. 
 Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Hole. A LITTLE TOUR IN IRELAND. By ' OXONIAN' (Dean HOLE). 
 Illustrated by JOHN LEECH. Large crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Holmes. PICTURES AND PROBLEMS FROM LONDON POLICE 
 COURTS. By THOMAS HOLMES. With Portrait. Large crown 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Holland. LETTERS OF MARY SIBYLLA HOLLAND. Selected and 
 edited by her Son, BERNARD HOLLAND. Second Edition. Crown 8vo., 
 7s. 6d. net.
 
 14 
 
 Jowett. BENJAMIN JOWETT, MASTER OF BALLIOL. A Personal 
 Memoir. By the Hon. L. A. TOLLEMACHE. Fourth Edition, with portrait. 
 Cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 Lake. MEMORIALS OF THE VERY REV. W. C. LAKE, D.D., 
 Dean of Durham. (See page 2.) 
 
 Le Fanu. SEVENTY YEARS OF IRISH LIFE. By the late W. R. 
 LE FANU. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Macaulay. THE LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE OF ZACHARY 
 MACAULAY. By Viscountess KNUTSFORD. With Portrait. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Macdonald. THE MEMOIRS OF THE LATE SIR JOHN A. 
 MACDONALD, G.C.B., First Prime Minister of Canada. Edited by JOSEPH 
 POPE, his Private Secretary. With Portraits. Two vols., demy 8vo., 325. 
 
 Marson. HUGH OF LINCOLN. (See page 3.) 
 
 Merivale. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF DEAN MERIVALE. With 
 Selections from his Correspondence. With Portrait, demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Milner. ARNOLD TOYNBEE. (See page 10.) 
 
 Morley. THE LIFE OF HENRY MORLEY, LL.D., Professor of 
 English Literature at University College, London. By the Rev. H. S. 
 SOLLY, M.A. With two Portraits. 8vo., I2s. 6d. 
 
 Mott. A MINGLED YARN. The Autobiography of EDWARD SPENCER 
 MOTT (NATHANIEL GUBBINS). Author of ' Cakes and Ale,' etc. Large crown 
 8vo., I2s. 6d. 
 
 Pasley. A MEMOIR OF ADMIRAL SIR T. S. PASLEY, BART. By 
 LOUISA M. S. PASLEY. With Frontispiece. Demy 8vo., cloth 143. 
 
 Pigou. PHASES OF MY LIFE. By the Very Rev. FRANCIS PiGOU, 
 Dean of Bristol. Sixth Edition. With Portrait. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Rochefort. THE ADVENTURES OF MY LIFE. By HENRI ROCHE- 
 FORT. Second Edition. Two vols., large crown 8vo., 253. 
 
 Roebuck. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY AND LETTERS of the Right 
 Hon. JOHN ARTHUR ROEBUCK, Q.C., M.P. Edited by ROBERT EADON 
 LEADER. With two Portraits. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Stevenson. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By WALTER RALEIGH, 
 
 Professor of English Literature in the University of Glasgow. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Tollemache. TALKS WITH MR. GLADSTONE. By the Hon. L. A. 
 TOLLEMACHE. With a Portrait of Mr. Gladstone. Large crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Twining. RECOLLECTIONS OF LIFE AND WORK. Being the 
 Autobiography of LOUISA TWINING. One vol., 8vo., cloth, 155.
 
 THEOLOGY. 
 
 Hole. FAITH WHICH WORKETH BY LOVE. A Sermon preached 
 after the funeral of the late Duchess of Teck. Vellum, is. net. 
 
 Holland. ESSENTIALS IN RELIGION. Sermons preached in 
 Canterbury Cathedral. By Canon F. J. HOLLAND. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Onyx. A REPORTED CHANGE IN RELIGION. By ONYX. Crown 
 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 HISTORY. 
 
 Belloc. PARIS : A History of the City from the Earliest Times to the 
 Present Day. By HILAIRE BELLOC, Author of ' Danton,' etc. One vol., large 
 crown 8vo., with Maps, 75. 6d. 
 
 Benson and Tatham. MEN OF MIGHT. Studies of Great Characters. 
 By A. C. BENSON, M.A., and H. F. W. TATHAM, M.A., Assistant Masters at 
 Eton College. Third Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 Cook. RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF THE TRANSVAAL WAR. 
 (See page 4.) 
 
 Fisher. FINLAND AND THE TSARS. By JOSEPH R. FISHER, B.A. 
 With Supplementary Chapters on the Events of 1900. Demy 8vo., I2s. 6d. 
 
 Frederiksen. FINLAND: Its Public and Private Economy. (Seepages.) 
 
 Gardner. FRIENDS OF THE OLDEN TIME. By ALICE GARDNER, 
 Lecturer in History at Newnham College, Cambridge. Third Edition. Illus- 
 trated, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Gardner. ROME : THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD. By ALICE 
 
 GARDNER. Second Edition. Illustrated, 35. 6d. 
 
 Holland. IMPERIUM ET LIBERTAS. (See page 4.) 
 
 Milner. ENGLAND IN EGYPT. By LORD MILNER of St. James and 
 Capetown, High Commissioner for South Africa. With an additional chapter by 
 CLINTON DAWKINS. Ninth edition. Revised, with Maps. 6s. 
 
 Odysseus. TURKEY IN EUROPE. By ODYSSEUS. With Maps, i vol., 
 demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Oman. A HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By CHARLES OMAN, Deputy 
 Professor (Chichele) of Modern History in the University of Oxford ; Fellow of 
 All Souls' College, and Lecturer in History at New College, Oxford ; Author of 
 ' Warwick the Kingmaker,' 'A History of Greece,' etc. Crown 8vo., cloth, 53. 
 
 Also in two parts, 35. each. Part I., to A.D. 1603 ; Part II., from 1603 to present 
 time. And in three Divisions : Div. I., to 1307, 2s. ; Div. II., 1307-1688, 2s. ; 
 Div. III., 1688 to present time, 2s. 6d.
 
 Oman. ENGLAND IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By 
 CHARLES OMAN, i vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 33. 6d. 
 
 Oman. SEVEN ROMAN STATESMEN. (See page 4.) 
 
 Price. A SHORT HISTORY OF BRITISH COMMERCE AND 
 INDUSTRY. By L. L. PRICE, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 33. 6d. 
 
 Eansome. THE BATTLES OF FREDERICK THE GREAT. Extracted 
 from Carlyle's ' History of Frederick the Great,' and edited by the late CYRIL 
 RANSOMS, M.A., Professor of History at the Yorkshire College, Leeds. With 
 numerous Illustrations by ADOLPH MENZEL. Square 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 Rendel. NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE : Its Municipal Origin and Growth. 
 By the HON. DAPHNE RENDEL. Illustrated. Crown 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 LITERATURE AND CRITICISM. 
 
 ( 
 
 BelL KLEINES HAUSTHEATER. Fifteen Little Plays in German for 
 Children. By Mrs. HUGH BELL. Crown 8vo. , cloth, 2s. 
 
 Butler. SELECT ESSAYS OF SAINTE BEUVE. Chiefly bearing on 
 English Literature. Translated by A. J. BUTLER, Translator of 'The Memoirs 
 of Baron Marbot.' One vol., 8vo., cloth, 33. 6d. 
 
 Collingwood. THORSTEIN OF THE MERE : a Saga of the Northmen 
 in Lakeland. By W. G. COLLINGWOOD, Author of ' Life of John Ruskin,' etc. 
 With Illustrations. Price los. 6d. 
 
 Ellacombe. THE PLANT-LORE AND GARDEN-CRAFT OF 
 SHAKESPEARE. By HENRY N. ELLACOMBE, M.A., Vicar of Bitton. 
 Illustrated by Major E. B. RICKETTS. Large crown 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Essex House Press Publications. (See page 8.) 
 
 Fleming. THE ART OF READING AND SPEAKING. By the 
 Rev. Canon FLEMING, Vicar of St. Michael's, Chester Square. Fifth Edition. 
 Cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 Goschen. THE CULTIVATION AND USE OF IMAGINATION. 
 By the Right Hon. GEORGE JOACHIM GOSCHEN. Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Harrison. STUDIES IN EARLY VICTORIAN LITERATURE. By 
 FREDERIC HARRISON, M. A. , Author of ' The Choice of Books,' etc. New and 
 Cheaper Edition. Large crown 8vo., cloth, 33. 6d. 
 
 Hughes. DICKENS AS AN EDUCATOR. By J. L. HUGHES, Inspector 
 of Schools, Toronto; Author of ' Froebel's Educational Laws.' Crown 8vo., 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
 Kuhns. THE TREATMENT OF NATURE IN DANTE'S 'DIVINA 
 COMMEDIA.' By L. OSCAR KUHNS, Professor in Wesleyan University, 
 Middleton, U.S.A. Crown 8vo., cloth, 53.
 
 Lang. LAMB'S ADVENTURES OF ULYSSES. With an Introduction 
 by ANDREW LANG. Square 8vo., cloth, is. 6d. Also the Prize Edition, gilt 
 edges, 2s. 
 
 Maud. WAGNER'S HEROES. By CONSTANCE MAUD. Illustrated by 
 H. GRANVILLE FELL. Third Edition, crown 8vo., 53. 
 
 Maud. WAGNER'S HEROINES. By CONSTANCE MAUD. Illustrated 
 by W. T. MAUD. Second Edition. Crown 8vo., $s. 
 
 Raleigh. STYLE. By WALTER RALEIGH, Professor of English Literature 
 in the University of Glasgow. Fourth Edition, crown 8vo. , 55. 
 
 Raleigh. MILTON. By WALTER RALEIGH, Professor of English Litera- 
 ture in the University of Glasgow ; Author of ' The English Novel.' Crown 8vo., 
 cloth, 6s. 
 
 Quiller-Couch. HISTORICAL TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. By 
 A. T. QUILLER-COUCH (' Q '). Author of 'The Ship of Stars,' etc. Crown 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Reynolds. STUDIES ON MANY SUBJECTS. By the Rev. S. H. 
 
 REYNOLDS. One vol., demy 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Rodd. THE CUSTOMS AND LORE OF MODERN GREECE. 
 By Sir RENNEL RODD, K.C.M.G. With seven full-page Illustrations. 8vo., 
 cloth, 8s. 6d. 
 
 POETRY. 
 
 Collins. A TREASURY OF MINOR BRITISH POETRY. Selected 
 and arranged, with Notes, by J. CHURTON COLLINS, M.A. Handsomely bound, 
 crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 Crabbe. POEMS OF GEORGE CRABBE. Selected and Edited by 
 BERNARD HOLLAND, M.A. With six Photogravure Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Glencairn, R. J. POEMS AND SONGS OF DEGREES. By ROBERT J. 
 GLENCAIRN. Crown 8vo., 53. net. 
 
 Holland. VERSES. By MAUD HOLLAND (Maud Walpole). Crown 
 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 Rodd. FEDA, AND OTHER POEMS, CHIEFLY LYRICAL. By Sir 
 RENNEL ROOD, K.C.M.G. With etched Frontispiece. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 THE UNKNOWN MADONNA, AND OTHER POEMS. With Frontis- 
 piece by RICHMOND. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s. 
 
 THE VIOLET CROWN, AND SONGS OF ENGLAND. With Photo- 
 gravure Frontispiece. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s.
 
 i8 
 FICTION. 
 
 About. TRENTE ET QUARANTE. Translated by Lord NEWTON. 
 Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 ' Adalet.' HADJIRA : A Turkish Love Story. By ' ADALET.' Cloth, 6s. 
 
 Adderley. STEPHEN REMARK. The Story of a Venture in Ethics. 
 By the Hon. and Rev. JAMES ADDERLEY, formerly Head of the Oxford House 
 and Christ Church Mission, Bethnal Green. Twenty-second Thousand. Small 
 8vo., elegantly bound, 33. 6d. 
 
 Adderley. PAUL MERCER. A Tale of Repentance among Millions. 
 By the Hon. and Rev. JAMES ADDERLEY. Third Edition. Cloth, 3*. 6d. 
 
 Bagot. CASTING OF NETS. By RICHARD BAGOT. Sixth Impres- 
 sion. 6s. 
 
 Bell. THE ARBITER. (See page 7.) 
 
 Browne. THE BETTALEY JEWELS. (See page 7.) 
 
 Bunsen. A WINTER IN BERLIN. By MARIE VON BUNSEN. 
 Translated by A. F. D. Second Edition. Crown 8vo., 53. 
 
 Burneside. THE DELUSION OF DIANA. By MARGARET BURNESIDE. 
 Second Edition, crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Charleton. NETHERDYKE. By R. J. CHARLETON. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Cherbnliez. THE TUTOR'S SECRET. (Le Secret du Prdcepteur.) 
 Translated from the French of VICTOR CHERBULIEZ. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 Chester. A PLAIN WOMAN'S PART. By NORLEY CHESTER. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Cholmondeley. RED POTTAGE. By MARY CHOLMONDELEY, Author of 
 'Diana Tempest, ' etc. Thirteenth Edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Clark Russell. ROSE ISLAND. By W. CLARK RUSSELL, Author of 
 ' The Wreck of the Grosvenor,' etc. 6s. 
 
 Clouston. THE DUKE. By J. STORER CLOUSTON, Author of 'The 
 Lunatic at Large.' 6s. 
 
 Coleridge. THE KING WITH TWO FACES. By M. E. COLERIDGE. 
 Eighth Edition, crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Coleridge. THE FIERY DAWN. (See page 7.) 
 
 Collingwood. THE BONDWOMAN. A Story of the Northmen in 
 Lakeland. By W. G. COLLINGWOOD, Author of * Thorstein of the Mere,' ' The 
 Life and Work of John Ruskin,' etc. Cloth, i6mo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Dumnore. ORMISDAL. A Novel. By the EARL OF DUNMORE, F.R.G.S., 
 Author of 'The Pamirs.' One vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 6s. 
 
 Edwards. THE MERMAID OF INISH-UIG. By R. W. K. EDWARDS. 
 Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Falkner. MOONFLEET. By J. MEADE FALKNER. Third Edition, 
 crown 8vo., 6s.
 
 Ford. ON THE THRESHOLD. By ISABELLA O. FORD, Author of 
 ' Miss Blake of Monkshalton.' One vol., crown 8vo., 35. 6d, 
 
 Ford. MR. ELLIOTT. (See page 7.) 
 
 Gaunt. DAVE'S SWEETHEART. By MARY GAUNT. Cloth, 33. 6d. 
 
 Hall. FISH TAILS AND SOME TRUE ONES. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Harrison. THE FOREST OF BOURG-MARIE. By S. FRANCES 
 HARRISON (Seranus). Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Hickman. HALF MY LIFE. (See page 7.) 
 
 Hutchinson. THAT FIDDLER FELLOW. A Tale of St. Andrews. By 
 H. G. HUTCHINSON, Author of ' My Wife's Politics.' Cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Knutsford. THE MYSTERY OF THE RUE SOLY. Translated by 
 Lady KNUTSFORD from the French of H. DE BALZAC. Cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 Lightnall. THE FALSE CHEVALIER. By W. D. LIGHTHALL. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 McNulty. MISTHER O'RYAN. An Incident in the History of a Nation. 
 By EDWARD McNULTY. Small 8vo., elegantly bound, 35. 6d. 
 
 McNulty. SON OF A PEASANT. By EDWARD MCNULTY. Cloth, 6s. 
 
 Montre'sor. WORTH WHILE. By F. F. MONTRESOR, Author of ' Into 
 the Highways and Hedges.' Crown 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Oxenden. A REPUTATION FOR A SONG. By MAUD OXENDEN. 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Oxenden. INTERLUDES. By MAUD OXENDEN. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 Pickering. VERITY. By SIDNEY PICKERING. 6s. 
 
 Pinsent. JOB HILDRED. By ELLEN F. PINSENT, Author of 'Jenny's 
 Case.' One vol., crown 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 Podmore. A CYNIC'S CONSCIENCE. By C. T. PODMORE. Crown 
 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Radford. JENNY OF THE VILLA. By Mrs. H. C. RADFORD. 6s. 
 
 Roberts. LORD LINLITHGOW. By MORLEY ROBERTS. Second 
 Impression. 6s. 
 
 Roberts. THE COLOSSUS. By MORLEY ROBERTS, Author of 'A Son 
 of Empire.' Third Edition. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Seton. TWO BABES IN THE CITY. (See page 7.) 
 Sidgwick. CYNTHIA'S WAY. (See page 7.) 
 
 Spinner. A RELUCTANT EVANGELIST, and other Stor'es. By 
 ALICE SPINNER, Author of ' Lucilla,' 'A Study in Colour,' etc. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Wallace. LOTUS OR LAUREL ? By HELEN WALLACE (Gord.in Roy). 
 
 Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 Williams. THE BAYONET THAT CAME HOME. By N. WYNNE 
 
 WILLIAMS. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 Wilson. T' BACCA QUEEN. (See page 7.)
 
 20 
 
 TRAVEL AND SPORT. 
 
 Bagot. SHADOWS OF THE WAR. By DOSIA BAGOT. With Illustra- 
 tions from Photographs by the Author. Second Edition. Demy 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Bell. TANGWEERA : Life among Gentle Savages on the Mosquito Coast 
 of Central America. By C. N. BELL. With numerous Illustrations by the Author. 
 Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Beynon. WITH KELLY TO CHITRAL. By Lieutenant W. G. L. 
 BEYNON, D.S.O., 3rd Ghoorkha Rifles, Staff Officer to Colonel Kelly with the 
 Relief Force. With Maps, Plans, and Illustrations. Second Edition. Demy 
 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Bottome. A SUNSHINE TRIP : GLIMPSES OF THE ORIENT. 
 Extracts from Letters written by MARGARET BOTTOMS. With Portrait, elegantly 
 bound, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Bradley. HUNTING REMINISCENCES OF FRANK GILLARD 
 WITH THE BELVOIR HOUNDS, 1860-1896. Recorded and Illustrated 
 by CUTHBERT BRADLEY. 8vo., 155. 
 
 Bull. THE CRUISE OF THE ' ANTARCTIC ' TO THE SOUTH 
 POLAR REGIONS. By H. J. BULL, a member of the Expedition. With 
 Frontispiece by W. L. WYLIE, A.R.A., and numerous full-page Illustrations by 
 W. G. BURN-MURDOCH. Demy 8vo., 155. 
 
 Burton. TROPICS AND SNOWS : a Record of Sport and Adventure 
 in Many Lands. By CAPTAIN R. G. BURTON, Indian Staff Corps. Illustrated, 
 demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Chapman. WILD NORWAY. By ABEL CHAPMAN, Author of 'Wild 
 Spain.' With Illustrations by CHARLES WHYMPER. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Colvile. THE WORK OF THE NINTH DIVISION. By Major- 
 General Sir HENRY E. COLVILE, K.C.M.G., C.B. With 8 Maps. Second 
 Edition. Demy 8vo., los. 6d. net. 
 
 Freshfield. THE EXPLORATION OF THE CAUCASUS. By 
 DOUGLAS W. FRESHFIELD, F.R.G.S., lately President of the Alpine Club. 
 Illustrated with Photogravures and Maps, 2 vols., 410., ^3 33. net. 
 
 Gleichen. WITH THE BRITISH MISSION TO MENELIK, 1897. 
 By Count GLEICHEN, Grenadier Guards, Intelligence Officer to the Mission. 
 Illustrated, demy 8vo., l6s. 
 
 Gordon. PERSIA REVISITED. With Remarks on H.I.M. Mozuffer- 
 ed-Din Shah, and the Present Situation in Persia (1896). By General Sir T. E. 
 GORDON, K.C.I.E., C.B., C.S.I. Formerly Military Attache and Oriental 
 Secretary to the British Legation at Teheran, Author of ' The Roof of the 
 World,' etc. Demy 8vo., with full-page Illustrations, IDS. 6d. 
 
 Grey. IN MOORISH CAPTIVITY. An Account of the 'Tourmaline 1 
 Expedition to Sus, 1897-98. By H. M. GREY. Illustrated, demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Hall. FISH TAILS AND SOME TRUE ONES. By BRADNOCK HALL, 
 Author of ' Rough Mischance.' With an original Etching by the Author, and 
 twelve full-page Illustrations by T. H. McLACHLAN. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Hoftneyr. THE STORY OF MY CAPTIVITY DURING THE 
 TRANSVAAL WAR. By ADRIAN HOFMEYR. With Portrait. Crown 
 8vo., 6s.
 
 21 
 
 Knox. THE NATAL FIELD FORCE. (See page 2.) 
 
 Macdonald. SOLDIERING AND SURVEYING IN BRITISH EAST 
 AFRICA. By Major J. R. MACDONALD, R.E. Fully Illustrated. DemySvo., i6s. 
 
 McNab. ON VELDT AND FARM, IN CAPE COLONY, BECHUANA- 
 LAND, NATAL, AND THE TRANSVAAL. By FRANCES McNAB. With 
 Map. Second Edition. Crown 8vo., 300 pages, 33. 6d. 
 
 Peel. TROOPER 8008, I.Y. (See page 5.) 
 
 Percy. HIGHLANDS OF ASIATIC TURKEY. By EARL PERCY, M.P. 
 With 40 Illustrations from Photographs taken by the Author, and two Maps. 
 Demy 8vo., 143. net. 
 
 Pike. THROUGH THE SUB-ARCTIC FOREST. A Record of a 
 Canoe Journey for 4,000 miles, from Fort Wrangel to the Felly Lakes, and down 
 the Yukon to the Behring Sea. By WARBURTON PIKE, Author of 'The Barren 
 Grounds of Canada.' With Illustrations by CHARLES WHYMPER, from Photo- 
 graphs taken by the Author, and a Map. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Pollok. FIFTY YEARS' REMINISCENCES OF INDIA. By Lieut.- 
 Colonel POLLOK, Author of ' Sport in Burmah.' Illustrated by A. C. CORBOULD. 
 Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Portal. THE BRITISH MISSION TO UGANDA. By the late Sir 
 GERALD PORTAL, K.C.M.G. Edited by Sir RENNEL ROOD, K.C.M.G. With 
 an Introduction by the Earl of CROMER, G.C.M.G. Illustrated from Photos 
 taken during the Expedition by Colonel Rhodes. Demy 8vo. , 2 1 s. 
 
 Portal. MY MISSION TO ABYSSINIA. By the late Sir Gerald H. 
 PORTAL, C.B. With Map and Illustrations. Demy 8vo., 155. 
 
 Pritchett. PEN AND PENCIL SKETCHES OF SHIPPING AND 
 CRAFT ALL ROUND THE WORLD. By R. T. PRITCHETT. With 50 
 full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo., 6s. 
 
 Eeid. FROM PEKING TO PETERSBURG. A Journey of Fifty Days 
 in 1898. By ARNOT REID. With Portrait and Map. Second Edition. Large 
 crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 Slatin and Wingate. FIRE AND SWORD IN THE SUDAN. By 
 Sir RUDOLF SLATIN PASHA, K.C.M.G. Translated and Edited by Sir F. R. 
 WINGATE, K.C. M.G., Sirdar of the Egyptian Army. Fully Illustrated. Popular 
 Edition. 6s. Also a few copies of the Original Edition. Demy 8vo., 2is. net. 
 
 Smith. THROUGH UNKNOWN AFRICAN COUNTRIES. By A. 
 DONALDSON SMITH, M.D., F.R.G.S. With Illustrations by A. D. McCoRMiCK 
 and CHARLES WHYMPER. Super royal 8vo., One Guinea net. 
 
 Stone. IN AND BEYOND THE HIMALAYAS : A RECORD OF 
 SPORT AND TRAVEL. By S. J. STONE, late Deputy Inspector-General of 
 the Punjab Police. With 16 full-page Illustrations by CHARLES WHYMPER. 
 Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 Thompson. REMINISCENCES OF THE COURSE, THE CAMP, 
 AND THE CHASE. By Colonel R. F. MEYSEY THOMPSON. Large crown 
 8vo., los. 6d. 
 
 Warkworth. NOTES FROM A DIARY IN ASIATIC TURKEY. 
 By EARL PERCY (then Lord Warkworth). With numerous Photogravures. 
 Fcap. 410., 2 is. net.
 
 22 
 
 THE SPORTSMAN'S LIBRARY. 
 
 Edited by the Right Hon. Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart., M.P. 
 
 A Re-issue, in handsome volumes, of certain rare and entertaining books on 
 Sport, carefully selected by the Editor, and Illustrated by the best 
 Sporting Artists of the day, and with Reproductions of old Plates. 
 Library Edition, 155. a volume. Large-Paper Edition, limited to 200 copies, 
 Two Guineas a volume. Also obtainable in Sets only, in fine leather 
 bindings. Prices on application. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 Smith. THE LIFE OF A FOX, AND THE DIARY OF A HUNTS- 
 MAN. By THOMAS SMITH, Master of the Hambledon and Pytchley Hounds. 
 With Illustrations by the Author, and Coloured Plates by G. H. JALLAND. 
 
 Sir RALPH PAYNE-GALWEY, Bart., writes : 'It is excellent and beautifully produced. 
 
 ' Is sure to appeal to everyone who has had, or is about to have, a chance of a run with the 
 hounds, and those to whom an unkindly fate denies this boon will enjoy it for the joyous music 
 of the hounds which it brings to relieve the winter of our discontent amid London fogs.' Pall 
 Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' It will be_ a classic of fox-hunting till the end of time." Yorkshire Post. 
 
 ' No hunting men should be without this book in their libraries.' World. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 Thornton. A SPORTING TOUR THROUGH THE NORTHERN 
 PARTS OF ENGLAND AND GREAT PART OF THE HIGHLANDS 
 OF SCOTLAND. By Colonel T. THORNTON, of Thornville Royal, in 
 Yorkshire. With the Original Illustrations by GARRARD, and other Illustrations 
 and Coloured Plates by G. E. LODGE. 
 
 ' Sportsmen of all descriptions will gladly welcome the sumptuous new edition issued by Mr. 
 Edward Arnold of Colonel T. Thornton's " Sporting Tour," which has long been a scarce book. 
 Daily News. 
 
 ' It is excellent reading for all interested in sport.' Black and White. 
 
 ' A handsome volume, effectively jllustrated with coloured plates by G. E. Lodge, and with 
 portraits and selections from the original illustrations, themselves characteristic of the art and 
 sport of the time.' Times. 
 
 VOLUME III. 
 
 Cosmopolite. THE SPORTSMAN IN IRELAND. By a COSMOPOLITE. 
 With Coloured Plates and Black and White Drawings by P. CHENEY ix TRENCH, 
 and reproductions of the original Illustrations drawn by R. ALLEN, and engraved 
 by W. WESTALL, A.R.A. 
 
 ' This is a most readable and entertaining book.' Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 ' As to the "get up " of the book we can only repeat what we said on the appearance of the 
 first of the set, that the series consists of the most tasteful and charming volumes at present 
 being issued by the English Press, and collectors of handsome books should find them not only 
 an ornament to their shelves, but also a sound investment.' 
 
 VOLUME IV. 
 
 Berkeley. REMINISCENCES OF A HUNTSMAN. By the Hon. 
 GRANTLEV F. BERKELEY. With a Coloured Frontispiece and the original 
 Illustrations by JOHN LEECH, and several Coloured Plates and other Illustrations 
 by G. H. JALLAND. 
 
 'The latest addition to the sumptuous "Sportsman's Library" is here reproduced with all 
 possible aid from the printer and binder, with illustrations from the pencils of Leech and G. H. 
 Jalland.' Globe. 
 
 ' The Hon. Grantley F. Berkeley had one great quality of the raconteur. His self-revelations 
 and displays of vanity are delightful.' Timet.
 
 23 
 
 VOLUME V. 
 
 Scrope. THE ART OF DEERSTALKING. By WILLIAM SCROPE. 
 With Frontispiece by EDWIN LANDSEER, and nine Photogravure Plates of the 
 original Illustrations. 
 
 1 With the fine illustrations by the Landseers and Scrope himself, this forms a most worthy 
 number of a splendid series.' Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 1 Among the works published in connection with field sports in Scotland, none probably have 
 been more sought after than those of William Scrope, and although published more than fifty 
 years ago, they are still as fresh as ever, full of pleasant anecdote, and valuable for the many 
 practical hints which they convey to inexperienced sportsmen.' Field. 
 
 VOLUME VI. 
 
 Nimrod. THE CHASE, THE TURF, AND THE ROAD. By NIMROD. 
 With a Photogravure Portrait of the Author by D. MACLISE, R.A., and with 
 Coloured Photogravure and other Plates from the original Illustrations by 
 ALKEN, and several reproductions of old Portraits. 
 
 ' Sir Herbert Maxwell has performed a real service for all who care for sport in republishing 
 Nimrod's admirable papers. The book is admirably printed and produced both in the matter 
 of illustrations and of binding." St. James's Gazette. 
 ' A thoroughly well got-up book.' World, 
 
 VOLUME VII. 
 
 Scrope. DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING. By WILLIAM 
 SCROPE. With coloured Lithographic and Photogravure reproductions of the 
 original Plates. 
 
 ' This great classic of sport has been reissued by Mr. Edward Arnold in charming form.' 
 Literature. 
 
 COUNTRY HOUSE. 
 
 Brown. POULTRY-KEEPING AS AN INDUSTRY FOR FARMERS 
 AND COTTAGERS. By EDWARD BROWN, F.L.S., Secretary of the National 
 Poultry Organization Society. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo., Illustrated, 6s. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 PLEASURABLE POULTRY-KEEPING. Fully Illustrated. One vol., 
 crown Svo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 INDUSTRIAL POULTRY-KEEPING. Fully Illustrated. New Edition, 
 is. 
 
 POULTRY FATTENING. Fully Illustrated. New Edition. Crown 8vo., 
 is. 6d. 
 
 Cunningliam. THE DRAUGHTS POCKET MANUAL. By J. G. CUN- 
 NINGHAM. An introduction to the Game in all its branches. Small 8vo., with 
 numerous diagrams, is. 6d. 
 
 Elliot. AMATEUR CLUBS AND ACTORS. Edited by W. G. ELLIOT. 
 With numerous Illustrations by C. M. NEWTON. Large 8vo., 153. 
 
 EUacombe. IN A GLOUCESTERSHIRE GARDEN. By the Rev. 
 H. N. ELLACOMBE, Vicar of Bitton, and Honorary Canon of Bristol. Author 
 of ' Plant Lore and Garden Craft of Shakespeare.' With new Illustrations by 
 Major E. B. RICKETTS. Second Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth, 6s.
 
 24 
 
 George. KING EDWARD'S COOKERY BOOK. (See page 5.) 
 
 Hole. A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. By the Very Rev. S. REYNOLDS 
 HOLE, Dean of Rochester. Sixteenth Edition. Illustrated by H. G. MOON and 
 G. S. ELGOOD, R.I. Presentation Edition, with Coloured Plates, 6s. Popular 
 Edition, 35. 6d. 
 
 Hole. A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN AND THE GARDENER. 
 By Dean HOLE. Popular Edition, crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 Holt. FANCY DRESSES DESCRIBED. By ARDERN HOLT. An 
 Alphabetical Dictionary of Fancy Costumes. With full accounts of the Dresses. 
 About 60 Illustrations by LILLIAN YOUNG. Many of them coloured. One vol., 
 demy 8vo., 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Holt. GENTLEMEN'S FANCY DRESS AND HOW TO CHOOSE 
 IT. By ARDERN HOLT. New and Revised Edition. With Illustrations. 
 Paper boards, 2s. 6d. ; cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 Maxwell. MEMORIES OF THE MONTHS (First and Second Series). 
 By the Right Hon. Sir HERBERT MAXWELL, Bart., M.P. With Photogravure 
 Illustrations. Large crown 8vo., 2 vols. (sold separately), 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 'WYVERN'S' COOKERY BOOKS. 
 
 Kenney-Herbert. COMMON-SENSE COOKERY : Based on Modern 
 English and Continental Principles Worked out in Detail. Large crown 8vo. 
 over 500 pages. 7s. 6d. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 FIFTY BREAKFASTS : containing a great variety of New and Simple 
 Recipes for Breakfast Dishes. Small 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 FIFTY DINNERS. Small 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 FIFTY LUNCHES. Small 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Shorland. CYCLING FOR HEALTH AND PLEASURE. By 
 L. H. PORTER, Author of 'Wheels and Wheeling,' etc. Revised and edited by 
 F. W. SHORLAND, Amateur Champion 1892-93-94. With numerous Illustrations, 
 small 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Smith. THE PRINCIPLES OF LANDED ESTATE MANAGE- 
 MENT. By HENRY HERBERT SMITH, Fellow of the Institute of Surveyors ; 
 Agent to the Marquess of Lansdowne, K.G., the Earl of Crewe, Lord Methuen, 
 etc. With Plans and Illustrations. Demy 8vo., 1 6s. 
 
 White. PLEASURABLE BEE-KEEPING. By C. N. WHITE, Lecturer 
 to the County Councils of Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, etc. Fully illustrated. 
 One vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 2s. 6d.
 
 25 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Bell. CONVERSATIONAL OPENINGS AND ENDINGS. By Mrs. 
 HUGH BELL. Square 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Clouston. THE CHIPPENDALE PERIOD IN ENGLISH FUFNI- 
 TURE. By K. WARREN CLOUSTON. With 200 Illustrations by the Author. 
 Demy 4to., handsomely bound, One Guinea net. 
 
 Fell. BRITISH MERCHANT SEAMEN IN SAN FRANCISCO. By 
 the Rev. JAMES FELL. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOLS. ETON HARROW WINCHESTER 
 RUGBY WESTMINSTER MARYBOROUGH CHELTENHAM HAILEYBURY 
 CLIFTON CHARTERHOUSE. With nearly 100 Illustrations by the best artists. 
 Popular Edition. One vol., large imperial 161110., handsomely bound, 35. 6d. 
 
 HARROW SCHOOL. Edited by E. W. HOWSON and G. TOWNSEND 
 WARNER. With a Preface by EARL SPENCER, K.G., D.C.L., Chairman of the 
 Governors of Harrow School. And Contributions by Old Harrovians and Harrow 
 Masters. Illustrated with a large number of original full-page and other Pen- 
 and-ink Drawings by Mr. HERBERT MARSHALL. With several Photogravure 
 Portraits and reproductions of objects of interest. One vol., crown 410., One 
 Guinea net. A Large-Paper Edition, limited to 150 copies, Three Guineas net. 
 
 Hartshorne. OLD ENGLISH GLASSES. An Account of Glass Drinking- 
 Vessels in England from Early Times to the end of the Eighteenth Century. 
 With Introductory Notices of Continental Glasses during the same period, 
 Original Documents, etc. Dedicated by special permission to Her Majesty the 
 Queen. By ALBERT HARTSHORNE, Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. Illus- 
 trated by nearly 70 full-page Tinted or Coloured Plates in the best style of Litho- 
 graphy, and several hundred outline Illustrations in the text. Super royal 410., 
 Three Guineas net. 
 
 Herschell. THE BEGGARS OF PARIS. Translated from the French 
 of M. Louis PAULIAN by LADY HERSCHELL. Crown 8vo., is. 
 
 Pilkington. IN AN ETON PLAYING FIELD. The Adventures of 
 some old Public School Boys in East London. By E. M. S. PILKINGTON. 
 Fcap. 8vo., handsomely bound, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Powles. THE KHAKI ALPHABET. By L. D. POWLES. Illustrated 
 by TOM BROWNE. Fcap. 410., is. net. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED HUMOROUS BOOKS. 
 
 Ames. REALLY AND TRULY. By Mr. and Mrs. ERNEST AMES. 
 
 Twenty splendidly Coloured Plates, with amusing verses, depicting the great 
 
 events of the nineteenth century. 410., 35. 6d. 
 H. B. and B. T. B. MORE BEASTS FOR WORSE CHILDREN. 
 
 By H. B. and B. T. B. Grotesque pictures in black and white, and inimitably 
 
 clever verses. 410., with coloured cover, 33. 6d. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHORS. 
 A MORAL ALPHABET : In words of from one to seven syllables. Fully 
 
 Illustrated, 35. 6d. 
 THE MODERN TRAVELLER. Fully Illustrated, with coloured cover. 
 
 4to., 35. 6d.
 
 26 
 
 Lockwood. THE FRANK LOCKWOOD SKETCH-BOOK. Being a 
 Selection of Sketches by the late Sir FRANK LOCKWOOD, Q.C., M.P. Third 
 Edition. Oblong royal 4to., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Powles. THE KHAKI ALPHABET. By L. D. POWLES. With 26 full- 
 page Illustrations by TOM BROWNE. Foolscap 4to., is. net. 
 
 Eeed. TAILS WITH A TWIST. An Animal Picture-Book by E. T. 
 REED, Author of ' Pre-Historic Peeps,' etc. With Verses by ' A BELGIAN 
 HARE.' Oblong demy 4to., 35. 6d. 
 
 Streamer. RUTHLESS RHYMES FOR HEARTLESS HOMES. 
 By Col. D. STREAMER. With Pictures by ' G. H.' Oblong 410., 35. 6d. 
 
 SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 Arnold-Forster. ARMY LETTERS, 1897-98. By H. O. ARNOLD- 
 FORSTER, M.P. Crown 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 Dalby. BALANCING OF ENGINES. (See page 6.) 
 
 Finsen. PHOTOTHERAPY. (See page 6.) 
 
 Graham. ENGLISH POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY : an Exposition and 
 
 Criticism of the Systems of Hobbes, Locke, Burke, Bentham, Mill and Maine. 
 
 By WILLIAM GRAHAM, M.A., Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Economy 
 
 at Queen's College, Belfast. Octavo, ros. 6d. net. 
 Hill. A MANUAL OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY. By LEONARD HILL, 
 
 M.B. Nearly 500 pages and 170 Illustrations. Crown 8vo., 6s. 
 Holland. SUGGESTIONS FOR A SCHEME OF OLD AGE PEN- 
 
 SIGNS. By the Hon. LIONEL HOLLAND. Crown 8vo., is. 6d. 
 
 Hutchison. FOOD AND THE PRINCIPLES OF DIETETICS. By 
 ROBERT HUTCHISON, M.D. Edin., M.R.C.P., Assistant Physician to the 
 London Hospital and to the Hospital for Sick Children, Great Ormond Street. 
 Third Impression. Illustrated. DemySvo., i6s.net. 
 
 Keith. HUMAN EMBRYOLOGY AND MORPHOLOGY. (See p. 6.) 
 
 Kelsey. PHYSICAL DETERMINATIONS. (See page 6.) 
 
 Lehfeldt. A TEXT-BOOK OF PHYSICAL CHEMISTRY. By Dr. R. 
 
 A. LEHFELDT, Professor of Physics at the East London Technical College. 
 
 Crown 8vo., Js. 6d. 
 
 Louis. TRAVERSE TABLES. By HENRY Louis, M.A., A.R.S.M., 
 F.I.C., F.G.S., etc., Professor of Mining and Lecturer on Surveying, Durham 
 College, Newcastle-on-Tyne ; and G. W. GAUNT, M.A. Demy 8vo., 
 45. 6d. net. 
 
 Matthews. HANDBOOK ON FERMENTATION. (See page 6.) 
 
 Morgan. ANIMAL BEHAVIOUR. By C. LLOYD MORGAN, F.R.S., 
 Principal of University College, Bristol. With numerous Illustrations. Large 
 crown, I os. 6d. 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 HABIT AND INSTINCT: A STUDY IN HEREDITY. Demy 8vo., i6s. 
 
 THE SPRINGS OF CONDUCT. Cheaper Edition. Large crown 8vo., 
 35. 6d. 
 
 PSYCHOLOGY FOR TEACHERS. With a Preface by Sir JOSHUA 
 FITCH, M.A., LL.D., late one of H.M. Chief Inspectors of Training Colleges. 
 Fourth Edition. One vol., crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d.
 
 27 
 
 Mudge. TEXT-BOOK OF ZOOLOGY. (See page 6.) 
 
 Paget. WASTED RECORDS OF DISEASE. By CHARLES E. PAGET, 
 
 Lecturer on Public Health in Owens College, Medical Officer of Health for 
 
 Salford, etc. Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 
 Pearson. THE CHANCES OF DEATH, and other Studies in Evolution. 
 By KARL PEARSON, F.R.S., Author of 'The Ethic of Free Thought,' etc. 
 2 vols., demy 8vo., Illustrated, 255. net. 
 
 Pembrey. THE PHYSIOLOGICAL ACTION OF DRUGS. By M. S. 
 PEMBREY and C. D. F. PHILLIPS. (See page 6.) 
 
 Perry. CALCULUS FOR ENGINEERS. By Professor JOHN PERRY 
 F.R.S. Third Edition. Crown 8vo., 75. 6d. 
 
 Richmond. AN ESSAY ON PERSONALITY AS A PHILOSOPHI- 
 CAL PRINCIPLE. By the Rev. W. RICHMOND, M.A. 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 Shaw. A TEXT-BOOK OF NURSING FOR HOME AND HOSPITAL 
 USE. By C. WEEKS SHAW. Revised and largely re-written by W. RADFORD, 
 House Surgeon at the Poplar Hospital, under the supervision of Sir DYCE DUCK- 
 WORTH, M.D., F.R.C.P. Fully Illustrated, crown 8vo., 33. 6d. 
 
 Taylor. THE ALPHABET. By ISAAC TAYLOR, M.A., LL D., Canon 
 of York. New Edition, 2 vols., demy 8vo., 2is. 
 
 Van 'T. Hoff. LECTURES ON THEORETICAL AND PHYSICAL 
 CHEMISTRY. By Dr. J. H. VAN 'T. HOFF, Professor at the University of 
 Berlin. Translated by Prof. R. A. LEHFELDT. 3 vols, demy 8vo., 285. net. 
 Or obtainable separately as follows : Part I. Chemical Dynamics. 125. net. 
 Part II. Chemical Statics. 8s. 6d. net. Part III. Relations between Properties 
 and Constitution. 75. 6d. net. 
 
 YALE BICENTENNIAL PUBLICATIONS. (See page 11.) 
 
 PRACTICAL SCIENCE MANUALS. 
 
 Dymond. CHEMISTRY FOR AGRICULTURAL STUDENTS. By 
 
 T. S. DYMOND, of the County Technical Laboratories, Chelmsford. Crown 
 
 8vo., 2s. 6d. 
 Halliday. STEAM BOILERS. By G. HALLIDAY, late Demonstrator at 
 
 the Finsbury Technical College. Fully Illustrated, crown 8vo., 55. 
 Wilson. ELECTRICAL TRACTION. By ERNEST WILSON, M.I.E.E., 
 
 Professor of Electrical Engineering at King's College, London. Illustrated. 
 
 Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 THE NATIONAL REVIEW. 
 
 Edited by L. J. MAXSE. 
 Price Half-a-Crown net Monthly. 
 
 The ' National Review ' is the leading Unionist and Conservative 
 Review in Great Britain. Since it passed into the control and editor- 
 ship of Mr. Leo Maxse, most of the leaders of the Unionist Party have 
 contributed to its pages, including the Marquis of Salisbury, Mr. Arthur 
 Balfour, Mr. J. Chamberlain, and Lord George Hamilton. The episodes 
 of the month, which give a masterly review of the important events of
 
 28 
 
 the preceding month, form a valuable feature of the Review, which now 
 occupies a unique position among monthly periodicals. 
 
 PUBLICATIONS OF THE INDIA OFFICE AND OF THE GOVERNMENT OF INDIA. 
 
 Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD, having been appointed Publisher to the Secretary of State for India in 
 Council, has now on sale the above publications at 37 Bedford Street, Strand, and is prepared to 
 supply full information concerning them on application. 
 
 INDIAN GOVERNMENT MAPS. 
 
 Any of the Maps in this magnificent series can now be obtained at the shortest notice from 
 Mr. EDWARD ARNOLD, Publisher to the India Office. 
 
 TkefollowingCataloguuofMr. Edward Arnold's Publications will be sent post free on application : 
 CATALOGUE OF WORKS OF GENERAL LITERATURE. 
 
 GENERAL CATALOGUE OF EDUCATIONAL WORKS, including the principal publications of 
 Messrs. Ginn and Company, Educational Publishers, of Boston and New York. 
 
 CATALOGUE OF WORKS FOR USE IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. 
 ILLUSTRATED LIST OF BOOKS FOR PRESENTS AND PRIZES. 
 
 BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. 
 
 SIX SHILLINGS EACH. 
 
 FIRE AND SWORD IN THE SUDAN. By Sir RUDOLPH SLATIN and Sir F. R. 
 WINGATE. (See page 21.) 
 
 MOONFLEET. By J. MEADK FALKNER. (See page 18.) 
 
 FIVE SHILLINGS EACH. 
 
 SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES. By KIRK MUNROE. Fully illustrated. 
 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 55. 
 
 RICK DALE. By KIRK MONROE. Fully illustrated. Crown 8vo., cloth, 5s. 
 THE FUR SEAL'S TOOTH. By KIRK MUNROE. Fully illustrated. Crown 
 
 Svo. , cloth, 55. 
 HOW DICK AND MOLLY WENT ROUND THE WORLD. By M. H. 
 
 CORNWALL LEGH. With numerous Illustrations. Fcap. 410., 55. 
 HOW DICK AND MOLLY SAW ENGLAND. By M. H. CORNWALL 
 
 LEGH. With numerous Illustrations. Foolscap 410., 55. 
 
 DR. GILBERT'S DAUGHTERS. By MARGARET HARRIET MATHEWS. 
 
 Illustrated by CHRIS. HAMMOND. Crown 8vo., cloth, 55. 
 
 ERIC THE ARCHER. By MAURICE H. HERVEY. With 8 full-page Illustrations. 
 
 Handsomely bound, crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 THE REEF OF GOLD. By MAURICE H. HERVEY. With numerous full-page 
 
 Illustrations, handsomely bound, gilt edges, 55. 
 
 BAREROCK ; or, The Island of Pearls. By HENRY NASH. With numerous 
 Illustrations by LANCELOT SPEED. Large crown 8vo., handsomely bound, gilt edges, 55. 
 
 WAGNER'S HEROES. By CONSTANCE MAUD. Illustrated by H. GRANVILLE 
 
 FELL. Crown 8vo., 55. 
 
 WAGNER'S HEROINES. By CONSTANCE MAUD. Illustrated by W. T. MAUD. 
 
 Crown Svo. 55. 
 
 THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE EACH. 
 
 TALES FROM HANS ANDERSEN. With nearly 40 Original Illustrations 
 by E. A. LEMANN. Small 4to., handsomely bound in cloth, 3$. 6d. 
 
 THE SNOW QUEEN, and other Tales. By HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN. 
 
 Beautifully illustrated by Miss, . A. LEMANN. Small 410., handsomely bound, 35. 6d.
 
 29 
 
 HUNTERS THREE. By THOMAS W. KNOX, Author of 'The Boy Travellers ' 
 etc. With numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE DESERT. By E. D. FAWCETT. With numerous 
 
 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 JOEL : A BOY OF GALILEE. By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON. With ten 
 
 full-page Illustrations. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 THE MUSHROOM CAVE. By EVELYN RAYMOND. With Illustrations. 
 
 Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 THE DOUBLE EMPEROR. By W. LAIRD CLOWES, Author of ' The Great 
 Peril,' etc. Illustrated. Crowii 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 SWALLOWED BY AN EARTHQUAKE. By E. D. FAWCKTT. Illus- 
 
 trated. Crown 8vo., 35. 6d. 
 
 HARTMANN THE ANARCHIST ; or, The Doom of the Great City. By 
 E. DOUGLAS FAWCETT. With sixteen full-page and numerous smaller Illustrations by F T. 
 JANE. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 ANIMAL SKETCHES : a Popular Book of Natural History. By Professor C. 
 LLOYD MORGAN, F.R.S. Crown 8vo., cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 ROME THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD. By ALICE GARDNER. Illustrated 
 
 Cloth, 35. 6d. 
 
 TWO SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE. 
 
 FRIENDS OF THE OLDEN TIME. By ALICE GARDNER, Lecturer in 
 History at Newnham College, Cambridge. Third Edition. Illustrated. Square 8vo., as. 6d. 
 
 TWO SHILLINGS EACH. 
 THE CHILDREN'S FAVOURITE SERIES. A Charming Series of Juvenile 
 
 Books, each plentifully Illustrated, and written in simple language to please young readers 
 Price 2.s. each ; or, gilt edges, 2s. 6d. 
 
 My Book of Wonders. 
 My Book of Travel Stories. 
 My Book of Adventures. 
 My Book of the Sea. 
 My Book of Fables. 
 Deeds of Gold. 
 My Book of Heroism. 
 
 THE LOCAL SERIES. 
 
 The Story of Lancashire. 
 The Story of Yorkshire. 
 The Story of the Midlands. 
 The Story of London. 
 
 My Book of Perils. 
 My Book of Fairy Tales. 
 My Book of History Tales. 
 My Story Book of Animals. 
 Rhymes for Ton and Me. 
 My Book of Inventions. 
 
 The Story of Wales. 
 
 The Story of Scotland. 
 
 The Story of the West Oonntry. 
 
 The Story of the North Country. 
 
 ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE EACH. 
 
 THE CHILDREN'S HOUR SERIES. 
 
 AH with Full-page Illustrations. 
 
 THE PALACE ON THE MOOR. By E. DAVENPORT ADAMS, is. 6d, 
 TOBY'S PROMISE. By A. M. HOPKINSON. is. 6d. 
 MASTER MAGNUS. By Mrs. E. M. Field, is. 6d. 
 MY DOG PLATO. By M. H. CORNWALL LEGH. is. 6d. 
 
 AN ILLUSTRATED GEOGRAPHY. By ALEXIS FRYE and A. J. HERBKRTSON. 
 
 Royal 410., ys. fid. and 55.
 
 THE INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION SERIES. 
 
 This splendid Series, issued under the general editorship of Dr. WILLIAM T. 
 HARRIS, United States Commissioner of Education, has now reached a point when it 
 may claim to provide a Complete Library for Teachers and Students on all the main 
 subjects connected with their Training and Professional Work. Psychology, 
 Philosophy, and History, so far as they bear upon Education and Practical Methods 
 of Teaching, are treated in a number of interesting volumes by the highest authorities. 
 Special attention is drawn to the complete series of translations from Froebel, and to 
 those from Rousseau, Fouillee, Preyer, and Herbart, forming in themselves a small 
 library of the Classics of Education. 
 
 By the courtesy of the copyright owners, we are enabled this year for the first time 
 to include three works which have hitherto not been obtainable in this Series in the 
 British Empire. 
 
 LIST OF THE SERIES. 
 
 The Philosophy of Education. Translated from the German of Dr. K. ROSEN- 
 KRANTZ, Professor of Philosophy at the University of Konigsberg. 6s. 
 
 Fouillee's Education from a National Standpoint. Translated by W. J. 
 GREENSTREET, M.A., Headmaster of the Marling School, Stroud. js. 6d. 
 
 The Rise and Early Constitution of Universities. With a Survey of 
 
 Medieval Education. By S. S. LAURIE, LL.D., Professor of Education in Edinburgh 
 University. 6s. 
 
 Rousseau's Emile ; or, A Treatise on Education. Translated and Edited 
 by W. H. PAYNE, PH.D., LL.D. 6s. 
 
 Dickens as an Educator. By J. L. HUGHES, Inspector of Schools, Toronto. 
 
 Crown 8vo., cloth. 6s. 
 
 Essays on Educational Reformers. By the late ROBERT HERBERT QUICK, 
 
 M. A. (By permission of Messrs. Longmans and Co.) 6s. 
 
 A History of Education. By Professor F. V. N. PAINTER. 6s. 
 
 This work is a complete survey of the field of educational progress, including (i) The Oriental 
 Nations, (2) The Ancient Classical Nations, (3) Christian Education before the Reformation, (4) 
 Education from the Reformation to the Present Time. 
 
 English Education in the Elementary and Secondary Schools. By 
 
 ISAAC SHARPLESS, LL.D. With a Preface by W. T. HARRIS. 45. 6d. 
 
 A History of Education in the U.S.A. By R. G. BOONE. 6s. 
 
 European Schools; or, What I saw in the Schools of Germany, 
 
 Franco, Austria, and Switzerland. By L. K. KLEMM, Ph.D. 8s. 6d. 
 The Secondary School System of Germany. By FREDERICK E. BOLTON. 6s. 
 The Evolution of the Massachusetts Public School System. By G. 
 
 H. MARTIN, M.A., Supervisor of Public Schools, Boston, Massachusetts. 6s. 
 
 The School System of Ontario. By the Hon. G. W. Ross, LL.D., formerly 
 
 Minister of Education for the Province of Ontario. 45. 6d. 
 
 The Higher Education of Women in Europe. Translated from the 
 German of Miss HELENE LANGE by Dr. L. R. KLEMM. 45. 6d. 
 
 The Education of the Greek People. By THOMAS DAVIDSON. 6s. 
 Froebel's Education of Man. Translated by W. N. HAILMAN. 6s. 
 Froebel's Pedagogics of the Kindergarten. 6s.
 
 The Mottoes and Commentaries of Froebel's Mother Play. The 
 
 Mottoes rendered into English verse by HENRIETTA ELIOT ; the Prose Commentaries translated 
 and accompanied by an Introduction on the Philosophy of Froebel by SUSAN E. BLOW. 6s. 
 
 The Songs and Music of Froebel's Mother Play. 6s. 
 
 Symbolic Education. A Commentary on Froebel's Mother Play. By SUSAN 
 
 E. BLOW. 6s. 
 Froebel's Educational Laws for all Teachers. By J. L. HUGHES, 
 
 Inspector of Schools, Toronto. A Comprehensive Exposition of Froebel's Principles as applied in 
 the Kindergarten, the School, the University, or the Home. 6s. 
 
 Froebel's Education by Development. Translated by J. JARVIS. 6s. 
 Letters to a Mother on the Philosophy of Froebel. By SUSAN E. 
 
 BLOW, Author of ' Mottoes and Commentaries of Froebel's Mother Play," etc. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Adler's Moral Instruction of Children. 6s. 
 
 Montaigne's The Education of Children. Translated by L. E. RECTOR. 
 
 45. 6d. 
 
 The Infant Mind ; or, Mental Development in the Child. Translated 
 
 from the German of W. PREYER, Professor of Physiology in the University of Jena. 45. 6d. 
 
 The Senses and the Will, Part I. of 'The Mind of the Child.' By Professor 
 
 W. PREYER. (Translated.) 6s. 
 
 The Development of the Intellect. Part II. of 'The Mind of the Child.' 
 
 By Professor W. PREYER. (Translated.) 6s. 
 
 A Text-book on Psychology. Translated from the German of JOHANN 
 FRIEDRICH HERBART. 43. 6d. 
 
 Herbart's A.B.C. of Sense-Perception. By WILLIAM J. ECKOFF, Ph.D. 6s. 
 The Intellectual and Moral Development of the Child. Translated 
 
 From the French of GABRIEL COMPAYR, Recteur of the Academy of Poictiers. 6s. 
 
 Elementary Psychology and Education. By Dr. J. BALDWIN. 6s. 
 Psychologic Foundations of Education. By the Editor, W. T. HARRIS. 6s. 
 Psychology Applied to the Art of Teaching. By Dr. J. BALDWIN, 
 
 Professor of Pedagogy in the University of Texas. 6s. 
 
 The Study of the Child. A Brief Treatise on the Psychology of the Child. 
 With Suggestions for Teachers, Students, and Parents. By A. R. TAYLOR, Ph.D. 6s. 
 
 The Bibliography of Education. By W. S. MUNROE. 8s. 6d. 
 
 The Principles and Practice of Teaching. By J. JOHONNOT. 6s. 
 
 School Management and School Methods. ByJ. BALDWIN. 6s. 
 
 Practical Hints for Teachers. By GEORGE HOWLAND. 45. 6d. 
 
 School Supervision. By J. L. PICKARD. 43. 6d. 
 
 The Ventilation and Warming of School Buildings. With Plans and 
 
 Diagrams. By GILBERT B. MORRISON. 45. 6d. 
 
 How to Study Geography. By FRANCIS W. PARKER. 6s. 
 
 How to Study and Teach History. By B. A. HINSDALE, Ph.D., LL.D. 6?. 
 
 Systematic Science Teaching. By E. G. HOWE. 6s. 
 
 Advanced Elementary Science. By E. G. HOWE. 6s. 
 
 Teaching the Language Arts. By B. A. HENSDALE. 45. 6d. 
 
 The Psychology of Number and its Applications to Methods of 
 
 Teaching Arithmetic. By J. A. MAGELLAN, LL.D., Principal of the Ontario School of 
 Pedagogy, Toronto, and JOHN DEWEY, Ph.D., Professor of Philosophy in the University of 
 Chicago. 6s. 
 
 Memory : What It is and How to Improve It. By DAVID KAY, Author 
 
 of 'Education and Educators.' 6s. [By permission.
 
 to autbors. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PAGF 
 
 ABOUT 
 
 . 18 Glencairn, R. J. 
 
 17 
 
 Newton, Lord 
 
 18 
 
 1 Adalet ' 
 
 18 Gordon, Sir T. E. 
 
 20 
 
 Nimrod 
 
 23 
 
 Adams, E. Davenport 
 Adderley, Hon. and Rev. J 
 Alexander, W. Gordon 
 
 29 Goschen, Rt. Hon. G. J. 
 3, 18 Graham, W. 
 13 Great Public Schools - 
 
 - 16 
 - 26 
 25 
 
 Odysseus 
 Oman, C. "4, 15, 
 
 
 IS 
 16 
 
 Ames, Ernest 
 A Moral Alphabet _ 
 
 25 
 25 
 
 Grey, Earl 
 Grey, H. M. - 
 
 '3 
 
 20 
 
 Onyx 
 Oxenden, Maud 
 
 'S 
 
 in 
 
 Andersen, Hans Christian 
 Arnold- Forster, H. O. 
 Arnold, Thomas 
 Ashbee, C. R. - 
 Bagot, Mrs. C. 
 
 28 
 - 26 
 '3 
 -8,9 
 i 
 
 Hall, Bradnock 
 Halliday, G. - 
 Hare, Augustus J. C. 
 Harrison, Frederic 
 Harrison, S. Frances - 
 
 19, 20 
 - 27 
 
 - 16 
 - 19 
 
 Paget, Charles E. 
 Pasley, Sir T. S. 
 Peel, Hon. S. - 
 Pearson, Karl 
 Pembrey, M. S. 
 
 
 Bagot, Dosia - 
 Bagot, R. 
 Bell, C. N. - 
 Bell, Mrs. Hugh - 7, 
 Bell, Napier - 
 Belloc, Hilaire 
 
 20 
 7,18 
 - 20 
 16, 25 
 - 20 
 '5 
 
 Harrow School 
 Hartshorne, Albert 
 Herschell, Lady 
 Hervey, M. H. 
 Hickman, Capt. W. T. 
 Hill, Leonard - 
 
 25 
 
 25 
 25 
 - 28 
 
 - 26 
 
 Percy, Earl 
 Perry, Prof. John 
 Phillips, C. D. F. - 
 Pickering, Sidney 
 Pigou, Very Rev. Francis 
 Pike, Warburton 
 
 
 Benson, A. C. 
 Berkeley, Hon. Grantley F. 
 Beynon, W. G. L. 
 Bottome, Margaret - 
 Boyle, Very Rev. G. D. 
 Bradley, Cuthbert 
 Browne, E. M. Balfour 
 
 15 
 
 - 22 
 20 
 2O 
 
 13 
 - 2O 
 
 7 
 
 Hoff, Dr. J. H. Van 'T. 
 Hofmeyr, A. - 
 Hole, Dean 13, 
 Holland, Bernard 4, 
 Holland, Hon. Lionel 
 Holland, Maud 
 Holland, Rev. F. J. 
 
 27 
 20 
 15, 24 
 '3. 17 
 - 26 
 
 T 7 
 
 Pilkington, E. M. S. 
 Pinsent, Ellen F. 
 Podmore, C. T. 
 Pollok, Lieut. -Colonel 
 Portal, Sir Gerald H. 
 Powles, L. D. - - 25, 
 Price, L. L. - 
 
 1 
 
 :; 
 
 i 
 
 16 
 
 Brown, Edward 
 
 23 
 
 Holmes, Thomas 
 
 T 3 
 
 Pritchett, R. T. 
 
 21 
 
 Bull, H. J. - 
 Bunsen, Marie von 
 Burneside, Margaret 
 Burton, Capt. R. G. - 
 Butler, A. J. - 
 
 - 20 
 
 - 18 
 - 18 
 
 - 20 
 
 - 16 
 
 Holt, Ardern - 
 Hopkinson, A. M. 
 Hughes, J. L. - 
 Hutchinson. Horace G. 
 Hutchison, Robert 
 
 24 
 - 29 
 - 16 
 
 19 
 - 26 
 
 Quiller Couch, A. T. 
 
 Radford, Mrs. C. H. - 
 Raleigh, Walter 
 Ransome, Cyril 
 
 17* 
 
 '9 
 
 17 
 16 
 
 Caunt, G. W. - 
 Chapman, Abel 
 Charleton, R. J. 
 
 26 
 20 
 18 
 
 Indian Office Publications 
 International Education 
 
 - 28 
 
 Raymond, Evelyn 
 Reed, E. T. - 
 Reid, Arnot 
 
 29 
 
 2. 
 
 Cherbuliez, Victor 
 
 18 
 
 Series 
 
 3, 3i 
 
 Rendel, Hon. Daphne 
 
 1u 
 
 Chester, Norley 
 Children's Favourite Series 
 Children's Hour Series 
 
 - 18 
 - 29 
 
 29 
 
 Johnston, Annie Fellows 
 Jowett, Benjamin 
 
 - 29 
 M 
 
 Reynolds, Rev. S. H. 
 Richmond, Rev. Wilfrid 
 Roberts, Morley 
 
 17 
 
 27 
 19 
 
 Cholmondeley, Mary 
 Clough, Blanche A. - 
 Clouston, J. Storer 
 
 7, 18 
 
 '3 
 
 - 18 
 
 Keith, A. 
 Kelsey, W. R. 
 Kenney-Herbert 
 
 - 6 
 - 6 
 - 24 
 
 Rochefort, Henri 
 Rodd, Sir Rennel 
 Roebuck, Rt. Hon. J. A. 
 
 
 Clouston, K. Warren - 
 
 oe 
 
 Knox, E. B. - 
 
 2 
 
 Roy, Gordon - 
 
 
 Clowes, W. Laird 
 
 *j 
 29 
 
 Knox, T. W. - 
 
 - 29 
 
 Russell, W. Clark 
 
 
 Coleridge, M. E. 
 Collingwood, W. G. 
 
 7, 18 
 6, 18 
 
 Knutsford, Lady 
 Kuhns, L. Oscar 
 
 Mi '9 
 16 
 
 Scrope, William 
 Seton, Christine 
 
 . 
 
 Collins, T. Churton - 
 
 '7 
 
 Lake, Katharine 
 
 2 
 
 Shaw, C. Weeks 
 
 
 Colvile, Sir H. E. - 
 
 - 20 
 
 Lang, Andrew - 
 
 17 
 
 Shorland, F. W. 
 
 
 Cook, E. T. 
 
 4 
 
 Le Fanu, W. R. 
 
 - 14 
 
 Sidgwick, Mrs. A. 
 
 
 Cosmopolite - 
 
 22 
 
 Legh, M. H. Cornwall 
 
 28, 29 
 
 Slatin Pasha, Sir Rudolf 
 
 
 Cunningham, J. G 
 
 23 
 
 Lehfeldt, Dr. R. A. - 
 
 - 26 
 
 Smith, A. Donaldson 
 
 
 Dalby, W. E. - 
 
 - 6 
 
 Light hall, W. D. 
 
 !9 
 
 Smith, H. H. 
 
 
 De Vere, Aubrey 
 Dunmore, Earl of 
 
 13 
 
 18 
 
 Local Series 
 Lockwood, Sir Frank - 
 
 - 29 
 26 
 
 Smith, Thomas 
 Spinner, Alice - 
 
 
 Dymond, T. S. 
 
 - 27 
 
 Louis, H. 
 
 - 26 
 
 Sportsman Library 
 
 
 Edwards, R. W. K. - 
 Ellacombe, H. N. - 
 Elliot, W. G. - 
 
 18 
 16, 23 
 
 27 
 
 Macdonald, Lt.-Col. J. R 
 Macdonald, Sir John A. 
 
 21 
 
 M 
 
 Stevenson, R. L. 
 Stone, S. J. 
 Streamer, Col. D. 
 
 
 Essex House Publications 
 
 8-,i 
 
 Mathews, Margaret H. 
 
 - 28 
 
 Tatham, H. F. W. - 
 
 
 
 Falkner, J. Meade - 
 Fawcett, E. D. 
 
 18 
 29 
 
 Matthews, C. G. 
 Maud, Constance 
 
 - 6 
 17, 28 
 
 Taylor, Isaac - 
 Thompson, Col. R. F. Meysey 
 
 2 ( 
 
 Fell, Rev. J. . 
 
 Fenton, Mrs. - 
 Field, Mrs. E. M. - 
 Finsen, N. R. - 
 
 25 
 
 : 1 
 
 Maxse, L. J. - 
 Maxwell, Sir Herbert- 
 McNab, Frances 
 McNulty, Edward 
 
 - 27 
 
 22, 24 
 21 
 - 19 
 
 Thornton, Col. T. 
 Tollemacne, Hon. L. A. 
 Turkey in Europe 
 Twining, Louisa 
 
 I 
 
 Fisher, J. R. - 
 
 '5 
 
 Merivale, J. A. 
 
 " M 
 
 Wallace, Helen 
 
 
 Fleming, Canon 
 
 - 16 
 
 Milner, Lord - 
 
 10, 15 
 
 Warkworth, Lord 
 
 
 Ford, Isabella O. 
 
 7, 19 
 
 Montresor, F. F. 
 
 - 19 
 
 White, C. N. - 
 
 
 Frederiksen, N. C. - 
 
 5 
 
 Morgan, C. Lloyd 
 
 26, 29 
 
 Wilbraham, Estra 
 
 
 Freshfield, Douglas W. 
 
 20 
 
 Morley, Henry 
 
 M 
 
 Williams, N. Wynne 
 
 1 
 
 Frye, Alexis - 
 
 - 29 
 
 Mott, E. S. 
 
 - 14 
 
 Wilson, Ernest 
 
 * 
 
 Gardner, Alice 
 
 5i 29 
 
 Mudge, G. P. - 
 
 - 6 
 
 Wilson, Theodora 
 
 
 Gaunt, Mary - 
 
 19 
 
 Munroe, Kirk 
 
 28 
 
 Wingate, Sir F. R. - 
 
 2. 
 
 George, Florence A. 
 
 5 
 
 Nash, Henry 
 
 - 28 
 
 Yale Bicentennial Publica- 
 
 
 Gleichen, Count 
 
 20 
 
 National Review 
 
 - 27 
 
 tions - - n, 
 
 I'.
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 NON-RENEWABLE 
 
 DUE 2 WKS FROM 
 
 DATE RECEIVED 
 
 UCLA ACCESS Si RVICES 
 
 Inter library Loan 
 
 1 1 630 University Research Library 
 
 Bjx951575 
 
 Los Angeles, CA S 
 
 C095-1575
 
 PR 
 
 6005 
 
 C6?7f 
 
 
 A 000 498 722 8