1 
 
 
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 THE STROLLERS
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 By FREDERIC S. ISHAM 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 HARRISON FISHER 
 
 INDIANAPOLIS 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 I 
 
 Copyright 1902 
 The Bowen-Merrill Company 
 
 March 
 
 HktSS OF 
 
 BRAUNWORTH A CO. 
 
 BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
 
 BROOKLYN. N. Y.
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 2227857
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PEOLOGDB 
 
 THE MARQUIS' HONEYMOON 
 I 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 ON THE CIRCUIT IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 11 
 
 II A NEW ARRIVAL 82 
 
 III AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE VENTURE 47 
 
 IV GREEN GROW THE RUSHES, O! 58 
 V A CONFERENCE IN THE KITCHEN 71 
 
 VI THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHARIOT 79 
 
 VII SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 86 
 
 VIII FLIPPING THE SHILLING 98 
 
 IX SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 110 
 
 X SEALING THE COMPACT 121 
 
 XI THE QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 135 
 
 XII AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 143
 
 CONTENTS ' 
 
 CHAPTEE PAGE 
 
 XIII THE COMING OF LITTLE THUNDER 155 
 
 XIV THE ATTACK ON THE MANOR 171 
 XV A HASTY EXIT 177 
 
 XVI THE COUNCIL AT THE TOWN PUMP 189 
 
 XVII THE HAND FERRY 202 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 DESTINY AND THE MARIONETTE 
 
 I THE FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 213 
 
 II ONLY AN INCIDENT 226 
 
 III AT THE RACES 234 
 
 IV LEAR AND JULIET 252 
 V THE MEETING BENEATH THE OAKS 268 
 
 VI A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 277 
 
 VII A CYNICAL BARD 289 
 
 VIII THE SWEETEST THING IN NATURE 310 
 
 IX A DEBUT IN THE CRESCENT CITY 323 
 
 X LAUGHTER AND TEARS 335 
 
 XI THE PASSING OF A FINE GENTLEMAN 344 
 
 XII IN THE OLD CEMETERY 362 
 
 XIII AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 872
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK III 
 
 THE FINAL CUE 
 
 CHAPTEK PAGE 
 
 I OVERLOOKING THE COURT- YARD 887 
 
 II ONLY A SHADOW 399 
 
 III FROM GARRET TO GARDEN 412 
 
 IV THE BEST OF LIFE 420 
 V THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 428 
 
 VI THE COUNCIL OF WAR 436 
 
 VII A MEETING ON THE MOUNT 450 
 
 VIII A FAIR PENITENT 464 
 
 IX COMUS' MISTICK WITCHERIES 476 
 
 X CONSTANCE AND THE SOLDIER 488
 
 PROLOGUE
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 THE MARQUIS' HONEYMOON 
 
 Old Drury Lane rang with applause for the per- 
 formance of Madame Carew. Of British-French par- 
 entage, she was a recognized peer among the favorite 
 actresses on the English stage and a woman whose 
 attractions of face and manner were of a high order. 
 She came naturally by her talents, being a descendant 
 of Madame de Panilnac, famed as an actress, con- 
 fidante of Louise-Benedicte, Duchess du Maine, who 
 originated the celebrated nuits blanches at Sceaux 
 during the close of Louis XIV's reign. 
 
 The bill for the evening under consideration was 
 "Adrienne Lecouvreur" and in no part had the actress 
 been more natural and effective. Her triumph was 
 secure, for as the prologue says : 
 
 "Your judgment given your sentence must remain; 
 No writ of error lies to Drury Lane." 
 
 3
 
 4 THE STROLLERS 
 
 She was the talk of the day and her praises or defi- 
 ciencies were discussed by the scandal-carriers of the 
 town; the worn-out dowagers, the superannuated 
 maidens, the "tabernacle gallants," the male members 
 of the tea tables and all the coxcombs, sparks and 
 beaux who haunted the stage door. 
 
 The player had every stimulus to appear at her best 
 on this particular evening, for the audience, frivolous, 
 volatile, taking its character from the loose, weak 
 king, was unusually complaisant through the presence 
 of the first gentleman of Europe. As the last of the 
 Georges declared himself in good-humor, so every 
 toady grinned and every courtly flunkey swore in the 
 Billingsgate of that profanely eloquent period that the 
 actress was a "monstrous fine woman." 
 
 With rare discretion and spirit had the latter played, 
 a queenly figure in that ribald, gross gathering. She 
 had reached the scene where the actress turns upon 
 her tormentors, those noble ladies of rank and posi- 
 tion, and launches the curse of a soul lashed beyond 
 endurance. Sweeping forward to confront her adver- 
 saries, about to face them, her troubled glance chanced 
 to fall into one of the side boxes where were seated a 
 certain foreign marquis, somewhat notorious, and a 
 lady of insolent, patrician bearing. The anticipated 
 action was arrested, for at sight of the nobleman and 
 his companion, Adrienne swayed slightly, as though 
 moved by a new overpowering emotion. Only for a 
 moment she hesitated, then fixing her blazing eyes 
 upon the two and lifting her arm threateningly, the
 
 PROLOGUE 5 
 
 bitter words flowed from her lips with an earnestness 
 that thrilled the audience. A pallor overspread the 
 face of the marquis, while the lady drew back behind 
 the draperies, almost as if in fear. At the conclusion 
 of that effort the walls echoed with plaudits ; the actress 
 stood as in a trance; her face was pale, her figure 
 seemed changed to stone and the light went out of her 
 eyes. 
 
 f She fainted and fell and the curtain- descended 
 quickly. The woman by the marquis' side, who had 
 trembled at first, now forced a laugh, as she said: 
 "The trollop can curse ! Let us go." Together they 
 left the bo'x, the marquis regretting the temerity which 
 had led him to bring his companion to the theater. 
 He, too, was secretly unnerved, and, when they en- 
 tered the carriage, they seated themselves as far apart 
 as possible, the marquis detesting the lady and she for 
 her part disliking him just as cordially. 
 
 Next day the critics referred to the scene with glow- 
 ing words, while in the coffee houses they discussed 
 the proposition : Should an actress feel the emotion 
 she portrays ? With a cynical smile the marquis read 
 the different accounts of the performance, when he 
 and his companion found themselves in the old stage 
 coach en route for Brighton. He felt no regret for 
 his action had not the Prince of Wales taught the 
 gentlemen of his kingdom that it was fashionable to 
 desert actresses ? Had he not left the "divine Perdita'" 
 to languish, after snubbing her right royally in Hyde 
 Park?
 
 6 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Disdainfully the lady in the coach regarded her hus- 
 band and it was evident that the ties of affection which 
 bound these two travelers together on life's road were 
 neither strong nor enduring. Yet they were traveling 
 together ; their way was the same ; their destination 
 but that belongs to the future. The marquis had been 
 relieved in his mind after a consultation with a dis- 
 tinguished barrister, and, moreover, was pleased at 
 the prospect of leaving this island of fogs for the sunny 
 shores of France. The times were exciting ; the coun- 
 try, on the verge of proposed electoral reforms. But 
 in France the new social system had sprung into ex- 
 istence and lamentable fact ! duty towards one's 
 country had assumed an empire superior to ancient 
 devotion toward kings. 
 
 To stem this tide and attach himself closely to King 
 Charles X was the marquis' ambitious purpose. For 
 this he had espoused a party in marrying a relative of 
 the royal princess, thus enhancing the ties that bound 
 him to the throne, and throwing to the winds his Per- 
 dita whose charms had once held him in folly's chains. 
 Did he regret the step ? Has ravening aspiration any 
 compunction ; any contrite visitings of nature ? What 
 did the player expect; that he would violate preced- 
 ence; overthrow the fashionable maxims of good 
 George IV ; become a slave to a tragi-comic performer 
 and cast his high destiny to the winds? Had ever a 
 gentleman entertained such a project? Vows? Wit- 
 ness the agreeable perjuries of lovers; the pleasing 
 pastime of fond hearts ! Every titled rascallion lied
 
 PROLOGUE 7 
 
 to his mistress; every noble blackguard professed to 
 be a Darby for constancy and was a Jonathan Wild by 
 instinct. If her ideals were raised so high, the worse 
 for her ; if a farce of a ceremony was regarded as tying 
 an indissoluble knot let her take example by the lady 
 who thought herself the king's spouse; pish! there 
 are ceremonies and ceremonies, and wives and wives ; 
 those of the hedge-concealed cottage and those of pal- 
 ace and chateau ! 
 
 'As the coach sped over the road, the lady by his 
 side smiled disagreeably from time to time, and my 
 lord, when he became aware of it, winced beneath her 
 glance. Had she fathomed his secret ? Else why that 
 eminently superior air; that manner which said as 
 plainly as spoken words : "Now I have learned what 
 to do if he should play the tyrant. Now I see a way 
 to liberty, equality, fraternity!" And beneath the 
 baneful gleam of that look of enlightenment, my lord 
 cursed under his breath roundly. The only impertur- 
 bable person of the party was Francois, the marquis' 
 valet, whose impassive countenance was that of a stoic, 
 apathetic to the foibles of his betters ; a philosopher of 
 the wardrobe, to whom a wig awry or a loosened 
 buckle seemed of more moment than the derangement 
 of the marriage tie or the disorder of conjugal affec- 
 tion. 
 
 Not long thereafter the player left for America, 
 where she procured an engagement in New York 
 City, and, so far as London was concerned, she might 
 have found rest and retiredness in the waters of Lethe.
 
 8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Of her reception in the old New York Theater; the 
 verdict of the phalanx of critics assembled in the 
 Shakespeare box which, according to tradition, held 
 more than two hundred souls ; the gossip over confec- 
 tions or tea in the coffee room of the theater it is 
 unnecessary to dwell upon. But had not the player 
 become a voluntary exile; had she not foregone her 
 former life for the new; Had she not found that joy 
 sometimes begets the bitterest grief, there would have 
 been no occasion for this chronicle.
 
 BOOK I 
 
 ON THE CIRCUIT IN THE 
 WILDERNESS
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 
 
 * 
 
 I It was a drizzly day in the Shadengo Valley. A 
 
 mist had settled down upon the old inn; lost to view 
 was the landscape with its varied foliage. Only 
 the immediate foreground was visible to a team- 
 ster who came down the road the trees with dripping 
 branches, and the inn from the eaves of which water 
 fell to the ground with depressing monotony ; the well 
 with its pail for watering the horses and the log trough 
 in whose limpid waters a number of speckled trout 
 were swimming. The driver drew up his horses be- 
 fore the Travelers' Friend as the place was named 
 and called out imperatively: 
 
 "Hullo there !" 
 
 No one appearing, he leaned over and impatiently 
 rapped on the door with the heavy oak butt-end of 
 his whip. Still there was no response. Again he 
 knocked, this time louder than before, and was prepar- 
 ing for an even more vigorous assault upon the unhos- 
 pitable entrance, when the door swung back and the 
 landlord, a tall, gaunt individual, confronted the driver.
 
 12 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Well, I heard ye," he said testily. "Are ye com- 
 ing in or shall I bring it out?" 
 
 "Bring it out," was the gruff response of the dis- 
 gruntled teamster. 
 
 Shortly afterwards mine host reappeared with a 
 tankard of generous dimensions. The teamster raised 
 it ; slowly drained it to the bottom ; dropped a coin into 
 the landlord's hand ; cracked his whip in a lively man- 
 ner and moved on. The steam from his horses min- 
 gled with the mist and he was soon swallowed up, 
 although the cheerful snap of his whip could yet be 
 heard. Then that became inaudible and the boniface 
 who had stood for a brief space in the doorway, empty 
 tankard in hand, re-entered the house satisfied that no 
 more transient patronage would be forthcoming at 
 present. 
 
 Going through an outer room, called by courtesy a 
 parlor, the landlord passed into an apartment which 
 served as dining-room, sitting-room and bar. Here 
 the glow of a wood fire from the well swept hearth 
 and the aspect of the varied assortment of bottles, 
 glasses and tankards, gave more proof of the fit- 
 ness of the appellation on the creaking sign of the 
 road-house than appeared from a superficial survey of 
 its exterior and far from neat stable yard, or from that 
 chilly, forbidding room, so common especially in Amer- 
 ican residences in those days, the parlor. Any doubt 
 regarding the contents of the hospitable looking bot- 
 tles was dispelled by such prominent inscriptions in 
 gilt letters as "Whisky," "Brandy" and "Rum." To
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 13 
 
 add to the effect, between the decanters were ranged 
 glass jars of striped peppermint and winter-green 
 candies, while a few lemons suggested pleasing 
 possibilities of a hot sling, spiced rum flip or Tom 
 and Jerry. The ceiling of this dining-room was black- 
 ened somewhat and the huge beams overhead gave an 
 idea of the substantial character of the construction 
 of the place. That fuel was plentiful, appeared in 
 evidence in the open fireplace where were burning 
 two great logs, while piled up against the wall were 
 many other good-sized sections of hickory. 
 
 Seated at a respectful distance from this cheerful 
 conflagration was a young man of perhaps five-and- 
 twenty, whose travel-stained attire indicated he had 
 but recently been on the road. Upon a chair near by 
 were a riding-whip and hat, the latter spotted with 
 mud and testifying to the rough character of the road 
 over which he had come. He held a short pipe to his 
 lips and blew clouds of smoke toward the fire, while 
 upon a table, within arm's length, rested a glass of 
 some hot mixture. But in spite of his comfortable 
 surroundings, the expression of his face was not that 
 of a person in harmony with the Johnsonian conclu- 
 sion, "A chair in an inn is a throne of felicity." His 
 countenance, well bronzed as a weather-tried troop- 
 er's, was harsh, gloomy, almost morose; not an un- 
 handsome face, but set in such a severe cast the ob- 
 server involuntarily wondered what experience had 
 indited that scroll. Tall, large of limb, muscular, as 
 was apparent even in a restful pose, he looked an
 
 14 THE STROLLERS 
 
 athlete of the most approved type, active and power- 
 ful. 
 
 Mine host, having found his guest taciturn, had 
 himself become genial, and now remarked as he en- 
 tered: "How do you find the punch? Is it to your 
 liking?" 
 
 "Yes," shortly answered the stranger, without rais- 
 ing his eyes from a moody regard of the fire. 
 
 "You're from France, I guess?" continued the land- 
 lord, as he seated himself on the opposite side of the 
 fireplace. "Been here long? Where you going?" 
 Without waiting for an answer to his first question he 
 exercised his time-honored privilege of demanding any 
 and all information from wayfarers at the Travelers' 
 Friend. 
 
 "I say, where you going?" he repeated, turning over 
 a log and sending a shower of sparks up the flue. 
 
 With no change of countenance the guest silently 
 reached for his punch, swallowed a portion of it, re- 
 placed the glass on the table and resumed his smoking 
 as though oblivious of the other's presence. Momen- 
 tarily disconcerted, the landlord devoted himself once 
 more to the fire. After readjusting a trunk of old 
 hickory on the great andirons and gazing absently for 
 a moment at the huge crane supporting an iron kettle 
 of boiling water, mine host tipped back in his chair, 
 braced his feet against the wall, lighted a vile-smelling 
 pipe and again returned valiantly to the attack, re- 
 solved to learn more about his guest. 
 
 "I hear things are kind of onsettled in France?"
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 15 
 
 he observed diplomatically, emitting a cloud of smoke. 
 "I see in a Syracuse paper that Louis Philippe is no 
 longer king; that he and the queen have fled to En- 
 gland. Perhaps, now," inwardly congratulating him- 
 self on his shrewdness "you left Paris for political 
 reasons ?" 
 
 The stranger deliberately emptied his pipe and thrust 
 it into his pocket, while the landlord impatiently 
 awaited the response to his pointed query. When it 
 came, however, it was not calculated to allay the curi- 
 osity of his questioner. 
 
 "Is it your practice," said the young man coldly, in 
 slow but excellent English, "to bark continuously at 
 the heels of your guests ?" 
 
 "Oh, no offense meant ! No offense ! Hope none'll 
 be taken/' stammered the landlord. 
 
 Then he recovered himself and his dignity by draw- 
 ing forth a huge wine-colored silk handkerchief, set 
 with white polka-dots, and ostentatiously and vigor- 
 ously using it. This ear-splitting operation having 
 once more set him up in his own esteem, he resumed 
 his attentions to the stranger. 
 
 "I didn't know," he added with an outburst of hon- 
 esty, "but what you might be some nobleman in dis- 
 guise." 
 
 "A nobleman !" said the other with ill-concealed 
 contempt. "My name is Saint-Prosper; plain Ernest 
 Saint-Prosper. I was a soldier. Now I'm an adven^- 
 turer. There you have it all in a nut-shell,"
 
 16 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The inn-keeper surveyed his guest's figure with un- 
 disguised admiration. 
 
 "Well, you look like a soldier," he remarked. "You 
 are like one of those soldiers who came over from 
 France to help us in the Revolution." 
 
 This tribute being silently accepted, the landlord 
 grew voluble as his guest continued reserved. 
 
 "We have our own troubles with lords, too, right 
 here in New York State," he said confidentially. "We 
 have our land barons, descendants of the patroons and 
 holders of thousands of acres. And we have our 
 bolters, too, who are making a big stand against feu- 
 dalism/' 
 
 Thereupon he proceeded to present the subject in 
 all its details to the soldier ; how the tenants were pro- 
 testing against the enforcement of what they now 
 deemed unjust claims and were demanding the aboli- 
 tion of permanent leaseholds ; how they openly resisted 
 the collection of rents and had inaugurated an aggres- 
 sive anti-rent war against tyrannical landlordism. His 
 lengthy and rambling dissertation was finally broken in 
 upon by a rumbling on the road, as of carriage wheels 
 drawing near, and the sound of voices. The noise 
 sent the boniface to the window, and, looking out, he 
 discovered a lumbering coach, drawn by two heavy 
 horses, which came dashing up with a great semblance 
 of animation for a vehicle of its weight, followed by 
 a wagon, loaded with diversified and gaudy parapher- 
 nalia. 
 
 "Some troopers, I guess," commented the landlord
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 17 
 
 in a tone which indicated the coming of these guests 
 was not entirely welcome to him. "Yes," he added, 
 discontentedly, "they're stage-folk, sure enough." 
 
 The wagon, which contained several persons, was 
 driven into the stable yard, where it was unloaded of 
 "drops" and "wings," representing a street, a forest, a 
 prison, and so on, while the stage coach, with a rattle 
 and a jerk, and a final flourish of the driver's whip, 
 stopped at the front door. Springing to the ground, 
 the driver opened the door of the vehicle, and at the 
 same time two other men, with their heads muffled 
 against the wind and rain, leisurely descended from 
 the top. The landlord now stood at the entrance of 
 the inn, a sour expression on his face. Certainly, 
 if the travelers had expected in him the traditional 
 glowing countenance, with the apostolic injunction to 
 "use hospitality without grudging" writ upon it, they 
 were doomed to disappointment. 
 
 A rustle of skirts, and there emerged from the in- 
 terior of the coach, first, a little, dried-up old lady 
 whose feet were enclosed in prunella boots, with 
 Indian embroidered moccasins for outside protection ; 
 second, a young woman who hastily made her 
 way into the hostelry, displaying a trim pair of ankles ; 
 third, a lady resembling the second and who the 
 landlord afterwards learned was her sister; fourth, 
 a graceful girl above medium height, wearing one of 
 those provoking, quilted silk hoods of the day, with 
 cherry-colored* lining, known as "Kiss-me-if-you- 
 dare" hoods.
 
 i8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Then followed a dark melancholy individual, the 
 utility man, whose waistcoat of figured worsted was 
 much frayed and whose "tooth-pick" collar was the 
 worse for the journey. He preceded a more natty 
 person in a bottle-green, "shad-belly" coat, who strove 
 to carry himself as though he were fashionably dressed, 
 instead of wearing clothes which no longer could con- 
 ceal their shabbiness. The driver, called in theatrical 
 parlance "the old man," was a portly personage in a 
 blue coat with velvet collar and gilt buttons, a few of 
 which were missing; while the ruffles of his shirt 
 were in sad plight, for instead of protruding elegantly 
 a good three or even four inches, their glory had gone 
 and they lay ignominiously flattened upon the bosom 
 of the wearer. A white choker rivaled in hue the 
 tooth-pick collar of the melancholy individual. 
 
 The tavern's stable boy immediately began to remove 
 the trunks into the main hallway. This overgrown, 
 husky lad evidently did not share his employer's dis- 
 approval of the guests, for. he gazed in open-eyed 
 wonder at the sisters, and then, with increasing awe, 
 his glance strayed to the young girl. To his juvenile 
 imagination an actress appeared in the glamour of a 
 veritable goddess. But she had obviously that tender 
 consideration for others which belongs to humanity, 
 for she turned to the old man with an affectionate 
 smile, removing from his shoulders the wet Petersham 
 overcoat, and, placing it on a chair, regarded him with 
 a look of filial anxiety. Yet their appearance belied 
 the assumption of such relationship ; he was hearty,
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 19 
 
 florid and sturdy, of English type, while she seemed a 
 daughter of the South, a figure more fitting for groves 
 of orange and cypress, than for this rugged northern 
 wilderness. 
 
 The emotion of the stable boy as he gazed at her, and 
 the forbidding mood of the landlord were broken in 
 upon by the tiny old lady, who, in a large voice, re- 
 marked : 
 
 ,"A haven at last ! Are you the landlord ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," testily replied that person. 
 
 "I am pleased to meet you, sir," exclaimed the mel- 
 ancholy individual, as he extended a hand so cold and 
 clammy that shivers ran up and down the back of the 
 host when he took it gingerly. "We are having fine 
 tragedy weather, sir !" 
 
 "A fire at once, landlord!" commanded the would- 
 be beau. 
 
 "Refreshments will be in order!" exclaimed she of 
 the trim ankles. 
 
 "And show me the best room in the house," re- 
 marked her sister. 
 
 Mine host, bewildered by this shower of requests, 
 stared from one to the other in helpless confusion, but 
 finally collected his wits sufficiently to usher the com- 
 pany into the tap-room with : 
 
 "Here you'll find a fire, but as for the best room, 
 this gentleman" indicating the reticent guest "al- 
 ready occupies it." 
 
 The young man at the fire, thus forced prominently 
 into notice, arose slowly.
 
 20 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "You are mistaken, landlord," he said curtly, hardly 
 glancing at the players. "I no longer occupy it since 
 these ladies have come." 
 
 "Your complaisance does credit to your good nature, 
 sir," exclaimed the old man. "But we can not take 
 advantage of it." 
 
 "It is too good of you," remarked the elder sister 
 with a glance replete with more gratitude than the oc- 
 casion demanded. "Really, though, we could not think 
 of it." 
 
 "Thank you; thank you," joined in the wiry old 
 lady, bobbing up and down like a miniature figure 
 moved by the unseen hand of the showman. "Allow 
 me, sir !" And she gravely tendered him a huge 
 snuff-box of tortoise shell, which he declined ; where- 
 upon she continued: 
 
 "You do not use it? New fashions; new habits! 
 Though whether for the better is not for me to say." 
 
 She helped herself to a liberal portion and passed 
 the box to the portly old gentleman. Here the land- 
 lord, in a surly tone, told the stable boy to remove the 
 gentleman's things and show the ladies to their rooms. 
 Before going, the girl in the provoking hood now 
 unfastened, and freeing sundry rebellious brown curls 
 where the moisture yet sparkled like dew turned to 
 the old man : 
 
 "You are coming up directly? Your stock wants 
 changing, while your ruffles" laughing "are dis- 
 graceful !" 
 
 "Presently, my dear; presently!" he returned.
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 21 
 
 The members of the company mounted the broad 
 stairway, save the driver of the coach he of the dis- 
 ordered ruffles who wiped his heavy boots on a door 
 mat and made his way to the fire, where he stood in 
 English fashion with his coat-tails under his arms, 
 rubbing his hands and drying himself before the 
 flames. 
 
 "A disagreeable time of year, sir," he observed to 
 the soldier, who had returned to his seat before the 
 table. "Twice on the road we nearly broke down, and 
 once the wagon dumped our properties in the ditch. 
 Meanwhile, to make matters worse, the ladies heaped 
 reproaches upon these gray hairs. This, sir, to the 
 man who was considered one of the best whips in old 
 Devonshire county." 
 
 The other did not answer immediately, but regarded 
 the speaker with the look of one not readily disposed 
 to make acquaintances. His conclusions were appar- 
 ently satisfactory, however, for he presently vouch- 
 safed the remark : 
 
 "You are the manager, I presume ?" 
 
 "I enjoy that honor," returned the loquacious 
 stranger. "But my duties are manifold. As driver 
 of the chariot, I endure the constant apprehension of 
 wrecking my company by the wayside. As assistant 
 carpenter, when we can not find a stage it is my task 
 to erect one. As bill-poster and license-procurer, 
 treasurer and stage manager, my time is not so taken 
 up, sir, as to preclude my going on and assuming a 
 character."
 
 22 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "A life of variety," observed the young man, politely 
 if indifferently. 
 
 "Yes; full of ups and downs, as the driver of the 
 property wagon said when we entered this hilly dis- 
 trict," replied the manager, with the contentment of a 
 man who has found a snug haven after a hard ride in 
 a. comparatively unbroken country. "Affluence we 
 may know, but poverty is apt to be our companion." 
 
 To this the other deemed no response necessary and 
 a silence fell between them, broken only by the simmer- 
 ing water in the iron kettle, the sputtering of the 
 sap in the burning logs and the creaking without 
 of the long balancing pole that suspended the moss- 
 covered bucket. The wind sighed in the chimney 
 and the wooing flames sprang to meet it, while the 
 heart of the fire glowed in a mass of coals between 
 the andirons. 
 
 The old gentleman before the blaze began to outrival 
 the kettle in steaming; from his coat-tails a thin veil 
 of mist ascended, his face beaming through the va- 
 por with benign felicity. Then he turned and toasted 
 the other side and the kettle reigned supreme until he 
 thawed once more and the clouds ascended, surround- 
 ing him like Jupiter on the celestial mount. At that 
 the kettle hummed more angrily and the old gentle- 
 man's face beamed with satisfaction. 
 
 "A snug company, sir," he said, finally, glowing 
 upon the impassive face before him, "like a tight ship, 
 can weather a little bad weather. Perhaps you noticed 
 our troupe? The old lady is Mrs. Adams. She is
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 23 
 
 nearly seventy, but can dance a horn-pipe or a reel with 
 the best of them. The two sisters are Kate and Susan 
 Duran, both coquettes of the first water. Our juve- 
 nile man is a young Irishman who thinks much of his 
 dress and little of the cultivation of mind and man- 
 ners. Then," added the old man tenderly, "there is 
 my Constance." 
 
 He paused abruptly. "Landlord, a pot of ale. My 
 throat is hoarse from the mist. Fancy being for hours 
 on a road not knowing where you are ! Your good- 
 fortune, sir!" Lifting the mug. "More than once 
 we lurched like a cockle-shell." 
 
 The conversation at this point was interrupted by 
 the appearance of the juvenile man. 
 
 "Mr. Barnes, the ladies desire your company im- 
 mediately." 
 
 The manager hurriedly left the room and the new- 
 comer regarded his retiring figure with a twinkle in 
 his eye. Then he took a turn around the room in 
 stilted fashion like one who "carried about with him 
 his pits, boxes and galleries" and observed : 
 
 "Faith, Mr. Barnes' couch is not a bed of roses. 
 It is better to have the fair ones dangling, after you, 
 than to be running at their every beck and call." 
 
 Here he twisted his mustache upward. 
 
 "A woman is a strange creature," he resumed. "If 
 she calls and you come once, your legs will be busy for 
 the rest of your natural days." 
 
 He seemed about to continue his observations along 
 this philosophical line, when the manager appeared in
 
 24 THE STROLLERS 
 
 much perturbation, approaching the landlord, who, at 
 the same time, had entered the room from the kitchen. 
 
 "The ladies insist that their sheets are damp," began 
 the manager in his most plausible manner. 
 
 A dangerous light appeared in the other's eyes. 
 
 "It's the weather, you understand. Not your fault ; 
 bless you, no !" 
 
 The landlord's face became a shade less acrimo- 
 nious. 
 
 "Now, if there was a fire in the room it is sucH a 
 comfortable, cheery room " 
 
 "Sandy!" interrupted the host, calling to the long- 
 armed, red-handed stable boy, who thrust a shock of 
 hair through the kitchen door. "Build a fire up- 
 stairs." 
 
 Mr. Barnes heaved a sigh of relief and drawing a 
 chair to the blaze prepared once more to enjoy a well- 
 earned rest. 
 
 By this time the shadows had begun to lengthen in 
 the room as the first traces of early twilight filled the 
 valley. The gurgling still continued down the water 
 pipe; the old sign before the front door moaned mo- 
 notonously. An occasional gust of wind, which mys- 
 teriously penetrated the mist without sweeping it aside, 
 rattled the windows and waved wildly in mid-air a 
 venturesome rose which had clambered to the second 
 story of the old inn. The barn-yard appeared even 
 more dismal because of the coming darkness and the 
 hens presented a pathetic picture of discomfort as 
 they tucked their heads under their wet feathers for
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 25 
 
 the night, while his lordship, the rooster, was but a 
 sorry figure upon his high perch, with the moisture 
 regularly and unceasingly dripping through the roof 
 of the hen-house upon his unprotected back. 
 
 An aroma from the kitchen which penetrated the 
 room seemed especially grateful to the manager who 
 smiled with satisfaction as he conjured up visions of 
 the forthcoming repast. By his Falstaffian girth, he 
 appeared a man not averse to good living, nor one to 
 deny himself plentiful libations of American home- 
 brewed ale. 
 
 "Next to actual dining," observed this past-master 
 in the art, "are the anticipations of the table. The 
 pleasure consists in speculation regarding this or that 
 aroma, in classifying the viands and separating this 
 combination of culinary odors into courses of which 
 you will in due time partake. Alas for the poor 
 stroller when the tavern ceases to be ! Already it is 
 almost extinct on account of the Erie Canal. Only a 
 short time ago this room would have been crowded 
 with teamsters of the broad-tired Pennsylvania wagons, 
 drawn by six or eight horses." 
 
 Again the appetizing aroma from the kitchen turned 
 the current of his reflections into its original channel, 
 for he concluded with: "An excellent dinner is in 
 progress, if my diagnosis of these penetrating fra- 
 grances be correct." 
 
 And it was soon demonstrated that the manager's 
 discernment was not in error. There was not only 
 abundance but quality, and the landlord's daughter
 
 26 THE STROLLERS 
 
 waited on the guests, thereby subjecting herself to 
 the very open advances of the Celtic Adonis. The 
 large table was laden with heavy crockery, old- 
 fashioned and quaint; an enormous rotary castor oc- 
 cupied the center of the table, while the forks and 
 spoons were an unusual circumstance ! of silver. 
 
 When the company had seated themselves around the 
 board the waitress brought in a sucking pig, done to 
 a turn, well stuffed, and with an apple in its mouth. 
 The manager heaved a sigh. 
 
 "The lovely little monster," said Kate, admiringly. 
 
 "Monster!" cried Susan. "Say cherub!" 
 
 "So young and tender for such a fate!" exclaimed 
 Hawkes, the melancholy individual, with knife and 
 fork held in mid-air. 
 
 "But worthy of the bearer of the dish !" remarked 
 Adonis, so pointedly that the landlord's daughter, 
 overwhelmed with confusion, nearly dropped the plat- 
 ter, miniature porker and all. Whereupon Kate cast 
 an angry glance at the offender whom "she could not 
 abide," yet regarded in a certain proprietary way, 
 and Adonis henceforth became less open in his ad- 
 vances. 
 
 Those other aromas which the manager had mentally 
 classified took form and substance and were arranged 
 in tempting variety around .the appetizing and well- 
 browned suckling. There were boiled and baked 
 hams, speckled with cloves, plates of doughnuts and 
 pound cake, beet root and apple sauce. Before each
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 27 
 
 of the guests stood a foaming mug of home-brewed 
 ale that carried with it a palpable taste of the hops. 
 
 "There is nothing of the stage repast about this," 
 commented the manager. 
 
 To which Kate, having often partaken of the con- 
 ventional banquet of the theater, waved her hand in 
 a serio-comic manner toward the piece de resistance 
 and observed : 
 
 .."Suppose, now, by some necromancy our young and 
 tender friend here on the platter should be changed 
 to a cleverly fashioned block of wood, painted in imi- 
 tation of a roasted porker, with a wooden apple in 
 his mouth?" 
 
 The manager, poising the carving knife, replied: 
 
 "Your suggestion is startling. We will obviate the 
 possibility of any such transformation." 
 
 And he cut the "ambrosian fat and lean" with a firm 
 hand, eying the suckling steadfastly the while as if 
 to preclude any exhibition of Hindoo mysticism, while 
 the buxom lass, the daughter of the boniface, with 
 round arms bared, bore sundry other dishes from 
 place to place until the plates were heaped with an 
 assortment of viands. 
 
 "Well, my dear, how are you getting on?" said the 
 manager to the young actress, Constance, as he helped 
 himself to the crackle. "Have you everything you 
 want ?" 
 
 She nodded brightly, and the stranger who was seat- 
 ed some distance from her glanced up; his gaze
 
 28 THE STROLLERS 
 
 rested on her for a moment and then returned in cold 
 contemplation to the fare set before him. 
 
 Yet was she worthy of more than passing scrutiny. 
 The gleam of the lamp fell upon her well-turned figure 
 and the glistening of her eyes could be seen in the 
 shadow that rested on her brow beneath the crown of 
 hair. She wore a dark lavender dress, striped with 
 silk, a small "jacquette," after the style of the day, 
 the sleeves being finished with lace and the skirt full 
 and flowing. Her heavy brown tresses were arranged 
 in a coiffure in the fashion then prevailing, a portion 
 of the hair falling in curls on the neck, the remainder 
 brought forward in plaits and fastened at the top of 
 the forehead with a simple pearl ornament. 
 
 If the young girl felt any interest in the presence of 
 the taciturn guest she concealed it, scarcely looking 
 at him and joining but rarely in the conversation. 
 Susan, on the other hand, resorted to sundry coquet- 
 ries. 
 
 "I fear, sir, that you find our poor company intru- 
 sive, since we have forced you to become one of us?" 
 she said, toying with her fork, and thereby displaying 
 a white and shapely hand. 
 
 His impassive blue eyes met her sparkling ones. 
 
 "I am honored in being admitted to your fellow- 
 ship," he returned perfunctorily. 
 
 "Only poor players, sir !" exclaimed Hawkes depre- 
 catingly, with the regal gesture a stage monarch might 
 use in setting forth the perplexities of royal pre-emi- 
 nence.
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 29 
 
 "The landlord does not seem to share your opinion ?" 
 continued Susan, looking once more at the stranger. 
 
 "As a host he believes in brave deeds, not fair 
 words," said Kate, indicating the remains of the re- 
 past. 
 
 "Peace to his bones !" exclaimed the manager, ex- 
 tending a hand over the remnants of the suckling. 
 
 Here the dark-haired girl arose, the dinner being 
 concluded. There was none of his usual brusqueness 
 of manner, as the manager, leaning back in his chair 
 and taking her hand, said : 
 
 "You are going to retire, my dear? That is right. 
 We have had a hard day's traveling." 
 
 She bent her head, and her lips pressed softly the 
 old man's cheek, after which she turned from the rest 
 of the company with a grave bow. But as she passed 
 through the doorway her flowing gown caught upon 
 a nail in the wall. Pre-occupied though he seemed, 
 her low exclamation did not escape the ear of the 
 stranger, and, quitting his place, he knelt at her feet, 
 and she, with half turned head and figure gracefully 
 poised, looked down upon him. 
 
 With awkward fingers, he released the dress, and 
 she bowed her acknowledgment, which he returned 
 with formal deference. Then she passed on and he 
 raised his head, his glance following her through the 
 bleak-looking hall, up the broad, ill-lighted staircase, 
 into the mysterious shadows which prevailed above. 
 
 Shortly afterward the tired company dispersed, and 
 the soldier also sought his room. There he found
 
 30 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the landlord's daughter before him with the warming- 
 pan. She had spread open the sheets of his bed and 
 was applying the old-fashioned contrivance for the 
 prevention of rheumatism, but it was evident her mind 
 was not on this commendable housewifely task, for 
 she sighed softly and then observed : 
 
 "It must be lovely to be an actress !" 
 
 Dreamily she patted the pillows, until they were 
 round and smooth, and absently adjusted the bed, 
 until there was not a wrinkle in the snow-white coun- 
 terpane, after which, like a good private in domestic 
 service, she shouldered the warming pan with its long 
 handle, murmured "good-night" and departed, not to 
 dream of milking, churning or cheese-making, but of 
 a balcony and of taking poison in a tomb. 
 
 Absently the stranger gazed at the books on the 
 table: "Nutting's Grammar/' "Adams' Arithmetic," 
 "David's Tears" and the "New England Primer and 
 Catechism" all useful books undoubtedly, but not 
 calculated long to engross the attention of the traveler. 
 Turning from these prosaic volumes, the occupant of 
 the chamber drew aside the curtain of the window 
 and looked out. 
 
 Now the mists were swept away; the stars were 
 shining and the gurgling had grown fainter in the 
 pipes that descended from the roof to the ground. 
 Not far was the dark fringe which marked the forest 
 and the liquid note of a whippoorwill arose out of the 
 solitary depths, a melancholy tone in the stillness of 
 the night. The little owl, too, was heard, his note
 
 THE TRAVELERS' FRIEND 31 
 
 now sounding like the filing" of a saw and again chang- 
 ing in character to the tinkling of a bell. A dog 
 howled for a moment in the barn-yard, and then, ap- 
 parently satisfied with having given this evidence of 
 watchfulness, re-entered his house of one room and 
 curled himself upon the straw in his parlor, after which 
 nothing more was heard from him. 
 
 Drawing the curtains of his own couch, a large, four- 
 ppsted affair, sleep soon overpowered the stranger; 
 but sleep, broken and fitful! Nor did he dream only 
 of France and of kings running away, of American 
 land barons and of "bolters." More intrusive than 
 these, the faces of the strollers crept in and dis- 
 turbed his slumbers, not least among which were 
 the features of the dark-eyed girl whose gown had 
 caught as she passed through the doorway.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A NEW ARRIVAL 
 
 The crowing of the cock awakened the French trav- 
 eler, and, going to the window, he saw that daylight 
 had thrown its first shafts upon the unromantic barn- 
 yard scene, while in the east above the hill-tops spread 
 the early flush of morning. The watch-dog had left 
 his one-roomed cottage and was promenading before it 
 in stately fashion with all the pomp of a satisfied 
 land-holder, his great undershot jaw and the extraor- 
 dinary outward curve of his legs proclaiming an 
 untarnished pedigree. The hens were happily en- 
 gaged in scratching the earth for their breakfast ; the 
 rooster, no longer crestfallen, was strutting in the 
 sunshine, while next to the barn several grunting, 
 squealing pigs struggled for supremacy in the trough. 
 From the cow-shed came an occasional low and soon a 
 slip-shod maid, yawning mightily, appeared, pail in 
 hand, and moved across the yard to her early morning 
 task. 
 
 Descending the stairs and making his way to the 
 barn, the soldier called to Sandy, the stable boy, who 
 
 (32)
 
 ANEWARRIVAL 33 
 
 was performing his ablutions by passing wet fingers 
 through a shock of red hair, to saddle his horse. The 
 sleepy lad led forth a large but shapely animal, and 
 soon the stranger was galloping across the Country, 
 away from the village, now down a gentle declivity, 
 with the virgin forest on either side, then through a 
 tract of land where was apparent the husbandry of 
 the people. 
 
 , After a brisk pace for some miles, he reined in 
 his horse, and, leisurely riding in a circuit, returned 
 on the road that crossed the farming country back of 
 the tavern. Around him lay fields of rye and buck- 
 wheat sweet with the odor of the bee-hive ; Indian corn, 
 whose silken tassels waved as high as those of Fred- 
 erick's grenadiers', and yellow pumpkins nestling to 
 the ground like gluttons that had partaken too abun- 
 dantly of mother earth's nourishment. Intermingling 
 with these great oblong and ovoid gourds, squashes, 
 shaped like turbans and many-cornered hats, appeared 
 in fantastic profusion. 
 
 The rider was rapidly approaching the inn, when a 
 sudden turn in the highway, as the road swept around 
 a wind-break of willows, brought him upon a young 
 woman who was walking slowly in the same direction. 
 So fast was the pace of his horse, and so unexpected 
 the meeting, she was almost under the trampling feet 
 before he saw her. Taken by surprise, she stood as if 
 transfixed, when, with a quick, decisive effort, the 
 rider swerved his animal, and, of necessity, rode full 
 tilt at the fence and willows. She felt the rush of
 
 34 THE STROLLERS 
 
 air ; saw the powerful animal lift itself, clear the rail- 
 fence and crash through the bulwark of branches. She 
 gazed at the wind-break; a little to the right, or the 
 left, where the heavy boughs were thickly interlaced, 
 and the rider's expedient had proved serious for him- 
 self, but chance he had no time for choice had di- 
 rected him to a vulnerable point of leaves and twigs. 
 Before she had fairly recovered herself he reappeared 
 at an opening on the other side of the willow-screen, 
 and, after removing a number of rails, led his horse 
 back to the road. 
 
 With quivering nostrils, the animal appeared pos- 
 sessed of unquenchable spirit, but his master's bearing 
 was less assured as he approached, with an expression 
 of mingled anxiety and concern on his face, the young 
 girl whom the manager had addressed as Constance. 
 
 "I beg your pardon for having alarmed you !" he 
 said. "It was careless, inexcusable !" 
 
 "It was a little startling," she admitted, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 "Only a little !" he broke in gravely. "If I had not 
 seen you just when I did " 
 
 "You would not have turned your horse at such 
 a risk to yourself !" she added. 
 
 "Risk to myself ! From what ?" A whimsical light 
 encroached on the set look in his blue eyes. "Jump- 
 ing a rail fence ? But you have not yet said you have 
 pardoned me?" 
 
 The smile brightened. "Oh, I think you deserve 
 that."
 
 A NEW ARRIVAL 35 
 
 "I am not so sure,',' he returned, glancing down at 
 her. 
 
 Slanting between the lower branches of the trees 
 the sunshine touched the young girl's hair in flickering 
 spots and crept down her dress like caressing hands 
 of light, until her figure, passing into a solid shadow, 
 left these glimmerings prone upon the dusty road 
 behind her. The "brides," or strings of her little 
 muslin cap, flaunted in the breeze and a shawl of China 
 crape fluttered from her shoulders. So much of her 
 dusky hair as defied concealment contrasted strongly 
 with the calm translucent pallor of her face. The 
 eyes, alone, belittled the tranquillity of countenance; 
 against the rare repose of features, they were the 
 more eloquent, shining beneath brows, delicately 
 defined but strongly marked, and shaded by long up- 
 turned lashes, deep in tone as a sloe. 
 
 "You are an early riser," he resumed. 
 
 "Not always," she replied. "But after yesterday it 
 seemed so bright outdoors and the country so lovely !" 
 
 His gaze, following hers, traversed one of the hol- 
 lows. Below yet rested deep shadows, but upon the 
 hillside a glory celestial enlivened and animated the 
 surrounding scene. Scattered houses, constituting the 
 little hamlet, lay in the partial shade of the swelling 
 land, the smoke, with its odor of burning pine, rising 
 lazily on the languid air. In the neighboring field a 
 farm hand was breaking up the ground with an old- 
 fashioned, pug-nosed "dirt-rooter;" soil as rich as 
 that of Egypt, or the land, Gerar, where Isaac reaped
 
 36 THE STROLLERS 
 
 an hundred fold and every Israelite sat under the 
 shadow of his own vine. 
 
 Pausing, the husbandman leaned on the handle of 
 his plow and deliberately surveyed the couple on 
 the road. 'Having at the same time satisfied his 
 curiosity and rested his arms, he grasped the handles 
 once more and the horses pulled and tugged at the 
 primitive implement. . 
 
 While the soldier and the young girl were thus 
 occupied in surveying the valley and the adjacent 
 mounds and hummocks, the horse, considering doubt- 
 lessly that there had been enough inaction, tapped the 
 ground with rebellious energy and tossed his head 
 in mutiny against such procrastination. 
 
 "Your horse wants to go on," she said, observing 
 this equine by-play. 
 
 "He usually does," replied the rider. "Perhaps, 
 though, I am interrupting you ? I see you have a play 
 in your hand." 
 
 "I was looking over a part but I know it very 
 well," she added, moving slowly from the border of 
 willows. Leading his horse, he followed. 
 
 His features, stern and obdurate in repose, relaxed 
 in severity, while the deep-set blue eyes grew less 
 searching and guarded. This alleviation became him 
 well, a tide of youth softening his expression as a wave 
 smoothes the sands. 
 
 "What is the part?" 
 
 "Juliana, in 'The Honeymoon' ! It is one of our 
 stock pieces."
 
 ANEWARRIVAL 37 
 
 "And you like it?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." Lingering where a bit of sward was set 
 with field flowers. 
 
 "And who plays the duke?" he continued. 
 
 "Mr. O'Flariaty," she answered, a suggestion of 
 amusement in her glance. Beneath the shading of 
 straight, black brows, her eyes were deceptively dark, 
 until scrutinized closely, they resolved themselves into 
 a^ clear gray. 
 
 "Ah," he said, recalling Adonis , O'Flariaty's, ap- 
 pearance, and, as he spoke, a smile of singular sweet- 
 ness lightened his face. "A Spanish grandee with 
 a touch of the brogue ! But I must not decry your no- 
 ble lord !" he added. 
 
 "No lord of mine!" she replied gaily. "My lord 
 must have a velvet robe, not frayed, and a sword not 
 tin, and its most sanguinary purpose must not be to 
 get between his legs and trip him up! Of course, 
 when we act in barns " 
 
 "In barns!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, when we can find them to act in !" 
 
 She glanced at him half -mockingly. 
 
 "I suppose you think of a barn as only a place for a 
 horse." 
 
 The sound of carriage wheels interrupted his re- 
 ply, and, looking in the direction from whence 
 it came, they observed a coach doubling the curve 
 before the willows and approaching at a rapid pace. 
 It was a handsome and imposing equipage, with dark
 
 38 THE STROLLERS 
 
 crimson body and wheels, preserving much of the 
 grace of ancient outline with the utility of modern 
 springs. 
 
 As they drew aside to permit it to pass the features 
 of its occupant were seen, who, perceiving the young 
 girl on the road the shawl, half-fallen from her shoul- 
 der revealing the plastic grace of an erect figure 
 gazed at her with surprise, then thrust his head from 
 the window and bowed with smiling, if somewhat 
 exaggerated, politeness. The next moment carriage 
 and traveler vanished down the road in a cloud of 
 dust, but an alert observer might have noticed an eye 
 at the rear port-hole, as though the person within was 
 supplementing his brief observation from the side 
 with a longer, if diminishing, view from behind. 
 
 The countenance of the young girl's companion 
 retrograded from its new-found favor to a more inex- 
 orable cast. 
 
 "A friend of yours ?" he said, briefly. 
 
 "I never saw him before," she answered with flash- 
 ing eyes. "Perhaps he is the lord of the manor and 
 thought I was one of his subjects." 
 
 "There are lords in this country, then?" 
 
 "Lords or patroons, they are called," she replied, her 
 face still flushed. 
 
 At this moment, across the meadows, beyond the 
 fence of stumps poor remains of primeval monarchs ! 
 a woman appeared at the back door of the inn with 
 a tin horn upon which she blew vigorously, the harsh 
 blasts echoing over hill and valley. The startled swal-
 
 ANEWARRIVAL 39 
 
 lows and martins arose from the eaves and fluttered 
 above the roof. The farm hand at the plow released 
 the handle, and the slip-shod maid appeared in the 
 door of the cow-shed, spry and nimble enough at 
 meal time. 
 
 From the window of her room Susan saw them re- 
 turning and looked surprised as well as a bit annoyed. 
 Truth to tell, Mistress Susan, with her capacity for 
 efdmiring and being admired, had conceived a momen- 
 tary interest in the stranger, a fancy as light as it was 
 ephemeral. That touch of melancholy when his face 
 was in repose inspired a transitory desire for investi- 
 gation in this past-mistress of emotional analysis. But 
 the arrival of the coach which had passed the couple 
 soon diverted Susan's thoughts to a new channel. 
 
 The equipage drew up, and a young man, dressed 
 in a style novel in that locality, sprang out. He wore 
 a silk hat with scarcely any brim, trousers extremely 
 wide at the ankle, a waist-coat of the dimensions of 
 1745, and large watch ribbons, sustaining ponderous 
 bunches of seals. 
 
 The gallant fop touched the narrow brim of his hat 
 to Kate, who was peeping from one window, and 
 waved a kiss to Susan, who was surreptitiously glanc- 
 ing from another, whereupon both being detected, 
 drew back hastily. Overwhelmed by the appearance 
 of. a guest of such manifest distinction, the landlord 
 bowed obsequiously as the other entered the tavern 
 with a supercilious nod. 
 
 To Mistress Susan this incident was exciting while
 
 40 THE STROLLERS 
 
 it lasted, but when the dandy had disappeared her at- 
 tention was again attracted to Constance and Saint- 
 Prosper, who slowly approached. He paused with his 
 horse before the front door and she stood a moment 
 near the little porch, on either side of which grew 
 sweet-williams, four-o'clocks and larkspur. But the 
 few conventional words were scanty crumbs for the 
 fair eavesdropper above, the young girl soon entering 
 the house and the soldier leading his horse in the di- 
 rection of the stable. As the latter disappeared around 
 the corner of the tavern, Susan left the window and 
 turned to the mirror. 
 
 "La !" she said, holding a mass of blond hair in one 
 hand and deftly coiling it upon her little head, "I 
 believe she got up early to meet him." But Kate only 
 yawned lazily. 
 
 Retracing his steps from the barn, the soldier 
 crossed the back-yard, where already on the clothes' 
 line evidences of early matutinal industry, a pair of blue 
 over-alls, with sundry white and red stockings, were 
 dancing in the breeze. First the over-alls performed 
 wildly, then the white stockings responded with vim, 
 while the red ones outdid themselves by their shocking 
 abandonment, vaunting skyward as though impelled 
 by the phantom limbs of some Parisian danseuse. 
 
 Making his way by this dizzy 'saturnalia and avoid- 
 ing the pranks of animated hosiery and the more pon- 
 derous frolics of over-alls, sheets and tablecloths, Saint- 
 Prosper entered the kitchen. Here the farm hand 
 and maid of all work were eating, and the landlord's
 
 41 
 
 rotund and energetic wife was bustling before the 
 fireplace. An old iron crane, with various sized pot- 
 hooks and links of chain, swung from the jambs at 
 the will of the housewife. Boneset, wormwood and 
 catnip had their places on the wall, together with ears 
 of corn and strings of dried apples. 
 
 Bustling and active, with arms bared to the elbow 
 and white with flour, the spouse of mine host realized 
 the scriptural injunction : "She looketh well to the 
 ways of her household." Deftly she spread the dough 
 in the baking pan ; smoothly leveled it with her palm ; 
 with nice mathematical precision distributed bits of 
 apple on top in parallel rows ; lightly sprinkled it 
 with sugar, and, lo and behold, was fashioned an hon- 
 est, wholesome, Dutch apple cake, ready for the bak- 
 ing! 
 
 In the tap-room the soldier encountered the new- 
 comer, seated not far from the fire as though his 
 blood flowed sluggishly after his long ride in the 
 chill morning air. Upon the table lay his hat, and he 
 was playing with the seals on his watch ribbon, his 
 legs indolently stretched out straight before him. Oc- 
 casionally he coughed when the smoke, exuding from 
 the damp wood, was not entirely expelled up the 
 chimney, but curled around the top of the fireplace 
 and diffused itself into the atmosphere. Well-built, 
 although somewhat slender of figure, this latest ar- 
 rival had a complexion of tawny brown, a living rus- 
 set, as warm and glowing as the most vivid of Vandyke 
 pigments.
 
 42 THE STROLLERS 
 
 He raised his eyes slowly as the soldier entered and 
 surveyed him deliberately. From a scrutiny of 
 mere physical attributes he passed on to the more im- 
 portant details of clothes, noting that his sack coat was 
 properly loose at the waist and that the buttons were 
 sufficiently large to pass muster, but also detecting that 
 the trousers lacked breadth at the ankles and that 
 the hat had a high crown and a broad brim, from 
 which he complacently concluded the other was 
 somewhat behind the shifting changes of fashion. 
 
 "Curse me, if this isn't a beastly fire !" he exclaimed, 
 stretching himself still more, yawning and passing a 
 hand through his black hair. "Hang them, they might 
 as well shut up their guests in the smoke-house with 
 the bacons and hams ! I feel as cured as a side of pig, 
 ready to be hung to a dirty rafter." 
 
 With which he pulled himself together, went to the 
 window, raised it and placed a stick under the frame. 
 
 "They tell me there's a theatrical troupe here," he 
 resumed, returning to his chair and relapsing into its 
 depths. "Perhaps you are one of them?" 
 
 "I have not that honor." 
 
 "Honor!" repeated the new arrival with a laugh. 
 "That's good ! That was one of them on the road with 
 you, I'll be bound. You have good taste ! Heigho !" 
 he yawned again. "I'm anchored here awhile on ac- 
 count of a lame horse. Perhaps though" brighten- 
 ing- "it may not be so bad after all. These players 
 promise some diversion." At that moment his face 
 wore an expression of airy, jocund assurance which
 
 ANEWARRIVAL 43 
 
 faded to visible annoyance as he continued : "Where 
 can that landlord be? He placed me in this kennel, 
 vanished, and left me to my fate. Ah, here he is at 
 last!" As the host approached, respectfully inquir- 
 ing: 
 
 "Is there anything more I can do for you?" 
 
 "More?" exclaimed this latest guest, ironically. 
 "Well, better late than never! See that my servant 
 has help with the trunks." 
 
 "Very well, sir; I'll have Sandy look after them. 
 You are going to stay then ?" Shifting several bottles 
 on the bar with apparent industry. 
 
 "How can I tell?" returned the new-comer lightly. 
 "Fate is a Sphynx, and I am not OEdipus to answer 
 her questions !" 
 
 The landlord looked startled, paused in his feigned 
 employment, but slowly recovering himself, began 
 to dust a jar of peppermint candy. 
 
 "How far is it to Meadtown ?" continued the guest. 
 
 "Forty odd miles ! Perhaps you are seeking the old 
 patroon manor there? They say the heir is expected 
 any day" gazing fixedly at the young man "at least, 
 the anti-renters have received information he is coming 
 and are preparing " 
 
 The sprightly guest threw up his hands. 
 
 "The trunks ! the trunks !" he exclaimed in accents 
 of despair. "Look at the disorder of my attire! The 
 pride of these ruffles leveled by the dew; my wrist- 
 bands in disarray ; the odor of the road pervading my 
 person ! The trunks, I pray you !"
 
 44 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Yes, sir; at once, sir! But first let me introduce 
 you to Mr. Saint-Prosper, of Paris, France. Make 
 yourselves at home, gentlemen!" 
 
 With which the speaker hurriedly vanished and soon 
 the bumping and thumping in the hall gave cheering 
 assurance of instructions fulfilled. 
 
 "That porter is a prince among his kind," observed 
 the guest satirically, wincing as an unusual bang over- 
 head shook the ceiling. "But I'll warrant my man 
 won't have to open my luggage after he gets through." 
 
 Then as quiet followed the racket above "So you're 
 from Paris, France?" he asked half-quizzically. "Well, 
 it's a pleasure to meet somebody from somewhere. 
 As I, too, have lived not in vain! -in Paris, France, 
 we may have mutual friends ?" 
 
 "It is unlikely," said the soldier, who meanwhile 
 had drawn off his riding gloves, placed them on the 
 mantel, and stood facing the fire, with his back to the 
 other guest. As he spoke he turned deliberately and 
 bent his penetrating glance on his questioner. 
 
 "Really? Allow me to be skeptical, as I have con- 
 siderable acquaintance there. In the army there's that 
 fire-eating conqueror of the ladies, Gen " 
 
 "My rank was not so important," interrupted the 
 other, "that I numbered commanders among my per- 
 sonal friends." 
 
 "As you please," said the last guest carelessly. "I 
 had thought to exchange a little gossip with you, but 
 n 'import el In my own veins flows some of the 
 blood of your country."
 
 ANEWARRIVAL 45 
 
 For the time his light manner forsook him. 
 
 "Her tumults have, in a measure, been mine," he 
 continued. "Now she is without a king, I am well- 
 nigh without a mother-land. True ; I was not born 
 there but it is the nurse the child turns to. Paris 
 was my bonne a merry abigail ! Alas, her vicious 
 brood have turned on her and cast her ribbons in the 
 mire ! Untroubled by her own brats, she could extend 
 ^her estates to the Eldorado of the southwestern seas." 
 He had arisen and, with hands behind his back, was 
 striding to and fro. Coming suddenly to a pause, he 
 asked abruptly : 
 
 "Do you know the Abbe Moneau?" 
 
 At the mention of that one-time subtle confidant 
 of the deposed king, now the patron of republicanism, 
 Saint-Prosper once more regarded his companion atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "By reputation, certainly," he answered, slowly. 
 
 "He was my tutor and is now my frequent cor- 
 respondent. Not a bad sort of mentor, either !" The 
 new arrival paused and smiled reflectively. "Only re- 
 cently I received a letter from him, with private de- 
 tails of the flight of the king and vague intimations 
 of a scandal in the army, lately come to light." 
 
 His listener half-started from his seat and had the 
 speaker not been more absorbed in his own easy flow 
 of conversation than in the attitude of the other, he 
 would have noticed that quick change of manner. Not 
 perceiving it, however, he resumed irrelevantly : 
 
 "You see I am a sociable animal. After being
 
 46 THE STROLLERS 
 
 cramped in that miserable coach for hours, it is a relief 
 to loosen one's tongue as well as one's legs. Even this 
 smoky hovel suggests good-fellowship and jollity be- 
 yond a dish of tea. Will you not join me in a bottle 
 of wine? I carry some choice brands to obviate the 
 necessity of drinking the home-brewed concoctions of 
 the inn-keepers of this district." 
 
 "Thank you," said the soldier, at the same time 
 rising from his chair. "I have no inclination so early 
 in the day." 
 
 "Early ?" queried the new-comer. "A half-pint of 
 Chateau Cheval Blanc or Cru du Chevalier, high and 
 vinous, paves a possible way for Brother Jonathan's 
 dejeuner fried pork, potatoes and chicory !" And 
 turning to his servant who had meanwhile entered, he 
 addressed a few words to him, and, as the door closed 
 on the soldier, exclaimed with a shrug of the shoulders : 
 
 "An unsociable fellow ! I wonder what he is doing 
 here."
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE VENTURE 
 
 Pancakes, grits, home-made sausage, and, before 
 each guest, an egg that had been proudly heralded by 
 the clucking hen but a few hours before truly a 
 bountiful breakfast, discrediting the latest guest's an- 
 ticipations ! The manager, in high spirits, mercurial 
 as the weather, came down from his room, a bundle of 
 posters under his arm, boisterously greeting Saint- 
 Prosper, whom he encountered in the hall : 
 
 "Read the bill! 'That incomparable comedy, The 
 Honeymoon, by a peerless company.' How does that 
 sound ?" 
 
 "Attractive, certainly," said the other. 
 
 "Do you think it strong enough? How would *un- 
 paragoned' do?" 
 
 "It would be too provincial, my dear; too provin- 
 cial !" interrupted the querulous voice of the old lady. 
 
 "Very well, Madam !" the manager replied quickly. 
 "You shall be 'peerless' if you wish. Every fence shall 
 proclaim it; every post become loquacious with it." 
 
 "I was going to the village myself," said the soldier, 
 (47)
 
 48 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "and will join you, if you don't mind?" he added sud- 
 denly. 
 
 "Mind? Not a bit. Come along, and you shall 
 learn of the duties of manager, bill-poster, press-agent 
 and license-procurer." 
 
 An hour or so later found the two walking down the 
 road at a brisk pace, soon leaving the tavern behind 
 them and beginning to descend a hill that commanded 
 a view to eastward. 
 
 "How do you advertise your performances?" asked 
 the younger man, opening the conversation. 
 
 "By posters, written announcements in the taverns, 
 or a notice in the country paper, if we happen along 
 just before it goes to press," answered Barnes. "In 
 the old times we had the boy and the bell." 
 
 "The boy and the bell ?" 
 
 "Yes," assented Barnes, a retrospective smile over- 
 spreading his good-natured face ; "when I was a lad in 
 Devonshire the manager announced the performance 
 in the town market-place. I rang a cow-bell to attract 
 attention and he talked to the people : Ding-a-ling ! 
 'Good people, to-night will be given "Love in a 
 Wood";' ding-a-long! 'to-morrow night, "The Beaux' 
 Strategem" ;' ding ! 'Wednesday, "The Provoked 
 Wife";' ling! 'Thursday, "The Way of the World." ' 
 So I made my debut in a noisy part and have since 
 played no role more effectively than that of the small 
 boy with the big bell. Incidentally, I had to clean the 
 lamps and fetch small beer to the leading lady, which 
 duties were perfunctorily performed. My art, how-
 
 A VENTURE 49 
 
 ever, I threw into the bell," concluded the manager 
 with a laugh. 
 
 "Do you find many theaters hereabouts?" asked the 
 other, thoughtfully. 
 
 Barnes shook his head. "No ; although there are 
 plenty of them upon the Atlantic and Southern circuits. 
 Still we can usually rent a hall, erect a stage and con- 
 struct tiers of seats. Even a barn at a pinch makes 
 an acceptable temple of art. But our principal diffi- 
 culty is procuring licenses to perform." 
 
 "You have to get permission to play?" 
 
 "That we do !" sighed the manager. "From obdu- 
 rate trustees in villages and stubborn supervisors or 
 justices of the peace in the hamlets." 
 
 "But their reason for this opposition?" asked his 
 companion. 
 
 They were now entering the little hamlet, exchang- 
 ing the grassy path for a sidewalk of planks laid length- 
 wise, and the peace of nature for such signs of civiliza- 
 tion as a troop of geese, noisily promenading across the 
 thoroughfare, and a peacock in its pride of pomp as 
 a favored bird of old King Solomon crying from the 
 top of the shed and proudly displaying its gorgeous 
 train. Barnes wiped the perspiration from his brow, 
 as he answered : 
 
 "Well, a temperance and anti-theatrical agitation has 
 preceded us in the Shadengo Valley, a movement orig- 
 inated in Baltimore by seven men who had been drunk- 
 ards and are now lecturing throughout the country. 
 This is known as the "Washington" movement, and
 
 50 THE STROLLERS 
 
 among the most formidable leaders of the crusade is 
 an old actor, John B. Gough. But here we are 
 at the supervisor's office. I'll run in and get the li- 
 cense, if you'll wait a moment." 
 
 Saint-Prosper assented, and Barnes disappeared 
 through the door of a one-story wooden building which 
 boasted little in its architectural appearance and whose 
 principal decorations consisted of a small window- 
 garden containing faded geraniums, and a sign with 
 sundry inverted letters. The neighborhood of this 
 far from imposing structure was a rendezvous for many 
 of the young men of the place who had much leisure, 
 and, to judge from the sidewalk, an ample supply of 
 Lone Jack or some other equally popular plug tobacco. 
 As Saint-Prosper surveyed his surroundings, the Lone 
 Jack, or other delectable brand, was unceremoniously 
 passed from mouth to mouth with immediate and sur- 
 prising results so far as the sidewalk was concerned. 
 Regarding these village yokels with some curiosity, the 
 soldier saw in them a possible type of the audiences to 
 which the strollers must appeal for favor. To such 
 hobnails must the fair Rosalind say: "I would kiss 
 as many of you as had beards that pleased me." And 
 the churls would applaud with their cowhide boots, de- 
 vour her with eager eyes and at this point the soldier 
 found himself unconsciously frowning at his village 
 neighbors until, with an impatient laugh, he recalled 
 his wandering fancies. What was it to him whether 
 the players appeared in city or hamlet? Why should
 
 A VENTURE 51 
 
 he concern himself in possible conjectures on the for- 
 tunes of these strollers ? Moreover 
 
 Here Barnes reappeared with dejection in his man- 
 ner, and, treacling his way absent-mindedly past the 
 Lone Jack contingent with no word of explanation to 
 his companion, began to retrace his steps toward the 
 hostelry on the hill. 
 
 "Going back so soon ?" asked the young man in sur- 
 prjse. 
 
 /'There is nothing to be done here ! The temperance 
 lecturer has just gone ; the people are set against plays 
 and players. The supervisor refuses the license." 
 
 With which the manager relapsed into silence, rueful 
 and melancholy. Their road ran steadily upward from 
 the sleepy valley, skirting a wood where the luxuriance 
 of the overhanging foliage and the bright autumnal 
 tint of the leaves were like a scene of a spectacular 
 play. Out of breath from the steepness of the ascent, 
 and, with his hand pressed to his side, Barnes sud- 
 denly called a halt, seated himself on a stump, his face 
 somewhat drawn, and spoke for the first time since he 
 left the hamlet. 
 
 "Let's rest a moment. Something catches me occa- 
 sionally here," tapping his heart. "Ah, that's better! 
 The pain has left. No ; it's nothing. The machinery 
 is getting old, that's all ! Let me see Ah, yes !" 
 And he drew a cigar from his pocket. "Perhaps there 
 lies a crumb of comfort in the weed !" 
 
 The manager smoked contemplatively, like a man
 
 52 THE STROLLERS 
 
 pushed to the verge of disaster, weighing the slender 
 chances of mending his broken fortunes. But as he 
 pondered his face gradually lightened with a faint 
 glimmer of satisfaction. His mind, seeking for a 
 straw, caught at a possible way out of this labyrinth 
 of difficulties and in a moment he had straightened up, 
 puffing veritable optimistic wreaths. He arose buoy- 
 antly ; before he reached the inn the crumb of comfort 
 had become a loaf of assurance. 
 
 At the tavern the manager immediately sought mine 
 host, stating his desire to give a number of free per- 
 formances in the dining-room of the hotel. The land- 
 lord demurred stoutly ; he was an inn-keeper, not the 
 proprietor of a play-house. Were not tavern and the- 
 ater inseparable, retorted Barnes? The country host 
 had always been a patron of the histrionic art. Be- 
 neath his windows the masque and interlude were 
 born. The mystery, harlequinade and divertissement 
 found shelter in a pot-house. 
 
 In a word, so indefatigably did he ply arguments, 
 appealing alike to clemency and cupidity the custom 
 following such a course that the landlord at length 
 reluctantly consented, and soon after the dining-room 
 was transformed into a temple of art ; stinted, it 
 is true, for flats, drops, flies and screens, but at least 
 more tenable than the roofless theaters of other days, 
 when a down-pour drenched the players and washed 
 out the public, causing rainy tears to drip from Ophe- 
 lia's nose and rivulets of rouge to trickle down my 
 Lady Slipaway's marble neck and shoulders. In this
 
 AVENTURE 53 
 
 labor of converting the dining-room into an auditory, 
 they found an attentive observer in the landlord's 
 daughter who left her pans, plates and platters to 
 watch these preparations with round-eyed admiration. 
 To her that temporary stage was surrounded by gla- 
 mour and romance; a world remote from cook, scul- 
 lion and maid of all work, and peopled with well-born 
 dames, courtly ladies and exalted princesses. 
 
 possibly interested in what seemed an incompre- 
 hensible venture for how could the manager's coffers 
 be replenished by free performances? Saint-Prosper 
 that afternoon reminded Barnes he had returned from 
 the village without fulfilling his errand. 
 
 "Dear me !" exclaimed Barnes, his face wrinkling in 
 perplexity. "What have I been thinking about? I 
 don't see how I can go now. Hawkes or O'Flariaty 
 can't be spared, what with lamps to polish and cos- 
 tumes to get in order ! Hum !" he mused dubiously. 
 
 "If I can be of any use, command me," said the sol- 
 dier, unexpectedly. 
 
 "You !" exclaimed the manager. "I could not 
 think" 
 
 "Oh, it's a notable occupation," said the other with 
 a satirical smile. "Was it not the bill-posters who 
 caused the downfall of the French dynasty?" he ad- 
 ded. 
 
 "In that case," laughed Barnes, with a sigh of relief, 
 "go ahead and spread the inflammable dodgers ! Paste 
 them everywhere, except on the tombstones in the 
 graveyard."
 
 54 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Conspicuously before the postoffice, grocery store, 
 on the town pump and the fence of the village church, 
 some time later, the soldier accordingly nailed the 
 posters, followed by an inquisitive group, who read 
 the following announcement : "Tuesday, 'The Honey- 
 moon' ; Wednesday, 'The School for Scandal' ; Thurs- 
 day, 'The Stranger,' with diverting specialties; Fri- 
 day, 'Romeo and Juliet'; Saturday, 'Hamlet,' with a 
 Jig by Kate Duran. At the Travelers' Friend. En- 
 trance Free." 
 
 "They're going to play after all," commented the 
 blacksmith's wife. 
 
 "I don't see much harm in 'Hamlet,' " said the super- 
 visor's yokemate. "It certainly ain't frivolous." 
 
 "Let's go to 'The Honeymoon' ?" suggested an 
 amorous carl to his slip-slop Sal. 
 
 "Go 'long!" she retorted with barn-yard bashful- 
 ness. 
 
 "Did you ever see 'The School for Scandal' ?" asked 
 the smithy's good wife. 
 
 "Once," confessed the town official's faded consort, 
 her worn face lighting dreamily. "It was on our wed- 
 ding trip to New York. Silas warn't so strict then." 
 
 Amid chit-chat, so diverting, Saint-Prosper fin- 
 ished "posting" the town. It had been late in the 
 afternoon before he had altered the posters and set out 
 on his paradoxical mission ; the sun was declining when 
 he returned homeward. Pausing at a cross-road, he 
 selected a tree for one of his remaining Announcements. 
 It was already adorned with a dodger, citing the escape
 
 A VENTURE 55 
 
 of a negro slave and offering a reward for his appre- 
 hension ; not an uncommon document in the North in 
 those days. 
 
 As the traveler read the bill his expression became 
 clouded, cheerless. Around him the fallen leaves gave 
 forth a pleasant fragrance ; caught in the currents of 
 the air, they danced in a circle and then broke away, 
 hurrying helter-skelter in all directions. 
 
 MfPoor devil !" he muttered. "A fugitive in hiding 
 
 
 
 And he nailed one of his own bills over the dodger. 
 As he stood there reflectively the lights began to twin- 
 kle in the village below like stars winking upwards; 
 the ascending smoke from a chimney seemed a film 
 of lace drawn slowly through the air ; from the village 
 forge came a brighter glow as the sparks danced from 
 the hammers on the anvils. 
 
 Shaking the reins on his horse's neck, the soldier 
 continued his way, while the sun, out of its city of 
 clouds, sent beams like a searchlight to the church 
 spire ; the fields, marked by the plow ; the gaunt 
 stumps in a clearing, displaying their giant sinews. 
 Then the resplendent rays vanished, the battlements 
 crumbled away and night, with its army of shadows, 
 invaded the earth. As Saint-Prosper approached the 
 tavern, set prominently on the brow of the hill, all was 
 solemnly restful save the sign which now creaked in 
 doleful doldrums and again complained wildly as the 
 wind struck it a vigorous blow. The windows were 
 bright from the fire-place and lamp; above the door
 
 56 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the light streamed through the open transom upon 
 the swaying sign and the fluttering leaves of the vine 
 that clambered around the entrance. 
 
 In the parlor, near a deteriorated piano whose yellow 
 keys were cracked and broken in almost the seventh 
 stage of pianodum, sans teeth, sans wire, sans every- 
 thing he saw the dark-eyed girl and reined his horse. 
 As he did so, she seated herself upon the hair-cloth 
 stool, pressed a white finger to a discolored key and 
 smiled at the not unexpected result the squeak of 
 decrepitude. While her hand still rested on the board 
 and her features shone strongly in relief against the 
 fire like a cameo profile set in bloodstone, a figure ap- 
 proached, and, leaning gracefully upon the palsied in- 
 strument, bent over her with smiling lips. It was the 
 grand seignior, he of the equipage with silver trim- 
 mings. If the horseman's gaze rested, not without in- 
 terest, on the pleasing picture of the young actress, it 
 was now turned with sudden and greater intentness to 
 that of the dashing stranger, a swift interrogation 
 glancing from that look. 
 
 How had he made his peace with her? Certainly 
 her manner now betrayed no resentment. While mo- 
 tionless the rider yet sat in his saddle, an invisible hand 
 grasped the reins. 
 
 "Shall I put up your horse?" said a small voice, and 
 the soldier quickly dismounted, the animal vanishing 
 with the speaker, as Saint-Prosper entered the inn. 
 Gay, animated, conscious of his attractions, the fop 
 hovered over the young girl, an all-pervading Hy-
 
 AVENTURE 57 
 
 perion, with faultless ruffles, white hands, and voice' 
 softly modulated. That evening the soldier played 
 piquet with the wiry old lady, losing four shillings to 
 that antiquated gamester, and, when he had paid the 
 stakes, trie young girl was gone and the buoyant beau 
 had sought diversion in his cups. 
 
 "Strike me," muttered the last named personage, 
 "the little stroller has spirit. How her eyes flashed 
 when I first approached her! It required some tact 
 and acting to make her believe I took her for some 
 one else on the road. Not such an easy conquest as I 
 thought, although I imagine I have put that adventur- 
 er's nose out of joint. But why should I waste time 
 here? Curse it, just to cut that fellow out! Land- 
 lord !" 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the host behind the bar, where 
 he had been quietly dozing on a stool with his back 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Do you think my horse will be fit for use to-morrow 
 morning ?" 
 
 "The swelling has gone down, sir, and perhaps, 
 with care " 
 
 "Perhaps ! I'll take no. chances. Hang the nag, 
 but I must make the best of it! See that my bed is 
 xvell warmed, and" rising "don't call me in the 
 morning. I'll get up when I please. Tell my man 
 to come up at once I suppose he's out with the 
 kitchen wenches. I have some orders to give him for 
 the morning. Stay send up a lamp, and well, I 
 believe that's all for now !"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 "GREEN GROW THE RUSHES, o!" 
 
 So well advertised in the village had been the the- 
 atrical company and so greatly had the crusade against 
 the play and players whetted public curiosity that on 
 the evening of the first performance every bench in 
 the dining-room auditorium of the tavern had an 
 occupant, while in the rear the standing room was 
 filled by the overflow. Upon the counter of the bar 
 were seated a dozen or more men, including the 
 schoolmaster, an itinerant pedagogue who "boarded 
 around" and received his pay in farm products, and 
 the village lawyer, attired in a claret-colored frock 
 coat, who often was given a pig for a retainer, or 
 knotty wood, unfit for rails. 
 
 From his place, well to the front, the owner of the 
 private equipage surveyed the audience with consid- 
 erable amusement and complacency. He was fastidi- 
 ously dressed in double-breasted waist-coat of figured 
 silk, loosely fitting trousers, fawn-colored kid gloves, 
 light pumps and silk hose. Narrow ruffles edged his 
 wristbands which were fastened with link buttons, 
 
 (58)
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 59 
 
 while the lining of his evening coat was of immacu- 
 late white satin. As he gazed around upon a scene at 
 once novel and incongruous, he took from his pocket 
 a little gold case, bearing an ivory miniature, and, 
 with the eyes of his neighbors bent expectantly upon 
 him, extracted therefrom a small, white cylinder. 
 
 "What may that be, mister ?" inquired an inquisitive 
 rustic, placing his hand on the other's shoulder. 
 
 * The latter drew back as if resenting that familiar 
 touch, and, by way of answer, poised the cylinder in a 
 tiny holder and deliberately lighted it, to the amaze- 
 ment of his questioner. Cigarettes were then un- 
 known in that part of the state and the owner of the 
 coach enjoyed the dubious distinction of being the first 
 to introduce them there. "Since which time," says 
 Chronicler Barnes in his memoirs, "their use and 
 abuse has, I believe, extended." 
 
 The lighting of the aboriginal American cigarette 
 drew general attention to the smoker and the doctor, 
 not a man of modern small pills, but a liberal dis- 
 penser of calomel, jalap, castor-oil and quinine, whis- 
 pered to the landlord : 
 
 "Azeriah, who might he be ?" 
 
 "The heir of the patroon estate, Ezekiel. I found 
 the name on his trunks : 'Edward Mauville.' " 
 
 "Sho! Going to take possession at the manor?" 
 
 "He cal'lates to, I guess, ef he can !" 
 
 "Yes ; ef he can !" significantly repeated the doctor. 
 "So this is the foreign heir? He's got wristbands 
 like a woman and hands just as small. Wears gloves
 
 60 THE STROLLERS 
 
 like my darter when she goes to meeting-house ! And 
 silk socks ! Why, the old patroon didn't wear none 
 at all, and corduroy was good enough for him, they 
 say. Wonder how the barn-burners will take to the 
 silk socks? Who's the other stranger, Azeriah?" 
 Indicating with his thumb the soldier, who, stand- 
 ing against a window casement in the rear of the room, 
 was by his height a conspicuous figure in the gather- 
 ing. 
 
 "I don't exactly know, Ezekiel," replied the land- 
 lord, regretfully. "Not that I didn't try to find out," 
 he added honestly, "but he was so close, I couldn't get 
 nothing from him. He's from Paris, France ; may be 
 Louis Philippe himself, for all I know." 
 
 "No; he ain't Louis Philippe," returned the doctor 
 with decision, " 'cause I seen his likeness in the maga- 
 zine." 
 
 "Might be the dolphin then," suggested the boni- 
 face. "He's so mighty mysterious." 
 
 "Dolphin!" retorted the other contemptuously. 
 "There ain't no dolphin. There hasn't been no dol- 
 phin since the French Revolution." 
 
 "Oh, I didn't know but there might a been," said 
 the landlord vaguely. 
 
 From mouth to mouth the information, gleaned by 
 the village doctor, was circulated ; speculation had been 
 rife ever since the demise of the last patroon regarding 
 his successor, and, although the locality was beyond 
 the furthermost reach of that land-holder, their interest 
 was none the less keen. The old master of the manor
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 61 
 
 had been like a myth, much spoken of, never seen 
 without the boundaries of his acres ; but the new lord 
 was a reality, a creditable creation of tailor, hatter, 
 hosier, cobbler which trades had not flourished under 
 the old master who bought his clothes, cap and boots 
 at a country store, owned by himself. Anticipation of 
 the theatrical performance was thus relieved in a meas- 
 ure by the presence of the heir, but the delay, incident 
 to a first night on an improvised stage, was so unusual 
 that the audience at length began to evince signs of 
 restlessness. 
 
 Finally, however, when the landlord's daughter had 
 gazed what seemed to her an interminable period upon 
 the lady and the swan, the lake and the greyhound, 
 painted on the curtain, this picture vanished by de- 
 grees, with an exhilarating creaking of the rollers, and 
 was succeeded by the representation of a room in a 
 cottage. The scenery, painted in distemper and not 
 susceptible to wind or weather, had manifold uses, re- 
 appearing later in the performance as a nobleman's 
 palace, supplemented, it is true, by a well-worn carpet 
 to indicate ducal luxury. 
 
 Some trifling changes concessions to public opinion 
 were made in the play, notably in the scene where 
 the duke, with ready hospitality, offers wine to the 
 rustic Lopez. In Barnes' expurgated, "Washington- 
 ian" version (be not shocked, O spirit of good Master 
 Tobin!) the countryman responded reprovingly: "Fie, 
 my noble Duke ! Have you no water from the well ?" 
 An answer diametrically opposed to the tendencies of
 
 62 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the sack-guzzling, roistering, madcap playwrights of 
 that early period ! 
 
 On the whole the representation was well-balanced, 
 with few weak spots in the acting for fault finding, 
 even from a more captious gathering. In the costumes, 
 it is true, the carping observer might have detected 
 some flaws ; notably in Adonis, a composite fashion 
 plate, who strutted about in the large boots of the Low 
 Countries, topped with English trunk hose of 1550; 
 his hand upon the long rapier of Charles II, while a 
 periwig and hat of William III crowned his empty 
 pate! 
 
 Kate was Votante; not Tobin's Volante, but one 
 fashioned out of her own characteristics ; supine, but 
 shapely; heavy, but handsome; slow, but specious. 
 Susan, with hair escaping in roguish curls beneath her 
 little cap ; her taper waist encompassed by a page's 
 tunic ; the trim contour of her figure frankly revealed 
 by her vestment, was truly a lad "dressed up to cozen" 
 any lover who preferred his friend and his bottle to his 
 mistress. Merry as a sand-boy she danced about in 
 russet boots that came to the knee; lithe and lissome 
 in the full swing of immunity from skirts, mantle and 
 petticoats ! 
 
 Conscious that his identity had been divined, and 
 relishing, perhaps, the effect of its discovery, the 
 young patroon gazed languidly at the players, until 
 the entrance of Constance as Juliana, when he forgot 
 the pleasing sensations of self-thought, in contempla- 
 tion of the actress. He remarked a girlish form of
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 63 
 
 much grace, attired in an attractive gown of white 
 satin and silver, as became a bride, with train and low 
 shimmering bodice, revealing the round arms and 
 shoulders which arose ivory-like in whiteness. In- 
 stead of the customary feathers and other ornaments 
 of the period, specified in the text of the play, roses 
 alone softened the effect of her dark hair. Very dif- 
 ferent she appeared in this picturesque Spanish attire 
 from the lady of the lane, with the coquettish cap of 
 muslin and its "brides," or strings. 
 
 The light that burned within shone from her eyes, 
 proud yet gay ; it lurked in the corners of her mouth, 
 where gravity followed merriment, as silence follows 
 laughter when the brook sweeps from the purling 
 stones to the deeper pools. Her art was unconscious 
 of itself and scene succeeded scene with a natural 
 charm, revealing unexpected resources, from pathos to 
 sorrow ; from vanity to humility ; from scorn to love 
 awakened. And, when the transition did come, every 
 pose spoke of the quickening heart ; her movements 
 proclaimed the golden fetters ; passion shone in her 
 'glances, defiant though willing, lofty though humble, 
 joyous though shy. 
 
 Was it the heat from the lamps? but Mauville's 
 brow became flushed ; his buoyancy seemed gross and 
 brutal ; desire lurked in his lively glances ; Pan gleamed 
 from the curls of Hyperion ! 
 
 The play jogged on its blithesome course to its 
 wonted end ; the. duke delivered the excellent homily, 
 
 "A gentle wife 
 Is still the sterling comfort of a man's life,"
 
 64 THE STROLLERS 
 
 and the well-pleased audience were preparing to leave 
 when Barnes, in a drab jacket and trunks, trimmed 
 with green ribbon bows, came forward like the clown 
 in the circus and addressed the "good people." 
 
 "In the golden age," said the father of Juliana, 
 "great men treated actors like servants, and, if they 
 offended, their ears were cut off. Are we, in brave 
 America, returning to the days when they tossed an 
 actor in a blanket or gave a poet a hiding? Shall we 
 stifle an art which is the purest inspiration of 
 Athenian genius? The law prohibits our performing 
 and charging admission, but it does not debar us from 
 taking a collection, if" with a bow in which dignity 
 arrd humility were admirably mingled "you deem the 
 laborer worthy of his hire ?" 
 
 This novel epilogue was received with laughter and 
 applause, but the audience, although good-natured, 
 contained its proportion of timid souls who retreat 
 before the passing plate. The rear guard began to 
 show faint signs of demoralization, when Mauville 
 sprang to his feet. Pan had disappeared behind his 
 leafy covert ; it was the careless, self-possessed man of 
 the world who arose. 
 
 "I am not concerned about the ethics of art," he 
 said lightly, "but the ladies of the company may count 
 me among their devout admirers. I am sure," he 
 added, bowing to the manager with ready grace, "if 
 they were as charming in the old days, after the lords 
 tossed the men, they made love to the women." 
 
 "There were no actresses in those days, sir," cor-
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 65 
 
 rected Barnes, resenting the flippancy of his aristo- 
 cratic auditor. 
 
 "No actresses?" retorted the heir. "Then why did 
 people go to the theater? However, without further 
 argument, let me be the first contributor." 
 
 "The prodigal !" said the doctor in an aside to the 
 landlord. "He's holding up a piece of gold. It's the 
 first time ever patroon was a spendthrift 1" 
 
 ^But Mauville's words, on the whole, furthered the 
 manager's project, and the audience remained in its 
 integrity, while Balthazar, a property helmet in hand, 
 descended from his palace and trod the aisles in his 
 drab trunk-hose and purple cloak, a royal mendicant, 
 in whose pot soon jingled the pieces of silver. No 
 one shirked his admission fee and some even gave 
 in excess ; the helmet teemed with riches ; once it had 
 saved broken heads, now it repaired broken fortunes, 
 its properties magical, like the armor of Pallas. 
 
 "How did you like the play, Mr. Saint-Prosper?" 
 said Barnes, as he approached that person. 
 
 "Much ; and as for the players" a gleam of humor 
 stealing over his dark features " 'peerless' was not 
 too strong." 
 
 " 'Your approbation likes me most, my lord,' " 
 quoted the manager, and passed quickly on with his 
 tin pot, in a futile effort to evade the outstretched 
 hand of his whilom helper. 
 
 Thanking the audience for their generosity and com- 
 plimenting them on their intelligence, the self-con- 
 stituted lord of the treasury vanished once more be-
 
 66 THE STROLLERS 
 
 hind the curtain. The orchestra of two struck up a 
 negro melody; the audience rose again, the women 
 lingering to exchange their last innocent gossip about 
 prayer-meeting, or about the minister who "knocked 
 the theologic dust from the pulpit cushions in the good 
 old orthodox way," when some renegade exclaimed: 
 "Clear the room for a dance !" 
 
 Jerusha's shawl straightway fell from her shoulders ; 
 Hannah's bonnet was whipped from her head; Na- 
 thaniel paused on his way to the stable yard to bring 
 out the team and a score of willing hands obeyed the 
 injunction amid laughing encouragement from the 
 young women whose feet already were tapping the 
 floor in anticipation of the Virginia Reel, Two Sisters, 
 Hull's Victory, or even the waltz, "lately imported 
 from the Rhine." A battered Cremona appeared like 
 magic and 
 
 "In his shirt of check and tallowed hair 
 The fiddler sat in his bull-rush chair," 
 
 while " 'Twas Monnie Musk in busy feet and Monnie 
 Musk by heart" old-fashioned "Monnie Musk" with 
 "first couple join right hands and swing," "forward 
 six" and "across the set" ; an honest dance for country 
 folk that only left regrets when it came to "Good Night 
 for aye to Monnie Musk," although followed by the 
 singing of "Old Hundred" or "Come, ye Sinners, Poor 
 and Needy," on the homeward journey. 
 
 In the parlor the younger Jlads and lasses were play- 
 ing "snap and catch 'em" ana similar games. The 
 portly Dutch clock gazed down benignly on the
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 67 
 
 scene, its face shining good-humoredly like the round 
 visage of some comfortable burgher. "Green grow the 
 rushes, O !" came from many merry-makers. "Kiss her 
 quick and let her go" was followed by scampering of 
 feet and laughter which implied a doubt whether the 
 lad had obeyed the next injunction, "But don't you 
 muss her ruffle, O !" Forming a moving ring around 
 a young girl, they sang : "There's a rose in the garden 
 foy you, young man." A rose, indeed, or a rose-bud, 
 rather, with ruffles he was commanded not to "muss," 
 but which, nevertheless, suffered sadly ! 
 
 Among these boys and girls, the patroon discovered 
 Constance, no longer "to the life a duchess," with 
 gown in keeping with the "pride and pomp of exalted 
 station," but attired in the simple dress of lavender 
 she usually wore, though the roses still adorned her 
 hair. Shunning the entrancing waltz, the inspiring 
 "Monnie Musk" and the cotillion, lively when set to 
 Christy's melodies, she had sought the more juvenile 
 element, and, when seen by the land baron, was cir- 
 cling around with fluttering skirts. Joyous, merry, 
 there was no hint now in her natural, girlish ways of 
 the capacity that lay within for varied impersona- 
 tions, from the lightness of coquetry to the thrill of 
 tragedy. 
 
 He did not know how it happened, as he stood there 
 watching her, but the next moment he was imprisoned 
 by the group and voices were singing : 
 
 "There he stands, the booby ; who will have him for 
 his beauty ?"
 
 68 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Who ? His eye swept the group ; the merry, scorn- 
 ful glances fixed upon him ; the joyous, half-inviting 
 glances ; the red lips parted as in kindly invitation ; 
 shy lips, willing lips ! 
 
 Who ? His look kindled ; he had made his selection, 
 and the next moment his arm was impetuously thrown 
 around the actress's waist. 
 
 "Kiss her quick and let her go !" 
 
 Amid the mad confusion he strove to obey the com- 
 mand, but a panting voice murmured "no, no \" a pair 
 of dark eyes gazed into his for an instant, defiantly, and 
 the pliant waist slipped from his impassioned grasp ; his 
 eager lips, instead of touching that glowing cheek, only 
 grazed a curl that had become loosened, and, before 
 he could repeat the attempt, she had passed from his 
 arms, with laughing lips and eyes. 
 
 "Play fair!" shouted the lads. "He should 'kiss 
 her quick and let her go.' " 
 
 "Oh, he let her go first !" said the others. 
 
 " 'Kiss her quick/ " reiterated the boys. 
 
 "He can't now," answered the girls. 
 
 The voices took up the refrain : "Don't you muss 
 the ruffles, O !" and the game went on. The old clock 
 gossiped gleefully, its tongue repeating as plainly as 
 words : 
 
 "Let-her-go ! ho ! ho ! one two three I" 
 
 Three o'clock! Admonishingly rang out the hour, 
 the jovial face of the clock looking sterner than was 
 its wont. It glowered now like a preacher in his pul- 
 pit upon a sinful congregation. Enough of "snatch-
 
 GREEN GROW THE RUSHES 69 
 
 and-catch'em ;'' enough of Hull's Victory or the Opera 
 Reel ; let the weary fiddler descend from his bull-rush 
 chair, for soon the touch of dawn will be seen in the 
 eastern sky ! The merry-making began to wane and 
 already the sound of wagon-wheels rattled over the 
 log road away from the tavern. Yes, they were sing- 
 ing, and, as Hepsibeth leaned her head on Josiah's 
 shoulder, they uplifted their voices in the good old 
 orthodox hymn, "Come, Ye Sinners," for thus they 
 courted and worshiped in olden times. 
 
 "Good-night, every one !" said a sweet voice, as Con- 
 stance passed calmly on, with not a ruffle mussed. 
 
 "Good-night," answered the patroon, a sparkle in 
 his eyes. "I was truly a booby." 
 
 "What can you mean?" she laughed. 
 
 "There's many a slip 'twixt lip and lip !" exclaimed 
 Susan. 
 
 With heightened color the young girl turned, and 
 as she did so her look rested on the soldier. His glance 
 was cold, almost strange, and, meeting it, she half- 
 started and then smiled, slowly mounting the stairs. 
 He looked away, but the patroon never took his eyes 
 from her until she had vanished. Afar, rising and 
 falling on the clear air, sounded the voices of the 
 singers : 
 
 "Praise God from whom all blessings flow; 
 Praise Him all creatures here below;"
 
 70 THE STROLLERS 
 
 and finally, softer and softer, until the melody melted 
 into silence : 
 
 "Praise Him above, ye Heavenly H-o-s-t " 
 
 "One good turn deserves another," said Barnes to 
 Saint-Prosper, when Susan and Kate had likewise re- 
 tired. "Follow me, sir to the kitchen! No ques- 
 tions ; but come !"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A CONFERENCE IN THE KITCHEN 
 
 A keen observer might have noticed that the door 
 of the inn kitchen had been kept swinging to and fro 
 as certain ones in the audience had stolen cautiously, 
 but repeatedly, in and out of the culinary apartment 
 while the dancing and other festivities were in prog- 
 ress. The itinerant pedagogue was prominent in 
 these mysterious movements which possibly accounted 
 for his white choker's being askew and his disposition 
 to cut a dash, not by declining Greek verbs, but by in- 
 clining too amorously toward Miss Abigail, a maiden 
 lady with a pronounced aversion for frivolity. 
 
 The cause of the schoolmaster's frolicsome deport- 
 ment was apparent to the soldier when he followed 
 Barnes into the kitchen, where, in a secluded corner, 
 near the hospitable oven, in the dim light of a tallow 
 dip, stood a steaming punch bowl. A log smoldered 
 in the fire-place, casting on the floor the long shadows 
 of the andirons, while a swinging pot was reflected on 
 the ceiling like a mighty eclipse. Numerous recesses, 
 containing pans and plates that gleamed by day, were
 
 72 THE STROLLERS 
 
 wrapped in vague mystery. Three dark figures 
 around the bowl suggested a scene of incantation, es- 
 pecially when one of them threw some bark from the 
 walnut log on the coals and the flames sprang up as 
 from a pine knot and the eclipse danced among the 
 rafters overhead while the pot swung to and fro. 
 
 As the manager approached the bowl, the trio, 
 moved by some vague impelling impulse, locked arms, 
 walked toward the side door, crossed its threshold in 
 some confusion, owing to a unanimous determination to 
 pass out at one and the same time, and went forth into 
 the tranquil night, leaving Barnes and Saint-Prosper 
 the sole occupants of the kitchen. The manager now 
 helped himself and his companion to the beverage, 
 standing with his back to the tiny forks of flame from 
 the shagbark. His face expanded with good-fellow- 
 ship ; joviality shone from his eyes beaming upon the 
 soldier whom he unconsciously regarded as an auxil- 
 iary. 
 
 "Here's to our better acquaintance," he said, placing 
 his hand with little ceremony on the other's shoulder. 
 "The Bill- Poster !" Raising his cup. "You gath- 
 ered them in " 
 
 "And you certainly gathered in the contents of their 
 pockets !" 
 
 "A fair robbery !" laughed Barnes, "as Dick Turpin 
 said when he robbed the minister who robbed the king 
 who robbed the people ! A happy thought that, turn-
 
 A CONFERENCE 73 
 
 ing the helmet into a collection box ! It tided us over ; 
 it tided us over 1" 
 
 Saint-Prosper returned the manager's glance in 
 kind ; Barnes' candor and simplicity were apparent 
 antidotes to the other's taciturnity and constraint. Dur- 
 ing the country dance the soldier had remained a pass- 
 ive spectator, displaying little interest in the rustic 
 merry-making or the open glances cast upon him by 
 bonny lasses, burned in the sunlit fields, buxom serving 
 maids, as clean as the pans in the kitchen, and hearty 
 matrons, not averse to frisk and frolic in wholesome 
 rural fashion. 
 
 But now, in the face of the manager's buoyancy at 
 the success of a mere expedient a hopefulness ill- 
 warranted by his short purse and the long future be- 
 fore him ! the young man's manner changed from one 
 of indifference to friendliness, if not sympathy, for the 
 over-sanguine custodian of players. Would the hel- 
 met, like the wonderful pitcher, replenish itself as fast 
 as it was emptied ? Or was it but a make-shift ? The 
 manager's next remark seemed a reply to these 
 queries, denoting that Barnes himself, although tem- 
 porarily elated, was not oblivious to the precarious 
 character of "free performances," with voluntary offer- 
 ings. 
 
 "What we need," continued the manager, "is a tem- 
 perance drama. With what intemperate eagerness 
 would the people flock to see it ! But where is it to 
 be found? Plays don't grow on bushes, even in this
 
 74 THE STROLLERS 
 
 agricultural district. And I have yet to discover any 
 dramatists hereabouts, unless" jocularly "you are 
 a Tom Taylor or a Tom Robertson in disguise. Are 
 you sure you have never courted the divine muse? 
 Men of position have frequently been guilty of that 
 folly, sir." 
 
 "But once," answered the other in the same tone. 
 "At college ; a political satire." 
 
 "Was it successful ?" 
 
 "Quite so I was expelled for writing it !" 
 
 "Well," retorted Barnes, irrelevantly, "you have at 
 least mildly coquetted with the muse. Besides, I dare 
 say, you have been behind the scenes a good deal. 
 The green room is a fashionable rendezvous. Where 
 are you going? And what if I may ask is your 
 business ?" 
 
 "I am on my way to New Orleans," said the traveler, 
 after a moment's hesitation. "My business, fortune- 
 getting. In sugar, tobacco, or indigo-culture !" 
 
 "New Orleans !" exclaimed the manager, poising the 
 ladle in mid air. "That, too, is our destination. We 
 have an engagement to play there. Why not join our 
 band ? Write or adapt a play for us. Make a temper- 
 ance drama of your play !" 
 
 "You are a whimsical fellow," said the stranger, 
 smiling. "Why don't you write the play yourself ?" 
 
 "I? An unread, illiterate dotard! Why, I never 
 had so much as a day's schooling. As a lad I slept 
 with the rats, held horses, swept crossings and lived 
 like a mudlark ! Me write a play ! I might let fall a
 
 A CONFERENCE 75 
 
 suggestion Here and there ; how to set a flat, or where 
 to drop a fly ; to plan an entrance, ' or to arrange an 
 exit ! No, no ; let the shoemaker stick to his last ! It 
 takes" with deference "a scholar to write a drama." 
 
 "Thus you disqualify me," laughed the other, draw- 
 ing out a pipe which he filled, and lighted with a coal 
 held in the iron grip of the antique tongs. "If it were 
 only to help plant a battery or stand in a gap !" he said 
 gyimly, replacing the tongs against the old brick oven 
 at one side of the grate. "But to beset King Bacchus 
 in three acts ! To storm his castle in the first ; scale 
 the walls in the second, and blow up all the king's 
 horses and all the king's men in the last that is, in- 
 deed, serious warfare !" 
 
 "True, it will be a roundabout way to New Orleans," 
 continued the manager, disregarding his companion's 
 response, "but there is no better way of seeing the New 
 World that is, if you do not disdain the company of 
 strolling players. You gain in knowledge what you 
 lose in time. If you are a philosopher, you can study 
 human nature through the buffoon and the mummer. 
 If you are a naturalist, here are grand forests to con- 
 template, fi you are not a recluse, here is free, though 
 humble, comradeship." 
 
 His listener gazed thoughtfully into the fire. Was 
 the prospect of sharing this gipsy-like life attractive 
 to him ? An adventurer himself, was he drawn toward 
 these homeless strollers, for whom the illusions of 
 dramatic art shone with enticing luster in the compar- 
 ative solitude of the circuit on the wilderness ?
 
 76 THE STROLLERS 
 
 As he sat before the glow, the light of the burning 
 shagbark, playing elfishly above the dying embers, out- 
 lined the stalwart, yet active figure and the impenetra- 
 ble, musing features. But when, with an upward 
 shower of sparks, the backlog fell asunder and the 
 waning flame cast yet more gloomy shadows behind 
 them, he leaned back in his heavy, hewn chair and 
 again bent an attentive look upon the loquacious 
 speaker. 
 
 "Or, if you desire," resumed the manager after some 
 hesitation, "it might become a business venture as well 
 as a pleasure jaunt. Here is a sinking ship. Will 
 the salvage warrant helping us into port ; that is, New 
 Orleans? There hope tells a flattering tale. The 
 company is well equipped; has a varied repertoire, 
 while Constance" tenderly "is a host in herself. 
 If you knew her as I do ; had watched her art grow" 
 his voice trembled "and to think, sometimes I do 
 not know where the next day's sustenance may come 
 from ! That she" 
 
 He broke off abruptly, gazing at his companion half- 
 apologetically. "We players, sir," he resumed, "pre- 
 sent a jovial front, but" tapping his breast "few 
 know what is going on here !" 
 
 "Therein," said the younger man, emptying his pipe, 
 "you have stated a universal truth." He pushed a 
 smoldering log with his foot toward the remnants of 
 the embers. "Suppose I were so minded to venture" 
 and he mentioned a modest sum "in this hazard 
 and we patched up the play together ?"
 
 A CONFERENCE 77 
 
 "You don't mean it?" cried the manager, eagerly. 
 Then he regarded the other suspiciously : "Your pro- 
 posal is not inspired through sympathy?" 
 
 "Why not through the golden prospects you have 
 so eloquently depicted ?" replied Saint-Prosper, coldly. 
 
 "Why not indeed !" exclaimed the reassured mana- 
 ger. "Success will come ; it must come. You have 
 seen Constance but once. She lives in every charac- 
 tesf to her heart's core. How does she do it ? Who 
 can tell ? It's inborn. A heritage to her !" 
 
 His voice sank low with emotion. "Yes," he mur- 
 mured, shaking his head thoughtfully, as though an- 
 other image arose in his mind ; "a heritage ! a divine 
 heritage!" But soon he looked up. "She's a brave 
 girl !" he said. "When times were dark, she would 
 always smile encouragingly, and, in the light of her 
 clear eyes, I felt anew the Lord would temper the 
 wind to the shorn lamb/' 
 
 "One two three four," rang the great clock 
 through the silent hall, and, at its harsh clangor, 
 Barnes started. 
 
 "Bless my soul, the maids'll be up and doing and 
 find us here !" he exclaimed. "One last cup ! To the 
 success of the temperance drama !" 
 
 In a few moments they had parted for their re- 
 spective chambers and only the landlord was left down- 
 stairs. Now as he came from behind the bar, where 
 he had been apparently dozing and secretly listening 
 through the half-opened door leading into the kitchen, 
 he had much difficulty to restrain his laughter.
 
 78 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "That's a good one to tell Ezekiel," he muttered, 
 turning out the lights and sweeping the ashes on the 
 hearth to the back of the grate. "To the temperance 
 drama !"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE CHARIOT 
 
 4 
 
 Down the hill, facing the tavern, the shadows of 
 night were slowly withdrawn, ushering in the day of 
 the players' leaving. A single tree, at the very top, 
 isolated from its sylvan neighbors, was bathed in the 
 warm sunshine, receiving the earliest benediction of 
 day. Down, down, came the dark shade, pursued by 
 the light, until the entire slope of the hill was radiant 
 and the sad colored foliage flaunted in new-born 
 gaiety. 
 
 Returning from the stable, where he had been look- 
 ing after his horse, the soldier stood for a moment be- 
 fore the inn, when a flower fell at his feet, and, glanc- 
 ing over his shoulder, he perceived Susan, who was 
 leaning from her window. The venturesome rose, 
 which had clambered as high as the second story, was 
 gone ; plucked, alas, by the wayward hand of a co- 
 quette. Saint-Prosper bowed, and stooped for the 
 aspiring but now hapless flower which lay in the dust. 
 
 "You have joined the chariot, I hear?" said Susan. 
 
 "For the present," he replied. 
 (79)
 
 80 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "And what parts will you play?" she continued, 
 with smiling inquisitiveness. 
 
 "None." 
 
 "What a pity ! You would make a handsome lover." 
 Then she blushed. "Lud! What am I saying? Be- 
 sides" maliciously "I believe you have eyes for 
 some one else. But remember," shaking her finger 
 and with a coquettish turn of the head "I am an ac- 
 tress and therefore vain. I must have the best part 
 in the new piece. Don't forget that,, or I'll not travel 
 in the same chariot with you." And Susan disap- 
 peared. 
 
 "Ah, Kate," she said, a momejit later, "what a fine- 
 looking young man he is !" 
 
 "Who?" drawled her sister. 
 
 "Mr. Saint-Prosper, of course." 
 
 "He is large enough," retorted Kate, leisurely. 
 
 "Large enough ! O, Kate, what a phlegmatic crea- 
 ture you are !" 
 
 "Fudge !" said the other as she left the chamber. 
 
 .Entering the tavern, the soldier was met by the wiry 
 old lady who bobbed into the breakfast room and ex- 
 plained the kind of part that fitted her like a glove, 
 her prejudices being strong against modern plays. 
 
 "Give me dramas like 'Oriana,' 'The Rival Queens' 
 or Webster's pieces," she exclaimed, quoting with 
 much fire for her years : 
 
 " 'We are only like dead walls or vaulted graves!' " 
 
 "And do not forget the 'heavy' in your piece !" called
 
 THE DEPARTURE 81 
 
 out Hawkes acrqss the table. "Something you can 
 dig your teeth in !" 
 
 "Nor the 'juvenile lead/ " chimed in the Celtic 
 Adonis. 
 
 "Adonis makes a great hit in a small part," laughed 
 Kate, appearing at the door. " 'My lord, the carriage 
 is waiting!' " 
 
 "My lady, your tongue is too sharp!" exclaimed 
 Adonis, nettled. 
 
 1 "And put in a love scene for Adonis and myself," 
 she continued, lazily floating into the room. "He is 
 so fond of me, it would not be like acting!" 
 
 This bantering was at length interrupted by the ap- 
 pearance of the chariot and the property wagon at the 
 front door, ready for the journey. The rumbling of 
 the vehicles, the resounding hoofs and the resonant 
 voice of the stable boy awakened the young lord of the 
 manor in his chamber above. He stretched himself 
 sleepily, swore and again composed himself for slum- 
 ber, when the noise of a property trunk, thumping its 
 way down the front stairs a step at a time, galvanized 
 him into life and consciousness. 
 
 "Has the world come to an end?" he muttered. 
 "No ; I remember ; it's only the players taking their 
 departure !" 
 
 But, although he spoke carelessly, the bumping of 
 boxes and slamming and banging of portable goods 
 annoyed him more than he would confess. With the 
 "crazy-quilt" a patch-work of heptagons of different 
 hues and patterns around his shoulders, clothing him
 
 82 THE STROLLERS 
 
 with all the colors of the rainbow, he sat up in bed, 
 wincing at each concussion. 
 
 "I might as well get up!" he exclaimed. "I'll see 
 her once more the perverse beauty !" And tossing 
 the kaleidoscopic covering viciously from him, he 
 began to dress. 
 
 Meanwhile, as the time for their going drew near, 
 mine host down-stairs sped the parting guest with 
 good cheer, having fared profitably by the patronage 
 the players had brought to the inn; but his daughter, 
 Arabella, looked sad and pensive. How weary, flat 
 and stale appeared her existence now ! With a lump 
 in her throat and a pang in her heart, she recklessly 
 wiped her eyes upon the best parlor curtains, when 
 Barnes mounted to the box, as robust a stage-driver 
 as ever extricated a coach from a quagmire. The 
 team, playful through long confinement, tugged at 
 the reins, and Sandy, who was at the bits, occasionally 
 shot through space like an erratic meteor. 
 
 The manager was flourishing his whip impatiently 
 when Constance and Susan appeared, the former in a 
 traveling costume of blue silk ; a paletot of dark cloth, 
 and, after the fashion of the day, a bonnet of satin and 
 velvet. Susan was attired in a jupe sweeping and 
 immensely full to be in style! and jacquette with 
 sleeves of the pagoda form. The party seemed in high 
 spirits, as from his dormer window Mauville, adjust- 
 ing his attire, peered through the lattice over the edge 
 of the moss-grown roof and leaf-clogged gutters and 
 surveyed their preparations for departure. How well
 
 THE DEPARTURE 83 
 
 the rich color of her gown became the young girl! 
 He had told himself white was her best adornment, 
 but his opinion veered on the moment now, and he 
 thought he had never seen her to better advantage, 
 with the blue of her dress reappearing in the lighter 
 shade, above the dark paletot, in the lining of the bon- 
 net and the bow of ribbons beneath her chin. 
 
 "On my word, but she looks handsome!" muttered 
 the patroon. "Might sit for a Gainsborough or a Rey- 
 nolds ! What dignity ! What coldness ! All except 
 the eyes ! How they can lighten ! But there's that 
 adventurer with her," as the figure of the soldier 
 crossed the yard to the property wagon. "No get- 
 ting rid of him until the last moment!" And he 
 opened the shutters wider, listening and watching more 
 closely. 
 
 "Are you going to ride in the property wagon ?" he 
 heard Saint-Prosper ask. 
 
 '"Yes ; when I have a part to study I sometimes retire 
 to the stage throne," she answered lightly. "I sup- 
 pose you will ride your horse?" 
 
 Of his reply the listener caught only the words, 
 "wind-break" and "lame." He observed the soldier 
 assist her to the throne, and then, to Mauville's sur- 
 prise, spring into the wagon himself. 
 
 "Why, the fellow is going with them !" exclaimed the 
 land baron. "Or, at any rate, he is going with her. 
 What can it mean ?" And hurriedly quitting his post, 
 his toilet now being complete, he hastened to the door 
 and quickly made his way down-stairs.
 
 84 THE STROLLERS 
 
 During- the past week his own addresses had mis- 
 carried and his gallantry had been love's labor lost. 
 At first he had fancied he was making progress, but 
 soon acknowledged to himself he had underestimated 
 the enterprise. Play had succeeded play he could not 
 have told what part favored her most ! Ophelia sighed 
 and died ; Susan danced on her grave between acts, 
 according to the program, and turned tears into smiles ; 
 the farewell night had come and gone and yet 
 Constance had made no sign of compliance to reward 
 the patient wooer. Now, at the sight of these prepara- 
 tions for departure, and the presence of the stalwart 
 stranger in the . property wagon, he experienced a 
 sudden sensation of pique, almost akin to jealousy. 
 
 Stepping from the tavern, it was with an effort he 
 suppressed his chagrin and vexation and assumed that 
 air of nonchalance which became him well. Smilingly, 
 he bade Susan and the other occupants of the chariot 
 farewell, shook Barnes by the hand, and turned 'to 
 the property wagon. 
 
 "The noise of your departure awakened me," he 
 said to the young girl. "So I have come to claim my 
 compensation the pleasure of seeing you " 
 
 "Depart!" she laughed quickly. 
 
 Momentarily disconcerted, he turned to the soldier. 
 "You ride early." 
 
 "As you see," returned the other, immovably. 
 
 "A habit contracted in the army, no doubt!" re- 
 torted Mauville, recovering his easy self-possession. 
 "Well, a bumping trunk is as efficacious as a bugle
 
 THE DEPARTURE 85 
 
 call! But au revoir, Miss Carew; for we may meet 
 again. The world is broad yet its highways are 
 narrow! There is no need wishing you a pleasant 
 journey." 
 
 His glance rested on Saint-Prosper for a moment, 
 but told nothing beyond the slight touch of irony in 
 his words and then shifting to the young girl, it lin- 
 gered upon each detail of costume and outline of feat- 
 ui^e. Before she could reply, Barnes cracked his whip, 
 the horses sprang forward, and the stable boy, a con- 
 fused tangle of legs and arms, was shot as from a cata- 
 pult among the sweet-williams. The abrupt departure 
 of the chariot was the cue for the property wagon, 
 which, folio wed with some labor and jolting, like a con- 
 voy struggling in the wake of a pretentious ship. From 
 the door Mauville watched it until it reached a toll- 
 gate, passed beneath the portcullis and disappeared 
 into the broad province of the wilderness.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 
 
 Calm and still was the morning; the wandering air 
 just stirred the pendulous branches of the elms and 
 maples, and, in the clear atmosphere, the russet hills 
 were sharply outlined. As they swung out into the 
 road, with Hans, the musician, at the reins, the young 
 girl removed her bonnet and leaned back in the chair 
 of state, where kings had fretted and queens had 
 lolled. 
 
 The throne, imposing on the stage, now appeared but 
 a flimsy article of furniture, with frayed and torn 
 upholstering, and carving which had long since lost 
 its gilded magnificence. Seated amid the jumble of 
 theatrical appliances and accoutrements scenery, 
 rolled up rug-fashion, property trunks, stage clock, 
 lamps and draperies she accepted the situation grace- 
 fully, even finding nothing strange in the presence of 
 the soldier. New faces had come and gore in the 
 company before, and, when Barnes had complacently 
 informed her Saint-Prosper would journey with the 
 players to New Orleans in a semi-business capacity, 
 
 (86)
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 87 
 
 the arrangement appeared conformable to precedent. 
 The manager's satisfaction augured well for the im- 
 portance of the semi-business role assumed by the 
 stranger, and Barnes' friendliness was perhaps in 
 some degree unconsciously reflected in her manner; 
 an attitude the soldier's own reserve, or taciturnity, 
 had not tended to dispel. So, his being in the 
 property wagon seemed no more singular than 
 Hans' occupancy of the front seat, or if Adonis, 
 Hawkes, or Susan had been there with her. She was 
 accustomed to free and easy comradeship ; indeed, 
 knew no other life, and it was only assiduous atten- 
 tions, like those of the land baron's, that startled and 
 disquieted her. 
 
 As comfortably as might be, she settled back in the 
 capacious, threadbare throne, a slender figure in its 
 depths more adapted to accommodate a corpulent 
 Henry VIII ! and smiled gaily, as the wagon, in 
 avoiding one rut, ran into another and lurched some- 
 what violently. Saint-Prosper, lodged on a neighbor- 
 ing trunk, quickly extended a steadying hand. 
 
 "You see how precarious thrones are !" he said. 
 
 "There isn't room for it to more than totter," she re- 
 plied lightly, removing her bonnet and lazily swing- 
 ing it from the arm of the chair. 
 
 "Then it's safer than real thrones," he answered, 
 watching the swaying bonnet, or perhaps, contrasting 
 the muscular, bronzed hand he had placed on the chair 
 with the smooth, white one which held the blue rib-
 
 88 THE STROLLERS 
 
 bons ; a small, though firm, hand to grapple with the 
 minotaur, Life! 
 
 She slowly wound the ribbons around her fingers. 
 
 "Oh, you mean France," she said, and he looked 
 away with sudden disquietude. "Poor monarchs ! 
 Their road is rougher than this one." 
 
 "Rougher truly !" 
 
 "You love France ?" she asked suddenly, after study- 
 ing, with secret, sidelong glances his reserved, im- 
 penetrable face. 
 
 His gaze returned to her to the bonnet now resting 
 in her lap to the hand beside it. 
 
 "It is my native land," he replied. 
 
 "Then why did you leave it in its trouble?" she 
 asked impulsively. 
 
 "Why?" he repeated, regarding her keenly; but in 
 a moment he added : "For several reasons. I re- 
 turned from Africa, from serving under Bugeaud, to 
 find the red flag waving in Paris ; the king fled !" 
 
 "Oh," she said, quickly, "a king should " 
 
 "What?" he asked, as she paused. 
 
 "I was going to say it was better to die like a king 
 than" 
 
 "Than live an outcast!" he concluded for her, a 
 shadow on his brow. 
 
 She nodded. "At any rate, that is the way they al- 
 ways do in the plays," she added brightly. "But you 
 were saying you found your real king fled ?" 
 
 His heavy brows contracted, though he answered 
 readily enough : "Yes, the king had fled. A kins-
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 89 
 
 man in whose house I had been reared then bade me 
 head a movement for the restoration of the royal 
 fugitive. For what object? The regency was doomed. 
 The king, a May-fly !" 
 
 "And so you refused?" 
 
 "We quarreled ; he swore like a Gascon. His little 
 puppet should yet sit in the chair where Louis XIV 
 had lorded it ! I, who owed my commission to his no- 
 ble name, was a republican, a deserter ! The best way 
 out of the difficulty was out of the country. First it 
 was England, then it was here. To-morrow where ?" 
 he added, in a lower tone, half to himself. 
 
 "Where?" she repeated, lightly. "That is our case, 
 too." 
 
 He looked at her with sudden interest. "Yours is 
 an eventful life, Miss Carew." 
 
 "I have never known any other," she said, simply, 
 adding after a pause: "My earliest recollections 
 are associated with my mother and the stage. As a 
 child I watched her from the wings. I remember a 
 grand voice and majestic presence. When the au- 
 dience broke into applause, my heart throbbed with 
 pride." 
 
 But as her thoughts reverted to times past, the 
 touch of melancholy, invoked by the memory of her 
 mother, was gradually dispelled, as fancy conjured 
 other scenes, and a flickering smile hovered over the 
 lips whose parting displaced that graver mood. 
 
 "Once or twice I played with her, too," she added. 
 "I thought it nice to be one of the little princes in
 
 90 
 
 Richard III and wear white satin clothes. One night 
 after the play an old gentleman took me on his knee 
 and said: 'I had to come, my child, and see if the 
 wicked old uncle hadn't really smothered you !' When 
 he had gone, my mother told me he was Mr. Washing- 
 ton Irving. I thought him very kind, for he brought 
 me a bag of bonbons from the coffee-room." 
 
 "It's the first time I ever heard of a great critic 
 laden with sweetmeats !" said the soldier. "And were 
 you not flattered by his honeyed regard?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; I devoured it and wanted more," she 
 laughed. 
 
 Hans' flourishing whip put an end to further conver- 
 sation. "Der stage goach !" he said, turning a lump- 
 ish countenance upon them and pointing down the 
 road. 
 
 Approaching at a lively gait was one of the coaches 
 of the regular line, a vehicle of ancient type, hung on 
 bands of leather and curtained with painted canvas, 
 not unlike the typical French diligence, except for its 
 absence of springs. The stage was spattered with mud 
 from roof to wheel-tire, but as the mire was not fresh 
 and the road fair, the presumption followed that cus- 
 tom and practice precluded the cleaning of the coach. 
 The passengers, among whom were several ladies, 
 wearing coquettish bonnets with ribbons or beau- 
 catchers attached, were too weary even to view with 
 wonder the odd-looking theatrical caravan. Only the 
 driver, a diminutive person with puckered face the 
 color of dried apples, so venerable as to be known as
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 91 
 
 Old Hundred, seemed as spry and cheery as when he 
 started. 
 
 "Morning," he said, briskly, drawing in his horses. 
 "Come back, have ye, with yer troupe? What's the 
 neuws from Alban-y?" 
 
 "Nothing, except Texas has been admitted as a 
 State," answered Barnes. 
 
 "Sho ! We air coming on !" commented the Methu- 
 selali of the road. 
 
 "Coming on !" groaned a voice in the vehicle, and the 
 florid face of an English traveler appeared at the door. 
 "I say, do you call this 'coming on !' I'm nearly gone, 
 don't you know !" 
 
 "Hi! ge' long! steady there!" And Old Hun- 
 dred again whipped up his team, precipitating a lady 
 into the lap of the gentleman who was "nearly gone," 
 and well-nigh completing his annihilation. 
 
 In less time than when a friendly sail is lost in the 
 mist, Old Hundred's bulky land-wherry passed from 
 view, and the soldier again turned to his companion. 
 But she was now intent on some part in a play 
 which she was quietly studying and he contented him- 
 self with lighting that staple luxury of the early 
 commonwealth, a Virginia stogie, observing her from 
 time to time over the glowing end. With the book 
 upon her knee, her head downcast and partly turned 
 from him, he could, nevertheless, through the mazy 
 convolutions and dreamy spirals of the Indian weed, 
 detect the changing emotions which swept over her, 
 as in fancy she assumed a role in the drama. Now the
 
 92 THE STROLLERS 
 
 faintest shadow of a smile, coming and going; again 
 beneath the curve of her long lashes, a softer gleaming 
 in the dark eyes, adding new charm to the pale, proud 
 face. Around them nature seemed fraught with for- 
 getfulness ; the Libyan peace that knows not where or 
 wherefore. Rocked in the cradle of ruts and fur- 
 rows, Hans, portly as a carboy, half-dozed on the 
 front seat. 
 
 Shortly before noon they approached an ancient 
 hostelry, set well back from the road. To the mana- 
 ger's dismay, however, the door was locked and boards 
 were nailed across the windows. Even the water pail, 
 hospitably placed for man or beast, had been removed 
 from its customary proximity to the wooden pump. 
 Abandoned to decay, the tenantless inn was but 
 another evidence of traffic diverted from the old stage 
 roads by the Erie Canal Company. Cold was the fire- 
 place before which had once rested the sheep-skin 
 slippers for the guests; empty was the larder where 
 at this season was wont to be game in abundance, 
 sweet corn, luscious melons the trophies of the hunt, 
 the fruits of the field ; missing the neat, compact little 
 keg whose spigot had run with consolation for the 
 wanderer ! 
 
 Confronted by the deserted house, where they had 
 expected convivial cheer, there was no alternative but 
 to proceed, and their journey was resumed with some 
 discomfiture to the occupants of the coach which now 
 labored like a portly Spanish galleon, struck by a 
 squall. They had advanced in this manner for
 
 93 
 
 some distance through furrow and groove, when 
 the vehicle gave a sharper lurch down a deeper rut ; 
 a crash was followed by cries of affright and the char- 
 iot abruptly settled on one side. Barnes held the 
 plunging horses -in control, while the gentlemen scram- 
 bled to the ground and assisted the ladies to dismount. 
 
 "Any one hurt?" asked the manager from his box. 
 
 "No damage done except to the coach," said 
 Hawkes. 
 
 By this time the horses had become quiet and Barnes, 
 now that the passengers were rescued, like a good 
 skipper, left the quarter deck. 
 
 "We couldn't have chosen a better place for our 
 lunch," he remarked philosophically. "How fortunate 
 we should have broken down where we did !" 
 
 "Very fortunate!" echoed the old lady ironically. 
 
 The accident had happened upon a slight plateau, of 
 which they accordingly took possession, tethering the 
 horses to graze. From the branches overhead the 
 squirrels surveyed them as if asking what manner of 
 people were these, and the busy woodpecker ceased his 
 drumming, cocking his head inquisitively at the intru- 
 ders; then shyly drew away, mounting spirally the 
 trunk of the tree to the hole, chiseled by his 'strong 
 beak for a nest. As Barnes gazed around upon the 
 pleasing prospect, he straightway became the duke in 
 the comedy of the forest. 
 
 "Ha, my brothers in exile," he exclaimed, "are not 
 these woods more free from peril than the envious 
 court?"
 
 94 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "All it wants," said the tragedian, hungrily, "is mut- 
 ton, greens and a foaming pot." 
 
 "I can't promise the foaming pot," answered the 
 manager. "But, at least, we have a well-filled ham- 
 per." 
 
 Soon the coffee was simmering and such viands as 
 they had brought with them for Barnes was a far- 
 sighted and provident manager were spread out in 
 tempting profusion. Near them a swift-flowing 
 stream chattered about the stones like one of nature's 
 busiest gossips ; it whispered to the flowers, murmured 
 to the rushes and was voluble to the overhanging 
 branch that dragged upon the surface of the water. 
 The flowers on its brim nodded, the rushes waved and 
 the branch bent as if in assent to the mad gossip of 
 the blithesome brook. And it seemed as though all 
 this animated conversation was caused by the encamp- 
 ment of the band of players by the wayside. 
 
 The repast finished, they turned their attention to 
 the injured chariot, but fortunately the damage was 
 not beyond repair, and Barnes, actor, manager, bill- 
 poster, license-procurer, added to his already extensive 
 repertoire the part of joiner and wheelwright. The 
 skilled "artisans in coachmaking and coach-repairing 
 might not have regarded the manager as a mas- 
 ter-workman, but the fractured parts were finally set 
 after a fashion. By that time, however, the sun had 
 sunk to rest upon a pillow of clouds ; the squirrels, law- 
 abiding citizens, had sought their homes; the wood- 
 pecker had vanished in his snug chamber, and only
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 95 
 
 forest dwellers of nocturnal habits were now abroad, 
 their name legion like the gad-abouts of a populous 
 city. 
 
 "There!" exclaimed the manager, surveying his 
 handiwork. "The 'bus is ready! But there is little 
 use going on to-night. I am not sure of the road 
 and here is a likely spot to pass the night." 
 
 "Likely to be devoured by wild beasts," said Kate, 
 with a shudder. 
 
 "I am sure I see two glistening eyes!" exclaimed 
 Susan. 
 
 "Fudge !" observed the elastic old lady. "That's 
 the first time you have been afraid of two glistening 
 eyes." 
 
 "There's a vast difference between wolves and men," 
 murmured Susan. 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," returned the aged cynic. 
 
 But as the light of day was withdrawn a great 
 fire sprang up, illumining the immediate foreground. 
 The flames were cheering, drawing the party more 
 closely together. Even Hawkes partly discarded 
 his tragedy face ; the old lady threw a bundle of fifty 
 odd years from her shoulders as easily as a wood-car- 
 rier would cast aside his miserable stack of fagots, 
 while Barnes forgot his troubles in narrating the har- 
 rowing experience of a company which had penetrated 
 the west at a period antedating the settlement of the 
 Michigan and Ohio boundary dispute. 
 
 The soldier alone was silent, curiously watching the 
 play of light and shade on the faces of the strollers,
 
 96 THE STROLLERS 
 
 his gaze resting longest, perhaps, on the features of 
 the young girl. Leaning against an ancient oak, so 
 old the heart of it was gone and it towered but a 
 mighty shell, the slender figure of the actress was 
 clearly outlined, but against that dark and roughly- 
 furrowed background she seemed too slight and deli- 
 cate to buffet with storms and hardships. That day's 
 experience was a forerunner of the unexpected in this 
 wandering life, but another time the mishap might not 
 be turned to diversion. The coach would not always 
 traverse sunny by-ways ; the dry leaf floating from the 
 majestic arm of the oak, the sound of an acorn as it 
 struck the earth presaged days less halcyon to come. 
 
 "How do you enjoy being a stroller?" asked a voice, 
 interrupting the soldier's reverie. "It has its bitters 
 and its sweets, hasn't it ? Especially its sweets !" Su- 
 san added, glancing meaningly at the young girl. 
 "But after all, it doesn't much matter what happens to 
 you if you are in good company." The semi-gloom 
 permitted her to gaze steadfastly into his eyes. He 
 ignored the opportunity for a compliment, and Susan 
 stifled a little yawn, real or imaginary. 
 
 "Positively one could die of ennui in this wilderness," 
 she continued. "Do you know you are a welcome ad- 
 dition to our band ? But you will have to make your- 
 self very agreeable. I suppose" archly "you were 
 very agreeable in the property wagon?" 
 
 "Miss Carew had a part to study," he returned, 
 coldly. 
 
 "A part to study !" In mock consternation, "How
 
 SOJOURNING IN ARCADIA 97 
 
 1 hate studying parts ! They say what you wouldn't, 
 and don't say what you would! But I'm off to bed," 
 rising impatiently. "I'm getting sleepy !" 
 
 "Sleepy !" echoed Barnes. "Take your choice ! The 
 Hotel du Omnibus" indicating the chariot "or 
 the Villa Italienne?" with a gesture toward a tent 
 made of the drop curtain upon the walls of which was 
 the picture of an Italian scene. 
 
 c"The chariot for me," answered Susan. "It is more 
 high and dry and does not suggest spiders and other 
 crawling things." 
 
 "Good-night, then, and remember a good conscience 
 makes a hard bed soft." 
 
 "Then I shall sleep on down. I haven't had a 
 chance" with a sigh "to damage my conscience 
 lately. But when I strike civilization again" and 
 Susan shook her head eloquently to conclude her sen- 
 tence. "Oh, yes ; if beds depend on conscience, boughs 
 would be feathers for me to-night." With which half- 
 laughing, half-defiant conclusion, Susan tripped to the 
 chariot, pausing a moment, however, to cast a reproach- 
 ful glance over her shoulder at Saint-Prosper before 
 vanishing in the cavernous depths of the vehicle of the 
 muses. 
 
 Her departure was the signal for the dispersing of 
 the party to their respective couches. Now the fire 
 sank lower, the stars came out brighter and the moon 
 arose and traveled majestically up the heavens, taking 
 a brief but comprehensive survey of the habitations 
 of mortals, and then, as if satisfied with her scrutiny, 
 sailed back to the horizon and dropped out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 
 
 Shortly after the departure of the strolling players 
 from the tavern, Mauville summoned his servant and 
 ordered his equipage. While waiting he strode im- 
 patiently to and fro in the dining-room, which, disman- 
 tled of the stage, by very contrast to the temporary 
 temple of art, turned his thoughts to the players. The 
 barrenness of the room smote him acutely with the 
 memory of those performances, and he laughed iron- 
 ically to himself that he should thus revert to them. 
 But as he scoffed inwardly, his eyes gleamed with 
 vivacity, and the sensations with which he had viewed 
 the young girl night after night were reawakened. 
 What was one woman lost to him, his egotism whis- 
 pered ; he had parted from many, as a gourmand leaves 
 one meal for another. Yes ; but she had not been his, 
 insinuated vanity ; another had whipped her off before 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Why the devil didn't you tell me he was going with 
 them ?" he demanded of the landlord while settling his 
 account. 
 
 (98)
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 99 
 
 "He who?" asked the surprised innkeeper. 
 
 "That adventurer you have been harboring here. 
 How far's he going with them ?" 
 
 "I don't know. The night after the performance 
 I heard the manager ask him to join the company; to 
 write a temperance play." 
 
 "Temperance play !" sneered Mauville. "The fool's 
 gone with them on account of a woman." 
 ^"1 did think he was mighty attentive to one of the 
 actresses," said the landlord, reflectively. "The one 
 with them melting eyes. Purty good-looking! Quiet 
 and lady-like, too! So he's gallivanting after her? 
 Well, well, I guess actresses be all alike." 
 
 "I guess they are," added the heir savagely. "And 
 this one took me in," he thought to himself. "Hold- 
 ing me off and playing with him, the jade!" Then 
 he continued aloud: "Where, are they going?" 
 
 "Didn't hear 'em say," answered the other, "and I 
 didn't like to appear too curious." 
 
 "You didn't?" returned Mauville, ironically. "You 
 must have changed lately." 
 
 "I don't know as I understand you quite," replied 
 the landlord with sudden dignity. "But here's your 
 carriage and your things are all on. I guess your ten- 
 ants will be glad to see you," he continued, not resist- 
 ing a parting shot. 
 
 "Curse the tenants !" muttered the guest in ill-humor, 
 as he strode from the tavern without more ado. 
 
 He was soon on his way, partly forgetting his vexa- 
 tion in new anticipations, and traveling with spirit to
 
 loo THE STROLLERS 
 
 his destination, which he reached late that afternoon. 
 The residence of the old patroons, a lordly manor 
 where once lavish hospitality had been displayed, was 
 approached through great gates of hammered iron in 
 which the family arms were interwoven, leading into 
 a fine avenue of trees. The branches of the more 
 majestic met overhead, forming a sylvan arch that al- 
 most obscured the blue sky by day and the stars by 
 night. Gazing through this vista, a stately portico 
 appeared, with Corinthian columns, affording an invit- 
 ing termination of the view. The grounds bore evi- 
 dence of neglect in the grass growing knee-high and 
 rank with weeds; the flower beds almost obliterated; 
 a corn-crib sunk to one side like a quadruped gone 
 weak-kneed ; and the stream that struggled vainly 
 through the leaves and rubbish barring its passage 
 across the estate. The fence resembled the "company 
 front" of an awkward squad, each picket being more 
 or less independent of its neighbor, with here and there 
 a break or gap in the ranks. 
 
 Passing through the leafy archway over a noiseless 
 road and drawing near the manor, the heir could see 
 that the broad windows, with their quaint squares of 
 glass, were unwashed, the portico unswept and the 
 brass finishings of the front door unpolished. At the 
 right of the steps leading to the portico, moss-covered 
 and almost concealed by a rose-bush, stood a huge 
 block of granite upon which rested the "lifting-stone," 
 as it was called, of one of the early masters. This not 
 inconsiderable weight the new retainers had been re-
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 101 
 
 quired to lift in days of old, or failing, the patroon 
 would have none of their services, for he wanted only 
 lusty, broad-backed varlets for farmers or when need 
 were soldiers. 
 
 In answer to repeated summons from the ponderous 
 knocker, shuffling footsteps were finally heard within, 
 the door was opened a few inches and the gleaming 
 t^eth of a great, gaunt dog were thrust into the open- 
 ing, followed by an ominous growling. Mauville 
 sprang back a step; the snarling resolved itself into 
 a yelp, as some one unceremoniously dragged the canine 
 back ; the door was opened wider and a brawny figure, 
 smoking a long-stemmed pipe, barred the way. The 
 dog, but partly appeased, peered from behind the 
 man's sturdy legs, awaiting hostilities. The latter, 
 an imperturbable Dutchman, eyed the intruder askance, 
 smoking as impassively in his face as one of his ances- 
 tors before William the Testy. From his point of 
 vantage on the threshold the care-taker looked down 
 upon the master so indifferently, while the dog glared 
 so viciously that the land baron cried angrily: 
 
 "Why the devil don't you get out of the way and call 
 off that beast ?" 
 
 The man pondered. "No one but the heir would 
 give orders like that," he said, so accustomed to speak- 
 ing his thoughts in the solitude of the great rooms, 
 that he gave way to the habit now. "This must be the 
 heir." 
 
 Slowly the care-taker moved aside, the hound shift- 
 ing his position accordingly, and Mauville entered,
 
 102 THE STROLLERS 
 
 gazing around with some interest, for the interior of 
 the manor realized the pretensions of its outward as- 
 pect. The floor of the hall was of satinwood and rose- 
 wood, and the mahogany wainscoting, extending al- 
 most to the ceiling, was black with age. With its rich 
 carvings, the stairway suggested woody rioting in 
 balustrades lifting up to the support of the heavy 
 beams in the ceiling. The furnishings were in keep- 
 ing, but dust obscured the mirror-like surface of the 
 mahogany tables, the heavy draperies were in need of 
 renovation, while a housewife would have viewed with 
 despair the condition of brass and ebony inlaid cabi- 
 nets, ancient tapestries, and pictures, well-nigh defaced, 
 but worthy, even in their faded aspect, of the brush of 
 Sir Godfrey Kneller, Benjamin West and the elder 
 Peale. 
 
 Having casually surveyed his new home, the heir 
 was reminded of the need for refreshment after his 
 long journey, and, turning to the care-taker, asked him 
 what there was in the house? The servant smoked 
 silently as though deeply considering this momentous 
 question, while the rear guard maintained unabated 
 hostility between the man's firmly-planted feet. Then 
 abruptly, without removing his pipe, the guardian of 
 the manor ejaculated: 
 
 "Short-cakes and oly-koeks." 
 
 The other laughed, struck his knee with his light 
 cane and demanded to be shown to the library, where 
 he would have these outlandish dishes served. 
 
 "And bring with them, Mynheer Oly-koeks, a bot-
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 103 
 
 tie of wine," he continued. "At the same time, chain 
 up the dog. He eyes me with such hungry hostility 
 that, gad ! I believe he's an anti-renter !" 
 
 Mauville was ushered into a large room, where great 
 leather-bound volumes filled the oak shelves to the 
 ceiling. The care-taker turned, and, with echoing foot- 
 steps, slowly departed, followed by his faithful four- 
 footed retainer. It is true the latter paused, swung 
 half-around and regarded the land-owner with the 
 look of a sulky and rebellious tenant, but, summoned 
 by a stern "Oloffe !" from his master, the dog reluct- 
 antly pattered across the hard-wood floor. 
 
 In surveying his surroundings, the land baron's at- 
 tention was attracted by a coat-of-arms deeply carved 
 in the massive wood of the book-case on a saltire 
 sable, a fleur-de-lys or. This head of heraldic flowers 
 appeared to interest Mauville, who smiled grimly. 
 "From what I know of my worthy ancestors," he 
 muttered, "and their propensities to prey on their fel- 
 low-men, I should say a more fitting device would be 
 that of Lovett of Astwell: Gules, three wolves pas- 
 sant sable, in pale." 
 
 Pleased with his own humor, he threw himself upon 
 a couch near the window, stretching himself luxu- 
 riously. Soon the man reappeared with the refresh- 
 ments and a bottle of old-fashioned, substantial girth, 
 which he uncorked with marked solicitude. 
 
 "Where are the oly-koeks?" exclaimed the heir. 
 
 The watchman pointed to a great dish of dark blue 
 willow-ware pattern.
 
 104 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Oh, doughnuts !" said Mauville. "You know where 
 the family lawyer lives? Have my man drive you to 
 his house and bring him here at once." 
 
 As the care-taker again disappeared the heir bent 
 over the curidusly shaped bottle in delight, for when 
 the cork was drawn a fragrance filled the musty apart- 
 ment as from a bouquet. 
 
 "Blessings on the ancestor who laid down this 
 wine!" he muttered. "May his ghost wander in to 
 sniff it ! These oly-koeks are not bad. I suppose this 
 man, Ten Breecheses, or whatever he is called, is at 
 once cook and housekeeper. Although I don't think 
 much of his housekeeping," ruminated Mauville, as 
 he observed a herculean spider weaving a web from 
 an old volume of Giraldus Cambrensis, antiquary, to 
 the classical works of one Joseph of Exeter. There 
 is a strong sympathy between wine and cobwebs, and 
 Mauville watched with increasing interest the uses to 
 which these ponderous tomes had sunk but serving 
 the bloodthirsty purpose of the nimble architect, evolv- 
 ing its delicate engineering problem in mid air. 
 
 A great blundering fly had just bobbed into the net 
 and the spider, with hideous, carnivorous zest, was 
 scrambling for it, when the guardian of the manor 
 returned with the family solicitor, a little man who 
 bore in his arms a bundle of papers which, after the 
 customary greetings, he spread upon the table. He 
 helped himself to a glass of burgundy and proceeded 
 forthwith to enter into the history of his trust. 
 
 Mynheer, the patroon, Mauville's predecessor, a
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 105 
 
 lonely, arrogant man, had held tenaciously to the im- 
 mense tracts of land acquired in the colonial days by 
 nominal purchase. He had never married, his desire 
 for an heir being discounted by his aversion for the 
 other sex, until as the days dragged on, he found him- 
 self bed-ridden and childless in his old age. Un- 
 fortunately the miser can not take his acres into Para- 
 dise, and the patroon, with many an inward groan, 
 cast about him for some remote relative to whom he 
 would reluctantly transfer his earthly hereditaments. 
 These were two: one a man of piety, who prayed 
 with the tenants when they complained of their lot ; 
 the other, Mauville, upon whom he had never set 
 eyes. 
 
 When the earliest patroons had made known to the 
 West India Company their intention of planting colo- 
 nies in New Netherland, they had issued attractive 
 maps to promote their colonization projects. Among 
 those who had been lured to America by these enticing 
 advertisements was an ancestor of Edward Mauville. 
 Incurring the displeasure of the governor for his god- 
 less views, this Frenchman was sent to the pillory, or 
 whipping post, and his neighbors were about to cast 
 out the devil of irreverence in good old-fashioned 
 manner, when one of Mynheer's daughters interceded, 
 carried off the handsome miscreant, and such was her 
 imperious way ! married him ! He was heard in after 
 years to aver that the whipping would have been the 
 milder punishment, but, be that as it may, a child was 
 born unto them who inherited the father's adventure-
 
 106 THE STROLLERS 
 
 some and graceless character, deserted his home, joined 
 hands with some ocean-rovers and sailed for that pas- 
 ture-ground of buccaneers, the Caribbean sea. Of his 
 subsequent history various stories may be found in the 
 chronicles of New Orleans and Louisiana. 
 
 The only other person who might have any pre- 
 tensions to the estate was a reverend gentleman who 
 had been a missionary among the Indians, preach- 
 ing from a stump, and called "Little Thunder" 
 by the red men because of his powerful voice ; a lineal 
 descendant of the Rev. Doctor Johannes Vanderklonk, 
 the first dominie of the patroons, who served for one 
 thousand guilders, payable in meat or drink, twen- 
 ty-two bushels of wheat and two firkins of butter. 
 He saved the souls of the savages, while the white 
 men cheated their bodies. Now and then, in those 
 early days, the children of the forest protested against 
 this evangelizing process and carried off the good 
 dominie to the torture stake, where they plucked out 
 his finger nails ; but he returned with as much zest to 
 his task of landing these simple souls in Paradise as 
 those who employed him displayed in making an earth- 
 ly Paradise out of the lands the red men left behind 
 them. 
 
 When by this shrewd system the savages were 
 gradually saved, and incidentally exterminated, Little 
 Thunder's occupation was gone and he became a pen- 
 sioner of Mynheer the Patroon, earning his bread by 
 an occasional sermon to the tenants, exhorting them 
 to thrift and industry, to be faithful and multiply, and
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 107 
 
 to pay their rents promptly. As Mynheer's time drew 
 near he sent for his attorney and commanded him to 
 look up the life, deeds and character of Edward Mau- 
 ville. 
 
 "This I did," said the lawyer, "and here it is." 
 Waving a roll of papers before his interested listener. 
 
 "A nauseating mess, no doubt," carelessly remarked 
 the land baron. 
 
 <"Oh, sir!" deprecated the lawyer, opening the roll. 
 ' 'Item : Religion ; pupil of the brilliant Jesuit, Abbe 
 Moneau. Item : JVIorals ; Exhibit A, the affair with 
 Countess in Paris, where he was sent to be edu- 
 cated after the fashion of French families in New 
 Orleans ; Exhibit B ' " 
 
 "Spare me," exclaimed Mauville. "Life is weari- 
 some enough, but a biography " He shrugged his 
 shoulders. "Come to your point." 
 
 "Of course, sir, I was only trying to carry out his 
 instructions. The same, sir, as I would carry out 
 yours !" With an ingratiating smile. Whereupon the 
 attorney told how he had furnished the patroon this 
 roll and fastened it to his bed, so that he might wind and 
 unwind it, perusing it at his pleasure. This the dying 
 man did, sternly noting the damaging facts ; thinking 
 doubtlessly how traits will endure for generations 
 aye, for ages, in spite of the pillory ! the while Little 
 Thunder was roaring petitions to divinity by his bed- 
 side, as though to bluster and bully the Almighty into 
 granting his supplications. The patroon glanced from 
 his pensioner to the roll; from the kneeling man to
 
 io8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 that prodigious list of peccadillos, and then he called 
 for a shilling, a coin still somewhat in use in America. 
 This he flipped thrice. 
 
 "Roue or sham," he said the first time. 
 
 "Rake or hypocrite," he exclaimed the second time. 
 
 "Devil or Pharisee," he cried the third time. 
 
 He peered over the coin and sent for his attorney. 
 His soul passed away, mourned by Little Thunder 
 until the will was read, when his lamentations ceased ; 
 he soundly berated Mynheer, the Patroon, in his coffin 
 and refused to go to his burying. Then he became an 
 ardent anti-renter, a leader of "bolters," a thunderer of 
 the people's cause, the devoted enemy of land barons 
 in general, and one patroon in particular, the foreign 
 heir of the manor. 
 
 "But let him thunder away, sir," said Scroggs, 
 soothingly. "The estate's yours now, for the old pa- 
 troon can't come back to change his mind. He's 
 buried sure enough in the grove, a dark and sombrous 
 spot as befitted his disposition, but restful withal. 
 Aye, and the marble slab's above him, which reminds 
 me that only a month before he took to his bed he was 
 smoking his pipe on the porch, when his glance fell 
 upon the lifting-stone. Suddenly he strode towards it, 
 bent his back and raised it a full two inches. 'So much 
 for age !' said he, scoffing-like. But age heard him and 
 now he lies with a stone on him he can not lift, while 
 you, sir" to his listener, deferentially "are sole heir 
 to the estate and to the feud."
 
 FLIPPING THE SHILLING 109 
 
 "A feud goes with the property?" remarked Mau- 
 ville carelessly. 
 
 "The. tenants object to paying rent/' replied Scroggs, 
 sadly. "They're a sorry lot!" 
 
 "Evade their debts, do they?" said the land baron 
 languidly. "What presumption to imitate their bet- 
 ters ! That won't do ; I need the money." 
 
 "They claim the rights of the landlord originated in 
 fraud" 
 
 "No doubt!" Yawning. "My ancestors were 
 rogues !" 
 
 "Oh, sir" deprecatorily. 
 
 "If the tenants don't pay, turn them out/' interrupted 
 Mauville, listlessly, "if you have to depopulate the 
 country." 
 
 Having come to an understanding with his client, 
 the lawyer arose to take his departure. 
 
 "By the way," he said, obsequiously, selecting a yel- 
 low, well-worn bit of paper from his bundle of docu- 
 ments, "it may interest you to keep this yourself. It 
 is the original deed for all these lands from the squaw 
 Pewasch. You can see they were acquired for a few 
 shillings' worth of 'wet and dry goods' and seventeen 
 and a half ells of duffels." 
 
 "The old patroons could strike a rare bargain," mut- 
 tered the heir, as he casually surveyed the ancient 
 deed, and then, folding it, placed it in his breast pocket. 
 "For a mere song was acquired " 
 
 "A vast principality," added the solicitor, waving his 
 hand toward the fields and meadows far in the distance.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 
 
 Having started the wheels of justice fairly moving, 
 with Scroggs at the throttle, the new land baron soon 
 discovered that he was not in consonance with the 
 great commoner who said he was savage enough to 
 prefer the woods and wilds of Monticello to all the 
 pleasures of Paris. In other words, those rural de- 
 lights of his forefathers, the pleasures of a closer inti- 
 macy with nature, awoke no responsive chord in Mau- 
 ville's breast, and he began to tire before long of a 
 patriarchal existence and crullers and oly-koeks and 
 playing the fine lord in solitary grandeur. 
 
 The very extent of the deserted manor carried an 
 overwhelming sense of loneliness, especially at this 
 season when nature was dying and triumphal tints of 
 decay were replacing the vernal freshness of the for- 
 ests, flaunting gaudy vestments that could not, how- 
 ever, conceal the sadness of the transition. The days 
 were growing shorter and the leaden-colored vapors, 
 driven by the whip of that taskmaster, the wind, re- 
 placed the snow-white clouds becalmed in the tender 
 (no)
 
 depths of ether. Soon would the hoar frost crystal- 
 lize on grass and fence, or the autumn rains de- 
 scend, dripping mournfully from the water spouts 
 and bubbling over the tubs. Already the character of 
 the dawn was changed to an almost sullen awakening 
 of the day, denoting a seeming uneasiness of the hid- 
 den forces, while an angry passing of the glowing orb 
 replaced the Paphian sunset. 
 
 In nook and cranny, through the balustrades and 
 woody screens of the ancient house, penetrated the 
 wandering currents of air. The draperies waved mys- 
 teriously, as by a hidden hand, and, at nightfall, the 
 floor of satin and rosewood creaked ominously as if be- 
 neath the restless footsteps of former inmates, moving 
 from the somber hangings of the windows to the pearl- 
 inlaid harpsichord whose melody was gone, and thence 
 up the broad stair-case, pausing naturally at the land- 
 ing, beneath which had assembled gay gatherings in 
 the colonial days. And such a heedless phantom 
 group fine gentlemen in embroidered coats, bright 
 breeches, silk stockings and peruke, and, peeping 
 through ethereal lace wristbands, a white hand fit for 
 no sterner toil than to flourish with airy grace a gold- 
 headed cane ; ladies with gleaming bare shoulders, 
 dressed in "cumbrous silk that with its rustling made 
 proud the flesh that bore it !" The imaginative listener 
 could almost distinguish these footfalls, as the blind 
 will recognize the tread of an unseen person. 
 
 To further add to the land baron's dissatisfaction; 
 over his heritage, "rent-day" that all-important day in
 
 ii2 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the olden times; when my lord's door had been be- 
 sieged by the willing lease-holders, cheerful in render- 
 ing unto Caesar what was due Caesar ! seemed to have 
 been dropped from the modern calendar, as many an 
 ancient holiday has gradually been lost in the whirligig 
 of time. No long procession now awaited the pa- 
 troon's pleasure, when it should suit him to receive 
 the tribute of guilders, corn or meal; the day might 
 have been as obsolete as an Hellenic festival day to 
 Zeus, for all the observance it was accorded. 
 
 "Your notices, Scroggs, were wasted on the desert 
 air," said the patroon, grimly, to that disappointed 
 worthy. "What's the use of tenants who don't pay? 
 Playing at feudal lord in modern times is a farce, 
 Scroggs. I wish we had lived about four hundred 
 years ago." 
 
 "Yes, if four hundred years ago were now," assent- 
 ed the parasite, '-' I'd begin with Dick, the tollman ! 
 He's a regular Goliath and," his face becoming 
 purple "when I threatened him with the law, threw 
 me out of the barn on an obnoxious heap of refuse. " 
 
 "You weren't exactly a David, then?" laughed 
 the patroon, in spite of his bad humor. 
 
 "I'll throw the stone yet," said the little man, vi- 
 ciously showinghisyellowteeth. "The law'sthe sling." 
 
 That evening, when the broad meadows were in- 
 undated by the shadow of the forest that crept over it 
 like an incoming tide, the land baron ordered lights 
 for every room. The manor shone in isolated gran- 
 deur amid the gloomy fields, with the forest-wall
 
 SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 113 
 
 around it ; radiant as of old, when strains of music had 
 been heard within and many figures passed the win- 
 dows. But now there was light, and not life, and a sol- 
 itary anti-renter on the lonely road regarded with sur- 
 prise the unusual illumination. 
 
 "What does it mean?" asked Little Thunder for 
 it was he waiting and watching, as without the gates 
 of Paradise. 
 
 Well might he ask, for the late Mynheer, the Pa- 
 troon, had been a veritable bat for darkness; a few 
 candles answered his purpose in the spacious rooms ; 
 he played the prowler, not the grand lord; a recluse 
 who hovered over his wine butts in the cellar and gloat- 
 ed over them, while he touched them not; a hermit 
 who lived half his time in the kitchen, bending over 
 the smoky fire-place, and not a lavender-scented gentle- 
 man who aired himself in the drawing-room, a fine 
 fop with nothing but the mirrors to pay him homage. 
 Little Thunder, standing with folded arms in the dark 
 road, gloomy as Lucifer, almost expected to. see the 
 brilliant fabric vanish like one of those palaces of joy 
 built by the poets. 
 
 Hour after hour passed, midnight had come and 
 gone, and still the lights glowed. Seated in the library, 
 with the curtains drawn, were the land baron and 
 Scroggs, a surveyor's map between them and a dozen 
 bottles around them. Before Mauville stood several 
 glasses, containing wines of various vintages which 
 the land baron compared and sipped, held to the light 
 and inhaled after the manner of a connoisseur sampling
 
 ii4 THE STROLLERS 
 
 a cellar. He was unduly dignified and stately, but the 
 attorney appeared decidedly groggy. The latter's ideas 
 clashed against one another like pebbles in a child's 
 rattle, and, if the round table may be supposed to rep- 
 resent the earth, as the ancient geographers imagined 
 it, Scrogg's face was surely the glowing moon shining 
 upon it. 
 
 Readily had the attorney lent himself to the new 
 order of procedure. With him it was: "The king 
 is dead ! Long live the king !" He, who had found 
 but poor pickings under the former master dry crust 
 fees for pleadings, demurrers or rejoinders now an- 
 ticipated generous booty and spoil. Alert for such 
 crumbs as might fall from a bountiful table ; keen 
 of scent for scraps and bits, but capable of a mighty 
 mouthful, he paid a courtier's price for it all ; wheed- 
 ling, pandering, ready for any service, ripe for any 
 revelry. With an adulator's tact, he still strove stren- 
 uously to hold the thread of his companion's conver- 
 sation, as Mauville said: 
 
 "Too old, Scroggs ; too old !" Setting down a glass 
 of burgundy in which fine particles floated through the 
 magenta-hued liquid. "It has lost its luster, like a 
 woman's eyes when she has passed the meridian. Good 
 wine, like a woman, has its life. First, sweetly inno- 
 cent, delicately palatable, its blush like a maiden of 
 sixteen ; then glowing with a riper development, more 
 passionate in hue, a siren vintage ; finally, thin, waning 
 and watery, with only memories of the deeper, rosy- 
 hued days. Now here, my good, but muddled friend,
 
 SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 115 
 
 is your youthful maiden !" Holding toward the lamp 
 a glass, clear as crystal, with luster like a gem. "Danc- 
 ing eyes ; a figure upright as a reed ; the bearing of a 
 nymph ; the soul of a water lily before it has opened 
 its leaves to the wooing moonlight !" 
 
 "Lord ! How you go on !" exclaimed Scroggs. 
 "What with a sampling this and sampling that, my 
 head's going round like a top. If there's anything in 
 the cellar the old patroons put down we haven't tried, 
 sir, I beg to defer the sampling. I am of the sage's 
 mind 'Of all men who take wine, the moderate only 
 enjoy it/ says Master Bacon, or some one else." 
 
 "Pass the bottle!" answered the other. "Gently, 
 man ! Don't disturb its repose, and remember it dis- 
 dains the perpendicular." 
 
 "So will I soon," muttered Scroggs. "I hope you'll 
 excuse me, sir, but that last drop of Veuve Cliquot was 
 the whip-cord that started the top going, and, on my 
 word" raising his hands to his head "I feel like 
 holding it on to keep it from spinning off." 
 
 "Spinning or not, you shall try this vintage" the 
 young man's eyes gleamed with such fire as shone in 
 the glass "and drink to Constance Carew !" 
 
 "Constance Carew!" stammered the other, desper- 
 ately swallowing the toast. 
 
 Mauville slowly emptied the glass. "A balsamic 
 taste, slightly piquant but agreeable," he observed. 
 "A dangerous wine, Scroggs ! It carries no warning ; 
 your older kind is like a world-worn coquette whose 
 glances at once place you on the defensive. This
 
 n6 THE STROLLERS 
 
 maiden vintage, just springing into glorious woman- 
 hood, comes over you like a spring-time dream." 
 
 "Who who is she?" muttered Scroggs. 
 
 "She is not in the scroll you prepared for my 
 lamented kinsman, eh? They are, for the most part, 
 deep red, dark scarlet that list of fair dames! She 
 doesn't belong to them yet ! No title, man ; not even 
 a society lady. A stroller, which is next door to a 
 vagrant." 
 
 "Well, sir, she's a woman and that's enough," re- 
 plied the lawyer. "And my opinion is, it's better to 
 have nothing to do with 'em." 
 
 This sententious remark seemed to arouse Scroggs 
 to momentary vivacity. 
 
 "Now there was my Lord Hamerton, whose pict- 
 ure is up-stairs," he went on quickly, like a man who 
 is bent on grasping certain ideas before they escape 
 him. "He brought a beautiful woman here carried 
 her off, they say from England and installed her as 
 mistress of the manor. I have heard my father say 
 that his great-grandfather, who was my lord's solicitor, 
 said that before his death my lord desired to make her 
 his wife, having been brought to a sense of the sinful 
 life he had led by a Puritan preacher. But at that, 
 this woman straightened herself up, surveyed him with 
 scorn, and, laughing like a witch, answered : 'They 
 say marriages are made in heaven, my lord and you 
 are the devil!' So my lord died without having 
 atoned, and, as for my lady who refused to become an
 
 SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 117 
 
 honest woman, I am sure she was damned !" concluded 
 Scroggs triumphantly. 
 
 "No doubt! So this wicked lord abducted her, 
 Scroggs?" he added thoughtfully. "A man of spirit, 
 until the Puritans got after him and showed him the 
 burning pit and frightened him to that virtue which 
 was foreign to his inclinations. My lady was right in 
 refusing to honor such a paltry scoundrel with her 
 hand. But it takes courage, Scroggs, to face ever- 
 lasting damnation." 
 
 "They say, too, there was a spice of revenge about 
 her unwillingness to give her hand to my lord," re- 
 sumed the narrator, unmindful of the interruption. 
 "This Puritan father said nothing but marriage with 
 her would save Hamerton from the sulphurous flames 
 and so my lady refused to sanctify their relations and 
 rescue her lord from perdition !" 
 
 "A pleasant revenge !" laughed the land baron. "He 
 made life a hell for her and she gave him an eternity 
 of it. But take a little of this white wine, man. We've 
 drunk to the roses of desire, and now should drink to 
 the sanctified lilies. Her neck, Scroggs, is like a lily, 
 and her hand and her brow ! Beneath that whiteness, 
 her eyes shine with a tenderness inviting rays of pas- 
 sion to kindle them. Drink !" 
 
 But the other gave a sudden lurch forward. "My 
 lady refused perdition !" he muttered, and his head 
 dropped to the board. 
 
 "Wake up, man, and drink!" commanded the mas- 
 ter.
 
 ii8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Jush same they ought to have been married," said 
 his companion drowsily. "They lived together so so 
 ill !" And then to place himself beyond reach of fur- 
 ther temptation from the bottle, he quietly and natu- 
 rally slid under the table. 
 
 The patroon arose, strode to the window, which he 
 lifted, and the night air entered, fanning his hot brow. 
 The leaves, on high, rustled like falling rain. The 
 elms tossed their branches, striking one another in 
 blind confusion. The long grass whispered as the 
 breeze stirred it like the surface of an inland lake. 
 Withering flowers gave up their last perfume, while 
 a storm-cloud fled wildly across the heavens. Some 
 of the restlessness of the external world disturbed that 
 silent dark figure at the window ; within him, conflict- 
 ing passions jarred like the boughs of the trees and 
 his fancies surged like the eddying leaves. 
 
 "The roses of desire the sanctified lilies !" he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 As he stood there the stars grew pale ; the sky trem- 
 bled and quivered before the advent of morn. A 
 heavy footstep fell behind him, and, turning, he be- 
 held the care-taker. 
 
 "Not in bed yet, Oly-koeks?" cheerfully said the 
 land baron. 
 
 "I am just up." 
 
 "In that case, it is time for me to retire," returned 
 the master, with a yawn. "This is a dull place, Oly- 
 koeks ; no life ; no variety. Nothing going on !" 
 
 The servant glanced at the formidable array of bot-
 
 SAMPLING THE VINTAGES 119 
 
 ties. "And he calls this a quiet life!" thought the 
 care-taker, losing his impassiveness and viewing the 
 table with round-eyed wonder. 
 
 "Nothing going on?" he said aloud. "Mynheer, 
 the Patroon, complained of too much life here, with 
 people taking farms all around. But, if you are dull, 
 a farmer told me last night there was a company of 
 strolling players in Vanderdonkville " 
 
 "Strollers !" exclaimed Mauville, wheeling around. 
 "What are they called ?" 
 
 "Lord ; I don't know, sir. They're show-folks, and 
 that's all" 
 
 "Do many strolling players come this way ?" 
 
 "Not for weeks and months, sometimes ! The old 
 patroon ordered the schout to arrest them if they en- 
 tered the wyck." 
 
 "Is Vanderdonkville in the wyck?" asked the land 
 baron quickly. 
 
 "No. It was separated from the wyck when Rickert 
 Jacobus married " 
 
 "Never mind the family genealogy! Have the 
 coach ready at nine " 
 
 "To-night?" 
 
 "This morning," replied Mauville, lightly. "And, 
 meanwhile, put this to bed," indicating Scroggs, who 
 was now snoring like a bag-pipe with one arm lov- 
 ingly wound around a leg of the library table. 
 
 The care-taker hoisted the attorney on his broad 
 shoulders, his burden still piping as they crossed the 
 hall and mounted the stairway. Having deposited
 
 120 THE STROLLERS 
 
 his load within the amazing depths of a Dutch feather 
 mattress, where he lay well-nigh lost to sight, but not 
 unheard, the wacht-meester of the steyn left him to 
 well-earned slumber and descended to the kitchen. 
 
 At the appointed hour, the land baron, freshly 
 shaven, not a jaded line in his face, and elastic in 
 step, appeared on the front porch before which his 
 carriage was waiting. 
 
 "When shall I expect you back?" asked Oly-koeks, 
 who had reappeared at the sound of his master's foot- 
 steps. 
 
 "Any time or never !" laughed the patroon, spring- 
 ing into the vehicle. 
 
 But as he drove through a bit of wood, wrapped in 
 pleasing reflections, he received startling proof that 
 the warfare between landlord and tenants had indeed 
 begun in earnest, for a great stone suddenly crashed 
 through the window of the vehicle, without, however, 
 injuring the occupant. Springing from his carriage, 
 Mauville dashed through the fringe of wood, discharg- 
 ing his revolver at what he fancied was a fleeing fig- 
 ure. But a fluttering in the trees from the startled 
 birds was the only result. 
 
 Little Thunder was too spry to be caught by even a 
 pursuing bullet.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 
 
 "The show troupe has come to town," said the tall, 
 lank postmaster to every one who called, and the words 
 passed from mouth to mouth, so that those who did 
 not witness the arrival were soon aware of it. Punch- 
 inello and his companions never attracted more atten- 
 tion from the old country peasants than did the char- 
 iot and its occupants, as on the day after their night in 
 the woods they passed through the main thoroughfare 
 of the village where they were soon to appear. 
 
 Children in woolen dresses of red retinet, or in 
 calico Vandykes and aprons, ran after the ponderous 
 vehicle with cries of delight ; the staid, mature contin- 
 gent of the population shook their heads disapprov- 
 ingly, while viewing with wonder the great lumbering 
 coach, its passengers inside and out, and, behind, the 
 large wagon with its load of miscellaneous trap- 
 pings. Now on the stage throne lolled the bass viol 
 player, even as Jacques assumed the raiment of the 
 Duke of Aranza, reclining the while in his chair of 
 state. Contentment was written upon his face, and 
 
 (121)
 
 122 THE STROLLERS 
 
 he was as much a duke or a king, as Jacques when he 
 swelled like a shirt bleaching in a high wind and looked 
 burly as a Sunday beadle. 
 
 The principal avenue of the village boasted but 
 few prosperous-looking business establishments. In 
 the general "mixed store," farmers' implements, gro- 
 ceries, West India goods and even drugs were dis- 
 pensed. But the apothecary's trade then had its limi- 
 tations, homeopathy being unknown, while calomel, 
 castor oil and rhubarb were mainly in demand, as well 
 'as senna, manna and other bitter concoctions with 
 which both young and old were freely dosed. The 
 grocer, haberdasher, and druggist, all rolled into one 
 substantial personage, so blocked the doorway of his 
 own establishment, while gazing at the strollers, it 
 would have puzzled a customer, though but a "sketch 
 and outline" of a man, to have slipped in or out. 
 Dashing as in review before the rank and file of the 
 village, the coach, with an extra flourish, rattled up 
 to the hotel, a low but generous-sized edifice, with a 
 wide, comfortable veranda, upon the railing of which 
 was an array of boots, and behind them a number of 
 disconsolate-looking teamsters. 
 
 "You want to register, do you ?" said the landlord 
 in answer to Barnes' inquiry, as the latter entered the 
 office, the walls of which were covered with advertise- 
 ments of elections, auctions, sales of stock, lands and 
 quack medicines. 
 
 "We don't keep no register," continued the landlord, 
 "but I guess we can accommodate you, although the
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 123 
 
 house is rather full with the fellers from the ark. Or," 
 he added, by way of explanation in answer to the man- 
 ager's look of surprise, "Philadelphia freight wagons, 
 I suppose you would call them. But we speak of 
 them as arks, because they take in all creation. Them's 
 the occupants, making a Mount Ararat of the porch. 
 They're down-hearted, because they used to liquor up 
 here and now they can't, for the town's temperance." 
 
 "I trust, nevertheless, you are prepared for a season 
 of legitimate drama," suggested Barnes. 
 
 The other shook his head dubiously. "The town's 
 for lectures clear through," he answered. "They've 
 been making a big fuss about show folks." 
 
 The manager's countenance did not fall, however, 
 upon hearing this announcement ; on the contrary, it 
 shed forth inscrutable satisfaction. 
 
 No sooner were they settled in far from commodi- 
 ous quarters than preparations .for the future were 
 seriously begun ; and now the drama proceeded apace, 
 with Barnes, the moving spirit. Despite his asser- 
 tion that he was no scholar, the manager's mind was 
 the storehouse of a hundred plays, and in that deposit- 
 ory were many bags of gold and many bags of chaff. 
 From this accumulation he drew freely, frankly, in 
 the light-fingered fashion of master playwrights and 
 lesser theatrical thimble-riggers. 
 
 Before the manager was a table the stage ! upon 
 which were scattered miscellaneous articles, symbols 
 of life and character. A stately salt-cellar repre- 
 sented the leading lady; a pepper box, the irascible
 
 124 THE STROLLERS 
 
 father ; a rotund mustard pot, the old woman ; a long, 
 slim cruet, the ingenue; and a pewter spoon, the lover. 
 
 Barnes gravely demonstrated the action of the 
 scene to Saint-Prosper, and the soldier became 
 collaborator, "abandoning, as it were," wrote the 
 manager in his autobiographical date-book and 
 diary, "the sword for the pen, and the glow of the 
 Champ de Mars for the glimmer of a kerosene lamp." 
 And yet not with the inclination of Burgoyne, or 
 other military gentlemen who have courted the buskin 
 and sock ! On the contrary, so foreign was the occu- 
 pation to his leaning, that often a whimsical light in 
 his eye betrayed his disinclination and modest disbe- 
 lief in his own fitness for the task. "He said the way 
 I laid out an act reminded him of planning a campaign, 
 with the outriders and skirmishers before ; the cavalry 
 arrayed for swift service, and the infantry marching 
 steadily on, carrying with them the main plot, or 
 strength of the movement." 
 
 No sooner were the Salt Cellar and Pepper Box re- 
 united, and the Pewter Spoon clasped in the arms of 
 the loving Cruet, with the curtain descending, than 
 Barnes, who like the immortal Alcibiades Triplet could 
 turn his hand to almost anything, became furiously en- 
 gaged in painting scenery. A market-place, with a 
 huge wagon, containing porkers and poultry, was 
 dashed off with a celerity that would have made a 
 royal academician turn green with envy. The Tiddly 
 Wink Inn was so faithfully reproduced that the painted 
 bottles were a real temptation, while on the pastoral
 
 125 
 
 green of a rural landscape grazed sheep so life-like 
 that, as Hawkes observed, it actually seemed "they 
 would eat the scenery all up." But finally sets and play 
 were alike finished, and results demonstrated that the 
 manager was correct in his estimate of such a drama, 
 which became a forerunner of other pieces of this 
 kind, "The Bottle," "Fruits of the Wine Cup," "Aunt 
 Dinah's Pledge," and "Ten Nights in a Bar Room." 
 
 In due time the drama was given in the town hall, 
 after the rehearsals had been witnessed by a commit- 
 tee from the temperance league, who reported that the 
 play "could not but exercise a good influence and was 
 entertaining withal . . . We recommend the li- 
 cense to be issued and commend the drama to all Good 
 Templars." Therefore, the production was not only 
 well attended, but play and players were warmly re- 
 ceived. The town hall boasted a fairly commodious 
 platform which now served the purpose of a stage, 
 and noteworthy circumstance ! there were gas jets 
 for footlights, the illuminating fluid having at that 
 early date been introduced in several of the more pro- 
 gressive villages. Between the acts, these yellow 
 lights were turned low, and running with the cur- 
 rent of popular desire the orchestra, enlarged to 
 four, played, by special request, "The Old Oaken 
 Bucket/' 
 
 The song had just sprung into popularity, and, in a 
 moment, men, women and children had added their 
 voices to the instruments. It was not the thrill of tem- 
 perance fanaticism that stirred their hearts, but it was
 
 126 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the memories of the old pioneer home in the wilder- 
 ness ; the rail-splitting, road-building days ; the ancient 
 rites of "raisings" and other neighborly ceremonies ; 
 when the farmer cut rye with a cradle, and threshed it 
 out with his flail; when "butter and eggs were pin 
 money" and wheat paid the store-keeper. 
 
 "How solemnly they take their amusements in the 
 North, Mr. Barnes!" exclaimed a voice in one of the 
 entrances. "What a contrast to the South the wicked 
 South!" 
 
 The manager turned sharply. 
 
 "We are mere servants of the public, Mr. Mauville." 
 
 "And the public is master, Mr. Barnes ! How the 
 dramatic muse is whipped around ! In Greece, she 
 was a goddess ; in Rome, a hussy ; in England, a 
 sprightly dame; now, a straight-laced Priscilla. But 
 you have a recruit, I see ?" 
 
 "You mean Saint-Prosper?" 
 
 "Yes, and I can hardly blame him under the cir- 
 cumstances !" murmured the land baron, at the same 
 time glancing around as though seeking some one. 
 
 "Circumstances! What circumstances?" demanded 
 the manager. 
 
 "Why, the pleasant company he finds himself in, of 
 course," said the visitor, easily. "Ah, I see Miss 
 Carew," he added, his eye immediately lightening, 
 "and must congratulate her on her performance. 
 Cursed dusty hole, isn't it?" Brushing himself with 
 his handkerchief as he moved away. 
 
 "What business has he behind the scenes anyway ?"
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 127 
 
 grumbled the manager. "Dusty hole, indeed! Con- 
 found his impudence I" But his attention being drawn 
 to the pressing exigencies of a first night, Barnes soon 
 forgot his irritation over this unwarranted intrusion 
 in lowering a drop, hoisting a fly or readjusting a flat 
 to his liking. 
 
 The land baron meanwhile crossed to the semi- 
 darkness at the rear of the stage behind the boxed 
 scene, where he had observed the young girl waiting 
 for the curtain to rise on the last act. A single light 
 on each side served partly to relieve the gloom; to 
 indicate the frame-work of the set scene and throw in 
 shadow various articles designed for use in the play. 
 As she approached Mauville, who stood motionless in 
 an unlighted spot, the pale glow played upon her a 
 moment, white on her neck,, in sheen on the folds of 
 her gown, and then she stepped into the shadow, where 
 she was met by a tall figure, with hand eagerly out- 
 stretched. 
 
 "Mr. Mauville!" she exclaimed, drawing back at 
 the suddenness of the encounter. 
 
 His restless eyes held hers, but his greeting was 
 conventional. 
 
 "Did I not say the world was small and that we 
 might meet again ?" 
 
 "Of course, we are always meeting people and part- 
 ing from them," she replied unconcernedly. 
 
 He laughed. "With what delightful indifference 
 you say that ! You did not think to see me again ?"
 
 128 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "I hadn't thought about it," she answered, frankly, 
 annoyed by his persistence. 
 
 "I am unfortunate !" he said. 
 
 Beneath his free gaze she changed color, as though 
 the shadow of a rose had touched her face. 
 
 "You are well ?" he continued. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "I need not have asked." His expression conveyed 
 more so much more, she bit her lip impatiently. 
 "How do you like the new part ?" 
 
 "It is hard to tell yet," she answered evasively. 
 
 "You would do justice to any role, but I prefer you 
 in a historical or romantic play, with the picturesque 
 old costumes. If it were in my domains, you should 
 appear in those dramas, if I had to hang every justice 
 of the peace in the district." 
 
 Her only response was a restless movement and he 
 hastened to add: "I fear, however, I am detaining 
 you." 
 
 He drew aside with such deference to permit her to 
 pass that her conscience smote her and she was half- 
 minded to turn and leave him more graciously, but 
 this impulse was succeeded by another feeling, ill-de- 
 fined, the prevailing second thought. Had she looked, 
 she would have seen that her fluttering shawl touched 
 his hand and he quickly raised it to his lips, releasing 
 it immediately. As it was, she moved on, unaware of 
 the gesture. The orchestra, or rather string quartet, 
 had ceased; Hans, a host in himself, a mountain of 
 melody, bowed his acknowledgments; the footlights
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 129 
 
 glared, the din of voices subsiding; and the curtain 
 rose. 
 
 Remaining in the background, the land baron 
 watched the young girl approach the entrance to the 
 Stage, where she stood, intent, one hand resting against 
 the scenery, her dress upheld with the other; the 
 glimmer from the foot-lights, reflected through the 
 opening, touching her face; suddenly, with a graceful 
 movement, she vanished, and her laughing voice 
 seemed to come from afar. 
 
 Was it for this he had made his hasty journey? To 
 be treated with indifference by a wandering player; 
 he, the patroon, the unsuccessful suitor of a stroller! 
 She, who appeared in taverns, in barns, perhaps, was 
 as cold and proud as any fine lady, untroubled about 
 the morrow, and, as he weighed this phase of the mat- 
 ter, the land baron knew not whether he loved her 
 most for her beauty or hated her for the slight she put 
 upon him. But love or hate, it was all one, and he 
 told himself he would see the adventure to the end. 
 
 "How do you do, Mr. Mauville?" said a gay but 
 hushed voice, interrupting his ruminations, and Susan, 
 in a short skirt and bright stockings, greeted him. 
 
 "The better for seeing you, Mistress Susan." Non- 
 chalantly surveying her from head to foot. 
 
 She bore his glance with the assurance of a pretty 
 woman who knows she is looking her best. 
 
 "Pooh!" Curtesying disdainfully. "I don't be- 
 lieve you ! You came to see some one else. Well" 
 lightly "she is already engrossed,"
 
 i 3 o THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Really?" said the land baron. 
 
 "Yes. You understand? He follows her with his 
 every glance," she added roguishly. Susan was never 
 averse to straining the truth a little when it served 
 her purpose. 
 
 "I should infer he was following her with more 
 than his eyes," retorted the master of the manor dryly. 
 
 Susan tapped the stage viciously with a little foot. 
 "She's a lovely girl," she continued, drawing cabalis- 
 tic figures with the provoking slipper. 
 
 "You are piqued?" he said, watching her skeptic- 
 ally. 
 
 "Not at all." Quickly, startled by his blunt accusa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Not a little jealous?" he persisted playfully. 
 
 "Jealous?" Then with a frown, hesitatingly: 
 "Well, she is given prominence in the plays and " 
 
 " You would not be subordinated, if she were not 
 in the company? Apart from this, you are fond of 
 her?" 
 
 The foot ceased its tracing and rested firmly on the 
 floor. 
 
 "I hate her!" snapped Susan, angered by this bait- 
 ing. No sooner had she spoken than she regretted 
 her outburst. "How you draw one out ! I was only 
 joking though she does have the best parts and we 
 take what we can get !" 
 
 "But she's a lovely girl !" concluded the land baron. 
 
 Susan's eyes flashed angrily. 
 
 "How clever of you! You twist and turn one's
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 131 
 
 words about and give them a different meaning from 
 what was intended. If I wanted to catch you up " 
 
 "A truce!" he exclaimed. "Let us take each other 
 seriously, hereafter. Is it agreed?" She nodded. 
 "Well, seriously, you can help me and help yourself." 
 1 "How?" doubtfully. 
 
 "Why not be allies?" 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Mutual service." 
 
 "Oh!" dubiously. 
 
 "A woman's 'yes' !" 
 
 "No," with affirmative answer in her eyes. 
 
 He believed the latter. 
 
 "We will seal the compact then." 
 
 And he bent over and saluted Mistress Susan on the 
 lips. She became as rosy as the flowers she carried 
 and tapped him playfully with them. 
 
 "For shame! La! What must you think of me?" 
 
 "That you are an angel." 
 
 "How lovely ! But I must go." 
 
 "May I see you after the play ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do not fail me, or the soldier will not transfer his 
 affections to you \" 
 
 "If he dared!" And she shook her head defiantly 
 as she tripped away. 
 
 "Little fool !" murmured Mauville, his lips curling 
 scornfully. "The one is a pastime; the other" he 
 paused and caught his breath "a passion !" 
 
 But he kept his appointment with Susan, escorting
 
 132 THE STROLLERS' 
 
 her to the hotel, where he bade her good-night with a 
 lingering pressure of the hand, and ordered his 
 equipage to the door ! 
 
 "Hadn't you better wait until morning?" asked 
 the surprised landlord, when the young patroon an- 
 nounced his intention of taking an immediate de- 
 parture. "There are the barn-burners and traveling 
 at night " 
 
 "Have they turned footpads?" was the light reply. 
 "Can't I drive through my own lands? Let me see 
 one of their thieving faces " And he made a signifi- 
 cant gesture. "Not ride at night! These Jacobins 
 shall not prevent me." 
 
 Barring the possible danger from the lease-holders 
 who were undoubtedly ripe for any mischief, the jour- 
 ney did not promise such discomfiture as might have 
 been expected, the coach being especially constructed 
 for night traveling. On such occasions, between the 
 seats the space was filled by a large cushion, adapted 
 to the purpose, which in this way converted the interior 
 of the vehicle into a sleeping-room of limited dimen- 
 sions. With pillows to neutralize the jarring, the land 
 baron stretched himself indolently upon his couch, and 
 gazed through the window at the crystalline lights of 
 the heavens, 'while thoughts of lease-holders and barn- 
 burners faded into thin air. 
 
 At dawn, when he opened his eyes, the morning 
 star yet gleamed with a last pale luster. Raising him- 
 self on his elbow and looking out over the country to 
 learn his whereabouts, his eye fell upon a tree, blood-
 
 SEALING THE COMPACT 133 
 
 red, a maple amid evergreens. Behind this somber 
 community of pines, stiff as a band of Puritan elders, 
 surrounding the bright-hued maple, a Hester in that 
 austere congregation, appeared the glazed tile roof of 
 Eittle Thunder's habitation, a two-story abode of mod- 
 est proportions and olden type. As the land baron 
 passed, a brindle cow in the side yard saluted the morn, 
 calling the sluggard from his couch, but at the manor, 
 which the patroon shortly reached, the ever wakeful 
 Oly-koeks was already engaged in chopping wood near 
 the kitchen door. The growling of the hound at his 
 feet called the care-taker's attention to the master's 
 coming, and, driving the ax into an obstinate stick of 
 hickory, he donned his coat, drawing near the vehicle, 
 where he stood in stupid wonderment as the land baron 
 alighted. 
 
 "Any callers, Oly-koeks?" carelessly asked the 
 master. 
 
 "A committee of barn-burners, Mynheer, to ask you 
 not to serve any more writs." 
 
 "And so give them time to fight me with the law- 
 makers ! But there ; carry my portmanteau into the 
 library and" as Oloffe's upper lip drew back "teach 
 your dog to know me." 
 
 "He belonged to the old master, Mynheer. When 
 he died, the dog lay near his grave day and night." 
 
 "I dare say; like master, like dog! But fetch the 
 portmanteau, you Dutch varlet !" Entering the house, 
 while the coachman drove the tired horses toward the 
 barn. "There's something in it I want. Bring it
 
 134 THE STROLLERS 
 
 here." As he passed into the library. "Yes ; I put it 
 in there, I am sure. Ah, here we have it !" And un- 
 packing the valise, he took therefrom a handsome 
 French writing case. 
 
 "Thou Wily Limb of the Law," wrote the patroon, 
 "be it known by these presents, thou art summoned to 
 appear before me ! I have work for you not to serve 
 any one with a writ; assign; bring an action, or any 
 of your rascally, pettifogging tricks ! Send me no de- 
 murrer, but your own intemperate self." 
 
 Which epistle the patroon addressed to his legal 
 satellite and despatched by messenger.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 
 
 Several bleak days were followed by a little June 
 weather in October. A somnolent influence rested 
 everywhere. Above the undulation of land on the 
 horizon were the clouds, like heavenly hills, reflecting 
 their radiance on those earthly elevations. The celes- 
 tial mountains and valleys gave wondrous perspective 
 to the outlook, and around them lay an atmosphere, 
 unreal and idyllic. 
 
 On such a morning Susan stood at a turn in the 
 road, gazing after a departing vehicle with ill-con- 
 cealed satisfaction and yet withal some dubiousness. 
 Now that the plan, suggested by Mauville, had not 
 miscarried, certain misgivings arose, for there is a 
 conscience in the culmination wanting in the concep- 
 tion of an act. As the partial realization of the situa- 
 tion swept over her, she gave a gasp, and then, the 
 vehicle having meanwhile vanished, a desperate spirit 
 of bravado replaced her momentary apprehension. 
 She even laughed nervously as she waved her hand- 
 (135)
 
 . 136 THE STROLLERS 
 
 kerchief in the direction the coach had taken: "Bon 
 voyage!" 
 
 But as the words fell from the smiling lips, her eyes 
 became thoughtful and her hand fell to her side; it 
 occurred to Susan she would be obliged to divert sus- 
 picion from herself. The curling lips straightened; 
 she turned abruptly and hastened toward the town. 
 But her footsteps soon lagged and she paused thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "If I reach the hotel too soon," she murmured, 
 "they may overtake him." 
 
 So she stopped at the wayside, attracted by the bril- 
 liant cardinal flowers, humming as she plucked them, 
 but ever and anon glancing around guiltily. The ab- 
 surd thought came to her that the bright autumn 
 blossoms were red, the hue of sin, and she threw 
 them on the sward, and unconsciously rubbed her 
 hands on her dress. 
 
 ; Still she lingered, however, vaguely mindful she was 
 adding to her burden of ill-doing, but finally again 
 started slowly toward the village, hurrying as she ap- 
 proached the hotel, where she encountered the soldier 
 on the veranda. Her distressed countenance and 
 haste proclaimed her a messenger of disaster. 
 
 "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she exclaimed excitedly. 
 "Where is Mr. Barnes?" 
 
 "What is the matter, Miss Duran?" Suspecting 
 very little was the matter, for Susan was nothing, if 
 not all of a twitter. 
 
 "Constance has been carried off !"
 
 QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 137 
 
 "Carried off!" He regarded her as if he thought 
 she had lost her senses. 
 
 "Yes ; abducted !" 
 
 "Abducted ! By whom ?" 
 
 I I did not see his face !" she gasped. "And it is 
 all my fault ! I asked her to take a walk ! Oh, what 
 shall I do?" Wringing her hands in anguish that was 
 half real. "We kept on and on it was so pleasant! 
 until we had passed far beyond the outskirts of the 
 village. At a turn in the road stood a coach a cloak 
 was thrown over my head by some one behind I must 
 have fainted, and, when I recovered, she was gone. 
 Oh, dear ! Oh, dear !" 
 
 "When did it happen?" As he spoke the young 
 man left the veranda. Grazing contentedly near the 
 porch was his horse and Saint-Prosper's hand now 
 rested on the bridle. 
 
 "I can't tell how long I was unconcious," said the 
 seemingly hysterical young woman, "but I hurried 
 here as soon as I recovered myself." 
 
 "Where did it occur? Down the road you came?" 
 
 "Ye-es." 
 
 Saint-Prosper vaulted into the saddle. "Tell the 
 manager to see a magistrate," he said. 
 
 "But you're not going to follow them alone ?" began 
 Susan. "Oh dear, I feel quite faint again ! If you 
 would please help me into the " 
 
 By way of answer, the other touched his horse 
 deeply with the spur and the mettlesome animal 
 reared and plunged, then, recalled by the sharp voice
 
 138 THE STROLLERS 
 
 of the rider, galloped wildly down the road. Susan 
 observed the sudden departure with mingled emotions. 
 
 "How quixotic!" she thought discontentedly. 
 "But he won't catch them," came the consoling after- 
 thought, as she turned to seek the manager. 
 
 Soon the soldier, whose spirited dash down the main 
 thoroughfare had awakened some misgivings in the 
 little town, was beyond the precincts of village scru- 
 tiny. The country road was hard, although marked 
 by deep cuts from traffic during a rainy spell, and the 
 horse's hoofs rang out with exhilarating rhythm. Re- 
 gardless of all save the distance traversed, the rider 
 yet forbore to press the pace, relaxing only when, 
 after a considerable interval, he came to another road 
 and drew rein at the fork. One way to the right ran 
 gently through the valley, apparently terminating in 
 the luxuriant foliage, while the other, like a winding, 
 murky stream, stretched out over a more level tract 
 of land. 
 
 Which thoroughfare had the coach taken? Dis- 
 mounting, the young man hastily examined the 
 ground, but the earth was so dry and firm, and the 
 tracks of wheels so many, it was impossible to dis- 
 tinguish the old marks from the new. Even sign-post 
 there was none; the roads diverged, and the soldier 
 could but blindly surmise their destination, selecting 
 after some hesitation the thoroughfare running into 
 the gorgeous, autumnal painted forest. 
 
 He had gone no inconsiderable distance when his 
 doubts were abruptly confirmed. Reaching an open-
 
 QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 139 
 
 ing, bright as the chapel of a darkened monastery, he 
 discerned a farmer in a buckboard approaching from 
 the opposite direction. The swift pace of the rider 
 and the leisurely jog of the team soon brought them 
 together. 
 
 "Did you pass a coach down the road?" asked the 
 soldier. 
 
 "No-a," said the farmer, deliberately, as his fat 
 horses instinctively stood stock still ; "didn't pass no- 
 body." 
 
 "Have you come far ?" 
 
 "A good ways." 
 
 "You would have met a coach, if it had passed here 
 an hour ago ?" 
 
 "I guess I would," said the man. "This road leads 
 straight across the country." 
 
 "Where does the other road at the fork go ?" 
 
 "To the patroon village. There's a reform orator 
 there to-day and a barn-burners' camp-fire." 
 
 Without waiting to thank his informant, Saint- 
 Prosper pulled his horse quickly around, while the 
 man in the buckboard gradually got under way, until 
 he had once more attained a comfortable, slow gait. 
 Indeed, by the time his team had settled down to a 
 sleepy jog, in keeping with the dreamy haze, hanging 
 upon the upland, his questioner was far down the road. 
 
 When, however, the soldier once more reached the 
 fork, and took the winding way across a more level 
 country, he moderated his pace, realizing the need of 
 husbanding his horse's powers of endurance. The
 
 140 
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 country seemed at peace, as though no dissension nor 
 heated passions could exist within that pastoral prov- 
 ince. And yet, not far distant, lay the domains of the 
 patroons, the hot-bed of the two opposing branches of 
 the Democratic party: The "hunkers," or conserva- 
 tive-minded men, and the "barn-burners," or progres- 
 sive reformers, who sympathized with the anti-renters. 
 
 After impatiently riding an hour or more through 
 this delectable region, the horseman drew near the 
 patroon village, a cluster of houses amid the hills and 
 meadows. Here the land barons had originally built 
 for the tenants comfortable houses and ample barns, 
 saw and grist mills. But the old homes had crumbled 
 away, and that rugged ancestry of dwellings had been 
 replaced by a new generation of houses, with clap- 
 boards, staring green blinds and flimsy verandas. 
 
 In the historic market place, as Saint-Prosper rode 
 down the street, were assembled a number of lease- 
 holders of both sexes and all ages, from the puny 
 babe in arms to the decrepit crone and hoary grand- 
 sire, listening to the flowing tongue of a rustic speech- 
 maker. This forum of the people was shaded by a 
 sextette of well-grown elms. The platform of the lo- 
 cal Demosthenes stood in a corner near the street. 
 
 " 'Woe to thee, O Moab ! Thou art undone, O peo- 
 ple of Chemosh,' if you light not the torch of equal 
 rights!" exclaimed the platform patterer as Saint- 
 Prosper drew near. "Awake, sons of the free soil! 
 Now is the time to make a stand ! Forswear all alle-
 
 QUEST OF THE SOLDIER 141 
 
 giance to the new patroon ; this Southern libertine and 
 despot from the land of slavery !" 
 
 The grandam wagged her head approvingly; the 
 patriarch stroked his beard with acquiescence and 
 strong men clenched their fists as the spokesman 
 mouthed their real or fancied wrongs. It was an 
 earnest, implacable crowd ; men with lowering brows 
 merely glanced at the soldier as he rode forward; 
 women gazed more intently, but were quickly lured 
 back by the tripping phrases of the mellifluous speaker. 
 
 On the outskirts of the gathering, near the road, 
 stood a tall, beetling individual whom Saint-Prosper 
 addressed, reining in his horse near the wooden rail, 
 which answered for a fence. 
 
 "Dinna ye ken I'm listening?" impatiently retorted 
 the other, with a fierce frown. "Gang your way, 
 mon," he added, churlishly, as he turned his back. 
 
 Judging from the wrathful faces directed toward 
 him, the lease-holders esteemed Saint-Prosper a polit- 
 ical disturber, affiliating with the other faction of the 
 Democratic party, and bent, perhaps, on creating 
 dissension at the tenants' camp-fire. The soldier's im- 
 patience and anger were ready to leap forth at a word ; 
 he wheeled fiercely upon the weedy Scot, to demand 
 peremptorily the information so uncivilly withheld, 
 when a gust of wind blowing something light down the 
 road caused his horse to shy suddenly and the rider 
 to glance at what had frightened the animal. After a 
 brief scrutiny, he dismounted quickly and examined
 
 142 THE STROLLERS 
 
 more attentively the object, a pamphlet with a red 
 cover, upon which appeared the printed design of the 
 conventional Greek masks of Tragedy and Comedy, 
 and beneath, the title, 'The Honeymoon/' The bright 
 binding, albeit soiled by the dusty road, and the flutter- 
 ing of the leaves in the breeze had startled the horse 
 and incidentally attracted the attention of his master. 
 Across the somber mask of melancholy was traced in 
 buoyant hand the name of the young actress. 
 
 But the soldier needed not the confirmation, for 
 had he not noticed this same prompt book in her lap 
 on the journey of the chariot? It was a mute, but 
 eloquent message. Could she have spoken more 
 plainly if she had written with ink and posted the 
 missive with one of those new bronze-hued portraits 
 of Franklin, called stamps by the government and 
 "sticking plaster" by the people? Undoubtedly she 
 had hoped the manager was following her when she 
 intrusted the message to that erratic postman, Chance, 
 who plied his vocation long before the black Wash- 
 ington or the bronze Franklin was a talisman of more 
 or less uncertain delivery. 
 
 The soldier, without a moment's hesitation, thrust 
 the pamphlet inside his coat, flung himself on his horse, 
 and, turning from the market-place, dashed down the 
 road.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 
 
 "For a man who can't abide the sex, this is a pre- 
 dicament," muttered the patroon's jackal, as the coach 
 in which he found himself sped rapidly along the 
 highway. "Here am I as much an abductor as my lord 
 who whipped his lady from England to the colonies !" 
 Gloomily regarding a motionless figure on the seat 
 opposite, and a face like ivory against the dark cush- 
 ions. "Curse the story; telling it led to this! How 
 white she is ; like driven snow ; almost as if " 
 
 And Scroggs, whose countenance lost a shade of its 
 natural flush, going from flame-color to salmon hue, 
 bent with sudden apprehension over a small hand which 
 hung from the seat. 
 
 "No ; it's only a swoon," he continued, relieved, feel- 
 ing her wrist with his knobby fingers. "How she 
 struggled ! If it hadn't been for smothering her with 
 the cloak but the job's done and that's the end of it." 
 
 Settling back in his seat he watched her discontent- 
 edly, alternately protesting against the adventure, and 
 consoling himself weakly with the remembrance of the 
 (143)
 
 144 THE STROLLERS 
 
 retainer ; weighing the risks, and the patroon's ability 
 to gloss over the matter ; now finding the former un- 
 duly obtrusive, again comforted with the assurance of 
 the power pre-empted by the land barons. Moreover, 
 the task was half-accomplished, and it would be idle 
 to recede now. 
 
 "Why couldn't the patroon have remained content 
 with his bottle?" he grumbled. "But his mind must 
 needs run to this frivolous and irrational proceeding! 
 There's something reasonable in pilfering a purse, 
 but carrying off a woman Yet she's a handsome 
 baggage." 
 
 Over the half-recumbent figure swept his glance, 
 pausing as he surveyed her face, across which flowed 
 a tress of hair loosened in the struggle. Save for the 
 unusual pallor of her cheek, she might have been sleep- 
 ing, but as he watched her the lashes slowly lifted, 
 and he sullenly nerved himself for the encounter. At 
 the aspect of those bead-like eyes, resolute although 
 ill at ease, like a snake striving to charm an adversary, 
 a tremor of half-recollection shone in her gaze and 
 the color flooded her face. Mechanically, sweeping 
 back the straggling lock of hair, she raised herself 
 without removing her eyes. He who had expected 
 a tempest of tears shifted uneasily, even irritably, from 
 that steady stare, until, finding the silence intolerable, 
 he burst out: 
 
 "Well, ma'am, am I a bugbear?" 
 
 In her dazed condition she probably did not hear 
 his words; or, if she did, set no meaning to them,
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 145 
 
 Her glance, however, strayed to the narrow window, 
 and then wandered back to the well-worn interior of 
 the coach. Suddenly, as the startling realization of 
 her position came to her, she uttered a loud cry, sprang 
 toward the door, and, with nervous fingers, strove to 
 open it. The man's face became more rubicund as 
 he placed a detaining hand on her shoulder, and 
 roughly thrust her toward the seat. 
 
 "Make the best of it!" he exclaimed peremptorily. 
 "You'd better, for I'm not to be trifled with." 
 
 Recoiling from his touch, she held herself aloof 
 with such aversion, a sneer crossed his face, and he 
 observed glumly : 
 
 "Oh, I'm not a viper ! If you're put out, so am I." 
 
 "Who are you?" she demanded, breathlessly. 
 
 "That's an incriminating question, Ma'am," he re- 
 plied. "In this case, though, the witness has no objec- 
 tion to answering. I'm your humble" servant." 
 
 His forced drollery was more obnoxious than his ill- 
 humor, and, awakening her impatience, restored in a 
 measure her courage. He was but a pitiful object, 
 after all, with his flame-colored visage, and short, 
 crouching figure ; and, as her thoughts passed from the 
 brutal part he had played on the road to her present 
 situation, she exclaimed with more anger than appre- 
 hension : 
 
 "Perhaps you will tell me the meaning of this out- 
 rage your smothering me forcing me into this coach 
 and driving away where?" 
 
 His face became once more downcast and moody.
 
 i 4 6 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Driven into a corner by her swift words, his glance 
 met hers fairly ; he drummed his fingers together. 
 
 "There's no occasion to show your temper, Miss," 
 he said reflectively. "I'm a bit touchy myself to-day ; 
 'sudden and quick in quarrel.' You see I know my 
 Shakespeare, Ma'am. Let us talk about that great poet 
 and the parts you, as an actress, prefer " 
 
 "Can I get an answer from you?" she cried, sub- 
 duing her dread. 
 
 "What is it you asked?" 
 
 "As if you did not know!" she returned, her lip 
 trembling with impatience and loathing. 
 
 "Yes; I remember." Sharply. "You asked where 
 we were driving? Across the country. What is the 
 meaning of this outrage, I believe you called it ? All 
 actions spring from two sources Cupid and cupidity. 
 The rest of the riddle you'll have to guess." Gazing 
 insolently into her face, with his hands on his knees. 
 
 "But you have told me nothing," she replied, striv- 
 ing to remain mistress of herself and to hide her appre- 
 hension. 
 
 "Do you call that nothing? You have the approxi- 
 mate cause causa causans. Was it Cupid? No, for 
 like Bacon, your sex's 'fantastical' charms move me 
 not." 
 
 This sally put him in better temper with himself. 
 She was helpless, and he experienced a churlish satis- 
 faction in her condition. 
 
 "What was it, then ? Cupidity. Do you know what 
 poverty is like in this barren region?" he cried harsh-
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 147 
 
 ly. "The weapons of education only unfit you for the 
 plow. You stint, pinch, live on nothing!" He 
 rubbed his dry hands together. "It was crumbs and 
 scraps under the parsimonious regime; but now the 
 prodigal has come into his own and believes in honest 
 wages and a merry life." 
 
 Wonderingly she listened, the scene like a gro- 
 tesque dream, with the ever-moving coach, the lonely 
 road, the dark woods, and so near, she could almost 
 place her hand upon him this man, muttering and 
 mumbling. He had offered her the key of the mystery, 
 but she had failed to use it. His ambiguous, loose 
 talk, only perplexed and alarmed her ; the explanation 
 was none at all. 
 
 As he watched her out of the corner of his eye, 
 weighing doubt and uncertainty, new ideas assailed 
 him. After all she had spirit, courage ! Moreover, 
 she was an actress, and the patroon was madly in love 
 with her. 
 
 "If we were only leagued together, how we could 
 strip him !" he thought. 
 
 His head dropped contemplatively to his breast, and 
 for a long interval he remained silent, abstracted, 
 while the old springless coach, with many a jolt and 
 jar, covered mile after mile ; up the hills, crowned with 
 bush and timber ; across the table land ; over the plank 
 bridges spanning the brooks and rivulets. More re- 
 conciled to his part and her presence, his lips once or 
 twice parted as if he were about to speak, but closed 
 again. He even smiled, showing his amber-hued
 
 148 THE STROLLERS 
 
 teeth, nodding his head in a friendly fashion, as to say : 
 "It'll come out all right, Madam ; all right for both of 
 us !" Which, indeed, was his thought. She believed 
 him unsettled, bereft of reason, and, although, he was 
 manifestly growing less hostile, his surveillance became 
 almost unbearable. At every moment she felt him re- 
 garding her like a lynx, and endeavored therefore to 
 keep perfectly still. What would her strange warder 
 do next? It was not an alarming act, however. He 
 consulted a massive watch, remarking: 
 
 "It's lunch time and over! With your permission, 
 I'll take a bite and a drop. Will you join me?" 
 
 She turned her head away, and, not disconcerted by 
 her curt refusal, he drew a wicker box from beneath 
 a seat and opened it. His reference to a "bite and a 
 drop" was obviously figurative, especially the "drop," 
 which grew to the dimensions of a pint, which he swal- 
 lowed quickly. Perhaps the flavor of the wine made 
 him less attentive to his prisoner, for as he lifted the 
 receptacle to his lips, she thrust her arms through 
 the window and a play book dropped from her hand, 
 a possible clue for any one who might follow the coach. 
 For some time she had been awaiting this opportunity 
 and when it came, the carriage was entering a village. 
 
 Scroggs finished his cup. "You see, we're provided 
 for," he began. Here the bottle fell from his hand. 
 
 "The patroon village!" he exclaimed in consterna- 
 tion. "I'd forgotten we were so close! And they're 
 all gathered in the square, too !"
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 149 
 
 He cast a quick glance at her. "You're all ready to 
 call for help," he sneered, "but I'm not ready to part 
 company yet." 
 
 y Hastily drawing up one of the wooden shutters, he 
 placed himself near the other window, observing fierce- 
 ly ; "I don't propose you shall undo what's being done 
 for you. Let me hear from you" jerking his finger 
 toward the square "and I'll not answer for what 
 I'll do." But in spite of his admonition he read such 
 determination in her eyes, he felt himself baffled. 
 
 "You intend to make trouble !" he cried. And put- 
 ting his head suddenly through the window, he called 
 to the driver : "Whip the horses through the market 
 place!" 
 
 As the affrighted animals sprang forward he blocked 
 the window, placing one hand on her shoulder. He 
 felt her escape from his grasp, but not daring to leave 
 his post, he leaned out of the window when they were 
 opposite the square, and shook his fist at the anti- 
 renters, exclaiming: 
 
 "I'll arrest every mother's son of you! I'll evict 
 you jail you for stealing rent !" 
 
 Drowned by the answering uproar, "The patroon's 
 dog!" "Bullets for deputies!" the emissary of the 
 land baron continued to threaten the throng with his 
 fist, until well out of ear-shot, and, thanks to the level 
 road, beyond reach of their resentment. Not that they 
 strove to follow him far, for they thought the jackal 
 had taken leave of his senses. Laughter mingled 
 with their jeers at the absurd figure he presented,
 
 150 THE STROLLERS 
 
 fulminating and flying at the same time. But there 
 was no defiance left in him when they were beyond the 
 village, and he fell back into his seat, his face now 
 ash-colored. 
 
 "If they'd stopped us my life wouldn't have been 
 worth the asking," he muttered hoarsely. "But I did 
 it!" Triumphantly gazing at the young girl who, 
 trembling with excitement, leaned against the side 
 of the coach. "I see you managed to get down the 
 shutter. I hope you heard your own voice. I didn't ; 
 and, what's more, I'm sure they didn't !" 
 
 With fingers he could hardly control he opened a 
 second bottle, dispensed with the formality of a glass, 
 and set the neck to his lips, repeating the operation 
 until it was empty, when he tossed it out of the window 
 to be shattered against a rock, after which he sank 
 again into a semblance of meditation. 
 
 Disappointed over her ineffectual efforts, overcome 
 by the strain, the young girl for the time relaxed all 
 further attempt. Unseen, unheard, she had stood at 
 her window! She had tried to open the door, but 
 it resisted her frantic efforts, and then the din had 
 died away and left her weak, powerless, hardly con- 
 scious of the hateful voice of her companion from 
 time to time addressing her. 
 
 But fortunately he preferred the gross practice of 
 draining the cup to the fine art of conversation. Left 
 to the poor company of her thoughts, she dwelt upon 
 the miscarriage of her design, and the slender chance 
 of assistance. They would probably pass through no
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 151 
 
 more villages and if they did, he would undoubtedly 
 find means to prevent her making herself known. 
 Unless and a glimmer of hope flickered through her 
 thoughts! her warder carried his potations to a point 
 where vigilance ceased to be a virtue. Inconsider- 
 ately he stopped at the crucial juncture, with all the 
 signs of contentment and none of drowsiness. 
 
 So minutes resolved themselves into hours and the 
 day wore on. Watching the sun-rays bathe the top 
 of the forest below them, she noted how fast the silver 
 disk was descending. The day which had seemed inter- 
 minable now appeared but too short, and she would 
 gladly have recalled those fleeting hours. Ignorant 
 of the direction in which they had been traveling, she 
 realized that the driver had been unsparing and the dis- 
 tance covered not inconsiderable. The mystery of 'the 
 assault, the obscurity of the purpose and the vagueness 
 of their destination were unknown quantities which, 
 added to the declining of the day and the brewing 
 terrors of the night, were well calculated to terrify 
 and crush her. 
 
 Despairingly, she observed how the sun dipped, and 
 ever dipped toward the west, when suddenly a sound 
 afar rekindled her fainting spirits. Listening more 
 attentively, she was assured imagination had not de- 
 ceived her ; it was the faint patter of a horse's hoofs. 
 Nearer it drew ; quicker beat her pulses. Moreover, it 
 was the rat-a-tat of galloping. Some one was pur- 
 suing the coach on horseback. Impatient to glance 
 behind, she only refrained for prudential reasons.
 
 152 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Immersed in his own grape-vine castle her jailer 
 was unmindful of the approaching rider, and she 
 turned her face from him that he might not read her 
 exultation. Closer resounded the beating hoofs, but 
 her impatience outstripped the pursuer, and she was al- 
 most impelled to rush to the window. 
 
 Who was the horseman? Was it Barnes? Saint- 
 Prosper? The latter's name had quickly suggested 
 itself to her. 
 
 Although the rider, whoever he might be, con- 
 tinued to gain ground, to her companion, the ap- 
 proaching clatter was inseparable from the noise of 
 the vehicle, and it was not until the horseman was 
 nearly abreast, and the cadence of the galloping re- 
 solved itself into clangor, that the dreamer awoke with 
 an imprecation. As he sprang to his feet, thus rudely 
 disturbed, a figure on horseback dashed by and a stern 
 voice called to the driver: 
 
 "Stop the coach!" 
 
 Probably the command was given over the persua- 
 sive point of a weapon, for the animals were drawn 
 up with a quick jerk and came to a stand-still in the 
 middle of the road. Menacing and abusive, as the 
 vehicle stopped, the warder's hand sought one of his 
 pockets, when the young girl impetuously caught his 
 arm, clinging to it tenaciously. 
 
 "Quick! Mr. Saint-Prosper!" she cried, recogniz- 
 ing, as she thought, the voice of the soldier. 
 
 "You wild-cat!" her jailer exclaimed, struggling to 
 throw her off.
 
 AN ECCENTRIC JAILER 153 
 
 Not succeeding, he raised his free arm in a flurry 
 of invective. 
 
 "Curse you, will you let go !" 
 
 "Quick! Quick!" she called out, holding him more 
 tightly. 
 
 A flood of Billingsgate flowed from his lips. "Let 
 go, or" 
 
 But before he could in his blind passion strike her 
 or otherwise vent his rage, a revolver was clapped to 
 his face through the window, and, with a look of sur- 
 prise and terror, his valor oozing from him, he 
 crouched back on the cushions. At the same time 
 the carriage door was thrown open, and Edward Mau- 
 ville, the patroon, stood in the entrance ! 
 
 Only an instant his eyes swept her, observing the 
 flushed cheeks and disordered attire, reading her won- 
 der at his unexpected appearance, and to his satis- 
 faction! her relief as well; only an instant, during 
 which the warder stared at him open-mouthed and 
 then his glance rested on the now thoroughly sober 
 limb of the law. 
 
 "Get out !" he said, briefly and harshly. 
 
 "But," began the other with a sickly grin, intended 
 to be ingratiating, "I don't understand this unex- 
 pected manner this forcible departure from " 
 
 Coolly raising his weapon, the patroon deliberately 
 covered the hapless jailer, who unceremoniously 
 scrambled out of the door. The land baron laughed, 
 replaced his revolver and, turning to the young girl, 
 removed his hat.
 
 154 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "It was fortunate, Miss Carew, I happened along," 
 he said gravely. "With your permission, I will get 
 in. You can tell me what has happened as we drive 
 along. The manor house, my temporary home, is not 
 far from here. If I can be of any service, command 
 me!" 
 
 The jackal saw the patroon spring into the carriage, 
 having fastened his horse behind, and drive off. Until 
 the vehicle had disappeared, he stood motionless in 
 the road, but when it had passed from sight, he seated 
 himself on a stone. 
 
 "That comes from mixing the breed !" he muttered. 
 "Dramatic effect, a la France!" He wiped the per- 
 spiration from his brow. "Well, I'm three miles from 
 my humble habitation, but I'd rather walk than ride 
 under some circumstances !"
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE COMING OF LITTLE THUNDER 
 
 The afternoon was waning ; against the golden west- 
 ern sky the old manor house loomed in solemn majesty, 
 the fields and forests emphasizing its isolation in the 
 darkening hour of sunset, as a coach, with jaded 
 horses, passed through the avenue of trees and ap- 
 proached the broad portico. A great string of trailing 
 vine had been torn from the walls by the wind and 
 now waved mournfully to and fro with no hand to ad- 
 just it. In the rear was a huge-timbered barn, the 
 door of which was unfastened, swinging on its rusty 
 hinges with a creaking and moaning sound. 
 
 As gaily as in the days when the periwigged coach- 
 man had driven the elaborate equipage of the early 
 patroons through the wrought-iron gate this modern 
 descendant entered the historic portals, not to be met, 
 however, by servitors in knee breeches at the front 
 door, but by the solitary care-taker who appeared on 
 the portico in considerable disorder and evident state 
 of excitement, accompanied by the shaggy dog, 
 Oloffe.
 
 156 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "The deputies shot two of the tenants to-day," hur- 
 riedly exclaimed the guardian of the place, without 
 noticing Mauville's companion. "The farmers fired 
 upon them; they replied, and one of the tenants is 
 dead." 
 
 "A good lesson for them, since they were the aggres- 
 sors," cried the heir, as he sprang from the coach. 
 "But you have startled the lady." 
 
 An exclamation from the vehicle in an unmistaka- 
 bly feminine voice caused the "wacht-meester" now to 
 observe the occupant for the first time and the servant 
 threw up his hands in consternation. Here was a 
 master who drank all night, shot his tenants by proxy, 
 visited strollers, and now brought one of them to the 
 steyn. That the strange lady was a player, Oly-koeks 
 immediately made up his mind, and he viewed her with 
 mingled aversion and fear, as the early settlers re- 
 garded sorcerers and witches. She was very beautiful, 
 he observed in that quick glance, but therefore the more 
 dangerous; she appeared distressed, but he attributed 
 her apparent grief to artfulness. He at once saw 
 a new source of trouble in her presence; as though 
 the threads were not already sufficiently entangled, 
 without the introduction of a woman and she a pub- 
 lic performer ! into the complicated mesh ! 
 
 "Fasten the iron shutters of the house," briefly com- 
 manded Mauville, breaking in upon the servant's pain- 
 ful reverie. "Then help this man change the horses 
 and put in the grays." 
 
 Oly-koeks, with a final deprecatory glance at the
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 157 
 
 coach, expressive of his estimate of his master's light 
 conduct and his apprehension of the outcome, disap- 
 peared to obey this order. 
 
 "May I assist you, Miss Carew?" said the land baron 
 deferentially, offering his arm to the young girl, whose 
 pale but observant face disclosed new demur and in- 
 quiry. 
 
 "But you said we would go right on ?" she returned, 
 drawing back with implied dissent. 
 
 "When the horses are changed! If you will step 
 out, the carriage will be driven to the barn." 
 
 Reluctantly she obeyed, and as she did so, the pa- 
 troon and the coachman exchanged pithy glances. 
 
 "Look sharp!" commanded the master, sternly. 
 "Oh, he won't run away," added Mauville quickly, in 
 answer to her look of surprise. "He knows I could 
 find him, and" fingering his revolver "will not 
 disoblige me. Later we'll hear the rogue's story." 
 
 The man's averted countenance smothered a clandes- 
 tine smile, as he touched the horses with his whip and 
 turned them toward the barn, leaving the patroon 
 and his companion alone on the broad portico. Sweep- 
 ing from a distant grove of slender poplars and snowy 
 birch a breeze bore down upon them, suddenly bleak 
 and frosty, and she shivered in the nipping air. 
 
 "You are chilled!" he cried. "If you would but 
 go into the house while we are waiting! Indeed, if 
 you do not, I shall wonder how I have offended you ! 
 It will be something to remember" half lightly, half 
 seriously "that you have crossed my threshold 1"
 
 158 THE STROLLERS 
 
 He stood at the door, with such an tmdissembled 
 smile, his accents so regretful, that after a moment's 
 hesitation, Constance entered, followed by the patroon. 
 Sweeping aside the heavy draperies from the window, 
 he permitted the golden shafts of the ebbing day to 
 enter the hall, gleaming on the polished floors, the 
 wainscoting and the furniture, faintly illuminating 
 the faded pictures and weirdly revealing the turnings 
 of the massive stairway. No wonder a half-shudder 
 of apprehension seized the young actress in spite of 
 her self-reliance and courage, as she entered the solemn 
 and mournful place, where past grandeur offered noth- 
 ing save morbid memories and where the frailty of 
 existence was significantly written ! After that In- 
 dian summer day the sun was sinking, angry and fiery, 
 as though presaging a speedy reform in the vagaries 
 of the season and an immediate return to the legitimate 
 surroundings of October. 
 
 Involuntarily the girl moved to the window, where 
 the light rested on her brown tresses, and as Mauville 
 watched that radiance, shifting and changing, her hair 
 alight with mystic color, the passion that had prompted 
 him to this end was stirred anew, dissipating any 
 intrusive doubts. The veering and flickering sheen 
 seemed but a web of entangling irradiation. A span 
 of silence became an interminable period to her, with 
 no sight of fresh horses nor sign of preparation for the 
 home journey. 
 
 "What takes him so long?" she said, finally, with 
 impatience. "It is getting so late 1"
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 159 
 
 "It is late," he answered. "Almost too late to go 
 on! You are weary and worn. Why not rest here 
 to-night ?" 
 
 "Rest here?" she repeated, with a start of surprise. 
 ?"You are not fit to drive farther. To-morrow we 
 can return." 
 
 "To-morrow !" ' she cried. "But what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 "That I must insist upon your sparing yourself!" 
 he said, firmly, although a red spot flushed his cheek. 
 
 "No; no! We must leave at once!" she answered. 
 
 He smiled reassuringly. "Why will you not have 
 confidence in me?" he asked. "You have not the 
 strength to travel all night over a rough road after 
 such a trying day. For your own sake, I beg you to 
 give up the idea. Here you are perfectly safe and 
 may rest undisturbed/' 
 
 'Please call the horses at once!" 
 
 An impatient expression furrowed his brow. He 
 had relied on easily prevailing upon her through 
 her gratitude; continuing in his disinterested role for 
 yet some time ; resuming the journey on the morrow, 
 carrying her farther away under pretext of mistaking 
 the road, until Here his plans had faded into a 
 vague perspective, dominated by unreasoning self-con- 
 fidence and egotism. 
 
 But her words threatened a rupture at the outset 
 that would seriously alter the status of the adventure. 
 
 "It is a mistake to go on to-night," he said, with a 
 dissenting gesture. "However, if you are determined
 
 160 THE STROLLERS 
 
 " And Mauville stepped to the window. "Why, 
 the carriage is not there!" he exclaimed, looking out. 
 
 "Not there!" she repeated, incredulously. "You 
 told them to change the horses. Why " 
 
 "I don't understand," returned the land baron, with 
 an effort to make his voice surprised and concerned. 
 "He may Helloa, there! You! Oly-koeks !" 
 he called out, interrupting his own explanation. 
 
 Not Oly-koeks, but the driver's face, appeared from 
 behind the barn door, and, gazing through the window, 
 the young girl, with a start, suddenly realized that 
 she had seen him not for the first time that day 
 but where ? when ? Through the growing perplexity 
 of her thoughts she heard the voice of her compan- 
 ion 
 
 "Why don't you hitch up the grays ?" 
 
 "There are no horses in the barn," came the an- 
 swer. 
 
 "Strange, the care-taker did not tell me they had 
 been taken away !" commented the other, hastily, step- 
 ping from the window as the driver vanished once 
 more into the barn. "I am sorry, but there seems no 
 alternative but to wait at leas^ until I can send for 
 others." 
 
 She continued to gaze toward the door through 
 which the man had disappeared. She could place him 
 now, although his livery had been discarded for 
 shabby clothes; she recalled him distinctly in spite of 
 this changed appearance. 
 
 "Why not make the best of it?" said Mauville,
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 161 
 
 softly, but with glance sparkling in spite of himself. 
 "After all, are you not giving yourself needless ap- 
 prehensions? You are at home here. Anything you 
 wish shall be yours. Consider yourself mistress; me, 
 6ne of your servants!" 
 
 Almost imperceptibly his manner had changed. In- 
 stinctive misgivings which had assailed her in the coach 
 with him now resolved themselves into assured fears. 
 Something she could not explain had aroused her 
 suspicions before they reached the manor, but his 
 words had glossed these inward qualms, and a feeling 
 of obligation suggested trust, not shrinking ; but, with 
 his last words, a full light illumined her faculties ; an 
 association of ideas revealed his intent and perform- 
 ance. 
 
 "It was you, then," she said, slowly, studying him 
 with steady, penetrating glance. 
 
 "You !" she repeated, with such contempt that he 
 was momentarily disconcerted. "The man in the 
 carriage he was hired by you. The driver his 
 face is familiar. I remember now where I saw him 
 in the Shadengo Valley. He is your coachman. Your 
 rescue was planned to deceive me. It deceived even 
 your man. He had not expected that. Your reassurr 
 ing me was false; the plan to change horses a trick 
 to get me here " 
 
 "If you would but listen " 
 
 "When" her eyes ablaze "will this farce end?" 
 
 Her words took him unawares. Not that he dreaded 
 the betrayal of his actual purpose. On the contrary,
 
 i62 THE S T ROLLERS 
 
 his reckless temper, chafing under her unexpected ob- 
 duracy, now welcomed the opportunity of discarding 
 the disinterested and chivalrous part he had assumed. 
 
 "When it ends in a honeymoon, ma belle Con- 
 stance !" he said, swiftly. 
 
 His sudden words, removing all doubts as to his 
 purpose, awoke such repugnance in her that for a mo- 
 ment aversion was paramount to every other feeling. 
 Again she looked without, but only the solitude of the 
 fields and forests met her glance. 
 
 The remoteness of the situation gave the very bold- 
 ness of his plan feasibility. Was he not his own magis- 
 trate in his own province? Why, then, he had 
 thought, waste the golden moments ? He had but one 
 heed now ; a study of physical beauty, against a crim- 
 son background. 
 
 "To think of such loveliness lost in the wilderness !" 
 he said, softly. "The gates of art should all open to 
 you. Why should you play to rustic bumpkins, when 
 the world of fashion would gladly receive you ? I am 
 a poor prophet if you would not be a success in town. 
 It is not always easy to get a hearing, to procure an 
 audience, but means could be found. Soon your name 
 would be on every one's lips. Your art is fresh. The 
 jaded world likes freshness. The cynical town runs 
 to artless art as an antidote to its own poison. Most 
 of the players are wrinkled and worn. A young face 
 will seem like a new-grown white rose." 
 
 She did not answer; unresponsive as a statue, she 
 did not move. The sun shot beneath an obstructing
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 163 
 
 branch, and long, searching shafts found access to 
 the room. Mauville moved forward impetuously, un- 
 til he stood on the verge of the sunlight on the satin- 
 wood floor. 
 
 "May I not devote myself to this cause, Constance?" 
 he continued. "You are naturally resentful toward me 
 now. But can I not show you that I have your welfare 
 at heart? If you were as ambitious as you are attrac- 
 tive, what might you not do? Art is long; our days 
 are short ; youth flies like a summer day." 
 
 His glance sought hers questioningly ; still no reply ; 
 only a wave of blood surged over her neck and brow, 
 while her eyes fell. Then the glow receded, leaving 
 her white as a snow image. 
 
 "Come," he urged. "May I not find for you those 
 opportunities ?" 
 
 He put out his eager hand as if to touch her. Then 
 suddenly the figure in the window came to life and 
 shrank back, with widely opened eyes fixed upon his 
 face. His gaze could not withstand hers, man of the 
 world though he was, and his free manner was replaced 
 by something resembling momentary embarrassment. 
 Conscious of this new and annoying feeling, his ego- 
 tism rose in arms, as if protesting against the novel 
 sensation, and his next words were correspondingly 
 violent. 
 
 "Put off your stage manners !" he exclaimed. "You 
 are here at my pleasure. It was no whim, my carry- 
 ing you off. After you left I went to the manor, where 
 I tried to forget you. But nights of revelry why
 
 164 THE STROLLERS 
 
 should I not confess it? could not efface your mem- 
 ory." His voice unconsciously sank to unreserved 
 candor. "Your presence filled these halls. I could 
 no longer say: Why should I trouble myself about 
 one who has no thought for me?" 
 
 Breathing hard, he paused, gazing beyond her, as 
 though renewing the memories of that period. 
 
 "Learning you were in the neighboring town," He 
 continued, "I went there, with no further purpose than 
 to see you. On the journey perhaps I indulged in 
 foolish fancies. How would you receive me ? Would 
 you be pleased; annoyed? So I tempted my fancy 
 with air-castles like the most unsophisticated lover. 
 But you had no word of welcome ; scarcely listened to 
 me, and hurried away ! I could not win you as I de- 
 sired ; the next best way was this." 
 
 He concluded with an impassioned gesture, his gaze 
 eagerly seeking the first sign of lenity or favor on her 
 part, but his confession seemed futile. Her eyes, sug- 
 gestive of tender possibilities, expressed now but cold- 
 ness and obduracy. In a revulsion of feeling he forgot 
 the distance separating the buskined from the fashion- 
 able world ; the tragic scatterlings from the conventions 
 of Vanity Fair! He forgot all save that she was to 
 him now the one unparagoned entirety, overriding 
 other memories. 
 
 "Will not a life of devotion atone for this day, Con- 
 stance?" he cried. "Do you know how far-reaching 
 are these lands ? All the afternoon you drove through
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 165 
 
 them, and they extend as wide in the other direction. 
 These my name are yours !" 
 
 A shade of color swept over her brow. 
 
 "Answer me," he urged. 
 
 "Drive back and I will answer you." 
 
 "Drive back and you will laugh at me," he retorted, 
 moodily. "You would make a woman's bargain with 
 me." 
 
 "Is yours a man's with me ?" Contemptuously. 
 
 "What more can I do?" 
 
 "Undo what you have done. Take me back !" 
 
 "I would cut a nice figure doing that! No; you 
 shall stay here." 
 
 He spoke angrily; her disdain at his proposal not 
 only injured his pride but awoke his animosity. On 
 the other hand, his words demonstrated she had not 
 improved her own position. If he meant to keep her 
 there he could do so, and opposition made him only 
 more obstinate, more determined to press his advan- 
 tage. Had she been more politic Juliana off the 
 stage as well as on she, whose artifice was glossed 
 by artlessness 
 
 Her lashes drooped; her attitude became less ag- 
 gressive; her eyes, from beneath their dark curtains, 
 rested on him for a moment. What it was in that 
 glance so effective is not susceptible to analysis. Was 
 it the appeal that awakened the quixotic sense of 
 honor ; the helplessness arousing compassion ; the irre- 
 sistible quality of a brimming eye so fatal to mascu-
 
 166 -THE STROLLERS 
 
 line calculation and positiveness ? Whatever it was, 
 it dispelled the contraction on the land baron's face, 
 and despite his threats, vows! he was swayed by 
 a look. 
 
 "Forgive me," he said, tenderly. 
 
 "You will drive back?" 
 
 "Yes; I will win you in your own way, fairly and 
 honestly! I will take you back, though the whole 
 country laughs at me. Win or lose, back we go, for 
 I love you!" And impetuously he threw his arm 
 around her waist. 
 
 Simulation could not stand the test ; it was no longer 
 acting, but reality; she had set herself to a role she 
 could not perform. Hating him for that free touch, 
 she forcibly extricated herself with an exclamation 
 and an expression of countenance there was no mistak- 
 ing. From Mauville's face the glad light died; he 
 regarded her once more cruelly, vindictively. 
 
 "You dropped the mask too soon," he said, coldly. 
 "I was not prepared for rehearsal, although you were 
 perfect. You are even a better actress than I thought 
 you, than which" mockingly "I can pay you no 
 better compliment." 
 
 She looked at him with such scorn he laughed, 
 though his eyes flashed. 
 
 "Bravo!" he exclaimed. 
 
 While thus confronting each other a footfall sounded 
 without, the door burst open, and the driver of the 
 coach, with features drawn by fear, unceremoniously 
 entered the room. The patroon turned on him en-
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 167 
 
 raged, but the latter without noticing his master's dis- 
 pleasure, exclaimed hurriedly : 
 
 "The anti-renters are coming!" 
 
 > The actress uttered a slight cry and stepped toward 
 the window, when she was drawn back by an irresisti- 
 ble force. 
 
 "Pardon me," said a hard voice, from which all 
 passing compunction had vanished. "Be kind enough 
 to come with me." 
 
 "I will follow you, but " Her face expressed the 
 rest. 
 
 "This way then !" 
 
 He released her and together they mounted the 
 stairway. For a long time a gentle footfall had not 
 passed those various landings ; not since the ladies in 
 hoops, with powdered hair, had ascended or descend- 
 ed, with attendant cavaliers, bewigged, beruffled, be- 
 dizened. The land baron conducted his companion 
 to a distant room up stairs, the door of which he 
 threw open. 
 
 "Go in there," he said curtly. 
 
 She hesitated on the threshold. So remote was it 
 from the main part of the great manor, the apartment 
 had all the requirements of a prison. 
 
 "You needn't fear," he continued, reading her 
 thoughts. "I'm not going to be separated from you 
 yet ! But we can see what is going on here." 
 
 Again she mutely obeyed him, and entered the room. 
 It was a commodious apartment, where an excellent 
 view was offered of the surrounding country on three
 
 i68 THE STROLLERS 
 
 sides. But looking from the window to discern his 
 assailants, Mauville could see nothing save the fields 
 and openings, fringed by the dark groves. The out- 
 houses and barns were but dimly outlined, while scat- 
 tered trees here and there dotted the open spaces 
 with small, dark patches. A single streak of red yet 
 lingered in the west. A tiny spot, moving through 
 the obscurity, proved to be a cow, peacefully wander- 
 ing over the dewy grass. The whirring sound of a 
 diving night-hawk gave evidence that a thing of life 
 was inspecting the scene from a higher point of vant- 
 age. 
 
 From that narrow, dark crimson ribbon, left behind 
 by the flaunting sun, a faint reflection entered the great 
 open windows of the chamber and revealed Mauville 
 gazing without, pistol in hand; Constance leaning 
 against the curtains and the driver of the coach stand- 
 ing in the center of the room, quaking inwardly and 
 shaking outwardly. This last-named had found an 
 old blunderbuss somewhere, useful once undoubtedly, 
 but of questionable service now. 
 
 Meanwhile Oly-koeks had not returned. Having 
 faithfully closed and locked all the iron shutters, he 
 had crept out of a cellar window and voluntarily re- 
 signed as care-taker of the manor, with its burden of 
 dangers and vexations. With characteristic prudence, 
 he had timed the period of his departure with the be- 
 ginning of the end in the fortunes of the old patroon 
 principality. The storm-cloud, gathering during the 
 life of Mauville's predecessor, was now ready to burst,
 
 LITTLE THUNDER 169 
 
 the impending catastrophe hastened by the heir's want 
 of discretion and his failure to adjust difficulties ami- 
 cably. That small shadow, followed by a smaller 
 shadow, passing through the field, were none other 
 than Oly-koeks and Oloffe, who grew more and more 
 imperceptible until they were finally swallowed up 
 and seemingly lost forever in the darkness of the fringe 
 of the forest. 
 
 A branch of a tree grated against the window as 
 Mauville looked out over the peaceful vale to the rib- 
 bon of red that was being slowly withdrawn as by some 
 mysterious hand. Gradually this adornment, growing 
 shorter and shorter, was wound up while the shadows 
 of the out-houses became deeper and the meadow lands 
 appeared to recede in the distance. As he scanned 
 the surrounding garden, the land baron's eye fell upon 
 an indistinct figure stealing slowly across the sward in 
 the partial darkness. This object was immediately 
 followed by another and yet another. To the obser- 
 ver's surprise they wore the headgear of Indians. 
 
 Suddenly the patroon heard the note of the whip- 
 poorwill, the nocturnal songster that mourns unseen. 
 It was succeeded by the sharp tones of a saw-whet 
 and the distinct mew of a cat-bird. A wild pigeon 
 began to coo softly in another direction and was an- 
 swered by a thrush. The listener vaguely realized 
 that all this unexpected melody came from the Indians, 
 who had by this time surrounded the house and who 
 took this method of communicating with one another. 
 
 An interval of portentous silence was followed by a
 
 i;o THE STROLLERS 
 
 loud knocking at the front door, which din reverber- 
 ated through the hall, echoing and re-echoing the vig- 
 orous summons. Mauville at this leaned from the 
 window and as he did so, there arose a hooting from 
 the sward as though bedlam had broken loose. Main- 
 taining his post, the heir called out : 
 
 "What do you want, men?" 
 
 At these words the demonstration became more 
 turbulent, and, amid the threatening hubbub, voices 
 arose, showing too well the purpose of the gathering. 
 Aroused to a fever of excitement by the shooting of 
 the tenants, they were no longer skulking, stealthy 
 Indians, but a riotous assemblage of anti-renters, ex- 
 pressing their determination in an ominous chorus : 
 
 "Hang the land baron !" 
 
 In the midst of this far from reassuring uproar a 
 voice arose like a trumpet : 
 
 "We are the messengers of the Lord, made strong by 
 His wrath !" 
 
 "You are the messenger of the devil, Little Thun- 
 der," Mauville shouted derisively. 
 
 A crack of a rifle admonished the land baron that the 
 jest might have cost him dear.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 THE ATTACK ON THE MANOR 
 
 After this brief hostile outbreak in the garden below 
 the right wing, Mauville prepared to make as effective 
 defense as lay in his power and looked around for his 
 aid, the driver of the coach. But that quaking indi- 
 vidual had taken advantage of the excitement to dis- 
 appear. Upon hearing the threats, followed by the 
 singing of bullets, and doubting not the same treat- 
 ment accorded the master would be meted out to the 
 servant, the coachman's fealty so oozed from him 
 that he dropped his blunderbuss, groping his way 
 through the long halls to the cellar, where he 
 concealed himself in an out-of-the-way corner beneath 
 a heap of potato sacks. In that vast subterranean place 
 he congratulated himself he would escape with a whole 
 skin, his only regret being certain unpaid wage's which 
 he considered as good as lost, together with the master 
 who owed them. 
 
 Mauville, however, would have little regretted the 
 disappearance of this poor-spirited aid, on the theory 
 a craven follower is worse than none at all, had not this
 
 172 THE STROLLERS 
 
 discovery been followed quickly by the realization tfiat 
 the young girl, too, had availed herself of the opportu- 
 nity while he was at the window and vanished. 
 
 "Why, the slippery jade's gone !" he exclaimed, star- 
 ing around the room, confounded for the moment. 
 Then recovering himself, he hurriedly left the cham- 
 ber, more apprehensive lest she should get out of the 
 manor than that the tenants should get in. 
 
 "She can't be far off," he thought, pausing doubt- 
 fully in the hall. 
 
 For the moment he almost forgot the anti-renters 
 and determined to find her at all hazard. He hastily 
 traversed the upper hall, but was rewarded with no 
 sight of her. He gazed down the stairs eagerly, with 
 no better result ; the front door was still closed, as he 
 had left it. Evidently she had fled toward the rear 
 of the house and made good her escape from one of 
 the back or side entrances. 
 
 "Yes ; she's gone," he repeated. "What a fool I was 
 to have trusted her to herself for a moment !" 
 
 A new misgiving arose, and he started. What if 
 she had succeeded in leaving the manor? He knew 
 and distrusted Little Thunder and his cohorts. What 
 respect would they have for her ? For all he had done, 
 it was, nevertheless, intolerable to think she might be 
 in possible danger from others save himself ! A wave 
 of compunction swept over him. After all, he loved 
 her, and, loving her, could not bear to think of any 
 calamity befalling her. He hated her for tricking him ;
 
 ATTACK ON THE MANOR 173 
 
 feared for her, for the pass to which he had brought 
 her; cared for her beyond the point his liking had 
 reached for any other woman. A mirthless laugh 
 escaped him as he stood at the stairway looking down 
 ; the empty hall. 
 
 "Surely I've gone daft over the stroller !" he thought, 
 as his own position recurred to him in all its serious- 
 ness. "Well, what's done is done ! Let them come !" 
 His eyes gleamed. 
 
 With no definite purpose of searching further, he 
 nevertheless walked mechanically down the corridor 
 toward the other side of the manor and suddenly, to 
 his surprise and satisfaction, discerned Constance in 
 a blind passage, where she had inadvertently fled. 
 
 At the end of this narrow hall a window looked al- 
 most directly out upon the circular, brick dove-cote, 
 now an indistinct outline, and on both sides were 
 doors, one of which she was vainly endeavoring to 
 open when he approached. Immediately she desisted 
 in her efforts; flushed and panting, she stood in the 
 dim light of the passage. Quiet, unbroken save 
 for the cooing in the cote, had succeeded the first noisy 
 demonstration ; the anti-renters were evidently arrang- 
 ing their forces to prevent the land baron's escape or 
 planning an assault on the manor. 
 
 In his momentary satisfaction at finding her, Mau- 
 ville overlooked the near prospect of a more lengthy, 
 if not final, separation, and surveyed the young girl 
 with a sudden, swift joyousness, but the fear and dis-
 
 174 THE STROLLERS 
 
 trust written on her features dissipated his concern 
 for her ; his best impulses were smothered by harsher 
 feelings. 
 
 "Unfortunately, the door is locked," he said, iron- 
 ically. "Meanwhile, as this spot has no strategic ad- 
 vantages, suppose we change our base of defense ?" 
 
 Realizing how futile would be resistance, she accom- 
 panied him once more to the chamber in the wing, 
 where he had determined to make his last defense. 
 After closing and locking the door, he lighted one of 
 many candles on the mantel. The uncertain glow 
 from the great candelabra, covered with dust, like the 
 white marble itself, and evidently placed there many 
 years before, revealed faded decorations and a ceiling, 
 water-stained as from a defective roof. Between the 
 windows, with flowery gilt details, an ancient mirror 
 extended from floor to ceiling. A musty smell per- 
 vaded the apartment, for Mynheer, the Patroon, had 
 lived so closely to himself that he had shut out both 
 air and sunlight from his rooms. 
 
 The flickering glare fell upon the young actress 
 standing, hand upon her heart, listening with bated 
 breath, and Mauville, with ominous expression, brood- 
 ing over that chance which sent the lease-holders to 
 the manor on that night of nights. It was intolera- 
 ble that no sooner had she crossed his threshold than 
 they should appear, ripe for any mischief, not only 
 seeking his life, but wresting happiness from his very 
 lips. For, of the outcome he could have little doubt,
 
 ATTACK ON. THE MANOR 175 
 
 although determined to sell dearly that which they 
 sought. 
 
 The violent crash of a heavy body at the front of 
 the house and a tumult of voices on the porch, suc- 
 ceeded by a din in the hall, announced that the first bar- 
 rier had been overcome and the anti-renters were in 
 possession of the lower floor of the manor. Mauville 
 had started toward the door, when the anticipation in 
 the young girl's eyes held him to the spot. Inacces- 
 sible, she was the more desired; her reserve was fuel 
 to his flame, and, at that moment, while his life hung 
 in the balance, he forgot the rebuff he had received and 
 how she had nearly played upon him. 
 
 Words fell from his lips, unpremeditated, eloquent, 
 voicing those desires which had grown in the solitude 
 of the manor. Passionately he addressed her, knowing 
 the climax to his difficulties was at hand. Once near 
 her, he could not be at peace without her, he vowed, 
 and this outcome had been inevitable. All this he ut- 
 tered impetuously, at times incoherently, but as he con- 
 cluded, she only clasped her hands helplessly, solely 
 conscious of the uproar below which spread from the 
 main hall to the adjoining rooms. 
 
 "They are coming they are coming !" she said, and 
 Mauville stopped short. 
 
 But while anger and resentment were at strife 
 within him, some one tried the door of the chamber 
 and finding it locked, set up a shout. Immediately 
 the prowlers in the wings, the searchers in the kitchen 
 and all the stragglers below congregated in the main
 
 176 THE STROLLERS 
 
 hall ; footsteps were heard ascending rapidly, pausing 
 in doubt at the head of the stairway, not knowing 
 whether to turn to the right or to the left. 
 
 "Here they are !" called out the man at the door. 
 
 "You meddlesome fool!" exclaimed Mauville, lift- 
 ing a revolver and discharging it in the direction of 
 the voice. Evidently the bullet, passing through the 
 panel of the door, found its mark, for the report was 
 followed by a cry of pain. 
 
 This plaint was answered from the distance and 
 soon a number of anti-renters hastened to the spot. 
 Mauville, in vicious humor, moved toward the thresh- 
 old. One of the panels was already broken and an 
 arm thrust into the opening. The land baron bent 
 forward and coolly clapped his weapon to the member, 
 the loud discharge being succeeded by a howl from the 
 wounded lease-holder. Mauville again raised his 
 weapon when an exclamation from the actress caused 
 him to turn quickly, in time to see a figure spring un- 
 expectedly into the room from the balcony. The land 
 baron stood 1 in amazement, eying the intruder who 
 had appeared so suddenly from an unguarded quarter, 
 but before he could recover his self-possession, his 
 hand was struck heavily and the revolver fell with a 
 clatter to the floor. 
 
 His assailant quickly grasped trie weapon, present- 
 ing it to the breast of the surprised land-owner, who 
 looked, not into the face of an unknown anti-renter* 
 but into the stern, familiar countenance of Saint- 
 Prosper.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A HASTY EXIT 
 
 The afternoon following the soldier's departure 
 from the patroon village went by all too slowly, his 
 jaded horse's feet as heavy as the leaden moments. 
 That he had not long since overtaken the coach was 
 inexplicable, unless Susan had been a most tardy mes- 
 senger. True, at the fork of the road he had been mis- 
 led, but should before this have regained what he had 
 lost, unless he was once more on the wrong thorough- 
 fare. As night fell, the vastness of the new world 
 impressed the soldier as never before; not a creature 
 had he met since leaving the patroon village ; she whom 
 he sought might have been swallowed up in the im- 
 mensity of the wilderness. For the first time his 
 task seemed as if it might be to no purpose; his con- 
 fidence of the morning had gradually been replaced by 
 consuming anxiety. He reproached himself that he 
 had not pressed his inquiries further at the patroon 
 village, but realized it was now too late for regrets; 
 go on he must and should. 
 
 Along the darkening road horse and rider continued 
 (177)
 
 178 THE STROLLERS 
 
 their way. Only at times the young man pulled at 
 the reins sharply, as the animal stumbled from sheer 
 weariness. With one hand he stroked encouragingly 
 the foam-flecked arch of the horse's neck; the other, 
 holding the reins, was clenched like a steel glove. 
 Leaving the brow of a hill, the horseman expectantly 
 fixed his gaze ahead, when suddenly on his right, a 
 side thoroughfare lay before him. As he drew rein 
 indecisively at the turn, peering before him through 
 the gathering darkness, a voice from the trees called 
 out unexpectedly : 
 
 "Hitch up in here !" 
 
 At this peremptory summons the soldier gazed 
 quickly in the direction of the speaker. Through the 
 grove, where the trees were so slender and sparsely 
 planted the eye could penetrate the thicket, he saw a 
 band of horsemen dismounting and tying their ani- 
 mals. There was something unreal, grotesque even, 
 in their appearance, but it was not until one of their 
 number stepped from the shadow of the trees 
 into the clearer light of the road that he discerned 
 their head-dress and garb to be that of Indians. 
 Recalling all he had heard of the masquerading, ma- 
 rauding excursions of the anti-renters, the soldier at 
 once concluded he had encountered a party of them, 
 bent upon some nefarious expedition. That he was 
 taken for one of their number seemed equally evident. 
 
 "Come!" called out the voice again, impatiently. 
 "The patroon is at the manor with his city trollop. It's 
 time we were moving."
 
 A HASTY EXIT 179 
 
 An exclamation fell from the soldier's lips. The 
 patroon ! his ill-disguised admiration for the actress ! 
 his abrupt reappearance the night of the temperance 
 drama ! Any uncertainty Saint-Prosper might have 
 felt regarding the identity of him he sought, or the 
 reason for that day's work, now became compelling 
 certitude. But for the tenants, he might have ridden 
 by the old patroon house. As it was, congratulating 
 himself upon this accidental meeting rather than his 
 own shrewdness, he quickly dismounted. A moment's 
 thought, and he followed the lease-holders. 
 
 In the attack on the manor, his purpose, apart 
 from theirs, led him to anticipate the general 
 movement of the anti-renters in front of the house 
 and to make his way alone, aided by fortuitous circum- 
 stances, to the room where the land baron had taken 
 refuge. As he sprang into this chamber the young 
 girl's exclamation of fear was but the prelude to an 
 expression of gladness, while Mauville's consterna- 
 tion when he found himself disarmed and powerless, 
 was as great as his surprise. For a moment, there- 
 fore, in his bearing bravado was tempered with hesi- 
 tancy. 
 
 "You here?" stammered the land baron, as he in- 
 voluntarily recoiled from his own weapon. 
 
 The soldier contemptuously thrust the revolver into 
 his pocket. "As you sec," he said coldly, "and in a 
 moment, they" indicating the door "will be here!" 
 
 "You think to turn me over to them !" exclaimed the 
 other violently. "But you do not know me ! This is
 
 180 THE STROLLERS 
 
 no quarrel of yours. Give me my weapon, and let me 
 fight it out with them !" 
 
 The soldier's glance rested for a moment on the 
 young girl and his face grew stern and menacing. 
 
 "By heaven, I am half-minded to take you at your 
 word ! But you shall have one chance a slender one ! 
 There is the window; it opens on the portico!" 
 
 "And if I refuse?" 
 
 "They have brought a rope with them. Go, or 
 hang!" 
 
 The heir hesitated, but as he pondered, the anti- 
 renters were effectually shattering the heavy door, 
 regaling themselves with threats taught them by the 
 politicians who had advocated their cause on the 
 stump, preached it in the legislature, or grown elo- 
 quent over it in the constitutional assembly. 
 
 "The serfs are here! The drawers of water and 
 hewers of wood have arisen ! Hang the land baron ! 
 Hang the feudal lord !" 
 
 A braver man than Mauville might have been cowed 
 by that chorus. But after pausing irresolutely, weigh- 
 ing the chances of life and death, gazing jealously 
 upon the face of the apprehensive girl, and venom- 
 ously at the intruder, the heir finally made a virtue of 
 necessity and strode to the window. With conflict- 
 ing emotions struggling in his mind fury toward the 
 lease-holders, hatred for the impassive mediator he 
 yet regained, in a measure, an outwardly calm bearing. 
 
 "It's a poor alternative," he said, shortly, flashing a
 
 A HASTY EXIT 181 
 
 last glance at the actress. "But it's the best that of- 
 fers !" 
 
 So saying, he sprang upon the balcony none too 
 s^on, for a moment later the door burst open and an 
 incongruous element rushed into the room. Many 
 were attired in outlandish head-dresses, embroidered 
 moccasins and fringed jackets, their faces painted in 
 various hues, but others, of a bolder spirit, had dis- 
 dained all subterfuge of disguise. Not until then did 
 the soldier discover that he had overlooked the possible 
 unpleasantness of remaining in the land baron's stead, 
 for the anti-renters promptly threw themselves upon 
 him, regardless of his companion. The first to grapple 
 with him was a herculean, thick-ribbed man, of ex- 
 traordinary stature, taller than the soldier, if not so 
 well-knit; a Goliath, indeed, as Scroggs had deemed 
 him, with arms long as windmills. 
 
 "Stand back, lads," he roared, "and let me throw 
 him!" And Dick, the tollman, rushed at Saint-Pros- 
 per with furious attack ; soon they were chest to chest, 
 each with his chin on his opponent's right shoulder, 
 and each grasping the other around the body with 
 joined hands. 
 
 Dick's muscles grew taut, like mighty whip-cords; 
 his chest expanded with power ; he girded his loins for 
 a great effort, and it seemed as if he would make 
 good his boast. Held in the grasp of those arms, 
 tight as iron bands, the soldier staggered. Once more 
 the other heaved and again Saint-Prosper nearly fell, 
 his superior agility alone saving him.
 
 182 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, the soldier man- 
 aged to face to the right, twisting so as to place his 
 left hip against his adversary his only chance; a 
 trick of wrestling unknown to his herculean, but 
 clumsy opponent. Gathering all his strength in a last 
 determined effort, he stooped forward suddenly and 
 lifted in his turn. One portentous moment a mo- 
 ment of doubt and suspense and the proud repre- 
 sentative of the barn-burners was hurled over the 
 shoulder of the soldier, landing with a crash on the 
 floor where he lay, dazed and immovable. 
 
 Breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with 
 labored effort, Saint-Prosper fell back against the wall. 
 The anti-renters quickly recovering from their sur- 
 prise, gave him no time to regain his strength, and 
 the contest promised a speedy and disastrous conclu- 
 sion for the soldier, when suddenly a white figure 
 flashed before him, confronting the tenants with pale 
 face and shining eyes. A slender obstacle; only a 
 girlish form, yet the fearlessness of her manner, the 
 eloquence of her glance for her lips were silent! 
 kept them back for the instant. 
 
 But fiercer passions were at work among them, the 
 desire for retaliation and bitter hatred of the patroon, 
 which speedily dissipated any feeling of compunction 
 or any tendency to waver. 
 
 "Kill him before his lady love!" cried a piercing 
 voice from behind. "Did they not murder my hus- 
 band before me ? Kill him, if you are men !" 
 
 And pressing irresistibly to the front appeared the
 
 A HASTY EXIT 183 
 
 woman whose husband had been shot by the deputies. 
 Her features, once soft and matronly, flamed with 
 uncontrollable passions. 
 
 ^ "Are only the poor to suffer ?" she continued, as her 
 burning eyes fell on the young girl. "Shall she not 
 feel what I did?" 
 
 "Back woman !" exclaimed one of the barn-burners, 
 sternly. "This is no place for you." 
 
 "Who has a better right to be here?" retorted the 
 woman. 
 
 "But this is not woman's work !" 
 
 "Woman's work!" Fiercely. "As much woman's 
 work as for his trull to try to save him! Oh, let me 
 see him !" 
 
 Gently the soldier, now partly recovering his 
 strength, thrust the young girl behind him, as push- 
 ing to the foreground the woman regarded him venge- 
 fully. But in her eyes the hatred and bitter aversion 
 faded slowly, to be replaced by perplexity, which in 
 turn gave way to wonder, while the uplifted arm, 
 raised threateningly against him, fett passively to her 
 side. At first, astonished, doubting, she did not speak, 
 .then her lips moved mechanically. 
 
 "That is not the land baron," she cried, staring at 
 him in disappointment that knew no language. 
 
 "The woman is right," added a masquerader. "I 
 know Mauville, too, for he told me to go to the devil 
 when I asked him to wait for his rent." 
 
 At this unexpected announcement, imprecations and 
 murmurs of incredulity were heard on all sides.
 
 1 84 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Woman, would you shield your husband's mur- 
 derer?" exclaimed an over-zealous barn-burner. 
 
 "Shield him!" she retorted, as if aroused from a 
 trance. "No, no! I'm not here for that! But this 
 is not the patroon. His every feature is burned into 
 my heart! I tell you it is not he. Yet he should be 
 here. Did I not see him driving toward the manor ?" 
 And she gazed wildly around. 
 
 For a moment, following this impassioned outburst, 
 their rough glances sought one another's, and the sol- 
 dier quickly took advantage of this cessation of hos- 
 tilities. 
 
 "No ; I am not the land baron," he interposed. 
 
 "You aren't?" growled a disappointed lease-holder. 
 "Then who the devil are you? An anti-renter?" he 
 added, suspiciously. 
 
 "He must be an enemy of the land baron," inter- 
 rupted the woman, passing her hand across her brow. 
 "He was with us in the grove. I saw him ride up and 
 took him to be a barn-burner. He crossed the 
 meadow with us. I saw his face ; distinctly as I see it 
 now! He asked me about the patroon yes, I re- 
 member now ! and what was she like, the woman who 
 was with him !" 
 
 "I am no friend of his," continued the soldier in a 
 firm voice. "You had one purpose in seeking him; 
 I, another ! He carried off this lady. I was follow- 
 ing him, when I met you in the grove." 
 
 "Then how came you here in this room?"
 
 A HASTY EXIT 185 
 
 "By the way of a tree, the branch of whichi reaches 
 to the window." 
 
 "The land baron was in this room a moment ago. 
 Where is he now ?" 
 
 For answer Saint-Prosper pointed to the window. 
 
 "Then you let him " 
 
 "We're wasting time," impatiently shouted the barn- 
 burner who had disclaimed the soldier's identity to 
 the patroon. "Come!" With an oath. "Do you 
 want to lose him after all? He can't be far away. 
 And this one, damn him ! isn't our man !" 
 
 For a second the crowd wavered, then with a venge- 
 ful shout they shot from the room, disappearing as 
 quickly as they had come. Led by Little Thunder, 
 who, being a man of peace, had discreetly remained 
 without, they had reached the gate in their headlong 
 pursuit when they were met by a body of horsemen, 
 about to turn into the yard as the anti-renters were 
 hurrying out. At sight of this formidable band, the 
 lease-holders immediately scattered. Taken equally 
 by surprise, the others made little effort to intercept 
 them and soon they had vanished over field and down 
 dell. Then the horsemen turned,- rode through the 
 avenue of trees, and drew up noisily before the portico. 
 
 From their window the soldier and his companion 
 observed the abrupt encounter at the entrance of the 
 manor grounds and the dispersion of the lease-holders 
 like leaves before the autumn gusts. Constance, who 
 had breathlessly watched the flight of the erstwhile
 
 186 THE STROLLERS 
 
 assailants, felt her doubts re-awakened as the horse- 
 men drew up before the door. 
 
 "Are they coming back?" she asked, involuntarily 
 clasping the arm of her companion. 
 
 She who had been so courageous and self -controlled 
 throughout that long, trying day, on a sudden felt 
 strangely weak and dependent. He leaned from the 
 narrow casement to command the view below, striv- 
 ing to pierce the gloom, and she, following his* exam- 
 ple, gazed over his shoulder. Either a gust of air 
 had extinguished the light in the candelabra on the 
 mantel, or the tallow dip had burnt itself out, for the 
 room was now in total darkness so that they could 
 dimly see, without being seen. 
 
 "These men are not the ones who just fled," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "Then who are they?" she half- whispered, drawing 
 unconsciously closer in that moment of jeopardy, her 
 face distant but a curl's length. 
 
 Below the men were dismounting, tying their horses 
 among the trees. Like a noisy band of troopers they 
 were talking excitedly, but their words were indistin- 
 guishable. 
 
 "Why do you suppose they fled from them?" she 
 continued. 
 
 Was it a tendril of the vine that touched his cheek 
 gently? He started, his face toward the haze in the 
 open borderland. 
 
 "Clearly these men are not the lease-holders. They 
 may be seeking you."
 
 AHASTYEXIT 187 
 
 She turned eagerly from the window. In the dark- 
 ness their hands met. Momentary compunction made 
 her pause. 
 
 ^"1 haven't yet thanked you 1" And he felt the cold, 
 nervous pressure of her hands on his. "You must 
 have ridden very hard and very far !" 
 
 His hand closed suddenly upon one of hers. He 
 was not thinking of the ride, but of how she had placed 
 herself beside him in his moment of peril; how she 
 had held them not long but a moment yet long 
 enough ! 
 
 "They're coming in! They're down stairs!" she 
 exclaimed excitedly. 
 
 A flickering light below suddenly threw dim mov- 
 ing shadows upon the ceiling of the hall. As she 
 spoke she stepped forward and stumbled over the de- 
 bris at the door. His arm was about her, almost before 
 the startled exclamation had fallen from her lips; for 
 a moment her shapely, young figure rested against 
 him. But quickly she extricated herself, and they 
 picked their way cautiously over the bestrewn 
 threshold out into the hall. 
 
 At the balustrade, they paused. Reconnoitering at 
 the turn, they were afforded full survey of the lower 
 hall where the latest comers had taken possession. 
 Few in numbers, the gathering had come to a dead 
 stop, regarding in surprise the broken door, and the 
 furniture wantonly demolished. But amid this scene 
 of rack and ruin, an object of especial wonder to the
 
 188 THE STROLLERS 
 
 newcomers was the great lifting-stone lying in the 
 hall amid the havoc it had wrought. 
 
 "No one but Dick, the tollman, could have thrown 
 that against the door!" said a little man who seemed 
 a person of authority. "I wonder where the patroon 
 can be ?" 
 
 With unusual pallor of face the young girl stepped 
 from behind the sheltering post. Her hand, resting 
 doubtfully upon the balustrade, sought in unconscious 
 appeal her companion's arm, as they descended to- 
 gether the broad steps. In the partial darkness the 
 little man ill discerned the figures, but divined their 
 bearing in the relation of outlines limned against the 
 obscure background. 
 
 "Why," he muttered in surprise, "this is not the 
 patroon ! And here, if I am not mistaken, is the lady 
 Mr. Barnes is so anxious about." 
 
 "Mr. Barnes he is with you ?" 
 
 It was Constance that spoke. 
 
 "Yes; but " 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "We left him a ways down the road and " 
 
 The sound of a horse's hoof beats in front of the 
 manor, breaking in on this explanation, was followed 
 by hurried footsteps upon the porch. The newcomer 
 paused on the threshold, when, with an exclamation 
 of joy, Constance rushed to him, and in a moment was 
 clasped in the arms of the now jubilant Barnes.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE COUNCIL AT THE TOWN PUMP 
 
 Next morning the sun had made but little progress 
 in the heavens and the dew was not yet off the grass 
 when the party, an imposing cavalcade, issued from 
 the manor on the return journey. Their home-com- 
 ing was uneventful. The barn-burners had disap- 
 peared like rabbits in their holes; the manor whose 
 master had fled, deserted even by the faithful Oly- 
 koeks, was seen for the last time from the brow of the 
 hill, and then, with its gables and extensive wings, van- 
 ished from sight. 
 
 "Well," remarked Barnes as they sped down the 
 road, "it was a happy coincidence for me that led the 
 anti-renters to the patroon's house last night." 
 
 And he proceeded to explain how when he had 
 sought the magistrate, he found that official organiz- 
 ing a posse comitatus for the purpose of quelling an 
 anticipated uprising of lease-holders. In answer to 
 the manager's complaint the custodian of the law had 
 asserted his first duty was generally to preserve the 
 peace ; afterward, he would attend to Barnes' particu- 
 (189)
 
 190 THE STROLLERS 
 
 lar grievance. Obliged to content himself as best he 
 might with this meager assurance, the manager, at his 
 wit's end, had accompanied the party whose way had 
 led them in the direction the carriage had taken, and 
 whose final destination an unhoped-for consumma- 
 tion! had proved the ultimate goal of his own de- 
 sires. 
 
 On reaching, that afternoon, the town where they 
 were playing, Susan was the first of the company to 
 greet Constance. 
 
 "Now that it's all over," she laughed, "I rather 
 envy you that you were rescued by such a handsome 
 cavalier." 
 
 "Really," drawled Kate, "I should have preferred 
 not being rescued. The owner of a coach, a coat of 
 arms, silver harness, and the best horses in the coun- 
 try ! I could drive on forever." 
 
 But later, alone with Susan, she looked hard at her : 
 
 "So you fainted yesterday ?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm a perfect coward," returned the other, 
 frankly. 
 
 Kate's mind rapidly swept the rough and troubled 
 past; the hap-hazard sea upon which they had em- 
 barked so long ago 
 
 "Dear me !" she remarked quietly, and Susan turned 
 to conceal a blush. 
 
 Owing to the magistrate's zeal in relating the story 
 of the rescue, the players' success that night was great. 
 
 "The hall was filled to overflowing," says the man- 
 ager in his date book. "At the end of the second act,
 
 ATTHETOWNPUMP 191 
 
 the little girl was called out, and much to her inward 
 discomfiture the magistrate presented her with a bou- 
 quet and the audience with a written speech. Taking 
 advantage of the occasion, he pointed a political moral 
 fiom the tale, and referred to his own candidacy to 
 the legislature, where he would look after the inter- 
 ests of the rank and file. It was time the land-owners 
 were taught their places not by violence Oh, no 
 no French methods for Americans ! by ballot, not by 
 bullet ! Let the people vote for an amendment to the 
 constitution ! 
 
 "As we were preparing to leave the theater, the 
 magistrate appeared behind the scenes. 'Of course, 
 Mr. Barnes, you will appear against the patroon?' he 
 said. 'His prosecution will do much to fortify the 
 issue.' 
 
 " 'That is all very fine/ I returned, satirically. 'But 
 will the Lord provide while we are trying the case? 
 Shall we find miraculous sustenance? We live by 
 moving on, sir. One or two nights in a place ; some- 
 times, a little longer ! No, no ; 'tis necessary to forget, 
 if not to forgive. You'll have to fortify your issue 
 without us.' 
 
 " 'Well, well/ he said, good-naturedly, 'if it's against 
 your interests, I have no wish to press the matter.' 
 Whereupon we shook hands heartily and parted. I 
 looked around for Constance, but she had left the hall 
 with Saint-Prosper. Have I been wise in asking'him 
 to join the chariot? I sometimes half regret we are 
 beholden to him "
 
 192 THE STROLLERS 
 
 From the Shadengo Valley Barnes' company pro- 
 ceeded by easy stages to Ohio, where the roads were 
 more difficult than any the chariot had yet encoun- 
 tered. On every hand, as they crossed the country, 
 sounded the refrains of that memorable song-cam- 
 paign which gave to the state the fixed sobriquet of 
 "Buckeye." Drawing near the capital, where the con- 
 vention was to be held, a log cabin, on an enormous 
 wagon, passed the chariot. A dozen horses fanci- 
 fully adorned were harnessed to this novel vehicle; 
 flowers over-ran the cabin-home, hewn from the buck- 
 eye logs of the forest near Marysville. In every win- 
 dow appeared the faces of merry lads and lasses, and, 
 as they journeyed on, their chorus echoed over field and 
 through forest. The wood-cutter leaned on his ax to 
 listen; the plowman waved his coonskin cap, his 
 wife, a red handkerchief from the doorway of their 
 log cabin. 
 
 "Oh, tell me where the Buckeye cabin was made? 
 'Twas built among the boys who wield the plow and spade, 
 Where the log-cabin stands in the bonnie Buckeye shade." 
 
 From lip to lip the song had been carried, until the 
 entire country was singing it, and the log-cabin had 
 become a part of the armorial bearings of good citizen- 
 ship, especially applicable to the crests of presidents. 
 Well might the people ask : 
 
 "Oh, what has caused this great commotion 
 All the country through?"
 
 AT THE TOWN PUMP 193 
 
 which the ready chorus answered : 
 
 'It is a ball a-rolling on 
 
 For Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!" 
 
 4 The least of the strollers' troubles at this crucial 
 period of their wanderings were the bad roads or the 
 effects of song and log-cabin upon the "amusement 
 world," the greatest being a temperance orator who 
 thundered forth denunciations of rum and the theater 
 with the bitterness of a Juvenal inveighing profligate 
 Rome. The people crowded the orator's hall, upon 
 the walls of which hung the customary banners : 
 a serpent springing from the top of a barrel; the 
 steamboat, Alcohol, bursting her boiler and going to 
 pieces, and the staunch craft, Temperance, safe and 
 sound, sailing away before a fair wind. With perfect 
 self-command, gift of mimicry and dramatic gestures, 
 the lecturer swayed his audience ; now bubbling over 
 with witty anecdotes, again exercising his power of 
 graphic portraiture. His elixir vitae animal spirits 
 humanized his effort, and, as Sir Robert Peel played 
 upon the House of Commons "as on an old fiddle," so 
 John B. Gough (for it was the versatile comic singer, 
 actor and speaker) sounded the chords of that homely 
 gathering. 
 
 Whatever he was, "poet, orator and dramatist, an 
 English Gavazzi," or, "mountebank," "humbug," or 
 "backslider," Mr. Gough was, even at that early 
 period, an antagonist not to be despised. He had been 
 out of pocket and out at the elbows indeed, his ward-
 
 194 THE STROLLERS 
 
 robe now was mean and scanty ; want and privation 
 had been his companions, and, from his grievous ex- 
 periences, he had become a sensational story-teller of 
 low life and penury. Certainly Barnes had reason to 
 lament the coincidence which brought players and lect- 
 urer into town at the same time, especially as the lat- 
 ter was heralded under the auspices of the Band of 
 Hope. 
 
 The temperance lectures and a heavy rain combined 
 to the undoing of the strollers. Majestically the dark 
 clouds rolled up, outspread like a pall, and the land 
 lay beneath the ban of a persistent downpour. People 
 remained indoors, for the most part, and the only 
 signs of life Barnes saw from the windows of the hotel 
 were the landlord's Holderness breed of cattle, 
 mournfully chewing their monotonous cuds, and some 
 Leicester sheep, wofully wandering in the pasture, or 
 huddled together like balls of stained cotton beneath 
 the indifferent protection of a tree amid field. 
 
 Exceptional inducements could not tempt the vil- 
 lagers to the theater. Even an epilogue gained for 
 them none of Mr. Cough's adherents. "The Tem- 
 perance Doctor" failed miserably; "Drunkard's 
 Warning" admonished pitiably few; while as for 
 "Drunkard's Doom," no one cared what it might be 
 and left him to it. 
 
 After such a disastrous engagement the manager 
 not only found himself at the end of his resources, but 
 hopelessly indebted, and, with much reluctance, laid 
 the matter before the soldier who had already advanced
 
 ATTHETOWNPUMP 195 
 
 Barnes a certain sum after their conversation on the 
 night of the country dance and had also come to his 
 assistance on an occasion when box-office receipts 
 and expenses had failed to meet. Moreover, he 
 had been a free, even careless, giver, not looking after 
 his business concerns with the prudent anxiety of a 
 merchant whose ventures are ships at the rude mercy 
 of a troubled sea. To this third application, however, 
 he did not answer immediately. 
 
 "Is it as bad as that?" he said at length, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Yes ; it's hard to speak about it to you," replied the 
 manager, with some embarrassment, "but at New 
 Orleans" 
 
 The soldier encountered his troubled gaze. "See 
 if you can sell my horse," he answered. 
 
 "You mean " began the other surprised. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Hanged if I will !" exclaimed the manager. Then 
 he put out his hand impulsively. "I beg your pardon. 
 If I had known but if we're ever out of this mess, 
 I may give a better account of my stewardship." 
 
 Nevertheless, his plight now was comparable to that 
 of the strollers of old, hunted by beadles from towns 
 and villages, and classed as gypsies, vagabonds and 
 professed itinerants by the constables. He was no 
 better served than the mummers, clowns, jugglers, and 
 petty chapmen who, wandering abroad, were deemed 
 rogues and sturdy beggars. Yet no king's censor 
 could have found aught "unchaste, seditious or un-
 
 196 THE STROLLERS 
 
 mete" in Barnes' plays; no cause for frays or quar- 
 rels, arising from pieces given in the old inn-yards ; 
 no immoral matter, "whatsoever any light and fan- 
 tastical head listeth to invent or devise;" no riotous 
 actors of rollicking interludes, to be named in common 
 with fencers, bearwards and vagrants. 
 
 "Better give it up, Mr. Barnes," said a remarkably 
 sweet and sympathetic voice, as the manager was 
 standing in the hotel office, turning the situation over 
 and over in his mind. 
 
 Barnes, looking around quickly to see who had read 
 his inmost thoughts, met the firm glance of his antag- 
 onist. 
 
 "Mr. Gough, it is an honor to meet one of your 
 talents," replied the manager, "but" with an attempt 
 to hide his concern "I shall not be sorry, if we do 
 not meet again." 
 
 "An inhospitable wish!" answered the speaker, fix- 
 ing his luminous eyes upon the manager. "However, 
 we shall probably see each other frequently." 
 
 "The Fates forbid, sir!" said Barnes, earnestly. 
 "If you'll tell me your route, we'll go the other way !" 
 
 "It won't do, Mr. Barnes ! The devil and the flesh 
 must be fairly fought. 'Where thou goest' You 
 know the scriptural saying ?" 
 
 "You'll follow us!" exclaimed the manager with 
 sudden consternation. 
 
 The other nodded. 
 
 "Why, this is tyranny ! You are a Frankenstein ; 
 an Old-Man-of-the Sea !"
 
 AT THE TOWN PUMP 197 
 
 "Give it up," said the orator, with a smile that singu- 
 larly illumined his thin, but powerful features. "As 
 I gave it up! Into what dregs of vice, what a sink 
 pf iniquity was I plunged! The very cleansing of 
 my soul was an Augean task. Knavery, profligacy, 
 laxity of morals, looseness of principles that was 
 what the stage did for me ; that was the labor of Her- 
 cules to be cleared away! Give it up, Mr. Barnes!" 
 And with a last penetrating look, he strode out of the 
 office. 
 
 In spite of Barnes' refusal, the soldier offered to 
 sell his horse to the landlord, but the latter curtly de- 
 clined, having horses enough to "eat their heads off" 
 during the winter, as he expressed it. His Jeremy 
 Collier aversion to players was probably at the bottom 
 of this point-blank rebuff, however. He was a stub- 
 born man, czar in his own domains, a small principality 
 bounded by four inhospitable walls. His guests hav- 
 ing no other place to go were his subjects, or prison- 
 ers, and distress could not find a more unfitting trib- 
 unal before which to lay its case. There was some- 
 thing so malevolent in his vigilance, so unfriendly 
 in his scrutiny, that to the players he seemed an 
 emissary of disaster, inseparable from their cruel 
 plight. 
 
 Thus it was that the strollers perforce reached a 
 desperate conclusion when making their way from 
 the theater on the last evening. By remaining longer, 
 they would become the more hopelessly involved; in 
 going without their host's permission they would
 
 198 THE STROLLERS 
 
 be taking the shortest route toward an honorable set- 
 tlement in the near future; a paradoxical flight from 
 the brunt of their troubles, to meet them squarely! 
 This, to Barnes, ample reason for unceremonious de- 
 parture was heartily approved by the company in 
 council assembled around the town pump. 
 
 "Stay and become a county burden, indeed!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Adams, tragically. 
 
 "As well be buried alive as anchored here!" fret- 
 fully added Susan. 
 
 "The council is dissolved," said the manager, 
 promptly, "with no one the wiser except the town 
 pump." 
 
 "An ally of Mr. Gough !" suggested Adonis. 
 
 Thus more merrily than could have been expected, 
 with such a distasteful enterprise before them, they 
 resumed their way. It was disagreeable under foot 
 and they presented an odd appearance, each one with 
 a light. Mrs. Adams, old campaigner that she was, 
 led the way for the ladies, elastic and chatty as though 
 promenading down Broadway on a spring morning. 
 With their lanterns and the purpose they had in view, 
 they likened themselves to a band of conspirators. 
 As Barnes marched ahead with his light, Susan play- 
 fully called him Guy Fawkes, of gun-powder fame, 
 whereupon his mind almost misgave him concerning 
 the grave adventure upon which they were embarked. 
 
 The wind was blowing furiously, doors and windows 
 creaked, and all the demons of unrest were moaning 
 that night in the hubbub of sounds. Save for a flick-
 
 AT THE TOWN PUMP 199 
 
 ering candle in the hall, the tavern was dark, and land- 
 lord and maids had long since retired to rest. Amid 
 the noise of the rain and the sobbing of the wind, 
 trunks were lowered from the window; the chariot 
 and property wagon were drawn from the stable yard 
 and the horses led from their stalls. In a trice they 
 were ready and the ladies, wrapped in their cloaks, 
 were in the coach. But the clatter of hoofs, the 
 neighing of a horse, or some other untoward circum- 
 stance, aroused the landlord; a window in the second 
 story shot up and out popped a head in a night-cap. 
 
 "Here ! What are you about ?" cried the man. 
 
 "Leaving!" said the manager, laconically. 
 
 The landlord threw up his arms like Shylock at the 
 loss of his money-bags. 
 
 "The reckoning!" he exclaimed. "What about the 
 reckoning ?" 
 
 "Your pound of flesh, sir !" replied Barnes. 
 
 "My score ! My score !" shouted the other. "You 
 would not leave without settling it !" 
 
 "Go to bed, sir," was the answer, "and let honest 
 people depart without hindrance. You will be paid 
 out of our first profits." 
 
 But the man was not so easily appeased. "Robbers ! 
 Constable !" he screamed. 
 
 Conceiving it was better to be gone witKout further 
 parley, having assured him of their honorable inten- 
 tions, Barnes was about to lash the horses, when Kate 
 suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 "Where's Constance?"
 
 200 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Isn't she inside ?" asked the manager quickly. 
 
 "No ; she isn't here." 
 
 "Oh, I sent her back to get something for me I had 
 forgotten," spoke up Mrs. Adams, "and she hasn't re- 
 turned yet." 
 
 "Sent her back! Madam, you have ruined every- 
 thing !" burst out Barnes, bitterly. 
 
 "Mr. Barnes, I won't be spoken to like a child !" 
 
 "Child, indeed" 
 
 But the querulous words were not uttered, for, as 
 the manager was about to leave the box in considera- 
 ble perturbation, there gazing down upon them at a 
 window next to that occupied by the landlord stood 
 Constance ! 
 
 For a tippet, or a ruff, or some equally wretched 
 frippery, carelessly left by the old lady, all their plans 
 for deliverance appeared likely to miscarry. Presum- 
 ably, Constance, turned from her original purpose by 
 the noisy altercation, had hurried to the window, where 
 now the landlord perceived her and immediately 
 availed himself of the advantage offered. 
 
 "So one of you is left behind," he shouted exult- 
 antly. "And it's the leading lady, too ! I'll take care 
 she stays here, until after a settlement. I'll stop you 
 yet ! Stealing away in the middle of the night, you 
 you vagabonds !" 
 
 His voice, growing louder and louder, ended in a 
 shrieking crescendo. Disheartened, there seemed no 
 alternative for the players save to turn back and sur- 
 render unconditionally. Barnes breathed a deep sigh;
 
 AT THE TOWN PUMP 201 
 
 so much for a tippet! their dash for freedom had 
 been but a sorry attempt! now he saw visions of 
 prison bars, and uttered a groan, when the soldier 
 who was riding his own horse dashed forward be- 
 nefcth the window and stood upright in his stirrups. 
 
 "Do not be afraid, Miss Carew," he said. 
 
 Fortunately the window was low and the distance 
 inconsiderable, but Barnes held his breath, hoping the 
 hazard would deter her. 
 
 "Do not, my dear !" he began. 
 
 But she did not hesitate; the sight of the stalwart 
 figure and the strong arms, apparently reassured her, 
 and she stepped upon the sill. 
 
 "Quick!" he exclaimed, and, at the word, she 
 dropped into his upstretched arms. Scarcely had she 
 escaped, however, before the landlord was seen at the 
 same window. So astonished was he to find her gone, 
 surprise at first held him speechless ; then he burst 
 into a volley of oaths that would have "shamed a whal- 
 er's master. 
 
 "Come back!" he cried. "Come back, or " The 
 alternative was lost in vengeful imprecation. 
 
 Holding Constance before him, the soldier resumed 
 his saddle. "Drive on!" he cried to Barnes, as past 
 the chariot sped his horse, with its double burden.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE HAND FERRY 
 
 At a lively gait down the road toward the river gal- 
 loped the horse bearing Saint-Prosper and Constance. 
 The thoroughfare was deserted and the dwelling 
 houses as well as the principal buildings of the town 
 were absolutely dark. At one place a dog ran out to 
 the front gate, disturbed by the unusual noise on the 
 road, and barked furiously, but they moved rapidly 
 on. Now the steeple of the old church loomed weirdly 
 against the dark background of the sky and then van- 
 ished. 
 
 On; on, they went, past the churchyard, with its 
 marble slabs indistinctly outlined in the darkness, like 
 a phantom graveyard, as immaterial and ghostlike it- 
 self as the spirits of the earliest settlers at rest there 
 beneath the sod. This was the last indication of the 
 presence of the town, the final impression to carry 
 away into the wide country, where the road ran 
 through field and forest. As they sped along, they 
 plunged into a chasm of blackness, caused by the trees 
 on both sides of the road which appeared to be con- 
 (202)
 
 THE HAND FERRY 203 
 
 stantly closing upon them. In the darkness of that 
 stygian tunnel, dashing blindly through threatening 
 obscurity, she yet felt no terrors, for a band of steel 
 seemed to hold her above some pit of "visible night." 
 
 t)ut of the tunnel into the comparatively open space, 
 the wind boomed with all its force, and like an enraged 
 monster, drove the storm-clouds, now rainless, across 
 the sky. Occasionally the moon appeared through 
 some aperture, serene, peace-inspiring, momentarily 
 gilding the dark vapor, and again was swallowed up 
 by another mass of clouds. A brood of shadows 
 leaped around them, like things of life, now dancing in 
 the road or pursuing through the tufts of grass, then 
 vanishing over the meadows or disappearing in 
 murky nooks. But a moment were they gone and 
 then, marshaled in new numbers, menacing before 
 and behind, under the very feet of the horse, 
 bidding defiance to the clattering hoofs. With mane 
 tossed in the angry wind, and nostrils dilated, the ani- 
 mal neighed with affright, suddenly leaping aside, as 
 a little nest of unknown dangers lurked and rustled in 
 the ambush of a drift of animated brush. 
 
 At that abrupt start, the rider swayed; his grasp 
 tightened about the actress' waist; her arms involun- 
 tarily held him closer. Loosened by the wind and the 
 mad motion, her hair brushed his cheek and fell over 
 his shoulder, whipped sharply in the breeze. A 
 fiercer gust, sweeping upon them uproariously, sent 
 all the tresses free, and scudded by with an exultant 
 shriek. For a time they rode in this wise, her face
 
 204 THE STROLLERS 
 
 cold in the rush of wind; his gaze fixed ahead, striv- 
 ing to pierce the gloom, and then he drew rein, hold- 
 ing the horse -with some difficulty at a standstill in the 
 center of the thoroughfare. 
 
 With senses numbed by the stirring flight, the young 
 girl had been oblivious to the firmness of the soldier's 
 sustaining grasp, but now as they paused in the silent, 
 deserted spot, she became suddenly conscious of it. 
 The pain so fast he held her ! made her wince. She 
 turned her face to his. A glint of light fell on his 
 brow and any lines that had appeared there were 
 erased in the magical glimmer ; eagerness, youth, pas- 
 sion alone shone upon his features. 
 
 His arm clasped her even yet more closely, as if in 
 the wildness of the moment he would fiercely draw her 
 to him regardless of all. Did she understand that 
 with her face so near his, her hair surrounding him, her 
 figure pressed in that close embrace he must needs 
 speak to her ; had, indeed, spoken to her. She was 
 conscious her hand on his shoulder trembled. Her 
 cheek was no longer cold; abruptly the warm glow 
 mantled it. Was it but that a momentary calm fell 
 around them; the temporary hush of the boisterous 
 wind ? And yet, when again the squall swept by with 
 renewed turmoil, her face remained unchilled. She 
 seemed but a child in his arms. How light her own 
 hand-touch compared to that compelling grasp with 
 which he held her! She remembered he had but 
 spoken to her standing in the window, and she had 
 obeyed without a question without thought of fear.
 
 THE HAND FERRY 205 
 
 She longed to spring to the ground now, to draw her- 
 self from him. 
 
 "You can hear the chariot down the road, Miss 
 Carew." 
 
 Quickly her glance returned to his face; his gaze 
 was bent down the thoroughfare. He spoke so quietly 
 she wondered at her momentary fears ; his voice re- 
 assured her. 
 
 A gleam of light shot through a rift in the clouds. 
 
 "Hello-a!" came a welcome voice from the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 "Hello-a !" answered the soldier. 
 
 "You'd better ride on!" shouted the manager. 
 "They're after us !" 
 
 For answer the soldier touched his horse, and now 
 began a race for the river and the ferry, which were in 
 plain sight, Luna fortunately at this critical moment 
 sailing from between the vapors and shining from a 
 clear lake in the sky. The chaste light, out of the angry 
 convulsions of the heavens^ showed the fugitives the 
 road and the river, winding like a broad band of silver 
 across the darkness of the earth, its surface rippled 
 into waves by the northern wind. Behind them the 
 soldier and Constance could hear the coach creaking 
 and groaning. It seemed to careen on its beams' end, 
 but some special providence was watching over the 
 players and no catastrophe occurred. 
 
 Nearer came the men on horseback down the hill; 
 now the foremost shouted. Closer was the river; 
 Saint-Prosper reached its bank ; the gang-plank was in
 
 206 THE STROLLERS 
 
 position and he dashed aboard. With a mighty toss- 
 ing and rolling, the chariot approached, rattled safely 
 across the gangway, followed by the property wagon, 
 and eager hands grasped the rope, extending from 
 shore to shore above the large, flat craft. These hand 
 ferries, found in various sections of the country, were 
 strongly, although crudely, constructed, their sole 
 means of locomotion in the stationary rope, by means 
 of which the passengers, providing their own power 
 for transportation, drew themselves to the opposite 
 shore. 
 
 The energy now applied to the hempen strand sent 
 the ferry many feet from the shore out into the river, 
 where the current was much swifter than usual, owing 
 to the heavy rainfalls. The horses on the great cum- 
 bersome craft were snorting with terror. 
 
 Crack! pish! One of the men on the shore used 
 his revolver. 
 
 "An illogical and foolish way to collect debts, that !" 
 grumbled the manager, tugging at the rope. "If they 
 kill us, how can we requite them for our obligations ?" 
 
 The river was unusually high and the current set 
 the boat, heavily loaded, tugging at the rope. How- 
 ever, it resisted the strain and soon the craft grated 
 on the sand and the party disembarked, safe from con- 
 stable and bailiff in the brave, blue grass country. 
 Only one mishap occurred, and that to Adonis, who, in 
 his haste, fell into the shallow water. He was as dis- 
 consolate as the young hero Minerva threw into the
 
 THE HAND FERRY 207 
 
 sea to wrest him from the love of Eucharis. But in 
 this case, Eucharis (Kate) laughed immoderately at 
 his discomfiture. 
 
 ^As Barnes was not sure of the road, the strollers 
 camped upon the bank. The river murmured a seduc- 
 tive cradle-song to the rushes, and, on the shore, 
 from the dark and ominous background, came the 
 deeper voice of the pines. 
 
 Constance, who had been unusually quiet and 
 thoughtful, gradually recovered her spirits. 
 
 "Here, Mrs. Adams, is your tippet," she said with 
 a merry smile, taking a bit of lace from her dress. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear; I wouldn't have lost it for 
 anything!" said the old lady, effusively, while Barnes 
 muttered something beneath his breath. 
 
 The soldier, who had dismissed the manager's 
 thanks somewhat abruptly, occupied himself arranging' 
 the cushions from the chariot on the grass. Suddenly 
 Mrs. Adams noticed a crimson stain on his shoulder. 
 
 "Sir !" she exclaimed, in the voice of the heroine 
 of "Oriana," "you are wounded!" 
 
 "It is nothing, Madam !" he replied. 
 
 Stripping off his coat, Barnes found the wound was, 
 indeed, but slight, the flesh having just been pierced. 
 
 "How romantic !" gushed Susan. "He stood in front 
 of Constance when the firing began. Now, no one 
 thought of poor me. On the contrary, if I am not mis- 
 taken, Mr. Hawkes discreetly stood behind me."
 
 208 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Jokes reflecting upon one's honor are in bad taste," 
 gravely retorted the melancholy actor. 
 
 "Indeed, I thought it no jest at the time !" replied the 
 other. 
 
 "Mistress Susan, your tongue is dangerous !" 
 
 "Mr. Hawkes, your courage will never lead you 
 into danger !" 
 
 "Nay," he began, angrily, "this is a serious of- 
 fense " 
 
 "On the contrary," she said, laughing, "it is a ques- 
 tion of defense." 
 
 "There is no arguing with a woman," he grumbled. 
 "She always takes refuge in her tongue." 
 
 "While you, Mr. Hawkes, take refuge " 
 
 But the other arose indignantly and strode into the 
 gloom. Meanwhile Barnes, while dressing the injury, 
 discovered 1 near the cut an old scar thoroughly healed, 
 but so large and jagged it attracted his attention. 
 
 "That hurt was another matter," said he, touching 
 it. 
 
 Was it the manager's fingers or his words caused 
 Saint-Prosper to wince? "Yes, it was another mat- 
 ter," he replied, hurriedly. "An Arab spear or some- 
 thing of the kind !" 
 
 "Tell us about it," prattled Susan. "You have never 
 told us anything about Africa. It seems a forbidden 
 subject/' 
 
 "Perhaps he has a wife in Tangiers, or Cairo," 
 laughed Kate.
 
 THE HAND FERRY 209 
 
 "He was wed in Amsterdam, 
 Again in far Siam, 
 And after this 
 Sought triple bliss 
 And married in Hindustan," 
 
 sang Susan. 
 
 The soldier made some evasive response to this 
 raillery and then became silent. Soon quiet prevailed 
 in the encampment; only out of the recesses of the 
 forest came the menacing howl of a vagabond wolf. 
 
 "Such," says Barnes in his note-book, "is the true 
 history of an adventure which created some talk at 
 the time. A perilous, regrettable business at best, 
 but we acted according to our light and were enabled 
 thereafter to requite our obligations, which could not 
 have been done had they seized the properties, poor 
 garments of players' pomp ; tools whereby we earned 
 our meager livelihood. If, after this explanation, any- 
 one still has aught of criticism, I must needs be silent, 
 not controverting his censure. 
 
 "With some amusement I learned that our notable 
 belligerent, Mr. Gough, was well-nigh reduced to the 
 same predicament as that in which we found ourselves. 
 He could not complain of his audiences, and the Band 
 of Hope gained many recruits by his coming, but, 
 through some misapprehension, the customary collec- 
 tions were overlooked. The last night of the lecture, 
 the chairman of the evening, at the conclusion of the 
 address, arose and said : 'I move we thank Mr. Gough 
 for his eloquent effort and then adjourn.'
 
 210 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "The motion prevailed, and the gathering was about 
 to disperse when the platform bludgeon-man held 
 them with a gesture. 'Will you kindly put your thanks 
 in writing, that I may offer it for my hotel bill/ said 
 he. 
 
 "But for this quick wit and the gathering's response 
 to the appeal he would have been in the same boat with 
 us, or rather, on the same boat the old hand ferry! 
 Subsequently, he became a speaker of foreign and na- 
 tional repute, but at that time he might have traveled 
 from Scarboro' to Land's End without attracting a 
 passing glance."
 
 BOOK II 
 DESTINY AND THE MARIONETTES
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 
 
 Through the land of the strapping, thick-ribbed pio- 
 neers of Kentucky the strollers bent their course a 
 country where towns and hamlets were rapidly spring- 
 ing up in the smiling valleys or on the fertile hill- 
 sides; where new families dropping in, and old ones 
 obeying the injunction to be "fruitful and multiply" 
 had so swelled the population that the region, but a 
 short time before sparsely settled, now teemed with a 
 sturdy people. To Barnes' satisfaction, many of the 
 roads were all that could have been wished for, the 
 turnpike system of the center of the state reflecting un- 
 bounded credit upon its builders. 
 
 If a people may be judged by its highways, Kentucky, 
 thus early, with its macadamized roads deserved a 
 prominent place in the sisterhood of states. More- 
 over, while mindful always of her own internal ad- 
 vancement, she persistently maintained an ever-watch- 
 ful eye and closest scrutiny on the parental govern- 
 'ment and the acts of congress. "Give a Kentuckian 
 a plug of tobacco and a political antagonist and he 
 (213)
 
 214 THE STROLLERS 
 
 will spend a comfortable day where'er he may be," 
 has been happily said. It was this hardy , horse-raising, 
 tobacco-growing community which had given the peer- 
 less Clay to the administrative councils of the country ; 
 it was this rugged cattle-breeding, whisky-distilling 
 people which had offered the fearless Zach Taylor to 
 spread the country's renown on the martial field. 
 
 What sunny memories were woven in that pilgrim- 
 age for the strollers ! Remembrance of the corn-husk- 
 ing festivities, and the lads who, having found the red 
 ears, kissed the lasses of their choice; of the danc- 
 ing that followed double-shuffle, Kentucky heel-tap, 
 pigeon wing or Arkansas hoe-down! And mingling 
 with the remembrance of such pleasing diversions were 
 the yet more satisfying recollections of large audiences, 
 generous-minded people and substantial rewards, well- 
 won; rewards which enabled them shortly afterward 
 to pay by post the landlord from whom they had fled. 
 
 Down the Father of Waters a month or so after 
 their flight into the blue grass country steamed the 
 packet bearing the company of players, leaving behind 
 them the Chariot of the Muses. 
 
 At the time of their voyage down the Mississippi 
 "the science of piloting was not a thing of the dead 
 and pathetic past," and wonderful accounts were writ- 
 ten of the autocrats of the wheel and the characteris- 
 tics of the ever-changing, ever-capricious river. "Ac- 
 cidents !" says an early steamboat captain. "Oh, some- 
 times we run foul of a snag or sawyer, occasionally
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 215 
 
 collapse a boiler and blow up sky-high. We get used 
 to these little matters and don't mind them." 
 
 None of these trifling incidents was experienced 
 by the players, however, who thereby lost, according 
 to the Munchausens of the period, half of the pleas- 
 ure and excitement of the trip. In fact, nothing more 
 stirring than taking on wood from a flatboat along- 
 side, or throwing a plank ashore for a passenger, 
 varied the monotony of the hour, and, approaching 
 their destination, the last day on the "floating palace" 
 dawned serenely, uneventfully. 
 
 The gray of early morn became suffused with red, 
 like the flush of life on a pallid cheek. Arrows of light 
 shot out above the trees ; an expectant hush pervaded 
 the forest. Inside the cabin a sleepy negro began the 
 formidable task of sweeping. This duty completed, he 
 shook a bell, which feature of his daily occupation the 
 darky entered into with diabolical energy, and soon 
 the ear-rending discord brought the passengers on 
 deck. But hot cornbread, steaks and steaming coffee 
 speedily restored that equanimity of temper disturbed 
 by the morning's clangorous summons. 
 
 Breakfast over, some of the gentlemen repaired to 
 the boiler deck for the enjoyment of cigars, the ladies 
 surrounded the piano in the cabin, while a gambler 
 busied himself in getting into the good graces of a 
 young fellow who was seeing the world. Less lonely 
 became the shores,- as the boat, panting as if from long 
 exertion, steamed on. Carrolton and Lafayette were
 
 216 THE STROLLERS 
 
 left behind. Now along the banks stretched the showy 
 houses and slave plantations of the sugar planters; 
 and soon, from the deck of the boat, the dome of the 
 St. Charles and the cathedral towers loomed against the 
 sky. 
 
 Beyond a mile or so of muddy water and a formid- 
 able fleet of old hulks-, disreputable barges and "small 
 fry broad-horns," lay Algiers, graceless itself as the un- 
 inviting foreground ; looking out contemplatively from 
 its squalor at the inspiring view of Nouvelle Orleans, 
 with the freighters, granaries and steamboats, three 
 stories high, floating past; comparing its own inertia 
 if a city can be presumed capable of such edifying 
 consciousness! with the aspect of the busy levee, 
 where cotton bales, sugar hogsheads, molasses casks, 
 tobacco, hemp and other staple articles of the South, 
 formed, as it were, a bulwark, or fortification of peace, 
 for the habitations behind it. Such was the external 
 appearance suggestive of commerce of that little 
 center whose social and bohemian life was yet more 
 interesting than its mercantile features. 
 
 At that period the city boasted of its Addison of 
 letters since forgotten; its Feu-de-joie, the peerless 
 dancer, whose beauty had fired the Duke Gambade to 
 that extravagant conduct which made the recipient of 
 those marked attentions the talk of the town ; its Ros- 
 cius of the drama; its irresistible ingenue, the lovely, 
 little Fantoccini; and its theatrical carpet-knight, 
 M. Grimacier, whose intrigue with the stately and, 
 heretofore, saintly Madame Etalage had, it was said
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 217 
 
 later, much to do with the unhappy taking-off of that 
 ostentatious and haughty lady. It had Mile. Affettu- 
 oso, songstress, with, it is true, an occasional break in 
 her trill ; and, last, but not least, that general friend of 
 mankind, more puissant, powerful and necessary than 
 all the nightingales, butterflies, or men of letters who, 
 nevertheless, are well enough in their places ! Tortier, 
 the only Tortier, who carried the art de cuisine to 
 ravishing perfection, whose ragouts were sonnets in 
 sauce and whose fricassees nothing less than idyls 1 
 
 Following the strollers' experiences with short en- 
 gagements and improvised theaters, there was solace 
 in the appearance of the city of cream and honey, and 
 the players, assembled on the boiler deck, regarded the 
 thriving port with mingled feelings as they drew 
 nearer. Susan began forthwith to dream of conquests 
 a swarthy Mexican, the owner of an opal mine; a 
 prince from Brazil ; a hidalgo, exile, or any other nota- 
 ble among the cosmopolitan people. Adonis bethought 
 himself of dusky beauties, waiting in their carriages at 
 the stage entrance; sighing for him, languishing for 
 him ; whirling him away to a supper room and Para- 
 dise! Regretfully the wiry old lady reverted to the 
 time when she and her first husband had visited this 
 Paris of the South, and, with a deep sigh, paid brief 
 tribute to the memory of conjugal felicity. 
 
 Constance's eyes were grave as they rested upon the 
 city where she would either triumph or fail, and the 
 seriousness of her task came over her, leaning with 
 clasped hands against the railing of the boat. Among
 
 218 THE STROLLERS 
 
 that busy host what place would be made for her? 
 How easy it seemed to be lost in the legion of workers ; 
 to be crushed in the swaying crowd ! It was as though 
 she were entering a room filled with strangers, and 
 stood hesitating on the threshold. But youth's as- 
 surance soon set aside this gloomy picture; the 
 shadow of a smile lighted her face and her glance 
 grew bright. At twenty the world is rosy and in the 
 perspective are many castles. 
 
 Near by the soldier also leaned against the rail, look- 
 ing not, however, at New Orleans but at her, while 
 all unconscious of his regard she continued to gaze 
 cityward. His face, too, was thoughtful. The hap- 
 hazard journey was approaching its end, and with 
 it, in all likelihood, the bond of union, the alliance of 
 close comradeship associated with the wilderness. She 
 was keenly alive to honor, fame, renown. What mean- 
 ing had those words to him save for her ? He smiled 
 bitterly, as a sudden revulsion of dark thoughts 
 crowded upon him. He had had his bout; the sands 
 of the arena that once had shone golden now were 
 dust. 
 
 Drawing up to the levee, they became a part of the 
 general bustle and confusion; hurriedly disembarked, 
 rushed about for their luggage, because every one else 
 was rushing; hastily entered carriages of which there 
 was a limited supply, and were whisked off over the 
 rough cobblestones which constituted the principal 
 pavements, of the city ; catching momentary glimpses, 
 between oscillations, of oyster saloons, fruit and old
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 219 
 
 clothes' shops, and coffee stands, where the people ate 
 in the open air. In every block were cafes or restau- 
 rants, and the sign "Furnished Rooms" appearing at 
 frequent intervals along the thoroughfare through 
 which they drove at headlong pace, bore evidence to 
 the fact that the city harbored many strangers. 
 
 The hotel was finally reached and what a unique 
 hostelry it was ! "Set the St. Charles down in St. 
 Petersburg," commented a chronicler in 1846, "and you 
 would think it a palace; in Boston, and ten to one, 
 you would christen it a college ; in London, and it 
 would remind you of an exchange." It represented at 
 that day the evolution of the American tavern, the 
 primitive inn, instituted for passengers and wayfaring 
 men ; the development of the pot-house to the metro- 
 politan hotel, of the rural ale-room to the palatial 
 saloon. 
 
 "What a change from country hostelries!" solilo- 
 quized the manager, after the company were installed 
 in commodious rooms. "No more inns where soap 
 and towels are common property, and a comb, without 
 its full complement of teeth, does service for all 
 comers!" he continued, gazing around the apartment 
 in which he found himself. "Think of real gas in your 
 room, Barnes, and great chairs, easy as the arms of 
 Morpheus ! Are you comfortable, my dear ?" he called 
 out. 
 
 Constance's voice in an adjoining room replied af- 
 firmatively, and he added : "I'm going down stairs to 
 look around a bit."
 
 220 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Beneath the porch and reception hall extended the 
 large bar-room, where several score of men were en- 
 joying their liquors and lunches, and the hum of con- 
 versation, the clinking of glasses and the noise made 
 by the skilful mixer of drinks were as sweet music 
 to the manager, when shortly after he strode to 
 the bar. Wearing neither coat nor vest, the barten- 
 der's ruffled shirt displayed a glistening stone; the 
 sleeves were ornamented with gold buttons and the 
 lace collar had a Byronic roll. 
 
 "What will you have, sir?" he said in a well-modu- 
 lated voice to a big Virginian, who had preceded 
 Barnes into the room. 
 
 "A julep," was the reply, "and, while you are mak- 
 ing it, a little whisky straight." 
 
 A bottle of bourbon was set before him, and he 
 wasted no valuable time while the bartender manipu- 
 lated the more complicated drink. Experiencing the 
 felicity of a man who has entered a higher civilization, 
 the manager ordered a bottle of iced ale, drank it with 
 gusto, and, seating himself, was soon partaking of a 
 palatable dish. By this time the Virginian, joined by 
 a friend, had ordered another julep for the near future 
 and a little "straight" for the immediate present. 
 
 "Happy days !" said the former. 
 
 "And yours happier 1" replied the new-comer. 
 
 "Why, it's Utopia," thought Barnes. "Every one is 
 happy!" 
 
 But even as he thus ruminated, his glance fell upon
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 221 
 
 an old man at the next table whom the waiters treated 
 with such deference the manager concluded he must be 
 some one of no slight importance. This gentleman was 
 thin, wrinkled and worn, with a face Voltairian in 
 type, his hair scanty, his dress elegant, and his satirical 
 smile like the "flash of a dagger in the sunlight." He 
 was inspecting his bouillon with manifest distrust, ad- 
 justing his eye-glass and thrusting his head close to 
 the plate. The look of suspicion deepened and finally 
 a grimace of triumph illumined his countenance, as 
 he rapped excitedly on the table. 
 
 "Waiter, waiter, do you see that soup?" lie almost 
 shouted. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur le Marquis," was the humble re- 
 sponse. 
 
 "Look at it well!" thundered the old gentleman. 
 "Do you find nothing extraordinary about it?" 
 
 Again the bouillon was examined, to the amusement 
 of the manager. 
 
 "I am sorry, Monsieur le Marquis ; I can detect noth- 
 ing unusual," politely responded the waiter, when he 
 had concluded a pains-taking scrutiny with all the 
 gravity and seriousness attending so momentous an 
 investigation. 
 
 "You are blind!" exclaimed the old man. "See 
 there; a spot of grease floating in the bouillon, and 
 there, another and another ! In fact, here is an 'Archi- 
 pelago of Greece !' " This witticism was relieved by 
 an ironical smile. "Take it away !"
 
 222 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The waiter hurried off with the offending dish and 
 the old man looked immensely satisfied over the dis- 
 turbance he had created. 
 
 "Well has it been said," thought the manager, "that 
 the destiny of a nation depends upon the digestion of 
 its first minister ! I wonder what he'll do next ?" 
 
 Course after course that followed was rejected, the 
 guest keeping up a running comment : 
 
 "This sauce is not properly prepared. This salad 
 is not well mixed. I shall starve in this place. These 
 truffles ; spoiled in the importation !" 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur le Marquis," clasping his hands in 
 despair "they were preserved in melted paraffin." 
 
 "What do I care about your paraffin ? Never mind 
 anything more, waiter. I could not eat a mouthful. 
 What is the bill ? Very well ; and there is something 
 for yourself, blockhead." 
 
 "Thank you, Monsieur le Marquis." Deferentially. 
 
 "The worst meal I've ever had! And I've been in 
 Europe, Asia and Africa. Abominable abominable 
 idiot of a waiter miserable place, miserable and this 
 dyspepsia " 
 
 Thus running on, with snatches of caustic criticism, 
 the old gentleman shambled out, the waiter holding the 
 door open for him and bowing obsequiously. 
 
 "An amiable individual!" observed Barnes to the 
 waiter. "Is he stopping at the hotel ?" 
 
 "No, Monsieur. He has an elegant house near by. 
 The last time he was here he complimented the cook
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 223 
 
 and praised the sauces. He is a little what you call 
 it ? whimsical !" 
 
 "Yes; slightly inclined that way. But is he here 
 alone?" 
 
 "He is, Monsieur. He loses great sums in the 
 gambling rooms. He keeps a box at the theater for 
 the season. He is a prince a great lord " 
 
 "Even if he calls you 'liar' and 'blockhead' ?" 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur," displaying a silver dollar with an 
 expressive shrug of the shoulders "this is the what 
 you call it? balm." 
 
 "And very good balm, too," said Barnes, heartily. 
 
 Still grumbling to himself, the marquis reached the 
 main corridor, where the scene was almost as animated 
 as in the bar and where the principal topic of conver- 
 sation seemed to be horses and races that had been 
 or were about to be run. "I'd put Uncle Rastus' mule 
 against that hoss !" "That four-year-old's quick as a 
 runaway nigger!" "Five hundred, the gelding beats 
 the runaway nigger !" "Any takers on Jolly Rogers ?" 
 were among the snatches of talk which lent life and 
 zest to the various groups. 
 
 Sitting moodily in a corner, with legs crossed and 
 hat upon his knee, was a young man whose careless 
 glance wandered from time to time from his cigar to 
 the passing figures. As the marquis slowly hobbled 
 along, with an effort to appear alert, the young man 
 arose quickly and came forward with a conventional 
 smile, intercepting the old nobleman near the door,
 
 224 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "My dear Monsieur le Marquis," he exclaimed, 
 effusively, "it is with pleasure I see you recovered 
 from your recent indisposition." 
 
 "Recovered!" almost shrieked the marquis. "I'm 
 far from recovered; I'm worse than ever. I detest 
 congratulations, Monsieur! It's what a lying world 
 always does when you are on the verge of dissolu- 
 tion." 
 
 "You are as discerning as ever," murmured the land 
 baron for it was Edward Mauville. 
 
 "I'm not fit to be around; I only came out" with 
 a sardonic chuckle "because the doctors said it would 
 be fatal." 
 
 "Surely you do not desire " 
 
 "To show them they are impostors? Yes." 
 
 "And does New Orleans continue to please you?" 
 asked the other, with some of that pride Southerners 
 entertained in those days for their queen city. 
 
 "How does the exile like the forced land of his 
 adoption?" returned the nobleman, irritably. "My 
 king is in exile. Why should I not be also? Should 
 I stay there, herd with the cattle, call every ship jack 
 'Citizen' and every clod 'Brother' ; treat every scrub as 
 though she were a duchess ?" 
 
 "There is, indeed, a regrettable tendency to deify 
 common clay nowadays," assented the patroon, sooth- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Why, your 'Citizen' regards it as condescension to 
 notice a man of condition!" said the marquis, vio- 
 lently. "When my king was driven away by the rab-
 
 FASTIDIOUS MARQUIS 225 
 
 ble the ocean was not too broad to separate me from 
 a swinish civilization. I will never go back; I will 
 live there no more !" 
 
 ,"That is good news for us," returned the land 
 baron. 
 
 "Your politeness almost reconciles me to staying," 
 said the old man, more affably. "But I am on my 
 way to the club. What do you say to a rubber ?" 
 
 The patroon readily assented. In front of the hotel 
 waited the marquis' carriage, on the door of which 
 was his coat-of-arms argent, three mounts vert, on 
 each a sable bird. Entering this conveyance, they 
 were soon being driven over the stones at a pace which 
 jarred every bone in the marquis' body and threatened 
 to shake the breath of life from his trembling and at- 
 tenuated figure. He jumped about like a parched 
 pea, and when finally they drew up with a jerk and a 
 jolt, the marquis was fairly gasping. After an inter- 
 val to recover himself, he took his companion's arm, 
 and, with his assistance, mounted the broad steps lead- 
 ing to the handsome and commodious club house. 
 
 "At least," said the nobleman, dryly, as he paused 
 on the stairs, "our pavements are so well-kept in 
 Paris that a drive there in a tumbril to the scaffold 
 is preferable to a coach in New Orleans !"
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 
 
 To the scattering of the anti-renters by the' rescue 
 party that memorable night at the manor the land 
 baron undoubtedly owed his safety. Beyond reach 
 of personal violence in a neighboring town, without 
 his own domains, from which he was practically ex- 
 iled, he had sought redress in the courts, only to find 
 his hands tied, with no convincing clue to the perpe- 
 trators of these outrages. On the patroon lay the 
 burden of proof, and he found it more difficult than 
 he had anticipated to establish satisfactorily any kind of 
 a case, for alibis blocked his progress at every turn. 
 
 At war with his neighbors, and with little taste 
 for the monotony of a northern winter, he bethought 
 him of his native city, determined to leave the locality 
 and at a distance wait for the turmoil to subside. His 
 brief dream of the rehabilitation of the commonwealth 
 brought only memories stirring him to restlessness. 
 He made inquiries about the strollers, but to no pur- 
 pose. The theatrical band had come and gone like 
 gipsies. 
 
 (226)
 
 "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 22; 
 
 Saying nothing to any one, except Scroggs, to whom 
 he entrusted a load of litigation, he at length quietly 
 departed in the regular stage, until he reached 
 appoint where two strap rails proclaimed the new 
 method of conveyance. Wedged in the small 
 compartment of a little car directly behind a smoking 
 monster, with an enormous chimney, fed with cord- 
 wood, he was borne over the land, and another puffing 
 marvel of different construction carried him over the 
 water. Reaching the Crescent City some time before 
 the strollers his progress expedited by a locomotive 
 that ran full twenty miles an hour! the land baron 
 found among the latest floating population, comprised 
 of all sorts and conditions, the Marquis de Ligne. 
 The blood of the patroons flowed sluggishly through 
 the land baron's veins, but his French extraction 
 danced in every fiber of his being. After learn- 
 ing the more important and not altogether dis- 
 creditable circumstances about the land baron's an- 
 cestors for if every gentleman were whipped for 
 godlessness, how many striped backs would there be ! 
 the marquis, who declined intimacy with Tom, Dick 
 and Harry, and their honest butchers, bakers and can- 
 dlestick-makers of forefathers, permitted an acquaint- 
 ance that accorded with his views governing social 
 intercourse. 
 
 "This is a genuine pleasure, Monsieur le Marquis," 
 observed the land baron suavely, when the two found 
 themselves seated in a card room with brandy and 
 soda before them. "To meet a nobleman of the old
 
 228 THE STROLLERS 
 
 school is indeed welcome in these days when New 
 Orleans harbors the refugees of the world, for, strive 
 as we will, outsiders are creeping in and corrupting 
 our best circles." 
 
 "Soon we shall all be corrupt," croaked the old 
 man. "France but what can you expect of a nation 
 that exiles kings!" 
 
 "Ah, Louis Philippe! My father once entertained 
 him here in New Orleans," said Mauville. 
 
 "Indeed?" remarked the marquis with interest. 
 
 "It was when he visited the city in 1798 with his 
 brothers, the Duke of Montpensier and the Count of 
 Beaujolais. New Orleans then did not belong to 
 America. France was not so eager to sell her fair 
 possessions in those days. I remember my father 
 often speaking of the royal visit. The king even 
 borrowed money, which" laughing "he forgot to 
 pay!" 
 
 The marquis' face was a study, as he returned 
 stiffly : "Sir, it is a king's privilege to borrow.'' 
 
 "It is his immortal prerogative," answered Mauville 
 easily. "I only mentioned it to show how highly he 
 honored my father." 
 
 The nobleman lifted his eyebrows, steadily regard- 
 ing his companion. 
 
 "It was a great honor," he said softly. "One does 
 not lend to a king. When Louis Philippe borrowed 
 from your father he lent luster to your ancestry." 
 
 "Yes; I doubt not my father regarded himself as
 
 "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 229 
 
 the debtor. Again, we had another distinguished 
 compatriot of yours at our house General Lafayette." 
 
 "Lafayette!" repeated the marquis. "Ah, that's an- 
 other matter! A man, born to rank and condition, 
 voluntarily sinking to the level of the commonalty! 
 A person of breeding choosing the cause of the rout 
 and rabble ! How was he received ?" 
 
 "Like a king!" laughed Mauville. "A vast con- 
 course of people assembled before the river when he 
 embarked on the 'Natchez' for St. Louis." 
 
 Muttering something about "bourgeoisie! epi- 
 cier!" the nobleman partook of the liquid consolation 
 before him, which seemed to brighten his spirits. 
 
 "If my doctors could see me now ! Dolts ! Quacks !" 
 
 "It's a good joke on them," said Mauville, ironic- 
 ally. 
 
 "Isn't it? They forbid me touching stimulants. 
 Said they would be fatal ! Impostors ! Frauds ! They 
 haven't killed me yet, have they?" 
 
 "If so, you are a most agreeable and amiable ghost," 
 returned Mauville. 
 
 "An amiable ghost!" cackled the old man. "Ha! 
 Ha ! you must have your joke ! But don't let me have 
 such a ghastly one again. I don't like" in a lower 
 tone "jests about the spirits of the other world." 
 
 "What! A well-seasoned materialist like you!" 
 
 "An idle prejudice!" answered the marquis. "Only 
 when you compared me to a ghost" in a half whis- 
 per "it seemed as though I were one, a ghost of my-
 
 230 THE STROLLERS 
 
 self looking back through years of pleasure years of 
 pleasure !" 
 
 "A pleasant perspective such memories make, I am 
 sure," observed the land baron. 
 
 "Memories," repeated the marquis, wagging his 
 head. "Existence is first a memory and then a blank. 
 But you have been absent from New Orleans, Mon- 
 sieur ?" 
 
 "I have been north to look after certain properties 
 left me by a distant relative peace to his ashes !" 
 
 "Only on business?" leered the marquis. "No af- 
 fair of the heart? You know the saying: 'Love 
 makes time pass ' " 
 
 " 'And time makes love pass/ " laughed Mauville, 
 somewhat unnaturally, his cynicism fraught with a 
 twinge. "Nothing of the kind, I assure you! But 
 you, Marquis, are not the only exile." 
 
 The nobleman raised his brows interrogatively. 
 
 "You fled from France; I fled from the ancestral 
 manor. The tenants claimed the farms were theirs. 
 I attempted to turn them out and they turned me 
 out! I might as well have inherited a hornet's nest. 
 It was a legacy of hate ! The old patroon must have 
 chuckled in his grave! One night they called with 
 the intention of hanging me." 
 
 "My dear sir, I congratulate you!" exclaimed the 
 nobleman enthusiastically. 
 
 "Thanks!" Dryly. 
 
 "It is the test of gentility. They only hang or cut 
 off the heads of people of distinction nowadays."
 
 "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 231 
 
 "Gad! then I came near joining the ranks of the 
 well-born angels. But for an accident I should now 
 be a cherub of quality." 
 
 "And how, Monsieur, did you escape such a felici- 
 tous fate?" 
 
 The land baron's face clouded. "Through a stran- 
 ger a Frenchman a silent, taciturn fellow more or 
 less an adventurer, I take it. He called himself Saint- 
 Prosper " 
 
 "Saint-Prosper !" 
 
 The marquis gazed at Mauville with amazement 
 and incredulity. He might even have flushed or 
 turned pale, but such a possible exhibition of emotion 
 was lost beneath an artificial bloom, painted by his 
 valet. His eyes, however, gleamed like candles in a 
 death's head. 
 
 "This Saint-Prosper you met was a soldier?" he 
 asked, and his voice trembled. "Ernest Saint-Pros- 
 per?" 
 
 "Yes ; he was a soldier ; served in Africa, I believe. 
 You knew him?" Turning to the marquis in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Knew him ! He was my ward, the rascal !" cried 
 the other violently. "He was, but now ingrate! 
 traitor! better if he were dead!" 
 
 "You speak bitterly, Monsieur le Marquis?" said 
 the patroon curiously. 
 
 "Bitterly ! after his conduct ! he is no longer any- 
 thing to me ! He is dead to me dead !" 
 
 "How did he deviate from the line of duty?" asked
 
 232 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Mauville, with increasing interest, and an eagerness 
 his light manner did not disguise. "A sin of omission 
 or commission?" 
 
 "Eh? What?" mumbled the old nobleman, staring 
 at his questioner, and, on a sudden, becoming taci- 
 turn. "A family affair!" he added finally, with dig- 
 nity. "Not worth repeating! But what was he do- 
 ing there?" 
 
 "He had joined a strolling band of players/' said 
 the other, concealing his disappointment as best he 
 might at his companion's evasive reply. 
 
 "A Saint-Prosper become an actor!" shouted the 
 marquis, his anger again breaking forth. "Has he 
 not already dragged an honored name in the dust? 
 A stroller! A player!" The marquis fairly gasped 
 at the enormity of the offense; for a moment he was 
 speechless, and then asked feebly: "What caused him 
 to take such a humiliating step?" 
 
 "He is playing the hero of a romance," said the 
 land baron, moodily. "I confess he has excellent 
 taste, though! The figure of a Juno eyes like stars 
 on an August night features proud as Diana the 
 voice of a siren in a word, picture to yourself your 
 fairest conquest, Monsieur le Marquis, and you will 
 have a worthy counterpart of this rose of the wilder- 
 ness !" 
 
 "My fairest conquest!" piped the listener. With 
 lack-luster eyes he remained motionless like a traveler 
 in the desert who gazes upon a mirage. "You have 
 described her well. The features of Diana! It was
 
 "ONLY AN INCIDENT" 233 
 
 at a revival of Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' I first met her, 
 dressed after the fashion of the Countess of Ossory. 
 Who would not worship before the figures of Lely?" 
 
 He half closed his eyes, as though gazing in fancy 
 upon the glossy draperies and rosy flesh of those vol- 
 uptuous court beauties. 
 
 "The wooing, begun in the wings, ended in an ivy- 
 covered villa a retired nook solitary walks by day 
 nightingales and moonshine by night. It was a 
 pleasing romance while it lasted, but joy palls on one. 
 Nature abhors sameness. The heart is like Mother 
 Earth ever varying. I wearied of this surfeit of 
 Paradise and left her!" 
 
 "A mere incident in an eventful life," said his com- 
 panion, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Yes ; only an incident !" repeated the marquis. 
 "Only an incident! I had almost forgotten it, but 
 your conversation about players and your description 
 of the actress brought it to mind. It had quite passed 
 away ; it had quite passed away ! But the cards, Mon- 
 sieur Mauvilie ; the cards !"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AT THE RACES 
 
 For several days, after rehearsals were over, the 
 strollers were free to amuse themselves as they 
 pleased. Their engagement at the theater did not 
 begin for about a week, and meanwhile they managed 
 to combine recreation with labor in nearly equal 
 proportions. Assiduously they devoted themselves to 
 a round of drives and rambles : through pastures and 
 wood-land to Carrolton ; along the shell road to Lake 
 Pontchartrain ; to Biloxi, the first settlement of the 
 French ; and to the battle grounds, once known as the 
 plains of Chalmette, where volunteer soldiers were 
 now encamped, awaiting orders to go to the front in 
 the Mexican campaign. For those who craved greater 
 excitement, the three race-courses the Louisiana, the 
 Metairie and the Carrolton offered stimulating di- 
 version. 
 
 Within sight of the Metairie were the old dueling 
 grounds, under the oaks, where, it is related, on one 
 Sunday in '39 ten duels occurred ; where the contest- 
 ants frequently fought on horseback with sabers ; and, 
 
 (234)
 
 ATTHERACES 235 
 
 where the cowherds, says a chronicler, became so ac- 
 customed to seeing honor satisfied in this manner 
 that they paid little attention to these meetings, pur- 
 stu/ig their own humble duties, indifferent to the fol- 
 lies of fashionable society. The fencing schools flour- 
 ished what memories cluster around that odd, 
 strange master of the blade, Spedella, a melancholy 
 enigma of a man, whose art embodied much of the 
 finest shading and phrasing peculiar to himself ; from 
 whom even many of Bonaparte's discarded veterans 
 were not above acquiring new technique and tempera- 
 ment! Men in those days were most punctilious 
 about reputation, but permitted a sufficiently wide 
 latitude in its interpretation not to hamper themselves 
 or seriously interfere with their desires or pleasures. 
 Thus, virtue did not become a burden, nor honor a 
 millstone. Both, like epaulets or tassels, were worn 
 lightly and befittingly. 
 
 Shortly after the players' arrival began the cele- 
 brated Leduc matches, attracting noted men and 
 women from all over the South. The hotels were 
 crowded, the lodging-houses filled, while many of the 
 large homes hospitably opened their doors to visiting 
 friends. The afternoons found the city almost de- 
 serted; the bartenders discontentedly smoked in soli- 
 tude; the legion of waiters in the hotels and resorts 
 became reduced to a thinly scattered array; while 
 even the street venders had "folded their tents" and 
 silently stolen to the races. On one such memorable
 
 236 THE STROLLERS 
 
 occasion most of the members of Barnes' company re- 
 paired to the Metairie. 
 
 Below the grand stand, brilliant with color, strut- 
 ted the dandies attending to their bets; above they 
 played a winning or losing game with the fair sex. 
 Intrigue and love-making were the order of the hour, 
 and these daughters of the South beguiled time 
 and mortals ! in a heyday of pleasure. In that mixed 
 gathering burly cotton planters from the country 
 rubbed elbows with aristocratic Creoles, whose attire 
 was distinguishable by enormous ruffles and light 
 boots of cloth. The professional follower of these 
 events, the importunate tout, also mingled with the 
 crowd, plainly in evidence by the pronounced charac- 
 ter of 'his dress, the size of his diamond studs or cra- 
 vat pin, and the massive dimensions of his finger 
 rings. No paltry, scrubby track cadger was this re- 
 splendent gentleman, but a picturesque rogue, with 
 impudence as pronounced as his jewels! 
 
 Surrounded by a bevy of admirers, Susan, sprightly 
 and sparkling, was an example of that "frippery one 
 of her sex is made up with, a pasticcio of gauzes, pins 
 and ' ribbons that go to compound that multifarious 
 thing, a well-dressed woman." Ever ready with a 
 quick retort, she bestowed her favors generously, to 
 the evident discomfiture of a young officer in her reti- 
 nue whom she had met several days before, and who, 
 ever since, had coveted a full harvest of smiles, liking 
 not a little the first sample he had gathered. How- 
 ever, it was not Susan's way to entrust herself fully
 
 AT THE RACES 237 
 
 to any one; it was all very interesting to play one 
 against another ; to intercept angry gleams ; to hold in 
 check clashing suitors this was exciting and di- 
 verting but she exercised care not to transgress 
 those bounds where she ceased to be mistress of the 
 situation. Perhaps her limits in coquetry were fur- 
 ther set than most women would have ventured to 
 place them, but without this temerity and daring, 
 the pastime would have lost its charm for her. She 
 might play with edged tools, but she also knew how 
 to use them. 
 
 Near her was seated Kate, indolent as of yore, now 
 watching her sister with an indulgent, enigmatic ex- 
 pression, anon permitting a scornful glance to stray 
 toward Adonis, who, for his part, had eyes only for 
 his companion, a distinct change from country hoi- 
 dens, tavern demoiselles and dainty wenches, with their 
 rough hands and rosy cheeks. This lady's hands 
 were like milk; her cheeks, ivory, and Adonis 
 in bestowing his attentions upon her, had a two-fold 
 purpose : to return tit for tat for Kate's flaunting 
 ways, and to gratify his own ever-fleeting fancy. 
 
 In a box, half the length of the grand stand re- 
 moved, some distance back and to the left of Susan's 
 gay party, Constance, Mrs. Adams and the soldier 
 were also observers of this scene of animation. 
 
 Since the manager's successful flight from the land- 
 lord and the constables, the relations of the young 
 girl and Saint-Prosper had undergone little change. 
 At first, it is true, with the memory of the wild ride
 
 238 THE STROLLERS 
 
 to the river fresh in her mind, and the more or less 
 disturbing recollections of that strange, dark night, 
 a certain reticence had marked her manner toward 
 the soldier ; but, as time went by, this touch of reserve 
 wore off, and was succeeded by her usual frankness 
 or gaiety. In her eyes appeared, at times, a new 
 thoughtfulness, but for no longer period than the 
 quick passing of a summer cloud over a sunny 
 meadow. This half-light of brief conjecture or vague 
 retrospection only mellowed the depths of her gaze, 
 and Barnes alone noted and wondered. 
 
 But to-day no partial shadows lay under the black, 
 shading lashes ; the exhilarating scene, the rapidly 
 succeeding events, the turbulence and flutter around 
 her, were calculated to dispel the most pronounced 
 abstraction. Beneath a protecting parasol for the 
 sunlight shot below the roof at the back and touched 
 that part of the grand stand a faint glow warmed 
 her cheeks, while her eyes shone with the gladness of 
 the moment. Many of the dandies, regarding her 
 with marked persistency, asked who she was, and 
 none knew, until finally Editor-Rhymster Straws was 
 appealed to. Straws, informed on all matters, was 
 able to satisfy his questioners. 
 
 "She is an actress," said Straws. "So we are told. 
 We shall find out next week. She is a beauty. We 
 can tell that now." 
 
 "You're right, Straws !" exclaimed a pitch-and-toss 
 youngster. "If she shows as well at the wire "
 
 AT THE RACES 
 
 239 
 
 "You'd take a long chance on her winning?" 
 laughed the philosopher. 
 
 "I'll play you odds on it !" cried the juvenile. "Four 
 to one, damme ! I'll risk that on her eyes." 
 
 "Four to one on a lady's eyes, child! Say forty to 
 one, and take the hazard of the die." 
 
 Standing near the rhymster, story-writer and jour- 
 nalist, was a tall young man, dressed in creole fash- 
 ion. He followed the glances of Straws' questioners 
 and a pallor overspread his dark complexion as he 
 looked at the object of their attention. 
 
 "The stroller!" he exclaimed half audibly. "Her 
 counterpart doesn't exist." 
 
 He stepped back where he could see her more 
 plainly. In that sea of faces, her features alone shone 
 before him, clearly, insistently. 
 
 "Do you know her, Mr. Mauville ?" asked the rhym- 
 ster, observing that steadfast glance. 
 
 "Know her?" repeated the land baron, starting. 
 "Oh, Pve seen her act." 
 
 "Tip me off her points and I'll tip my readers." 
 
 "She is going to play here then?" said the patroon. 
 
 "Yes. What is she like? Does tragedy or com- 
 edy favor her most? You see," he added apologetic- 
 ally, "when people begin to talk about anybody, we 
 Grubstreet hacks thrive on the gossip. It is deplor- 
 able" with regret "but small talk and tattle bring 
 more than a choice lyric or sonnet. And, heaven 
 help us !" shaking his head "what a vendible article
 
 240 THE STROLLERS 
 
 a fine scandal is ! It sells fast, like goods at a Dutch 
 auction. Penny a line? More nearly six pence! 
 If I could only bring myself to deal in such merchan- 
 dise ! If I were only a good rag picker, instead of a 
 bad poet!" And Straws walked away, forgetting 
 the questions he had asked in his own more interest- 
 ing cogitations. 
 
 Without definite purpose, the patroon, who had 
 listened with scant attention to the poet, began to 
 move slowly toward the actress, and at that moment, 
 the eyes of the soldier, turning to the saddling pad- 
 dock, where the horses were being led out, fell upon 
 the figure drawing near, recognizing in him the heir 
 to the manor, Edward Mauville. Construing in his 
 approach a deliberate intention, a flush of quick anger 
 overspread Saint-Prosper's face and he glanced at 
 the girl by his side. But her manner assured him 
 she had not observed the land baron, for at that mo- 
 ment she was looking in the opposite direction, en- 
 deavoring to discover Barnes or the others of the com- 
 pany in the immense throng. 
 
 Murmuring some excuse to his unconscious com- 
 panion and cutting short the wiry old lady's reminis- 
 cences of the first public trotting race in 1818, the 
 soldier left the box, and, moving with some difficulty 
 through the crowd, met Mauville in the aisle near the 
 stairway. The latter's face expressed surprise, not 
 altogether of an agreeable nature, at the encounter, 
 but he immediately regained his composure.
 
 AT THE RACES 241 
 
 "Ah, Monsieur Saint-Prosper," he observed easily, 
 "I little thought to see you here." 
 
 "Nor I you !" said the other bluntly. 
 yThe patroon gazed in seeming carelessness from the 
 soldier to the young girl. Saint-Prosper's presence 
 in New Orleans could be accounted for; he had fol- 
 lowed her from the Shadengo Valley across the conti- 
 nent; the drive begun at the country inn he looking 
 down from the dormer window to witness the start 
 had been a long one; very different from his own 
 brief flight, with its wretched end. These thoughts 
 coursed rapidly through the land baron's brain ; her 
 appearance rekindled the ashes of the past; the fire 
 in his breast flamed from his eyes, but otherwise he 
 made no display of feeling. He glanced out upon 
 the many faces below them, bowing to one woman 
 and smiling at another. 
 
 "Oh, I couldn't stand a winter in the North," re- 
 sumed the patroon, turning once more to the soldier. 
 "Although the barn-burners promised to make it 
 warm for me !" 
 
 Offering no reply to this sally, Saint-Prosper's gaze 
 continued to rest coldly and expectantly upon the 
 other. Goaded by that arbitrary regard, an implied 
 barrier between him and the young girl, the land baron 
 sought to press forward; his glittering eyes met the 
 other's; the glances they exchanged were like the 
 thrust and parry of swords. Without wishing to ad- 
 dress the actress and thereby risk a public rebuff
 
 242 THE STROLLERS 
 
 it was, nevertheless, impossible for the hot-blooded 
 Southerner to submit to peremptory restraint. Who 
 had made the soldier his taskmaster ? He read Saint- 
 Prosper 's purpose and was not slow to retaliate. 
 
 "If I am not mistaken, yonder is our divinity of 
 the lane," said the patroon softly. "Permit me/'' 
 And he strove to pass. 
 
 The soldier did not move. 
 
 "You are blocking my way, Monsieur," continued 
 the other, sharply. 
 
 "Not if it lies the other way." 
 
 "This way, or that way, how does it concern you ?" 
 retorted the land baron. 
 
 "If you seek further to annoy a lady whom you have 
 already sufficiently wronged, it is any man's concern." 
 
 "Especially if he has followed her across the coun- 
 try," sneered Mauville. "Besides, since when have 
 actresses become so chary of their favors?" In his 
 anger the land baron threw out intimations he would 
 have challenged from other lips. "Has the stage then 
 become a holy convent?" 
 
 "You stamped yourself a scoundrel some time ago,'" 
 said the soldier slowly, as though weighing each word, 
 "and now show yourself a coward when you malign 
 a young girl, without father, brother " 
 
 "Or lover!" interrupted the land baron. "Perhaps, 
 however, you were only traveling to see the country ! 
 A grand tour, enlivened with studies of human na- 
 ture, as well as glimpses of scenery !"
 
 AT THE RACES 243 
 
 "Have you anything further with me?" interjected 
 Saint-Prosper, curtly. 
 
 The patroon's blood coursed, burning, through his 
 vpins; the other's contemptuous manner stung him 
 more fiercely than language. 
 
 "Yes," he said, meaningly, his eyes challenging 
 Saint-Prosper's. "Have you been at Spedella's fenc- 
 ing rooms ? Are you in practice ?" 
 
 Saint-Prosper hesitated a moment and the land 
 baron's face fell. Was it possible the other would 
 refuse to meet him? But he would not let him off 
 easily; there were ways to force and suddenly the 
 words of the marquis recurring to him, he surveyed 
 the soldier, disdainfully. 
 
 "Gad! you must come of a family of cowards and 
 traitors! But you shall fight or the public becomes 
 arbiter!" And he half raised his arm threateningly. 
 
 The soldier's tanned cheek was now as pale as a 
 moment before it had been flushed ; his mouth set res- 
 olutely, as though fighting back some weakness. 
 With lowering brows and darkening glance he re- 
 garded the land baron. 
 
 "I was thinking," he said at length, with an effort, 
 "that if I killed you, people would want to know the 
 reason." 
 
 The patroon laughed. "How solicitous you are for 
 her welfare and mine! Do you then measure skill 
 only by inches? If so, I confess you would stand a 
 fair chance of despatching me. But your address? 
 The St. Charles, I presume."
 
 244 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The soldier nodded curtly, and, having accom- 
 plished his purpose, Mauville had turned to leave, 
 when loud voices, in a front box near the right aisle, 
 attracted general attention from those occupying that 
 part of the grand stand. The young officer who had 
 accompanied Susan to the races was angrily confront- 
 ing a thick-set man, the latest recruit to her corps of 
 willing captives. The lad had assumed the arduous 
 task of guarding the object of his fancy from all 
 comers, simply because she had been kind. And why 
 should she not have been? he was only a boy she 
 was old enough to be well, an adviser ! When, after 
 a brief but pointed altercation, he flung himself away 
 with a last reproachful look in the direction of his 
 enslaver, Susan looked hurt. That was her reward 
 for being nice to a child ! 
 
 "A fractious young cub!" said the thick-set man, 
 complacently. 
 
 "Well, I like cubs better than bears!" retorted 
 Susan, pointedly. 
 
 Not long, however, could the interest of the spec- 
 tators be diverted from the amusement of the day 
 and soon all eyes were drawn once more to the track 
 where the horses' hoofs resounded with exciting pat- 
 ter, as they struggled toward the wire, urged by the 
 stimulating voices of the jockeys. 
 
 But even when Leduc won the race, beating the best 
 heat on record; when the ladies in the grand stand 
 arose in a body, like a thousand butterflies, disturbed 
 by a sudden footfall in a sunlit field ; when the jockey
 
 AT THE RACES 245 
 
 became the hero of the hour; when the small boys 
 outside nearly fell from the trees in their exuberance 
 of ecstasy, and the men threw their hats in the air 
 and shouted themselves hoarse even these exhila- 
 rating 1 circumstances failed to reawaken the land bar- 
 on's concern in the scene around him. His efforts at 
 indifference were chafing his inmost being; the cloak 
 of insouciance was stifling him ; the primeval man was 
 struggling for expression, that brute-like rage whose 
 only limits are its own fury and violence. 
 
 A quavering voice, near at hand, recalled him to 
 himself, and turning, he beheld the marquis approach- 
 ing with mincing manner, the paint and pigments 
 cracked by the artificial smiles wreathing his wrinkled 
 face. In that vast assemblage, amid all the energy, 
 youth and surfeit of vitality, he seemed like a dried 
 and crackling leaf, tossed helplessly, which any foot 
 might crush to dust. The roar of the multitude sub- 
 sided, a storm dying in the distance; the ladies sank 
 in their seats butterflies settling once more in the 
 fields and Leduc, with drooping head, was led to 
 the paddock, followed by a few fair adorers. 
 
 "I placed the winner, Monsieur Mauville," piped the 
 marquis. "Though the doctors told me the excitement 
 would kill me! What folly! Every new sensation 
 adds a day to life." 
 
 "In your case, certainly, Marquis, for I never saw 
 you looking younger," answered the land baron, with 
 an effort. 
 
 "You are too amiable, my dear friend 1 The ladies
 
 246 THE STROLLERS 
 
 would not think so," he added, mournfully wagging 
 his head with anile melancholy. 
 
 "Nonsense!" protested the other. "With your 
 spirit, animation " 
 
 "If I thought you were right," interrupted the de- 
 lighted marquis, taking his young friend's arm, "I 
 would ask you to present me to the lady over there 
 the one you just bowed to." 
 
 "The deuce !" said Mauville to himself. "The mar- 
 quis is becoming a bore." 
 
 "You rascal ! I saw the smile she gave you," con- 
 tinued the other playfully. "And you ran away from 
 her. What are the young men made of nowadays? 
 In the old days they were tinder ; women sparks. But 
 who is she ?" 
 
 "You mean Susan Duran, the actress?" 
 
 "An actress !" exclaimed the nobleman. "A charm- 
 ing creature at any rate !" 
 
 "All froth; a bubble!" added Mauville impatiently. 
 
 "How entertaining! Any lovers?" leered the no- 
 bleman. 
 
 "A dozen ; a baker's dozen, for all I know !" 
 
 "What is her history?" said the marquis eagerly. 
 
 "I never inquired." 
 
 "Sometimes it's just as well," murmured the other 
 vaguely. "How old is she ?" 
 
 "How can you tell ?" answered Mauville. 
 
 "In Paris I kept a little book wherein was entered 
 the passe-parole of every pretty woman ; age ; lovers 
 platonic! When a woman became a grandmother, I
 
 ATTHERACES 247 
 
 put a black mark against her name, for I have always 
 held," continued the nobleman, wagging his head, 
 "that a woman who is a grandmother has no business 
 to^ deceive a younger generation of men. But pre- 
 sent me to Miss Susan at once, my dear friend. I am 
 all impatience to meet her." 
 
 His eagerness permitted no refusal ; besides, Mau- 
 ville was not in the mood to enjoy the nobleman's 
 society, and was but too pleased to turn him over to 
 the tender care of Susan. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss Duran," he said, having 
 made his way to her box. 
 
 "Where did you drop from?" she asked, in sur- 
 prise, giving him her hand. 
 
 "The skies," he returned, with forced lightness. 
 
 "A fallen angel !" commented Susan. 
 
 "Good! Charming!" cried the marquis, clapping 
 his withered hands. 
 
 "Miss Duran, the Marquis de Ligne has requested 
 the pleasure of meeting you." 
 
 She flashed a smile at him. He bent over her hand ; 
 held it a moment in his icy grasp. 
 
 "The pleasure," said Susan, prettily, not shirking 
 the ordeal, "is mine." 
 
 "In which case," added Mauville, half ironically, 
 "I will leave you together to enjoy your happiness." 
 
 Eagerly availing himself of the place offered at her 
 side, soon the marquis was cackling after the manner 
 of a senile beau of the old school ; relating spicy anec- 
 dotes of dames who had long departed this realm of
 
 248 THE STROLLERS 
 
 scandal; and mingling witticism and wickedness in 
 one continual flow, until like a panorama another age 
 was revived in his words an age when bedizened 
 women wore patches and their perfumed gallants 
 wrote verses on the demise of their lap-dogs; when 
 "their virtue resembled a statesman's religion, the 
 Quaker's word, the gamester's oath and the great 
 man's honor but to cheat those that trusted them !" 
 
 The day's events, however, were soon over ; the city 
 of pleasure finally capitulated ; its people began rap- 
 idly to depart. That sudden movement resembled 
 the migration of a swarm of bees to form a new col- 
 ony, when, if the day be bright, the expedition issues 
 forth with wondrous rapidity. So this human hive 
 commenced to empty itself of queens, drones and 
 workers. It was an outgoing wave of such life and 
 animation as is apparent in the flight of a swarm of 
 cell-dwellers, giving out a loud and sharp-toned hum 
 from the action of their wings as they soar over the 
 blooming heather and the "bright consummate flow- 
 ers." And these human bees had their passions, too ! 
 their massacres; their tragedies; their "Rival 
 Queens" ; their combats ; their sentinels ; their dreams 
 of that Utopian form of government realized in the 
 communistic society of insects. 
 
 "How did you enjoy it, my dear?" asked Barnes, 
 suddenly reappearing at Constance's box. "A grand 
 heat, that! Though I did bet on the wrong horse! 
 But don't wait for us, Saint-Prosper. Mrs. Adams 
 and I will take our time getting through the crowd.
 
 AT THE RACES 249 
 
 I will see you at the hotel, my dear!" he added, as the 
 soldier and Constance moved away. 
 
 Only the merry home-going remained, and the cul- 
 mination, a dinner at Moreau's, Victor's, or Miguel's, 
 the natural epilogue to the day's pastime, the tag to 
 the comedy ! In the returning throng were Creoles 
 with sky-blue costumes and palmetto hats; the La- 
 fourche or Attakapas planter; representatives of the 
 older regime and the varied newer populace. Superb 
 equipages mingled in democratic confusion with carts 
 and wagons; the broken-winded nag and spavined 
 crowbait veterans at the bugle call! pricked up 
 their ears and kicked up their heels like colts in pasture, 
 while the delighted darkies thumped their bony 
 shanks to encourage this brief rejuvenescence. 
 
 Those who had lost felt the money well spent; 
 those who had won would be the more lavish in the 
 spending. They had simply won a few more pleas- 
 ures. "Quick come ; quick go !" sang the whirling 
 wheels. "The niggard in pound and pence is a usurer 
 in happiness ; a miser driving a hard bargain with 
 pleasure. Better burn the candle at both ends than 
 not burn it at all ! In one case, you get light ; in the 
 other nothing but darkness. Laughter is cheap at 
 any price. A castle in the air is almost as durable as 
 Solomon's temple. How soon how soon both fade 
 away !" 
 
 Thus ran the song of the wheels before them and 
 behind them, as the soldier and Constance joined the 
 desultory fag-end of the procession. On either side
 
 250 THE STROLLERS 
 
 of the road waved the mournful cypress, draped by 
 the hoary tillandsia, and from the somber depths of 
 foliage came the chirp of the tree-crickets and the 
 note of the swamp owl. Faint music, in measured 
 rhythm, a foil to disconnected wood-sound, was wafted 
 from a distant plantation. 
 
 "Wait !" said Constance. 
 
 He drew in the horses and silently they listened. 
 Or, was he listening? His glance seemed bent so 
 moodily almost! on space she concluded he was 
 not. She stole a sidelong look at him. 
 
 "A penny for your thoughts !" she said gaily. 
 
 He started. "I was thinking how soon I might 
 leave New Orleans." 
 
 "Leave New Orleans!" she repeated in surprise. 
 "But I thought you intended staying here. Why- 
 have you changed your mind ?" 
 
 Did he detect a subtle accent of regret in her voice ? 
 A deep flush mounted to his brow. He bent over her 
 suddenly, eagerly. 
 
 "Would it matter if I went?" 
 
 She drew back at the abruptness of his words. 
 
 "How unfair to answer one question with another !" 
 she said lightly. 
 
 A pause fell between them. Perhaps she, too, felt 
 the sudden repulse of her own answer and the ensuing 
 constraint. Perhaps some compunction moved her to 
 add in a voice not entirely steady: 
 
 "And so you think of going back to France?"
 
 AT THE RACES 251 
 
 "To France!" he repeated, quickly. "No" and 
 stopped. 
 
 Looking- up, a half-questioning light in her eyes 
 topk flight to his, until suddenly arrested by the hard, 
 set expression of his features. Abruptly chilled by 
 she knew not what, her lashes fell. The horses 
 champed their bits and tugged at the reins, impatient 
 of the prolonged pause. 
 ."Let us go!" she said in a low, constrained voice. 
 
 At her words he turned, the harshness dropping 
 from his face like a discarded mask; the lines of de- 
 termination wavering. 
 
 "Let us go !" she said again, without looking up. 
 
 He made no motion to obey, until the sound of a 
 vehicle behind them seemed to break the spell and 
 mechanically he touched the horses with the whip.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 
 
 Susan dismissed her admirers at the races with some 
 difficulty, especially the tenacious marquis, who ten- 
 derly squeezed her hand, saying : 
 
 "Were I twenty years younger, I would not thus 
 be set aside." 
 
 "Fie, Marquis!" she returned. "These other peo- 
 ple are dull, while you are charmingly wicked." 
 
 "You flatter me," he cackled, detaining her, to the 
 impatience of the thick-set man who was waiting to 
 escort the young woman back to town. "But do you 
 notice the gentleman over there with the medals?" 
 
 "The distinguished-looking man?" asked Susan. 
 
 "Yes; that is the Count de Propriac. It was he 
 who was one of the agents of Louis Philippe in the 
 Spanish double marriage plot. It was arranged the 
 queen should marry her cousin, and her sister the 
 son of Louis Philippe. The queen and her cousin 
 were not expected to have children but had them, to 
 spite us all, and Louis Philippe's projects for the 
 throne of Spain failed disastrously." 
 (252)
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 253 
 
 "How inconsiderate of the queen! Good after- 
 noon, marquis ! I have been vastly entertained." 
 
 "And I" kissing her hand "enamored!" Then, 
 chuckling 1 : "A week ago my stupid doctors had me 
 l^id out in funereal dignity, and now I am making 
 love to a fine woman. Pretty pouting lips!" tap- 
 ping her chin playfully "Like rose-buds ! Happy 
 the lover who shall gather the dew! But we meet 
 again, Mistress Susan?" 
 
 "That will depend upon you, marquis," answered 
 Susan, coquettishly, as a thought flashed through her 
 mind that it would not be unpleasant to be called 
 "Marquise," or "Marchioness" she did not quite 
 know which would be the proper title. It was nearly 
 vesper-time with the old nobleman; he seemed but a 
 procrastinating presence in the evening of mortal life ; 
 a chateau and carriage 
 
 "Then we will meet again," said the marquis, in- 
 terrupting these new-born ambitions. 
 
 "In that case you would soon get tired of me," 
 laughed Susan. 
 
 "Never!" Tenderly. "When may I see you?" 
 
 "How importunate you are! Call when you will." 
 
 "But if you are out" he insisted. 
 
 "That will make it the more delightfully uncertain," 
 she said gaily. 
 
 "So it will!" Rubbing his hands. "Delightfully 
 uncertain !" he repeated. And he departed with many 
 protestations, taking no more notice of the thick-set 
 man than if he were a block of wood.
 
 254 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "What an old ape!" growled the latter, viciously, 
 as the marquis ambled from their stall. 
 
 "Do you think so?" answered Susan, tossing her 
 head. "He has that air of distinction which only 
 persons of rank and title can command." 
 
 "Distinction!" said the other, who was but a well- 
 to-do merchant. "I should call it bad manners." 
 
 "Because he never noticed you!" laughed Susan, 
 spitefully. "But why are we standing here? I be- 
 lieve you expect to take me home, don't you?" 
 
 Although she chattered like a magpie on the road, he 
 was silent and sullen, nursing his injured pride and 
 wounded self-sufficiency. Susan, who was interested 
 in him for the novel reason she disliked him so heart- 
 ily, parted from him with the air of a duchess, and 
 entered the hotel, holding her head so high that he 
 swore under his breath as he drove away. And, as a 
 result of the quarrel with the lad, he would probably 
 have to risk being "pinked" for this jade! Susan, on 
 the other hand, was as happy as a lark when she en- 
 tered the dining-room of the St. Charles, that great 
 eating-place and meeting-place of all classes of peo- 
 ple. 
 
 As she seated herself at a table, a smile lurked 
 around the corners of her mouth and flickered faintly 
 upon the waiter who forthwith became a Mercury for 
 expedition and a prodigal for variety. Her quarrel 
 on the road with her companion had in nowise in- 
 terfered with that appetite which the fresh air and the
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 255 
 
 lateness of the hour had provoked, nor were her 
 thoughts of a character to deter from the zest of eat- 
 ing. 
 
 From the present to the past was but an instant's 
 flight of the mind thus may the once august years 
 swiftly and unceremoniously be marshaled by! and 
 she dwelt in not unpleasing retrospection on an endless 
 field of investigation and discovery and the various 
 experiences which had befallen her in arriving at the 
 present period of mature knowledge; a proficiency 
 which converted her chosen researches into an exact 
 science. 
 
 Thus meditating and diningcounting on her fin- 
 gers twice over the fair actresses who had become 
 titled ladies, and enviously disbelieving she would 
 join that triumphant company Susan was still seated 
 at the table some time later when the soldier glanced 
 in. Imperatively she motioned him to her side and 
 he obeyed with not entirely concealed reluctance, and 
 was so preoccupied, she rallied him upon his reserve. 
 
 "I believe you and Constance had a quarrel on the 
 road." Maliciously. "I hope you were more amia- 
 ble than my companion. He hardly spoke a word, 
 and, when I left him" her voice sank to a whisper 
 "I heard him swear." 
 
 "He pleased you so much earlier in the day that a 
 duel will probably be the outcome." 
 
 Susan laughed gaily. 
 
 "A duel ! Then my fortune is made. All the news-
 
 256 THE STROLLERS 
 
 papers will contain paragraphs. It is too good to be 
 true." And she clapped her hands. "When is it to 
 take place ? Tell me about it !" 
 
 Then noting his manner, she continued with an as- 
 sumption of plaintiveness : "Now you are cross with 
 me! You think me heartless. Is it my fault? I 
 care nothing for either of them and I am not to be 
 blamed if they are so foolish. It might be" different 
 if either had touched my heart." And she assumed a 
 coquettish demeanor, while Saint-Prosper coolly 
 studied her through the wreaths of smoke from his 
 weed. 
 
 "You are wondering what sort of a person I am !" 
 she continued, merrily, raising her glass of wine with : 
 "To unrequited passion !" 
 
 Her roguish face sparkled as he asked : "Whose ?" 
 
 She drained the glass and set it down demurely. 
 "Mine !" 
 
 The cigar was suspended; the veil cleared between 
 them. 
 
 "For whom ?" he said. 
 
 "You!" Offering him the limpid depths of her 
 blue eyes. "Is my liking returned?" 
 
 "Liking? Perhaps!" 
 
 "My love?" 
 
 "Love? No." Coldly. 
 
 "You do not fear a woman scorned?" Her lips 
 curved in a smile, displaying her faultless teeth. 
 
 "Not when the avenging angel is so charming and 
 so heartless !" he added satirically.
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 257 
 
 Her lashes veiled the azure orbs. 
 
 "You think to disarm her with a compliment ? How 
 well you understand women !" And, as he rose, the 
 pressure of the hand she gave him at parting was 
 lingering. 
 
 Above in his room, Barnes, with plays and manu- 
 scripts scattered around him, was engaged in writing 
 in his note and date book, wherein autobiography, 
 ledger and journal accounts, and such miscellaneous 
 matter mingled indiscriminately. "To-day she said to 
 me : 'I am going to the races with Mr. Saint-Prosper/ 
 What did I say? 'Yes,' of course. What can there 
 be in common between Lear and Juliet? Naturally, 
 she sometimes turns from an old fellow like me now, 
 if she were only a slip of a girl again with her short 
 frock her disorder of long ringlets running and 
 romping 
 
 "A thousand details pass through my mind, remi- 
 niscences of her girlhood, lightening a lonesome life 
 like glimmerings of sunshine in a secluded wood; 
 memories of her mother and the old days when she 
 played in my New York theater for Barnes, the 
 stroller, was once a metropolitan manager! Her 
 fame had preceded her and every admirer of histri r 
 onic art eagerly awaited her arrival. 
 
 "But the temple of art is a lottery. The town that 
 had welcomed her so wildly now went Elssler-mad. 
 The gossamer floatings of this French danscusc pos-
 
 258 THE STROLLERS 
 
 sessed everyone. People courted trash and trumpery. 
 Greatness gave way to triviality. This pitiful condi- 
 tion preyed upon her. The flame of genius never for 
 a moment became less dim, but her eyes grew larger, 
 brighter, more melancholy. Sometimes she would 
 fall into a painful reverie and I knew too well the sub- 
 ject of her thoughts. With tender solicitude she 
 would regard her daughter, thinking, thinking! She 
 was her only hope, her only joy ! 
 
 " 'The town wants dancers, not tragedians, Mr. 
 Barnes/ she said sadly one day. 
 
 " 'Nonsense/ I replied. 'The town wants a change 
 of bill. We will put on a new piece next week.' 
 
 " 'It will be but substituting one tragedy for an- 
 other/ she retorted. 'One misfortune for a different 
 one! You should import a rival dancer. You are 
 going down ; down hill ! I will leave you ; perhaps 
 you will discover your dancer, and your fortune is 
 made !' 
 
 " 'And you ? What would you do ?' I demanded. 
 'And your child ?' 
 
 "At this her eyes filled and she could not answer. 
 'And now, Madam/ I said firmly, 'I refuse once and 
 for all to permit you to break your contract. Pooh! 
 The tide will change. Men and women are some- 
 times fools ; but they are not fools all the time. The 
 dancer will have had her day. She will twirl her 
 toes to the empty seats and throw her kisses into un- 
 responsive space. Our patrons will gradually re-
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 259 
 
 turn ; they will grow tired of wriggling and twisting, 
 and look again for a more substantial diet/ 
 
 "Matters did, indeed, begin to mend somewhat, 
 when to bring the whole fabric tumbling down on 
 our heads, this incomparable woman fell ill. 
 ' 'You see ? I have ruined you/ she said sadly. 
 
 " 'I am honored, Madam/ was all I could reply. 
 
 "She placed her hand softly on mine and let her 
 luminous eyes rest on me. 
 
 ' 'Dear old friend !' she murmured. 
 
 "Then she closed her eyes and I thought she was 
 sleeping. Some time elapsed when she again opened 
 them. 
 
 " 'Death will break our contract, Mr. Barnes,' she 
 said softly. 
 
 "I suppose my hand trembled, for she tightened 
 her grasp and continued firmly : 'It is not so terrible, 
 after all, or would not be, but for one thing/ 
 
 " 'You will soon get well, Madam/ I managed to 
 stammer. 
 
 '"No! Do you care? It is pleasant to have one 
 true, kind friend in the world ; one who makes a 
 woman believe again in the nobility of human nature. 
 My life has been sad as you know. I should not regret 
 giving it up. Nor should I fear to die. I can not 
 think that God will be unkind to one who has done her 
 best ; at least, has tried to. Yet there is one thing that 
 makes me crave for life. My child what will she do 
 poor, motherless, fatherless girl all alone, all 
 alone .
 
 260 THE STROLLERS 
 
 " 'Madam, if I may will you permit me to care 
 for her? If I might regard her as my child !' 
 
 "How tightly she held my hand at that ! Her eyes 
 seemed to blaze with heavenly fire. But let me not 
 dwell further upon the sad events that led to the end 
 of her noble career. Something of her life I had 
 heard ; something, I surmised. Unhappy as a woman, 
 she was majestic as an actress; the fire of her voice 
 struck every ear; its sweetness had a charm, never to 
 be forgotten. But only to those who knew her well 
 were revealed the unvarying truth and simplicity of 
 her nature. Even as I write, her spirit, tender and 
 steadfast, seems standing by my side ; I feel her eyes 
 in the darkness of night, and, when the time comes 
 and often of late, it has seemed not far to go from 
 this mere dressing-room, the earth, into the higher 
 life" 
 
 A knock at the door rudely dispelled these memo- 
 ries. For a moment the manager looked startled, as 
 one abruptly called back to his immediate surround- 
 ings ; then the pen fell from his hand, and he pushed 
 the book from him to the center of the table. 
 
 "Come in," he said. 
 
 The door opened and Saint-Prosper entered. 
 
 "Am I interrupting you?" asked the soldier, glanc- 
 ing at the littered table. 
 
 "Not at all," answered the manager, recovering 
 himself, and settling back in his chair. "Make your- 
 self at home. You'll find some cigars on the mantel, 
 or if you prefer your pipe, there's a jar of tobacco on
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 261 
 
 the" trunk. Do you find it ? I haven't had time yet 
 to bring order out of chaos. A manager's trunks are 
 like a junk-shop, with everything from a needle to an 
 arichor." 
 
 Filling his pipe from the receptacle indicated, which 
 lay among old costumes and wigs, the soldier 
 seated himself near an open window that looked out 
 upon a balcony. Through a door at the far end of 
 the balcony a light streamed from a chandelier within, 
 playing upon the balustrade. Once the figure of the 
 young actress stepped for a moment out upon the 
 balcony ; she leaned upon the balustrade, looked across 
 the city, breathed the perfume of the flowers, and then 
 quickly vanished. 
 
 "Can you spare me a little time to-morrow morning 
 early before rehearsal?" said Saint-Prosper, 
 finally. 
 
 "Yes," returned the manager, in surprise. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 "A foolish piece of business! The patroon is in 
 New Orleans." 
 
 Barnes uttered an exclamation of annoyance and 
 apprehension. "Here ! What is he doing here ?" he 
 said. "I thought we had seen the last of him. Has 
 he followed Constance ?" 
 
 "I don't know. We met yesterday at the races." 
 
 "It is strange she did not tell me about it," re- 
 marked the manager, without endeavoring to conceal 
 the anxiety this unexpected information afforded 
 him.
 
 262 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "She does not know he is here." And Saint-Pros- 
 per briefly related the circumstances of his meeting 
 with the land baron, to which the manager listened 
 attentively. 
 
 "And so she must be dragged into it?" exclaimed 
 Barnes at length, resentfully. "Her name must be- 
 come public property in a broil?" 
 
 A frown darkened the soldier's face, but he replied 
 quickly: "Need any one know? The land baron has 
 not been seen with her." 
 
 "No ; but you have," returned the manager, sudden- 
 ly pausing and looking down at the other. 
 
 The silence between them lasted for some moments. 
 Barnes stood with his hands in his pockets, his face 
 downcast and moody. He felt that events were hap- 
 pening over which he had no control, but which were 
 shaping the destiny of all he loved best. In the dim 
 light the rugged lines of his countenance were strong- 
 ly, decisively outlined. Turning to the trunk, with a 
 quick, nervous step, he filled a pipe himself. After 
 he had lighted it, he once more contemplated the sol- 
 dier, thinking deeply, reviewing the past. 
 
 "We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint- 
 Prosper," he said, at length. "We have gone through 
 fair and rough weather, and" he paused a moment 
 before continuing "should understand each other. 
 You asked me when you came in if you were inter- 
 rupting me, and I told you that you were not. As 
 a matter of fact, you were."
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 263 
 
 And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the note- 
 book. 
 
 "A garrulous, single man must tell his little secrets 
 somewhere," he continued. "Will you look at the 
 pages I was writing when you came in ?" 
 
 Saint-Prosper took the book, and, while he was 
 turning the leaves that were hardly dry, the manager 
 relighted his pipe, over which he glanced nervously 
 from time to time at his companion. Finally, when 
 the soldier had finished the perusal of the diary, 
 Barnes turned to him expectantly, but the other silent- 
 ly laid down the little volume, and, after waiting some 
 moments for him to speak, the manager, as though 
 disappointed by his reticence, breathed a sigh. Then, 
 clearing his throat, in a voice somewhat husky, he 
 went on, simply : 
 
 "You will understand now why she is so much to 
 me. I have always wanted to keep her from the 
 world as much as possible ; to have her world, her art ! 
 I have tried to keep the shadow of the past from her. 
 An actress has a pretty face; and there's a hue and 
 cry! It is not notoriety she seeks, but fame; fame, 
 bright and pure as sunlight !" 
 
 "The land baron will not cry abroad the cause of 
 the meeting," said the soldier, gravely. "These fash- 
 ionable affairs need but flimsy pretexts." 
 
 "Flimsy pretexts !" cried Barnes. "A woman's rep- 
 utation her good name " 
 
 "Hush!" said Saint-Prosper.
 
 264 THE STROLLERS 
 
 From the door at the far end of the balcony Con- 
 stance had again emerged and now approached 
 their room. A flowing gown of an early period sur- 
 rounded her like a cloud as she paused before Barnes' 
 apartment. At the throat a deep-falling collar was 
 closely fastened ; the sleeves were gathered in at 
 elbow and wrist, and from a "coverchief," set upon the 
 dusky hair, fell a long veil of ample proportions. 
 With the light shimmering on the folds of her raiment, 
 she stood looking through the open door, regarding the 
 manager and Saint-Prosper. 
 
 "Oh, you are not alone?" she said to the former. 
 "You look as though you were talking together very 
 seriously?" she added, turning to Saint-Prosper. 
 
 "Nothing of consequence, Miss Carew !" he replied, 
 flushing beneath her clear eyes. 
 
 ''Only about some scenery!" interposed the man- 
 ager, so hastily that she glanced, slightly surprised, 
 from the, one to the other. "Some sets that are " 
 
 " 'Flimsy pretexts !' I caught that much ! I only 
 wanted to ask you about this costume. Is it appropri- 
 ate, do you think, for the part we were talking about ?" 
 Turning around slowly, with arms half-raised. 
 
 "Charming, my dear; charming!" he answered, en- 
 thusiastically. 
 
 "If I only thought that an unbiased criticism!" 
 Her dark lashes lowered ; she looked toward the sol- 
 dier, half shyly, half mockingly. "What do you think, 
 Mr. Saint-Prosper?" 
 
 At that moment her girlish grace was irresistible.
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 265 
 
 "I think it is not only appropriate, but" looking 
 at her and not at the costume "beautiful !" 
 
 A gleam like laughter came into her eyes; nor did 
 she shun his kindling gaze. 
 
 "Thank you !" she said, and courtesied low. 
 
 That same evening Spedella's fencing rooms were 
 fairly thronged with devotees of the ancient art of 
 puncturing. The master of the place was a tall Ital- 
 ian, lank and lean, all bone and muscle, with a Don 
 Quixote visage, barring a certain villainous expres- 
 sion of the eyes, irreconcilable with the chivalrous 
 knight-errant of distressed Dulcineas. But every man 
 with a bad eye is not necessarily a rascallion, and 
 Spedella, perhaps, was better than he looked. With 
 a most melancholy glance he was now watching two 
 combatants, novices in feats of arms. Dejection sat 
 upon his brow ; he yawned over a clumsy fcinte scconde, 
 when his sinister eyes fell on a figure that had just 
 entered the hall. Immediately his melancholy van- 
 ished, and he advanced to meet the. newcomer with 
 stately cordiality. 
 
 "Well met, Mr. Mauville," he exclaimed, extending 
 a bony hand that had fingers like the grip of death. 
 "What good fortune brought you here ?" 
 
 "An ill wind, Spedella, rather!" 
 
 "It's like a breath of the old days to see you ; the old 
 days before you began your wanderings!" 
 
 "Get the foils, Spedella; I'll have a bout with the
 
 266 THE STROLLERS 
 
 master. Gad, you're as ill-looking as ever ! It's some 
 time since I've touched a foil. I want to test myself. 
 I have a little affair to-morrow. Hark you, my old 
 brigand ; I wish to see if I can kill him !" 
 
 "A lad of spirit!" chuckled the master, a gleam of 
 interest illumining his cavernous eyes. "Young! 
 frisky ! an affair of honor to-day is but nursery sport. 
 Two children with tin swords are more diverting. 
 The world goes backward! A counter-jumper thinks 
 he can lunge, because he is spry, that he can touch a 
 button because he sells them. And I am wasting my 
 genius with ribbon-venders " 
 
 "I see the wolf growls as much as ever!" said the 
 patroon. "Here's a quiet corner. Come ; tell me what 
 I've forgotten." 
 
 "Good!" returned the other. "You can tell me 
 about your travels as we fence." 
 
 "Hang my travels !" replied the patroon, as they 
 leisurely engaged- "They've brought me nothing but 
 regrets." 
 
 "Feinte Hanconnade well done !" murmured Spe- 
 della. "So it was not honey you brought home from 
 your rambles? Feinte seconde and decisive tierce! 
 It's long since I've touched a good blade. These 
 glove-sellers and perfume-dealers " 
 
 "You are bitter against trade, my bravo," remarked 
 the land baron. 
 
 "I was spoiling with languor when you came. Not 
 bad, that feint but dangerous, because of the possi- 
 bility of misjudging the attack. Learn the paroles he
 
 LEAR AND JULIET 267 
 
 affects to-morrow by quick, simple thrusts, and then 
 you will know what feints to attack him with. Time 
 in octave you quitted the blade in a dangerous po- 
 skion. Cluck; cluck, my game cock! Intemperance 
 has befogged your judgment; high-living has dimmed 
 your " 
 
 "You have it !" laughed the land baron. 
 
 The button of his foil touched the old bravo's breast ; 
 the steel was bent like a bow. 
 
 Spedella forgot his English and swore in soft and 
 liquid Italian. "I looked around to see how those 
 ribbon-venders were getting on," he said after this 
 euphonious, foreign prelude. "They pay me; I have 
 to keep an eye on them. All the same," he added, 
 generously, "there isn't another man in New Orleans 
 could have stopped that stroke except myself !" 
 
 "Will I do for to-morrow?" asked the patroon, 
 moodily. 
 
 The master cocked his head quizzically; his deep- 
 set eyes were soft and friendly. 
 
 "The devil's with him, if you don't put your spur in 
 him, my bantam!"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE MEETING BENEATH THE OAKS 
 
 The mist was lifting from the earth and nature lay 
 wrapped in the rosy peace of daybreak as the sun's 
 shafts of gold pierced the foliage, illumining the his- 
 toric ground of the Oaks. Like shining lances, they 
 gleamed from the interstices in the leafy roof to the 
 dew-be jeweled sward. From this stronghold of glis- 
 tening arms, however, the surrounding country 
 stretched tranquil and serene. Upon a neighboring 
 bank sheep were browsing; in the distance cow-bells 
 tinkled, and the drowsy cowherds followed the cattle, 
 faithful as the shepherds who tended their flocks on 
 the Judean hills. 
 
 Beneath the spreading trees were assembled a group 
 of persons variously disposed. A little dapper man 
 was bending over a case of instruments, as merry a 
 soul as ever adjusted a ligature or sewed a wound. 
 Be-ribboned and be-medaled, the Count de Propriac, 
 acting for the land baron, and Barnes, who had accom- 
 panied the soldier, were consulting over the weapons, 
 a magnificent pair of rapiers with costly steel guards, 
 (268)
 
 BENEATH THE OAKS 269 
 
 set with initials and a coronet. Member of an ancient 
 society of France which yet sought to perpetuate the 
 memory of the old judicial combat and the more mod- 
 ejn duel, the count was one of those persons who think 
 they are in honor bound to bear a challenge, without 
 questioning the cause, or asking the "color of a rea- 
 son." 
 
 "A superb pair of weapons, count!" observed the 
 doctor, rising. 
 
 "Yes," said the person addressed, holding the blade 
 so that the sunlight ran along the steel; "the same 
 Jacques Legres and I fought with !" 
 
 Here the count smiled in a melancholy manner, 
 which left no doubt regarding the fate of the hapless 
 Jacques. But after a moment he supplemented this 
 indubitable assurance by adding specifically : 
 
 "The left artery of the left lung!" 
 
 "Bless my soul!" commented the medical man. 
 "But what is this head in gold beneath the guard ?" 
 
 "Saint Michael, the patron saint of duelists!" an- 
 swered the count. 
 
 "Patron !" exclaimed the doctor. "Well, all I have 
 to say is, it is a saintless business for Michael." 
 
 The count laughed and turned away with a business- 
 like air. 
 
 "Are you ready, gentlemen?" 
 
 At his words the contestants immediately took their 
 positions. The land baron, lithe and supple, present- 
 ed a picture of insolent and conscious pride, his glance
 
 270 THE STROLLERS 
 
 lighted by disdain, but smoldering with fiercer pas- 
 sions as he examined and tested his blade. 
 
 "Engage!" exclaimed the count. 
 
 With ill-concealed eagerness, Mauville began a vig- 
 orous, although guarded attack, as if asserting his 
 supremacy, and at the same time testing his man. 
 The buzzing switch of the steel became angrier; the 
 weapons glinted and gleamed, intertwining silently 
 and separating with a swish. The patroon's features 
 glowed ; his movements became quicker, and, execut- 
 ing a rapid parry, he lunged with a thrust so stealthy 
 his blade was beaten down only as it touched the 
 soldier's breast. 
 
 Mauville smiled, but Barnes groaned inwardly, feel- 
 ing his courage and confidence fast oozing from him. 
 Neither he nor the other spectators doubted the re- 
 sult. Strength would count but little against such 
 agility; the land baron was an incomparable swords- 
 man. 
 
 "Gad!" muttered the count to himself. "It prom- 
 ises to be short and sweet." 
 
 As if to demonstrate the verity of this assertion, 
 Mauville suddenly followed his momentary advant- 
 age with a dangerous lunge from below. Involun- 
 tarily Barnes looked away, but his wandering atten- 
 tion was immediately recalled. From the lips' of the 
 land baron burst an exclamation of mingled pain 
 and anger. Saint-Prosper had not only parried the 
 thrust, but his own blade, by a rapid riposte, had 
 grazed the shoulder of his foe.
 
 BENEATH THE OAKS 271 
 
 Nor was the manager's surprise greater than that of 
 the count. The latter, amazed this unusual strategem 
 should have failed when directed by a wrist as trained 
 ad an eye as quick as Mauville's, now interposed. 
 
 "Enough !" he exclaimed, separating the contestants. 
 "Demme! it was superb. Honor has been satisfied." 
 
 "It is nothing !" cried the land baron, fiercely. "His 
 blade hardly touched me." In his exasperation and 
 disappointment over his failure, Mauville was scarcely 
 conscious of his wound. "I tell you it is nothing," he 
 repeated. 
 
 "What do you say, Mr. Saint-Prosper?" asked the 
 count. 
 
 "I am satisfied," returned the young man, coldly. 
 
 "But I'm not!" reiterated the patroon, restraining 
 himself with difficulty. "It was understood we should 
 continue until both were willing to stop!" 
 
 "No," interrupted the count, suavely ; "it was under- 
 stood you should continue, if both were willing !" 
 
 "And you're not \" exclaimed the land baron, wheel- 
 ing on Saint-Prosper. "Did you leave the army be- 
 cause " 
 
 "Gentlemen, gentlemen! let us observe the proprie- 
 ties!" expostulated the count. "Is it your intention, 
 sir" to Saint-Prosper "not to grant my principal's 
 request ?" 
 
 A fierce new anger gleamed from the soldier's eyes, 
 completely transforming his expression and bearing. 
 His glance quickly swept from the count to Mauville
 
 272 THE STROLLERS 
 
 at the studied insult of the latter's words ; on his cheek 
 burned a dark red spot. 
 
 "Let it go on !" 
 
 The count stepped nimbly from his position between 
 the two men. Again the swords crossed. The count's 
 glance bent itself more closely on the figure of the 
 soldier ; noting now how superbly poised was his body ; 
 what reserves of strength were suggested by the white, 
 muscular arm! His wrist moved like a machine, 
 lightly brushing aside the thrusts. Had it been but ac- 
 cident that Mauville's unlooked-for expedient had 
 failed? 
 
 "The devil \" thought the count, watching the sol- 
 dier. "Here is a fellow who has deceived us all." 
 
 But the land baron's zest only appeared to grow 
 in proportion to the resistance he encountered; the 
 lust for fighting increased with the music of the blades. 
 For some moments he feinted and lunged, seeking 
 an opening, however slight. Again he appeared bent 
 upon forcing a quick conclusion, for suddenly with a 
 rush he sought to break over Saint-Prosper's guard, 
 and succeeded in wounding the other slightly in the 
 forehead. Now sure of his man, Mauville sprang 
 at him savagely. 
 
 But dashing the blood from his eyes with his free 
 hand, and without giving way, Saint-Prosper met the 
 assault with a wrist of iron, and the land baron failed 
 to profit by what had seemed a certain advantage. 
 The wound had the effect of making the soldier more 
 cautious, and eye, foot and hand were equally true.
 
 BENEATH THE OAKS 273 
 
 Mauville was breathing heavily from his exertions, 
 but the appearance of both men, the supple movements 
 of the one contrasting with the perfect precision of 
 th^ other, would have delighted those members of 
 the count's society, who regarded these matches as 
 leading to a renaissance of chivalry. 
 
 In his fury that his chance had slipped away, 
 after wounding, and, as he supposed, blinding his 
 opponent, Mauville, throwing prudence to the winds, 
 recklessly attempted to repeat his rash expedient, 
 aad this time the steel of his antagonist gleamed like 
 quicksilver, passing beneath his arm and inflicting a 
 slight flesh wound. Something resembling a look of 
 apprehension crossed the land baron's face. "I have 
 underestimated him!" he thought. "The next stroke 
 will be driven nearer home." 
 
 He felt no fear, however ; only mute, helpless rage. 
 In the soldier's hand the dainty weapon was a thing 
 of marvelous cunning; his vastly superior strength 
 made him practically tireless in this play. Not only 
 tireless ; he suddenly accelerated the tempo of the ex- 
 ercise, but behind this unexpected, even passionate, 
 awakening, the spectators felt an unvarying accuracy, 
 a steely coldness of purpose. The blades clicked 
 faster; they met and parted more viciously; the hard 
 light in Saint-Prosper's eyes grew brighter as he 
 slowly thrust back his antagonist. 
 
 Mauville became aware his own vigor was slowly 
 failing him ; instead of pressing the other he was now 
 obliged to defend himself. He strove to throw off
 
 274 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the lethargy irresistibly stealing over him; to shake 
 the leaden movements from his limbs. He vainly en- 
 deavored to penetrate the mist falling before his eyes 
 and to overcome the dizziness that made his foeman 
 seem like a figure in a dream. Was it through loss of 
 blood, or weariness, or both? but he was cognizant 
 his thrusts had lost force, his plunges vitality, and 
 that even an element of chance prevailed in his parries. 
 But he uttered no sound. When would that mist be- 
 come dark, and the golden day fuse into inky night? 
 
 Before the mist totally eclipsed his sight he deter- 
 mined to make one more supreme effort, and again 
 sprang forward, but was driven back with ease. The 
 knowledge that he was continuing a futile struggle 
 smote him to the soul. Gladly would he have wel- 
 comed the fatal thrust, if first he could have sent his 
 blade through that breast which so far had been im- 
 pervious to his efforts. Now the scene went round 
 and round; the golden day became crimson, scarlet; 
 then gray, leaden, somber. Incautiously he bent his 
 arm to counter an imaginary lunge, and his antagonist 
 thrust out his rapier like a thing of life, transfixing 
 Mauville's sword arm. He stood his ground bravely 
 for a moment, playing feebly into space, expecting 
 the fatal stroke! When would it come? Then the 
 slate-colored hues were swallowed in a black cloud. 
 But while his mind passed into unconsciousness, his 
 breast was openly presented to his antagonist, and 
 even the count shuddered. 
 
 With his blade at guard, Saint-Prosper remained
 
 BENEATH THE OAKS 275 
 
 motionless ; the land baron staggered feebly and then 
 sank softly to the earth. That fatal look, the expres- 
 sion of a duelist, vanished from the soldier's face, 
 and, allowing the point of his weapon to drop to the 
 ground, he surveyed his prostrate antagonist. 
 
 "Done like a gentleman!" cried the count, breath- 
 ing more freely. "You had him at your mercy, sir" 
 to Saint-Prosper "and spared him." 
 
 A cold glance was the soldier's only response, as 
 without a word he turned brusquely away. Mean- 
 while the doctor, hastening to Mauville's side, opened 
 his shirt. 
 
 "He is badly hurt ?" asked Barnes, anxiously, of the 
 surgeon. 
 
 "No ; only fainted from loss of blood," replied that 
 gentleman, cheerfully. "He will be around again in 
 a day or two." 
 
 The count put away his blades as carefully as a 
 mother would deposit her babe in the cradle. 
 
 "Another page of history, my chicks !" he observed. 
 "Worthy of the song of Pindar !" 
 
 "Why not Straws or Phazma?" queried the sur- 
 geon, looking up from his task. 
 
 "Would you have the press take up the affair? 
 There are already people who talk of abolishing duel- 
 ing. When they do they will abolish reputation with 
 it. And what's a gentleman got but his honor 
 demme!" And the royal emissary carefully brushed 
 a crimson stain from the bespattered saint. 
 
 By this time the land baron had regained conscious-
 
 276 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ness, and, his wounds temporarily bandaged, walked, 
 with the assistance of the count, to his carriage. As 
 they were about to drive away the sound of a vehicle 
 was heard drawing" near, and soon it appeared fol- 
 lowed by another equipage. Both stopped at the 
 confines of the Oaks and the friends of the thick-set 
 man Susan's admirer and the young lad, on whom 
 she had smiled, alighted. 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed the doctor, who had accompanied 
 the count and his companion to the carriage. "Num- 
 ber two!" 
 
 "Yes," laughed the count, as he leaned back against 
 the soft cushions, "it promises to be a busy day at the 
 Oaks ! Really" as the equipage rolled on "New 
 Orleans is fast becoming a civilized center demme!"
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 
 
 The land baron's injuries did not long keep him 
 indoors, for it was his pride rather than his body that 
 had received deep and bitter wounds. He chafed and 
 fumed when he thought how, in all likelihood, the de- 
 tails of his defeat could not be suppressed in the clubs 
 and cafes. This anticipated publicity he took in ill 
 part, fanning his mental disorder with brandy, mel- 
 low and insidious with age. But beneath the dregs 
 of indulgence lay an image which preyed upon his 
 mind more than his defeat beneath the Oaks: a 
 figure, on the crude stage of a country tavern ; in the 
 manor window, with an aureole around her from the 
 sinking sun ; in the grand stand at the races, the gay 
 dandies singling her out in all that seraglio of beauty. 
 
 "I played him too freely," he groaned to the Count 
 de Propriac, as the latter sat contemplatively nursing 
 the ivory handle of his cane and offering the land 
 baron such poor solace as his company afforded. "I 
 misjudged the attack, besides exposing myself too 
 much. If I could only meet him again |" 
 (277)
 
 278 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The visitor reflectively took the handle of the stick 
 from his lips, thrust out his legs and yawned. The 
 count was sleepy, having drowned dull care the night 
 before, and had little sympathy with such spirited talk 
 so early in the day. His lack-luster gaze wandered 
 to the pictures on the wall, the duel between two court 
 ladies for the possession of the Due de Richelieu and an 
 old print of the deadly public contest of Francois de 
 Vivonne and Guy de Jarnac and then strayed languidly 
 to the other paraphernalia of a high-spirited bachelor's 
 rooms foils, dueling pistols and masks trappings 
 that but served to recall to the land baron his defeat. 
 
 "It would be like running against a stone wall," 
 said the count, finally; "demme if it wouldn't! He 
 could have killed you !" 
 
 "Why didn't he do it, then?" demanded the land 
 baron, fiercely. 
 
 The count shrugged his shoulders, drank his brandy, 
 and handed the bottle to his companion, who helped 
 himself, as though not averse to that sort of medicine 
 for his physical and mental ailments. 
 
 "What's the news ?" he asked abruptly, sinking back 
 on his pillow. 
 
 "The levees are flooded." 
 
 "Hanged if I care if it's another deluge!" said 
 Mauville. "I mean news of the town, not news of 
 the river." 
 
 "There's a new beauty come to town a brunette; 
 all the bloods are talking about her. Where did she
 
 BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 279 
 
 come from? Who is she? These are some of the 
 questions asked. But she's a Peri, at any rate ! shy, 
 hard to get acquainted with at first! An actress 
 Miss Carew !" 
 
 The glass trembled in the patroon's hand. "Do 
 you know her?" he asked unsteadily. 
 
 Smiling, the visitor returned the cane to his lips and 
 gazed into vacancy, as though communing with agree- 
 able thoughts. 
 
 "I have met her," he said finally. "Yes ; I may say 
 I have met her. Ged! Next to a duel with rapiers 
 is one with eyes. They thrust at you ; you parry ; 
 they return, and, demme! you're stabbed! But don't 
 ask me any more discretion you understand be- 
 tween men of the world demme!" and the count 
 relapsed into a vacuous dream. 
 
 "What a precious liar he is!" commented the land 
 baron to himself. But his mind soon reverted to the 
 duel once more. "If I had only followed Spedella's 
 advice and studied his favorite parades!" he mut- 
 tered, regretfully. 
 
 "It would have been the same," retorted the count, 
 brutally. "When you lost your temper, you lost your 
 cause. Your work was brilliant; but he is one of 
 the best swordsmen I ever saw. Who is he, anyway ?" 
 
 "All I know is, he served in Algiers," said Mauville, 
 moodily. 
 
 "A demmed adventurer, probably!" exclaimed the 
 other.
 
 280 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "I'd give a good deal to know his record," remarked 
 the patroon, contemplatively. "You should be pretty 
 well acquainted with the personnel of the army?" 
 
 "It includes everybody nowadays," replied the dip- 
 lomat. "I have a large acquaintance, but I am not a 
 directory. A person who knows everybody usually 
 knows nobody worth knowing! But it seems to 
 me I did know of a Saint-Prosper at the military col- 
 lege at Saumur; or was it at the Ecole d 'application 
 d'etat-majorf Demmed. scapegrace, if I am not mis- 
 taken; sent to Algiers; must be the same. A hell- 
 rake hole! full of German and French outcasts! 
 Knaves, adventureres, ready for plunder and loot!" 
 
 Here the count, after this outburst, closed his eyes 
 and seemed almost on the point of dropping off, but 
 suddenly straightened himself. 
 
 "Let's get the cards, or the dice, Mauville," he said, 
 "or I'll fall into a doze. Such a demmed sleepy cli- 
 mate !" 
 
 Soon the count was shuffling and the land baron and 
 he were playing bezique, but in spite of the latter 's 
 drowsiness, he won steadily from his inattentive com- 
 panion, and, although the noble visitor had some dif- 
 ficulty in keeping his eyes open, what there was of his 
 glance was vigilantly concentrated on his little pile 
 of the coin of the realm. His watchfulness did not 
 relax nor his success desert him, until Mauville finally 
 threw down the cards in disgust, weary alike of such 
 poor luck and the half-nodding automaton confront- 
 ing him; whereupon the count thrust every piece of
 
 BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 281 
 
 gold carefully away in his pocket, absently reached for 
 his hat, drawled a perfunctory farewell and departed 
 in a brown study. 
 
 The count's company, of which he had enjoyed a 
 good deal during the past forty-eight hours, did not 
 improve Mauville's temper, and he bore his own re- 
 flections so grudgingly that inaction became intolera- 
 ble. Besides, certain words of his caller concerning 
 Saint-Prosper had stimulated his curiosity, and, in 
 casting about for a way to confirm his suspicions, he 
 had suddenly determined in what wise to proceed. Ac- 
 cordingly, the next day he left his rooms, his first 
 visit being to a spacious, substantial residence of stone 
 and lime, with green veranda palings and windows 
 that opened as doors, with a profusion of gauzy cur- 
 tains hanging behind them. This house, the present 
 home of the Marquis de Ligne, stood in the French 
 quarter, contrasting architecturally with the newer 
 brick buildings erected for the American population. 
 The land baron was ushered into a large reception 
 room, sending his card to the marquis by the neat- 
 appearing colored maid who answered the door. 
 
 If surroundings indicate the man, the apartments in 
 which the visitor stood spoke eloquently of the mar- 
 quis' taste. Eschewing the stiff, affected classical- 
 ism of the Empire style, the furniture was the best 
 work of Andre Boule and Riesener; tables, with fine 
 marquetry of the last century, made of tulip wood and 
 mahogany; mirrors from Tourlaville; couches 
 with tapestry woven in fanciful designs after Frago-
 
 282 THE STROLLERS 
 
 nard, in the looms of Beauvais couches that were 
 made for conversation, not repose ; cabinets exemplify- 
 ing agreeable disposition of lines and masses in the 
 inlaid adornment, containing tiny drawers that fitted 
 with old-time exactness, and, without jamming, 
 opened and shut at the touch. The marquis' charac- 
 ter was stamped by these details ; it was old, not new 
 France, to which he belonged. 
 
 Soon the marquis' servant, a stolid, sober man, of 
 virtuous deportment, came down stairs to inform the 
 land baron his master had suffered a relapse and was 
 unable to see any one. 
 
 "Last night his temperature was very high," said the 
 valet. "My master is very ill ; more so than I have 
 known him to be in twenty years." 
 
 "You have served the marquis so long?" said the 
 visitor, pausing as he was leaving the room. "Do 
 you remember the Saint-Prosper family?" 
 
 "Well, Monsieur. General Saint-Prosper and my 
 master were distant kinsmen and had adjoining lands." 
 
 "Surely the marquis did not pass his time in the 
 country?" observed Mauville. 
 
 "He preferred it to Paris when my lady was 
 there!" added Francois, softly. 
 
 In spite of his ill-humor, the shadow of a smile 
 gleamed in the land baron's gaze, and, encouraged by 
 that questioning look, the man continued : "The mar- 
 quis and General Saint-Prosper were always together. 
 My lady had her own friends."
 
 BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON 283 
 
 "So I've heard," commented the listener. 
 
 Frangois' discreet eyes were downcast. Why did 
 the visitor wish to learn about the Saint-Prosper fam- 
 ily? Why, instead of going, did he linger and eye 
 the man half-dubiously ? Frangois had sold so many 
 of his master's secrets he scented his opportunities 
 with a sixth sense. 
 
 "The marquis and General Saint-Prosper were 
 warm friends ?" asked the land baron at length. 
 
 "Yes, Monsieur ; the death of the latter was a severe 
 shock to the Marquis de Ligne, but, mon Dieu!" 
 lifting his eyes "it was as well he did not live to 
 witness the disgrace of his son." 
 
 "His son's disgrace," repeated the land baron, 
 eagerly. "Oh, you mean running in debt gaming 
 some such fashionable virtue?" 
 
 "If betraying his country is a fashionable virtue," 
 replied the valet. "He is a traitor." 
 
 Incredulity overspread the land baron's features; 
 then, coincident with the assertion, came remembrance 
 of his conversation with the marquis. 
 
 "He certainly called him that," ruminated the vis- 
 itor. Not only the words, but the expression of the 
 old nobleman's face recurred to him. What did it 
 mean unless it confirmed the deliberate charge of the 
 valet? The land baron forgot his disappointment 
 over his inability to see the marquis, and began to look 
 with more favor on the man. 
 
 "He surrendered a French stronghold," continued
 
 284 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the servant, softly. "Not through fear; oh, no; but 
 for ambition, power, under Abd-el-Kader, the Moor- 
 ish leader." 
 
 "How do you know this ?" said the patroon, sharply. 
 
 "My master has the report of the military board of 
 inquiry," replied the man, steadily. 
 
 "Why has the matter attracted no public attention, 
 if a board of inquiry was appointed ?" 
 
 "The board was a secret one, and the report was 
 suppressed. Few have seen it, except the late King 
 of France and my master." 
 
 "And yourself, Francois?" said the patroon, his 
 manner changing. 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur!" Deprecatorily. 
 
 "Since it has been inspected by such good company, 
 I confess curiosity to look at it myself. But your 
 master is ill ; I can not speak with him ; perhaps you " 
 
 "I, Monsieur!" Indignantly. 
 
 "For five hundred francs, Francois ?" 
 
 Like oil upon the troubled waters, this assurance 
 wrought a swift change in the valet's manner. 
 
 "To oblige Monsieur!" he answered, softly, but his 
 eyes gleamed like a lynx's. His stateliness was a 
 sham; his perfidy and hypocrisy surprised even the 
 land baron. 
 
 "You have no compunctions about selling a reputa- 
 tion, Francois?" 
 
 "Reputation is that !" said the man, contemptuously 
 snapping his fingers, emboldened by his compact with 
 the caller. "Francs and sous are everything."
 
 BLOT IN THE ' S CUT CH EO N 285 
 
 "Lord, how servants imbibe the ideas of their bet- 
 ters !" quoth the patroon, as he left the house and 
 strode down the graveled walk, decapitating the be- 
 gonias with his cane. 
 
 Furtively the valet watched his departing figure. 
 "Why does he want it ?" he .thought. 
 
 Then he shrugged his shoulders. "What do I 
 care!" 
 
 "Francois !" piped a shrill and querulous treble from 
 above, dispelling the servant's conjectures. 
 
 "Coming, my lord !" And the valet slowly mounted 
 the broad stairway amid a fusillade of epithets from 
 the sick chamber. An hour before the marquis had 
 ordered him out of his sight as vehemently as now he 
 summoned him, all of which Francois endured with 
 infinite patience and becoming humility. 
 
 Passing into the Rue Royale, the favorite prome- 
 nade of the Creole-French, the land baron went on 
 through various thoroughfares with French-English 
 nomenclature into St. Charles Street, reaching his 
 apartments, which adjoined a well-known club. He 
 was glad to stretch himself once more on his couch, 
 feeling fatigued from his efforts, and having rather 
 overtaxed his strength. 
 
 But if his body was now inert, his mind was active. 
 His thoughts dwelt upon the soldier's reticence, his 
 disinclination to make acquaintances, and the coldness 
 with which he had received his, Mauville's, advances 
 in the Shadengo Valley. Why, asked Mauville, lying 
 there and putting the pieces of the tale together, did
 
 286 THE STROLLERS 
 
 not Saint-Prosper remain with his new-found friends, 
 the enemies of his country? Because, came the an- 
 swer, Abd-el-Kader, the patriot of Algerian independ- 
 ence, had been captured and the subjection of the 
 country had followed. Since Algeria had become a 
 French colony, where could Saint-Prosper have found 
 a safer asylum than in America ? Where more secure 
 from "that chosen curse" for the man who owes his 
 weal to his country's woe? 
 
 In his impatience to possess the promised proof, the 
 day passed all too slowly. He even hoped the count 
 would call, although that worthy brought with him all 
 the "flattering devils, sweet poison and deadly sins" of 
 inebriation. But the count, like a poor friend, was 
 absent when wanted, and it was a distinct relief to 
 the land baron when Francois appeared at his apart- 
 ments in the evening with a buff-colored envelope, 
 which he handed to him. 
 
 "The suppressed report ?" asked the latter, weighing 
 it in his hand. 
 
 "No, Monsieur; I could not find that. My master 
 must have destroyed it." 
 
 The land baron made a gesture of disappointment 
 and irritation. 
 
 "But this," Francois hastened to add, "is a letter 
 from the Due d'Aumale, governor of Algeria, to the 
 Marquis de Ligne, describing the affair. Monsieur 
 will find it equally as satisfactory, I am sure." 
 
 "How did you get it?" said the patroon, thought- 
 fully.
 
 BLOT IN THE ' S CUT C H EO N 287 
 
 "My master left the keys on the dresser." 
 
 "And if he misses this letter " 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, I grieve my master is so ill he could 
 not miss anything but his ailments ! Those he would 
 willingly dispense with. My poor master!" 
 
 "There! Take your long, hypocritical face out of 
 my sight!" said Mauville, curtly, at the same time 
 handing him the promised reward, which Francois 
 calmly accepted. A moment later, however, he drew 
 himself up. 
 
 "Monsieur has not paid for the right to libel my 
 character," he said. 
 
 "Your character!" 
 
 "My character, Monsieur!" the valet replied firmly, 
 and bowed in the stateliest fashion of the old school 
 as he backed out of the room with grand obsequious- 
 ness. Deliberately, heavily and solidly, resounded 
 the echoing footsteps of Frangois upon the stairway, 
 like the going of some substantial personage of unim- 
 peachable rectitude. 
 
 As the front door closed sharply the land baron 
 threw the envelope on the table and quietly surveyed 
 it, the remnants of his pride rising in revolt. 
 
 "Have I then sunk so low as to read private commu- 
 nications or pry into family secrets? Is it a family 
 secret, though? Should it not become common prop- 
 erty? Why have they protected him? Did the mar- 
 quis wish to spare the son of an old friend? Be- 
 sides" his glance again seeking the envelope "it is 
 my privilege to learn whether I have fought with a
 
 288 THE STROLLERS 
 
 gentleman or a renegade." But even as he medi- 
 tated, he felt the sophistry of this last argument, while 
 through his brain ran the undercurrent: "He has 
 wooed her won her, perhaps !" Passion, rather than 
 injured hauteur, stirred him. At the same time a 
 great indignation filled his breast; how Saint-Prosper 
 had tricked her and turned her from himself! 
 
 And moving from the mantel upon which he was 
 leaning, Mauville strode to the table and untied the 
 envelope.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 
 
 A dusty window looking out upon a dusty thorough- 
 fare ; a dusty room, lighted by the dusty window, and 
 revealing a dusty chair, a dusty carpet and proba- 
 bly a dusty bed ! Over the foot and the head of the 
 bed the lodger's wardrobe lay carelessly thrown. He 
 had but to reach up, and lo ! his shirt was at hand ; to 
 reach down, and there were collar and necktie ! Presto, 
 he was dressed, without getting out of bed; running 
 no risk from cold floors for cold feet, lurking tacks or 
 stray needles and pins ! On every side appeared evi- 
 dence of confusion, or a bachelor's idea of order. 
 
 Fastened to the head-board of the bed was a box, 
 wherein were stored various and divers articles and 
 things. With as little inconvenience as might be im- 
 agined the lodger could plunge his hand into his 
 cupboard and pull out a pipe, a box of matches, a 
 bottle of ink, a bottle of something else, paper and 
 pins, and, last but not least, his beloved tin whistle of 
 three holes, variously dignified a fretiau, a frestele, 
 or a galoubet, upon which he played ravishing tunes 
 (289)
 
 290 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Oh, a wonderful box was Straws' little bedstead 
 cupboard ! As Phazma said of it, it contained every- 
 thing it should not, and nothing it should contain. 
 But that was why it was a poet's box. If it had held 
 a Harpagon's Interest Computer, instead of a well- 
 thumbed Virgil, or Oldcodger's Commercial Statistics 
 for 184 , instead of an antique, leather-covered Mon- 
 taigne, Straws would have had no use for the cup- 
 board. It was at once his library a scanty one, for 
 the poet held tenaciously to but a few books his side- 
 board, his secretaire, his music cabinet giving lodg- 
 ment in this last capacity to a single work, "The Com- 
 plete and Classical Preceptor for Galoubet, Contain- 
 ing Tunes, Polkas and Military Pieces." 
 
 Suspended from the ceiling hung a wooden cage, 
 confining a mocking bird that had become acclimated 
 to the death-dealing atmosphere of tobacco smoke, 
 alcoholic fumes and poetry. All these the songster 
 had endured and survived, nay, thriven upon, lifting 
 up its voice in happy cadence and blithely hopping 
 about its prison, the door of which Straws sometimes 
 opened, permitting the feathered captive the dubious 
 freedom of the room. Pasted on the foot-board of 
 the bed was an old engraving of a wandering musician 
 mountebank, playing a galoubet as an accompaniment 
 to a dancing dog and a cock on stilts, a never-wearying 
 picture for Straws, with his migratory, vagabond pro- 
 clivities. 
 
 A bracket on the wall looked as though it might 
 have been intended for a piece of statuary, or a bit of
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 291 
 
 porcelain or china decoration, but had really been 
 set there for his ink-pot, when he was mindful to work 
 in bed, although how the Muse could be induced to 
 soft foot in that old nookery of a room could only be 
 explained through the whims and crotchets of that 
 odd young person's character. 
 
 Yet come she would and did, although she got dust 
 on her flowing skirts when she swept across the 
 threshold; dust on her snow-white gown if the 
 writers are to be believed in regard to its hue ! when 
 she sat down in the only chair, and dust in her eyes 
 when she flirted her fan. Fortunate was it for 
 Straws that the Muse is a wayward-, freakish gipsy; 
 a straggler in attics ; a vagrant of the streets ; fortu- 
 nately for him she is not at all the fine lady she has 
 been depicted ! Doubtless she has her own reasons 
 for her vagaries ; perhaps because it is so easy to soar 
 from the hovel to fairy-land, but to soar from a pal- 
 ace that is obviously impossible ; it is a height in it- 
 self! So this itinerant maiden ever yawns amid 
 scenes of splendor, and, from time immemorial, has 
 sighed for lofts, garrets, and such humble places as 
 Straws' earthly abode. 
 
 At the present time, however, Straws was alone. 
 This eccentric but lovely young lady had not deigned 
 to visit him that day. Once, indeed, she had just 
 looked in, but whisked back again into the hall, slam- 
 ming the door after her, and the pen, momentarily 
 grasped, had fallen from Straws' hand. Instead of 
 reaching for the ink-bottle he reached in the cupboard
 
 292 THE STROLLERS 
 
 for the other bottle. Again she came near entering 
 through the window having many unconventional 
 ways of coming into a room! but after looking in 
 for a moment, changed her mind after her fashion and 
 floated away into thin space like the giddy, volatile 
 mistress that she was. After that she appeared no 
 more probably making a friendly call on some one 
 else ! and Straws resigned himself to her heartless 
 perfidy, having become accustomed to her frivolous, 
 fantastic moods. 
 
 Indeed, what else could he have done ; what can any 
 man do when his lady-love deserts him, save to make 
 the best of it? But he found his consolation in a 
 pipe ; not a pipe of tobacco, nor yet a pipe of old ma- 
 deira, which, figuratively, most disappointed lovers 
 seek; but a pipe of melody, a pipe of flowing tunes 
 and stirring marches; a pipe of three holes, vulgarly 
 termed by those who know not its high classic origin 
 from the Grecian reeds and its relation to the Pandian 
 pipes, a tin whistle ! Thus was Straws classic in his 
 taste, affecting the instrument wherein Acis sighed 
 his soul and breath away for fair Galatea! 
 
 It had been a lazy, purposeless day. He had 
 awakened at noon; had coffee and rolls in bed; had 
 dressed, got up, looked out, lain down again, read, 
 and vainly essayed original composition. Now, lying 
 on his back, with the Complete and Classic Preceptor 
 before him, he soothed himself with such music "as 
 washes the every-day dust from the soul." For a 
 pipe of three holes, his instrument had a remarkable
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 293 
 
 i 
 
 compass; melody followed melody "The Harp that 
 Once through Tara's Hall," "She is Far from the 
 Land," "In Death I shall Calm Recline," and other 
 popular pieces. When Straws missed a note he went 
 back to find it ; when he erred in a phrase, he patiently 
 repeated it. The cadence in the last mournful selec- 
 tion, "Bid her not shed a tear of sorrow," was, on 
 his first attempt, fraught with exceeding discord, and 
 he was preparing once more to assault the citadel of 
 grief, entrenched with bristling high notes, when an 
 abrupt knocking at the door, followed by the appear- 
 ance of a face marred by wrath and adorned with an 
 enormous pair of whiskers, interrupted his attack. 
 
 "Sair," said this person, excitedly, with no more 
 than his head in the room, like a Punch and Judy 
 figure peering from behind a curtain, "you are ze one 
 gran' nuisance! Eet is zat what you call eet? 
 whistle! I am crazee crazee!" 
 
 "Yes; you look it!" replied Straws, sympathetic- 
 ally. "Perhaps, if you had a keep " 
 
 "I am not crazee !" vociferated the man. 
 
 "No? Perhaps I could tell better, if I could see 
 more of you. Judging from the sample, I confess to 
 
 curiosity for a full-length view. If you will step in 
 
 
 "I will not step in! I will step out! I will leave 
 zis house! I will leave forever!" 
 
 And the head vanished as suddenly as it had ap- 
 peared, to be followed by hasty footsteps down the 
 stairway.
 
 294 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Now I can understand why Orpheus was torn to 
 pieces," ruminated Straws, mournfully surveying the 
 offending pipe. "He played on the lyre! Return to 
 thy cupboard, O reed divine!" putting the whistle 
 back in the box "a vile world, as Falstaff says! 
 Heigho!" yawning "life is an empty void which 
 reminds me I have a most poetic appetite. What shall 
 I do" and Straws sat up relinquishing his lounging 
 attitude "go out, or have pot-luck in the room? 
 Tortier's bouillabaisse would about tickle the jaded 
 palate. A most poetic dish, that bouillabaisse! Con- 
 taining all the fish that swim in the sea and all the 
 herbs that grow on the land ! Thus speaks gluttony ! 
 Get thee behind me, odoriferous temptation of garlic! 
 succulent combination of broth and stew !" 
 
 So saying, Straws sprang from his bed, lighted a 
 charcoal fire in his tiny grate; rummaged a bureau 
 drawer and drew forth an end of bacon, a potato or 
 two, a few apples, an onion and the minor part of a 
 loaf of bread, all of which, except the bread, he sliced 
 and thrust indiscriminately into the frying-pan and 
 placed over the blue flame. Next from behind the 
 mirror he produced a diminutive coffee pot into which 
 he measured, with extreme care, just so much of the 
 ground berry, being rather over-nice about his demi- 
 tasse. Having progressed thus far in his preparation 
 for pot, or frying-pan luck and indeed it seemed a 
 matter of luck, or good fortune, how that mixture 
 would turn out he rapped on the floor with the heel 
 of his boot, like the prince in the fairy tale, summoning
 
 ACYNICALBARD 295 
 
 his attendant good genii, and in a few moments a light 
 tapping on the door announced the coming of a servi- 
 tor. 
 
 Not a mighty wraith nor spook of Arabian fancy, 
 but a very small girl, or child, with very black hair, 
 very white skin and very dark, beautiful eyes. A 
 daughter of mixed ancestry, yet with her dainty hands 
 and little feet, she seemed descended from sprites or 
 sylphs. 
 
 "Monsieur called," she said in her pretty dialect. 
 
 "Yes, my dear. Go to Monsieur Tortier's, Celes- 
 tina, and tell him to give you a bottle of the kind 
 Monsieur Straws always takes." 
 
 "At once, Monsieur," she answered, very gravely, 
 very seriously. And Celestina vanished like a butter- 
 fly that flutters quickly away. 1 
 
 "Now this won't be bad after all," thought Straws, 
 sniffing at the frying-pan which had begun to sput- 
 ter bravely over the coals, while the coffee pot gave 
 forth a fragrant steam. "A good bottle of wine will 
 transform a snack into a collation ; turn pot-luck into 
 a feast !" 
 
 As thus he meditated the first of night's outriders, 
 its fast-coming shadows, stole through the window ; 
 following these swift van-couriers, night's chariot 
 came galloping across the heavens ; in the sky several 
 little clouds melted like Cleopatra's pearls. Musing 
 before his fire the poet sat, not dreaming thoughts no 
 mortal ever dreamed before, but turning the bacon 
 and apples and stirring in a few herbs, for no other
 
 296 THE STROLLERS 
 
 particular reason than that he had them and thought he 
 might as well use them. 
 
 "Celestina is taking longer than usual," he mused. 
 "Perhaps, though, Monsieur Tortier intends to sur- 
 prise me with an unusually fine bottle. Yes; that is 
 undoubtedly the reason for the delay. He is hunting 
 about in the cellar for something a little out of the 
 ordinary. But here is Celestina now!" as the child 
 reappeared, with footsteps so noiseless the poet saw 
 before he heard her. "Where is the bottle, my little 
 Ariel? It must be an extra fine vintage. Bless old 
 Tortier's noble heart!" 
 
 "There isn't any bottle," said the child. "Monsieur 
 said that your account " 
 
 "The miserable old hunks ! His heart's no bigger 
 than a pin-head \" 
 
 "Please, I'm so sorry!" spoke up Celestina, a sus- 
 picious moisture in her eyes. 
 
 "I know it, my dear," returned Straws. "Your 
 heart is as big as his whole body. One of your tears 
 is more precious than his most priceless nectar." 
 
 "I beg-ged him that's why I I stayed so long!" 
 half-sobbed Celestina. 
 
 "There ! there !" said Straws, wiping her eyes. "Of 
 course it's very tragic, but there's no use crying over 
 spilled milk. Dear me, dear me; what can we do? 
 It's terrible, but you know the proverb : 'Every cloud 
 has a silver lining/ Perhaps this one has. I wish 
 it Had ; or a golden one ! Think of a cloud of gold,
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 297 
 
 Celestina! Wouldn't we be rich? What would you 
 do with it?" 
 
 "I'd go to Monsieur Tortier's and and get the 
 bottle," said the child in an agony of distress. 
 ''He lifted her on his knee, soothed her and held 
 her in his arms, stroking her dark hair. 
 
 "I believe you would," he said. "And now, as we 
 haven't got the golden cloud, let us see how we can 
 get on without it. How shall we conquer that ogre, 
 Monsieur Tortier? What would you suggest, Celes- 
 tina?" 
 
 The child looked into the fire, with eyes wide-open. 
 
 "Come, be a good fairy now," urged Straws, "and 
 tell me." 
 
 "Why don't you write him a poem ?" said Celestina, 
 turning her eyes, bright with excitement, upon him. 
 
 "A poem! Non by Jove, you're right! An in- 
 spiration, my dear! People like to be thought what 
 they are not. They want to be praised for virtues 
 foreign to themselves. The ass wants to masquerade 
 as the lion. 'Tis the law of nature. Now Monsieur 
 Tortier is a Jew ; a scrimp ; a usurer ! Very well, we 
 will celebrate the virtues he hath not in verse and pub- 
 lish the stanza in the Straws' column. After all, we 
 are only following the example of the historians, and 
 they're an eminently respectable lot of people. Celes- 
 tina ! You watch the coffee pot, and I'll grind out the 
 panegyric !" 
 
 The child knelt before the fire, but her glance
 
 298 THE STROLLERS 
 
 strayed from the steaming spout to the poet's face, as 
 he sat on the edge of his bed and rapidly scribbled. 
 By the time the bacon was fairly done and the other 
 condiments in the frying-pan had turned to a dark 
 hue, the production was finished and triumphantly 
 waved in mid air by the now hopeful Straws. 
 
 "I'll just read you a part of it, my dear!" he said. 
 "It's not half bad. But perhaps it would bore you ?" 
 With exaggerated modesty. 
 
 "Oh, I just love your poetry!" cried the girl, enthu- 
 siastically. 
 
 "If everybody were only like you now! Isn't it 
 too bad you've got to grow up and grow wiser? But 
 here's the refrain. There are six stanzas, but I won't 
 trouble you with all of them, my dear. One mustn't 
 drive a willing horse, or a willing auditor." 
 
 And in a voice he endeavored to render melodious, 
 with her rapt glance fixed upon him, Straws read : 
 
 "Sing, my Muse, the lay of the prodigal host! 
 "Who enters here leaveth behind not hope. 
 Course follows course; entre"e, relev, ragout, 
 
 Ambrosial sauces, pungent, after luscious soup. 
 The landlord spurs his guests to fresh attack, 
 
 With fricassee, re"chauff<6 and omelets; 
 A toothsome feast that Apicius would fain have 
 
 served, 
 
 While wine, divine, new zeal in all begets. 
 Who is this host, my Muse, pray say? 
 Who but that prodigal, Tortier!" 
 
 "There, my dear," concluded Straws, "those feet 
 are pretty wobbly to walk, but flattery moves on lame
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 
 
 299 
 
 legs faster than truth will travel on two good ones. 
 Besides, I haven't time to polish them properly, or 
 the mess in the frying-pan will spoil. Better spoil 
 l^ie poem than the contents of the flesh pots ! Now if 
 dear me, Celestina, if you haven't let the coffee 
 pot boil over !" 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur," cried the child, almost weeping 
 again. "I forgot to watch it! I just couldn't while 
 you were writing poetry." 
 
 "The excuse more than condones the offense," con- 
 tinued the other. "But as I was about to say, 
 you take this poem to Monsieur Tortier, make your 
 prettiest bow and courtesy let me see you make a 
 courtesy." 
 
 The girl bowed as dainty as a little duchess. 
 
 "That should melt a heart of stone in itself," com- 
 mented Straws. "But Tortier's is flint! After that 
 charming bow, you will give him my compliments; 
 Mr. Straws' compliments, remember; and, would he 
 be kind enough just to glance over this poem which 
 Mr. Straws, with much mental effort, has prepared, 
 and which, if it be acceptable to Monsieur Tortier, 
 will appear in Mr. Straws' famous and much-talked- 
 of column in the paper?" 
 
 "Oh, Monsieur, I can't remember all that !" said the 
 girl. 
 
 "Do it your own way then. Besides, it will be bet- 
 ter than mine." 
 
 With the poem hugged to her breast, the child 
 fairly flew out of the room, leaving Straws a prey to
 
 3oo THE STROLLERS 
 
 conflicting emotions. He experienced in those mo- 
 ments of suspense all the doubts and fears of the nest- 
 ling bard or the tadpole litterateur, awaiting the pleas- 
 ure and sentence of the august editor or the puissant 
 publisher. Tortier had been suddenly exalted to the 
 judge's lofty pedestal. Would he forthwith be an im- 
 perial autocrat; turn tyrant or Thersites; or become 
 critic, one of "those graminivorous animals which gain 
 subsistence by gorging upon buds and leaves of the 
 young shrubs of the forest, robbing them of their verd- 
 ure and retarding their progress to maturity" ? 
 
 Straws' anxiety was trouble's labor lost. Celes-' 
 tina appeared, the glad messenger of success, and now, 
 as she came dancing into the room, bore in her arms 
 the fruits of victory which she laid before the poet 
 with sparkling eyes and laughing lips. 
 
 "So the poem was accepted?" murmured Straws. 
 "Discerning Tortier! Excellent dilettante! Let him 
 henceforth be known as a man of taste!" Here the 
 poet critically examined the bottle. "Nothing vapid, 
 thin or characterless there!" he added, holding it be- 
 fore the blaze in the grate. "Positively I'll dedicate 
 my forthcoming book to him. 'To that worshipful 
 master and patron, the tasteful Tortier!' What did 
 he say, Celestina, when you tendered him the poem?" 
 
 "At first he frowned and then he looked thoughtful. 
 And then he gave me some orange syrup. And then 
 O, I don't want to say!" A look of unutterable 
 concern displacing the happiness on her features. 
 
 "Say on, my dear !" cried Straws.
 
 ACYNICALBARD 301 
 
 "He he said he he didn't think much of it as O, 
 I can't tell you ; I can't ! I can't \" 
 
 "Celestina," said the poet sternly, "tell me at once. 
 I command you." 
 
 "He said he didn't think much of it as poetry, but 
 that people would read it and come to his cafe and 
 
 dear, O dear !" 
 
 "Beast! Brute! Parvenu! But there, don't cry, 
 my dear. We have much to be thankful for we 
 have the bottle." 
 
 "Oh, yes," she said with conviction, and brighten- 
 ing a bit. "We have the bottle." And as she spoke, 
 "pop" it went, and Celestina laughed. "May I set 
 your table ?" she asked. 
 
 "After your inestimable service to me, my dear, I 
 find it impossible to refuse," he replied gravely. 
 
 "How good you are!" she remarked, placing a 
 rather soiled cloth, which she found somewhere, over 
 a battered trunk. 
 
 "I try not to be, but I can't help it !" answered the 
 poet modestly. 
 
 "No; that's it; you can't help it!" she returned, 
 moving lightly around the room, emptying the con- 
 tents of the frying-pan now an aromatic jumble 
 on to a cracked blue platter, and setting knife and 
 fork, and a plate, also blue, before him! "And may 
 
 1 wait on you, too?" 
 
 "Well, as a special favor " He paused, appear- 
 ing to ponder deeply and darkly. 
 Her eyes were bent upon his face with mute appeal,
 
 302 THE STROLLERS 
 
 her suspense so great she stood stock-still in the mid- 
 dle of the floor, frying-pan in hand. 
 
 "Yes; you may wait on me," he said finally, after 
 perplexed and weighty rumination. 
 
 At that her little feet fairly twinkled, but her hand 
 was ever so careful as she took the coffee pot from 
 the fire and put it near the blue plate. A glass how 
 well she knew where everything was! she found in 
 some mysterious corner and, sitting down on the floor, 
 cross-legged like a little Turk, a mere mite almost lost 
 in the semi-obscurity of the room, she polished it as- 
 siduously upon the corner of the table cloth until it 
 shone free from specks of dust ; all the time humming 
 very lightly like a bird, or a housewife whose heart is in 
 her work. A strange song, a curious bit of melody 
 that seemed to spring from some dark past and to 
 presage a future, equally sunless. 
 
 "Your supper is ready, Monsieur," she said, rising. 
 
 "And I am ready for it. Why, how nicely the table 
 looks ! Really, when we both grow up, I think we 
 should take a silver ship and sail to some silver shore 
 and live together there forever and evermore. How 
 would you like it?" 
 
 Celestina's lips were mute, but her eyes were full 
 of rapturous response, and then became suddenly 
 shy, as though afraid of their own happiness. 
 
 "May I pour your wine?" she asked, with down- 
 cast lashes. 
 
 "Can you manage it and not spill a drop ? Remem-
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 
 
 303 
 
 ber Cratinus wept and died of grief seeing his wine 
 no doubt, this same vintage spilt!" 
 
 But Straws was not called upon to emulate this 
 9lassic example. The feat of filling his glass was 
 deftly accomplished, and a moment later the poet 
 raised it with, " 'Drink to me only with thine 
 eyes !' " An appropriate sentiment for Celestina who 
 had nothing else to drink to him with. "Won't you 
 have some of this what shall I call it? hash, stew 
 or ration?" 
 
 "Oh, I've had my supper," she answered. 
 
 "How fortunate for you, my dear ! It isn't exactly 
 a company bill of fare ! But everything is what I 
 call snug and cozy. Here we are high up in the 
 world right under the roof all by ourselves, with 
 nobody to disturb us " 
 
 A heavy footfall without ; rap, rap, rap, on the door ; 
 no timid, faltering knock, but a firm application of 
 somebody's knuckles ! 
 
 "It's that Jack-in-the-box Frenchman," muttered 
 the writer. "Go to the devil !" he called out. 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 "You have an original way of receiving visitors!" 
 drawled a languid voice, and the glance of the sur- 
 prised poet fell upon Edward Mauville. "Really, I 
 don't know whether to come in or not," continued the 
 latter at the threshold. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," murmured Straws. "I 
 thought it was a "
 
 304 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Creditor?" suggested Mauville, with an amused 
 smile. "I know the class. Don't apologize! I am 
 intruding. Quite a family party!" he went on, his 
 gaze resting upon Celestina and the interrupted re- 
 past. 
 
 With his elegant attire, satin waistcoat and . fine 
 ruffles, he seemed out of place in the attic nook of 
 the Muse; a lordling who had wandered by mistake 
 into the wrong room. But he bore himself with the 
 easy assurance of a man who could adapt himself 
 to any surroundings; even to Calliope's shabby bou- 
 doir! 
 
 "My dear," remarked the disconcerted bard, "get 
 a chair for Mr. Mauville. Or I beg your pardon 
 would you mind sitting on the bed ? Won't you have 
 some wine? Celestina, bring another glass." 
 
 But the girl only stood and stared at the dark, 
 courtly being who thus unexpectedly had burst in 
 upon them. 
 
 "There isn't any more," she finally managed to say. 
 "You've got the only glass there is, please !" 
 
 "Dear me; dear me!" exclaimed Straws. "How 
 glasses do get broken ! I have so few occasions to use 
 them, too, for I don't very often have visitors." 
 
 "You are surprised to see me ?" continued Mauville, 
 pleasantly, seating himself on the edge of the bed. 
 "Go on with your supper. You don't mind my smok- 
 ing while you eat ?" 
 
 "No ; the odor of onions is a little strong, isn't it ?" 
 laughed the other. "Rather strange, by the by, some
 
 ACYNICALBARD 305 
 
 of nature's best restoratives should be rank and 
 noisome, while her poisons, like the Upas tree, are 
 often sweet-smelling and agreeable ?" 
 
 "Yes," commented the land baron ; "we make the 
 worst faces over the medicines that do us the most 
 good." 
 
 "I presume," said Straws, delighted at the prospect 
 of an argument, and forgetting his curiosity over the 
 other's visit in this brief interchange of words, "na- 
 ture but calls our attention to the fact that we may 
 know our truest friends are not those with the sweet- 
 est manners." 
 
 "Heaven forbid !" remarked Mauville. "But how 
 are you getting on with your column? A surfeit of 
 news and gossip, I presume ? What a busy fellow 
 you are, to be sure ! Nothing escapes through your 
 seine. Big fish or little fish, it is all one. You dress 
 them up with alluring sauce." 
 
 The bard shook his head. 
 
 "The net has been coming in dry," he said gloomily. 
 "But that's the way with the fish. Sometimes you 
 catch a good haul, and then they all disappear. It's 
 been bad luck lately." 
 
 "Perhaps I can make a cast for you," cried the pa- 
 troon eagerly. 
 
 "And bring up what ?" asked the hack. 
 
 "Something everybody will read; that will set the 
 gossips talking." 
 
 "A woman's reputation?" 
 
 "No; a man's."
 
 306 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "That is to be regretted," said Straws. "If, now, 
 it were only a woman's . However, it's the next 
 best thing to start the town a-gossiping. I am much 
 obliged to you for taking the trouble of calling. All 
 those stairs to climb, too !" 
 
 "I was sure you would be glad to hear of it," re- 
 marked the patroon, slowly, studying with his bright, 
 insolent glance, the pale, intellectual face of the scrib- 
 bler. 
 
 "Yes ; there's only one thing stands in the way." 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 "I never publish anything I don't believe. Don't 
 misunderstand me, please." Pouring out a glass of 
 wine. "Unfortunately I am so incredulous ! Isn't 
 it a pity ? I am such a carping cynic ; a regular skep- 
 tic that follows the old adage, 'Believe that story 
 false that ought not to be true.' It's such a detriment 
 to my work, too ! A pretty scandal at the top of my 
 column would make me famous, while a sprinkling 
 of libels and lampoons would enable me to move down 
 a story or two. But, after all, I'd feel lost in the 
 luxury of a first floor front chamber. So, you see, 
 nature adjusts herself to our needs." 
 
 "Makes the shell to fit the snail, as it were," com- 
 mented the land baron, patronizingly, gazing around 
 the little cupboard of a room. "At any rate," he 
 added, in an effort to hide his dissatisfaction, "it's a 
 pleasure to become better acquainted with such a 
 what shall I say? whimsical fellow as yourself?"
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 307 
 
 "That's it," returned the bard. "Whimsical !" 
 
 "I dare say you have had many a chance to 
 turn an honest penny or two, if you had not been 
 so skeptical, as you call it?" remarked the patroon, 
 significantly. "People, I presume, have even offered 
 to pay you for publishing the compliments of the sea- 
 son about their neighbors ?" 
 
 "Well," answered the scribbler, laughing, "I may 
 have Midas' longing for gold, but I also have his 
 ears. And the ears predominate. I am such an ass 
 I have even returned a fair petitioner's perfumed note ! 
 Such a dainty little hand! How good the paper 
 smelt! How devilish it read! The world's idea 
 about the devil always smelling of sulphur and brim- 
 stone is a slander on that much abused person. I 
 can positively affirm that he smells of musk, attar, 
 myrrh; as though he had lain somewhere with a 
 lady's sachet or scent-bag." 
 
 "Really you should revise Milton," murmured the 
 land baron, carelessly, his interest quite gone. "But 
 I must be moving on." And he arose. "Good even- 
 ing!" 
 
 "Good night !" said Straws, going to the door after 
 his departing guest. "Can you see your way down? 
 Look out for the turn ! And don't depend too much 
 on the bannisters they're rather shaky. Well, he's 
 gone!" Returning once more to the room. "We're 
 coming up in the world, my dear, when such fashion- 
 able callers visit us ! What do you think of him ?"
 
 308 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "He is very handsome !" replied the child. 
 
 "Oh, the vanity of the sex! Is he is he hand- 
 somer than I ?" 
 
 "Are you handsome?" she asked. . 
 
 "Eh? Don't you think so?" 
 
 "No-o," she cried, in a passion of distressed truth- 
 fulness. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear! What a flattering creature 
 you'll become, if you keep on as you've begun ! How 
 you'll wheedle the men, to be sure!" 
 
 "But mustn't I say what I think ?" 
 
 "Always! I'm a bad adviser! Think of bringing 
 up a young person, especially a girl, to speak the 
 truth ! What a time she'll have !" 
 
 "But I couldn't do anything else!" she continued, 
 with absorbing and painful anxiety. 
 
 "Don't, then ! I'm instructing you to your destruc- 
 tion, but don't ! I'm a philosopher in the School for 
 Making Simpletons. What will you do when you 
 go out into the broad world with truth for your ban- 
 ner and your heart on your sleeve ?" 
 
 "How could I have my heart on my sleeve?" asked 
 Celestina. 
 
 "Because you couldn't help it !" 
 
 "Really and truly on my sleeve?" 
 
 "Really and truly !" he affirmed, gravely. 
 
 "How funny P answered the girl. 
 
 "No; tragic! But what shall we do now, Celes- 
 tina?" 
 
 "Wash the dishes," said the child, practically.
 
 A CYNICAL BARD 309 
 
 "But, my dear, we won't need them until to-mor- 
 row," expostulated the poet. "Precipitancy is a bad 
 fault. Now, if you had proposed a little music, or a 
 fairy tale " 
 
 "Oh, I could wash them while you played, or told 
 me a story," suggested the child, eagerly. 
 
 "That isn't such a bad idea," commented Straws, 
 reflectively. 
 
 "Then you will let me ?" she asked. 
 
 "Go ahead !" said the bard, and he reached for the 
 whistle.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SWEETEST THING IN NATURE 
 
 The city, bustling and animated by day, like an en- 
 ergetic housewife, was at night a gay demoiselle, 
 awakening to new life and excitement. The clerk 
 betook himself to his bowling or billiards and the me- 
 chanic to the circus, while beauty and fashion repaired 
 to the concert room or to the Opera Frangais, to listen 
 to Halevy or Donizetti. Restless Americans or Irish- 
 men rubbed elbows with the hurrying Frenchman or 
 Spaniard, and the dignified Creole gentleman of lei- 
 sure alone was wrapped in a plenitude of dignity, 
 computing probably the interest he drew on money 
 loaned these assiduous foreigners. 
 
 Soldiers who had been granted leave of absence or 
 had slipped the guard at the camp on Andrew Jack- 
 son's battle-ground swaggered through the streets. 
 The change from a diet of pork and beans and army 
 hard tack was so marked that Uncle Sam's young 
 men threw restraint to the winds, took the mask balls 
 by storm and .gallantly assailed and made willing 
 prisoners of the fair sex. Eager to exchange their 
 (310)
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 311 
 
 irksome life in camp for the active campaign in Mex- 
 ico, it was small wonder they relieved their impatience 
 by many a valiant dash into the hospitable town. 
 
 Carriages drove by with a rumble and a clatter, re- 
 vealing a fleeting glimpse of some beauty with full, 
 dark eye. Venders of flowers importuned the pass- 
 ers-by, doing a brisk business ; the oyster and coffee 
 stands reminded the spectator of a thoroughfare in 
 London on a Saturday night, ^with the people congre- 
 gating about the street stalls; but the brilliantly illu- 
 mined places of amusement, with their careless pa- 
 trons plainly apparent to all from without, resembled 
 rather a boulevard scene in the metropolis of France. 
 "Probably," says a skeptical chronicler, "here and 
 there are quiet drawing-rooms, and tranquil firesides, 
 where domestic love is a chaste, presiding goddess." 
 But the writer merely presumes such might have been 
 the case, and it is evident from his manner of expres- 
 sion, he offers the suggestion, or after-thought, char- 
 itably, with some doubts in his mind. Certainly he 
 never personally encountered the chaste goddess of 
 the hearth, or he would have qualified his words and 
 made his statement more positive. 
 
 From the life of the streets, the land baron turned 
 into a well-lighted entrance, passing into a large, lux- 
 uriously furnished saloon, at one end of which stood 
 a table somewhat resembling a roulette board. Seated 
 on one side was the phlegmatic cashier, and, opposite 
 him, the dealer, equally impassive. Unlike faro 
 the popular New Orleans game no deal box was
 
 312 THE STROLLERS 
 
 needed, the dealer holding the cards in his hand, while 
 a cavity in the center of the table contained a basket, 
 where the cards, once used, were tin-own. A large 
 chandelier cast a brilliant light upon the scene. 
 
 "Messieurs, faites vos jeux" drawled the monoto- 
 nous voice of the dealer, and expectation was keenly 
 written on the faces of the double circle of players 
 variously disclosed, but, nevertheless, apparent in all; 
 a transformation of the natural expression of the feat- 
 ures; an obvious nervousness of manner, or where 
 the countenance was impassive, controlled by a strong 
 will, a peculiar glitter of the eyes, betokening the most 
 insatiable species of the gambler. As the dealer be- 
 gan to shuffle together six packs of cards and place 
 them in a row on the table, he called out : 
 
 "Nothing more goes, gentlemen!" 
 
 The rapidity with which the cashier counted the 
 winnings at a distance and shoved them here and there 
 with the long rake was amazing and bewildering to 
 the novice risking a few gold pieces for the first time 
 on the altar of chance. Sorting the gold pieces in 
 even bunches, the cashier estimated them in a moment ; 
 shoved them together; counted an equal amount of 
 fives with his fingers; made a little twirl in the pile 
 on the table; pushed it toward the winning pieces 
 and left them tumbled up together in pleasing con- 
 fusion. 
 
 "Messieurs, faites vos " 
 
 And the clinking went on, growing louder and 
 louder, the clinking of gold, which has a particularly
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 313 
 
 musical sound, penetrating, crystalline as the golden 
 bells of Exodus, tinkling in the twilight of the temple 
 on the priest's raiment. The clinking, clinking, that 
 lingers in the brain long after, drawing the players 
 to it night after night; an intoxicating murmur, 
 singing the desires that dominate the world; the jing- 
 ling that makes all men kin ! 
 
 "Oh, dear!" said a light feminine voice, as the 
 rapacious rake unceremoniously drew in a poor, di- 
 minutive pile of gold. "Why did I play? Isn't it 
 provoking ?" 
 
 "You have my sympathy, Mistress Susan," breathed 
 a voice near her. 
 
 Looking around, she had the grace to blush becom- 
 ingly, and approached Mauville with an expressive 
 gesture, leaving Adonis and Kate at the table. 
 
 "Don't be shocked, Mr. Mauville," she began, hur- 
 riedly. "We were told it was among the sights, and, 
 having natural curiosity " 
 
 "I understand. Armed with righteousness, why 
 should not one go anywhere?" 
 
 "Why, indeed?" she murmured. 
 
 "But I'm afraid I'm taking you from your play?" 
 
 "I'm not going to play any more to-night." 
 
 "Tired, already?" 
 
 "No; but but I haven't a cent. That miserable 
 table has robbed me of everything. All I have left" 
 piteously "are the clothes on my back." 
 
 "Something must have been the matter with your 
 'system.' But if a temporary loan "
 
 314 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Susan was tempted, gazing longingly at the table, 
 with the fever burning in her. 
 
 "No," she said, finally. "I think I would win, but, 
 of course, I might lose." 
 
 "A wise reservation ! Never place your fortune on 
 the hazard of the die." 
 
 "But I have ! What's the use of making good res- 
 olutions now? It's like closing the barn-door after 
 
 
 
 "Just so!" he agreed. "But it might have been 
 worse." 
 
 "How?" In dismay. "Didn't that stony-looking 
 man rake in my last gold piece? He didn't even 
 look sorry, either. But what is the matter with your 
 arm?" The land baron's expression became ominous. 
 "You shook hands with your left hand. Oh, I see; 
 the duel !" Lightly. 
 
 "How did you hear about it?" asked Mauville, irri- 
 tably. 
 
 "Oh, in a roundabout way. Murder will out! 
 And Constance she was so solicitous about Mr. 
 Saint-Prosper, but rather proud, I believe, because 
 he" with a laugh "came off victorious." 
 
 Susan's prattle, although accompanied by innocent 
 glances from her blue eyes, was sometimes the most 
 irritating thing in the world, and the land baron, 
 goaded beyond endurance, now threw off his careless 
 manner and swore in an undertone by "every devil in 
 Satan's calendar."
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 315 
 
 "Can you not reserve your soliloquy until you leave 
 me?" observed Susan, sweetly. "Otherwise " 
 
 "I regret to have shocked your ladyship," he mur- 
 mured, satirically. 
 
 "I forgive you." Raising her guileless eyes. 
 "When I think of the provocation, I do not blame 
 you so much !" 
 
 "That is more than people do in your case," mut- 
 tered the land baron savagely. 
 
 Susan's hand trembled. "What do you mean?" 
 she asked, not without apprehension regarding his 
 answer. 
 
 "Oh, that affair with the young officer the lad 
 who was killed in the duel, you know " 
 
 Her composure forsook her for the moment and 
 she bit her lip cruelly. 
 
 "Don't!" she whispered. "I am not to blame. I 
 never dreamed it would go so far! Why should 
 people " 
 
 "Why?" he interposed, ironically. 
 
 Susan pulled herself together. "Yes, why?" she 
 repeated, defiantly. "Can women prevent men from 
 making fools of themselves any more than they can 
 prevent them from amusing themselves as they will? 
 To-day it is this toy ; to-morrow, another. At length" 
 bitterly "a woman comes to consider herself only 
 a toy." 
 
 Her companion regarded her curiously. "Well, 
 well!" he ejaculated, finally. "Losing at cards 
 doesn't agree with your temper."
 
 316 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Nor being worsted by Saint-Prosper with yours !" 
 she retorted quickly. 
 
 Mauville looked virulent, but Susan, feeling that 
 she had retaliated in ample measure, recovered her 
 usual equanimity of temper and placed a conciliatory 
 hand sympathetically on his arm. 
 
 "We have both had a good deal to try us, haven't 
 we? But how stupid men are!" she added suddenly. 
 "As if you could not find other consolation !" 
 
 He directed toward her an inquiring glance. 
 
 "Some time ago, while I was acting in London," re- 
 sumed Susan, thoughtfully, "the leading lady refused 
 to receive the attentions of a certain odious English 
 lord. She was to make her appearance in a piece 
 upon which her reputation was staked. Mark what 
 happened ! She was hissed ! Hissed from the stage ! 
 My lord led this hostile demonstration and all his. 
 hired claqueurs joined in. She was ruined; ruined!" 
 concluded Susan, smiling amiably. 
 
 "You are ingenious, Mistress Susan not to say a 
 trifle diabolical. Your plan " 
 
 She opened her eyes widely. "I have suggested no 
 plan," she interrupted, hurriedly. 
 
 "Well, let us sit down and I will tell you about a 
 French officer who But here is a quiet corner, 
 Mistress Susan, and if you will promise not to repeat 
 it, I will regale you with a bit of interesting gossip." 
 
 "I promise they always do !" she laughed. 
 
 For such a frivolous lady, Susan was an excellent
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 317 
 
 listener. She, who on occasions chattered like a mag- 
 pie, was now silent as a mouse, drinking in the oth- 
 er's words with parted lips and sparkling eyes. First 
 he showed her the letter Francois had brought him. 
 Unmarked by postal indications, the missive had evi- 
 dently been intrusted to a private messenger of the 
 governor whose seal it bore. Dated about three years 
 previously, it was written in a somewhat illegible, 
 but not unintelligible, scrawl, the duke's own hand- 
 writing. 
 
 "I send you, my dear marquis," began the duke, "a 
 copy of the secret report of the military tribunal ap- 
 pointed to investigate the charges against your kins- 
 man, Lieut. Saint-Prosper, and regret the finding of 
 the court should have been one of guilty of treason. 
 
 "Saint-Prosper and Abd-el-Kader met near the 
 tomb of a marabout. From him the French officer 
 received a famous ruby which he thrust beneath his 
 zaboot the first fee of their compact. That night 
 when the town lay sleeping, a turbaned host, armed 
 with yataghans, stole through the flowering cactuses. 
 Sesame! The gate opened to them; they swarmed 
 within ! The soldiers, surprised, could render little re- 
 sistance; the ruthless invaders cut them down while 
 they were sleeping or before they could sound the 
 alarm. The bravest blood of France flowed lavishly in 
 the face of the treacherous onslaught; blood of men 
 who had been his fastest friends, among whom he had 
 been so popular for his dauntless courage and devil-
 
 318 THE STROLLERS 
 
 may-care temerity ! But a period, fearfully brief, and 
 the beloved tri-color was trampled in the dust ; the bar- 
 barian flag of the Emir floated in its place. 
 
 "All these particulars, and the part Saint-Prosper 
 played in the terrible drama, Abd-el-Kader, who is 
 now our prisoner, has himself confessed. The ne- 
 cessity for secrecy, you, my dear Marquis, will appre- 
 ciate. The publicity of the affair now would work 
 incalculable injury to the nation. It is imperative to 
 preserve the army from the taint of scandal. The na- 
 tion hangs on a thread. God knows there is iniquity 
 abroad. I, who have labored for the honor of France 
 and planted her flag in distant lands, look for defeat, 
 not through want of bravery, but from internal causes. 
 A matter like this might lead to a popular uprising 
 against the army. Therefore, the king wills it shall 
 be buried by his faithful servants." 
 
 As Mauville proceeded Susan remained motionless, 
 her eyes growing larger and larger, until they shone 
 like two lovely sapphires, but when he concluded she 
 gave a little sigh of pleasure and leaned back with a 
 pleased smile. 
 
 "Well?" he said, finally, after waiting some mo- 
 ments for her to speak. 
 
 "How piquantly wicked he is!" she exclaimed, 
 softly. 
 
 "Piquantly, indeed!" repeated the land baron, 
 dryly. 
 
 "And he carries it without a twinge ! What a pet- 
 rified conscience !"
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 319 
 
 "I believe you find him more interesting than ever ?" 
 said Mauville, impatiently. 
 
 "Possibly!" Languidly. "An exceptional moral 
 ailment sometimes makes a man more attractive 
 like a an interesting subject in a hospital, you know! 
 But I have always felt," she continued, with sudden 
 seriousness, "there was something wrong with him. 
 When I first saw him, I was sure he had had no ordi- 
 nary past, but I did not dream it was quite so what 
 shall we call it " 
 
 "Unsavory ?" suggested her companion. 
 
 "That accounts for his unwillingness to talk about 
 Africa," went on Susan. "Soldiers, as a rule, you 
 know, like to tell all about their sanguinary exploits. 
 But the tented field was a forbidden topic with him. 
 And once when I asked him about Algiers he was 
 almost rudely evasive." 
 
 "He probably lives in constant fear his secret will 
 become known," said Mauville, thoughtfully. "As a 
 matter of fact, the law provides that no person is to be 
 indicted for treason unless within three years after the 
 offense. The tribunal did not return an indictment; 
 the three years have just expired. Did he come to 
 America to make sure of these three years ?" 
 
 But Susan's thoughts had flitted to another feature 
 of the story. 
 
 "How strange my marquis should be connected 
 with the case! What an old compliment-monger he 
 was ! He vowed he was deeply smitten with me."
 
 320 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "And then went home and took to his bed !" added 
 Mauville, grimly. 
 
 "You wretch!" said the young woman, playfully. 
 "So that is the reason the dear old molly-coddle did 
 not take me to any of the gay suppers he promised? 
 Is it not strange Saint-Prosper has not met him ?" 
 
 "You forget the marquis has been confined to his 
 room since his brief, but disastrous, courtship of you. 
 His infatuation seems to have brought him to the 
 verge of dissolution." 
 
 "Was it not worth the price?" she retorted, rising. 
 "But I see my sister and Adonis are going, so I must 
 be off, too. So glad to have met you !" 
 
 "You are no longer angry with me ?" 
 
 "No ; you are very nice," she said. "And you have 
 forgiven me ?" 
 
 "Need you ask?" Pressing her hand. "Good ev- 
 ening, Mistress Susan!" 
 
 "Good evening. Oh, by the way, I have an ap- 
 pointment with Constance to rehearse a little scene 
 together this evening. Would you mind loaning me 
 that letter ?" 
 
 "With pleasure ; but remember your promise." 
 
 "Promise?" repeated the young woman. 
 
 "Not to tell." 
 
 "Oh, of course," said Susan. 
 
 "But if you shouldn't" 
 
 "Then?" 
 
 "Then you might say the marquis, your friend and
 
 THE SWEETEST THING 321 
 
 admirer, gave you the letter. It would, perhaps, be 
 easier for you to account for it than for me." 
 
 "But if the marquis should learn " began the 
 other, half-dubiously. 
 
 "He is too ill for anything except the grave." 
 
 "Oh, the poor old dear !" 
 
 She looked at the gaming table with its indefatigable 
 players and then turned to Kate and Adonis who ap- 
 proached at that moment. "How did you come out, 
 Adonis?" 
 
 "Out," he said, curtly. 
 
 "Lucky in love, unlucky at" began Kate. 
 
 "Then you must be very unlucky in love," he re- 
 torted, "for you were a good winner at cards." 
 
 "Oh, there are exceptions to that rule," said Kate 
 lazily, with a yawn. "I'm lucky at both in New 
 Orleans !" 
 
 "I have perceived it," retorted Adonis, bitterly. 
 
 "Don't quarrel," Susan implored. Regarding the 
 table once more, she sighed: "I'm so sorry I came!" 
 
 But her feet fairly danced as she flew towards the 
 St. Charles. She entered, airy as a saucy craft, with 
 "all sails in full chase, ribbons and gauzes streaming 
 at the top," and, with a frou-frou of skirts, burst into 
 Constance's room, brimful of news and importance. 
 She remained there for some time, and when she left, 
 it was noteworthy her spirits were still high. In 
 crossing the hall, her red stockings became a fitting 
 color accompaniment to her sprightly step, as she
 
 322 THE STROLLERS 
 
 moved over the heavy carpet, skirts raised coquet- 
 tishly, humming with the gaiety of a young girl who 
 has just left boarding school. 
 
 "A blooming, innocent creature!" growled an up- 
 the-river planter, surveying her from one of the land- 
 ings. "Lord love me, if she were only a quadroon, 
 I'd buy her!"
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A DEBUT IN THE CRESCENT CITY 
 
 A versatile dramatic poet is grim Destiny, making 
 with equal facility tragedy, farce, burletta, masque or 
 mystery. The world is his inn, and, like the wander- 
 ing master of interludes, he sets up his stage in the 
 courtyard, beneath the windows of mortals, takes out 
 his figures and evolves charming comedies, stirring 
 melodramas, spirited harlequinades and moving di- 
 vertissement. But it is in tragedy his constructive 
 ability is especially apparent, and his characters, trip- 
 ping along unsuspectingly in the sunny byways, are 
 suddenly confronted by the terrifying mask and real- 
 ize life is not all pleasant pastime and that the Greek 
 philosophy of retribution is nature's law, preserving 
 the unities. When the time comes, the Master of 
 events, adjusting them in prescribed lines, reaches by 
 stern obligation the avoidless conclusion. 
 
 Consulting no law but his own will, the Marquis 
 
 de Ligne had lived as though he were the autocrat of 
 
 fate itself instead of one of its servants, and therefore 
 
 was surprised when the venerable playwright pre- 
 
 (323)
 
 324 THE STROLLERS 
 
 pared the unexpected denouement. In pursuance of 
 this end, it was decreed by the imperious and incon- 
 trovertible dramatist of the human family that this 
 crabbed, vicious, antiquated marionette should wend 
 his way to the St. Charles on a particular evening. 
 Since the day at the races, the eccentric nobleman 
 had been ill and confined to his room, but now he 
 was beginning to hobble around, and, immediately 
 with returning strength, sought diversion. 
 
 "Frangois," he said, "what is there at the theater 
 to-night ?" 
 
 "Comic opera, my lord?" 
 
 The marquis made a grimace. "Comic opera out- 
 side of Paris !" he exclaimed, with a shrug of the 
 shoulders. 
 
 "A new actress makes her debut at the St. 
 Charles." 
 
 "Let it be the debut, then! Perhaps she will fail, 
 and that will amuse me." 
 
 "Yes, my lord." 
 
 "And, by the way, Frangois, did you see anything 
 of a large envelope, a buff-colored envelope, I thought 
 I left in my secretary?" 
 
 "No, my lord." But Frangois became just a shade 
 paler. 
 
 "It is strange," said the marquis, half to himself, 
 "what could have become of it! I destroyed other 
 papers, but not that. You are sure, Frangois, you did 
 not steal it?" 
 
 By this time the servant's knees began to tremble,
 
 IN THE CRESCENT CITY 
 
 325 
 
 and, had the marquis' eyesight been better, he could 
 not have failed to detect the other's agitation. But 
 the valet assumed a bold front, as he asked : 
 4 "Why should I have stolen it ?" 
 
 "True, why?" grumbled the marquis. "It would 
 be of no service to you. No; you didn't take it. I 
 believe you honest in this case !" 
 
 "Thank you, my lord!" 
 
 "After all, what does it matter?" muttered the no- 
 bleman to himself. "What's in a good name to-day 
 with traitors within and traitors without? 'Tis 
 love's labor lost to have protected it! We've fos- 
 tered a military nest of traitors. The scorpions will 
 be faithful to nothing but their own ends. They'll 
 fight for any master." 
 
 Recalled to his purpose of attending the play by 
 Francois' bringing from the wardrobe sundry articles 
 of attire, the marquis underwent an elaborate toilet, 
 recovering his good humor as this complicated opera- 
 tion proceeded. Indeed, by the time it had reached 
 a triumphant end and the valet set the marquis before 
 a mirror, the latter had forgotten his dissatisfaction 
 at the government in his pleasure with himself. 
 
 "Too much excitement is dangerous, is it ?" he mum- 
 bled. "I am afraid there will be none at all. A stage- 
 struck young woman ; a doll-like face, probably ; a 
 milk-and-water performance! Now, in the old days 
 actors were artists. Yes, artists!" he repeated, as 
 though he had struck a chord that vibrated in his mem- 
 ory.
 
 326 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Arriving at the theater, he was surprised at th~e 
 scene of animation; the line of carriages; the crowd 
 about the doors and in the entrance hall! Evidently 
 the city eagerly sought novelty, and Barnes' company, 
 offering new diversion after many weeks of opera, 
 drew a fair proportion of pleasure-seekers to the por- 
 tals of the drama. The noise of rattling wheels and 
 the banging of carriage doors; the aspect of many 
 fair ladies, irreproachably gowned; the confusion of 
 voices from venders hovering near the gallery en- 
 trance imparted a cosmopolitan atmosphere to the 
 surroundings. 
 
 "You'd think some well-known player was going to 
 appear, Francois!" grumbled the marquis, as he 
 thrust his head out of his carriage. "Looks like a 
 theater off the Strand! And there's an orange-girl! 
 A dusky Peggy !" 
 
 The vehicle of the nobleman drew up before the 
 brilliantly-lighted entrance. Mincingly, the marquis 
 dismounted, assisted by the valet ; within he was met 
 by a loge director who, with the airs of a Chesterfield, 
 bowed the people in and out. 
 
 "Your ticket, sir!" said this courteous individual, 
 scraping unusually low. 
 
 The marquis waved his hand toward his man, and 
 Frangois produced the bits of pasteboard. Escorted 
 to his box, the nobleman settled himself in an easy 
 chair, after which he stared impudently and inquisi- 
 tively around him. 
 
 And what a heterogeneous assemblage it was ; of
 
 IN THE CRESCENT CITY 327 
 
 how many nationalities made up; gay bachelors, rep- 
 resentatives of the western trade and eastern manu- 
 facturers; a fair sprinkling of the military element, 
 seeking amusement before departing for the front, their 
 orass buttons and striking new uniforms a grim re- 
 minder of the conflict waging between the United 
 States and Mexico; cotton brokers, banking agents, 
 sugar, tobacco and flour dealers; some evidently En- 
 glish with their rosy complexions, and others French by 
 their gesticulations ! And among the women, dash- 
 ing belles from Saratoga, proud beauties from Louis- 
 ville, "milliner-martyred" daughters of interior plan- 
 ters, and handsome Creole matrons, in black gowns 
 that set off their white shoulders ! 
 
 In this stately assemblage to particularize for a 
 moment! was seated the (erstwhile!) saintly Mad- 
 ame Etalage, still proud in her bearing, although white 
 as an angel, and by her side, her carpet knight, an 
 extravagant, preposterous fop. A few seats in front 
 of her prattled the lovely ingenue, little Fantoccini, a 
 biting libeller of other actresses, with her pitiless 
 tongue. To her left was a shaggy-looking gentleman, 
 the Addison of New Orleans' letters, a most tolerant 
 critic, who never spoke to a woman if he could avoid 
 doing so, but who, from his philosophical stool, viewed 
 the sex with a conviction it could do no wrong; a 
 judgment in perspective, as it were! 
 
 The marquis paid little attention to the men; it 
 was the feminine portion of the audience that inter- 
 ested him, and he regarded it with a gloating leer, the
 
 328 THE STROLLERS 
 
 expression of a senile satyr. Albeit a little on the 
 seamy side of life, his rank and wealth were such 
 that he himself attracted a good deal of attention, 
 matronly eyes being turned in his direction with not 
 unkindly purport. The marquis perceived the stir 
 his presence occasioned and was not at all displeased ; 
 on the contrary, his manner denoted gratification, smil- 
 ing and smirking from bud to blossom and from blos- 
 som to bud ! 
 
 How fascinating it was to revel in the sight of so 
 much youth and beauty from the brink of the grave 
 whereon he stood ; how young it made him feel again ! 
 He rubbed his withered hands together in childish 
 delight, while he contemplated the lively charms of 
 Fantoccini or devoted himself to the no less divert- 
 ing scrutiny of certain other dark-haired ladies. 
 
 While occupied in this agreeable pastime the noble- 
 man became dimly conscious the debutante had ap- 
 peared and was greeted with the moderate applause 
 of an audience that is reserving its opinion. "Gad," 
 said one of the dandies who was keenly observing the 
 nobleman, "it's fashionable to look at the people and 
 not at the actors!" And he straightway stared at 
 the boxes, assuming a lackadaisical, languishing air. 
 Having taken note of his surroundings to his satisfac- 
 tion, the marquis at length condescended to turn his 
 eye-glass deliberately and quizzically to the stage. 
 His sight was not the best, and he gazed for some time 
 before discerning a graceful figure and a pure, oval 
 face, with dark hair and eyes.
 
 IN THE CRESCENT CITY 329 
 
 "Humph, not a bad stage presence!" he thought. 
 "Probably plenty of beauty, with a paucity of talent ! 
 That's the way nowadays. The voice why, where 
 have I heard it before? A beautiful voice! What 
 melody, what power, what richness ! And the face " 
 Here he wiped the moisture from his glasses "if 
 the face is equal to the voice, she has an unusual com- 
 bination in an artist." 
 
 Again he elevated the glass. Suddenly his attenu- 
 ated frame straightened, his hand shook violently and 
 the glasses fell from his nerveless fingers. 
 
 "Impossible!" he murmured. But the melody of 
 those tones continued to fall upon his ears like a voice 
 from the past. 
 
 When the curtain went down on the first act there 
 was a storm of applause. In New Orlean's nothing 
 was done by halves, and Constance, as Adrienne Le- 
 couvreur, radiant in youth and the knowledge of suc- 
 cess, was called out several times. The Creoles made 
 a vigorous demonstration; the Americans were as 
 pleased in their less impulsive way ; and in the loges 
 all the lattices were pushed up, "a compliment to any 
 player," said Straws. To the marquis, the ladies 
 in the loges were only reminiscent of the fashionable 
 dames, with bare shoulders and glittering jewels, in 
 the side boxes of old Drury Lane, leaning from their 
 high tribunals to applaud the Adrienne of twenty years 
 ago! 
 
 He did not sit in a theater in New Orleans now, but 
 in London town, with a woman by his side who bent
 
 330 THE STROLLERS 
 
 beneath the storm of words she knew were directed 
 at her. As in a dream he lingered, plunged in 
 thought, with no longer the cynical, carping expres- 
 sion on his face as he looked at the stage, but awed 
 and wonder-sticken, transported to another scene 
 through the lapse of years that folded their shadowy 
 wings and made the past to-day. Two vivid pictures 
 floated before him as though they belonged to the 
 present : Adrienne, bright, smiling and happy, as she 
 rushed into the green room, with the plaudits of the 
 multitude heard outside; Adrienne, in her last mo- 
 ments, betrayed to death ! 
 
 They were applauding now, or was it but the mock- 
 ing echo of the past? The curtain had descended, 
 but went up again, and the actress stood with flowers 
 showered around her. Save that she was in the spring- 
 time of life, while the other had entered summer's 
 season; that her art was tender and romantic, rather 
 than overwhelming and tragic, she was the counter- 
 part of the actress he had deserted in London ; a 
 faithful prototype, bearing the mother's eyes, brow and 
 features ; a moving, living picture of the dead, as 
 though the grave had rolled back its stone and she 
 had stepped forth, young once more, trusting and- in- 
 nocent. 
 
 The musical bell rang in the wine room, where the 
 worshipers of Bacchus were assembled, the signal 
 that the drop would rise again in five minutes. At 
 the bar the imbibers were passing judgment.
 
 IN THE CRESCENT CITY 
 
 331 
 
 "What elegance, deah boy! But cold give me 
 Fantoccini !" cried the carpet knight. 
 
 "Fantoccini's a doll to her!" retorted the worldly 
 young spark addressed. 
 
 "A wicked French doll, then! What do you 
 think ?" Turning to the local Addison. 
 
 "Sir, she 'snatches a grace beyond the reach of 
 art' !" replied that worthy. 
 
 "You ask for a criticism, and he answers in poetry !" 
 retorted the first speaker. 
 
 "Tis only the expression of the audience!" inter- 
 posed another voice. 
 
 "Oh, of course, Mr. Mauville, if you, too, take her 
 part, that is the end of it !" 
 
 The land baron's smile revealed withering contempt, 
 as with eyes bright with suppressed excitement, and 
 his face unusually sallow, he joined the group. 
 
 "The end of it !" he repeated, fixing his glance upon 
 the captious dandy. "The beginning, you mean ! The 
 beginning of her triumphs !" 
 
 "Oh, have your own way!" answered the discon- 
 certed critic. 
 
 Mauville deliberately turned his back. "And such 
 dunces sit in judgment!" he muttered to the scholar. 
 
 "Curse me, Mauville's in a temper to-night!" said 
 the spark in a low voice. "Been drinking, I reckon! 
 But it's time for the next act !" 
 
 Punches and juleps were hastily disposed of, and the 
 imbibers quickly sought their places. This sudden 
 influx, with its accompanying laughter and chattering,
 
 332 THE STROLLERS 
 
 aroused the marquis from "his lethargy. He started 
 and looked around him in bewilderment. The noise 
 and the light conversation, however, soon recalled his 
 mind to a sense of his surroundings, and he en- 
 deavored to recover his self-possession. 
 
 Could it be possible it was but a likeness his imagina- 
 tion had converted into such vivid resemblance? A 
 sudden thought seized him and he looked around 
 toward the door of the box. 
 
 "Francois !" he called, and the valet, who had been 
 waiting his master's pleasure without, immediately 
 appeared. 
 
 "Sit down, Francois!" commanded the marquis. 
 "I am not feeling well. I may conclude to leave soon, 
 and may need your arm." 
 
 The servant obeyed, and the nobleman, under pre- 
 tense of rinding more air near the door, drew back his 
 chair, where he could furtively watch his man's face. 
 The orchestra ceased; the curtain rose, and the valet 
 gazed mechanically at the stage. In his way, Francois 
 was as blase as his master, only, of course, he under- 
 stood his position too well to reveal that lassitude and 
 ennui, the expression of which was the particular priv- 
 ilege of his betters. He had seen many great actresses 
 and heard many peerless singers ; he had delved after 
 his fashion into sundry problems, and had earned as 
 great a right as any of the nobility to satiety and de- 
 fatigation in his old age, but unfortunately he was 
 born in a class which may feel but not reveal, and mask 
 alike content and discontent.
 
 IN THE CRESCENT CITY 
 
 333 
 
 Again those tones floated out from the past; mu- 
 sical, soft ! The marquis trembled. Did not the man 
 notice ? No ; he was still looking gravely before him. 
 Dolt ; did he not remember ? Could he not recall the 
 times beyond number when he had heard that voice ; in 
 the ivy-covered cottage; in the garden of English 
 roses ? 
 
 Suddenly the valet uttered an exclamation ; the stolid 
 aspect of his face gave way to an obvious thrill of in- 
 terest. 
 
 "My lord P he cried. 
 
 "An excellent actress, Frangois; an excellent ac- 
 tress !" said the marquis, rising. "Is that my coat ? 
 Get it for me. What are you standing there for? 
 Your arm ! Don't you see I am waiting ?" 
 
 Overwrought and excitable, he did not dare remain 
 for the latter portion of the drama ; better leave before 
 the last act, he told himself, and, dazed by the reap- 
 pearance of that vision, the old man fairly staggered 
 from the box. 
 
 The curtain fell for the last time, and Barnes, with 
 exultation, stood watching in the wings. She had 
 triumphed, his little girl ; she had won the great, gen- 
 erous heart of New Orleans. He clapped his hands 
 furiously, joining in the evidences of approval, and, 
 when the ovation finally ceased and she approached, 
 the old manager was so overcome he had not a word 
 to say. She looked at him questioningly, and he who 
 had always been her instructor folded her fondly to 
 his breast.
 
 334 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "I owe it all to you," she whispered. 
 
 "Pooh!" he answered. "You stole fire from 
 heaven. I am but a theatrical, bombastic, barn- 
 storming Thespian." 
 
 "Would you spoil me?" she interrupted, tenderly. 
 
 "You are your mother over again, my dear ! If she 
 were only here now! But where is Saint-Prosper? 
 He has not yet congratulated you? He, our good 
 genius, whose generosity has made all this possible !" 
 And Barnes half-turned, when she placed a detaining 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 "No, no!" 
 
 "Why, my dear, have you and he " 
 
 "Is it not enough that you are pleased?" replied 
 Constance, hastily, with a glance so shining he forgot 
 all further remonstrances. 
 
 "Pleased !" exclaimed Barnes. "Why, I feel as gay 
 as Momus ! But we'll sing Te Deum later at the 
 festive board. Go now and get ready 1"
 
 CHAP T E R X 
 
 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 
 
 A supper was given the company after the per- 
 formance by the manager, to which representatives 
 of the press artful Barnes! had been invited. 
 Of all the merry evenings in the bohemian world, that 
 was one of the merriest. Next to the young girl sat 
 the Count de Propriac, his breast covered with a dou- 
 ble row of medals. Of the toasts drunk to Constance, 
 the manager, poets Straws and Phazma, etc., un- 
 fortunately no record remains. Of the recollections 
 of the wiry old lady; the impromptu verse of the 
 rhymsters; the roaring speech of Mr. Barnes; the 
 song and dainty flower dance by Susan and Kate 
 only the bare facts have descended to the chronicler. 
 
 So fancy must picture the wreaths of smoke; the 
 superabundance of flowers, the fragrance of cigars 
 mingling with the perfume of fading floral beauties; 
 the pale dark-eyed girl presiding, upon her dusky hair 
 a crown of laurel, set there, despite her protestations, 
 by Phazma and Straws ; the devotion of the count to 
 his fair neighbor; the almost superhuman pride of 
 .(335)
 
 336 THE STROLLERS 
 
 noisy Barnes; the attention bestowed by Susan upon 
 Saint-Prosper, while through his mind wandered the 
 words of a French song: 
 
 "Adieu, la cour, adieu les dames; 
 Adieu les filles et les feinmes " 
 
 Intermixed with this sad refrain the soldier's 
 thoughts reverted to the performance, and amidst the 
 chatter of Susan, he reviewed again and again the de- 
 tails of that evening. Was this the young girl who 
 played in school-houses, inns or town halls, he had 
 asked himself, seated in the rear of the theater ? How 
 coldly critical had been her auditors ; some of the 
 faces about him ironical ; the bored, tired faces of men 
 who had well-nigh drained life's novelties; the arti- 
 ficially vivacious faces of women who played at light- 
 heartedness and gaiety! Yet how free from concern 
 had she been, as natural and composed as though her 
 future had not depended upon that night ! When she 
 won an ovation, he had himself forgotten to applaud, 
 but had sat there, looking from her to the auditors, 
 to whom she was now bound by ties of admiration 
 and friendliness. 
 
 "Don't you like her ?" a voice next to him had asked. 
 
 Like her ? He had looked at the man, blankly. 
 
 "Yes," he had replied. 
 
 Then the past had seemed to roll between them : the 
 burning sands; the voices of the troops; the bugle 
 call ! In his brain wild thoughts had surged and 
 flowed as they were surging and flowing now.
 
 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 337 
 
 "Is he not handsome, Constance's new admirer?" 
 whispered Susan. "What can he be saying? She 
 looks so pleased! He is very rich, isn't he?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Saint-Prosper, brusquely. 
 
 Again the thoughts surged and surged, and the past 
 intruded itself ! Reaching for his glass, he drank 
 quickly. 
 
 "Don't you ever feel the effects of wine?" asked the 
 young woman. 
 
 His glance chilled her, it seemed so strange and 
 steely ! 
 
 "I believe you are so so strong you don't even no- 
 tice it," added Susan, with conviction. "But you 
 don't have half as good a time !" 
 
 "Perhaps I enjoy myself in my way," he answered. 
 
 "What is your way ?" she asked quickly. "You don't 
 appear to be wildly hilarious in your pleasures." And 
 Susan's bright eyes rested on him curiously. "But 
 we were speaking about the count and Constance. 
 Don't you think it would be a good match?" she 
 continued with enthusiasm. "Alas, my titled admirer 
 got no further than the beginning. But men are 
 deceivers ever! When they do reach the Songs of 
 Solomon, they pass on to Exodus !" 
 
 "And leave the fair ones to Lamentations," said 
 Straws, who had caught her last remarks. 
 
 "Or Revelations !" added Phazma. 
 
 At the sound of their laughter, Constance looked 
 coldly their way, until a remark from the count at her 
 right, and, "As I was saying, my dear," from the old
 
 338 THE STROLLERS 
 
 lady at her left, engrossed the young girl's attention 
 once more. But finally the great enemy of joy the 
 grim guardian of human pleasure the reaper whose 
 iron hands move ever in a circle, symbolical of eternity 
 finally, Time reminded Barnes that the hour had 
 surely arrived when the curtain should descend upon 
 these festivities. So he roared out a last blithe fare- 
 well, and the guests departed one by one, taking with 
 them flowers in memory of the occasion, until all had 
 left save Constance, the count, Saint- Prosper and the 
 manager. Barnes was talking somewhat incoherently, 
 holding the soldier by the coat and plunging into suc- 
 cessive anecdotes about stage folk, while Saint-Pros- 
 per, apparently listening, observed the diplomat and 
 Constance, whose conversation he could overhear. 
 
 "As I said to the Royal Infanta of Spain, flattery 
 flies before truth in your presence, Mademoiselle," 
 sighed the count. And then raising her hand to his 
 lips, "Ah, ma chere Mademoiselle, que je vous adore!" 
 he whispered. 
 
 She withdrew it hastily, and, ogling and gesticulat- 
 ing, he bowed himself out, followed by the manager. 
 
 Leaning against the chair, her figure outlined by 
 the glow from the crystal chandelier, her face in 
 shadow, the hand the diplomat had pressed to his lips, 
 resting in the exposed light on the mahogany, the 
 gaiety went out of her face, and the young girl wearily 
 brushed the hair from her brow. As if unaware of 
 the soldier's presence, she glanced absently at the table
 
 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 339 
 
 in its wrecked glory, and, throwing her lace wrap over 
 her arm, was moving toward the door, when he spoke. 
 
 "Miss Carew!" 
 
 She paused, standing with clasped hands before 
 him, while the scarf slipped from her arm and fell at 
 her feet. 
 
 "May I not also tell you how glad I am that you 
 succeeded to-night?" 
 
 "I dislike congratulations !" she said, indifferently. 
 
 He looked at her quickly, but her eyes expressed 
 only apathy. In his a sudden gleam of light appeared. 
 
 "From me, you mean ?" The light became brighter. 
 
 She did not answer. His self-control was fast 
 ebbing. 
 
 "You underestimate your favors, if you fancy they 
 are easily forgotten I" 
 
 A crimson flush extended to her brow; the uncon- 
 cern died out of her eyes. 
 
 "I do not understand," she answered, slowly. 
 
 "When a woman says .'I do not understand,' she 
 means 'I wish to forget'." 
 
 Her wide-open glance flashed ominously to his; 
 she clasped and unclasped her fingers. 
 
 "Forget what?" she said, coldly. 
 
 "Nameless nothings!" he returned. "A smile a 
 glance nothing to you, perhaps, but" the set expres- 
 sion of his face giving way to abrupt passion ! "every- 
 thing to me! Perhaps I had not meant to say this, 
 but it seems as though the words must come out to-
 
 340 THE STROLLERS 
 
 night. It may be" his voice vibrating with strange 
 earnestness "for once I want to be myself. For 
 weeks we have been friends and then suddenly 
 you begin to treat me how? As though I no longer 
 existed! Why did you deceive me let me drift on? 
 Because I was mute, did you think I was blind ? Why 
 did I join the strollers the land baron accused me of 
 following you across the country. He was right; I 
 was following you. I would not confess it to my- 
 self before. But I confess it now! It was a fool's 
 paradise," he ended, bitterly. 
 
 She shrank back before his vehement words ; some- 
 thing within her appeared violated; as though his 
 plea had penetrated the sanctity of her reserve. 
 
 "Would it not be well to say nothing about decep- 
 tion?" she replied, and her dark eyes swept his face. 
 Then, turning from him abruptly, she stepped to the 
 window, and, drawing aside the lace curtains mechan- 
 ically, looked out. 
 
 The city below was yet teeming with life, lights 
 gleaming everywhere and shadowy figures passing. 
 Suddenly out of the darkness came a company of 
 soldiers who had just landed, marching through the 
 streets toward the camping ground and singing as 
 they went. 
 
 The chorus, like a mighty breath of patriotism, 
 filled her heart to overflowing. It seemed as though 
 she had heard it for the first time; had never before 
 felt its potency. All the tragedy of war swept before
 
 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 341 
 
 her; all that inspiring, strange affection for country, 
 kith and kin, suddenly exalted her. 
 
 Above the tramping of feet, the melody rose and fell 
 on the distant air, dying away as the figures vanished 
 in the gloom. With its love of native land, its expres- 
 sion of the unity of comradeship and ties stronger than 
 death, the song appeared to challenge an answer; 
 and, when the music ceased, and only the drum-beats 
 still seemed to make themselves heard, she raised her 
 head without moving from her position and looked 
 at him to see if he understood. But though she 
 glanced at him, she hardly saw him. In* her mind 
 was another picture the betrayed garrison; the sol- 
 diers slain! and the horror of it threw such a film 
 over her gaze that he became as a figure in some dis- 
 tressing dream. 
 
 An inkling of her meaning the mute questioning 
 of her eyes the dread evoked by that revolting 
 vision of the past were reflected in his glance. 
 
 "Deceived you?" he began, and his voice, to her, 
 sounded as from afar. "How what " 
 
 "Must it be could it be put into words ?" 
 
 The deepest shadows dwelt in her eyes ; shadows he 
 could not penetrate, although he still doggedly, yet 
 apprehensively, regarded her! Watching her, his 
 brow grew darker. 
 
 "Why not ?" he continued, stubbornly. 
 
 Why? The dimness that had obscured her vision 
 lifted. Now she saw him very plainly, indeed; tall
 
 342 THE STROLLERS 
 
 and powerful ; his face, harsh, intense, as though by 
 the vigor of physical and mental force he would over- 
 ride any charge or imputation. 
 
 Why ? She drew herself up, as he quickly searched 
 her eyes, bright with the passions that stirred her 
 breast. 
 
 "You told me part of your story that day in the 
 property wagon," she began, repugnance, scorn and 
 anger all mingling in her tones. "Why did you not 
 tell me the rest?" 
 
 His glance, too, flashed. Would he still profess 
 not to understand her? His lips parted; he spoke 
 with an effort. 
 
 "The rest?" he said, his brow lowering. 
 
 "Yes," she answered quickly; "the stain upon your 
 name! the garrison sold! the soldiers killed! 
 murdered ! " 
 
 She had turned to him swiftly, fiercely, with her last 
 words, but before the look of sudden shame and dread 
 on his face, her eyes abruptly fell as though a portion 
 of his dishonor had inexplicably touched her. He 
 made no attempt to defend himself motionless he 
 stood an instant then, without a word, he moved 
 away. At the threshold he paused, but she did not 
 look up could not ! A moment ; an eternity ! 
 
 "Why don't you go?" she cried. "Why don't you 
 go?" 
 
 The door opened, closed ; sKe was alone. 
 
 Pale as the dying lilies on the table, she stepped 
 toward the threshold, when Barnes, chipper and still
 
 LAUGHTER AND TEARS 343 
 
 indefatigable, entered by another door. He was too 
 inspired with festal intoxication to observe her agita- 
 tion. 
 
 "What, my dear!" he exclaimed cheerily. "Has 
 he gone? Did you make up your little differences? 
 Did you settle your quarrel before he leaves for Mex- 
 ico?" 
 
 "For Mexico !" she repeated, mechanically. 
 
 "Of course. He has his commission in the army 
 and leaves early in the morning. But you look tired, 
 my dear. I declare you are quite pale" pinching her 
 cheek "rest will bring back the roses, though." 
 
 Impulsively she threw her arms around his neck. 
 
 "Why, why, what's this ?" he said, patting her head. 
 
 "I only care for you," she whispered. "My dear! 
 My dear !"
 
 THE PASSING OF A FINE GENTLEMAN 
 
 " 'Perhaps she will fail, and that will amuse me,' " 
 ruminated Francois on his high seat next to the coach- 
 man, repeating the marquis' words, as they drove 
 home after the nobleman's precipitous retreat from 
 the theater. "Well, he didn't look as though he had 
 been particularly amused. But no wonder he was 
 startled ! It even" reviewing the impression first 
 made upon him at sight of the actress "sent a shiver 
 through me!" Here the carriage drew up sharp'y 
 before the marquis' home, and Frangois, hastily 
 alighting, threw open the door. 
 
 "Eh? What? Are we here?" muttered the mar- 
 quis, starting from the corner where he had been re- 
 clining. 
 
 He arose with some difficulty; traversed the side- 
 walk and the shell-strewn path to the house which 
 loomed darkly before them; paused at the foot of the 
 stairs where he breathed heavily, complaining of the 
 oppressiveness of the air; and finally, with the assist- 
 ance of the valet, found himself once more in his 
 (344)
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 345 
 
 room, the sick chamber he had grown to detest! 
 Here alone having dismissed the servant as soon as 
 possible he moved restlessly to and fro, pondering 
 deeply. Since the moment when he had seen and 
 recognized his daughter, all the buoyancy which had 
 given his wasted figure a sort of galvanic vitality 
 seemed to vanish. It was like the exhaustion of a 
 battery, the collapse of the sustaining power. 
 
 "That resemblance can not be coincidence!" he 
 thought. "Oh, errors of the past, you come home in 
 our old age when the limbs are faltering and life is 
 failing!" 
 
 Going to the secretaire, he took out a box that 
 had not been opened in years, and, with trembling 
 fingers, turned over many papers. He shivered, and, 
 thinking it was cold, stirred the fire. Returning to 
 the secretary, he took from the box a package 
 tied with a ribbon still, after the lapse of these 
 many years, slightly fragrant, and he breathed that 
 perfume, so faint, so subtle, while recollections smote 
 him like a knife. 
 
 Its scent was familiar to him; it seemed to bring 
 life to the dead, and for the moment in his mind's 
 eye he saw her glowing figure, the love of his youth, 
 with flashing, revengeful eyes and noble mein. He 
 cowered over the desk, as if shrinking from an aveng- 
 ing spirit, while the perfume, like opium, filled his 
 brain with strange fantasies. He strove to drown re^ 
 membrance, but some force it seemed not his own ! 
 drove him irresistibly to untie that ribbon, to scrutin-
 
 346 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ize many old theater programs and to gaze upon a 
 miniature in ivory depicting a woman in the loveli- 
 ness of her charms, but whose striking likeness to 
 the young actress he had just seen filled his heart 
 with strange fear. Some power surely it could not 
 have been his will which rebelled strenuously ! im- 
 pelled him to open those letters and to read them 
 word for word. The tenderness of the epistles fell 
 on his heart as though to scorch it, and he quivered 
 like a guilty wretch. His eyes were fascinated by 
 these words in her last letter : "Should you desert 
 me and your unborn child, your end will be miserable. 
 As I believe in retribution, I am sure you will reap as 
 you have sown." 
 
 Suddenly the reader in a frenzy threw the letter to 
 the floor and trampled on it. He regarded the face 
 in the miniature with fear and hatred, and dashing it 
 into the drawer, called down maledictions on her. 
 He ceased abruptly, weak and wavering. 
 
 "I am going insane," he said, laughing harshly. 
 "Fool ! To let that woman's memory disturb me. 
 So much for her dire prophecy!" And he snapped 
 his fingers and dropped the letter in the fire. 
 
 "What can her curse avail?" he said aloud. "She 
 is gone, turned to ashes like that paper and there is 
 no life after this one. All then is nothing emptiness 
 a blank! I need rest. It is this cursed dyspepsia 
 which has made me nervous. Something to compose 
 me, and then to bed!"
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 347 
 
 In spite of soothing powders, however, he passed 
 a restless night and arose unrefreshed, but ordered 
 his valet to bring one of his lightest suits, and, hav- 
 ing dressed, he set a white flower upon his coat, while 
 the servant proceeded to apply various pigments to 
 the wrinkled face, until it took on a mocking sem- 
 blance to the countenance of a man fifteen years 
 younger. The marquis leered at himself in the pier- 
 glass and assumed a jauntiness of demeanor he was 
 far from feeling. 
 
 "I do not look tired or worried, Frangois?" 
 
 "Not at all, my lord," replied the obsequious valet. 
 "I never saw you, my lord, appear so young and well." 
 
 "Beneath the surface, Frangois, there is age and 
 weakness," answered the marquis in a melancholy 
 tone. 
 
 "It is but a passing indisposition, my lord," asserted 
 the servant, soothingly. 
 
 "Perhaps. But, Frangois" peering around "as 
 I look over my shoulder, do you -know what I see ?" 
 
 The almost hideous expression of the roue's face 
 alarmed the servant. 
 
 "No, my lord, what is it?" 
 
 "A figure stands there in black and is touching me. 
 It is the spirit of death, Frangois. You can not see 
 it, but there it is " 
 
 "My lord, you speak wildly." 
 
 "I have seen some strange things, Frangois. The 
 dead have arisen. And I have received my warning.
 
 348 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Soon I shall join those dark specters which once gaily 
 traversed this bright world. A little brandy and soda, 
 Francois." 
 
 The servant brought it to him. The marquis leered 
 awfully over his shoulder once more. "Your health, 
 my guest!" he exclaimed, laughing harshly. "But 
 my hat, Francois ; I have business to perform, impor- 
 tant business !" 
 
 He ambled out of the room. On the street he 
 was all politeness, removing his hat to a dark bru- 
 nette who rolled by in her carriage, and pausing to 
 chat with another representative of the sex of the 
 blond type. Then he gaily sauntered on, until reach- 
 ing the theater he stopped and made a number of in- 
 quiries. Who was the manager of Constance Carew ? 
 Where was he to be found? "At the St. Charles 
 hotel?" He was obliged to Monsieur, the ticket- 
 seller, and wished him good-day. 
 
 Entering the hotel, he sent his card to Barnes, re- 
 questing an interview, and the manager, overcome 
 by the honor of such a visit, responded with alacrity. 
 The customary formalities over, the nobleman con- 
 gratulated Barnes on the performance and led the 
 conversation to the young actress. 
 
 "Pardon my curiosity," he said, with apparent care- 
 lessness, "but I'm sure I remember an actress of the 
 same name in London many years ago?" 
 
 "Her mother, undoubtedly," replied the manager, 
 proudly. 
 
 "She was married, was she not, to "
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 
 
 349 
 
 "A scoundrel who took her for his wife in one 
 church and repudiated the ties through another de- 
 nomination !" 
 
 "Ah, a French-English marriage!" said the mar- 
 quis, blandly. "An old device! But what was this 
 lover's name?" 
 
 "This husband's, my lord!" 
 
 "Lover or husband, I fancy it is all the same to her 
 now," sneered the caller. "She has passed the point 
 where reputation matters." 
 
 "Her reputation is my concern, Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis !" 
 
 "You knew her?" asked the nobleman, as though 
 the conversation wearied him. "And she was faith- 
 ful to his memory ? No scandals none of those little 
 affairs women of her class are prone to? There" 
 as Barnes started up indignantly "spare me your 
 reproaches! I'm too feeble to quarrel. Besides, what 
 is it to me? I was only curious about her that is 
 all ! But she never spoke the name of her husband ?" 
 
 "Not even to her own child !" 
 
 "She does not know her father's name?" repeated 
 the marquis. "But I thank you; Mademoiselle Con- 
 stance is so charming I must needs call to ask if she 
 were related to the London actress ! Good-day, Mon- 
 sieur! You are severe on the lover. Was it not the 
 fashion of the day for the actresses to take lovers, or 
 for the fops to have an opera girl or a comedienne? 
 Did your most popular performers disdain such diver- 
 sions?" he sneered. "Pardie, the world has suddenly
 
 350 THE STROLLERS 
 
 become moral ! A gentleman can no longer, it would 
 seem, indulge in gentlemanly follies." 
 
 Mumbling about the decadence of fashion, the mar- 
 quis departed, his manner so strange the manager 
 gazed after him in surprise. 
 
 With no thought of direction, his lips moving, talk- 
 ing to himself in adynamic fashion, the nobleman 
 walked mechanically on until he reached the great 
 cathedral. The organ was rolling and voices arose 
 sweet as those of seraphim. He hesitated at the portal 
 and then laughed to himself. "Well has Voltaire 
 said : 'Pleasure has its time ; so, too, has wisdom. 
 Make love in thy youth, and in old age, attend to thy 
 salvation.' " He repeated the latter words, but, al- 
 though he paused at the threshold and listened, he 
 did not enter. 
 
 As he stood there, uncertain and trembling, a figure 
 replete with youth and vigor approached, and, glanc- 
 ing at her, an exclamation escaped him that caused her 
 to pause and turn. 
 
 "You are not well," she said, solicitously. "Can 
 I help you?" 
 
 "It is nothing, nothing!" answered the marquis, 
 ashy pale at the sight of her and the proximity of that 
 face which regarded him with womanly sympathy. 
 "Go away." 
 
 "At least, let me assist you. You were going to 
 the cathedral? Come!" 
 
 His hand rested upon her strong young arm ; he felt 
 himself too weak to resist, so, together father and
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 351 
 
 daughter! they entered the cathedral. Side by side 
 they knelt he to keep up the farce, fearing to un- 
 deceive her while yet only mocking words came to 
 the old man's heart, as the bitterness of the situation 
 overwhelmed him. She was a daughter in whom a 
 prince might have found pride, but he remained there 
 mute, not daring to speak, experiencing all the tor- 
 tures of remorse and retribution. Of what avail had 
 been ambition? How had it overleaped content and 
 ease of mind ! Into what a nest of stings and thorns 
 his loveless marriage had plunged him ! And now 
 but the black shadow remained ; he walked in the dark- 
 ness of unending isolation. So he should continue 
 to walk straight to the door of death. 
 
 He scarcely heard the organ or the voice of the 
 priest. The high altar, with its many symbols, sug- 
 gested the thousands that had worshiped there and 
 gone away comforted. Here was abundant testimony 
 of the blessings of divine mercy in the numerous 
 costly gifts and in the discarded crutches, and here 
 faith had manifested itself for generations. 
 
 The marquis' throat was hoarse; he could have 
 spoken no words if he had tried. He laughed in his 
 heart at the gifts of the grateful ones; those crosses 
 of ivory and handsome lamps were but symbols of 
 barbarism and superstition. The tablets, with their 
 inscriptions, "Merci" and "Ex voto," were to him 
 absurd, and he gibed at the simple credulity of the 
 people who could thus be misled. All these evidences 
 of thanksgiving were but cumulative testimony that
 
 THE STROLLERS 
 
 men and women are like little children, who will be 
 pleased over fairy tales or frightened over ghost 
 stories. The promise of paradise, but the fairy tale 
 told by priests to men and women ; the threats of pun- 
 ishment, the ghost stories to awe them ! A malicious 
 delight crept into his diseased imagination that he 
 alone in the cathedral possessed the extreme divina- 
 tion, enabling him to perceive the emptiness of all 
 these signs and symbols. He labored in a fever of 
 mental excitement and was only recalled to himself 
 as his glance once more rested upon the young girl. 
 
 He became dimly conscious that people were mov- 
 ing past them, and he suddenly longed to cry out, 
 "My child !" but he fought down the impulse. There 
 could be no turning back now at the eleventh hour ; 
 the marquis was a philosopher, and did not believe 
 that, in a twinkling of an eye, a man may set behind 
 all that has transpired and regard it as naught. Some- 
 thing within held him from speaking to her perhaps 
 his own inherent sense of the consistency of things ; 
 his appreciation of the legitimate finale to a miserable 
 order of circumstances! Even pride forbade depart- 
 ure from long-established habit. But while this 
 train of thought passed through his mind, he realized 
 she was regarding him with clear, compassionate 
 eyes, and he heard her voice : 
 
 "Shall we go now? The services are over." 
 
 He obeyed without question. 
 
 "Over!" 
 
 Those moments by her side would never return!
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 353 
 
 They were about to part to meet no more on earth. He 
 leaned heavily upon her arm and his steps were falter- 
 ing. Out into the warm sunshine they passed, the 
 light revealing- more plainly the ravages of time in 
 his face. 
 
 "You must take a carriage," she said to the old 
 man. 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," he replied. "Leave me 
 here on the bench. I shall soon be myself. I am 
 only a little weak. You are good to an old man. 
 May I not" asking solely for the pleasure of hear- 
 ing her speak "may I not know the name of one 
 who is kind to an old man ?" 
 
 "My name is Constance Carew." 
 
 He shook as with the palsy. "A good name, a 
 good name!" he repeated. "I remember years ago 
 another of that name an actress in London. A very 
 beautiful woman, and good ! But even she had her de- 
 tractors and none more bitter than the man who 
 wronged her. You you resemble her! But there, 
 don't let me detain you. I shall do very well here. 
 You are busy, I dare say." 
 
 "Yes, I should be at rehearsal," she replied re- 
 gretfully. 
 
 "At rehearsal!" he repeated. "Yes! yes! . But 
 the stage is no place for you!" he added, suddenly. 
 "You should leave it leave it!" 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. "Is there nothing 
 more I can do for you ?" 
 
 "Nothing! Nothing! Except no, nothing!"
 
 354 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "You were about to ask something?" she observed 
 with more sympathy. 
 
 "If you would not think me presuming if you 
 would not deem it an offense you remind me of one 
 I loved and lost it is so long ago since I felt her 
 kiss for the last time I am so near the grave " 
 
 With tears in her eyes, she bent her head and her 
 fresh young lips just touched his withered brow. 
 
 "Good-by," she said. "I am so sorry for you !" 
 And she was gone, leaving him sitting there motion- 
 less as though life had departed. 
 
 A rattling cab that clattered noisily past the cabildo 
 and calaboza, and swung around the square, aroused 
 the marquis. He arose, stopped the driver, and en- 
 tered the rickety vehicle. 
 
 "The law office of Marks and Culver," said the 
 marquis. 
 
 The man lashed his horse and the attenuated quad- 
 ruped flew like a winged Pegasus, soon drawing up 
 before the attorneys' office. Fortunately Culver was 
 in, and, although averse to business on any day 
 thinking more of his court-yard and his fountain 
 than of his law books this botanist-solicitor made 
 shift to comply with the marquis' instructions and 
 reluctantly earned a modest fee. He even refused to 
 express surprise at my lord's story ; one wife in Lon- 
 don, another in Paris ; why, many a southern gentle- 
 man had two families quadroons being plentiful, 
 why not? Culver unobtrusively yawned, and, with 
 fine courtesy, bowed the marquis out.
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 355 
 
 Slowly the latter retraced his steps to his home; 
 his feet were heavy as lead; his smile was forced; 
 he glanced frequently over his shoulder, possessed by 
 a strange fantasy. 
 
 "I think I will lie down a little," he said to his valet. 
 "In this easy chair; that will do. I am feeling well; 
 only tired. How that mass is repeated in my mind ! 
 That is because it is Palestrina, Francois ; not because 
 it is- a vehicle to salvation, employed by the gibber- 
 ing priests. Never let your heart rule your head, 
 boy. Don't mistake anything for reality. 'What 
 have you seen in your travels?' was asked of Sage 
 Evemere. 'Follies !' was the reply. 'Follies, follies 
 everywhere!' We never live; we are always in the 
 expectation of living." 
 
 He made an effort to smile which was little more 
 than a grimace. 
 
 "A cigar, Francois !" 
 
 "My lord, are you well ? " 
 
 The marquis flew into a rage and the valet placed 
 an imported weed in his master's hand. 
 
 "A light, Frangois !" 
 
 The valet obeyed. For a moment the strong cigar 
 seemed to soothe the old man, although his hand 
 shook like an aspen as he held it. 
 
 "Now, bring me my Voltaire," commanded the 
 marquis. "The volume on the table, idiot ! Ah ! here 
 is what I wish : 'It takes twenty years to bring man 
 from the state of embryo, and from that of a mere 
 criminal, as he is in his first infancy, to the point when
 
 356 THE STROLLERS 
 
 his reason begins to dawn. It has taken thirty cen- 
 turies to know his structure ; it would take eternity 
 to know something of the soul; it takes but an in- 
 stant to kill him.' But an instant; but an instant!" 
 he repeated. 
 
 He puffed feebly at the cigar. 
 
 "It is cold here, Francois." 
 
 The servant consulted the thermometer. 
 
 "It is five degrees warmer than you are accustomed 
 to, my lord," he replied. 
 
 "Bring me the thermometer," commanded the old 
 man. "You should not lie, Frangois. It is a bad 
 fault in servants. Leave it to your masters; it is a 
 polite vice. The privilege of the world's potentates, 
 diplomats and great people. Never fall into the rut 
 of lying, Francois, or you will soon outlive your use- 
 fulness as a valet." 
 
 "You can see that I speak the truth, my lord," was 
 the response, as calm as ever, for nothing disturbed 
 or ruffled this ideal servant. 
 
 He held out the thermometer for the marquis' in- 
 spection and the latter examined it carefully. The 
 cigar fell from his fingers to the floor. The atten- 
 tive valet picked it up and threw it into the grate. 
 
 "I believe, Frangois," stammered the marquis, 
 "that the fault lies with me. It is I I, who am grow- 
 ing cold like death." 
 
 "Yes, my lord," answered the calm and imperturba- 
 ble servant.
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 357 
 
 ' 'Yes ?' you blockhead !" shrieked the master. "Do 
 you know what you are saying?" 
 
 "Well, no, then, my lord," responded the unmoved 
 valet. 
 
 "Yes and no!" shouted the marquis in a voice that 
 was wildly discordant. "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Whatever my lord pleases," was the quiet re- 
 sponse. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! I'll discharge you." 
 
 The servant only smiled. 
 
 "Why did you smile?" 
 
 "Oh, my lord" 
 
 "Was it not that you thought it a good joke for a 
 dying man to discharge his servant?" 
 
 "My lord is quick to catch the humorous side of 
 anything," returned Francois. 
 
 "Begone, idiot! You are waiting for my death to 
 discharge you. I can see it in your eyes. Yet stay, 
 Frangois, for, if you leave me, I shall be alone. You 
 will not leave me ?" 
 
 "As my lord desires," was Frangois' response. 
 
 "I imagine I should feel better if I had my foot- 
 bath." 
 
 The servant removed the shoes and silken stock- 
 ings from his master's feet and propped him up in a 
 chair, throwing a blanket over his shoulders and 
 heaping more wood upon the fire in the grate. 
 
 "More fire, you idiot !" cried the marquis, peevishly. 
 "Do you not see that I am freezing?"
 
 358 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "It is ten degrees above the temperature my lord 
 always ordered," retorted Francois, coolly. 
 
 "Ten degrees! Oh, you wish to remind me that 
 the end is approaching? You do not dare deny it!" 
 The valet shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "But I am not gone yet." He wagged his head 
 cunningly and began to laugh to himself. His mind 
 apparently rambled, for he started to chant a French 
 love song in a voice that had long since lost its ca- 
 pacity for a sustained tone. The words were dis- 
 tinct, although the melody was broken, and the spec- 
 tacle was gruesome enough. As he concluded he 
 looked at the valet as if for approbation and began 
 to mumble about his early love affairs. 
 
 "Bah, Franqois," he said shrilly, "I'll be up to- 
 morrow as gay as ever. Vive I' amour! vive la joie! 
 It was a merry life we led, eh, Francois?" 
 
 "Merry indeed, my lord." 
 
 "It kept you busy, Francois. There was the little 
 peasant girl on the Rhine. What flaxen hair she had 
 and eyes like the sky ! Yet a word of praise a little 
 flattery" 
 
 "My lord was irresistible," said the valet with mild 
 sarcasm. 
 
 "Let me see, Francois, what became of her?" 
 
 "She drowned herself in the river." 
 
 "That is true. I had forgotten. Well, life is meas- 
 ured by pleasures, not by years, and I was the prince 
 of coxcombs. Up at ten o'clock; no sooner on ac-
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 359 
 
 count of the complexion ; then visits from the trades- 
 people and a drive in the park to look at the ladies. 
 It was there I used to meet the English actress. 
 'Twas there, with her, I vowed the park was a gar- 
 den of Eden! What a scene, when my barrister 
 tried to settle the case! Fortunately a marriage in 
 England was not a marriage in France. I saw her 
 last night, Francois" with an insane look "in the 
 flesh and blood; as life-like as the night before we 
 took the stage for Brighton !" Suddenly he shrieked 
 and a look of terror replaced the vain, simpering ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "There, Frangois !" Glancing with awe behind him. 
 And truly there stood a dark shadow; a gruesome 
 presence. His face became distorted and he lapsed 
 into unconsciousness. 
 
 The valet gazed at him with indifference. Then he 
 went to an inner room and brought a valise which he 
 began packing carefully and methodically. After he 
 had completed this operation he approached the dress- 
 ing table and took up a magnificent jeweled watch, 
 which he examined for a moment before thrusting 
 it into his pocket. A snuff box, set with diamonds, 
 and several rings followed. Frangois with the same 
 deliberation opened a drawer and took out a small 
 box which he tried to open, and, failing, forced the 
 lid with the poker. At this, my lord opened his eyes, 
 and, in a weak voice, for his strength had nearly de- 
 serted him, demanded :
 
 360 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "What are you doing, Frangois?" 
 
 "Robbing you, my lord," was the slow and digni- 
 fied response. 
 
 The marquis' eyes gleamed with rage. He en- 
 deavored to call out, but his voice failed him and he 
 fell back, trembling and overcome. 
 
 "Thief! Ingrate!" he hissed, hoarsely. 
 
 "I beg you not to excite yourself, my lord," said 
 the stately valet. "You are already very weak and 
 it will hasten the end." 
 
 "Is this the way you repay me ?" 
 
 "My lord will not need these things soon." 
 
 "Have you no gratitude?" stammered the marquis, 
 whose physical and mental condition was truly piti- 
 able. 
 
 "Gratitude for having been called 'idiot/ 'dog,' and 
 'blockhead' nearly all my life! I am somewhat lack- 
 ing in that quality, I fear." 
 
 "Is there no shame in you ?" 
 
 "Shame?" repeated Francois, as he proceeded to 
 ransack another drawer. "There might have been 
 before I went into your service, my lord. Yes ; once 
 I felt shame for you. It was years ago, in London, 
 when you deserted your beautiful wife. When I saw 
 how she worshiped you and what a noble woman she 
 was, I confess I felt ashamed that I served one of the 
 greatest blackguards in Europe " 
 
 "Oh, you scoundrel " exclaimed the marquis, his 
 face becoming a ghastly hue. 
 
 "Be calm, my lord. You really are in need of all
 
 A FINE GENTLEMAN 361 
 
 your energy. For years I have submitted to your 
 shameful service. I have been at the beck and call 
 of one of the greatest roues and villains in France. 
 Years of such association would somewhat soil any 
 nature. Another thing, my lord, I must tell you, 
 since you and I are settling our last accounts. For 
 years I have endured your miserable King Louis 
 Philippe. A king ? Bah ! He fled from the back 
 door ! A coward, who shaved his whiskers for a dis- 
 guise." 
 
 "No more, rascal !" 
 
 "Rascal yourself, you worn-out, driveling breath 
 of corruption ! It is so pleasant to exercise a gentle- 
 man's privilege of invective! Ah, here is the purse. 
 An revoir, my lord. A pleasant dissolution!" 
 
 But by this time the marquis was speechless, and 
 Francois, taking the valise in hand, deferentially left 
 the room. He locked the door behind him and thrust 
 the key into his pocket.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 
 
 The engagement at the new St. Charles was both 
 memorable and profitable, The Picayune, before the 
 fifties, an audacious sheet, being especially kind to 
 the players. "This paper," said a writer of the 
 day, "was as full of witticisms as one of Thack- 
 eray's dreams after a light supper, and, as for Edi- 
 tors Straws and Phazma, they are poets who eat, 
 talk and think rhyme." The Picayune contained a 
 poem addressed to Miss Carew, written by Straws in 
 a cozy nook in the veranda at the Lake End, with his 
 absinthe before him and the remains of an elaborate 
 repast about him. It was then quite the fashion to 
 write stanzas to actresses ; the world was not so pro- 
 saic as it is now, and even the president of the United 
 States, John Quincy Adams, penned graceful verses 
 to a fair ward of Thalia. 
 
 One noon, a few days after the opening perform- 
 ance, several members of the company were late for 
 rehearsal and Barnes strode impatiently to and fro, 
 glancing at his watch and frowning darkly. To 
 (362)
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 363 
 
 avenge himself for the remissness of the players, he 
 roared at the stage carpenters who were constructing 
 a balcony and to the supers who were shifting flats 
 to the scenery room. The light from an open door 
 at the back of the stage dimly illumined the scene ; 
 overhead, in the flies, was intense darkness ; while in 
 front, the auditorium yawned like a chasm, in no wise 
 suggestive of the brilliant transformation at night. 
 
 "Ugh!" said Susan, standing in one of the en- 
 trances. "It is like playing to ghosts ! Fancy per- 
 forming to an audience of specters ! Perhaps the 
 phantoms of the past really do assemble in their old 
 places on occasions like this. Only you can't hear 
 them applaud or laugh." 
 
 "Are you looking for admirers among ghosts?" re- 
 marked Hawkes, ironically. 
 
 "Don't," she returned, with a little shiver. 
 
 "So, ladies and gentlemen, you are all here at last ?" 
 exclaimed Barnes, interrupting this cheerful conversa- 
 tion. "Some of you are late again to-day. It must 
 not happen again. Go to Victor's, Moreau's, or Mig- 
 uel's, as much as you please. If you have a head- 
 ache or a heartache in consequence, that is your own 
 affair, but I am not to be kept waiting the next day." 
 
 "Victor's, indeed!" retorted the elastic old lady. 
 "As if " 
 
 "No one supposed, Madam, that at your age" 
 began the manager. 
 
 "At my age ! If you think 
 
 "Are you all ready?" interrupted Barnes, hastily,
 
 364 THE STROLLERS 
 
 knowing he would be worsted in any argument with 
 this veteran player. "Then clear the stage! Act 
 first!" And the rehearsal began. 
 
 If the audience were specters, the performers 
 moved, apparently without rhyme or reason, mere 
 shadows on the dimly lighted stage; enacting some 
 semblance to scenes of mortal life; their jests and 
 gibes, unnatural in that comparatively empty place ; 
 their voices, out of the semi-darkness, like those of 
 spirits rehearsing acts of long ago. In the evening 
 it would all become an amusing, bright-colored re- 
 ality, -but now the barrenness of the scenes was forci- 
 bly apparent. 
 
 "That will do for to-day," said the manager at the 
 conclusion of the last act. "To-morrow, ladies and 
 gentlemen, at the same time. And any one who is 
 late will be fined !" 
 
 "Changing the piece every few nights is all work 
 and no play," complained Susan. 
 
 "It will keep you out of mischief, my dear," replied 
 Barnes, gathering up his manuscripts. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that!" returned Miss 
 Susan, with a defiant toss of the head, as she moved 
 toward the dressing-room where they had left their 
 wraps. It was a small apartment, fairly bright and 
 cheery, with here and there a portrait against the 
 wall. Above the dressing-table hung a mirror, dia- 
 mond-scratched with hieroglyphic scrawls, among 
 which could be discerned a transfixed .heart, spitted
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 365 
 
 like a lark on an arrow, and an etching of Lady Gay 
 Spanker, with cork-screw curls. Taglioni, in pencil 
 caricature, her limbs "divinely slender," gyrated on 
 her toes in reckless abandon above this mute record 
 of names now forgotten. 
 
 "What lovely roses, Constance!" exclaimed Susan, 
 as she entered, bending over a large bouquet on one 
 of the chairs. "From the count, I presume?" 
 
 "Yes," indifferently answered the young girl, who 
 was adjusting her hat before the mirror. 
 
 "How attentive he is!" cooed Susan, her tones 
 floating in a higher register. "Poor man! Enjoy 
 yourself while you may, my dear," she went on. 
 "When youth is gone, what is left? Women should 
 sow their wild oats as well as men. I don't call them 
 wild oats, though, but paradisaical oats. The Elysian 
 fields are strewn with them.*' 
 
 As she spoke, her glance swept her companion 
 searchingly, and, in that brief scrutiny, Susan ob- 
 served with inward complacency how pale the other 
 was, and how listless her manner! Their common 
 secret, however, made Susan's outward demeanor 
 sweetly solicitous and gently sympathetic. Her mind, 
 passing in rapid review over recent events, dwelt not 
 without certain satisfaction upon results. True, ev- 
 ery night she was still forced to witness Constance's 
 success, which of itself was wormwood and gall to 
 Susan, to stand in the wings and listen to the hateful 
 applause; but the conviction that the sweets of popu-
 
 366 THE STROLLERS 
 
 lar favor brought not what they were expected to 
 bring, was, in a way, an antidote to Susan's dissatis- 
 faction. 
 
 A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and can 
 sometimes be made annoying; in Susan's case it was 
 a weapon sharpened with honeyed phrase and con- 
 solatory bearing, for she was not slow to discover 
 nor to avail herself of the irritating power this knowl- 
 edge gave her. Constance's pride and reticence, how- 
 ever, made it difficult for Susan to discern when her 
 shafts went true. Moreover, although harboring no 
 suspicion of Susan's dissimulation, she instinctively 
 held aloof from her and remained coldly unrespon- 
 sive. Perhaps in the depths of Susan's past lurked 
 something indefinable which threw its shadow be- 
 tween them, an inscrutable impediment ; and her in- 
 ability to penetrate the young actress' reserve, how- 
 ever she might wound her, awakened Susan's resent- 
 ment. But she was too world-wise to display her irri- 
 tation. She even smiled sweetly now, as confidante to 
 confidante, and, turning to her impulsively, said : 
 "Let me help you on with your cloak, dear?" 
 Out of the quiet, deserted theater, isolated from 
 external din, to the busy streets, where drays went 
 thundering by, and industry manifested itself in re- 
 sounding clatter, was a sudden, but not altogether 
 unwelcome, change to Constance. Without waiting 
 for the manager, who paused at the rear entrance to 
 impress his final instructions upon a stolid-looking
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 367 
 
 property-man, she turned quickly into the noisy thor- 
 oughfares. 
 
 On and on her restlessness led her, conscious of the 
 clangor of vehicles and voices and yet remote from 
 them; past those picturesque suggestions of the one- 
 time Spanish rulers in which the antiquarian could 
 detect evidence of remote Oriental infusion; past the 
 silken seductions of shops, where ladies swarmed and 
 hummed like bees around the luscious hive ; past the 
 idlers' resorts, from whence came the rat-a-tat of 
 clinking billiard balls and the louder rumble of 
 falling ten-pins. 
 
 In a window of one of these places, a club with 
 a reputation for "exclusiveness, a young man was 
 seated, newspaper in hand, a cup of black coffee on a 
 small table before him, and the end of a cigar smok- 
 ing on the tray where he had placed it. With a yawn, 
 he had just thrown aside the paper and was reaching 
 for the thick, dark beverage his hand thin and nerv- 
 ous when, glancing without, he caught sight of the 
 actress in the crowd. Obeying a sudden impulse, he 
 arose, picking up his hat which lay on a chair be- 
 side him. 
 
 "Yo' order am ready in a moment, Mr. Mauville," 
 said a colored servant, hurrying toward the land 
 baron as the latter was leaving. 
 
 "I've changed my mind and don't want it," replied 
 the other curtly. 
 
 And sauntering down the steps of the club with
 
 368 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ill-concealed impatience, he turned in the direction 
 the young- girl had taken, keeping her retreating fig- 
 ure in view ; now, so near her in the crowded street, 
 he could almost touch her ; then, as they left the devi- 
 ous ways, more distant, but ever with his eyes bent 
 upon her. He had almost spoken, when in the throng 
 he approached within arm's length, but something 
 he knew not what restrained him, and a press of 
 people separated them. Only for a moment, and 
 then he continued the questionable pleasure of follow- 
 ing her. 
 
 Had she turned, she would probably have seen her 
 pursuer, but absorbed in thought, she continued 
 on her way, unconscious of his presence. On and on 
 she hurried, until she reached the tranquil outskirts 
 and lingered before the gate of one of the cemeteries. 
 At the same time the land baron slackened his foot- 
 steps, hesitating whether to advance or turn back. 
 After a moment's indecision, she entered the ceme- 
 tery ; her figure, receding in the distance, was becom- 
 ing more and more indistinct, when he started for- 
 ward quickly and also passed through the gate. 
 
 The annual festival of the dead, following All 
 Saint's day, was being observed in the burial ground. 
 This commemoration of those who have departed in 
 the communion described by Tertullian in the sec- 
 ond century as an "apostolic tradition," so old was 
 the sacrifice! was celebrated with much pomp and 
 variety in the Crescent City. In the vicinity of the 
 cemetery gathered many colored marchandes, their
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 369 
 
 heads and shoulders draped in shawls and fichus of 
 bright, diversified hues; before them, perambulating 
 booths with baskets of molasses candy or pain-patate. 
 Women, dressed in* mourning, bore to the tomb flow- 
 ers and plants, trays of images, wreaths, crosses, an- 
 chors of dried immortelles and artificial roses. Some 
 were accompanied by priests and acolytes with cen- 
 sers, the former intoning the service: 
 
 Fidelium Deus omnium conditor 
 
 A solemn peace fell upon the young girl as she en- 
 tered and she seemed to leave behind her all disturb- 
 ing emotions, finding refuge in the supreme tran- 
 quillity of this ancient city of the dead. She was 
 surrounded by a resigned grief, a sorrow so dignified 
 that it did not clash with the sweeter influences of 
 nature. The monotonous sound of the words of the 
 priests harmonized with the scene. The tongue of a 
 nation that had been resolved into the elements was 
 fitting in this place, where time and desolation had 
 left their imprint in discolored marble, inscriptions 
 almost effaced, and clambering vines. 
 
 Animabus famulorum 
 
 To many the words so mournfully intoned brought 
 solace and surcease from sorrow. The sisters of char- 
 ity moved among the throng with grave, pale faces, 
 mere shadows of their earthly selves, as though they 
 had undergone the first stage of the great metamor- 
 phosis which is promised. To them, who had al-
 
 370 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ready buried health, vitality and passion, was not 
 this chant to the dead, this strange intoning of words, 
 sweeter than the lullaby crooned by a nurse to a child, 
 more stirring than the patriotic hymn to a soldier, 
 and fraught with more fervor than the romantic 
 dream of a lover ? 
 
 Ut indulgentiam, quam semper optaverunt- 
 
 The little orphan children heard and heeded no 
 more than the butterfly which lighted upon the en- 
 graven words, "Dust to dust," and poised gracefully, 
 as it bathed in the sunshine, stretching its wings in 
 wantonness of beauty. 
 
 Piis supplicationibus consequantur 
 
 Now Constance smiled to see the little ones play- 
 ing on the steps of a monument. It was the tomb of 
 a great jurist, a man of dignity during his mundane 
 existence, his head crammed with those precepts 
 which are devised for the temporal well-being of that 
 fabric, sometimes termed society, and again, civiliza- 
 tion. The poor waifs, with suppressed laughter 
 they dared not give full vent to their merriment with 
 the black-robed sisters not far away ran around the 
 steps, unmindful of the inscription which might have 
 been written by a Johnson, and as unconscious of un- 
 seemly conduct as the insects that hummed in the 
 grass. 
 
 "Hush !" whispered one of the sisters, as a funeral 
 cortege approached.
 
 IN THE OLD CEMETERY 371 
 
 The children, wide-eyed in awe and wonder, de- 
 sisted in their play. 
 
 "It is an old man who died last night," said a nun 
 in a low voice to Constance, noticing her look of in- 
 quiry. 
 
 The silver crucifix shone fitfully ahead, while the 
 chanting of the priests, winding in and out after the 
 holy symbol, fell upon the ear. And the young girl 
 gazed with pity as the remains of the Marquis de 
 Ligne, her father, were borne by. 
 
 Qui vivis et regnas. Glorificamus te.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 
 
 Longer and longer trailed the shadow of a tall tomb- 
 stone until, as the sun went down, it merged into the 
 general twilight like a life lengthening out and out 
 and finally blending in restful darkness. With that 
 transition came a sudden sense of isolation and lone- 
 liness; the little burial ground seemed the world; 
 the sky, its walls and ceiling. 
 
 From the neighborhood of the gates had vanished 
 the dusky venders, trundling their booths and stalls 
 citywards. As abruptly had disappeared the bearers 
 of flowers and artificial roses with baskets poised 
 upon their heads, imparting to their figures dignity 
 and erectness. The sad-eyed nuns had wended their 
 way out of the little kingdom of the departed, sur- 
 rounded by the laughing children and preceded by the 
 priests and acolytes. All the sounds and activities 
 of the day the merriment of the little ones, the ob- 
 lations of the priests, the greetings of friends were 
 followed by inertness and languor. Motionless 
 against the sky spread the branches of the trees, like 
 (372)
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 
 
 373 
 
 lines etched there ; still were the clambering vines that 
 clasped monolith and column. 
 
 But suddenly that death-like lull in nature's ani- 
 mation and unrest was abruptly broken, and an up- 
 roarious vociferation dispelled the voiceless peace. 
 
 * "For Jack ashore's a Croesus, lads, 
 
 With a Jill for every Jack " 
 
 sang a hoarse voice as its owner came staggering 
 along one of the walks of the cemetery; for all his 
 song, no blue-water sailor-man, but a boisterous den- 
 izen of the great river, a raftsman or a keel-boatman, 
 who had somehow found himself in the burial ground 
 and now was beating aimlessly about. How this rol- 
 licking waif of the grog shop came to wander so far 
 from the convivial haunts of his kind and to choose 
 this spot for a ramble, can only be explained by the 
 vagaries of inebriety. 
 
 "With a Jill in your wake, 
 A fair port you'll make " 
 
 he continued, when his eye fell upon the figure of a 
 woman, some distance ahead, and fairly discernible 
 in the gathering twilight. Immediately the song 
 ceased and he steadied himself, gazing incredulously 
 after the form that had attracted his attention. 
 
 "Hello!" he -said. "Avast, my dear!" he called 
 out. 
 
 Echoing in that still place, his harsh tones produced 
 a startling effect, and the figure before him moved
 
 374 THE STROLLERS 
 
 faster and faster, casting a glance behind her at the 
 man from the river, who with snatches of song, 
 started in uncertain but determined pursuit. As the 
 heavy footsteps sounded nearer, she increased her 
 pace, with eyes bent upon the distant gate; darker 
 seemed to grow the way ; more menacing the shad- 
 ows outstretched across the path. Louder crunched 
 the boots on the shell walk ; more audible became the 
 words of the song that flowed from his lips, when the 
 sound of a sudden and violent altercation replaced 
 the hoarse-toned cadence, an altercation that was of 
 brief duration, characterized by longshoreman oaths, 
 and followed by silence; and then a figure, not that 
 of the tuneful waterman, sprang to the side of the 
 startled girl. 
 
 "Miss Carew !" exclaimed a well-remembered voice. 
 
 Bewildered, breathing quickly, she gazed from 
 Edward Mauville, who thus unexpectedly accosted 
 her, to the prostrate form, lying motionless on the 
 road. The rude awakening from her day-dream in 
 the hush of that peaceful place, and the surprising se- 
 quence had dazed her senses, and, for the moment, 
 it seemed something tragic must have happened. 
 
 "Is he dead?" she asked quickly, unable to with- 
 draw her glance from the immovable figure, stretched 
 out in the dim light on the path. 
 
 "No fear !" said Mauville, quietly, almost thought- 
 fully, although his eyes were yet bright from the en- 
 counter. "You can't kill his kind," he added, con- 
 temptuously. "Brutes from coal barges, or raftsmen
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 375 
 
 from the head waters ! He struck against a stone 
 when he fell, and what with that, and the liquor in 
 him, will rest there awhile. He'll come to without 
 remembering what has happened." 
 
 Turning moodily, the land baron walked slowly 
 down the road, away from the gate; she thought he 
 was about to leave her, when he paused, as though 
 looking for something, stooped to the ground, and 
 returned, holding out a garment. 
 
 "You dropped your wrap, Miss Carew," he said, 
 awkwardly. "The night is cold and you will need 
 it." She offered no resistance when he placed it over 
 her shoulders; indeed, seemed unconscious of the at- 
 tention. 
 
 "Don't you think we had better go?" he went on. 
 "It won't hurt him" indicating the motionless body 
 "to stay here the brute !" 
 
 But as he spoke, with some constraint, her eyes, 
 full of doubts, met his, and he felt a flush mantle his 
 face. The incongruity of his position appealed forci- 
 bly to him. Had he not been watching and following 
 her himself? Seeing her helpless, alone, in the silent 
 spot, where she had unconsciously lingered too long, 
 had he not been almost on the point of addressing her ? 
 Moved by vague desires, had he not already started 
 impetuously toward her, when the man from the river 
 had come rollicking along and insinuated himself after 
 his fashion in the other's role? 
 
 And at the sight the fleeing girl, the drunken, 
 profane waterman ! how his heart had leaped and
 
 376 THE STROLLERS 
 
 his body had become steel for the encounter ; an ex- 
 cess of vigor for a paltry task! Jack, as he called 
 himself, might have been a fighting-man earlier in 
 the day, but now he had gone down like straw. 
 When the excitement of this brief collision was over, 
 however, the land baron found his position as unex- 
 pected as puzzling. 
 
 As these thoughts swiftly crossed his mind, he 
 could not forbear a bitter laugh, and she, walking 
 more quickly toward the gate, regarded him with in- 
 quiry, not perhaps unmingled with apprehension. 
 A picture of events, gone by, arose before her like 
 a menacing shadow over the present. He interpreted 
 her glance for what it meant, and angry that she 
 doubted him, angry with himself, said roughly : 
 
 "Oh, you haven't anything to fear !" 
 
 Her answering look was so gentle, so sad, an un- 
 wonted feeling of compunction seized him ; he repent- 
 ed of his harshness, and added less brusquely : 
 
 "Why did you remain so late?" 
 
 "I did not realize how late it had become." 
 
 "Your thoughts must have been very absorbing!" 
 he exclaimed quickly, his brow once more overcast. 
 
 Not difficult was it for him to surmise upon whom 
 her mind had been bent, and involuntarily his jaw set 
 disagreeably, while he looked at her resentfully. In 
 that light he could but dimly discern her face. Her 
 bonnet had fallen from her head; her eyes were bent 
 before her, as though striving to penetrate the gather-
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 377 
 
 ing darkness. With his sudden spell of jealousy 
 came the temptation to clasp her in his arms in that 
 silent, isolated place, but the figure of the sailor came 
 between him and the desire, while pride, the heritage 
 of the gentleman, fought down the longing. This 
 self-conquest was not accomplished, however, without 
 a sacrifice of temper, for after a pause, he observed: 
 
 "There is no accounting for a woman's taste!" 
 
 She did not controvert this statement, but the start 
 she gave told him the shaft had sped home. 
 
 "An outlaw! An outcast!" exclaimed the patroon, 
 stung beyond endurance by his thoughts. 
 
 Still no reply ; only more hurried footsteps ! Around 
 them sounded a gentle rustling; a lizard scrambled 
 out of their path through the crackling leaves ; a bat, 
 or some other winged creature, suddenly whirred be- 
 fore them and vanished. They had now approached 
 the gate, through which they passed and found them- 
 selves on the road leading directly to the city, whose 
 lights had already begun to twinkle in the dusk. 
 
 The cheering rumble of a carriage and the aspect 
 of the not far-distant town quickened her spirits and 
 imparted elasticity to her footsteps. Upon the land 
 baron they produced an opposite effect, for he was 
 obviously reluctant to abandon the interview, how- 
 ever unsatisfactory it might be. There was nothing 
 to say, and yet he was loath to leave her; there was 
 nothing to accomplish, and yet he wished to remain 
 with her. For this reason, as they drew near the 
 city, his mood became darker, like the night around
 
 378 THE STROLLERS 
 
 them. Instinctively, she felt the turbulent passions 
 stirring in his bosom; his sudden silence, his dogged 
 footsteps reawakened her misgivings. Furtively she 
 regarded him, but his eyes were fixed straight before 
 him on the soft luster above the city, the reflection of 
 the lights, and she knew and mistrusted his thoughts. 
 Although she found his silence more menacing than 
 his words, she could think of nothing to say to break 
 the spell, and so they continued to walk mutely side 
 by side. An observer, seeing them beneath the cy- 
 press, a lovers' promenade, with its soft, enfolding 
 shadows, would have taken them for a well-matched 
 couple, who had no need for language. 
 
 But when they had emerged from that romantic 
 lane and entered the city, the land baron breathed more 
 freely. She was now surrounded by movement and 
 din ; the seclusion of the country gave way to the 
 stir of the city; she was no longer dependent on his 
 good offices ; his role of protector had ended when 
 they left the cypress walk behind them. 
 
 His brow cleared; he glanced at her with ill-con- 
 cealed admiration ; he noticed with secret pride the 
 attention she attracted from passers-by, the sidelong 
 looks of approval that followed her through the 
 busy streets. The land baron expanded into his old 
 self; he strode at her side, gratified by the scrutiny 
 she invited; assurance radiated from his eyes like 
 some magnetic heat; he played at possession wilfully, 
 perversely. "Why not," whispered Hope. "A
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 379 
 
 woman's mind is shifting ever. Her fancy a breath ! 
 The other is gone. Why " 
 
 "It was not accident my being in the cemetery, Miss 
 Carew," said Mauville, suddenly covering her with his 
 glance. Meeting her look of surprise unflinchingly, 
 he continued: "I followed you there; through the 
 streets, into the country! My seeing you first was 
 chance; my presence in the burial ground the result 
 of that chance. The inevitable result!" he repeated 
 softly. "As inevitable as life ! Life ; what is it ? In- 
 fluences which control us ; forces which bind us ! It 
 is you, or all ; you or nothing !" 
 
 She did not reply ; his voice, vibrating with feeling, 
 touched no answering chord. Nevertheless, a new, 
 inexplicable wave of sorrow moved her. It might be 
 he had cared for her as sincerely as it was possible 
 for his wayward heart to care for any one. Perhaps 
 time would yet soften his faults, and temper his rash- 
 ness. With that shade of sorrow for him there came 
 compassion as well; compassion that overlooked the 
 past and dwelt on the future. 
 
 She raised her steady eyes. "Why should it be 
 'I or nothing/ as you put it?" she finally answered 
 slowly. "Influences may control us in a measure, but 
 we may also strive for something. We can always 
 strive." 
 
 "For what? For what we don't want? That's the 
 philosophy of your moralists, Miss Carew," he ex- 
 claimed. "That's your modern ethics of duty. Play-
 
 380 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ing tricks with happiness ! The game isn't worth the 
 candle. Or, if you believe in striving," he added, 
 half resentfully, half imploringly, "strive to care for 
 me but a little. But a little !" he said again. "I who 
 once wanted all, and would have nothing but all, am 
 content to ask, to plead, for but a little." 
 
 "I see no reason," she replied, wearily, yet not un- 
 kindly, "why we should not be friends." 
 
 "Friends!" he answered, bitterly. "I do not beg 
 for a loaf, but a crumb. Yet you refuse me that ! I 
 will wait! Only a word of encouragement! Will 
 you not give it?" 
 
 She turned and looked into his eyes, and, before 
 she spoke, he knew what her answer would be. 
 
 "How can I?" she said, simply. "Why should I 
 promise something I 'can never fulfil ?" 
 
 He held her glance as though loath to have it leave 
 him. 
 
 "May I see you again?" he asked, abruptly. 
 
 She shook her head. His gaze fell, seeing no soft- 
 ening in her clear look. 
 
 "You are well named," he repeated, more to himself 
 than to her. "Constance ! You are constant in your 
 dislikes as well as your likes." 
 
 "I have no dislike for you," she replied. "It seems 
 to have been left behind me somewhere." 
 
 "Only indifference, then !" he said, dully. 
 
 "No; not indifference!" 
 
 "You do care what may become of me?"
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 381 
 
 "You should do so much be so much in the world," 
 she answered, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Sans peur et sans reproche!" he cried, half- 
 amused, half-cheerlessly. "What a pity I met you 
 too late!" 
 
 They were now at the broad entrance of the bril- 
 liantly-lighted hotel. Several loungers, smoking their 
 after-dinner cigars, gazed at the couple curiously. 
 
 "Mauville's a lucky dog," said one. 
 
 "Yes; he was born with a silver spoon," replied 
 the person addressed. 
 
 As he passed through the envious throng, the 
 land baron had regained his self-command, although 
 his face was marked with an unusual pallor. In his 
 mind one thought was paramount that the walk be- 
 gun at the burial-ground was drawing to an end ; their 
 last walk ; the finale of all between them ! Yet he 
 could call to mind nothing further to say. His story 
 had been told ; the conclusion reached. She, too, had 
 spoken, and he knew she would never speak differ- 
 ently. Bewildered and unable to adjust his new and 
 strange feelings, it dawned upon him he had never 
 understood himself and her ; that he had never really 
 known what love was, arid he stood abashed, con- 
 fronted by his own ignorance. Passion, caprice, fancy, 
 he had seen depth in their shallows, but now looked 
 down and discerned the pebbly bottom. All this and 
 much more surged through his brain as he made his 
 way through the crowd, and, entering the corridor of
 
 382 THE STROLLERS 
 
 the hotel, took formal leave of the young girl at the 
 stairway. 
 
 "Good-night, Miss Carew," he said, gravely. 
 
 "Good-night," she replied. And then, on the steps, 
 she turned and looked down at him, extending her 
 hand: "Thank you!" 
 
 That half-timid, low "thank you !" he knew was 
 all he would ever receive from her. He hardly felt 
 the hand-clasp; he was hardly conscious when she 
 turned away. A heavier hand fell upon his shoulder. 
 
 "You sly dog!" said a thick voice. "Well, a judge 
 of a good horse is a judge of a handsome woman! 
 We're making up a few bets on the horses to-morrow. 
 Colonel Ogelby will ride Dolly D, and I'm to ride my 
 Gladiator. It'll be a gentlemen's race." 
 
 "Aren't we gentlemen?" growled a professional 
 turfsman. 
 
 "Gad! it's the first time I ever heard a jockey pre- 
 tend to be one!" chuckled the first speaker. "What 
 do you say, Mauville?" 
 
 "What do I say?" repeated the land baron, striving 
 to collect his thoughts. "What why, I'll make it 
 an even thousand, if you ride your own horse, 
 you'll" 
 
 "Win?" interrupted the proud owner. 
 
 "No ; fall off before he's at the second quarter F 
 
 "Done!" said the man, immediately. 
 
 "Huzza!" shouted the crowd. 
 
 "That's the way they bet on a gentlemen's race!" 
 jeered the gleeful jockey.
 
 AN INCONGRUOUS ROLE 383 
 
 "Drinks on Gladiator!" exclaimed some one. And 
 as no southern gentleman was ever known to refuse 
 to drink to a horse or a woman, the party car- 
 ried the discussion to the barroom.
 
 BOOK III 
 THE FINAL CUE
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 OVERLOOKING THE COURT-YARD 
 
 "In the will of the Marquis de Ligne, probated 
 yesterday, all of the property, real and personal, is 
 left to his daughter, Constance," wrote Straws in his 
 paper shortly after the passing- of the French noble- 
 man. "The document states this disposition of prop- 
 erty is made as 'an act of atonement and justice to 
 my daughter, whose mother I deserted, taking ad- 
 vantage of the French law to annul my marriage in 
 England.' The legitimacy of the birth of this, his 
 only child, is thereupon fully acknowledged by the 
 marquis after a lapse of many years and long after 
 the heretofore unrecognized wife had died, deserted 
 and forgotten. Thrown on her own resources, the 
 young child, with no other friend than Manager 
 Barnes, battled with the world; now playing in tav- 
 erns or barns, like the players of interludes, the stroll- 
 ers of old, or 'vagabonds', as the great and mighty 
 Junius, from his lofty plane, termed them. The story 
 of that period of 'vagrant' life adds one more chapter 
 (387)
 
 388 THE STROLLERS 
 
 to the annals of strolling players which already in- 
 clude such names as Kemble, Siddons and Kean. 
 
 "From the Junius category to a public favorite of 
 New Orleans has been no slight transition, and now, 
 to appear in the role of daughter of a marquis and 
 heiress to a considerable estate truly man and 
 woman play many parts in this brief span called 
 life! But in making her sole heir the marquis 
 specifies a condition which will bring regrets to many 
 of the admirers of the actress. He robs her of her 
 birthright from her mother. The will stipulates that 
 the recipient give up her profession, not because it is 
 other than a noble one, but 'that she may the better 
 devote herself to the duties of her new position and 
 by her beneficence and charity remove the stain left 
 upon an honored name by my second wife, the 
 Duchesse D'Argens' " 
 
 The marquis' reference to "charity" and "benefi- 
 cence" was in such ill-accord with his character that 
 it might be suspected an adroit attorney, in drawing 
 up the document, had surreptitiously inserted it. His 
 proud allusion to his honored name and slurring sug- 
 gestion of the taint put upon it by his second wife 
 demonstrated the marquis was not above the foibles 
 of his kind, overlooking his own light conduct and 
 dwelling on that of his noble helpmate. It was the 
 final taunt, and, as the lady had long since been laid 
 in God's Acre, where there is only silence divine, it 
 received no answer, and the world was welcome to 
 digest and gorge it and make the most of it.
 
 THE COURT-YARD 389 
 
 But although the marquis and his lady had no 
 further interest in subsequent events, growing out of 
 their brief sojourn on earth, the contents of the will 
 afforded a theme of gossip for the living and molded 
 the affairs of one in new shape and manner. On the 
 same day this public exposition appeared, Barnes and 
 the young actress were seated in the law office of 
 Marks and Culver, a room overlooking a court-yard, 
 brightened by statues and urns of flowers. A plaster 
 bust of Justinian gazed benignly through the window 
 at a fountain ; a steel engraving of Jeremy Bentham 
 watched the butterflies, and Hobbes and John Austin, 
 austere in portraiture, frowned darkly down upon the 
 flowering garden. While the manager and Constance 
 waited for the attorney to appear, they were discuss- 
 ing, not for the first time, the proviso of the will to 
 which Straws had regretfully alluded. 
 
 "Yes," said Barnes, folding the newspaper which 
 contained Straws' article and placing it in his pocket ; 
 "you should certainly give up the stage. We must 
 think of the disappointments, the possible failure, the 
 slender reward. There was your mother such an 
 actress! yet toward the last the people flocked to a 
 younger rival. I have often thought anxiously of your 
 future, for I am old yes, there is no denying it ! and 
 any day I may leave you, dependent solely upon your- 
 self." 
 
 "Do not speak like that," she answered, tenderly. 
 "We shall be together many, many years." 
 
 "Always, if I had my way," he returned, heartily.
 
 390 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "But with this legacy you are superior to the fickle 
 public. In fact, you are now a part of the capricious 
 public, my dear," he added in a jocular tone, "and 
 may applaud the 'heavy father,' myself, or prattle 
 about prevailing styles while the buskined tragedian 
 is strutting below your box. Why turn to a blind 
 bargain? Fame is a jade, only caught after our illu- 
 sions are gone and she seems not half so sweet as 
 when pursuing her in our dreams !" 
 
 But as he spoke, with forced lightness, beneath 
 which, however, the young girl could readily detect 
 the vein of anxiety and regret, she was regarding him 
 with the clear eyes of affection. His face, seamed 
 with many lines and bearing the deeply engraved 
 handwriting of time, spoke plainly of declining years ; 
 every lineament was eloquent with vicissitudes en- 
 dured ; and as she discerningly read that varied past of 
 which her own brief career had been a part, there 
 entered her mind a brighter picture of a tranquil life 
 for him at last, where in old age he could exchange 
 uncertainty and activity for security and rest. How 
 could she refuse to do as he desired? How often 
 since fate had wrought this change in her life had she 
 asked herself the question? 
 
 Her work, it is true, had grown dearer to her than 
 ever; of late she had thrown herself into her task 
 with an ardor and earnestness lifting each portrayal 
 to a higher plane. Is it that only with sorrow comes 
 the fulness of art; that its golden gates are never 
 swung. entirely open to the soul bearing no burden?
 
 THE COURT-YARD 391 
 
 Closed to ruder bufferings, is it only to the sesame of 
 a sad voice those portals spring magically back ? But 
 for his sake she must needs pause on the threshold 
 of attainment, and stifle that ambition which of itself 
 precluded consideration of a calm, uneventful exist- 
 ence. She was young and full of courage, but the 
 pathos of his years smote her heart ; something in- 
 explicable had awakened her fears for him; she be- 
 lieved him far from well of late, although he laughed 
 at her apprehensions and protested he had never been 
 better in his life. 
 
 Now, reading the anxiety in his face as he watched 
 her, she smiled reassuringly, her glance, full of love, 
 meeting his. 
 
 "Everything shall be as you wish," she said, softly. 
 "You know what is best !" 
 
 The manager's face lighted perceptibly, but before 
 he could answer, the door opened, and Culver, the 
 attorney, entered. With ruddy countenance and 
 youthful bearing, in antithesis to the hair, silvered 
 with white, he was one of those southern gentlemen 
 who grow old gracefully. The law was his task- 
 master ; he practised from a sense of duty, but ever 
 held that those who rushed to court were likely 
 to repeat the experience of Voltaire, who had twice 
 been ruined: once when he lost a law suit; the sec- 
 ond time, when he won one! Nevertheless, people 
 persisted in coming to Culver wantonly welcoming 
 unknown ills. 
 
 "Well, Miss Carew," he now exclaimed, after
 
 392 THE STROLLERS 
 
 warmly greeting his visitors, "have you disburdened 
 yourself of prejudice against this estate? Wealth 
 may be a little hardship at first, but soon you won't 
 mind it." 
 
 "Not a bit \" spoke up Barnes. "It's as easy to get 
 used to as poverty, and we've had plenty of that!" 
 
 "You know the other condition?" she said, half- 
 defiantly, half-sadly. "You are to be with me al- 
 ways." 
 
 "How can you teach an old dog new tricks?" pro- 
 tested Barnes. "How can you make a fine man about 
 town out of a 'heavy father ?' " 
 
 "The 'heavy father' is my father. I never knew any 
 other. I am glad I never did." 
 
 "Hoity-toity !" he exclaimed scoffingly, but pleased 
 nevertheless. 
 
 "You can't put me off that way," she said, decisive- 
 ly, with a sudden flash in her eyes he knew too well 
 to cross. "Either you leave the stage, too, or " 
 
 "Of course, my dear, of course " 
 
 "Then it's all settled you will accept the encum- 
 brance to which you have fallen heir," resumed 
 Culver. "Even if there had been no will in your fa- 
 vor, the State of Louisiana follows the French law, 
 and the testator can under no circumstances alienate 
 more than half his property, if he leave issue or de- 
 scendants. Had the old will remained, its provisions 
 could not have been legally carried out." 
 
 "The old will ?" said Barnes. "Then there was an- 
 other will?"
 
 THE COURT-YARD 393 
 
 "One made before he was aware of your existence, 
 Miss Carew, in favor of his ward, Ernest Saint- 
 Prosper." 
 
 "Ernest Saint-Prosper !" 
 
 Constance's cheeks flamed crimson, and her quick 
 start of surprise did not escape the observant lawyer. 
 Barnes, too, looked amazed over this unexpected in- 
 telligence. 
 
 "Saint-Prosper was the marquis' ward?" he cried. 
 
 The attorney transferred his gaze from the expres- 
 sive features of his fair client to the open countenance 
 of the manager. "Yes," he said. 
 
 "And would have inherited this property but for 
 Constance ?" 
 
 "Exactly! But you knew him, Mr. Barnes?" 
 
 "He was an occupant of the chariot, sir," replied 
 the manager, with some feeling. "We met in the 
 Shadengo Valley; the company was in sore straits, 
 an d a nd to make a long story short ! he joined 
 our band and traversed the continent with us. And 
 so he was the marquis' ward! It seems almost in- 
 credible !" 
 
 "Yes," affirmed Culver; "when General Saint- 
 Prosper, his father, died, Ernest Saint-Prosper, who 
 was then but a boy, became the marquis' ward and a 
 member of his household." 
 
 "Well, well, how things do come about !" ruminated 
 Barnes. "To think he should have been the prospec- 
 tive heir, and Constance, the real one 1"
 
 394 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Where is he now?" asked the attorney, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "He has gone to Mexico; enlisted! But how do 
 you know he " 
 
 "Had expectations? The marquis told me about 
 a quarrel they had had ; he was a staunch imperialist ; 
 the young man as firm a republican ! What would 
 be the natural outcome ? They parted in bitter anger." 
 
 "And then the marquis made him his heir?" ex- 
 claimed the manager, incredulously. "How do you 
 reconcile that?" 
 
 The attorney smiled. "Through the oddity of my 
 client ! 'Draw up my will,' said the marquis to me 
 one day, 'leaving all my property to this republican 
 young dog. That will cut off the distant relatives 
 who made the sign of the cross behind my back as 
 though I were the evil one. They expect it all ; he 
 expects nothing! It will be a rare joke. I leave 
 them my affection and the privilege of having masses 
 said for my soul.' The marquis was always of a 
 satirical temperament." 
 
 "So it seems," commented the manager. "But he 
 changed his mind and his will again?" 
 
 "After he met Miss Carew." 
 
 "Met me!" exclaimed Constance, aroused from a 
 maze of reflection. 
 
 "Near the cathedral! He walked and talked with 
 you." 
 
 "That poor old man "
 
 THE COURT-YARD 395 
 
 "And then came here, acknowledged you as his 
 daughter, and drew up the final document." 
 
 "That accounts for a call I had from him!" cried 
 Barnes, telling the story of the marquis' visit. 
 "Strange, I did not suspect something of the truth at 
 the time," he concluded, "for his manner was certainly 
 unusual." 
 
 A perplexed light shone in the girl's eyes; she 
 clasped and unclasped her hands quickly, turning to 
 the lawyer. 
 
 "Their quarrel was only a political difference?" she 
 asked at length. 
 
 "Yes," said the other, slowly. "Saint-Prosper re- 
 fused to support the fugitive king. Throughout the 
 parliamentary government, the restoration under 
 Louis XVIII, and the reign of King Charles X, the 
 marquis had ever a devout faith in the divine right 
 of monarchs. He annulled his marriage in England 
 with your mother to marry the Duchesse D'Argens, a 
 relative of the royal princess. But Charles abdicated 
 and the duchesse died. All this, however, is painful 
 to you, Miss Carew?" 
 
 "Only such as relates to my mother," she replied 
 in a clear tone. "I suppose I should feel grateful for 
 this fortune, but I am afraid I do not. Please go 
 on." 
 
 Culver leaned back in his chair, his glance bent 
 upon a discolored statue of Psyche in the court-yard. 
 "Had the marquis attended to his garden, like Can-
 
 396 THE STROLLERS 
 
 dide, of your humble servant, and eschewed the com- 
 pany of kings he might have been as care-free as he 
 was wretched. His monarchs were knocked down 
 like nine-pins. Louis XVIII was a man of straw; 
 Charles X, a feather-top, and Louis Philippe, a toy 
 ruler. The marquis' domestic life was as unblest as 
 his political career. The frail duchesse left him a 
 progeny of scandals. These, the only offspring of 
 the iniquitous dame, were piquantly dressed in the 
 journals for public parade. Fancy, then, his delight 
 in disinheriting his wife's relatives, and leaving you, 
 his daughter, his fortune and his name !" 
 
 "His name?" she repeated, sadly. With averted 
 face she watched the fountain in the garden. "If he 
 had given it to my mother," she continued, "but 
 now I do not care for it. Her name is all I want." 
 Her voice trembled and she exclaimed passionately : 
 "I should rather Mr. Saint-Prosper would keep the 
 property and I my work ! After denying my mother 
 and deserting -her, how can I accept anything from 
 him?" 
 
 "Under the new will/' said Culver, "the estate does 
 not revert to Mr. Saint-Prosper in any event. But 
 you might divide it with him?" he added, suddenly. 
 
 "How could I do that?" she asked, without looking 
 up. 
 
 "Marry him !" laughed the attorney. 
 
 But the jest met with scant response, his fair client 
 remaining motionless as a statue, while Barnes gazed 
 at her furtively. Culver's smile gradually faded; un-
 
 THE COURT-YARD 
 
 397 
 
 certain how to proceed, realizing his humor had some- 
 how miscarried, he was not sorry when the manager 
 arose, saying: 
 
 /'Well, my dear, it is time we were at the theater." 
 "Won't you accept this nosegay from my garden, 
 Miss Carew ?" urged the lawyer in a propitiatory tone 
 as they were leaving. 
 
 And the attorney not only accompanied them to the 
 door, but down-stairs to the street, where he stood 
 for a moment watching them drive down the thor- 
 oughfare. Then he slowly returned, breathing heav- 
 ily invidious contradiction of his youthful assump- 
 tion! and shaking his head, as he mounted to his 
 room. 
 
 "Culver, you certainly put your foot in it that time !" 
 he muttered. "How she froze at my suggestion ! Has 
 there been some passage of arms between them? Ap- 
 parently! But here am I, pondering over romances 
 with all this legal business staring me in the face!" 
 His glance swept a chaos of declarations, bills, affida- 
 vits and claims. "Confound the musty old court- 
 house and the bustling Yankee lawyers who set such 
 a disturbing pace! There is no longer gentlemanly 
 leisure in New Orleans." 
 
 He seated himself with a sigh before a neg- 
 lected brief. In the distance the towers of the cathe- 
 dral could be seen, reminding the attorney of the ad- 
 jacent halls of justice in the scraggy-looking square, 
 with its turmoil, its beggars, and apple women in the 
 lobbies; its ancient, offensive smell, its rickety stairs,
 
 398 THE STROLLERS 
 
 its labyrinth of passages and its Babel of tongues. 
 Above him, however, the plaster bust of Justinian, out 
 of those blank, sightless eyes, continued the contem- 
 plation of the garden as though turning from the 
 complex jurisprudence of the ancients and moderns 
 to the simple existence of butterflies and flowers.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 ONLY A SHADOW 
 
 There is an aphorism to the effect that one can not 
 spend and have; also, a saying about the whirlwind, 
 both of which in time came home to the land baron. 
 For several generations the Mauville family, bearing 
 one of the proudest names in Louisiana, had held 
 marked prestige under Spanish and French rule, while 
 extensive plantations indicated the commercial ascend- 
 ency of the patroon's ancestors. The thrift of his fore- 
 fathers, however, passed lightly over Edward Mau- 
 ville. Sent to Paris by his mother, a widow, who 
 could deny him nothing, in the course of a few years he 
 had squandered two plantations and several hundred 
 negroes. Her death placed him in undisputed posses- 
 sion of the residue of the estate, when finding the ex- 
 acting details of commerce irksome, in a moment of 
 weakness, he was induced to dispose of some of his 
 possessions to Yankee speculators who had come in 
 with the flood of northern energy. Most of the money 
 thus realized he placed in loose investments, while the 
 (399)
 
 400 THE STROLLERS 
 
 remainder gradually disappeared in indulging his 
 pleasures. 
 
 At this critical stage in his fortunes or misfor- 
 tunes the patroon's legacy had seemed timely, and 
 his trip to the North followed. But from a swarm of 
 creditors, to a nest of anti-renters, was out of the 
 frying-pan into the fire, hastening his return to the 
 Crescent City, where he was soon forced to make an 
 assignment of the remaining property. A score of 
 hungry lawyers hovered around the sinking estate, 
 greedily jealous lest some one of their number should 
 batten too gluttonously at this general collation. It 
 was the one topic of interest in the musty, dusty court- 
 house until the end appeared with the following an- 
 nouncement in the local papers : 
 
 "Annonce! Vente important e de Negres! Mau- 
 ville estate in bankruptcy !" 
 
 And thereafter were specified the different lots of 
 negroes to be sold. 
 
 Coincident with these disasters came news from the 
 North regarding his supposedly immense interests in 
 New York State. A constitutional convention had 
 abolished all feudal tenures and freed the fields from 
 baronial burdens. At a breath like a house of cards 
 the northern heritage was swept away and about 
 all that remained of the principality was the worthless 
 ancient deed itself, representing one of the largest 
 colonial grants. 
 
 But even the sale of the negroes and his other 
 merchandise and property failed to satisfy his clamor-
 
 ONLY A SHADOW 401 
 
 ous creditors or to pay his gambling debts. Those 
 obligations at cards it was necessary to meet, so he 
 moved out of his bachelor apartments, turned over 
 his expensive furnishings and bric-a-brac to the gam- 
 blers and snapped his fingers at the over-anxious con- 
 stables and lawyers. 
 
 As time went by evidence of his reverses insidiously 
 crept into his personal appearance. He who had been 
 the leader now clung to the tail-ends of style, and it 
 was a novel sensation when one day he noticed a friend 
 scrutinizing his garments much in the same critical 
 manner that he had himself erstwhile affected. This 
 glance rested casually on the hat ; strayed carelessly to 
 the waistcoat ; wandered absently to the trousers, down 
 one leg and up the other; superciliously jumped over 
 the waistcoat and paused the infinitesimal part of a 
 second on the neck-tie. Mauville learned in that mo- 
 ment how the eye may wither and humble, without 
 giving any ostensible reason for offense. The attitude 
 of this mincing fribble, as he danced twittingly away, 
 was the first intimation Mauville had received that he 
 would soon be relegated to the ranks of gay adven- 
 turers thronging the city. He who had watched his 
 estates vanish with an unruffled countenance now be- 
 came disconcerted over the width of his trousers and 
 the shape of his hat. 
 
 His new home was in the house of an aged 
 quadroon who had been a servant in his family many 
 years ago how long no one seemed to remember! 
 and who had been his nurse before she had received
 
 402 THE STROLLERS 
 
 her freedom. She enjoyed the distinction of being 
 feared in the neighborhood; her fetishes had a power 
 no other witch's possessed, and many of the negroes 
 would have done anything to have possessed these 
 infallible charms, save crossing her threshold to get 
 them. Mauville, when he found fortune slipping 
 away from him and ruin staring him in the face, had 
 been glad to transfer his abode to this unhallowed 
 place; going into hiding, as it were, until the storm 
 should blow by, when he expected to emerge, confi- 
 dent as ever. 
 
 But inaction soon chafed his restless nature, and 
 drove him forth in spite of himself from the streets 
 in that quarter of the town where the roofs of vari- 
 ous-colored houses formed strange geometrical figures 
 and the windows were bright with flaring head-dresses, 
 beneath which looked out curious visages of ebony. 
 Returning one day from such a peregrination, he de- 
 termined to end a routine of existence so humiliating 
 to his pride. 
 
 Pausing before a doorway, the land baron looked 
 this way and that, and seeing only the rotating eyes 
 of a pickaninny fastened upon him, hurried through 
 the entrance. Hanging upon the walls were red and 
 green pods and bunches of dried herbs of unquestion- 
 able virtue belonging to the old crone's pharma- 
 copoeia. Mauville slowly ascended the dark stairs 
 and reached his retreat, a small apartment, with furni- 
 ture of cane-work and floor covered with sea-grass;
 
 ONLYASHADOW 403 
 
 the ceiling low and the windows narrow, opening- upon 
 a miniature balcony that offered space for one and no 
 more. 
 
 "Is dat yo', honey?" said an adoring voice on the 
 landing. 
 
 "Yes, auntie," replied the land baron, as an old 
 crone emerged from an ill-lighted recess and stood 
 before him. 
 
 Now the light from the doorway fell upon her, and 
 surely five score years were written on her curiously 
 wrinkled face five score, or more, for even the ne- 
 groes did not profess to know how old she was. Her 
 bent figure, watery eyes and high shrill voice bore 
 additional testimony to her age. 
 
 "Yo's home earlier dan usual, dearie?" she resumed. 
 "But yo' supper's all ready. Sit down here." 
 
 "I'm not hungry, auntie," he returned. 
 
 "Not hungry, honey?" she cried, laughing shrilly. 
 "Yo' wait!" And she disappeared into an adjoining 
 room, soon to emerge with a steaming platter, which 
 she set on the snow-white cover of the little table. 
 Removing the lid from the dish, she hobbled back a 
 few steps to regard her guest with triumphant ex- 
 pectation. "Dat make yo' eat." 
 
 "What a cook you are, mammy!" he said, lightly. 
 "You would give a longing tooth to satiety." 
 
 "De debil blow de fire," she answered, chuckling. 
 
 "Then the devil is a chef de cuisine. This sauce 
 is bewitching."
 
 404 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Yo' like it?" Delighted. 
 
 "Tis a spell in itself. Confess, mammy, Old Nick 
 mixed it?" 
 
 "No, he only blow de fire," she reiterated, with a 
 grin. 
 
 "Any one been to see me, mammy ?" 
 
 "Only dat Mexican gemmen ; dat gemmen been 
 here befo' who take yo' message about de troops; 
 when dey go from New Orleans; how many dey 
 am!" 
 
 "You know that, auntie?" he asked quickly. "You 
 know that I " 
 
 "Yes, honey," she answered, shaking her head. 
 "Yo' be berry careful, Mar's'r Edward." 
 
 "What did he want?" said the land baron, quickly. 
 
 "He gib me dis." And the crone handed her vis- 
 itor a slip of paper on which a few words were 
 written. "What dat mean?" 
 
 "It means I am going away, mammy," pushing 
 back his chair. 
 
 "Gwine away !" she repeated. "When's yo' gwine?" 
 
 "To-morrow ; perhaps to-night even ; down the 
 river, auntie!" Rising and surveying himself in a 
 mirror. 
 
 "How long yo' gwine away foh ?" 
 
 "Perhaps forever, auntie!" 
 
 "Not foh good, Mar's'r Edward? Not foh good?" 
 He nodded and she broke into loud waitings. "Yo's 
 gwine and yo' old mammy'll see yo' no moh no moh ! 
 I knows why yo's gwine, Mar's'r Edward. Fs heard
 
 ONLY A SHADOW 
 
 405 
 
 yo' talkin' about her in yo' sleep. But yo' stay and 
 yo' mammy has a love-charm foh yo'; den she's yo's, 
 foh suah." 
 
 This offer, coming- from one of her uncanny reputa- 
 tion, would have been accepted with implicit faith 
 by most of the dwellers in that locality, superstitious 
 to the last degree, but Mauville laughed carelessly. 
 
 "Pshaw, mammy! Do you think I would fly from 
 a woman? Do I look as though I needed a charm?" 
 
 "No; she mus' worship yo'!" cried the infatuated 
 crone. 
 
 Then a change passed over her puckered face and 
 she lifted her arms despairingly, rocking her body to 
 and fro, while she mumbled unintelligible words which 
 would have caused the negroes to draw away from 
 her with awe, for the spell was on her. But the land 
 baron only regarded her carelessly as she muttered 
 something pertaining to spells and omena. 
 
 "Come, auntie," he said impatiently at last, "you 
 know I don't believe in this torn-foolery." 
 
 She turned to him vehemently. "Don't go whar 
 yo' thinkin' ob gwine, honey," she implored. "Yo'll 
 nebber come back, foh suah foh suah! I see yo' 
 lyin' dar, honey, in de dark valley whar de mists 
 am risin' and I hears a bugle soundin' and de 
 tramp of horses. Dey am all gone, honey and de mists 
 come back but yo' am dar lying dar de mountains 
 around yo' yo' am dar fo'ebber and ebber and 
 Here she broke into wild sobbing and moaning, toss- 
 ing her white hair with her trembling withered arms,
 
 406 THE STROLLERS 
 
 a moving picture of an inspired dusky sibyl. Mau- 
 ville shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "We're losing time, mammy," he exclaimed. "Stop 
 this nonsense and go pack a few things for me. I 
 have some letters to write." 
 
 The old woman reluctantly obeyed, and the land 
 baron penned a somewhat lengthy epistle to his one- 
 time master in Paris, the Abbe Moneau, whose disap- 
 proval of the Anglo-Saxon encroachments witness 
 Louisiana ! and zeal for the colonization of the Latin 
 races are matters of history. Having completed his 
 epistle, the land baron placed it in the old crone's hand 
 to mail with: "If that man calls again, tell him I'll 
 meet him to-night," and-, leaving the room, shot 
 through the doorway, once more rapidly walking 
 down the shabby thoroughfare. The aged negro 
 woman stumbled out upon the balcony and gazed after 
 the departing figure still moaning softly to herself 
 and shaking her head in anguish. 
 
 "Fo'ebber and ebber," she repeated in a wailing 
 tone. Below a colored boy gazed at her in wonder- 
 ment. 
 
 "What debblement am she up to now?" he said to 
 a girl seated in a doorway. "When de old witch 
 am like dat " 
 
 "Come in dar, yo' black imp!" And a vigorous 
 arm pulled the lad abruptly through the opening. 
 "Ef she sees yo', she can strike yo' dead, foh suah!" 
 
 The crone could no longer distinguish Mauville 
 her eyes were nearly sightless but she continued to
 
 ONLYASHADOW 407 
 
 look in the direction he had taken, sobbing- as before : 
 "Fo'ebber and ebber ! Fo'ebber and ebber !" 
 
 Once more upon a fashionable thoroughfare, the 
 land baron's footstep relaxed and he relapsed into his 
 languorous, indolent air. The shadows of twilight 
 were darkening the streets and a Caribbee-scentecl 
 breeze was wafted from the gulf across the city. It 
 swept through the broad avenues and narrow high- 
 ways, and sighed among the trees of the old garden. 
 Seating himself absently on one of the public 
 benches, Mauville removed his hat to allow the cool 
 air to fan his brow. Presently he moved on ; up 
 Canal Street, where the long rows of gas lights now 
 gleamed through the foliage ; thence into a side thor- 
 oughfare, as dark as the other street was bright, paus- 
 ing before a doorway, illumined by a single yellow 
 flame that flickered in the draft and threatened to 
 leave the entrance in total obscurity. Mounting two 
 flights of stairs, no better lighted than the hall below, 
 the land baron reached a doorway, where he paused 
 and knocked. In answer to his summons a slide was 
 quickly slipped back, and through the aperture floated 
 an alcoholic breath. 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "A Knight of the Golden Square," said the caller, 
 impatiently. "Open the door." 
 
 The man obeyed and the land baron was admitted 
 to the hall of an organization which had its inception 
 in Texas; a society not unlike the Secret Session 
 Legation of the Civil War, having for its object the
 
 4 o8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 overthrow of the government, the carrying of mails 
 and despatches and other like business. Here was 
 gathered a choice aggregation of Mexican sympathiz- 
 ers, a conclave hostile to the North. Composed of 
 many nationalities, the polished continental adven- 
 turer rubbed shoulders with the Spanish politicians ; 
 the swarthy agents of Santa Anna brushed against the 
 secret enemies of northern aggression. A small bar, 
 unpretentious but convenient, occupied a portion of 
 one end of the room, and a brisk manipulator of juleps 
 presided over this popular corner. 
 
 Half-disdainfully, the land baron mingled with the 
 heterogeneous assembly; half-ironically, his eye 
 swept the group at the bar the paid spy, the needy 
 black-sheep ; the patriot, the swashbuckler ; men with 
 and without a career. As Mauville stepped forward, a 
 quiet, dark-looking man, obviously a Mexican, not 
 without a certain distinguished carriage, immediately 
 approached the newcomer. 
 
 "You have come ? Good !" he said, and drew Mau- 
 ville aside. They conversed in low tones, occasionally 
 glancing about them at the others. 
 
 In the hall below the rhythm of a waltz now made 
 itself heard, and the land baron, having received cer- 
 tain papers which committed him to a hazardous serv- 
 ice, prepared to leave. 
 
 "Here's luck!" said a man on his left, raising his 
 glass. At these words several of the company 
 turned.
 
 ONLY A SHADOW 
 
 409 
 
 "Send it south !" roared a Texan Furioso, emptying 
 his tumbler. 
 
 "Send it south !" echoed the others, and "south" the 
 fragrant juleps were "sent," as the land baron uncere- 
 moniously tore himself away from the group. 
 
 "They say the floods are rising," said the man with 
 whom Mauville had conferred, at the door. 
 
 "All the better if the river's running wild!" an- 
 swered the other. "It will be easier running the 
 guard." 
 
 "Yes," returned the Mexican, extending his hand, 
 with a smile; "in this case, there's safety in dan- 
 ger!" 
 
 "That's reassuring !" replied the land baron, lightly, 
 as he descended the stairs. 
 
 On reaching the floor below he was afforded a 
 view through an open door into a large room, lighted 
 with many lamps, where a quadroon dance, or "soci- 
 ety ball," was in progress. After a moment's hesita- 
 tion he entered and stood in the glare, watching the 
 waltzers. Around the wall were dusky chaperons, 
 guarding their charges with the watchfulness of old 
 dowagers protecting their daughters from the ad- 
 vances of younger sons. Soft eyes flashed invitingly, 
 graceful figures passed, and the revelry momentarily 
 attracted Mauville, as he followed the movements of 
 the waltzers and heard the strains of music. Im- 
 pulsively he approached a young woman whose com- 
 plexion was as light as his own and asked her to dance.
 
 410 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The next moment they were gliding to the dreamy 
 rhythm around the room. 
 
 By a fatal trick of imagination, his' thoughts wan- 
 dered to the dark-haired girl he had met in the Sha- 
 dengo Valley. If this now were she, the partner he 
 had so unceremoniously summoned to his side. How 
 light were her feet; what poetry of motion was her 
 dancing; what pleasure the abandonment to which 
 she had resigned herself! Involuntarily he clasped 
 more tightly the slender waist, and the dark eyes, 
 moved by that palpable caress, looked not unkindly into 
 his own. But at the glance he experienced a strange 
 repulsion and started, as if awakening from a fevered 
 sleep, abruptly stopping in the dance, his arm falling to 
 his side. The girl looked at him half-shyly, half- 
 boldly, and the very beauty of her eyes the deep, 
 lustrous orbs of a quadroon smote him mockingly. 
 He felt as though some light he sought shone far be- 
 yond his ken ; a light he saw, but could never reach ; 
 ever before him, but always receding. 
 
 "Monsieur is tired?" said the girl, in a puzzled 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes," he answered bluntly, leading her to a seat. 
 "Good-night." 
 
 "Good-night," she replied, following his retreating 
 figure with something like regret. 
 
 The evening bells, distinct and mysterious, were 
 sounding as he emerged from New Orleans' Mabillc, 
 and their crystalline tones, rising and falling on the 
 solemn night, brought to mind his boyhood. Pictures
 
 ONLY A SHADOW 411 
 
 long forgotten passed before him, as his footsteps led 
 him far from the brightly-lighted streets to a seques- 
 tered thoroughfare that lay peacefully on the con- 
 fines of the busy city; a spot inviting rest from the 
 turmoil yonder and in accord with the melancholy 
 vibrations of the bells. He stood, unseen in the 
 shadow of great trees, before a low rambling man- 
 sion; not so remote but that the perfume from the 
 garden was wafted to him over the hedge. 
 
 "A troubadour!" he said scornfully to himself. 
 "Edward Mauville sighing at a lady's window like 
 some sentimental serenader! There's a light yonder. 
 Now to play my despairing part, I must watch for her 
 image. If I were some one else, I should say my heart 
 beats faster than usual. She comes the fair lady! 
 Now the curtain's down. All that may be seen is her 
 shadow. So, despairing lover, hug that shadow to 
 your breast!" 
 
 He plucked a rose from a bush in her garden, laugh- 
 ing at himself the while for doing so, and as he moved 
 away he repeated with conviction : 
 
 "A shadow ! That is all she ever could have been 
 to me!"
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 FROM GARRET TO GARDEN 
 
 "Celestina, what do you think this is?" Waving 
 something that crackled in mid air. 
 
 "A piece of paper," said Celestina from her place 
 on the hearth. 
 
 "Paper!" scoffed Straws. "It's that which Horace 
 calls a handmaid, if you know how to use it; a mis- 
 tress, if you do not money! It is success, the 
 thing which wrecks more lives than cyclones, fares and 
 floods! We were happy enough before this came, 
 weren't we, Celestina?" 
 
 The girl nodded her head, a look of deep anxiety 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, why did the critics so damn the book it fairly 
 leaped to popularity!" went on the bard. "Why did 
 they advise me to learn a trade? to spoil no more 
 reams of paper? To spoil reams of paper and get 
 what this little bit in return !" 
 
 "Is it so very much money?" asked Celestina. 
 
 "An enormous amount one thousand dollars!
 
 GARRET TO GARDEN 413 
 
 And the worst of it is, my publishers write there may 
 be more to come/' 
 
 "Well," said the child, after a long, thoughtful 
 pause, "why don't you give it away ?" 
 
 "Hum ! Your suggestion, my dear " 
 
 "But, perhaps, no one would take it?" interrupted 
 Celestina. 
 
 "Perhaps they wouldn't!" agreed Straws, rubbing 
 his hands. "So, under the circumstances, let us con- 
 sider how we may cultivate some of the vices of the 
 rich. It is a foregone conclusion, set down by the 
 philosophers, that misery assails riches. The philos- 
 ophers were never rich and therefore they know. Be- 
 sides, they are unanimous on the subject. It only 
 remains to make the best of it and cultivate the vani- 
 ties of our class. Where shall I begin? 'Riches be- 
 tray man into arrogance/ saith Addison. Therefore 
 will I be arrogant; while you, my dear, shall be 
 proud." 
 
 "That will be lovely !" assented Celestina, as a mat- 
 ter of habit. She went to the bed and began smooth- 
 ing the sheets deftly. 
 
 "My dear!" expostulated Straws. "You mustn't 
 do that." 
 
 "Not make the bed !" she asked, in surprise. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor bring your charcoal?" 
 
 "No."' 
 
 "Nor wash your dishes?" 
 
 "Certainly not!"
 
 414 THE STROLLERS 
 
 Celestina dropped on the floor, a picture of misery. 
 
 "Too bad, isn't it?" commented Straws. "But it 
 can't be helped, can it?" 
 
 "No," she said, shaking her head, wofully ; "it 
 can't be helped ! But why why did you publish it ?" 
 
 "Just what the critics asked, my dear! Why? 
 Who knows? Who can tell why the gods invented 
 madness? But it's done; for bad, or worse!" 
 
 "For bad, or worse !" she repeated, gazing wist- 
 fully toward the rumpled bed. 
 
 "If somebody tells you fine feathers don't make fine 
 birds, don't believe him," continued the poet. "It's 
 envy that speaks ! But what do you suppose I have 
 here?" Producing a slip of paper from his vest 
 pocket. "No ; it's not another draft ! An advertise- 
 ment ! Listen : 'Mademoiselle de Castiglione's select 
 seminary. Young ladies instructed in the arts of the 
 bon ton. Finesse, repose, literature! Fashions, eti- 
 quette, languages! P. S. Polkas a specialty!' Ce- 
 lestina, your destiny lies at Mademoiselle de Castigli- 
 one's. They will teach you to float into a drawing 
 room but you won't forget the garret ? They will in- 
 struct you how to sit on gilt chairs you will think 
 sometimes of the box, or the place by the hearth ? You 
 will become a mistress of the piano 'By the Coral 
 Strands I Wander,' 'The Sweet Young Bachelor' 
 but I trust you will not learn to despise altogether 
 the attic pipe ?" 
 
 "You mean," said Celestina, slowly, her face ex-
 
 GARRET TO GARDEN 415 
 
 pressing bewilderment, "I must go away some- 
 where ?" 
 
 Straws nodded. "That's it ; somewhere !" 
 
 The girl's eyes flashed; her little hands clenched. 
 "I won't; I won't!" 
 
 "Then that's the end on't!" retorted the bard. "I 
 had bought you some new dresses, a trunk with your 
 name on it, and had made arrangements with Made- 
 moiselle de Castiglione (who had read 'Straws' 
 Strophes'), but perhaps I could give the dresses away 
 to some other little girl who will be glad to drink at 
 the Pierian I mean, the Castiglione spring." 
 
 Celestina's eyes 'were an agony of jealousy; not 
 that she was mercenary, or cared for the dresses, but 
 that Straws should give them to another little girl. 
 Her pride, however, held her in check and she drew 
 herself up with composure. 
 
 "That would be nice for the other little girl !" she 
 said. 
 
 "The only difficulty is," resumed Straws, "there 
 isn't any other little girl." 
 
 At that, Celestina gave a glad cry and flew to him, 
 throwing her arms around his neck. 
 
 "Oh, I will go anywhere you want !" she exclaimed. 
 
 "Get on your bonnet then before you change your 
 mind, my dear !" 
 
 "And aunt?" asked Celestina, lingering- doubtfully 
 on the threshold. 
 
 "Your aunt, as you call that shriveled-up shrew,
 
 416 THE STROLLERS 
 
 consented at once," answered Straws. "Her parental 
 heart was filled with thanksgiving at the prospect of 
 one less mouth to fill. Go and say good-by, however, 
 to the old harridan ; I think she has a few conven- 
 tional tears to shed. But do not let her prolong her 
 grief inordinately, and meet me at the front door." 
 
 A few moments later, Straws and the child, hand- 
 in-hand, started on their way to the Castiglione tem- 
 ple of learning and culture. If Celestina appeared 
 thoughtful, even sad, the poet was never so merry, 
 and sought to entertain the abstracted girl with spark- 
 ling chit-chat about the people they met in the 
 crowded streets. A striking little man was a com- 
 poser of ability, whose operas, "Cosimo," "Les Pon- 
 tons de Cadiz," and other works had been produced 
 at the Opera Comique in Paris. He was now direc- 
 tor of the French opera in New Orleans and had 
 brought out the charming Mademoiselle Capriceioso 
 and the sublime Signer Staccato. The lady by his 
 side, a dark brunette with features that were still beau- 
 tiful, was the nimble-footed Madame Feu-de-joie, 
 whose shapely limbs and graceful motions had de- 
 lighted two generations and were like to appeal to a 
 third. Men who at twenty had thrown Feu-de-joie 
 posies, now bald but young as ever, tossed her roses. 
 
 "I don't like that lady," said Celestina, emphatic- 
 ally, when the dancer had passed on, after petting her 
 and kissing her on the cheek. 
 
 "Now, it's curious," commented the bard, "but your 
 sex never did."
 
 GARRET TO GARDEN 417 
 
 "Do men like her?" asked the child, with prema- 
 ture penetration. 
 
 "They did; they do; they will!" answered Straws, 
 epigrammatically. 
 
 "Do you like her ?" 
 
 "Oh, that's different! Poets, you know, are the 
 exception to any rule." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because Really, my dear, you ask too many 
 questions !" 
 
 Although Straws and Celestina had left the house 
 early in the day, it was noon before they reached the 
 attractive garden, wherein was sequestered the "select 
 seminary." 
 
 In this charming prison, whose walls were overrun 
 with flowering vines, and whose cells were pretty 
 vestal bowers, entered the bard and the young girl, to 
 be met on the front porch by the wardeness herself, a 
 mite of a woman, with wavy yellow hair, fine com- 
 plexion and washed-out blue eyes. Sensitive almost 
 to shyness, Mademoiselle de Castiglione appeared 
 more adapted for the seclusion of the veil in the 
 Ursuline Church than for the varied responsibilities of 
 a young ladies' institute. At the approach of the 
 poet, she turned, looked startled, but finally came for- 
 ward bravely. 
 
 "Oh, I've read it again, Mr. Straws!" she ex- 
 claimed, impetuously. 
 
 "What ?" he returned, sternly, pausing at the foot 
 of the steps.
 
 4i8 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Your your lovely Strophes!" she continued, tim- 
 idly. 
 
 The bard frowned. "All great men profess to 
 scowl at flattery," thought Straws. "She will have 
 but a poor opinion of me, if I do not appear an 
 offended Hector!" 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I excessively dislike compliments," 
 he began aloud, but having gone thus far, his courage 
 and lack of chivalry failed him in the presence of her 
 dismay; he forgot his greatness, and hastened to add, 
 with an ingratiating smile: "Except when delivered 
 by such a charming person !" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Straws !" 
 
 "This, Mademoiselle," resumed the bard, "is the 
 young girl I spoke about. Her mother," he added in 
 a low voice, "was a beautiful quadroon ; her father" 
 here Straws mentioned a name. The wardeness 
 flushed furiously. "Father died; always meant to 
 make it right; didn't; crime of good intentions! 
 Virago of an aunt ; regular termagant ; hates the girl ! 
 Where was a home to be found for her? Where" 
 gazing around him "save this Eden? Where a 
 mother save in one whose heart is the tenderest?" 
 
 Diplomatic Straws ! Impulsively the wardeness 
 crossed to Celestina; her blue eyes beamed with sen- 
 timent and friendliness. "I will give her my personal 
 attention," she said. And then to the young girl : 
 "We will be friends, won't we?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Celestina, slowly, after a moment's
 
 GARRET TO GARDEN 419 
 
 discreet hesitation. She was glad the other did not 
 kiss her like Feu-de-joie. 
 
 "I always like," said the wardeness, "to feel my 
 little girls are all my little friends." 
 
 "Mademoiselle," exclaimed the bard, "I'll I'll ded- 
 icate my next volume of poems to you !" 
 
 "Really, Mr. Straws !" 
 
 "For every kindness to her, you shall have a verse," 
 he further declared. 
 
 "Then your dedication would be as long as 
 Homer!" she suddenly flashed out, her arm around 
 the child. 
 
 Straws looked at her quickly. It was too bad of 
 him! And that borrowed Don Juan smile! Noth- 
 ing could excuse it. 
 
 Castiglione busied herself with Celestina's ribbons. 
 "Whoever did tie that bow-knot?" she observed. 
 
 "Good-by, Celestina," said Straws. 
 
 Celestina put her arms gravely about his neck and 
 he pressed his lips to her cheek. Then he strode 
 quickly toward the gate. Just before passing out, 
 he looked back. The wardeness had finished ad- 
 justing the ribbon and was contemplatively inspecting 
 it. Celestina, as though unconscious of the attention, 
 was gazing after the poet, and when he turned into 
 the road, her glance continued to rest upon the gate.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 "THE BEST OF LIFE" 
 
 On a certain evening about a month later, the trop- 
 ical rains had flooded the thoroughfares, until St. 
 Charles Street needed but a Rialto and a little imagi- 
 nation to convert it into a watery highway of another 
 Venice, while as for Canal Street, its name was as 
 applicable as though it were spanned by a Bridge of 
 Sighs. In the narrow streets the projecting eaves 
 poured the water from the roof to the sidewalks, del- 
 uging the pedestrians. These minor thoroughfares 
 were tributary to the main avenues and gushed their 
 rippling currents into them, as streams supply a 
 river, until the principal streets flowed swiftly with 
 the dirty water that choked their gutters. The rain 
 splashed and spattered on the sidewalks, fairly flood- 
 ing out the fruit venders and street merchants who 
 withstood the deluge for a time and then were forced 
 to vanish with their portable stores. The cabby, 
 phlegmatic to wind and weather, sat on his box, shed- 
 ding the moisture from his oil-skin coat and facing a 
 cloud of steam which presumably concealed a horse. 
 (420)
 
 "THE BEST OF LIFE" 421 
 
 The dark night and the downpour made the cafes 
 look brighter. Umbrellas flitted here and there, skil- 
 fully piloted beneath swinging signs and low bal- 
 conies, evading awning posts and high hats as best 
 they might. There were as many people out as usual, 
 but they were hurrying to their destinations, even the 
 languid Creole beauty, all lace and alabaster, moved 
 with the sprightliness of a maid of Gotham. 
 
 Straws, editor and rhymster, was seated on the 
 semi-Oriental, semi-French gallery of the little cafe, 
 called the Veranda, sipping his absinthe, smoking a 
 cheroot and watching the rain drip from the roof of 
 the balcony, spatter on the iron railing and form a 
 shower bath for the pedestrians who ventured from 
 beneath the protecting shelter. Before him was paper, 
 partly covered with well-nigh illegible versification, 
 and a bottle of ink, while a goose-quill, tool of the 
 tuneful Nine, was expectantly poised in mid air. 
 
 "Confound it!" he said to himself. "I can't write 
 in the attic any more, since Celestina has gone, and 
 apparently I can't write away from it. Since she 
 left, the dishes haven't been washed; my work has 
 run down at the heels, and everything is going to the 
 dogs generally. And now this last thing has upset 
 me quite. 'In the twinkling of an eye,' says the 
 sacred Book. But I must stop thinking, or I'll never 
 complete this poem. Now to make my mind a blank ; 
 a fitting receptacle to receive inspiration!" 
 
 The bard's figure swayed uncertainly on the stool. 
 In the lively race through a sonnet, it was often, of
 
 422 THE STROLLERS 
 
 late, a matter of doubt with Straws, whether Bacchus 
 or Calliope would prevail at the finish, and to-night 
 the jocund god had had a perceptible start. "Was 
 ever a poet so rhyme-fuddled?" muttered the impa- 
 tient versifier. "An inebriating trade, this poetiz- 
 ing!" and he reached for the absinthe. "If I am 
 not careful, these rhymes will put me under the 
 table!" 
 
 "Nappy, eh?" said a voice at his elbow, as a drip- 
 ping figure approached, deposited his hat on one chair 
 and himself in another. The new-comer had a long, 
 Gothic face and a merry-wise expression. 
 
 The left hand of the poet waved mechanically, im- 
 posing silence ; the quill dived suddenly to paper, 
 trailed twice across it, and then was cast aside, as 
 Straws looked up. 
 
 "Yes," he replied to the other's interrogation. "It's 
 all on account of Celestina's leaving me. You ought 
 to see my room. Even a poet's soul revolts against 
 it. So what can I do, save make my home amid 
 convivial haunts?" The poet sighed. "And you, 
 Phazma ; how are you feeling ?" 
 
 "Sober as a judge!" 
 
 "Then you shall judge of this last couplet," ex- 
 claimed Straws quickly. "It has cost me much effort. 
 The editor wanted it. It seemed almost too sad a 
 subject for my halting muse. There are some things 
 which should be sacred even from us, Phazma. But 
 what is to be done when the editor-in-chief com-
 
 "THE BEST OF LIFE" 
 
 423 
 
 mands? 'Ours not to reason why!' The poem is a 
 monody on the tragedy at the theater." 
 
 "At the St. Charles?" said Phazma, musingly. "As 
 I passed, it was closed. It seemed early for the per- 
 formance to be over. Yet the theater was dark; all 
 the lights had gone out." 
 
 "More than the lights went out," answered Straws, 
 gravely ; "a life went out !" 
 
 "I don't exactly Oh, you refer to Miss Carew's 
 farewell ?" 
 
 "No ; to Barnes' !" 
 
 "Barnes' !" exclaimed his surprised listener. 
 
 "Yes ; he is dead ; gone out like the snuff of a can- 
 dle! Died in harness, before the footlights!" 
 
 "During the performance!" cried the wondering 
 Phazma. "Why, only this afternoon I met him, ap- 
 parently hale and hearty, and now you tell me he 
 has paid the debt of nature?" 
 
 "As we must all pay it," returned Straws. "He 
 acted as if he were dazed while the play was in 
 progress and I could not but notice it, standing in the 
 wings. The prompter spoke of it to me. 'I don't 
 know what is the matter with Mr. Barnes,' he said, 
 'I have had to keep throwing him his lines.' Even 
 Miss Carew rallied him gently between acts on his 
 subdued manner. 
 
 " This is our last performance together,' he said 
 absently. She gave him a reproachful look and he 
 added, quickly: 'Do I appear gloomy, my dear? I 
 never felt happier.'
 
 424 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "At the end of the second act he seemed to arouse 
 himself, when she, as Isabella, said : 'I'll fit his mind 
 to death, for his soul's rest.' He gazed at her long 
 and earnestly, his look caressing her wherever she 
 moved. Beginning the prison scene with spirit, he 
 had proceeded to, 
 
 " 'Reason thus with life; 
 
 If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing 
 That none but fools would keep ' 
 
 When suddenly he threw up his arms and fell upon 
 the stage, his face toward the audience. With a cry 
 I shall never forget, Miss Carew rushed to him and 
 took his head in her arms, gazing at him wildly, and 
 calling to him piteously. The curtain went down, 
 but nothing^ could be done, and life quickly ebbed. 
 Once, only, his lips moved: 'Your mother there! 
 where the play never ends !' and it was over." 
 
 "It is like a romance," said Phazma, finally, at the 
 conclusion of this narration. 
 
 "Say, rather, reality! The masque is over! In 
 that final sleep Jack Pudding lies with Roscius ; the 
 tragedian does not disdain the mummer, and beauti- 
 ful Columbine, all silver spangles and lace, is com- 
 pany for the clown. 'Tis the only true republic, 
 Phazma; death's Utopia!" 
 
 "But to think he should have died with those words 
 of the poet on his lips ?" 
 
 "A coincidence!" answered Straws.. "No more no- 
 table than the death of Edmund Kean, who, when he
 
 "THE BEST OF LIFE" 
 
 425 
 
 reached the passage 'Farewell, Othello's occupation's 
 gone !' fell back unconscious ; or that of John Palmer, 
 who, after reciting There is another and a better 
 world/ passed away without a pang." 
 
 A silence fell between the two poets; around them 
 shadows appeared and vanished. Phazma finished 
 his syrup and arose. 
 
 "Don't go," said Straws. "My own thoughts are 
 poor company. Recite some of your madrigals, that's 
 a good fellow! What a wretched night! These 
 rain-drops are like the pattering feet of the invisible 
 host. Some simple song, Phazma!" 
 
 "As many as you please!" cried his flattered broth- 
 er-bard. "What shall it be ?" 
 
 "One of your Rhymes for Children. Your 'Boy's 
 Kingdom/ beginning: 
 
 " 'When I was young, I dreamed of knights 
 And dames with silken trains.'" 
 
 "Thou shalt have it, mon ami!" 
 
 And Phazma gaily caught up the refrain, while 
 Straws beat time to the tinkling measures. 
 
 The last entry in the date-book, or diary, of Barnes 
 seems curiously significant as indicating a knowledge 
 that his end was near. For the first time in the vol- 
 ume he rambles on in a reminiscent mood about his 
 boyhood days : 
 
 "The first bit of good fortune I ever enjoyed was
 
 426 THE STROLLERS 
 
 when as a lad in sweeping a crossing in the neighbor- 
 hood of the Strand I found a bright, shining sover- 
 eign. How tightly I grasped it in my little fist that 
 night when I slept in a doorway ! I dared not trust 
 it in my pocket. The next night I walked to the 
 ticket-seller at Drury Lane, and demanded a seat 
 down stairs. 'Gallery seats sold around the corner,' 
 said this imposing gentleman with a prodigious 
 frown, and, abashed, I slunk away. My dream of 
 being near the grand people vanished and I climbed 
 once more to my place directly under the roof. 
 
 "My next bit of good fortune happened in this 
 wise. Sheridan, the playwright-orator, attracted my 
 attention on Piccadilly one day, and, for the delight of 
 gazing upon him, I followed. When he stopped, I 
 stopped; when he advanced, I did likewise. I felt 
 that I was treading in the footsteps of a king. Sud- 
 denly he paused, wheeled about and confronted me, 
 a raw-boned, ragged, awkward lad of fourteen. 
 'What one of my creditors has set you following me ?' 
 he demanded. 'None, sir,' I stammered. 'I only 
 wanted to look at the author of "The Rivals." ' He 
 appeared much amused and said: 'Egad! So you 
 are a patron of the drama, my boy?' I muttered 
 something, in the affirmative. He regarded my ap- 
 pearance critically. 'I presume you would not be 
 averse to genteel employment, my lad?' he asked. 
 With that he scribbled a moment and handed me a 
 note to the property man of Drury Lane. My heart 
 was too full; I had no words to thank him. The
 
 "THE BEST OF LIFE" 427 
 
 tears were in my eyes, which, noting, he remarked, 
 with an assumption of sternness : 'Are you sure, boy, 
 you are not a bailiff in disguise?' At this I laughed 
 and he left me. The note procured me an engage- 
 ment as errand boy at the stage-door and later I 
 rose to the dignity of scene-shifter. How truly typ- 
 ical of this man's greatness, to help lift a homeless 
 lad out of the gutters of London town ! 
 
 "But I am rambling on as though writing an auto- 
 biography, to be read when I am gone " 
 
 Here the entry ceases and the rest of the pages in 
 the old date-book are blank.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 
 
 The sudden and tragic death of Constance's foster- 
 father which occurred virtually as narrated by 
 Straws set a seal of profound sadness on the heart 
 of the young girl. ''Good sir, adieu!" she had said 
 in the nunnery scene and the eternal parting had 
 shortly followed. Her affection for the old manager 
 had been that of a loving daughter; the grief she 
 should have experienced over the passing of the mar- 
 quis was transferred to the memory of one who had 
 been a father through love's kinship. In the far- 
 away past, standing at the bier of her mother, the 
 manager it was who had held her childish hand, con- 
 soling her and sharing her affliction, and, in those 
 distant but unforgotten days of trouble, the young 
 girl and the homeless old man became all in all to each 
 other. 
 
 Years had rolled by; the child that prattled by his 
 
 side became the stately girl, but the hand-clasp at that 
 
 grave had never been relinquished. She could not 
 
 pretend to mourn the death of the marquis, her own 
 
 (428)
 
 THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 429 
 
 father ; had he not ever been dead to her ; as dead as 
 the good wife (or bad wife) of that nobleman ; as dead 
 as Gross George, and all the other honored and dis- 
 honored figures of that misty past ? But Barnes' death 
 was the abrupt severing of ties, strengthened by years 
 of tender association, and, when his last summons 
 came, she felt herself truly alone. 
 
 In an old cemetery, amid the crumbling bricks, 
 Barnes was buried, his sealed tomb above ground 
 bearing in its inscription the answer to the duke's 
 query: "Thy Best of Life is Sleep." After the 
 manager's death and Constance's retirement from the 
 stage, it naturally followed that the passengers of the 
 chariot became separated. Mrs. Adams continued to 
 play old woman parts throughout the country, re- 
 maining springy and buoyant to the last. Susan 
 transferred herself and her talents to another stock 
 company performing in New Orleans, while Kate 
 procured an engagement with a traveling organiza- 
 tion. Adonis followed in her train. It had become 
 like second nature to quarrel with Kate, and at the 
 mere prospect of separation, he forthwith was driven 
 to ask her for her hand, and was accepted on pro- 
 bation, thus departing in leading strings. Hawkes, 
 melancholy as of old, drifted into a comic part in a 
 "variety show," acquiring new laurels as a dry come- 
 dian of the old school. But he continued to live alone 
 in the world, mournfully sufficient unto himself. 
 
 Constance remained in New Orleans. There the 
 old manager had found his final resting place and she
 
 430 THE STROLLERS 
 
 had no definite desire to go elsewhere. Adrift in 
 the darkness of the present, the young girl was too 
 perplexed to plan for the future. So she remained 
 in the house Barnes had rented shortly before his 
 death. An elderly gentlewoman of fallen fortunes, 
 to whom this semi-rural establishment belonged, Con- 
 stance retained as a companion, passing her time qui- 
 etly, soberly, almost in solitude. This mansion, last 
 remnant of its owner's earthly estate, was roomy and 
 spacious, nestling among the oranges and inviting 
 seclusion with its pretentious wall surrounding the 
 grounds. 
 
 The old-fashioned gentlewoman, poor and proud, 
 was a fitting figure in that ancient house, where in for- 
 mer days gay parties had assembled. But now the 
 principal callers at the old -house were the little fat 
 priest, with a rosy smile, who looked after the aged 
 lady's soul, of which she was most solicitous in these 
 later days, and the Count de Propriac, who came os- 
 tensibly to see the elderly woman and chat about gene- 
 alogy and extraction, but was obviously not unmindful 
 of the presence of the young girl nor averse to seek- 
 ing to mitigate her sorrow. Culver, the lawyer, too, 
 came occasionally, to talk about her affairs, but often 
 her mind turned impatiently from figures and markets 
 to the subtle rhythm of Shakespeare. She regretted 
 having left the stage, feeling the loneliness of this 
 simple existence; yet averse to seeking diversion, and 
 shunning rather than inviting society. As the inert 
 hours crept by, she longed for the forced wakefulness
 
 THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 431 
 
 and stir of other days happy days of insecurity; 
 fleeting, joyous days, gone now beyond recall! 
 
 But while she was striving to solve these new 
 problems of her life they were all being settled for 
 her by Fate, that arrogant meddler. Calling one morn- 
 ing, Culver, nosegay in hand, was obliged to wait 
 longer than usual and employed the interval in casu- 
 ally examining his surroundings and, incidentally, 
 himself. First, with the vanity of youngish old gen- 
 tlemen, he gazed into a tall mirror, framed in the fan- 
 tastic style of the early Venetians ; a glass which had 
 belonged to the marquis and had erstwhile reflected 
 the light beauty of his noble spouse. Pausing about 
 as long as it would have taken a lady to adjust a curl, 
 he peeped into a Dutch cabinet of ebony and mother- 
 of-pearl and was studying a charming creature painted 
 on ivory, whose head like that of Bluebeard's wife was 
 subsequently separated from her lovely shoulders, 
 when a light footstep behind him interrupted his 
 scrutiny. Turning, he greeted the young girl, and, 
 with stately gallantry, presented the nosegay. 
 
 "How well you are looking!" he said. "Though 
 there might be a little more color, perhaps, like some 
 of these flowers. If I were a doctor, I should pre- 
 scribe : Less cloister ; more city !" 
 
 She took the flowers, meeting his kindly gaze with 
 a faint smile. 
 
 "Most patients would like such prescriptions," he 
 went on. "I should soon become a popular society 
 physician."
 
 432 THE STROLLERS 
 
 But although he spoke lightly, his manner was 
 partly forced and he regarded her furtively. Their 
 brief acquaintance had awakened in him an interest, 
 half-paternal, half-curious. Women were an un- 
 known, but beautiful quantity ; from the vantage point 
 of a life of single blessedness, he vaguely, but quix- 
 otically placed them in the same category with flow- 
 ers, and his curiosity was no harsher than that of a 
 gardener studying some new variety of bud or blos- 
 som. Therefore he hesitated in what he was about 
 to' say, shifting in his chair uneasily when they were 
 seated, but finally coming to the point with: 
 
 "Have you read the account of the engagement be- 
 tween the Mexican and the American forces at Vera 
 Cruz?" 
 
 "No; not yet," she admitted. 
 
 "Nor the list of of casualties ?" he continued, hesi- 
 tatingly. 
 
 "The casualties !" she repeated. "Why " 
 
 "Saint-Prosper has no further interest in the mar- 
 quis' sous," he said quickly. 
 
 She gazed straight before her, calm and composed. 
 This absence of any exhibition of feeling reassured 
 the attorney. 
 
 "He is dead?" she asked quietly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How did he die?" 
 
 "Gallantly," replied the caller, now convinced she 
 had no interest in the matter, save that of a mere
 
 THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 
 
 433 
 
 acquaintance. "His death is described in half a col- 
 umn. You see he did not live in vain !" 
 
 "Was he killed in battle?" 
 
 "In a skirmish. His company was sent to break up 
 a band of guerilla rancheros at Antigua. They am- 
 bushed him; he drove them out of the thicket but 
 fell You have dropped your flowers. Allow met 
 at the head of his men." 
 
 "At the head of his men !" She drew in her breath. 
 
 "There passed the last of an ill-fated line," said the 
 lawyer, reflectively. "Poor fellow! He started with 
 such bright prospects, graduating from the military 
 college with unusual honors. Ambitious, light-heart- 
 ed, he went to Africa to carve out a name in the 
 army. But fate was against him. The same ship 
 that took him over carried back, to the marquis, the 
 story of his brother's disgrace " 
 
 "His brother's disgrace !" she exclaimed. 
 
 Culver nodded. "He sold a French stronghold in 
 Africa, Miss Carew." 
 
 Had the attorney been closely observing her he 
 would have noticed the sudden look of bewilderment 
 that crossed her face. She stared at him with her 
 soul in her eyes. 
 
 "Ernest Saint-Prosper's brother ?" 
 
 The turmoil of her thoughts held her as by a spell ; 
 in the disruption of a fixed conclusion her brain was 
 filled with new and poignant reflections. Uncon- 
 sciously she placed a nervous hand upon his arm.
 
 434 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "Then Ernest Saint-Prosper who was killed in 
 Mexico was not the traitor?" 
 
 "Certainly not!" exclaimed Culver, quickly. "Ow- 
 ing to the disgrace, I am sure, more than to any other 
 reason, he bade farewell to his country and now lies 
 unmourned in some mountain ravine. It is true the 
 marquis quarreled with him, disliking not a little the 
 young man's republican ideas, but my dear young 
 lady ! you are ill ?" 
 
 "No, no!" she returned, hastily, striving to main- 
 tain her self-possession. "How do you know this?" 
 
 "Through the marquis, himself," he replied, some- 
 what uneasy beneath her steady gaze. "He told me 
 the story in order to protect the estate from any pos- 
 sible pretensions on the part of the traitor. The rene- 
 gade was reported dead, but the marquis, neverthe- 
 less remained skeptical. He did not believe in the 
 old saw about the devil being dead. 'Le diable lives 
 always,' he said." 
 
 The visitor observed a perceptible change in the 
 young girl, just what he could not define, but to him 
 it seemed mostly to lie in her eyes where something 
 that baffled him looked out and met his glance. 
 
 "His brother was an officer in the French army?" 
 she asked, as though forcing herself to speak. 
 
 "Yes; ten years older than Ernest Saint-Prosper, 
 he had already made a career for himself. How 
 eagerly, then, must the younger brother have looked 
 forward to meeting him ; to serving with one who, 
 in his young eyes, was all that was brave and noble !
 
 THE LAWYER'S TIDINGS 
 
 435 
 
 What a bitter awakening from the dream! It is not 
 those we hate who can injure us most only those we 
 love can stab us so deeply !" 
 
 Mechanically she answered the lawyer, and, when 
 he prepared to leave, the hand, given him at parting, 
 was as cold as ice. 
 
 "Remember," he said, admonishingly ; "less cloister, 
 more city!" 
 
 Some hours later, the old lady, dressed in her heavy 
 silk and brocade and with snow-white hair done up in 
 imposing fashion, rapped on Constance's door, but 
 received no answer. Knocking again, with like re- 
 sult, she entered the room, discovering the young girl 
 on the bed, her cheeks tinted like the rose, her eyes 
 with no gleam of recognition in them, and her lips 
 moving, uttering snatches of old plays. Taking her 
 hand, the old lady found it hot and dry. 
 
 "Bless me !" she exclaimed. "She is down with a 
 fever." And at once prepared a simple remedy which 
 soon silenced the babbling lips in slumber, after which 
 she sent for the doctor.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE COUNCIL OF WAR 
 
 "Adjutant, tell Colonel Saint-Prosper I wish to see 
 him." 
 
 The adjutant saluted and turned on his heel, while 
 General Scott bent over the papers before him, study- 
 ing a number of rough pencil tracings. Absorbed in his 
 task, the light of two candles on the table brought 
 into relief, against the dark shadows, a face of rug- 
 ged character and marked determination. Save for a 
 slight contraction of the brow, he gave no evidence 
 of the mental concentration he bestowed upon the 
 matter in hand, which was to lead to the culmination 
 of the struggle and to vindicate the wisdom and bold- 
 ness of his policy. 
 
 "You sent for me, General?" 
 
 An erect, martial figure stood respectfully at the 
 entrance of the tent. 
 
 "Yes," said the General, pushing the papers from 
 
 him. "I have been studying your drawings of the 
 
 defensive works at San Antonio Garita and find them 
 
 entirely comprehensive. A council of officers has 
 
 (436)
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 437 
 
 been called, and perhaps it will be as well for you to 
 remain." 
 
 "At what time shall I be here, General?" 
 
 "It is about time now," answered the commander- 
 in-chief, consulting his watch. "You have quite re- 
 covered from your wounds ?" he added, kindly. 
 
 "Yes, thank you, General." 
 
 "I see by the newspapers you were reported dead. 
 If your friends read that it will cause them needless 
 anxiety. You had better see that the matter is cor- 
 rected." 
 
 "It is hardly worth while," returned the young 
 man, slowly. 
 
 The commanding general glanced at him in some 
 surprise. "A strange fellow!'' he thought. "Has he 
 reasons for wishing to be considered dead? How- 
 ever, that is none of my business. At any rate, he is 
 a good soldier." And, after a moment, he continued : 
 "Cerro Gordo was warm work, but there is warmer 
 yet in store for us. Only Providence, not the Mexi- 
 cans, can stop us. But here are the officers," as 
 General Pillow, Brevet-General Twiggs and a number 
 of other officers entered. 
 
 The commander-in-chief proceeded to give such in- 
 formation as he had, touching the approaches to the 
 city. Many of the officers favored operating against 
 San Antonio Garita, others attacking Chapultepec. 
 Saint-Prosper, when called on, stated that the ground 
 before the San Antonio gate was intersected by many
 
 438 THE STROLLERS 
 
 irrigating ditches and that much of the approach was 
 under water. 
 
 "Then you would prefer storming a fortress to tak- 
 ing a ditch ?" said one of the generals, satirically. 
 
 "A series of ditches," replied the other. 
 
 "Colonel Saint-Prosper is right," exclaimed the com- 
 manding general. "I had already made up my mind. 
 Let it be the western gate, then." 
 
 And thus was brought to a close one of the most 
 memorable councils of war, for it determined the fate 
 of the City of Mexico. 
 
 Saint-Prosper looked older than when seen in 
 New Orleans, as though he had endured much in that 
 brief but hard campaign. His wound had incapaci- 
 tated him for only a few months, and in spite of the 
 climate and a woful lack of medical attendance and 
 nourishing supplies, his hardy constitution stood him 
 in such stead he was on his feet and in the saddle, 
 while his comrades languished and died in the fierce 
 heat of the temporary hospitals. His fellow-officers 
 knew him as a fearless soldier, but a man reticent 
 about himself, who made a confidant of no one. Liked 
 for his ready, broad military qualities, it was a mat- 
 ter of comment, nevertheless, that no one knew any- 
 thing about him except that he had served in the 
 French army and was highly esteemed by General 
 Scott as a daring and proficient engineer. 
 
 One evening shortly before the skirmish of An- 
 tigua, a small Mexican town had been ransacked, 
 where were found cattle, bales of tobacco, pulque and
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 
 
 439 
 
 wine. At the rare feast which followed a veteran 
 drank to his wife; a young man toasted his sweet- 
 heart, and a third, with moist eyes, sang the praises 
 of his mother. In the heart of the enemy's land, 
 amid the uncertainties of war, remembrance car- 
 ried them back to their native soil, rugged New 
 England, the hills of Vermont, the prairies of Illinois, 
 the blue grass of Kentucky. 
 
 "Saint-Prosper!" they cried, calling on him, when 
 the festivities were at their height. 
 
 "To you, gentlemen," he replied, rising, glass in 
 hand. "I drink to your loved ones !" 
 
 "To your own!" cried a young man, flushed with 
 the wine. 
 
 Saint-Prosper gazed around that rough company, 
 brave hearts softened to tenderness, and, lifting his 
 canteen, said, after a moment's hesitation: 
 
 "To a princess on a tattered throne !" 
 
 They looked at him in surprise. Who was this ad- 
 venturer who toasted princesses? The Mexican war 
 had brought many soldiers of fortune and titled gen- 
 tlemen from Europe to the new world, men who took 
 up the cause more to be fighting than that they cared 
 what the struggle was about. Was the "tattered 
 throne" Louis Philippe's chair of state, torn by the mob 
 in the Tuileries? And what foreign princess was the 
 lady of the throne? But they took up the refrain 
 promptly, good-naturedly, and a chorus rolled out : 
 
 "To the princess!" 
 
 Little they knew she was but a poor stroller; an
 
 440 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "impudent, unwomanish, graceless monster," accord- 
 ing to Master Prynne. 
 
 After leaving the commanding general's tent, Saint- 
 Prosper retired to rest in that wilderness which had 
 once been a monarch's pleasure grounds. Now over- 
 head the mighty cypresses whispered their tales of 
 ancient glory and faded renown ; the wind waved those 
 trailing beards, hoary with age ; a gathering of vener- 
 able giants, murmuring the days when the Aztec mon- 
 arch had once held courtly revels under the grateful 
 shadows of their branches. The moaning breeze 
 seemed the wild chant of the Indian priest in honor 
 of the war-god of Anahuac. It told of battles to come 
 and conflicts which would level to the dust the de- 
 scendants of the conquerors of that ill-starred coun- 
 try. And so the soldier finally fell asleep, with that 
 requiem ringing in his ears. 
 
 When daybreak again penetrated the mountain re- 
 cesses and fell upon the valley, Saint-Prosper arose 
 to shake off a troubled slumber. An unhealthy mist 
 hung over the earth, like a miasma, and the officer 
 shivered as he walked in that depressing and noxious 
 atmosphere. It lay like a deleterious veil before the 
 glades where myrtles mingled with the wild times. 
 It concealed from view a cross, said to have been 
 planted by Cortez the cross he worshiped because 
 of its resemblance to the hilt of a sword ! and en- 
 veloped the hoary trees that were old when Montezuma 
 was a boy 'or when Marina was beloved by the mighty 
 free-booter.
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 441 
 
 The shade resting on the valley appeared that of a 
 mighty, virulent hand. Out of the depths arose a 
 flock of dark-hued birds, soaring toward the morbific 
 fog; not moving like other winged creatures, with 
 harmony of motion, but rising without unity, and 
 filling the vale with discordant sounds. Nowhere 
 could these sable birds have appeared more unearthly 
 than in the "dark valley," as it was called by the 
 natives, where the mists moved capriciously, yet re- 
 mained persistently within the circumference of this 
 natural cauldron, now falling like a pall and again 
 hovering in mid air. Suddenly the uncanny birds van- 
 ished among the trees as quickly as they had arisen, 
 and there was something mysterious about their un- 
 warranted disappearance and the abrupt cessation of 
 clamorous cries. 
 
 While viewing this somber scene, Saint-Prosper 
 had made his way to a little adobe house which the 
 natives had built near the trail that led through the 
 valley. As he approached this hut he encountered a 
 dismal but loquacious sentinel, tramping before the 
 partly opened door. 
 
 "This is chilly work, guard?" said the young man, 
 pausing. 
 
 "Yis, Colonel," replied the soldier, apparently grate- 
 ful for the interruption ; "it's a hot foight I prefer to 
 this cool dooty." 
 
 "Whom are you guarding?" continued the officer. 
 
 "A spy, taken in the lines a few days ago. He's 
 to be executed this morning at six. But I don't
 
 442 THE STROLLERS 
 
 think he will moind that, for it's out of his head he is, 
 with the malaria." 
 
 "He should have had medical attendance," observed 
 the officer, stepping to the door. 
 
 "Faith, they'll cure him at daybreak," replied the 
 guard. "It's a medicine that niver fails." 
 
 Saint-Prosper pushed open the door. The interior 
 was so dim that at first he could not distinguish the 
 occupant, but when his eyes became accustomed to the 
 darkness, he discovered the figure of the prisoner, 
 who was lying with his back toward him on the ground 
 of the little hut with nothing but a thin blanket beneath 
 him. The only light revealing the barren details of 
 this Indian residence sifted through the small door- 
 way or peered timorously down through a narrow 
 aperture in the roof that served for a chimney. As 
 Saint-Prosper gazed at the prostrate man, the latter 
 moved uneasily, and from the parched lips fell a few 
 words : 
 
 "Lock the doors, Oly-koeks ! Hear the songsters, 
 Mynheer Ten Breecheses! Birds of prey, you Dutch 
 varlet ! What do you think of the mistress of the 
 manor? The serenading anti-renters have come for 
 her." Then he repeated more slowly: "The squaw 
 Pewasch ! For seventeen and one-half ells of duf- 
 fels ! A rare principality for the scornful minx ! 
 Lord ! how the birds sing now around the manor 
 screech owls, cat-birds, bobolinks !" 
 
 The soldier started back, vivid memories assailing 
 his mind. Who was this man whose brain, independ-
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 443 
 
 ent of the corporeal shell, played waywardly with 
 scenes, characters and events, indissolubly associated 
 with his own life? 
 
 "Do you know, Little Thunder, the Lord only re- 
 buked the Pharisees?" continued the prostrate man. 
 "Though the Pharisee triumphs after all ! But it was 
 the stroller I wanted, not the principality." 
 
 He stirred quickly, as if suddenly aware of the 
 presence of another in the hut, and, turning, lifted 
 his head in a startled manner, surveying the figure 
 near the doorway with conflicting emotions written 
 on his pallid countenance. Perhaps some fragment 
 of a dream yet lingered in his brain ; perhaps he was 
 confused at the sight of a face that met his excited 
 look with one of doubt and bewilderment, but only 
 partial realization of the identity of the intruder came 
 to him in his fevered condition. 
 
 Arising deliberately, his body, like a machine, obey- 
 ing automatically some unconscious power, he con- 
 fronted the officer, who recognized in him, despite his 
 thin, worn face and eyes, unnaturally bright, the once 
 pretentious land baron, Edward Mauville. Moving 
 toward the door, gazing on Saint-Prosper as though 
 he was one of the figures of a disturbing phantasm, 
 he reached the threshold, and, lifting his hand above 
 his head, the prisoner placed it against one of the sup- 
 ports of the hut and stood leaning there. From the 
 creation of his mind's eye, as he doubtlessly, half- 
 conscious of his weakness, designated the familiar 
 form, he glanced at the sentinel and shook as though
 
 444 THE STROLLERS 
 
 abruptly conscious of his situation. Across the valley 
 the soldiers showed signs of bestirring themselves, the 
 smoke of many fires hovering earthward beneath the 
 mist. Drawing his thin frame proudly to its full 
 height, with a gesture of disdain for physical weakness, 
 and setting his keen, wild eyes upon the soldier, Mau- 
 ville said in a hollow tone: 
 
 "Is that really you, Mr. Saint-Prosper? At first 
 I thought you but a trick of the imagination. Well, 
 look your fill upon me ! You are my Nemesis come 
 to see the end." 
 
 "I am here by chance, Edward Mauville ; an officer 
 in the American army!" 
 
 "And I, a spy in the Mexican army. So are we 
 authorized foes." 
 
 Rubbing his trembling hands together, his eyes 
 shifted from the dark birds to the mists, then from the 
 phantom forests back to the hut, finally resting on 
 his shabby boots of yellow leather. The sunlight 
 penetrating a rift in the mist settled upon him as he 
 moved feebly and uncertainly through the doorway 
 and seated himself upon a stool. This sudden glow 
 brought into relief his ragged, unkempt condition, the 
 sallowness of his face, and his wasted form, and Saint- 
 Prosper could not but contrast pityingly this cheerless 
 object, in the garb of a ranchero, with the prepos- 
 sessing, sportive heir who had driven through the 
 Shadengo Valley. 
 
 Apparently now the sun was grateful to his bent,
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 445 
 
 stricken figure, and, basking in it, he recalled his dis- 
 tress of the previous night: 
 
 "This is better. Not long ago I awoke with chat- 
 tering teeth. 'This/ I said, 'is life; a miasma, cold, 
 discomfort.' Yes, yes ; a fever, a miasma, with phan- 
 toms fighting you struggling to choke you but 
 now" he paused, and fumbling in his pocket, drew 
 out a cigarette case, which he opened, but found 
 empty. A cigar the other handed him he took me- 
 chanically and lighted with scrupulous care. Near 
 at hand the guard, more cheerful under the prospect 
 of speedy relief from his duties, could be heard hum- 
 ming to himself: 
 
 " Oh, Teady-foley, you are my darling, 
 You are my looking-glass night and morning " 
 
 Watching the smoker, Saint-Prosper asked himself 
 how came Mauville to be serving against his own 
 country, or why he should have enlisted at all, this 
 pleasure-seeking man of the world, to whom the hard- 
 ships of a campaign must have been as novel as dis- 
 tasteful. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with your trial?" said the sol- 
 dier at length. 
 
 "Yes," returned Mauville, as if breaking from a rev- 
 erie. "I confess I am the secret agent of Santa Anna 
 and would have carried information from your lines. 
 I am here because there is more of the Latin than the 
 Anglo-Saxon in me. Many of the old families"
 
 446 THE STROLLERS 
 
 with a touch of insane pride "did not regard the 
 purchase of Louisiana by the United States as a trans- 
 action alienating them from other ties. Fealty is not 
 a commercial commodity. But this," he added, scorn- 
 fully, "is something you can not understand. You 
 soldiers of fortune draw your swords for any master 
 who pays you." 
 
 The wind moaned down the mountain side, and the 
 slender trees swayed and bent ; only the heavy and 
 ponderous cactus remained motionless, a formidable 
 monarch receiving obeisance from supple courtiers. 
 Like cymbals, the leaves clashed around this arma- 
 ment of power with its thousand spears out-thrust in 
 all directions. 
 
 The ash fell from the cigar as Mauville held the 
 weed before his eyes. 
 
 "It is an hour-glass," he muttered. "When 
 smoked Oh, for the power of Jupiter to order four 
 nights in one, the better to pursue his love follies ! 
 Love follies," he repeated, and, as a new train of 
 fancy was awakened, he regarded Saint-Prosper ven- 
 omously. 
 
 "Do you know she is the daughter of a marquis?'' 
 said Mauville, suddenly. 
 
 "Who?" asked the soldier. 
 
 "The stroller, of course. You can never win her," 
 he added, contemptuously. "She knows all about that 
 African affair." 
 
 Saint-Prosper started violently, but in a moment
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 447 
 
 Mauville's expression changed, and he appeared 
 plunged in thought. 
 
 "The last time I saw her," he said, half to himself, 
 "she was dressed in black her face as noonday her 
 hair black as midnight crowning her with languor- 
 ous allurement !" 
 
 He repeated the last word several times like a man 
 in a dream. 
 
 "Allurement ! allurement !" and again relapsed into 
 a silence that was half-stupor. 
 
 By this time the valley, with the growing of the day, 
 began to lose much of its evil aspect, and the eye, 
 tempted through glades and vistas, lingered upon gor- 
 geous forms of inflorescence. The land baron slowly 
 blew a wreath of smoke in the air a circle, mute 
 reminder of eternity ! and threw the end of the 
 cigar into the bushes. Looking long and earnestly 
 at the surrounding scene, he started involuntarily. 
 "The dark valley whar de mists am risin' I see 
 yo' da, honey fo'ebber and fo'ebber " 
 
 As he surveyed this prospect, with these words 
 ringing in his ears, the brief silence was broken by 
 a bugle call and the trampling of feet. 
 
 "The trumpet shall sound and the dead shall arise," 
 said the prisoner, turning and facing the soldiers 
 calmly. "You have come for me?" he asked, quietly. 
 
 "Yes," said the officer in command. "General Scott 
 has granted your request in view of certain circum- 
 stances, and you will be shot, instead of hanged."
 
 448 THE STROLLERS 
 
 The face of the prisoner lighted wonderfully. He 
 drew himself erect and smiled with some of the as- 
 sumption of the old insolence, that expression Saint- 
 Prosper so well remembered ! His features took on 
 a semblance to the careless, dashing look they had 
 borne when the soldier crossed weapons with him at 
 the Oaks, and he neither asked nor intended to give 
 quarter. 
 
 "I thank you," he observed, courteously. "At least, 
 I shall die like a gentleman. I am ready, sir! Do 
 not fasten my hands. A Mauville can die without 
 being tied or bound." 
 
 The officer hesitated : "As to that " he began. 
 
 "It is a reasonable request," said Saint-Prosper, in 
 a low tone. 
 
 Mauville abruptly wheeled ; his face, dark and sin- 
 ister, was lighted with envenomed malignity; an un- 
 naturally clear perception replaced the stupor of his 
 brain, and, bending toward Saint-Prosper, his eye 
 rested upon him with such rancor and malevolence 
 the soldier involuntarily drew away. But one word 
 fell from the land baron's lips, low, vibrating, full of 
 inexpressible bitterness. "Traitor !" 
 
 "Come, come!" interrupted the officer in command 
 of the execution party ; "time is up. As I was told 
 not to fasten your hands, you shall have your wish. 
 Confess now, that is accommodating?" 
 
 "Thanks," returned Mauville carelessly, relapsing 
 into his old manner. "You are an obliging fellow! 
 I would do as much for you."
 
 COUNCIL OF WAR 449 
 
 "Not much danger of that," growled the other. 
 "But we'll take the will for the deed. Forward, 
 march !" 
 
 After the reverberations, carried from rock to rock 
 with menacing reiteration, had ceased, the stillness 
 was absolute. Even the song-bird remained fright- 
 ened into silence by those awful echoes. Then the 
 sun rested like a benediction on the land and the white 
 cross of Cortez was distinctly outlined against the blue 
 sky. But soon the long roll of drums followed this 
 interval of quiet. 
 
 "Fall in !" "Attention ; shoulder arms !" And the 
 sleeping spirit of the Aztec war-god floated in the 
 murmur which, increasing in volume, arose to tumult- 
 uous shout. 
 
 "On to Chapultepec! On to Chapultepec !" came 
 from a thousand throats ; arms glistened in the sun, 
 bugles sounded resonant in the air, and the pattering 
 noise of horses' hoofs mingled with the stentorian 
 voices of the rough teamsters and the cracking of the 
 whips. Like an irresistible, all-compelling wave, the 
 troops swept out of the valley to hurl themselves 
 against castle and fortress and to plant their colors in 
 the heart of the capital city.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 A MEETING ON THE MOUNT 
 
 Clothed at its base in a misty raiment of purple, the 
 royal hill lifted above the valley an Olympian crest 
 of porphyritic rock into the fathomless blue. Here 
 not Jupiter and his court looked serenely down upon 
 the struggling race, "indifferent from their awful 
 height," but a dark-hued god, in Aztec vestments, 
 gazed beyond the meadows to the floating flower beds, 
 the gardens with their baths, and the sensuous danc- 
 ing girls. All this, but a panorama between naps, 
 soon faded away ; the god yawned, drew his 
 cloak of humming bird feathers more closely about 
 him and sank back to rest. An uproar then disturbed 
 his paleozoic dreams ; like fluttering spirits of the gar- 
 ish past, the butterflies arose in the forest glades; 
 and the voices of old seemed to chant the Aztec psalm : 
 "The horrors of the tomb are but the cradle of the 
 sun, and the dark shadows of death the brilliant lights 
 for the stars." Even so they had chanted when the 
 early free-booters burst upon the scene and beheld 
 the valley with its frame-work of mountains and two 
 (450)
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 451 
 
 guardian volcanoes, the Gog and Magog of the table- 
 land. 
 
 Now again, from the towering column of Monte- 
 zuma's cypress, to the city marked by spires, the 
 thunder rolled and echoed onward even to the pine- 
 clad cliffs and snow-crowned summits of the rocky 
 giants. Puffs of smoke dotted the valley beneath 
 the mount, and, as the answering reports reverberated 
 across space, nature's mortars in the inclosure of 
 mountains sent forth threatening wreaths of white 
 in sympathy with the' eight-inch howitzers and six- 
 teen-pounders turned upon the crest of the royal hill. 
 
 When the trees were yet wet with their bath of 
 dew the booming of artillery and the clattering of 
 small arms dispelled that peace which partook of no 
 harsher discord than the purling of streams and the 
 still, small voices of the forest. Through the groves 
 where the spirit of Donna Marina the lost love of 
 the marauder was said to wander, shrieked the round 
 shot, shells and grape. Through tangled shrubberies, 
 bright with flowers and colored berries, pierced the 
 discharge of canister; the air, fragrant at the dawn 
 with orange blossom and starry jessamine, was 
 noisome with suffocating, sulphurous fumes, and, be- 
 neath the fetid shroud, figures in a fog heedlessly 
 trampled the lilies, the red roses and "flowers of the 
 heart." 
 
 From the castle on the summit mortal trespass 
 upon the immortal pale of the gods! the upward 
 shower was answered by an iron down-pour, and two
 
 452 THE STROLLERS 
 
 storming parties, with ladders, pick-axes and crows, 
 advanced, one on each side of the hill, to the attack. 
 Boom ! boom ! before one of the parties, climbing and 
 scrambling to the peak, belched the iron missives of 
 destruction from the concealed mouths of heavy guns, 
 followed by the rattling shower from small arms. 
 
 Surprised, they paused, panting from the swift 
 ascent, some throwing themselves prone upon the 
 earth, while the grape and canister passed harmlessly 
 over them, others seeking such shelter as rocks, trees 
 and shrubs afforded. Here and there a man fell, but 
 was not suffered to lie long exposed to the fire of the 
 redoubt which, strongly manned, held them in check 
 midway to the summit. Doggedly their comrades 
 rescued the wounded and quickly conveyed them to 
 the rear. 
 
 "They've set out their watch-dogs," remarked the 
 general commanding the assault on that side of the 
 hill, to one of his officers, as he critically surveyed 
 the formidable defense through the tangled shrub- 
 bery. "Here is a battery we hadn't reckoned on." 
 
 "It was to be expected, sir," responded the officer. 
 "They were sure to have some strong point we 
 couldn't locate." 
 
 "Yes," grumbled the general ; "in such a jumble of 
 foliage and rocks it would take an eagle's eye to pick 
 out all their miserable ambuscades." 
 
 "I have no doubt, sir, the men are rested now" 
 ventured the other.
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 453 
 
 "No doubt they are," chuckled the general, still 
 studying the situation, glancing to the right and the 
 left of the redoubt. "The more fighting they get the 
 more they want. They are not so band-boxy as they 
 were, but remind me of an old, mongrel dog I once 
 owned. He wasn't much to look at but I'll tell you 
 the story later." A sudden quick decision appearing 
 on his face. Evidently the working of his mind had 
 been foreign to his words. 
 
 "Saint-Prosper," he said, "I suppose the boys on the 
 other side are going up all the time? I promised 
 our troops the honor of pulling down that flag. I'm 
 a man of my word; go ahead and take the batteries 
 and" stroking his long gray goatee "beat Pillow to 
 the, top." 
 
 A word ; a command ; they rushed forward ; not a 
 laggard in the ranks; not a man who shirked the 
 leaden shower; not one who failed to offer his breast 
 openly and fearlessly to the red death which to them 
 might come when it would. Unwaveringly over 
 rocks, chasms and mines, they followed the tall figure 
 of their leader; death underfoot, death overhead! 
 What would courage avail against concealed mines? 
 Yet like a pack of hounds that reck naught while the 
 scent is warm, they pressed forward, ever forward; 
 across the level opening, where some dropped out of 
 the race, and over the ramparts! A brief struggle; 
 confusion, turmoil ; something fearful occurring that 
 no eye could see in its entirety through the smoke;
 
 454 THE STROLLERS 
 
 afterwards, a great shout that announced to the pal- 
 ace on the mount the fate of the intermediary batter- 
 ies! 
 
 But there was sharper and more arduous work to 
 come; this, merely a foretaste of the last, fierce stand 
 of the besieged ; a stand in which they knew they were 
 fighting for everything, where defeat meant the second 
 conquest of Mexico ! From the batteries the assailants 
 had captured to the foot of the castle seemed but a 
 little way to them in their zeal ; no one thought of 
 weariness, or the toil of the ascent. But one deter- 
 mination possessed them to end it all quickly; to 
 carry everything before them ! Their victory at the 
 redoubt gave them such sudden, wild confidence that 
 castles seemed no more than ant-hills to be trampled 
 on! Instinctively every man felt sure of the day and 
 already experienced the glory of conquering that his- 
 toric hill ; that invincible fortress ! Over the great 
 valley, so beautiful in its physical features, so in- 
 spiring in its associations, should hang the stars of 
 the North, with the stars of heaven ! 
 
 The scaling ladders were brought up and planted 
 by the storming party ; the first to mount were hurled 
 back, killed or wounded, to the rocks below, but others 
 took their places ; a lodgment was effected, and, like 
 the water bursting over a dike, a tide of besiegers 
 found ingress. 
 
 Under a galling fire, with shouts that rang above 
 the noise of rifles, they drove the masses of the enemy 
 from their guns ; all save one, not a Mexican from his
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 455 
 
 fair skin, who stood confidently beside his piece, an 
 ancient machine, made of copper and strengthened 
 by bands of iron. A handsome face; dead to moral- 
 ity, alive to pleasure; the face of a man past thirty, 
 the expression of immortal one-and-twenty ! A fig- 
 ure from the pages of Ovid, metamorphosed to a gun- 
 ner of Santa Anna! The bright radiance from a 
 cloudless sky, the smoke having drifted westward 
 from the summit, fell upon him and his gun. 
 
 With inscrutable calmness, one hand fondling the 
 breech, he regarded the fleeting figures and the 
 hoarse-throated pursuers; then, as if to time the op- 
 portunity to the moment, he bent over the gun. 
 
 "I wonder if this first-born can still bark !" he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 But an instant's hesitation, friend and foe being 
 fairly intermingled, was fatal to his purpose; the 
 venerable culverin remained silent, and the gunner 
 met hand-to-hand a figure that sprang from the in- 
 coming host. Simultaneously the rapid firing of a 
 new wave of besiegers from the other side of the cas- 
 tle threw once more a pall of smoke over the scene, 
 and, beneath its mantle, the two men were like figures 
 struggling in a fog, feeling rather than seeing each 
 other's blade, divining by touch the cut, pass or ag- 
 gressive thrust. 
 
 "Faugh!" laughed the gunner. "They'll kill us 
 with smoke." 
 
 The discharge of small arms gradually ceased; the 
 fresh breeze again cleared the crest of the mount,
 
 456 THE STROLLERS 
 
 showing the white walls of the structure which had 
 been so obstinately defended; the valley, where the 
 batteries now lay silent, having spoken their thundering 
 prologue, and the alien flag, the regimental colors of 
 the invaders, floating from the upper walls. Below 
 on the road toward the city, a band of white across 
 the table land, successive spots of smoke momentar- 
 ily appeared and were succeeded, after a considerable 
 interval, by the rub-a-dub of rifles. From the disen- 
 chanting distance the charge of a body of men, in the 
 attempt to dislodge a party entrenched in a ditch, lost' 
 the tragic aspect of warfare, and the soldiers who 
 fell seemed no larger than the toy figures of a nur- 
 sery game. 
 
 With the brightening of the summit to the light 
 of day, eagerly the two combatants near the copper 
 gun gazed for the first time into each other's eyes, 
 and, at that trenchant glance, a tremor crossed the 
 features of the gunner, and his arm, with its muscles 
 of steel, suddenly became inert, powerless. 
 
 "Mon Dieu! 'Tis Ernest little Ernest!" he ex- 
 claimed, wonderingly. 
 
 For all that his opponent's sword, ominously red 
 from the fierce first assault at the wall, was at his 
 breast, he made no effort to oppose its threatening 
 point, when a grape-shot, swifter than the blade, 
 fairly struck the gunner. With blood streaming 
 from his shoulder, he swayed from side to side, pass- 
 ing his hand before his eyes as one who questions 
 oracular evidence, and then sank to the earth with
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 457 
 
 an arm thrown over the tube of copper. Above his 
 bronzed face the light curls waved like those of a 
 Viking; though his clothes were dyed with the san- 
 guinary hue and his chest rose and fell with labored 
 breathing, it was with an almost quizzical glance he 
 regarded the other who stood as if turned to stone. 
 
 "That was not so easily done, Ernest," he said, not 
 unkindly, "but surprise broke down my guard." 
 
 "Before God, it was not I P cried the soldier, start- 
 ing from a trance. 
 
 "And if it were!" With his free arm he felt his 
 shoulder. "I believe you are right/' he observed, 
 coolly. "Swords break no bones." 
 
 "I will get a surgeon," said the other, as he turned. 
 
 "What for? To shake his head? Get no one, or 
 if for boyish days ! you want to serve me, lend me 
 your canteen." 
 
 Saint-Prosper held it to his lips, and he drank 
 thirstily. 
 
 "That was a draught in an oasis. I had the desert 
 in my throat the desert, the wild desert! What a 
 place to meet ! But they caught Abd-el-Kader, and 
 there was nothing for it but to flee! Besides, I am 
 a rolling stone." 
 
 To hear him who had betrayed his country and 
 shed the blood of his comrades, characterize himself by 
 no harsher term was an amazing revelation of the 
 man's character. 
 
 The space around them had become almost desert- 
 ed; here and there lay figures on the ground among
 
 458 THE STROLLERS 
 
 which might be distinguished a sub-lieutenant and 
 other students of the military college, the castle hav- 
 ing been both academy and garrison. Their tuition 
 barely over, so early had they given up their lives 
 beneath the classic walls of their alma mater! The 
 exhilarating cheering and shouting had subsided; the 
 sad after-flavor succeeded the lust of conquest. 
 
 "Yes," continued the gunner, though the words 
 came with an effort. "First, it was the desert. What 
 a place to roll and rove! I couldn't help it for the 
 life of me! When I was a boy I ran away from 
 school ; a lad, I ran away from college ! If I had been 
 a sailor I would have deserted the ship. After they 
 captured the prophet, I deserted the desert. So, hey 
 for Mexico, a hilly place for a rolling stone !" 
 
 He gasped, held his hand to his shoulder and 
 brought it away covered with red. But that Saint- 
 Prosper knelt swiftly, sustaining and supporting him, 
 he would have slid to the ground. He smiled 
 sweetly enough on the stern soldier and placed his 
 moist and stained hand caressingly on that of his 
 companion. Seeing them thus, it was not difficult to 
 trace a family likeness a similarity in their very 
 dissimilarity. The older was younger; the younger, 
 older. The gunner's hair was light, his face wild as 
 a gerfalcon beneath ; the other's dark, with a counte- 
 nance, habitually repressed, but now, at the touch of 
 that dishonored hand, grown cold and harsh ; yet de- 
 spite the total difference of expression, the hereditary 
 resemblance could not be stamped out. Even the
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 459 
 
 smile of the wounded man was singularly like that of 
 his brother a rare transformation that seldom failed 
 to charm. 
 
 "That's my story," he said, smiling now, as though 
 all the problems of life and death could be thus dis- 
 missed. "As the prophet said: 'I have urged my 
 camel through every desert!' You see I know my 
 Koran well. But how came you here, Ernest? I 
 thought you were in Africa, colonizing us!" 
 
 "It was impossible to stay there long," replied 
 Saint-Prosper, slowly. 
 
 "There's that cloud of smoke again," muttered the 
 wounded man, apparently oblivious to the other's re- 
 sponse. As he spoke he withdrew his hand from that 
 of his brother. At that moment the tropic sun was 
 bathing him in its light and the white walls shone 
 with luster. "No; it's like the desert; the dark hour 
 before the sand-storm." Upon his brow the perspi- 
 ration gathered, but his lip curled half-scorn fully, 
 half-defiantly. "Turn me toward the valley, Ernest. 
 There's more space ; more light !" 
 
 The soldier, an automaton in passive compliance, 
 placed him where he commanded the outlook city- 
 ward ; the open plain, protected by the breast- works 
 of mountains ; the distant spires trembling on the 
 horizon; the lakes which once marked the Western 
 Venice, a city of perfume and song. Striking a body 
 of water, the sun converted it into a glowing shield, 
 a silver escutcheon of the land of silver, and, in con- 
 trast with this polished splendor, the shadows, trail-
 
 460 THE STROLLERS 
 
 ing on the far-away mountains, were soft, deep and 
 velvety. But the freedom of the outlook afforded the 
 wounded man little comfort. 
 
 "The storm !" he said. 
 
 A change passed over his face, as of a shadow 
 drawn before it. He groped helplessly with his hand. 
 "Feel in my burnoose, Ernest. A bag around my 
 neck open it!" 
 
 Saint-Prosper thrust his hand within the coat, shud- 
 dering at the contact with the ebbing life's blood, and 
 drew forth a leather bag which he placed in the 
 other's trembling fingers. With an effort, breathing 
 laboriously, and staring hard, as though striving to 
 penetrate a gathering film, the wounded man finally 
 managed to display the contents of the bag, emptying 
 them in his palm, where they glinted and gleamed in 
 the sun's rays. Sapphires, of delicate blue ; emeralds 
 with vitreous luster; opals of brilliant iridescence 
 but, above all, a ruby of perfect color and extraordi- 
 nary size, cut en cabachon, and exhibiting a marvelous 
 star of many rays ; the ruby of Abd-el-Kader ! 
 
 With a venal expression of delight, the gunner re- 
 garded the contents of the bag, feeling the gems one 
 by one. "The rarest stone from the Sagyin hills, 
 Ernest !" he whispered, as his trembling fingers played 
 with the ruby. 
 
 But even as he fondled it, a great pain crossed his 
 breast; he gripped his shoulder tight with his free 
 hand, clutching the precious stones hard in his 
 clenched fist. Thus he remained, how long the other
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 461 
 
 never knew, panting, growing paler, as the veins that 
 carried life to his heart were being slowly emptied. 
 ^ His head dropped. "How dark!" he murmured. 
 "Like a m'chachd where the hashish-smokers dream !" 
 
 The younger brother thought his energy was spent 
 when he looked up sharply. 
 
 "The lamp's out, you Devil Jew!" he cried. "The 
 pipe, too spawn of hell !" 
 
 And he dropped back like stone, the gems falling 
 from his hand, which twitched spasmodically on the 
 ground and then was still. Saint-Prosper bent over 
 him, but the heart, famished for nourishment, had 
 ceased to beat; the restless, wayward soul had fled 
 from its tabernacle of dust. Save for the stain on 
 his breast and the fixedness of his eyes, he might have 
 been sleeping. 
 
 Mechanically the soldier gathered the sapphires, 
 emeralds and other gems flashing testimony of that 
 thankless past and, leaning against the wall, gazed 
 afar to the snow-capped volcanoes. Even as he 
 looked, the vapors arose from the solfataras of the 
 "smoking mountain" and a vast shower of cinders 
 and stones was thrown into the air. Unnoticed 
 passed the eruption before the gaze of Saint-Prosper, 
 whose mind in a torpor swept dully back to youth's 
 roseate season, recalling the homage of the younger 
 for the elder brother, a worship as natural as pagan 
 adoration of the sun. From the sanguine fore-time 
 to the dead present lay a bridge of darkness. With 
 honor within grasp, deliberately he had sought dis-
 
 462 THE STROLLERS 
 
 honor, little recking of shame and murder, and child- 
 ishly husbanding- green, red and blue pebbles ! 
 
 Weighing the stones in his hand now, Ernest 
 Saint-Prosper looked .at them long and bitterly. For 
 these the honor and pride of an old family had been 
 sold. For these he himself had endured the reflected 
 disgrace'; isolation from comradeship ; distrust which 
 had blighted his military career at the outset. How 
 different had been the reality from his expectations; 
 the buoyant hopes of youth; the fond anticipation of 
 glory, succeeded by stigma and stain ! And, as the 
 miserable, perplexing panorama of these later years 
 pictured itself in his brain he threw, with a sudden 
 gesture, the gems far from him, over the wall, out 
 toward the valley ! 
 
 Like dancing beams of color, they flashed a moment 
 in mid air ; then mingled their hues with the rain- 
 bow tints of a falling - stream. Lost to sight, they 
 sank in the crystal waters which leaped with a caress- 
 ing murmur toward the table-land ; only the tiny spec- 
 trum, vivid reminder of their color, still waved and 
 wavered from rock to rock above a pellucid pool. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Colonel," said a voice at his 
 elbow, breaking in upon his reflections; "are you 
 wounded ?" 
 
 With drawn features, the officer turned. 
 
 "No; I am not wounded." 
 
 "The general directs you to take this message to 
 the commanding general," continued the little aide. 
 "I believe I may congratulate you, sir, for you will
 
 MEETING ON THE MOUNT 463 
 
 have the honor of bearing the news of the victory." 
 He handed Saint-Prosper a sealed message. "It's 
 been a glorious day, sir, but" gazing carelessly 
 around him "has cost many a brave life!" 
 
 "Yes, many a life !" answered the other, placing the 
 message in his breast and steadfastly regarding for 
 the last time the figure beneath the gun. 
 
 "We ought to be in the City of Mexico in a day or 
 two, sir," resumed the aide. "Won't it be jolly 
 though, after forced marches and all that sort of 
 thing ! Fandangos ; tambourines ; cymbals ! And 
 the pulque! What creatures of the moment we are, 
 sir !" he added, with sudden thoughtfulness. " Twill 
 be, after all, like dancing over the graves of our dear 
 comrades !"
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 
 
 The reception to General Zachary Taylor, on his re- 
 turn from Mexico, and the inauguration of the carni- 
 val combined to the observance of a dual festival day 
 in the Crescent City. Up the river, past the rice 
 fields, disturbing the ducks and pelicans, ploughed 
 the noisy craft bearing "Old Rough and Ready" to 
 the open port of the merry-making town. When near 
 the barracks, the welcoming cannon boomed, and the 
 affrighted darkies on the remote plantations shook 
 with dire forebodings of a Mexican invasion. 
 
 The boat rounded at the Place d'Armes, where, 
 beneath a triumphal arch, General Taylor received 
 the crown and chaplet of the people popular ap- 
 plause and a salvo of eloquence from the mayor. 
 With flying colors and flourish of trumpets, a pro- 
 cession of civic and military bodies was then formed, 
 the parade finally halting at the St. Charles, where 
 the fatted calf had been killed and the succulent ox 
 roasted. Sounding a retreat, the veteran com- 
 (464)
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 465 
 
 mander fell back upon a private parlor to recuperate 
 his forces in anticipation of the forthcoming- banquet. 
 
 From this stronghold, where, however, not all of 
 the enemy his friends could be excluded, there es- 
 caped an officer, with: "I'll look around town a lit- 
 tle, General." 
 
 "Look around!" said the commander at the door. 
 "I should think we had looked around! Well, don't 
 fall foul of too many juleps." 
 
 With a laughing response, the young man pushed 
 his way through the jostling crowd near the door, 
 traversed the animated corridor, and soon found him- 
 self out on the busy street. Amid the variegated 
 colors and motley throng, he walked, not, however, 
 in King Carnival's gay domains, but in a city of rec- 
 ollections. The tavern he had just left was associa- 
 ted with an unforgotten presence ; the stores, the win- 
 dows, the thoroughfares themselves were fraught 
 with retrospective suggestion of the strollers. 
 
 Even now and he came to an abrupt standstill 
 he was staring at the bill-board of the theater where 
 she had played, the familiar entrance bedecked with 
 bunting and festival inscriptions. Before its classic 
 portals appeared the black-letter announcement of an 
 act by "Impecunious Jordan, Ethiopian artist, fol- 
 lowed by a Tableau of General Scott's Capture of the 
 City of Mexico." Mechanically he stepped within 
 and approached the box office. From the little cup- 
 board, a strange face looked forth; even the ticket 
 vender of old had been swallowed up by the irony of
 
 466 THE STROLLERS 
 
 fate, and, instead of the well-remembered blond 
 mustache of the erstwhile seller of seats, a dark- 
 bearded man, with sallow complexion, inquired : 
 
 "How many ?" 
 
 "One," said Saint-Prosper, depositing a Mexican 
 piece on the counter before the cubby-hole. 
 
 "We've taken in plenty of this kind of money to- 
 day," remarked the man, holding up the coin. "I 
 reckon you come to town with old Zach ?" 
 
 "Yes." The soldier was about to turn away, when 
 he changed his mind and observed : "You used to 
 give legitimate drama here." 
 
 "That was some time ago," said the man in the box, 
 reflectively. "The soldiers like vaudeville. Ever hear 
 Impecunious Jordan?" 
 
 "I never did." 
 
 "Then you've got a treat," continued the vender. 
 "He's the best in his line. Hope you'll enjoy it, sir," 
 he concluded, with the courtesy displayed toward one 
 and all of "Old Rough and Ready's" men that day. 
 "It's the best seat left in the house. You come a little 
 late, you know." And as the other moved away: 
 
 "How different they look before and after! They 
 went to Mexico fresh as daisies, and come back 
 those that do dead beat, done up !" 
 
 Passing through the door, Saint-Prosper was ush- 
 ered to his seat in a renovated auditorium; new cur- 
 tain, re-decorated stalls, mirrors and gilt in profusion ; 
 the old restfulness gone, replaced by glitter and show. 
 Amid changed conditions, the derangement of fixed
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 467 
 
 external form and outline, the sight of a broad face 
 in the orchestra and the aspect of a colossal form 
 riveted his attention. This person was neither stouter 
 nor thinner than before; he perspired neither more 
 nor less ; he was neither older nor younger seem- 
 ingly ; he played on his instrument neither better nor 
 worse. Youth might fade, honors take wing, the 
 face of nature change, but Hans, Gargantuan Hans, 
 appeared but a figure in an eternal present! Gazing 
 at that substantial landmark, the soldier was carried 
 back in thought over the long period of separation 
 to a forest idyl ; a face in the firelight ; the song of 
 the katydid ; the drumming of the woodpecker. 
 Dreams ; vain dreams ! They had assailed him be- 
 fore, but seldom so sharply as now in a place conse- 
 crated to the past. 
 
 " Look out for the dandies, 
 
 Girls, beware ; 
 Look out for their blandishments, 
 
 Dears, take care! 
 
 For they're always ready remember this! 
 To pilfer from maids an unwilling kiss. 
 
 Oh, me! Oh, my! There! There! " (Imaginary slaps.) 
 
 sang and gesticulated a lady in abbreviated skirts 
 and low-cut dress, winking and blinking in ironical 
 shyness, and concluding with a flaunting of her 
 gown, a toe pointed ceilingward, and a lively "break- 
 down." Then she vanished with a hop, skip and a 
 bow, reappeared with a ravishing smile and threw a 
 generous assortment of kisses among the audience,
 
 468 THE STROLLERS 
 
 and disappeared with another hop, skip and a bow, 
 as Impecunious Jordan burst upon the spectators from 
 the opposite side of the stage. 
 
 Even the sight of Hans, a finger-post pointing to 
 ways long since traversed, could not reconcile the 
 soldier to his surroundings; the humor of the burnt- 
 cork artist seemed inappropriate to the place ; his gro- 
 tesque dancing inadmissible in that atmosphere once 
 consecrated to the comedy of manners and the stately 
 march of the classic drama. Where Hamlet had mor- 
 alized, a loutish clown now beguiled the time with 
 some torn-foolery, his wit so broad, his quips were 
 cannon-balls, and his audience, for the most part sol- 
 diers from Mexico, open-mouthed swallowed the en- 
 tire bombardment. But Saint-Prosper, finding the 
 performance dull, finally rose and went out, not wait- 
 ing for the thrilling Tableaux of the Entrance into the 
 City of Mexico of a hundred American troops (im- 
 personated by young ladies in tropical attire) and the 
 submission of Santa Anna's forces (more young la- 
 dies) by sinking gracefully to their bended knees. 
 
 Fun and frolic were now in full swing on the thor- 
 oughfares ; Democritus, the rollicker, had com- 
 manded his subjects to drive dull care away and they 
 obeyed the jovial lord of laughter. Animal spirits 
 ran high ; mischief beguiled the time ; mummery 
 romped and rioted. Marshaled by disorder, armed 
 with drollery and divers-hued banners, they marched 
 to the Castle of Chaos, where the wise 'are fools, the 
 old are young and topsy-turvy is the order of the day.
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 469 
 
 As Saint-Prosper stood watching the versicolored 
 concourse swarm by, a sudden rush of bystanders to 
 view Faith on a golden pedestal, looking more like 
 Coquetry, propelled a dainty figure against the sol- 
 dier. Involuntarily he put out his arm which 
 girded a slender waist ; Faith drove simpering by ; the 
 crowd melted like a receding wave, and the lady ex- 
 tricated herself, breathless as one of the maids in 
 Lorenzo de Medici's Songs of the Carnival. 
 
 "How awkward!" she murmured. "How " 
 
 The sentence remained unfinished and an exclama- 
 tion, "Mr. Saint-Prosper!" punctuated a gleam of 
 recognition. 
 
 "Miss Duran !" he exclaimed, equally surprised, for 
 he had thought the strollers scattered to the four 
 winds. 
 
 "Mrs. Service, if you please!" Demurely; at the 
 same time extending her hand with a faint flush. 
 "Yes; I am really and truly married! But it is so 
 long since we met, I believe I literally flew to your 
 arms !" 
 
 "That was before you recognized me," he returned, 
 
 in the same tone. 
 
 Susan laughed. "But how do you happen to be 
 here? I thought you were dead. No ; only wounded ? 
 How fortunate! Of course you came with the oth- 
 ers. I should hardly know you. I declare you're as 
 thin as a lath and gaunt as a ghost. You look older, 
 too. Remorse, I suppose, for killing so many poor 
 Mexicans !"
 
 470 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "And you" surveying her face, which had the 
 freshness of morn "look younger !" 
 
 "Of course!" Adjusting some fancied disorder of 
 hair or bonnet. "Marriage is a fountain of youth 
 for" with a sigh "old maids. Susan Duran, spins- 
 ter! Horrible! Do you blame me?" 
 
 "For getting married? Not at all. Who is the 
 fortunate man ?" asked Saint-Prosper. 
 
 "A minister; an orthodox minister; a most ortho- 
 dox minister!" 
 
 "No?" His countenance expressed his sense of 
 the incongruity of the union. Susan one of the elect ; 
 the meek and lowly yokemate of "How did it hap- 
 pen ?" he said. 
 
 "In a perverse moment, I went to church," an- 
 swered Susan. "There, I met him I mean, I saw 
 him no, I mean, I heard him! It was enough. All 
 the women were in love with him. How could I 
 help it?" 
 
 "He must have been very persuasive." 
 
 "Persuasive ! He scolded us every minute. Dress 
 and the devil! I" casting down her. eyes "inter- 
 ested him from the first. He he married me to re- 
 form me." 
 
 "Ah," commented the soldier, gazing doubtfully 
 upon Susan's smart gown, which, with elaborate art, 
 followed the contours of her figure. 
 
 "But, of course, one must keep up appearances, 
 you know," she continued. "What's the use of be- 
 ing a minister's wife if you aren't popular with the
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 471 
 
 congregation? At least," she added, "with part of 
 them !" And Susan tapped the pavement with a well- 
 shod boot and showed her white teeth. "If you 
 weren't popular, you couldn't fill the seats I mean 
 pews," she added, evasively. "But you must come 
 and see me us, I should say." 
 
 "Unfortunately, I am leaving to-morrow." 
 
 "To-morrow !" repeated Susan, reflectively. The 
 pupils of her eyes contracted, something they did 
 whenever she was thinking deeply, and her gaze 
 passed quickly over his face, striving to read his 
 impassive features. "So soon? When the carnival 
 is on ! That is too bad, to stay only one day, and not 
 call on any of your old friends! Constance, I am 
 sure, would be delighted to see you." 
 
 Many women would have looked away under the 
 circumstances, but Susan's eyes were innocently fixed 
 upon his. Half the pleasure of the assurance was in 
 the accompanying glance and the friendly smile that 
 went with it. 
 
 But a quiet question, "Miss Carew is living here?" 
 was all the satisfaction she received. 
 
 "Yes. Have you not heard? She has a lovely 
 home and an embarrassment of riches. Sweet em- 
 barrassment! Health and wealth! What more could 
 one ask? Although I forgot, she was taken ill 
 shortly after you left." 
 
 "Ill," he said, starting. 
 
 "Quite! But soon recovered!" And Susan 
 launched into a narration of the events that had taken
 
 472 THE STROLLERS 
 
 place while he was in Mexico, to which he listened 
 with the composure of a man who, having had his 
 share of the vagaries of fate, is not to be taken aback 
 by new surprises, however singular or tragic. Su- 
 san expected an expression of regret by look or 
 word over the loss of the marquis' fortune, but 
 either he simulated indifference or passed the matter 
 by with philosophical fortitude. 
 
 "Poor Barnes !" was his sole comment. 
 
 "Yes; it was very lonely for Constance at first," 
 rattled on Susan. "But I fancy she will find a wo- 
 man's solace for that ailment," she added meaningly. 
 
 "Marriage?" he asked soberly. 
 
 "Well, the engagement is not yet announced," said 
 Susan, hesitatingly. "But you know how things get 
 around ? And the count has been so attentive ! You 
 remember him surely the Count de Propriac? But 
 I must be off. I have an- appointment with my hus- 
 band and am already half an hour late." 
 
 "Don't let me detain you longer, then, I beg." 
 
 "Oh, I don't mind. He's so delightfully jealous 
 when I fail to appear on the stroke of the clock ! Al- 
 ways imagines I am in some misch but I mustn't 
 tell tales out of school ! So glad to have met you ! 
 Come and see me do!" 
 
 And Susan with friendly hand-clasp and lingering 
 look, tore herself away, the carnival lightness in her 
 feet and the carnival laughter in her eyes. 
 
 "He is in love with her still," she thought, "or he 
 wouldn't have acted so indifferent!" Her mind re-
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 
 
 473 
 
 verted to a cold little message she had received from 
 Constance. "And to think he was innocent after all !" 
 she continued, mentally reviewing the contents of the 
 letter in which Constance had related the conversa- 
 tion with the lawyer. "I don't believe he'll call on 
 her now, though, after Well, why shouldn't I 
 have told him what every one is talking about ? Wh5 
 not, indeed?" 
 
 A toss of the head dismissed the matter and any 
 doubts pertaining thereto, while her thoughts flew 
 from past to present, as a fortress on a car, its occu- 
 pants armed with pellets of festival conflict, drove by 
 amid peals of laughter. Absorbed in this scene of 
 merriment, Susan forgot her haste, and kept her apos- 
 tolic half waiting at the rendezvous with the patience 
 of a Jacob tarrying for a Rachel. But when she did 
 finally appear, with hat not perfectly poised, her hair 
 in a pretty disarray, she looked so waywardly charm- 
 ing, he forgave her on the spot, and the lamb led the 
 stern shepherd with a crook from Eve's apple tree. 
 
 "As thin as a lath and gaunt as a ghost !" repeated 
 Saint-Prosper, as the fair penitent vanished in a whirl 
 of gaiety. "Susan always was frank." 
 
 Smiling somewhat bitterly, he paused long enough 
 to light a cigar, but it went out in his fingers as he 
 strolled mechanically toward the wharves, through the 
 gardens of a familiar square, where the wheezing of 
 the distant steamers and the echoes of the cathedral 
 clock marked the hours of pleasure or pain to-day 
 as it had tolled them off yesterday. Beyond the pale
 
 474 THE STROLLERS 
 
 of the orange trees with their golden wealth', the 
 drays were rumbling in the streets and there were 
 the same signs of busy traffic for the carnival had 
 not yet become a legal holiday that he had observed 
 when the strollers had reached the city and made 
 their way to the St. Charles. He saw her anew, pale 
 and thoughtful, leaning on the rail of the steamer 
 looking toward the city, where events, undreamed of, 
 were to follow thick and fast. He saw her, a slender 
 figure, earnest, self-possessed, enter the city gates, un- 
 heralded, unknown. He saw her as he had known 
 her in the wilderness not as fancy might now de- 
 pict her, the daughter of a marquis a strolling 
 player, and as such he loved best to think of her. 
 
 Arising out of his physical weakness and the period 
 of inaction following the treaty of peace, he experi- 
 enced a sudden homesickness for his native land ; a 
 desire to re-visit familiar scenes, to breathe the sweet 
 air of the country, where his boyhood had been passed, 
 to listen to the thunder of the boulevards, to watch 
 the endless, sad-joyful processions. 
 
 Not far distant from the blossoming, redolent 
 square was the office of the Trans-Atlantic Steam- 
 ship Company, where a clerk, with a spray of jessa- 
 mine in his coat, bent cordially toward Saint-Prosper 
 as the latter entered, and, approaching the desk, in- 
 quired : 
 
 "The Dauphin is advertised to sail to-morrow for 
 France ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir ; at twelve o'clock noon."
 
 A FAIR PENITENT 475 
 
 "Book me for a berth. Ernest Saint-Prosper," he 
 added, in answer to the other's questioning look. 
 
 "Very good, sir. Would you like some labels for 
 your baggage? Where shall we send for it? The 
 St. Charles? Very well, sir. Are you going to the 
 tableaux to-night?'' he continued, with hospitable in- 
 terest in one whom he rightly conceived a stranger 
 in the city. "They say it will be the fashionable 
 event. Good-day." As the prospective passenger 
 paid for and received his ticket. "A pleasant voyage ! 
 The Dauphin is a new ship and should cross in three 
 weeks barring bad weather! Don't forget the tab- 
 leaux. Everybody will be there." 
 
 The soldier did not reply; his heart had given a 
 sudden throb at the clerk's last words. Automatic- 
 ally he placed his ticket in his pocket, and randomly 
 answered the employee's further inquiries for instruc- 
 tions. He was not thinking of the Dauphin or her 
 new engines, the forerunner of the modern quadruple- 
 expansion arrangement, but through his brain rang 
 the assurance: "Everybody will be there." And all 
 the way up the street, it repeated itself again and 
 again.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "COMUS* MISTICK WITCHERIES" 
 
 That elusive, nocturnal company, "The Mistick 
 Krewe of Comus," had appeared "Comus, deep 
 skilled in all his mother's witcheries" and the dwell- 
 ers in Phantasmagoria were joyfully numerous. 
 More plentiful than at a modern spectacular perform- 
 ance, reveled gods, demons and fairies, while the chil- 
 dren resembled a flight of masquerading butterflies. 
 The ball at the theater, the Roman Veglioni, suc- 
 ceeded elaborate tableaux, the "Tartarus," of the an- 
 cients, and "Paradise Lost," of Milton, in which the 
 "Krewe" impersonated Pluto and Proserpine, the 
 fates, harpies and other characters of the representa- 
 tion. In gallery, dress-circle and parquet, the thea- 
 ter was crowded, the spectacle, one of dazzling toilets, 
 many of them from the ateliers of the Parisian mod- 
 istes ; a wonderful evolution of Proserpine's toga and 
 the mortal robes of the immortal Fates. Picture fol- 
 lowed picture: The expulsion from Paradise; the 
 conference of the Gorgons, and the court of pande- 
 monium, where gluttony, drunkenness, avarice and 
 (476)
 
 "MI STICK WITCHERIES" 477 
 
 vanity were skilfully set forth in uncompromising 
 colors. 
 
 Availing themselves of the open-house of the un- 
 known "Krewe," a composite host that vanished on the 
 stroke of twelve, many of "Old Rough and Ready's" 
 retinue mingled with the gathering, their uniforms, 
 well-worn, even shabby, unlike the spick and span 
 regimentals from the costumier. With bronzed faces 
 and the indubitable air of campaigns endured, they 
 were the objects of lively interest to the fair maskers, 
 nor were themselves indifferent to the complaisance 
 of their entertainers. Hands, burned by the sun, 
 looked blacker that night, against the white gowns of 
 waists they clasped ; bearded faces more grim visaged 
 in contrast with delicate complexions ; embroidery and 
 brocade whirled around with faded uniforms; and 
 dancing aigrettes waved above frayed epaulets and 
 shoulder straps. 
 
 "Loog at 'im!" murmured a fille d. la cassette, re- 
 garding one of these officers who, however, held aloof 
 from the festivities ; a well-built young man, but thin 
 and worn, as though he, like his uniform, had seen 
 service. "If he would only carry my trunk!" she 
 laughed, relapsing into French and alluding to the 
 small chest she bore under her arm. 
 
 "Or my little white lamb!" gaily added her com- 
 panion, a shepherdess. 
 
 And they tripped by with' sidelong looks and ob- 
 vious challenge which the quarry of these sprightly 
 huntresses of men either chose to disregard or was
 
 478 THE STROLLERS 
 
 unconscious of, as he deliberately surveyed his sur- 
 roundings with more curiosity than pleasure and ab- 
 sently listened to* a mountebank from "The Belle's 
 Strategem." 
 
 "Who'll buy my nostrums?" cried the buffoon. 
 
 "What are they?" asked Folly, cantering near on a 
 hobby horse. 
 
 "Different kinds for different people. Here's a 
 powder for ladies to dispel the rage for intrigue. 
 Here's a pill for politicians to settle bad consciences. 
 Here's an eye-water for jealous husbands it thick- 
 ens the visual membrane. Here's something for the 
 clergy it eliminates windy discourses. Here's an 
 infusion for creditors it creates resignation and 
 teaches patience." 
 
 "And what have you for lovers?" 
 
 "Nothing," answered the clown; "love like fever 
 and ague must run its course. Nostrums! Who'll 
 buy my nostrums?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad I came!" enthusiastically ex- 
 claimed a tall, supple girl, laden with a mass of flowers. 
 
 "Isn't it too bad, though, you can't polka with some 
 of the military gentlemen?" returned her companion 
 who wore a toga and carried a lantern. "Mademoi- 
 selle Castiglione wouldn't let you come, until I prom- 
 ised not to allow you out of my sight." 
 
 "It was lovely of you to take me," she said, "and I 
 don't mind about the military gentlemen." 
 
 "My dear, if all women were like you, we poor 
 civilians would not be relegated to the background!
 
 "MISTICK WITCHERIES 
 
 479 
 
 I wish, though, I had worn some other costume. 
 This ahem, dress! has a tendency to get between 
 my legs and disconcert my philosophical dignity. I 
 can understand why Diogenes didn't care about walk- 
 ing abroad. My only wonder is that everybody 
 didn't stay in his tub in those days. Don't talk to 
 me about the 'noble Roman !' Why, he wore skirts !" 
 
 "And Monsieur Intaglio lectured to us for an hour 
 to-day about the wonderful drapery of the ancients !" 
 laughed the girl. "The poetry of dress, he called it !" 
 
 "Then I prefer prose. Hello!" pausing and rais- 
 ing his lantern, as they drew near the officer who had 
 fallen under the observation of the fille a la cassette. 
 "Colonel Saint-Prosper, or set me down for an ass or 
 Plato, which is the same thing!" 
 
 "Straws !" said the soldier, as the bard frankly 
 lifted his mask and tilted it back over his forehead. 
 
 "Glad to see you!" continued the poet, extending 
 his hand. "I haven't run across you before since the 
 night of the banquet; the debut of Barnes' company 
 you remember? You must have left town shortly 
 afterward. Returned this morning, of course! By 
 the way, there's one of your old friends here to- 
 night." 
 
 Saint-Prosper felt the color mount to his face, and 
 even Straws noted the change. "Who is that?" 
 asked the soldier, awkwardly. 
 
 "Mrs. Service Miss Duran that was now one of 
 our most dashing I should say, charitable, ladies. 
 Plenty of men at Service's church now. She's
 
 480 THE STROLLERS 
 
 dressed in Watteau-fashion to-night, so if you see 
 any one skipping around, looking as though she had 
 just stepped from the Embarkation for the Island of 
 Venus, set her down for the minister's pretty wife!" 
 
 "And the minister?" asked Saint-Prosper, mechan- 
 ically. 
 
 "He brought her; he compromised on a Round- 
 head costume, himself ! But we must be off. An re- 
 voir; don't be backward ; the ladies are all military- 
 mad. It may be a field of arms" casting his glance 
 over the assemblage of fashionably dressed ladies, 
 with a quizzical smile "but not hostile arms ! Come, 
 Celestina Nydia, I mean !" 
 
 And Straws' arm stole about the waist of his com- 
 panion, as Saint-Prosper watched them disappearing 
 in the throng of dancers. It was Celestina's first 
 ball, and after her long training at the Castiglione 
 institute, she danced divinely. Evidently, too, she 
 was reconciled to the warden's edict, denying her the 
 freedom of the ball-room, for she showed no disposi- 
 tion to escape from Straws' watchful care. On the 
 contrary, though her glance wandered to the wonders 
 around her, they quickly returned to the philosopher 
 with the lamp, as though she courted the restraint to 
 which she was subjected. Something like a pang 
 shot through the soldier's breast as he followed the 
 pair with his gaze ; he seemed looking backward into 
 a world of youth and pleasure, passed beyond recall. 
 
 "It is useless to deny it! I knew you when I first 
 saw you!" exclaimed a familiar voice near by, and
 
 "MISTICK WITCHERIES" 481 
 
 turning around sharply, the officer observed approach- 
 ing a masked lady, graceful of figure and lacking noth- 
 ing in the numerical strength of her escort. It was to 
 her that these words were addressed by an agile man 
 of medium stature who had apparently penetrated her 
 disguise. The lady, who would have attracted at- 
 tention anywhere by her bearing, wore a pardessus 
 of white gauze, fitting close and bordered with a sil- 
 ver band ; the sleeves, short ; the skirt of white gauze 
 and very ample, as the fashion of the day required; 
 the feet shod in small white silk "bottines" ; the hair 
 in bands, ornamented with wild poppies. Altogether 
 this costume was described by Phazma as "ravishing, 
 the gown adorning the lady, and the lady the gown, 
 her graces set forth against the sheen of voluminous 
 satin folds, like those of some portrait by Sir Joshua 
 or Gainsborough." 
 
 "How could you expect any one not to know you ?" 
 continued the speaker, as this little coterie drew near, 
 their masks a pretext for mystery. "You may im- 
 personate, but you can not deceive." 
 
 "That is a poor compliment, since you take me for 
 an actress," laughed the lady. An hilarious outburst 
 from an ill-assorted cluster of maskers behind them 
 drowned his reply, and the lady and her attendants 
 passed on. 
 
 Saint-Prosper drew his breath sharply. "She is 
 here, after all," he said to himself. 
 
 "A nostrum for jilted beaux!" called out a mounte- 
 bank, seeing him standing there, pre-occupied, alone,
 
 482 THE STROLLERS 
 
 at the same time tendering a pill as large as a plum. 
 A punchinello jarred against him with: "Pardonnez 
 moi, pardie!" On the perfumed air the music swelled 
 rapturously ; a waltz, warm with the national life of 
 Vienna; the swan song of Lanner! Softly, sweetly, 
 breathed "Die Schonbrunner ;" faster whirled the mov- 
 ing forms. Eyes flashed more brightly; little feet 
 seemed born for dancing ; cheeks, pale at midday, were 
 flushed with excitement ! Why doesn't he dance, won- 
 dered the lady with the white lamb. Carnival comes 
 but once a year ; a mad, merry time ; when gaiety 
 should sweep all cares out of doors! 
 
 " Said Strephon to Chloe: 'For a kiss, 
 
 I'll give thee the choice of my flock.' 
 Said Chloe to Strephon: ' What bliss, 
 If you'll add to the gift a new smock,' " 
 
 hummed the lively nymph, as she tripped by. 
 
 " Said Chloe to Strephon: 'For a kiss, 
 
 I'll return thee the choice of jour flock. 
 Said Strephon to Chloe: ' What bliss, 
 With it I'll buy Phyllis a new frock,' " 
 
 she concluded, throwing a glance over her shoulder. 
 A sudden distaste for the festal ferment, the laugh- 
 ter and merriment; a desire to escape from the very 
 exuberance of high spirits and cheer led the soldier 
 to make his way slowly from the ball-room to the bal- 
 cony, where, although not removed from the echoes 
 of liveliness within, he looked out upon the quietude 
 of the night. Overhead stretched the sky, a measure-
 
 4^3 
 
 less ocean, with here and there a silvery star like the 
 light on a distant ship; an unfathomable sea of ether 
 that beat down upon him. Radiant and serene, in the 
 boundless calm of the heavens, the splendent lanterns 
 seemed suspended on stationary craft peacefully 
 rocked at anchor. Longings, suppressed through 
 months of absence, once more found full sway; Su- 
 san's words were recalled by the presence of the count. 
 
 Suddenly. the song of "Die Schonbrunner" ceased 
 within, and, as its pulsations became hushed, many of 
 the dancers, an elate, buoyant throng, sought the bal- 
 cony. Standing in the shadow near the entrance, 
 aroused from a train of reflections by this abrupt ex- 
 odus, the soldier saw among the other merry-makers, 
 Constance and the count, who passed through the door, 
 so near he could almost have touched her. 
 
 "Here she is," said the count, as they approached 
 an elderly lady, seated near the edge of the balcony. 
 "Ah, Madam," he continued to the latter, "if you 
 would only use your good offices in my behalf ! Miss 
 Carew is cruelty itself." 
 
 "Why, what has she done?" asked the good gentle- 
 woman. 
 
 "Insisted upon deserting the ball-room !" 
 
 "In my day," said the elderly ally of the nobleman, 
 "you could not drag the young ladies from cotillion 
 or minuet. And the men would stay till the dawn to 
 toast them!" 
 
 "And I've no doubt, Madam, your name was often 
 on their lips," returned the count gallantly, who evi-
 
 4 8 4 
 
 dently believed in the Spanish proverb: "Woo the 
 duenna, not the maid; then in love the game's well 
 played !" 
 
 The ally in his cause made some laughing response 
 which the soldier did not hear. Himself unseen, 
 Saint-Prosper bent his eyes upon the figure of the 
 young girl, shadowy but obvious in the reflected light 
 of the bright constellations. Even as he gazed, her 
 hand removed the mask, revealing the face he knew 
 so well. In the silence below, the fountain tinkled 
 ever so loudly, as she stood, half-turned toward the 
 garden, a silken head-covering around her shoul- 
 ders; the head outlined without adornment, save the 
 " poppies in her hair. 
 
 Her presence recalled scenes of other days : the 
 drive from the races, when her eyes had beamed so 
 softly beneath the starry luster. Did she remem- 
 ber ?. He dared not hope so ; he did not. To him, it 
 brought, also, harsher memories; yet his mind was 
 filled most with her beauty, which appeared to gloss 
 over all else and hold him, a not impassive spectator, 
 to the place where she was standing. She seemed 
 again Juliet the Juliet of inns and school-house 
 stages the Juliet he had known before she had come 
 to New Orleans, whose genius had transformed the 
 barren stage into a garden of her own creation. 
 
 And yet something made her different; an inde- 
 finable new quality appeared to rest upon her. He 
 felt his heart beating faster ; he was glad he had come ; 
 for the moment he forgot his jealousy in watching
 
 "MI STICK WITCHERIES" 485 
 
 her, as with new wealth of perfume, the languid 
 breeze stirred the tresses above her pallid, immovable 
 features. But the expression of confidence with 
 which the count was regarding her, although ostensi- 
 bly devoting himself to her companion, renewed his 
 inquietude. 
 
 Had she allowed herself to be drawn into a prom- 
 ised alliance with that titled roue? Involuntarily 
 the soldier's face grew hard and stern; the count's 
 tactics were so apparent flattering attention to the 
 elderly gentlewoman and a devoted, but reserved, 
 bearing toward the young girl in which he would 
 rely upon patience and perseverance for the consum- 
 mation of his wishes. But certainly Constance did 
 not exhibit marked preference for his society; on the 
 contrary, she had hardly spoken to him since they 
 had left the ball-room. Now clasping the iron railing 
 of the balcony, she leaned farther out; the flowers of 
 the vine, clambering up one of the supports, swayed 
 gently around her, and she started at the moist caress 
 on her bare arm. 
 
 "It is cold here," she said, drawing back. 
 
 "Allow me your wrap!" exclaimed the count, 
 springing to her side with great solicitude. 
 
 But she adjusted the garment without his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 "You must be careful of your health for the sake 
 of your friends!" Accompanying the words with a 
 significant glance.
 
 486 THE STROLLERS 
 
 "The count is right!" interposed the elderly gen- 
 tlewoman. "As he usually is!" she added, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, Madam!" he said, bowing. "Miss Carew 
 does not agree with you, I am sure?" Turning to 
 the girl. 
 
 "I haven't given the matter any thought," she re- 
 plied, coldly. She shivered slightly, nervously, and 
 looked around. 
 
 At that moment the lights were turned on in the 
 garden another surprise arranged by the Mistick 
 Krewe! illuminating trees and shrubbery, and cast- 
 ing a sudden glare upon the balcony. 
 
 "Bravo!" said the count. "It's like a fete-cham- 
 petre! And hear the mandolins! Tra-la-la-la-la ! 
 Why, what is it?" 
 
 She had given a sudden cry and stood staring 
 toward the right at the back of the balcony. Within, 
 the ^orchestra once more began to play, and, as the 
 strains of music were wafted to them, a host of 
 masqueraders started toward the ball-room. When 
 the inflow of merry-makers had ceased, bewildered, 
 trembling, she looked with blanched face toward the 
 spot where the soldier had been standing, but he was 
 gone. 
 
 At that moment the cathedral clock began to strike 
 twelve times it sounded, and, at the last stroke, the 
 Mistick Krewe, one by one began to disappear, van- 
 ishing as mysteriously as they had come. Pluto, 
 Proserpine, the Fates, fairies and harpies ; Satan, 
 Beelzebub; the dwellers in pandemonium; the aids to
 
 "MI STICK WITCHERIES" 487 
 
 appetite all took their quick departure, leaving the 
 musicians and the guests of the evening, including 
 the visiting military, to their own pleasures and de- 
 vices. The first carnival had come to a close.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 CONSTANCE AND THE SOLDIER 
 
 "Are you the clerk?" A well-modulated voice; a 
 silvery crown of hair leaning over the counter of the 
 St. Charles; blue eyes, lighted with unobtrusive in- 
 quiry. 
 
 The small, quiet-looking man addressed glanced 
 up. "No," he said ; "I am the proprietor. This" 
 waving his hand to a resplendent-appearing person 
 "is the clerk." 
 
 Whereupon the be-diamonded individual indicated 
 (about whom an entire chapter has been written by 
 an observing English traveler!) came forward leisure- 
 ly; a Brummell in attire; an Aristarchus for taste! 
 Since his period or reign there have been many 
 imitators ; but he was the first ; indeed, created the 
 office, and is deserving of a permanent place in Amer- 
 ican annals. "His formality just bordered on stiff- 
 ness," wrote the interested Briton, as though he were 
 studying some new example of the human species ; 
 "his conversation was elegant, but pointed, as he was 
 gifted with a cultured economy of language. He ac- 
 (488),
 
 CONSTANCE 489 
 
 complished by inflection what many people can only 
 attain through volubility." 
 
 "Yes?" he interrogatively remarked, gazing down 
 at the caller in the present instance. 
 
 "Is Colonel Saint-Prosper stopping here ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Send this card to his room." 
 
 "Yes?" Doubtfully. 
 
 "Is there any reason why you shouldn't?" 
 
 "There was a military banquet last night," inter- 
 posed the quiet, little man. "Patriotism bubbled over 
 until morning." 
 
 "Ah, yes," commented Culver for it was he 
 "fought their battles over again! Some of them 
 in the hospital to-day! Well, well, they suffered 
 in a glorious cause, toasting the president, and the 
 army, and the flag, and the gir,ls they left behind 
 them! I read the account of it in the papers this 
 morning. Grand speech of the bishop; glorious re- 
 sponse of 'Old Rough and Ready' ! You are right to 
 protect sleeping heroes, but I'm afraid I must run the 
 guard, as my business is urgent." 
 
 A few moments later the lawyer, breathing heavily, 
 followed a colored lad down a crimson-carpeted cor- 
 ridor, pausing before a door upon which his guide 
 knocked vigorously and then vanished. 
 
 "Colonel Saint-Prosper?" said the lawyer, as he 
 obeyed the voice within and entered the room, where 
 a tall young man in civilian attire was engaged in 
 packing a small trunk. "One moment, pray let me
 
 490 THE STROLLERS 
 
 catch my breath. That lad accomplished the ascent 
 two steps at a time, and, I fear, the spectacle stimu- 
 lated me to unusual expedition. We're apt to forget 
 we are old and can't keep up with boys and mon- 
 keys!" 
 
 During this somewhat playful introduction the at- 
 torney was studying the occupant of the room with 
 keen, bright gaze ; a glance which, without being of- 
 fensive, was sufficiently penetrating and comprehen- 
 sive to convey a definite impression of the other's face 
 and figure. The soldier returned his visitor's look 
 deliberately, but with no surprise. 
 
 "Won't you sit down?" he said. 
 
 Culver availed himself of the invitation. "I am not 
 disturbing you ? I have long known of you, although 
 this is our first meeting." 
 
 "You have then the advantage of me," returned 
 Saint-Prosper, "for I" 
 
 "You never heard of me?" laughed the lawyer. 
 "Exactly! We attorneys are always getting our fin- 
 gers in every one's affairs! I am acquainted with 
 you, as it were, from the cradle to the present !" 
 
 "I am unexpectedly honored!" remarked the lis- 
 tener, satirically. 
 
 "First, I knew you through the Marquis de Ligne." 
 
 Saint-Prosper started and regarded his visitor more 
 closely. 
 
 "I was the humble instrument of making a fortune 
 for you ; it was also my lot to draw up the papers de- 
 priving you of the same!" Culver laughed amiably.
 
 CONSTANCE 491 
 
 " 'Oft expectation fails, where most it promises.' 
 Pardon my levity! There were two wills; the first, 
 in your favor; the last, in his daughter's. I pre- 
 sume" with a sudden, sharp look "you have no in- 
 tention of contesting the final disposition? The pa- 
 ternity of the child is established beyond doubt." 
 
 Artful Culver was not by any means so sure in 
 his own mind that, if the other were disposed to make 
 trouble, the legal proofs of Constance's identity would 
 be so easily forth-coming. Barnes was dead; her 
 mother had passed away many years before; the 
 child Had been born in London where? ; the mar- 
 quis' rationality, just before his demise, was a debata- 
 ble question. In fact, since he had learned Saint- 
 Prosper was in the city, the attorney's mind had been 
 soaring among a cloud of vague possibilities, and 
 now, regarding his companion with a most kindly, 
 ingratiating smile, he added: 
 
 "Besides, when the marquis took you as a child 
 into his household, there were, I understood, no legal 
 papers drawn!" 
 
 "I don't see what your visit portends," said Saint- 
 Prosper, "unless there is some other matter?" 
 
 "Just so," returned Culver, his doubts vanishing. 
 "There was a small matter a slight commission. 
 Miss Carew requested me to hand you this message." 
 The visitor now detected a marked change in the 
 soldier's imperturbable bearing, as the latter took the 
 envelope which the attorney offered him. "The young 
 lady saw you at the Mistick Krewe ball last night,
 
 492 THE STROLLERS 
 
 and, recognizing an old friend," with a slight ac- 
 cent "pressed me into her service. And now, hav- 
 ing completed my errand, I will wish you good-morn- 
 ing!" And the lawyer briskly departed. 
 
 The young man's hand trembled as he tore open the 
 envelope, but he surveyed the contents of the brief 
 message with tolerable firmness. 
 
 " COLONEL SAINT-PROSPER : Will you kindly call this morn- 
 ing to see me? CONSTANCE CAREW." 
 
 That was all; nothing more, save the address and 
 the date! How long he remained staring at it with 
 mingled feelings he never knew, but finally with a 
 start, looked at his watch, thoughtfully regarded the 
 half-filled trunk, donned his coat and left the room. 
 Several fellow-officers, the first of the sluggards to 
 appear, spoke to him as he crossed the hall below, 
 but what they said or what he replied he could not 
 afterward remember. Some one detained him at the 
 steps, a gentleman with a longing for juleps, but 
 finally he found himself in a carriage, driving some- 
 where, presumably to the address given in the letter. 
 How long the drive seemed, and yet when the car- 
 riage finally stopped and he had paid his fare, he 
 mentally determined it had been too short! The 
 driver gazed in surprise after the gentleman, who 
 did- not wait for his change, but, forbearing injudicious 
 comment, gathered up the reins and drove to " the 
 nearest cafe. 
 
 From the carriage the house was some distance, and
 
 CONSTANCE 493 
 
 yet it appeared very near the gate to tHe soldier, who 
 dimly realized he was passing through a garden where 
 were many flowering plants and where the air was 
 unusually heavy with perfume. Many other details, 
 the construction of the house, the size of the verandas, 
 passed without attracting his notice. Soon, however, 
 he was seated in a great room, an apartment of old- 
 fashioned height and breadth. He felt his heart 
 beating fast. How long did he sit there? No in- 
 considerable period, surely. He examined every- 
 thing carefully, without carrying a definite impres- 
 sion of anything to his mind. The large, carved 
 mirror ; the quaint decoration of walls and frieze ; the 
 soft colors of the rug that covered the floor ; the hun- 
 dred and one odd little things in the cabinet near 
 the chair where he was seated, trifles in ivory, old 
 silver and china; the pictures, a Van Dyke, Claude, 
 and a few modern masters. After this interminable, 
 but confused scrutiny of inanimate things, his heart 
 beat faster still, as a tall figure, robed in white, entered 
 the room ! 
 
 He rose; they regarded each other with mutual 
 constraint ; her face had a bit of color, like the tinge 
 of a rose-leaf; her eyes seemed agitated beneath the 
 sweeping lashes, a sentiment in ill accord with the 
 stateliness of her presence. She gave him her hand ; 
 he held it he knew not how long ; probably, for the con- 
 ventional moment. They found themselves, each in a 
 chair ; at ease, yet not at ease ; he studying her face, 
 furtively, yet eagerly; she turning in her fancy the
 
 494 THE STROLLERS 
 
 first strong impression of how gaunt and haggard 
 were his features, bearing the traces of recent illness ! 
 
 "I am glad you came," she began, their eyes meet- 
 ing once more. 
 
 He bowed. "Mr. Culver brought me your mes- 
 sage." 
 
 "I heard that you it was reported you were dead." 
 
 "I was wounded ; that was all, and soon took to the 
 field again." 
 
 The suspense that fell between them was oppres- 
 sive. 
 
 "You should have let your friends know," she 
 said at length. 
 
 He looked at her curiously, vivid memories of their 
 last interview recurring to him. Indecisively she in- 
 terlaced her fingers, and he, watching them, wondered 
 why she had sent for him. Suddenly she rose, 
 walked to the window, and stood, looking out. He, 
 sitting in the dim light, in a maze of uncertainty, was 
 vaguely conscious of her figure outlined against the 
 brightness without; of the waving, yellow flowers of 
 the vines on the veranda. 
 
 "It is long since we have met," he said, awkwardly. 
 
 She did not answer. Had she heard? Yet he did 
 not resent her silence. If he had ever felt anger for 
 her it had all vanished now. He was only conscious 
 of regarding her more attentively, as she still re- 
 mained, gazing out into the sunlit garden. 
 
 "Much has happened since I saw you," he con- 
 tinued.
 
 CONSTANCE 495 
 
 She turned ; her eyes were moist ; her hand trembled 
 a little against her dress, but she held her head proud- 
 ly, as she had always done, and it was the aspect of 
 this weakness set against strength that appealed 
 swiftly to him, softening his heart so that he longed 
 to spring to her side. 
 
 "Yes, much!" she replied. 
 
 Was her voice tremulous, or was it but the thrill 
 of his own heart which made it seem so? 
 
 "You have been here long?" she asked, still holding 
 back what was on her mind or blindly endeavoring 
 to approach the subject. 
 
 "Only since yesterday." 
 
 "And you remain some time?" 
 
 "I am leaving to-day for France." 
 
 At that a touch of color left her face, or was it 
 that a darkening shadow fell upon the house and 
 garden, momentarily chastening the outlook? 
 
 "For France?" she repeated. 
 
 Her lips quivered. Something seemed to still the 
 beating of his heart. 
 
 "Constance what is it?" he half-whispered. 
 
 She stepped forward suddenly, her hands out- 
 stretched. 
 
 "I wronged you!" she cried. "I wronged you. 
 I thought the disgrace was yours. Oh, do not 
 speak !" she added, passionately. "I have suffered for 
 it and now, would you mind please leaving me?" 
 
 "You thought the disgrace was mine !" he repeated, 
 slowly. "Not my" he broke off abruptly. "And
 
 496 THE STROLLERS 
 
 you suffered for it?" he said, wonderingly. "Then 
 you " He arose quickly and approached her, a new 
 expression transfiguring his bronzed and worn young 
 face. 
 
 Swiftly he sought her glance; her eyes gave irre- 
 futable answer. Unresistingly, she abandoned her- 
 self to his arms, and he felt her bosom rise and fall 
 with conflicting emotions. Closely he held her, in 
 the surprise and surpassing pleasure of the moment ; 
 then, bending, he kissed her lips. A wave of color 
 flooded her face, though her eyes still sought his. But 
 even as he regarded her, the clear, open look gradu- 
 ally changed, replaced by one of half-perplexity, half- 
 reproach. 
 
 "That night you went away why did you not de- 
 fend yourself?" she asked, finally. 
 
 "I never imagined any mistake. Besides, what 
 had I to offer ? Your future was bright ; your name, 
 on every one's lips !" 
 
 "Did you think you were responsible for another's 
 sins?" 
 
 His dark features clouded. 
 
 "I suppose I had become accustomed to cold looks. 
 In Africa, by some of my comrades who had an ink- 
 ling of the story! No matter what I did, I was his 
 brother ! And the bitterest part was that I loved him ; 
 loved him from my boyhood ! He was the handsomest, 
 most joyous fellow! Even when he died in my arms 
 in Mexico my heart could not absolutely turn from 
 him."
 
 CONSTANCE 497 
 
 She opened her lips as if to speak, but the shadow 
 on his face kept her silent. 
 
 "I was weak enough to keep the story from you in 
 the first place a foolish reticence, for these matters 
 follow a man to the ends of the world." 
 
 "Oh," she said, "to think it was I who made you feel 
 this!" 
 
 He took her hand; his grasp hurt her fingers; yet 
 she did not shrink. 
 
 "You showed me a new world," he answered, 
 quickly. "Not the world I expected to find where 
 life would hold little of joy or zest but a magical 
 world; a beautiful world; yours!" 
 
 She half-hung her head. "But then then " 
 
 "It became a memory ; bitter-sweet ; yet more sweet 
 than bitter !" 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 He did not answer immediately. 
 
 The figure of the count, as he had seen him the 
 night before, had abruptly entered his mind. Did she 
 understand ? She smiled. 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 At her question he dismissed all thought of jeal- 
 ousy. Looking into her clear, half-laughing eyes, he 
 read of no entangling alliances; without words from 
 her, he understood. 
 
 "Shall we go into the garden ?" she said, and, open- 
 ing the window, they stepped out upon the veranda. 
 
 In the sky a single large cloud stretched itself in 
 a dreamy torpor, too sluggish, apparently to move,
 
 498 THE STROLLERS 
 
 while a brood of little clouds nestled and slept around 
 it. From the window, the count's ally watched them, 
 among the plants and vines, pausing now and then; 
 their interest more in themselves than in the liveliest 
 hues or forms that nature offered. He stood still, re- 
 garding his shadow on the path seriously. 
 
 "Nearly noon by the soldier's dial !" he said. 
 
 She pushed back the hair the wind had blown about 
 her brow. 
 
 "My boat sails in an hour," he continued. 
 
 "But you are not going now?" 
 
 "If I stay, it must be" 
 
 "Forever!" she said. "Forever!" 
 
 "Have you heard the news?" said Susan to the 
 count. 
 
 "Secular?" drawled the erstwhile emissary. He 
 was in ill-humor, having called three times on Con- 
 stance, who had been excused on all these occasions. 
 
 "Not necessarily," replied she, with the old familiar 
 toss of the head. "Saint-Prosper has come back, and 
 he's going to marry Constance !" 
 
 "Eh? What? I don't be Who told you?" de- 
 manded the count, sharply. 
 
 "Well, you needn't take my head off! She did, if 
 you want to know." 
 
 "Miss Carew?" 
 
 "Herself!" 
 
 The nobleman lolled back in his chair, a dark look
 
 CONSTANCE 499 
 
 on his face. Here were fine hopes gone a-glimmer- 
 ing! 
 
 "Pardie! the creditors will have to wait awhile," he 
 thought. "And I I have been a dunce, dancing attend- 
 ance all these days! I had hoped to marry wealth 
 and beauty. What did I come over here for? The 
 demned country's barren of everything!" 
 
 "Isn't it delightful they should meet after such a 
 long time?" rattled on Susan, gaily. "So romantic! 
 And then they were exactly suited for each other. 
 Dear me," enthusiastically "I have taken such an 
 interest in them, I almost feel as if I had brought it 
 all about." 
 
 THE END
 
 A LIST OF RECENT FICTION OF 
 THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY
 
 AN INTERESTING STORY OF 
 FAMILY LIFE. 
 
 THE 
 FIGHTING BISHOP 
 
 By HERBERT M. HOPKINS 
 
 "The Fighting Bishop" is drawn with firm, bold strokes 
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 picture life like. There is wisdom too, in the attitude of the 
 author toward his characters ; and the entire atmosphere of 
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 vividness of the portraiture are likely to impress everyone. 
 * * * It contains passages and characterizations that 
 some readers will find it difficult to forget. The Hartford 
 Courant. 
 
 The bishop's musical son, Stephen's, obstinate vanity, 
 Ms irritable nervous nature, his impatience of advice and his 
 wonderful confidence in his own genius are admirably 
 brought out in the course of the narrative and the 
 chapter containing his letters to his brother is one of the 
 best in the book. It shows his character humorously and 
 without exaggeration, and this is typical of the whole story. 
 The author sees his personages with a human sympathic 
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 12 mo. Cloth, ornamental, $1.50 
 
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 "NOTHING BUT PRAISE" 
 
 LAZARRE 
 
 By MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD 
 
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 We feel quite justified in predicting a wide-spread and 
 prolonged popularity for this latest comer into the ranks of 
 historical fiction. The N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 After all the material for the story had been collected a 
 j'ear was required for the writing of it. It is an historical 
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 of character drawing and a satisfactory knowledge of the 
 tone and atmosphere of the period involved. N. Y. Herald. 
 
 Lazarre, is no less a person than the Dauphin, Louis 
 XVII. of France, and a right royal hero he makes. A prince 
 who, for the sake of his lady, scorns perils in two hemis- 
 pheres, facing the wrath of kings in Europe aiid the bullets 
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 A VIVACIOUS ROMANCE OF REVOLU- 
 TIONARY DAYS 
 
 ALICE of OLD 
 
 VINCENNES 
 
 By MAURICE THOMPSON 
 
 The Atlanta Constitution says ' 
 
 " Mr. Thompson, whose delightful writings in prose arid 
 verse have made his reputation national, has achieved his 
 master stroke of genius in this historical novel of revolu- 
 tionary days in the West." 
 
 The Denver Daily News says .' 
 
 " There are three great chapters of fiction i Scott's tourna- 
 ment en Ashby field, General Wallace's chariot race, and 
 now Maurice Thompson's duel scene and the raising of 
 Alice's flag over old Fort Vincennes." 
 
 The Chicago Times-Herald says ' 
 
 " More "original than 'Richard Carvel,' more cohesive than 
 'To Have and To Hold,' more vital than 'Janice Mere- 
 dith,' such is Maurice Thompson's superb American ro- 
 mance, 'Alice of Old Vincennes.' It is, in addition, 
 more artistic and spontaneous than any of its rivals." 
 
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 I2mo., with six illustrations drawn by F. C. 
 
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 Price, $1.50 
 
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 A STORY BY THE "MARCH KING" 
 
 THE 
 FIFTH STRING 
 
 By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA 
 
 The " March King" has written much in a musical way, 
 but "The Fifth String " is his first published story. In the 
 choice of his subject, as the title indicates, Mr. Sousa has 
 remained faithful to his art; and the great public, that has 
 learned to love him for the marches he has made, will be as 
 delighted with his pen as with his baton. 
 
 "The Fifth String" has a strong and clearly defined 
 plot which shows in its treatment the author's artistically 
 sensitive temperament and his tremendous dramatic power. 
 It is a story of a marvelous violin, of a wonderful love and of 
 a strange temptation. 
 
 A cover, especially designed, and six full-page illustra- 
 tions by Howard Chandler Christy, serve to give the dis- 
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 Mr. Sousa so richly deserves, 
 
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 12 mo. Price, $1.25 
 
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 "A NOVEL THAT'S WORTH WHILE" 
 
 The REDEMPTION 
 of DAVID CORSON 
 
 By CHARLES FREDERIC GOSS 
 
 A Mid-century American Novel 
 of Intense Power and Interest 
 
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 "This is a book that is worth while. Though it tells of 
 weakness and wickedness, of love and license, of revenge 
 and remorse in an intensely interesting way, yet it is above 
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 Newell D-wigbt Hil/is, Pastor of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, 
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 " ' The Redemption of David Corson' strikes a strong, healthy, 
 buoyant note." 
 
 Dr. F. Jf. Gunsaulus, President Armour Institute, sayi : 
 "Mr. Goss writes with the truthfulness of light. He has 
 told a story in which the fact of sin is illuminated with the 
 utmost truthfulness and the fact of redemption is portrayed 
 with extraordinary power. There are lines of greatness in 
 the book which I shall never forget." 
 
 President M. W. Stryker, Hamilton College, says : 
 
 " It is a victory in writing for one whose head seems at last 
 
 to have matched his big human heart. There is ten times 
 
 as much of reality in it as there is in ' David Harum,' which 
 
 dnes not value lightly that admirable charcoal sketch." 
 
 Price, $1.50 
 
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 "THE MERRIEST NOVEL OF MANY, 
 MANY MOONS." 
 
 MY LADY PEGGY 
 GOES TO TOWN 
 
 By FRANCES AYMAR MATHEWS 
 
 The Daintiest and Most Delightful Book 
 of the Season. 
 
 A heroine almost too charming to be true is Peggy, and 
 it were a churlish reader who is not, at the end of the first 
 chapter, prostrate before her red slippers. Washington Post. 
 
 To make a comparison would be to rank "My Lady 
 Peggy" with "Monsieur Beaucaire" in points of attraction, 
 and to applaud as heartily as that delicate romance, this 
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 at chocolate times." ff. Y. Mail and Exprtst. 
 
 12 mo. Beautifully illustrated and bound. 
 Price, $1.25 net 
 
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 'AS CRISP AND CLEAN CUT 
 AS A NEW MINTAGE." 
 
 THE 
 PUPPET CROWN 
 
 BY HAROLD MAcGRATH 
 
 A princess rarely beautiful; a duchess magnificent and 
 heartless; a villain revengeful and courageous; a hero youth- 
 ful, humorous, fearless and truly American; such are the 
 principal characters of this delightful story. Syracuse Post- 
 Standard, 
 
 Harold MacGrath has attained the highest point achiev- 
 able in recent fiction. We have the climax of romance and 
 adventure in "The Puppet Crown." The Philadelphia 
 North American. 
 
 Superior to most of the great successes. St. Paul Pioneer 
 Press. 
 
 "The Puppet Crown" is a profusion of cleverness. Bal- 
 timore A tnerican. 
 
 Challenges comparison with authors whose names have 
 become immortal Chicago American. 
 
 Latest entry in the list of winners. Cleveland World. 
 
 With illustrations by R. Martine Reay 
 i2mo. Price, $1.50. 
 
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 AN ADMIRABLE SOCIAL STUDY " 
 
 THE FALL OF 
 THE CURTAIN 
 
 By HAROLD BEGBIE 
 
 The purpose of this brilliant story of modern English 
 life is to show that a human being, well brought-up, 
 carefully trained in the outward observances of religion, 
 with a keen intellectual perception of the difference 
 between right and wrong, may still not have goodness, 
 and that ambition may easily become the dominating 
 force in such a character. So the book may be called a 
 purpose novel, but in reading it, one no more thinks of 
 applying so discredited an epithet to it than one \\ould 
 think of applying it to "Vanity Fair." 
 
 The author possesses an admirable style, clear, 
 unaffected, strong. To the discriminating public, the 
 book is certain to give far more pleasure than that public 
 usually gets from a new novel. 
 
 With a Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert 
 
 Cloth, 12 mo. Ornamental, $1.25 Net. 
 Postage, 12 Cents 
 
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 FULL of INCIDENT, ACTION tf COLOR 
 
 LIKE 
 ANOTHER HELEN 
 
 By GEORGE HORTON 
 
 Mr. Morton's powerful romance stands in a new field and 
 brings an almost unknown world in reality before the reader 
 the world of conflict between Greek and Turk. 
 
 The island of Crete seems real and genuine after reading 
 this book; not a mere spot on the map. The tragic and 
 pathetic troubles of this people are told with sympathetic force. 
 
 Mr. Horton employs a vivid style that keeps the interest 
 alive and many passages are filled with delicate poetic feeling. 
 
 Things happen and the story moves. The characters are 
 well conceived and are human and convincing. Beyond ques- 
 tion Mr. Horton' s fine story is destined to take high rank among 
 the books of the day. 
 
 With illus '.rations by C. M. Relyea 
 
 I 2mo, Cloth bound 
 
 Price, $1.50 
 
 The Chicago Times-Herald says : 
 
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 chapters of illuminated description fragrant with the at- 
 mosphere of art. ' ' 
 
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 "A CHRONICLE OF MARVELS" 
 
 THE FIRST MEN 
 IN THE MOON 
 
 By H. G. WELLS 
 
 Author of "The War of the Worlds" and "Tales of Time 
 and Space." 
 
 Mr. Wells writes to entertain and in this tale of the 
 invention of " cavorite," and the subsequent remarkable 
 journey made to the moon by its inventor, he has succeeded 
 beyond measure in alternately astounding, convincing and 
 delighting his readers. Told in a straightforward way, with 
 an air of ingenuousness that disaims doubt, the story 
 chronicles most marvelous discoveries and adventures on 
 the mysterious planet. Mr. Hering's many illustrations 
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 original and entertaining volumes that has appeared in 
 many a day. 
 
 Profusely Illustrated by E. Hering 
 izmo., cloth, $1.50 
 
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 "AN INDIANA LOVE STORY" 
 
 ROSALYNDE'S 
 LOVERS 
 
 By MAURICE THOMPSON 
 Author of "Alice of Old Vincennes" 
 
 As Mr. Thompson avers, this is "only a love story," 
 but it is a story of such sweetness and wholesome life 
 that it will at once claim a permanent home in our affections. 
 The love of nature, so prominent a characteristic of Mr. 
 Thompson, is reflected throughout and the thunderstorm 
 and following gleam of sun, the country garden and 
 southern lake are each in turn invested with a personality 
 that wins our instant sympathy. Rosalynde Banderet is 
 winsome and artless, her lovers are human and manly, 
 and her final happiness is ours. Mr. Peirson's many 
 pictures are entirely worthy. 
 
 With many Illustrations and Decorations by 
 G. Alden Peirson 
 
 Ornamental 12010. Cloth Bound, $i.c;o 
 
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 ANOTHER SUCCESSFUL HISTORICAL 
 NOVEL 
 
 THE BLACK 
 WOLF'S BREED 
 
 By HARRIS DICKSON 
 
 From the Boston Globe : 
 
 f ' A vigorous tale of France in the old and new world during 
 the reign of Louis XIV." 
 
 From the Philadelphia Press : 
 
 " As delightfully seductive as certain mint-flavored beverages 
 they make down South." 
 
 From the Los Angeles Herald: 
 
 " The sword-play is great, even finer than the pictures in 
 To Have and To Hold.' " 
 
 From the San Francisco Chronicle : 
 
 " As fine a piece of sustained adventure as has appeared in 
 recent fiction." 
 
 From the St. Louis Globe- Democrat : 
 
 "There is action, vivid description and intensely dramatic 
 situations." 
 
 From the Indianapolis News : 
 
 " So full offender love-making, of gallant fighting, that one 
 regrets it's no longer." 
 
 Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. Price $1.50 
 
 The Bowen-Merrill Company, Indianapolis
 
 "IN LONDON OF LONG AGO" 
 
 THE 
 FICKLE WHEEL 
 
 By HENRY THEW STEPHENSON 
 
 In this tale of merry England, of the time when 
 Shakespeare jested and Ben Johnson blustered, Mr. 
 Stephenson has painted for us a picture informing and 
 above all entertaining. His is not a story of counts 
 and crowns, but of the ever interesting common people. 
 Without seeming to do so the author shows us many 
 interesting bits of the life of the day. We go to Paul's 
 walk, w see Shakespeare play at the Globe theatre and 
 other such glimpses of old time London are deftly added 
 to our experiences. Throughout the book is an evanescent 
 charm, a spirit of wholesome gaiety. It is well worth while. 
 
 With illustrations by C. M. Relyea 
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 A FINE STORY 
 OF THE COWBOY AT HIS BEST 
 
 By FLORENCE FINCH KELLY 
 
 ' The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel" 
 
 From the San Francisco Chronicle: 
 
 " Western men and women will read it because it paints 
 faithfully the life which they know so well, and because it 
 gives us three big, manly fellows, fine types of the cowboy 
 at his best. Eastern readers will be attracted by its splendid 
 realism." 
 
 From Julian Haiathorne : 
 
 " For my own part, I finished it all in one day, and dreamt 
 it over again that night. And I am an old hand, heaven 
 knows/' 
 
 From the Denver Times : 
 
 " Mrs. Kelly's characters stand out from the background of 
 the New Mexican plains, desert and mountain with all the 
 distinctness of a Remington sketch." 
 
 With six illustrations, in color, by Dan Smith 
 Price, 1.50 
 
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 ' DIFFICULT TO FORGET " 
 
 A FEARSOME 
 RIDDLE 
 
 By MAX EHRMAN 
 
 This mystery story, based on the theory of the 
 arithmetical rhythm of time, contains much of the same 
 fascination that attaches to the tales of Poe. Simply 
 told, yet dramatic and powerful in its unique conception, 
 it has a convincing ring that is most impressive. The 
 reader can not evade a haunting conviction that this 
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 A NOV-EL OF EARLY NEW YORK 
 
 PATROON VAN 
 VOLKENBERG 
 
 By HENRY THEW STEPHENSON 
 
 From the New York Press: 
 
 " Many will compare ' Patroon Van Volkenberg,' with its 
 dash, style and virility, with ' Richard Carvel,' and in that 
 respect they will be right, as one would compare the strong, 
 sturdy and spreading elm with a slender sapling." 
 
 The action of this stirring story begins when New York 
 was a little city of less than 5,000 inhabitants. 
 
 The Governor has forbidden the port to the free traders or 
 pirate ships, which sailed boldly under their own flag ; while 
 the Patroon and his merchant colleagues not only traded openly 
 with the buccaneers, but owned and managed such illicit craft. 
 The story of the clash of these conflicting interests and the 
 resulting exciting happenings is absorbing. 
 
 The atmosphere of the tale is fresh in fiction, the plot is 
 stirring and well knit, and the author is possessed of the ability 
 to write forceful, fragrant English. 
 
 From the Brooklyn Standard- Union : 
 
 "The tale is one of vibrant quality. It can not be read at a 
 leisurely pace. It bears the reader through piratical seas and 
 buccaneering adventures, through storm and stress of many 
 sorts, but it lands him safely, and leads him to peace." 
 
 izmo, 
 Illustrated in color by C. M. Relyea 
 
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 A STORY OF THE MORGAN RAID, 
 DURING THE WAR of the REBELLION 
 
 THE 
 LEGIONARIES 
 
 By HENRY SCOTT CLARK 
 
 The Memphis Commercial- Appeal says : 
 " The backbone of the story is Morgan's great raid one of 
 the most romantic and reckless pieces of adventure ever 
 attempted in the history of the world. Mr. Clark's descrip- 
 tion of the Ride of the Three Thousand is a piece of litera- 
 ture that deserves to live ; and is as fine in its way as the 
 chariot race from ' Ben Hur.' " 
 
 The Cincinnati Commercial-Tribune says : 
 
 " ' The Legionaries ' is pervaded with what seems to be the 
 true spirit of artistic impartiality. The author is simply 
 a narrator. He stands aside, regarding with equal eye all 
 the issues involved and the scales dip not in his hands. To 
 sum up, the first romance of the new day on the Ohio is an 
 eminently readable one a good yarn well spun." 
 
 The Rochester Herald says : 
 
 "The appearance of a new novel in the West marks an 
 epoch in fiction relating to the war between the sections for 
 the preservation of the Union. ' The Legionaries ' is a 
 remarkable book, and we can scarcely credit the assurance 
 that it is the work of a new writer." 
 
 1 2 mo, illustrated Price, Si. 50 
 
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 A STORY TOLD BY A REAL STORY- 
 TELLER 
 
 A SON OF 
 AUSTERITY 
 
 By GEORGE KNIGHT 
 
 Mr. Knight has created a real atmosphere for his men and 
 women to breathe, and his men and women take deep breaths. 
 They are alive, they are human, they are real. 
 
 He has a delightful story to tell and knows how to tell 
 it. It is a story of human life, of possible people in possible 
 situations, living out their little span of life in that state in 
 which it has pleased God to call them. 
 
 The reader realizes at once that Mr. Knight is a man who 
 served his seven years of apprenticeship before opening a shop 
 on his own account. 
 
 The deftness and charm of his literary style, combined 
 with the absorbing interest of the story, can not but prove a 
 delight to every reader. 
 
 With a frontispiece by Harrison Fisher 
 izmo, Cloth. Price, $1.50 
 
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 VIGOROUS, ELEMENTAL, DRAMATIC 
 
 A HEART 
 OF FLAME 
 
 The story of a Master Passion 
 
 BY CHARLES FLEMING EMBREE 
 
 Author of "A Dream of a Throne." 
 
 The men and women in this story are children of the 
 soil. Their strength is in their nearness to nature. Their 
 minds are vigorous, their bodies powerful, their passions 
 elemental, their courage sublime. They are loyal in friend- 
 ship, persistent in enmity, determined in purpose. 
 
 The story is a story of great wrongs and of supreme love. 
 It is done in black and white, with few strokes, but they are 
 masterly. The shadows at the back are somber but the 
 value of contrast is appreciated for the vivid high light in 
 the foreground. 
 
 It is a work of art powerful, convincing and abiding. 
 Powerful, because true to life; convincing, for it has the 
 saving touch of humor; and abiding because love, like "A 
 Heart of Flame," prevails in the end. 
 
 With illustrations by Dan Smith 
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