VALENTIN AND NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
The Works op 
 
 HENEY KINGSLEY. 
 
 The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn. 
 
 Ravenshoe. 
 
 The Hillyars and the Burtons. 
 
 SlLCOTE OF SlLCOTES. 
 
 I Stretton. 
 
 ; Austin Elliot and The Harveys. 
 Mademoiselle Mathilde. 
 ' Old Margaret, and Other Stories. 
 ,\ , Valentin, and Number Seventeen. 
 
 Oakshott Castle and The Grange Garden. 
 
 Reginald Hetherege and Leighton Court. 
 
 The Boy in Grey, and Other Stories. 
 
The German officers save Valentin from the wolf. 
 
 Valentin.] [Page 21. 
 
 {From a drawing by R. Caton Woodville.) 
 
VALENTIN 
 
 AND 
 
 NUMBER SEVENTEEN 
 
 HENRY KINGSLEY 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 > t 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY R. CATON WOODVILLE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED 
 
 WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. 
 
 NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE 
 1895 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 

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 b 
 
 4 
 

 
 VALENTIN. 
 
 8±im 5 
 
VALENTIN : 
 
 A STOBY OF SEDAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 My father, at this present moment, in spite of all that has come 
 and gone, is a very rich man. I do not say that he is rich as 
 the English understand it, but he has even now rents to the 
 amount of 48,000 francs a year, about £2,000 sterling. Had he 
 been poor, it might have been better or worse for me, but he is 
 rich even now. I am the only son, and so I have been brought 
 up in entire idleness. I have had certainly a fine education, 
 partly at Metz and partly at home ; but I have never done any- 
 thing great, simply because I never was taught how to do any- 
 thing. I am informed that some of you young Englishmen are in 
 exactly the same position ; but it is hard to believe, because I 
 have always been taught that you are so very practical. 
 
 You demand my nationality ; I reply that I am entirely uncer- 
 tain of it. I call myself a Frenchman. Still, although the best 
 part of my father's estates are now in Germany, I begin to believe 
 that I have no nationality at all ; I speak German quite as well 
 as I do French. My heart is in France, but my home is in 
 Germany. The English and the Scotch were at deadly war for 
 many years, yet now they are but one nation. You can under- 
 stand, then, that I, although a Frenchman, have no prejudices ; 
 in fact, I think that the people of the Rhine Provinces are much 
 more intelligent than the peasants of Alsace, Lorraine, and Cham- 
 pagne, but I like the French the best. 
 
 When I talk with a good Englishman he will always allow that 
 the Scotch are better educated than the English, but he loves the 
 English best ; may it not be so with me ? I must, however, 
 leave speculation and come to fact. I must, I fear, tell you all 
 about myself, except my character. That I cannot give you, for 
 I do not know it myself, Pasteur Leroi, who prepared me for 
 
4 VALENTIN : 
 
 confirmation, and started me to school at Metz, wept when I went 
 away, and told me that I was a little angel ; whereas Monseigneur 
 the Bishop of Luxemburg on one occasion, in consequence of 
 my upsetting a chair during mass, while I was on a visit there, 
 had a private interview with me, boxed my ears, and said I 
 was a little devil. So do not you see I am rather abroad 
 between the opinions of these two gentlemen, both of whom are 
 infallible ? 
 
 As I cannot give you anything more about my character (I was 
 forgetting again, oid Mathilde always says that I am a wehrwolf, 
 which is not t.U'3, and she is an Alsatian), I had better tell you 
 all the facts I knew about my birth, parentage, and education. 
 I \u)\)Q before I be-j;in that you will entirely dismiss from your 
 minds the remark which old Mathilde made. I am not a wehr- 
 wolf at all ; I am not afraid of wolves, I allow that. I have 
 killed more wolves than any young man of my age, but I have let 
 many go because I make them my hunting dogs when I want 
 venison. It is an easy thing when you know how to do it ; still, 
 the reputation of being too familiar with the wolves has been 
 carried by old Mathilde, the pedlar 3 from one end of the Ardennes 
 to the other, and has done me no good. 
 
 At Petange, in Luxemburg, the other day, I brought in a roe- 
 buck on my shoulders, from the woods above Longwy late at 
 night, and cut him up in the back kitchen. I wanted a steak cut 
 off it for my supper. Would you believe it, the idiotic landlord 
 sent for the priest and had the meat sprinkled with holy water 
 before he would cook a pound of it ? In fact, I have my enemies, 
 and that old witch, Mathilde, is one of them. She has the evil 
 eye, that woman ; she cursed the Brandenburg Hussars all through 
 the wood by Audun la Tige, but she shuived them, the way. She 
 has not been very poor since. She has taken the auberge at 
 Audun la Romain. I know her ; she tried to ruin me, but she 
 has not succeeded. Having for the present blown off the steam 
 about this most abominable old smuggling pedlar (with whom I 
 hope to be right sides uppermost before I die), I will proceed as 
 quietly as the memory of my unutterable wrongs will allow me. 
 That old wretch, indeed ! I beg of you ! She ought to be ducked 
 in a horse-pond. I was so glad when the Chasseurs d'Afrique 
 caught her and towed her along behind a horse, with a picket- 
 rope, to show them the line of the Luxemburg trontier. Well she 
 knew it, the smuggling old trot. 
 
 You say that I enrage myself in an unnecessary manner about 
 this old woman. Bah ! it 'is always the way with you English ; 
 you are seldom enraged, but when you are it is to good purpose ! 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 5 
 
 If you say that I am unnecessarily enraged about this old woman, 
 wait until I have told my story, and decide then. I tell you that 
 I hate her entirely. 
 
 I was horn in Sedan, at the house at the corner of the street 
 opposite the statue of Turcnne, as you go towards Bazeilles. My 
 lather's town house was there ; his country house was at Fond de 
 Givonne. My father was from Treves, but my mother taught me 
 to speak, and taught me in French, and not in German, as my 
 father spoke generally. She also told me very early in life that 
 the German Rhine Provinces were the property of the French ; 
 my father, on the other hand, told me persistently that Alsace 
 and Lorraine — or, as he called them, Elsass and Lotheringen — 
 were the property of the Germans. I cared but little for it all 
 then, but I loved my mother better than my father, and so I grew 
 up a Frenchman. 
 
 Our accursed fortifications, the things which have ruined us for 
 a generation, if not for all time, were made by Vauban ; evil be to 
 his name, he has entrapped more armies than any other man ever 
 did. I hope some day or another that we shall have no fortifica- 
 tions at all, but shall fight as you English propose to do behind 
 your hedges, from point to point, where neither cavalry nor artil- 
 lery can act, and where an enemy's pioneer who offers to put a 
 spade in the ground is a dead man. I should very much like to 
 see the army which could fight through Kent, so long as you have 
 a hundred thousand regulars, with a hundred thousand sharp- 
 shooting volunteers to back them, and your fleet behind the enemy. 
 But I am talking of your country, not of mine. 
 
 In Lorraine and Champagne there is neither hedge nor ditch ; 
 you can gallop a horse for miles and miles without one single 
 jump. There is no place of shelter like your continuous English 
 hedges, from which you can fight from point to point, and among 
 which a Garibaldian rabble might beat the best German troops. 
 Our great Revolution (of which you have doubtless heard) sub- 
 divided the land so mfmitesimaHy that every half-acre was valuable, 
 and so fences were entirely done away with. While we were on 
 the offensive this did not matter, we had Strasbourg, Metz, Toul, 
 Phalsbourg, Montmedy, Longwy, Thionville, between us and the 
 outer barbarians, who beat us in art and in education ; but when 
 we were on the defensive the matter was utterly changed. Our 
 troops were detained to defend these garrisons, the enemy took 
 but little notice of them, leaving but a moiety of their force to 
 mask and to reduce them, while the main stream marched on, 
 after they passed us in our disaster. I am, however, anticipating, 
 though not in an unnecessary manner. Every English boy should 
 
(J VALENTIN : 
 
 know how to defend his home, and every English boy can learn 
 it. Mon Dieu ! if we French boys had had a Kent or a Sussex, 
 not to mention a sea between us and Germany, this would never 
 have happened. See what you English boys have — liberty and 
 opportunity to drill with the best arms round your own homes ; 
 see that you do so. Let the English boy who will not drill be 
 deprived of other sports. There should be a moral compulsion. 
 You will see why I say this in time. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The first thing I can remember is the old slope on the glacis of 
 Sedan, beyond the gate which leads to Fond de Givonne. My 
 constant attendant, Jacques Cartier, who was husband of the 
 Mathilde previously spoken of, used to bring me here and lay me 
 in the sun, when I was very little. He was a very good man, 
 and my father trusted him profoundly ; but I remember very well 
 to have heard my mother say that he was not happy with his 
 wife. I know that he was trusted continually with my precious 
 person, and also I know that he kept a little shop by the bridge 
 on the Meuse, where he sold images and crucifixes. His wife 
 was a travelling pedlar woman, even then, and she used to make 
 more money than he did, for I have heard her tell him of it a 
 score of times in the most angry manner. The fact is that she 
 was a smuggler. She put it about that the wolves would not 
 touch me ; I can swear that they never would touch her. I have 
 known her come from Bouillon, over the hill, in the snow on the 
 darkest night. 
 
 That side of Sedan towards Fond de Givonne is very pleasant 
 in summer ; for a great part of the glacis is planted with trees, 
 which whisper gently in the summer wind, and where you can 
 play or read, or lie on your hack looking up on the summer sky 
 and the few fleeting clouds which traverse the blue sky of Cham- 
 pagne and cast purple shadows on the growing vines. There are 
 nice places also, secret places, between the scarp and counter- 
 scarp, where the flowers grow, toad-flax, purple geranium, wild 
 pinks, and campanulas. Here, on the glacis, one can have great 
 amusement when the boys of the Ecole Polytechnique come out ; 
 for by borrowing the citizens' ladders one can make a real 
 escalade, and get into the casemates and frighten the wives oi 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 7 
 
 the artillerymen who live there. They are mostly middle-aged 
 
 women, and when we came through the embrasures into their 
 rooms, would throw saucepans and casseroles at us, crying out 
 that we were young devils of the Lycee ; we would eat or spill 
 their soup, on the other hand, which was amusing, though 
 wrong. 
 
 Under the guidance ot Jacques Cartier, I soon began to go 
 farther afield than the glacis, right up into Fond de Givonne, to 
 my father's country house, on the road to Givonne and Bouillon. 
 I always thought then, and I think now, that this house, lying at 
 the end of the broad dusty street, is one of the most beautiful 
 houses in the world. You could scarcely see it from the street, 
 for it was blocked in by a tall white wall ; but when you had 
 opened the door in the wall, you saw the porch at the end of a 
 long arched trellis-work of the vines of Champagne, brilliant 
 green in the hottest sun, with clusters of dull purple grapes hang- 
 ing down. Underneath this beautiful arcade grew roses, Souvenir 
 de Malmaison, General Jacqueminot, Gloire de Dijon, your own 
 ravishing English Moss-rose, and your Cabbage-rose. When the 
 vines were bare, and the March wind was shrill and wild, we had 
 other flowers — Violets, Primroses, Crocuses, and Hepaticas. 
 When the vines began to shelter us from the sun with their cool 
 greenery, we had other flowers — Jonquils, Narcissus, and the pale 
 blue English Cowslip, the Diana among flowers, which my father 
 had brought with his own hands from Yorkshire, and which not 
 one Englishman in ten knows even by name. In autumn, when 
 the vine-leaves would fall yellow and scar whenever the guns of 
 the fortress were fired for practice, and when the windows would 
 rattle in the still autumn air with concussion, when little Marie 
 would pretend to be frightened, and say, "It is the Allies who 
 come," then we would have other flowers — Keines Marguerites 
 and Chrysanthemums. But when the vine-leaves began to drop, 
 I cared iittle for the flowers, because my heart was in the forest, 
 in the old forest of the Ardennes, the forest which your Shake- 
 speare has immortalised for ever. 
 
 You will notice, then, that this long alley of vines completely 
 hid the house until you were close upon the porch. When you 
 came face to face with the house itself, you would, were you a 
 stranger, say, " Ah ! " and look aloft at the wonderful mass oi 
 high sloping roofs, with dormer windows and clustered turrets, 
 the home of innumerable pigeons. The shadowless white chateau 
 soared aloft into the blue sky most splendidly ; beside you was a 
 fountain, playing night and day in a basin set in grass ; below 
 were woodlands ; beyond was Sedan ; and lar away rolled the 
 
8 VALENTIN : 
 
 glorious old Meuse, like a silver riband, toward Nainur, toward 
 Rotterdam, toward the cold northern sea. 
 
 *' It was a pleasant place in times of yore, 
 
 But something ails it now, the place is cursed." 
 
 Heaven ! how I loved it ! My whole life seems bound up in 
 it ; every sacred stone of it is precious to me, and it seems quite 
 impossible that it can ever be seriously touched. Strategetically, 
 it is of no use whatever ; for it lies in a hollow under the brow of 
 the hill, and its only possible utilisation is for the head- quarters of 
 a general or a crown prince. 
 
 Some part of the old house dated from the time of Godfrey 
 de Bouillon, an old and somewhat turbulent neighbour of my 
 ancestors. I have read every biography of that gentleman, but 
 I cannot find the name of my mother's family (did I tell you my 
 mother's family name ? no, by-the-bye, I don't think I did. De 
 Quintain, if you please) mentioned in it. The main part of the 
 building is sixteenth century, exactly the sort of building which 
 I see reproduced in Scotland, at Holyrood, at Grandtully, at 
 Wecm, and elsewhere ; for the Scotch were much abroad, and 
 copied us in many things, notably in our architecture. 
 
 I have studied our chateau at Fond de Givonne ; but as our 
 archives were lost in the Revolution, I can make out but little 
 about it. My father is an Alsatian Schneider, and the chateau 
 came to him on his marriage with Mademoiselle de Quintain ; so 
 he cares nothing about the legends of the De Quintains. My 
 mother tells me frankly that she does not know, and that her 
 mother did not know, the reason why on every keystone and 
 gargoyle appears the wolf's head. It is our crest also ; but my 
 mother does not know why. Old Mathilde says that she knows, 
 and she knows so much of the wickedness of this world, smuggling 
 old woman as she is, that I should not be surprised if she did 
 know. You don't know what an abominable old woman that is. 
 She makes horrible witch rhymes, and pretends that they are old 
 legends. I asked her about the wolf business, and why our 
 house was all over wolves, once when I was very young, and she 
 answered — 
 
 " Quintain est mort, 
 Le loup de Sedan ; 
 Les traitres dehors, 
 Et les Prussiens dedans." 
 
 She always hated my father, and I am bound to say that the 
 feeling was entirely mutual. I cannot get at the bottom of the 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 9 
 
 wolf story. I do not say that I have not heard at least one dozen 
 versions of it ; hut I cannot verify a single one. I have been 
 told, for example, that my mother's ancestor, De Quintain, was a 
 squire of Godfrey de Bouillon, and that he saved him from a wolf 
 at Libramont, and that Godfrey de Bouillon gave him our castle 
 and lands for doing it. About which I do not happen to believe 
 one word, simply because no man of the commonest nerve need 
 fear a wolf any more than he need a fox. But there are two 
 singular stories about these wolves which I will tell, because they 
 were told me by Jacques Cartier, and so I know them to be true. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 First, then, as regards these wolf reports, very soon after I was 
 born, my mother was lying with me on the terrace, and a large 
 dog-wolf came up along the gravel path, looked at us both, and 
 then trotted away among the flowers before my mother had time 
 to scream for assistance. Secondly, Cartier left me out on the 
 same terrace, lying on my stomach in the sun one day, and when 
 he came back a she-wolf was sitting on her haunches watching 
 me. At least so he swears. I have seen so much of wolves that 
 I can, on simply scientific grounds, believe a great deal of them. 
 These two stories I most implicitly believe ; but with regard to 
 our original connection with wolves, I have nothing whatever to 
 say. I only know that our neighbours at Fond de Givonne used 
 to say, "Don't say anything beginning with an L before a 
 Schneider, or the conversation will turn on wolves." And the 
 curious thing was that there are hardly any wolves close to Sedan ; 
 you must go into the Ardennes for them. 
 
 I had but little education until I went to the Lycee ; I was an 
 only son, and I was what you English would call spoilt. My 
 father and my mother taught me to read, write, and sum ; and my 
 father, who had a manufactory of wool in Sedan, told me that I 
 should make a man of business if I would apply, and not go out 
 so much at night. Dr. Tullier used to come and see me at this 
 time, and I rather wondered why, though I liked him. I listened 
 once, and I heard him say — 
 
 " Let the boy have his own way ; his mind has been abused by 
 these superstitious old women." 
 
 " Meaning Madame ? " said my father, with a laugh. 
 
10 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Yes," said the doctor, " and yourself also, and Cartier. You 
 have let this wolf legend grown into the boy's brain ; you cannot 
 get it out at once. The boy is a beautiful, well-grown boy, and 
 I will not see him ruined by half a dozen old women." 
 
 " Shall I tell the priest?" 
 
 "Lunatic! no," said the doctor, "that would be worse than 
 all. Send him to the Lycee ; I will speak to young La Roche- 
 jacquelaine. When did your boy run away last ? " 
 
 " Three days ago." 
 
 " Did he bring home anything ? " 
 
 " The old story — a wolf's skin." 
 
 " Was Cartier with him ? " 
 
 " No," said my father ; "he disappeared, and he came back tired 
 and worn, with the fresh-flayed wolf's skin on his shoulder and 
 the little artillery carbine under his arm. It is very horrible." 
 
 " Not at all," said the doctor ; " the little hero ! " 
 
 Now all this was strictly true, and it was in consequence of 
 these escapades of mine that I got the name of the " Wehr 
 Wolf." I must explain to you how all this happened. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Cartier was at the bottom of it all, and I was no more a 
 wehrwolf than you are, though, thanks to my kind neighbours, 
 I got the credit of being one. Cartier had been a Garde 
 Champetre, and knew very much of what is still the greatest 
 forest in Europe, the Ardennes. Whether he ever assisted 
 Mathildc in her smuggling I cannot, say, but I know that very 
 early in life he taught me the use of the carbine, and carried me 
 over the frontier to the farm beyond Chateau Neuf, where his 
 sister lived with her grand -daughter Marie. 
 
 I suppose that the beginning of it all was this : Cartier asked 
 my father if I might stay away for a week with him at the farm 
 beyond Chateau Neuf, and my father had gladly consented. In 
 this resulted the first great journey of my life. Recall your own 
 first journey, and you will sympathise with me in mine. I 
 was now fifteen years old, and was at school at the Lycee in 
 Sedan. 
 
 Our French Lycees are utterly unlike your English public 
 schools. We have far more petty discipline, and far less liberty. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 11 
 
 The routine of our education again is completely different from 
 that of yours, and from that of the Germans. The Germans 
 are forced to learn everything ; the English learn anything 
 they like ; the French are forced to learn, but they are taught 
 very little which is of any use to them. I can match any 
 English boy I ever met in Latin and in mathematics, and 
 can beat him hollow in history; but I never met a German 
 boy who was not my master in really useful matters, such as 
 geography, natural science, and modern languages. Why, 
 German boys can — a great many of them — talk English, I 
 cannot. Even now it seems to me a barbarous collection ot 
 mere arbitrary sounds, and yet my German friends tell me that 
 it is incomparably the finest language in the world, and that 
 your poet Shakespeare is the finest of all poets for all time. 
 Once more, neither English nor German seem to understand 
 poets like Hugo and Beranger ; they say that they are unable 
 to rhyme. I think that the Teutonic races will never under- 
 stand the Latin. 
 
 I have read much about Rugby and much about Eton. From 
 my point of view, they must be absolute paradises. Eton, in 
 particular, would seem to me more like the garden of the old man 
 of the mountain, than a place of discipline. There, they tell me, 
 in a beautiful building, by a beautiful river, close to the greatest 
 palace in the world, are eight hundred boys, who are actually 
 forced to do nothing at all in the way of learning beyond simple 
 class lessons, but who are forced to learn to swim before they are 
 allowed to row in a boat. The story of Rugby, told by Mr. 
 Hughes, reads like an Idyl to me. There is at Rugby force, 
 brutality, and, as he himself hints, vice. We have in our Lycees 
 all three things. I suppose that they are everywhere ; but we 
 have very few masters who make friends of their boys, as your 
 English masters seem to do. Your punishments, too, are 
 different, and not so degrading. You are flogged, we never are ; 
 you have impositions, so have we ; but I would far sooner be 
 flogged than be put en piquet for the whole hour of recreation. 
 Your men of Trafalgar were habitually flogged. Fancy a boy 
 of from fourteen to eighteen, nearly a man, being put with his 
 face to the wall of the playground for an hour, in sight of his 
 comrades (who all jeer at him), for one ill-considered word. I 
 tell you that it makes boys desperate, and rebellious against all 
 authority. For me, I would much rather be flogged like any oi 
 your noblemen's sons at Eton, and have the degradation over, 
 than stand en piquet for half an hour. From what I learn, I 
 think that your English schoolmasters are the best of school- 
 
12 VALENTIN: 
 
 masters, though possibly not the best instructors. The Freres 
 Chretiens are very good instructors, but the worst schoolmasters ; 
 they care nothing for boys with an opinion of their own, and we 
 most certainly care very little for them. 
 
 The Lycee, then, do you perceive, is by no means such an 
 agreeable place as your Eton. I hated it, and when Jacques 
 Car tier called for me at four o'clock one summer's morning, 
 I made a sort of vow to myself that I would never return to it 
 any more. 
 
 My parents were both away at Metz, or, as I thought, I should 
 not have got leave for my expedition, as they would have wanted 
 me at home. Cartier gave a receipt for my person, and we im- 
 mediately walked out to my father's chateau at Fond de Givonne, 
 from which we were in no hurry at all to start, for we had many 
 things to arrange. I had breakfast in the kitchen with the maids 
 and young men, and they wished to know where I was going, or 
 whether I was going to stay with them. I had bound Cartier to 
 secrecy, and so he confirmed me in the story that we were going 
 to Chateau Neuf, and, probably, to Libramont. It was certain 
 that we were going to those places, but where we were going after, 
 that was our secret, and we kept it. 
 
 I was heir and lord of the family. If I had wanted anything, 
 and it had cost fifty pounds, I could have had it from any trades- 
 man in Sedan for asking, without consulting my father ; so on this 
 occasion I had no difficulty in getting everything I wished for. 
 First, I told old Alice, our housekeeper, that I must have two 
 hundred francs, and about that there was no difficulty at all — 
 I wished that I had said more ; then I got Louis, my father's 
 favourite young man, valet and groom, to come up with me to my 
 father's study, and help me to arrange for our journey. You will 
 perceive that I did not take Cartier up there. There were 
 reasons for this. Cartier was a Norman of St. Malo (he said 
 himself a lineal descendant of the famous Jacques). My father 
 was more than half German, and although he trusted Cartier, he 
 never would allow him any liberties. Now I was bent on 
 rummaging and ransacking my father's study, and it was possible 
 that he might scold in his mild way, which I did not want him to 
 do ; but I knew that if I could bring Louis in for part of the 
 blame, little would be said ; whereas, if my father heard that 
 Cartier had taken his black beard into his study, he would be 
 really angry. Consequently, I took Louis, or, to be more correct, 
 Louis took me, for I sat on his neck, with my legs round his 
 shoulders. Poor Louis ! my heart is sorry for him as I write. I 
 have seen him and his brother Alphonse strip themselves just as 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 13 
 
 you do when you are going to bathe, and jump into the wine-vat 
 together, splashing themselves up to the chest with the jets of the 
 red juice. Louis was stained with a deeper red before he went 
 down at Ste. Marie. Well, this is little to the purpose, though, 
 as a Frenchman, I cannot sometimes help thinking of the white 
 feet which I have seen so often in the wine-vat turned up cold to 
 the sky for ever. I beg pardon for this digression, but as a man 
 of Ardennes, the ruin of my country distresses me. We must 
 submit ; in fact, we have submitted, but, at least, let us have the 
 sacred solace of lamentation. 
 
 Louis and I invaded my father's sacred study, and then he set 
 me down, and we began our raid. The first thing fixed on was 
 an English trout-rod. I have mentioned before that my father 
 made voyages into your Yorkshire, in his business as a wool 
 manufacturer. Well, there he learnt the art of fly-fishing for 
 trout, an art unknown to us. He had partly taught it to me, and 
 so I first desired his English rod, knowing well that no other 
 one was to be got nearer than Franklbrt-on-the-Mainc, for your 
 English tourists never come our way. But now another want 
 possessed me ; I must have his fly-book, for we cannot even 
 imitate your English flies. His fly-book must be in some drawer, 
 and I opened one. There was a large paper lying on the top of 
 everything, and before I could stop myself, I read : 
 
 [Copy.] 
 
 "M. le Ministre, — I have said all that I have to say. Alsace 
 and Lorraine to Germany, but Belgium to France. I would be 
 glad to know your ideas as regards tariffs in case of the new 
 arrangements being made ; but as it is, I am transferring the 
 greater part of my property to Germany. I am utterly disgusted 
 with the course which French affairs are taking, and decline to be 
 nominated. I have but one object in life — to leave my only son 
 rich, and to let him marry well. I shall do that best, I conceive, 
 by putting him at the right side of the border. My son develops 
 French proclivities. — With high considerations, 
 
 11 George Schneider." 
 
 I could not understand this at that time. I looked under it, 
 and found the fly-book. I looked through it ; the casting-lines 
 were all right, and I was safe with the rest of the paraphernalia 
 which Louis had in his hand ; rod, reel, casting-lines, flies, were 
 all right. So far for the fish. Next for the winged game. I 
 could easily suit myself there, I took down my father's breech- 
 
14 VALENTIN : 
 
 loading Lefaucheux, and told Louis to look about for cartridges. 
 Louis knew where they were, and found one hundred and twenty, 
 that I considered would be enough and to spare. What next ? 
 why, I am sorry to say, that small document which I knew my 
 father had, giving the permission of no less a person than the King 
 of the Belgians for hunting in all his royal forests to the high-born 
 George Schneider of Sedan. I was perfectly aware that my 
 father had this permit, and if I could have got hold of it, I fear 
 I should have used it. I could not tell where it was. I 
 consulted Louis, who would have done anything in the world 
 for me. 
 
 " Where is it again?" said Louis, laughing; "why, here," 
 and he pointed to the strong box, let into the wall. I asked had 
 he the key? and he said, " No, that the master had the key." 
 I perceived at once I must begin life as a brigand, and really was 
 not very sorry. The King of the Belgians had given my father 
 leave to sport ; if I was taken up I could explain matters. And 
 when all was said and done, the French had joined with England 
 in guaranteeing the neutrality of Belgium. It was as broad as it 
 was long. If we guaranteed their neutrality, a little poaching 
 more or less was no matter. 
 
 The next thing I took was a splendid breech -loading carbine, 
 sighted for six hundred yards. The cartridges for this were not 
 so easily found, even Louis was puzzled ; but at last they were 
 found in my father's dressing-room. I had now everything I 
 wanted, and I went down to Cartier, Louis and I carrying the 
 spoils, and found him just sitting down to his dinner. He pointed 
 out to me that we could not start until we had dined, and so 
 I had dinner also, among the servants ; Alice, the housekeeper, 
 presiding. 
 
 " M. Valentin," she remarked, " is going to rectify the 
 frontier of France ; M. Valentin is going to push on to the 
 Rhine." 
 
 " As why then, Alice ? " I said. 
 
 "You have taken all the arms in the house, even down 
 to the English fish- spear " (she alluded to the spike on the 
 English fishing-rod). 
 
 " We are only going to Chateau Neuf," I said. 
 
 " I have been to Chateau Neuf," replied Alice, "but I never 
 took two guns and a fish-spear." 
 
 I thought that it was wisest to get off without any farther 
 argument, and so I told Cartier that we must be off — Madame 
 Alice looking extremely black, when she had given me the two 
 hundred francs, 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 15 
 
 Cartier, then a handsome man, a little over forty, carried the 
 sac, the double-barrelled gun, and the fishing-rod ; for my part I 
 carried the carbine only. But when we had got only as far as 
 Givoime (just over the hill from Fond de Givonne), Cartier 
 stopped me at an auberge, where singularly enough was his own 
 wife (she was twenty years older than he was, they said), and 
 she had two blankets strapped up a la Prussienne, one of which 
 she put round my neck, and said, 
 
 " Pour le beau contreband 
 Qui marche a sa rnort 
 Les traitres dedans, 
 
 Et les Allemands dehors." 
 
 The old witch left us after this, and I was glad of it. I 
 wonder what could have made a handsome manly fellow like 
 Cartier marry such a creature. I asked my father once, and he 
 said that the old woman knew too much, and that Cartier owed 
 her money. We have no more to do with her at present. 
 Cartier and I went out in the glorious Ardennes forest together, 
 and all care was left behind. I fear I must become confidential 
 here. I fear that I must tell you something about Cartier. We 
 used to call him old Cartier, because we had known him so 
 long ; but he was not forty-five when the day of devastation 
 came on us. I must, however, speak more of his principles than 
 of his personal appearance, or his age ; this hanclsome man, as 
 fine a man as ever you saw — handsomer than any of you English 
 — was wrong in his principles on one point. He declared that, 
 he was no poacher. He was no poacher on French soil certainly, 
 but he had erected a theory that when you had once crossed the 
 border, all morality was changed, and one could do as one liked. 
 I suspect, but only suspect, that it was by his poaching forays 
 into Belgium that he got into trouble with that old witch, his wife, 
 and married her to keep her quiet, but I cannot say. He had 
 no children — I was the only child he ever had ; and I regret to 
 say that as soon as I could walk stoutly, and be trusted to run if 
 required, he took me over the frontier poaching. When I was 
 ransacking my father's study, you will observe that I was very 
 anxious for the permit of King Leopold ; in fact, I knew perfectly 
 well where we were going, and I thought that we should be safer 
 with it. It is useless to disguise from you that I knew that we 
 should not be on French soil that night ; but what did it matter 
 to me ? I had Cartier with me, and I loved him better than all 
 the world, after my father and mother. 
 
 And let me be more confidential still. We French despise 
 
16 VALENTIN : 
 
 the Belgians. When we see you English, who have conquered 
 India, and done many things, treating them as equals, we 
 laugh. You have guaranteed their neutrality, but even with 
 you at their backs we could chase them like sheep to-morrow. 
 Ay, beaten as we are, we could wipe them off the face of 
 Europe to-morrow and make Frenchmen of them. Well, no. 
 We could not do that ; they are not fit for it. Judge then 
 that Cartier and I conceived that we had as good a right 
 to shoot game in Belgium as you English ever had to invade 
 India. They call me, these cackling neighbours, a wehrwolf. 
 Did I ever shoot a head of French game without authority ? 
 Never. Were I an English landlord I would prosecute every 
 poacher at once. But circumstances alter cases, or you English, 
 with all your purism, would not be masters of one -third of the 
 globe now. After this preface of apologies for my first misdoing I 
 will tell you how we fared. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was a glorious August day when we left the open fields, and 
 plunged into the great forest through a small by-path. I had 
 been in the forest before, but never in this part of it. I was at 
 once lost among the dense copsewood through which Cartier 
 brushed, warning me to follow him at a little distance, lest the 
 twigs should whip back into my face. He walked very stoutly for 
 two hours, and said very little ; at last we came to an open space 
 in the forest, where the trees were larger, and then he sat down 
 with me and talked. 
 
 "Are you afraid, my darling? " he said. 
 
 I laughed, and said, " No." 
 
 " Will you go with me wherever I shall take you ? " 
 
 " A Berlin, si vous voulez," I replied. 
 
 " Are you afraid of your father's anger ? " 
 
 " No, so long as you do not commit him to any indiscretion in 
 my person." 
 
 " I will not do so, bien-aime. But now, are you absolutely 
 certain that you are afraid of nothing, and will betray nothing ? 
 The poor are very poor hereabouts, and the poorest make com- 
 binations, and I fear talk sad nonsense sometimes ; for me I 
 know nothing whatever about politics, I leave them to the 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 17 
 
 Emperor. We practically pay the Emperor, and he, being a 
 gentleman, will naturally wish to keep his place and his prestige, 
 and earn his money. But there are some, my dear, who object 
 to this rule, and would object to any other. Did you ever hear of 
 the Carbonari ? " 
 
 "Yes," I said, " they were the charcoal-burners; they were 
 great conspirators." 
 
 " Should you be afraid of them if you saw them ? " 
 
 " Not I. I should like to see them. My father says that 
 France will flourish under a Republic ; so he says always, < Vive 
 la Republique de 1792.' " 
 
 "My boy," said Car tier, sadly, "you do not know of what 
 you speak. France is no more educated for a Republic than 
 I am educated for Heaven. After two hundred years more she 
 might be fit for it; that is to say, when she has got rid of 
 the great curse of the Latin nations— that of lying. But it 
 matters not ; we sleep to-night with the Carbonari^ and you 
 are not afraid? " 
 
 I reiterated that I was not, and then we rose and went on, 
 I walking with greater firmness because I felt that there was a 
 trifle of danger in our expedition. You English had once a great 
 man called Nelson, who, by his dexterity and valour, destroyed 
 two of our navies— the first at Aboukir, the second at Trafalgar. 
 I find that he was not altogether a hero ; for at school he stole 
 pears, and on the ice in the Arctic regions he attacked a bear 
 to get the skin for his sister. On the horrible day at Copenhagen, 
 again, he disobeyed the orders of his commandant, won a great 
 victory, and helped to drive the knife home to our heart. I will 
 allow that there never was such a man before or since ; but you 
 English call him hero ! Well, then, I will not dispute at aU, not 
 for one instant. I only say that he was only such a hero as 
 Garibaldi ; he disobeyed rules, and succeeded. I, for my part, 
 am neither a Nelson nor a Garibaldi. I disobcved rules and laws 
 and the respectability of things, as did Nelson and Garibaldi, and 
 so I found myself among the Carbonari. I confess that I should 
 have liked to find myself anywhere else. Nelson was not exactly 
 comfortable at Naples, though he had it all his own way ; and 
 Garibaldi was by no means comfortable at Montana. C'est tout 
 Sgal. I am only a Frenchman ; that is to say, a man who has 
 to give continual apologies, and so I say that I was no more 
 wrong in going among the Carbonari than Nelson or Garibaldi 
 were at Naples. We had neither of us any more business in the 
 Ardennes or at Naples than you English have in India or in 
 Australia. Let he who is without sin among you saintly English 
 
 o 
 
is Valentin j 
 
 cast the first stone at us French. You English are the greatest 
 pirates on the face of the earth, with the exception of all the 
 other nations. You English-speaking races have succeeded, while 
 we have failed ; you cannot say of us that we have not tried. 
 Your successes are built on our failures ; for example, who was 
 the practical discoverer of your new republic, Australia ? Why, 
 no other than La Perouse. You give us no credit at all ; and 
 since Sedan you say that we cannot fight. Our prestige is so far 
 gone that I have actually, as a Frenchman, to make all these 
 apologies before I can tell you of a poaching expedition over the 
 frontier. I am no worse than others. You English, I ask of 
 you, Where are the North-American Indians ? Where are the 
 Maories ? Where are the native Australians ? Can you answer 
 me ? I think not. You sneer and say, Where are the Algerians ? 
 I answer that they are there still, as we know to our bitter 
 cost in our affliction. Had Algeria gone to the English, the iron 
 heel would have gone down on her neck, and it would have been 
 a case of finis Polonies. Algeria was left for France; and I, 
 as a Frenchman, appeal to you English as to whether or not 
 she has been used well or ill. I think that no Englishman will 
 dare to give me the lie here. 
 
 But we will discuss no more now. We are down again, and 
 we must keep down, or we shall be ruined for ever and a clay. 
 I have only to tell you a plain narrative as to how these matters 
 came about. If I talk politics, it is only because I think that 
 every youth should know about them. At the present moment 
 the turn of you English is coming, and you must decide. 
 
 C artier and I were together among the fern until the afternoon 
 was far advanced, and the sun was only illuminating the very 
 highest boughs. I spent my time in gathering flowers, and 
 packing them away in a tin box, for the purpose of taking them 
 home to dry them. I knew something of botany, and loved it ; 
 and I also knew something of entomology. I rambled about in 
 the wood, and of flowers I got Impatiens noli me tangere, and 
 Colchicum autumnale, not to mention several geraniums, and a 
 fern which is rare with us, and rarer with you, Botrychium 
 lunaria, which I found on a rock. Of butterflies I got some 
 which would make your mouth water in England ; for example, 
 the Purple Emperor, which with us flies low, whereas you only 
 get it on the tops of trees ; the White Admiral, a fly very rarely 
 seen with you ; and, prize of all prizes, the Vannessa Apollo, 
 a gigantic white butterfly, with a peacock's eye in the centre of 
 his wing — a fly which you English have not at all. When I got 
 this last prize, I returned to Cartier, who was smoking at the 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. VJ 
 
 foot of a tree. I showed him the Apollo and my flowers ; but he 
 was not at all enthusiastic. He told me to cast all that rubbish 
 away, for that we had a very long journey before us. 
 
 " Where do we go, then ? " I asked. 
 
 "Possibly to Cologne," he answered, quite quietly. 
 
 "But is not that the capital of Prussia?" I asked, with 
 that ignorance of geography which has cost our countrymen 
 so much. 
 
 "My pretty one," he said, "we are bound on a long and 
 dangerous expedition. Believe one thing, that if you acquit 
 yourself well your father will not be very angry." 
 
 " Does he consent, then ? " 
 
 " Could you have been here if he did not? But I have said 
 too much already. Throw those flowers away, and we will go 
 sleep with the Carbonari. Bear yourself bravely ; and remember 
 this — any indiscretion which you commit will be visited, not on 
 you, but on me. You are safe, I am not." 
 
 " But, Cartier, my dear," I said, " why are you in danger ? " 
 
 " Can I trust you ? " 
 
 "To death." 
 
 " Then I will tell you. I am a spy." 
 
 " That is extremely charming," I said; "that suits me entirely. 
 You are sent, then, to outwit the Prussians ? " 
 
 "I am sent," he said, quietly, "to gain information. I do 
 not know what your father will say about my taking you with me, 
 nor do I care. I think that you will be useful, and besides, I 
 love you like my own son. You can go back now if you will." 
 
 I said at once, " I will go, and so long as I am not asked to 
 lie, or to do anything dishonourable, I will stay with you to the 
 death." I had read of Major Andre, and I thought that a bold 
 and clever spy was one of the most noble of men. 
 
 "You see," said Cartier, slowly, " this sudden debacle of Austria 
 at Sadowa renders it necessary that we should look to ourselves. 
 The English are totally useless, they could not help us if they 
 would. Prussia has destroyed Austria, and she may come to our 
 doors next. Somebody wants to know facts about the Prussian 
 army which he could never get from our French press, and he 
 has sent me. Somebody invests rather heavily in foreign funds, 
 and so I suppose that somebody wants private intelligence. 
 
 I nodded ; I quite understood. 
 
 " You will rarely sleep in a house. You must lie out with me. 
 You understand that ? ' ' 
 
 The delight of sleeping in the open air was so romantically 
 pleasant to me that I begged him to say no more. He rose, we 
 
20 VALENTIN : 
 
 shouldered our impedimenta, and I followed him through the 
 wood upwards, until we came to a little spring which welled up 
 through the grass at the foot of a large rock. I stooped and 
 drank ; and as I got up Cartier put his hand on my shoulder and 
 said, 
 
 " Will von follow that stream down ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " To the end?" 
 
 " Yes ; hut whither would it lead me ? " 
 
 "To Rotterdam." 
 
 " But that is in Holland." 
 
 " It is one of the springs of the Meuse," he said, " and it leads 
 you into a free country — a country which would perish under its 
 own sea sooner than give up its freedom. Did you notice that 
 little stream which we crossed when we first came into the 
 forest?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That stream goes into the Moselle, and into German territory 
 — into the territory of a nation who will barter freedom for power. 
 I think much, my beloved, and I am not sure whether I would be 
 a Frenchman or a German ; but see, when the wars come, the 
 ruin all falls upon us who live on the watershed." 
 
 We followed the trickling little burn down through the trees 
 and the copsewood, until it formed a larger stream, swirling over 
 gravel and lying in deep pools under alder stems. When we 
 got to the first meadow I put down my pack, and took out the 
 English trout-rod, for the water was dimpled every half minute 
 by rising trout. 
 
 " I can catch ii si i here," I said, " in the English way which I 
 have learned. Will you wait for me ? " 
 
 "I will go on to the charcoal-burners," he said. "Follow 
 the stream down ; if you are late I will come to meet you ; " and 
 so he departed. 
 
 It was just the best hour of the day, and I put my tackle 
 together very rapidly. I was perfectly sure of fish, and I used 
 only one fly, what you call a red palmer, though no monk I know 
 of, not even in Belgium, is dressed in that peculiar red and black. 
 1 had not cast half a do/en times when I saw that whirl and 
 splash in the water which every good fisherman loves ; I had hold 
 of a splendid trout over an English pound in weight. I kept him 
 out of the weeds, and in two minutes had him gasping on the 
 grass. 
 
 I went on with more and more success. I had my basket well 
 lined with trout, when a circumstance occurred, which is not very 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 21 
 
 pleasant for me to recall, but which must bo set clown never- 
 theless. 
 
 Coming to a long, rapid shallow, ending in a large pool, I saw 
 fish rising on the shallow which were evidently not trout. I tried 
 them with my red palmer, but they would not take. They moral 
 to the fly, but it seemed too large for them. What these fish 
 were I did not know, but I determined to have one of them ; and 
 taking out my father's fly-book, I sat down to consider. 
 
 I was in a deep glen, and only the tops of the highest trees 
 were lit up by the sun. Opposite me was a cliff of broken slate, 
 nearly covered with copsewood of oak, and as I sat down, some 
 of the broken slate rattled, and fell down, but I took no notice 
 at all. 
 
 I found a fly in my father's book, a very small one, which was 
 marked " blue dun." I put that on, and threw over the heads of 
 these mysterious fish ; the very first one took, and when I had 
 him on the grass I found that he was a fish I had never seen 
 before — a Thymallus, a grayling. I had read that these fish 
 smelt like violets, and I knelt down to smell him at once. There 
 was another rattle in the crags on the other side of the stream, 
 but I was so enchanted with my grayling that I took no notice. 
 
 I caught six or seven of these most beautiful salmonidre, and 
 then I heard the plunge of a great trout in the pool below me. 
 I changed my fly at once, and approached him with my old red 
 palmer, determining that one or other of us should be master or 
 man, and that I was not going to be the man if I could help it. 
 Again the slate on the other side of the stream broke and fell, 
 and looking up more carefully, I saw a large brown dog hidden 
 among the fern. 
 
 I thought that it must be one of the charcoal-burners' dogs, 
 and I cried to him, "You go home, sir; you will catch it " (you 
 will have punishment, in French) ; but he did not go, and I did 
 not care, because I wanted my trout. 
 
 My trout rose like a gentleman, but he was too strong for me. 
 He broke my line, and went in under an alder stump. I could 
 see my line on the weeds, and I was determined to have that and, 
 if possible, my trout. I stripped myself naked and went in, and, 
 as I did so, the brown dog on the other side set up a terrific 
 howling. I never had as yet heard such a noise. It was like 
 "Loup, Loup, Loup, Loup-garou ! " My attention, however, 
 was fixed on my tackle and my trout. I followed my line until I 
 got hold of my trout and threw him, a noble two-pounder, out on 
 the grass. Then I knelt down, naked as I was, to look at him. 
 
 Sudden as the attack on La Chapelle, a pistol-shot went over 
 
22 VALENTIN : 
 
 my head, followed by a howl from the other side of the stream. 
 I started up, all bare as I was, with my hands to my ears. Two 
 horsemen were behind me in the gathering gloom, one of whom 
 was wiping an American or English revolver with his handker- 
 chief. 
 
 We French are quicker than you English. I apologised at 
 once. " You were not shooting at me, monsieur ? " I said ; " and 
 I apologise for heing naked. I am a gentleman, though in my 
 present state of costume it would he impossible to see whether I 
 was or not." 
 
 " I did not fire on you, my hoy," said one, in what I thought 
 the Alsatian accent; "I fired at that wolf opposite. The beast 
 was watching you, and without your clothes you would have been 
 a dead hoy in three minutes. Are you man, or are you a 
 wehrwolf ? " 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, sir," I said, dressing rapidly. 
 " I thought that it was a sheep-dog. Will you accept a trout 
 from me ? " 
 
 " Potztausend," said the other, laughing, " we must not take 
 his trout ; we must push for Longwy." He spoke in an odd kind 
 of German, which I thought was Alsatian. 
 
 " Parlez Francais, s'il vous plait, mon Colonel," said the 
 other. "Young gentleman, can you give us the route to 
 Longwy ? " 
 
 I replied that it was a very long way off. 
 
 " I know," said the first man ; " but is there no road through 
 the forest ? " 
 
 "There is none," I said, "through which you could drag a 
 gun ; " for, do you see, I had seen our own artillery in practice, 
 and I have lived to see six hundred guns piled together in our 
 own trenches. Where you can get a gun you can get anything ; 
 and so I used that form of speech. 
 
 " Little wretch ! " said the more silent of the two horsemen ; 
 but his companion said, " By no means ; he has given a thousand 
 pounds' worth of intelligence, von Alvenstein. It will be utterly 
 impossible for us to offer our right in these forests, without 
 violating the neutrality of both Luxemburg and Belgium ; and as 
 it will be equally impossible for them to offer their left, Saarbruck 
 and Colmar are the words." 
 
 " You need not talk before this little French boy," said von 
 Alvenstein ; " you were correcting me just now." 
 
 And so they rode off ; and I was more than ever determined to 
 go on with Cartier, because I was sure that, if we were spies, 
 there were plenty of spies on the other side. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 23 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I confess entirely that I was very much terrified by the sudden 
 appearance of these two terrible Germans ; they came on me so 
 very suddenly, and looked so very dreadful against the sunset sky 
 with their long blue cloaks. The pistol-shot, too, had startled 
 me a great deal, and I was all alone and naked, with a wolf 
 watching me from the other side of the stream. I had always 
 heard of the Germans from my mother as men who spoke a 
 barbarous tongue not pronounceable by French lips, who were 
 utterly cruel in war, and who had assisted the English to destroy 
 us at Waterloo late in the day. I had the strongest horror of the 
 Germans at the time, although my own father was one of them ; 
 and so I gathered up my fish, put them in the basket, and walked 
 down the stream to rejoin Cartier, thinking, meanwhile, of all the 
 stories I had heard about them. I learnt more when I got to 
 school at Metz, but just now I thought more of what my mother 
 had told me of them than what my father had. 
 
 My mother told me that they were a nation of wretches, and 
 that the only one who was likely to be saved ultimately was my 
 father, who was of Alsatian extraction. The English, she said, 
 were most excellent people, but hopelessly stupid — only fit to 
 fight after all hope of a scientific victory was gone, and so won 
 battles more especially by sea. The} 7 were also Protestants, which 
 was an objection. Now, my father gave me an entirely different 
 account of the two nations. He said that the Germans were 
 beating the French hand over hand in literature, art, and war ; 
 and that when our miserable Chauvinism was dead and forgotten, 
 the French would acknowledge it. With regard to the English, 
 he said, that so far from being the stupidest, they were infinitely 
 the cleverest race on the face of the globe ; that they had a small 
 army recruited entirely by volunteers, but that with that army and 
 with their tremendous navy they had annexed one-eighth of the 
 human race ; that the native army in India had recently risen 
 against them, and that they had broken the back of the mutiny 
 before one single company of reinforcement had arrived ; that the 
 United States, an offshoot of England, was the most powerful 
 state in the globe ; and that the English language — the language 
 of the greatest poet which the world ever saw or would see — 
 would soon be talked by 200,000,000 of people ; that England 
 was going to meddle no more in continental affairs, either with 
 money or men, unless the road to India was threatened. In 
 short, my father had a very far higher opinion of you English 
 
24 VALENTIN: 
 
 than you have of yourselves. Our Chauvinism is bad enough ; 
 you see what it brought us to, and to what it is bringing us. But 
 self-depreciation is still more dangerous than Chauvinism ; it is 
 an error on the other side. " M. Victor Hugo and M. Gambetta 
 talk always of raising the country like one man," my father would 
 say: "that is all nonsense. If the men are undrilled, or, still 
 worse, unofficered, they are no more use in modern warfare than 
 so many old women. The bravest will go to the front, and so 
 you kill all your very best sires. We shall have a visit from 
 these Germans some day, Marie " (that was my mother's name), 
 "and you are a perfect fool; and you will give me a kiss, my 
 darling, and we will go into the vineyard, for the Germans have 
 not come. The revenge for Jena has not come yet." 
 
 You may depend upon it that the revanche de Jena was very 
 little out of my mind, and that I hated the Prussians pretty 
 heavily, and did not care much for the English. Well, these 
 matters are altered with me now. I daresay that you cannot 
 understand why. You never had a bullet lying against your 
 femoral artery, driving you mad with agony. You never had Dr. 
 Fuch's strong arm over your chest, holding you down in your 
 bed, while Dr. Morton of London operated, at a time when one 
 single error of the knife would have produced instant death, and 
 when your own sweetheart, who had taken vows for a year, was 
 holding the basin. No, you happy English know none of these 
 things, but we do. N'importe. I know both Germans and English 
 better now. 
 
 But at this time, do you see, I did not know much about the 
 Germans, because I had only taken my mother's report of them ; 
 so when I came on Cartier, lying by a fire in one of the forest 
 meadows, I was scared, and told him what I had seen. He took 
 it very coolly, and held up before me a wooden cross — a thing 
 which I thought he must have taken from some grave. 
 
 " Do you know," he said, " what that is ? " 
 
 I said that I thought it was a cross from a grave. 
 
 "It is the cross from many graves," he answered. "The 
 Prussians are surveying the country, and this is a cross set up by 
 their engineers on the top of yonder hill." 
 
 Then I said that we ought to make for Metz, and tell the 
 commandant. 
 
 " We must see more before we talk," he answered. "Let us 
 come on to the Carbonari." 
 
 " Had not you better take my watch from me," I whispered. 
 
 "No, they will be perfectly honest with us," he answered. 
 
 It was dark night now, and we followed the glen down to one 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 25 
 
 of the upper tributaries of the Moselle. The glen narrowed 
 rather rapidly, and we had a dangerous place to pass. I was 
 following Cartier very closely, when he told me to be very careful 
 how I set my feet. I saw that it was necessary : the stream was 
 on our right, and a high cliff was on our left ; the path, if such 
 it could be called, between the cliff and the stream was very 
 narrow and slippery. I had my English fishing-basket on my 
 left side and my rod in my right hand. Cartier forgot about my 
 fishing-basket, and passed on after his caution to me round the 
 corner of the rock. I followed, forgetting my fishing-basket ; 
 when I came to the corner by which Cartier had passed, the 
 fishing-basket struck against the rock and upset me headlong into 
 the stream. 
 
 I cried out, and Cartier was in after me in a moment. I had 
 only dipped my head, and had held my rod and my basket tight ; 
 but I was wet through. Cartier had only gone in up to his 
 middle, and had saved the guns and the ammunition with which 
 he was loaded, without one drop of water being on them. 
 
 When Cartier got me out on the grass, I first inquired about 
 my fish, and we found that they were all right. Then I looked 
 round, deadly cold as I was, and saw that we were among a crowd 
 of persons, and, moreover, among a number of curious dull lights, 
 the like of which I had never seen before. 
 
 The glen towered high all around us, and the moon was just 
 rising above a tall wooded crag ; but I cared nothing for the glen 
 and nothing for the moon ; these slow smouldering fires attracted 
 all my attention. I said to Cartier, " What are they ? " 
 
 " They are the Carbonari." 
 
 " Not the people, the fires ? " 
 
 "They are the fires of the Carbonari," said Cartier. "The 
 Carbonari are a secret people, and do their business in the great 
 forest lands which divide nations. You are among them now." 
 
 I saw it. I had read of the Chouans and the Carbonari of 
 Italy, and I had sense to see, in spite of my bitter chill. 
 
 To see what ? That is easy to tell in our French way. In 
 the two German officers I had seen heartless organisation ; among 
 the Carbonari I saw heart, but no organisation. Well, you 
 English laugh at us French because we are epigrammatical ; laugh 
 on — any one can laugh at us now. 
 
 These people who crowded round me were not respectable ; 
 they were far other than respectable, but they were very kind. I 
 was shivering from head to foot, and a woman came up and felt 
 my pulse. 
 
 " M. Cartier," she said, " this boy has ague. He should 
 
26 VALENTIN: 
 
 have a warm bath, but 3*011 can get none within ten miles. The 
 boy will be ill if he is not kept warm." 
 
 " I allow it, Mother Hortense," said Cartier; "he must sleep 
 with me. We have blankets here, and I can warm him with my 
 body." 
 
 " He must go to his bed at once, Cartier, and you are wanted ; 
 we have much to speak of. Our young men have seen the 
 German officers. Put the boy in the straw with my boy, and 
 he can have his supper there. You have blankets for two ? " 
 
 Cartier had both the blankets, and the thing was easily ar- 
 ranged. I was to sleep with Hortense's son, my trout were to be 
 cooked, and were to be brought to me in bed. A little difficulty 
 arose : Mark, Hortense's son, was away, having followed the 
 German officers through the forest, for what purpose it is difficult 
 to conceive, for the two nations were in profound peace, and the 
 German officers had as perfectly good a right to be here as they 
 had to be in Paris. Mark thought, as he told me, that he would 
 like to see what they were about, and, for my part, I did not 
 wonder at it. I was taken into a hut, and put to bed by Cartier. 
 Soon after that I had my supper, with some wine ; after which I 
 got warm again, and fell asleep. 
 
 I was awakened by some one getting into bed with me. I 
 asked, "Who is that?" 
 
 "Mark," said a voice I shall never forget in this world. 
 " Cartier and Mere Hortense said that I was to get into bed with 
 you, and keep you warm. Raise your body, boy, so that I may 
 get my arm round your back. You have had one of our chills." 
 
 I did as he told me, and I fell asleep with my face against his, 
 and with his feet twined in mine. 0, my brother ! 0, my 
 brother ! by those white feet turned up to the sky, I ask you if 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I awoke late in the morning, and looked around me as you see 
 a fox look. My bed-fellow was gone, and Hortense and old 
 Mathilde were sitting on the ground looking at me. I turned 
 without opening my eyes, and looked at them. They were 
 strangely alike. I lay and listened, though I was still in pain. 
 "Sister," said old Mathilde Cartier, "is the little dog 
 awake? " 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 27 
 
 " No, sister," said Hortensc ; " he is asleep." 
 
 " If he was asleep for ever it would be better. Is he very 
 ill?" 
 
 "He caught the chill last night; but my boy has lain with 
 him and warned him, so think that he is better." 
 
 " Your are a fool ! " said Mathilde. 
 
 11 Why ? " said Hortense. 
 
 "Because, if you had the feelings of a mother, you would let 
 me smother him quietly," said Mathilde. 
 
 I decided in my own mind that this event should most cer- 
 tainly never occur, and it never did occur. Hortense spoke 
 again. 
 
 " You are a very wicked woman, Mathilde," said Hortense ; 
 " you are a better hater than I am. I have more reason to hate 
 than you have." 
 
 " Yes, because I have more spirit. You wanted spirit to kill 
 him ; could you not kill even his son ? You have let your son 
 sleep with his, and have brought back the warmth to his body — ' 
 to a body which I would have sent floating down the river." 
 
 " Sister," said Hortense, " I have had revenge enough. If I 
 have taken one child, I need not kill another ; and I love both 
 his children." 
 
 "You love his children!" cried Mathilde, furiously. "Did 
 he not pay you attention ? Did he not walk with you publicly at 
 Metz when the Emperor came ? Was it not understood that he 
 was to marry you ? Would it not have made a difference in our 
 fortunes ? Did he not cast you over ? Should we be as we are 
 now had it not been for his shameful usage of you ? " 
 
 " That is all true, but I loved him," Hortense said. "You 
 do not know the truth. I could not have him, and so I stole his 
 child." 
 
 " I would smother this young wretch if I was in your place," 
 said Mathilde, " and let your own flesh and blood have its own." 
 
 " You do not know the truth, sister," said Hortense. 
 
 " Mark is your own son," said Mathilde. 
 
 "He is the boy of my own bosom," said Hortense, "but not 
 my son." 
 
 "If he was the son of my own bosom I would see him righted," 
 said Mathilde," and I would smother this young cub in doing it." 
 
 I sat up on my mattress, and said quietly, 
 
 "I don't see what you would gain by that, Mere Mathilde. 
 Your intellects seem confused." 
 
 At this moment a fearful fit of trembling, racking every bone, 
 came upon me, and I sank back on the mattress ; the ague and 
 
28 VALENTIN : 
 
 fever were sharply upon me, and I was out of my mind to some 
 extent. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 I was confused in my mind and in great pain for about a day and 
 a half; then I had 'a long sleep, and woke up quite refreshed, 
 and found that I was as well as ever I was in my life. These 
 slight attacks of ague, which we have in our woods, are really 
 nothing. I have seen a strong man on the march fall out, and 
 have it over under the hedge, and catch up his company before 
 the day is over, not a bit the worse. I have left the dinner- 
 table with one of them, and come back again perfectly well before 
 dinner was over. This first one was rather severe, and it is quite 
 possible that I may have been a little alarmed and tele montee. 
 On the second morning I got up, dressed myself, and began 
 looking to my sporting gear. I was busy at this when Mere 
 Hortense came into the hut. 
 
 " Mere Hortense," I said, "where is Mere Mathilde? " 
 
 " I believe," she said, carelessly, " that she is at Thionville 
 by now." 
 
 "At Thionville ! that is quite impossible." 
 
 " Cartier told me that he had seen her at Fond de Givonne 
 or Givonne — I forget which — and was on her way to Thionville." 
 
 " Why," I said, " she was here last night." 
 
 "It is strange that I should not have seen her then," said 
 Hortense, kneeling before the fire, and blowing it up with her 
 mouth. 
 
 "Why, she was talking to you, and I lay and listened. I 
 heard every word you two said." 
 
 "You liave been out of your head, sweetheart. Our people 
 are often delirious with ague. You were dreaming ; you will be 
 as well as ever now, and you must travel to-day." 
 
 She looked me so straight in the face as she said this, that I 
 could hardly doubt her, and went on preparing for my journey. I 
 determined, however, to ask Cartier, and in a very short time he 
 came in and gave me " Good morning." 
 
 " Cartier," I said, " you would not deceive me ? " 
 
 " No, my darling. Why should I ? " 
 
 " Then, was Mere Mathilde here last night ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," he answered, emphatically. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 29 
 
 And I doubted no more. I do not think that he would have 
 deceived me. If I had asked had she been there the night 
 before /as/, I should have got the truth from him. As it was, I 
 came to the conclusion that I had been delirious ; and yet the 
 dream of Mere Mathilde seemed so wonderfully life-like, that I 
 could not make it out one way or another. 
 
 We had a hurried breakfast, and then we went out in the 
 bright morning, while the dew was on the grass, and while the 
 wooded glens were still bathed in shadow. Our mornings in 
 Lorraine are so bright and pure, that they make old men young. 
 I once was lying out after roe with an Englishman, and he said 
 to me, " Your mornings here are like those in Australia ; the air 
 is like the wine of Champagne." On such a morning Cartier 
 and I started out into the Ardennes forest, with every vein in our 
 bodies tingling with health and excitement. 
 
 The Carbonari were all gone— at least, only a few children, 
 half naked, were playing among the wild-flowers in front of the 
 huts. It occurred to me — I cannot say why — to ask the name 
 of this place as we walked on. 
 
 Cartier asked why I wished to know. 
 
 " I might wish to come again when you were not with me." 
 
 " AVell then," he said, " it is the ' Bois des pas Perdus ' ; that 
 is the only name which it has, and it is only known to the 
 initiated." 
 
 " Cartier," I said suddenly, " did I ever have a brother? " 
 
 I asked it so suddenly, that he was taken by surprise, evidently. 
 
 He said, without a pause, " Yes." 
 
 "Did he die?" 
 
 " Yes. He was killed by wolves at Petange, in Luxemburg, in 
 enow time, ten years ago." 
 
 " Why was he there ? " 
 
 " He was there with your father, who was going to Esche on 
 an iron speculation, and then on to his estates in the Rhine 
 provinces. And there was a terrible affray with wolves above 
 Petange : your father was saved by some peasants who followed 
 his carriage, but your brother was killed." 
 
 " Did they get my poor brother's body ? " 
 
 " About as much of it as they would get of yours, if you were 
 among the wolves in the snow, after they have packed — that is to 
 say, nothing at all. There is a tomb to him in Petange church- 
 yard. Now you know all about it, and you must ask me no more. 
 If ever your father knows that I have told you so much, he will 
 never let me see you again." 
 
 We walked on in silence for above a mile through the open 
 
30 VALENTIN . 
 
 forest, when Cartier told me uot to speak, a thing which was 
 perfectly unnecessary, for I was thinking of my poor brother ; how 
 dearly I had longed to have a brother ; how I would have loved 
 him ; why my father had never told me of this hideous accident ; 
 and of how my mother went yearly to Petange ; and how I had 
 pleaded to go with her, and had always been refused. I say there 
 was no need to bid me be silent, but Cartier' s command to silence 
 made me look up. We were in one of those dense bands of copse- 
 wood which are the rule and not the exception in the Ardennes, 
 and before us the path topped a little elevation, very narrow, 
 walled by oak copae, and covered with bright greensward, with 
 one small rock on the right hand side. Cartier took me into the 
 copsewood, and we lay down together in the high fern, on a carpet 
 of lilies of the valley, some of which had thus early their reddening 
 berries on them. 
 
 "We must be here for some time," he said; "we had better 
 have our dejeuner a la fourchette here." 
 
 So we had chicken, wine, and bread, and we had finished quite 
 a long time, when I heard behind us a low howl, " Loup, loup, 
 loup-garou ! " 
 
 "A wolf," I said. 
 
 " Not the real animal : it is our boy driving the roe-deer for 
 us. Load your carbine and watch by the rock ; we shall have a 
 shot directly. This is better than I thought ; hurrah ! the real 
 wolves are up the wind. What a boy that is ! " 
 
 As he spoke, the wolf- cry was answered from before us, up the 
 wind, apparently quite near. 
 
 " That" said Cartier, "is a real wolf," and he answered him 
 with one of the most perfect imitations I ever heard ; then we lay 
 still again, and Cartier whistled twice ; the wolf call was repeated 
 behind us. You talk of your English woodcraft, it is nothing to 
 ours. At the second call, a splendid buck was standing before me 
 on the top of the rise, within twenty yards, tapping the ground 
 impatiently with his right fore-foot. 
 
 " Be steady," said Cartier, and the caution was very necessary, 
 for my hand was shaking. I fired just behind the shoulder ; the 
 pretty beast stood stock-still for a moment, then he quietly 
 doubled his knees, and fell down motionless, quite dead. I had 
 shot him through the heart. 
 
 In my wild triumph I was rising to my feet, to look at my prey, 
 when Cartier pulled me down, and put his hand over my mouth. 
 
 "Be quiet," he hissed in my ear; "be perfectly quiet, our 
 boy is calling the wolves to the blood ; lie here, and load your 
 carbine." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 31 
 
 I obeyed, intensely interested ; and as we waited nearly an 
 hour, I may take this opportunity of telling you that this was the 
 first wild animal I had ever killed. I used to give my father 
 immense anxiety by going out all night with a carbine, and coming 
 homo with a wolf's skin ; but, in fact, I had never seen one. I 
 used to buy them from the Gardes Champctres, and the young 
 men. I had a fancy for possessing wolf-skins, and I used to buy 
 them from those who could shoot them, somewhere late at night ; 
 this gave my father and Dr. Tullier the idea I had killed them, 
 and my father had not the heart to inquire into the real truth ; 
 when I found that he thought so, my boyish vanity prevented 
 me from undeceiving him. So the theory grew in my mother's 
 mind — a fact which I did not know until long after — that I was 
 destined to revenge my brother's death on the wolves. In the 
 end of all things — in the general ruin, when the confessional was 
 forgotten — Father Servi told me that my mother had consulted 
 him on this point, and that he, not knowing what to say, had said 
 nothing at all. 
 
 But Cartier and I lay there a long time in silence, and all this 
 time the artificial wolf behind us kept answering the real wolf 
 before us ; the real wolf getting more and more to our left. " If 
 he catches the scent of the blood first," said Cartier, "we shall 
 have him ; if he catches a whiff of us, we shall lose him. He will 
 call no more now ; I hope he has not got down the wind of us." 
 And, indeed, our wolf behind us had left ofl' calling, but I thought 
 that I could hear a rustle approaching us in the rear. 
 
 Cartier touched my arm, and I was still as a stone ; for before 
 us in the path, coming silently up, was a magnificent dog -wolf 
 working steadily up to the dead buck. He was the largest wolf I 
 ever saw ; he stood as high as the table at which I write these 
 words. 
 
 I wondered why Cartier dared whisper now in this awful still- 
 ness, when I hardly dared move to get my carbine ready, but he 
 told me in my car, " He has his nose to the blood now, and can- 
 not see us or hear us. It is old Motier of Audun la Romain, who 
 disappeared two years ago. I knew he was a wehrwolf, and he 
 made away with his own nephew about that two thousand francs ; 
 wait till he is opposite you, and fire just behind the shoulder- 
 blade." 
 
 The wolf came on steadily towards the blood which was trickling 
 among the roots of the daisies among the grass ; when he was 
 opposite to me I fired, as I thought truly, and he gave a leap in 
 the air and lay motionless. At the same moment a shriek rang 
 on my ears, and a figure dashed past me ; before there was the 
 
32 VALENTIN : 
 
 least time for thought, I saw the wolf and a bare -legged boy rolling 
 over and over on the grass in a death struggle. The wolf had his 
 teeth fixed apparently in the boy's throat, and the boy was making 
 fierce, wild stabs at him with a short kuife. I saw that the wolf 
 had been pretending death, and I saw that the boy was Mark. 
 Cartier was on his legs with the fowling-piece at his shoulder, but, 
 of course, afraid to fire. I caught sight of his couteau de chasse, 
 and seizing it from his sheath, I dashed at the wolf, which had 
 now thrown Mark over the body of the dead buck, and was ap- 
 parently killing him, though I could see the firm brown hand 
 which held the knife bringing blood at every thrust into the thick 
 brown hair. 
 
 I seized the beast by the tail, and gave one stab on the ribs — 
 a slight one. The wolf turned on me, and I met his eyes for one 
 instant only ; then they seemed to fall away from mine, and he 
 lay down and died in good earnest. 
 
 Now, what account do you think that my dear foolish old 
 Cartier gave of this affair ? That the wolf had got Mark by the 
 throat, and had nearly killed him. (The wolf had Mark by the 
 shirty and Mark was only scratched by his paws, and not bitten in 
 one single place.) That I had missed my shot (the bullet injured 
 the spinal vertebras), and that the w^olf was uninjured ; that I had 
 run in with his couteau, de chasse, and had slightly wounded the 
 wolf, scarcely drawing blood ; but at the instant the wolf set his 
 eyes on mine he had died. Such was Cartier's account. Mine is, 
 that on flaying the wolf I found his back seriously injured, with 
 ten stabs from Mark's knife, one of which must, I think, have 
 penetrated the heart ; and my opinion is, that if Mark and the 
 wolf had been left to fight it out together, Mark would have been 
 little the worse. However, give a dog a bad name, and hang him. 
 I was to be a wehrwolf, and so I must be. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 We all three stood looking at the wolf and the roe-buck, and then 
 Mark burst out laughing. 
 
 " I led the old wretch on well, did I not ? " he said ; " I have 
 known of him this two years. By -the -bye, little master, I owe 
 my life to you." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " I said. 
 
A STOIiY OF SEDAN. 33 
 
 " All, it is always nonsense with heroes like you. You risked 
 your life to save mine, and I will remember. Let us cut up our 
 game, Monsieur will like the wolf-skin. Aha! my old man" 
 (kicking the wolf's head), " I deceived you finely." 
 
 " It is Old Motier of Audun la Roniain," said Cartier ; "he 
 murdered his nephew for two thousand francs, but do not kick 
 him." 
 
 "Old Motier," said Mark; " why, he was drowned in the 
 Alssette, at Audun la Tige, smuggling." 
 
 " You think so, you young fool," said Cartier, " but I tell you 
 that he was loup-garou, and there he lies." 
 
 "It is all equal if it pleases M. Cartier," said Mark, with his 
 eyes very wide open ; " but we will skin these beasts. I will take 
 the wolf-skin to our people. M. Cartier, you are a good forester, 
 will you do it ? " 
 
 To ask Cartier to do a thing and to have it done were one and 
 the same thing. He agreed at once, and Mark said, 
 
 " Come you with me, and I will show you where to catch trout 
 in your English manner. M. Cartier, I shall not come back. 
 Some of our people are close here, and will be glad of such 
 venison as you do not want; I will send them. Good-bye!" 
 And so he and I walked off together, I taking the fishing-rod and 
 basket. We soon came to a small stream and sat down together, 
 and Mark put his arm round my neck, saying suddenly, 
 
 " Why do I feel differently towards you than towards any one I 
 ever met ? ' ' 
 
 "I cannot tell, Mark; I feel in the very same way towards 
 you." _ 
 
 " Little Monsieur, do you know where you are going ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You are going to Germany, to learn German proclivities. I 
 know your father is no Frenchman." 
 
 "He is German born," I replied. 
 
 " Well, I will say no more ; but do not be corrupted. Remain 
 a Frenchman. Will you kiss me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 And so my brother was gone. What passed before I ever knew 
 he was my brother, time must tell. But nature seldom deceives 
 one. 
 
 I must still carry you on my first great journey, because after this 
 I made no journey at all for nearly two years, except from Metz to 
 Sedan, and back again. The time of my captivity was rapidly 
 approaching, although I was unconscious of it. I was soon to be 
 bound hand and foot at Metz, but I did not know it. I only know 
 
 4 
 
34 VALENTIN : 
 
 that I hate Metz to this day, and hope that the Germans may like 
 it better than I did ; as I write I laugh, I cannot at all help it. 
 They have made Metz a German town ; what would you English 
 say if the Irish made London an Irish town ? It would be quite 
 as ridiculous. Here I am in my French way talking of Metz 
 before the proper time. We always live now in the past or in the 
 future, we French. We have no present ; at least we will not 
 accept it. Evjin. 
 
 " Where now ! " I said to Cartier on the next morning ; " are 
 we to lie in the woods another night ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, and many," he said. " But I ask you one thing ; dare 
 you lie in the wood by yourself ? ' ' 
 
 I answered roundly, "Yes." 
 
 " You must do so then to-night for many hours." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I fear to trust you, my darling, in the work which I have on 
 hand." 
 
 " But, Jacques, you can trust me." 
 
 " My boy, it is out of the question. You cannot personate. 
 I have to personate. You might be known ; you might commit 
 some small indiscretion which would ruin everything. Be content, 
 I will tell you all afterwards. As you love France, trust me." 
 
 " I will trust you, Jacques, but tell me more." 
 
 " We must walk very fast," said Cartier; " and your father's 
 fortune partly depends on your discretion." 
 
 " I will walk fast and hold my tongue," I answered. 
 
 " Well, then, we shall cross the Luxemburg frontier in three 
 hours." 
 
 " The Luxemburg frontier ? " I exclaimed, aghast. 
 
 "Yes, you do not know how far and how fast we have been 
 walking. Do vou see those two hills?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " One is Stomberg, the other Johansberg ; both are in Dutch 
 territory." 
 
 " But the Dutch live in Holland." 
 
 "Both those mountains arc in Holland, however. English 
 diplomacy will make Paris the capital of Denmark some day. 
 They have the money, these English, and they used to move the 
 states of Europe as one moves chessmen. They guarantee this, 
 and they guarantee that, because they have the power of putting 
 an end to foreign commerce ; but now we know that they dare 
 not do it, because they would put an end to their own. My dear, 
 we shall be in the dominions of the King of Holland in three 
 hours." 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 35 
 
 " And what shall we do there ? " 
 
 " I shall tell you when it is done. I shall go into Luxemburg, 
 and return into France alone, representing myself as a Luxeni- 
 burger. I shall thereby gain intelligence, most likely, so as to 
 guide your father in his commercial speculations. It will probably 
 be necessary for me to be arrested. In that case you must leave 
 all our traps in the woods above the town, and make across the 
 country to the Baths of Mondorf, where you will wait for me. I 
 will tell you farther when we part. Mind what I say; your father 
 wants information, and I must get it for him. In case of a 
 debacle your father might be half ruined, and lie does not want to 
 be half rained. Now, come along, we must walk till the moon 
 rises." 
 
 There was no sporting that day, for the walking was all over 
 high and uninteresting cultivated downs, always bending to the 
 right of the wooded hill which the Dutchmen call a mountain, but 
 which every one else would call a hill — Mont. St. Jean. " A fine 
 country for cavalry and artillery, master ! " said Cartier to me 
 once. " Those cursed English know how to defend their country 
 better than we do." But towards evening we saw forests in the 
 distance, and he was no better pleased. " These forests will help 
 to ruin us," he said. In fact, he was in a bad humour, an odd 
 thing for him. We came, late in the day, on an old peasant, 
 who was ploughing his ground for clover ; a little tiny strip of 
 ground it was, with not a vestige of hedge between it and the 
 nearest forest, three miles off. This peasant was very old and 
 without any specialite, unless one might say that a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief would have been an addition to his toilette. Jacques 
 Cartier arrested his ploughing, and asked him for the shadow of 
 his plough while we had supper, to which he invited him. The 
 old peasant of Lorraine was most pleased to sup with us, and we 
 sat down under the shadow of his two horses, which, as he re- 
 marked, gave more shadow than the plough would do ; " for," he 
 continued, "it was without doubt that both the elder and the 
 younger monsieur had remarked that the larger the object was, 
 the larger was the shadow which it cast." After hearing this 
 magnificent French platitude, I felt sure that we were not yet 
 over the border, even into Luxemburg. I was sure that I was 
 still among the countrymen of Victor Hugo, and that Lorraine 
 would remain French as long as the world went round. 
 
 As we sat under the shadow of the two horses (whose conveni- 
 ence was not, after the French manner, for a moment consulted), 
 we ate sausage and bread, and drank wine. Cartier remarked to 
 the old peasant, 
 
LS 
 
 36 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Badinguet keeps his frontier pretty open here, father." 
 
 " And who is Badinguet? " said the old man, chewing. 
 
 " The Emperor." 
 
 "Ah! the Emperor at Paris. Yes, I have heard of him. His 
 wife is a good and pious woman, and I notice, Monsieur, that the 
 wife has much influence over the husband ; for me, I should never 
 go to mass unless my wife took me." 
 
 "Would you go to a bull-fight with your wife?" shouted 
 Cartier. 
 
 " If she made it a point," said the old peasant. " You see, it 
 is necessary that women should be amiable for one's peace of 
 mind, and if contradicted women are unamiable." 
 
 " Would you vote as your wife told you? " asked Cartier. 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I should make a point of doing so. Had 
 Monsieur the experience of women which I have, he would do 
 the same." 
 
 Cartier arose soon afterwards, and strode on towards the forest, 
 about three miles distant. I regret to say that his language 
 during the next three miles was morally indefensible, and politi- 
 cally was sufficient to send a dozen such men to Cayenne. When 
 we got into the forest he got cooler. 
 
 We pushed through more than a mile of the densest copsewood 
 without a path before we stopped ; at last I stumbled over a rock, 
 and found that we were on rising ground. The place was such 
 that I should fancy a murdered corpse might lie there without 
 discovery during seven years, and only be found when the wood 
 was cut at the end of that time. Here we were very busy ; we 
 hid everything away under piles of fern in different places, and 
 then he made me a bed of boughs, fern, and blankets. After 
 that we had supper, and then he rose to go with his pipe in his 
 mouth, and he told me to follow him. 
 
 In less than a quarter of a mile we came on a potato-field, and 
 he showed me a small village in the hollow below. " That," he 
 said, " is Petange, in Luxemburg territory. If I don't come back 
 to-morrow morning, go down there, and ask for Pere Goton, at 
 the Couronne cl'Or ; tell him that you are nephew of M. Schelcht, 
 at the baths of Mondorf, and he will put your feet in the right 
 way. Take this letter at the same time, and deliver it to 
 Mademoiselle Louise, at Mondorf, and wait for me." 
 
 I promised to obey. In fact, I liked all this mystery ; and as 
 we went back into the wood again, I felt like one of your English 
 Arthur's knights, with the delightful feeling on me that I did not 
 know what was going to happen next. Cartier took me back to 
 our lair in the wood, made me promise to lie down, and not sing 
 
A STORY OP SEDAN. 37 
 
 or whistle ; and then told me lie was going down into the town as 
 soon as it was dark. 
 
 "To what town?" I asked. 
 
 " To Longwy ; we are hut a mile and a half from it." 
 
 I lay down at once among the comfortahle hlankets and fern, 
 and covered myself over. Cartier smoked for ahove an hour, 
 until it was dark enough in spite of the moon. Then he came 
 to me, and looked at my heavily-closed eyes, and listened to my 
 heavy breathing ; then he kissed me, and went away, pushing the 
 branches of the copsewood, which glistened in the moonlight. 
 
 Then, like a fox out of his lair, I rose swiftly and silently, and 
 followed him. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 There was danger, or he would have let me share his adventure. 
 There was danger, and I would share it with him, whether he 
 would or no. ^ I was not going to see the man I loved best in 
 the world going into danger alone ; hut what danger was it ? 
 What danger could there be in our own Longwy, "the iron gate 
 of France " ? 
 
 As I followed him I made no noise. I was determined that he 
 should not know of my following until it was too late to send me 
 back. I thought that I had lost him once, for the boscage was 
 so thick ; but immediately after I crashed down over a rocky bank 
 and lay in a rutted lane, rather bruised ; but I lay quite still, for 
 he was in the lane in the moonlight before me. He thought it 
 was a wolf, and I let him turn the corner before I got up. 
 
 I had to be very careful, for the moon was now bright. When 
 I came to the corner of the lane where he had disappeared, I 
 saw a town with high chimney-stalks below me, which was lower 
 Longwy : above were long straight lines on the top of a hill, 
 which, from my experience of Sedan, I knew to be fortresses. 
 Keeping in the shadow of the garden and vineyard walls I followed 
 Cartier closely and yet more closely towards the town. 
 
 Suddenly there came a bright flash of light from overhead, 
 which I thought was lightning. I heard a "roar," or I should 
 rather use an English word, "bang." It was the evening gun, 
 and the drums and horns began their magnificent music in the 
 citadel. I saw Cartier begin to run ; the town was about to be 
 closed. I ran also, but not quite fast enough to prevent my being 
 entangled in a crowd, 
 
38 VALENTIN : 
 
 Half a dozen pairs of red breeches were before me, with their 
 accompanying white gaiters flashing in the moonlight, before I 
 was aware that I was among the belated soldiers rushing in to 
 drum call. I was beginning to laugh when I was seized about 
 the waist by a strong arm, and looking round I saw that I was 
 being carried along by a large chasseur, whose accent, if not his 
 appearance, would have brought him to the guillotine were it a 
 capital crime to be a Gascon. 
 
 " Run, my pretty little rascal!" he cried; "has Heaven 
 given thee legs for nothing? Run, then. Thou art of the 
 Lycee, then ? " 
 
 I said " Yes," with what breath I had left, not taking care to 
 say that I was of the Lycee of Sedan, and that I was out as a 
 spy on that spy Jacques Cartier, who was looking after things so 
 as to be able to advise my father as to selling out all his property 
 in France. I now suspected this strongly ; but this was not the 
 place to speak about it. As we all, some forty of us, rushed at 
 the gate, it was just being closed. I was bruised in spite of the 
 care of my chasseur, but not badly. In the end I was inside the 
 gate. Was Cartier in also ? 
 
 Yes, he had come in on the end of the mob, and I saw him 
 slinking away under a gas lamp. The soldiers soon separted, and 
 having been kissed by the Gascon I was allowed to go. 
 
 I followed Cartier. Now for the first time I faiew that I had 
 been set to watch him. That my father to some extent distrusted 
 him, but knew that I would tell him everything. Ah, father, you 
 might have trusted Cartier as well as I did ; indeed you might. 
 He was more intensely French in sentiment than you were ; but 
 he was as true to you as to France. What was his worst crime ? 
 That of telling you that it was time for poor old France to pre- 
 pare for the worst, and so save your money. 
 
 I followed Cartier. He went to the Cafe Cheval Blanc, and I 
 peeped in after him. The place was filled with officers ; but 
 Cartier sat alone with his back to the door, which enabled me to 
 slip in without his perceiving me. The waiter came to me, and I 
 had lemonade and cake put behind the back of our unconscious 
 Cartier, who said nothing, but who listened to everything. 
 
 I cannot repeat the conversation of the officers. It was not 
 good ; it seemed to me that their heart was not in their work ; 
 and there was a bragging self-sufficiency about them which seemed 
 to me quite different from all I had heard of the armies of the 
 great Frederick or the great Napoleon, and more particularly 
 different from that wondrous little army of you English, which has 
 the most extraordinary specialize of only being beaten on au 
 
A STOUY OF SEDAN. 39 
 
 average three times in fifty years, and of always winning in the 
 long-run, as results show. I say that I was not at all pleased 
 with our officers, until a tall general officer in a scarlet cloak 
 came in. I liked him. 
 
 " Sit down, gentlemen," he said, as they rose. " Can any of 
 you give me the route to Sierck ? " 
 
 Not one it seemed. 
 
 " D 'Estrange, you were horn here — surely you must know?" 
 said the general. 
 
 " Upon my honour, General de Faillv, I do not," said 
 D'E strange. 
 
 "Is Captain Rossel here ? " asked General de Failly. 
 
 " Yes, he is quartered here, and is in the next room ; hut he is 
 in bed." 
 
 " Call him," said General de Failly. 
 
 D'E strange did so, and in a few moments I saw a sight which 
 I shall never forget, and heard words which are burnt into my 
 heart as by fire. An inner door opened, and a young man came 
 out holding a candle in front of his face. The young officer had 
 nothing on but a white shirt and a pair of scarlet trousers, 
 which he had tied tightly round his waist by his belt. His 
 head was splendidly shaped, and he had enough of French 
 dexterity to hold the candle so high over his head as to cast the 
 shadows downwards. The immobility of his face would have done 
 credit to an English midshipman, while being scolded by his 
 captain on the deck of a frigate. I never saw him before or after, 
 yet this figure in the scarlet trousers and the white shirt comes 
 into my mind's eye whenever I hear his name. 
 
 " Captain Rossel," said General de Failly, " can you give me 
 the route to Sierck ? " 
 
 " Cross the Luxemburg frontier, and hold straight for it, leaving 
 Mont St. Jean on your right, and when you make the Sternberg, 
 you will see it at your feet on the other side of the Moselle." 
 
 "But I mean through French territory," said General de 
 Failly. 
 
 " Oh, miles round. This scoundrelly neutrality of Luxemburg 
 prevents us getting from one part of France to the other." 
 
 " We propose to buy it." 
 
 " But Prussia will not let you." 
 
 " Well, I will not argue. I want to get to Sierck without going 
 out of France." 
 
 "You must go round," said Rossel. "Are we going to — 
 you know, General — to respect the neutrality of Luxemburg in the 
 next war ? ' ' 
 
40 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Of course," said the General. 
 
 "Then let us hope the Prussians will do the same," said 
 Rossel. " I think, General, that you will find a German spy in 
 the room now," and Rossel pointed to Cartier. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Cartier stood up at once, confronting Captain Rossel and General 
 de Failly. 
 
 "I conceive, General," he said, "that Captain Rossel is in 
 error. I am no Prussian spy, but a good Frenchman." 
 
 Rossel's brows lowered. " "Where were you last night?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " In the forest," said Cartier, coolly. 
 
 " And what were you doing there ? " asked Rossel. 
 
 " Serving the people." 
 
 " That is an answer entirely without sense," said Rossel. 
 
 " Not entirely, Captain. You have served the people before 
 now. In the Rue Picpus, for example." 
 
 " Do you make an accusation against me, then ? " said Rossel. 
 
 " Not I," said Cartier ; " but your conscience does so." 
 
 " This is a bold dog," said Rossel. "Ask him, General, to 
 precise his accusation against me." 
 
 "Precise the accusation," said General de Failly. 
 
 " I have made none," said Cartier. " The cit — I should say 
 the Captain Rossel knows what I mean. We both love the 
 people, we would die for the people ; but he has denounced me as 
 a Prussian spy. I demand that he retracts those words. I 
 demand it." 
 
 " And how can you disprove it ? " said Rossel. "Where are 
 your passports ? " 
 
 " I have none," said Cartier, advancing towards General de 
 Failly and Rossel. " Hear me in private." 
 
 As he went up to these two men I noticed that another man 
 had risen from his seat, and was standing behind General de 
 Failly and Rossel, I did not see him clearly, but I thought that 
 he was a handsome Jew, very eager and rather pale. I saw this 
 man behind De Failly and Rossel. I sneaked up from table to 
 table, until I was close behind them, Cartier never having seen 
 me ; and I heard this conversation. 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 41 
 
 "I con a Prussian spy," said Cartier, " and I hold my life in 
 my hands. But I am a spy on the side of France. My wife is 
 a pedlar, and she goes to and fro. I am nothing, I equally go to 
 and fro. We French are in horrible danger." 
 
 " He speaks well, this one," said Rossel. 
 
 " No one will believe, no one will give credit to our danger. 
 When I go to look on the danger, then I am called a Prussian spy 
 by a friend of the people like Captain Rossel." 
 
 " I retract the words, then," said Rossel. 
 
 " I think that you are right," said De Failly. 
 
 Rossel and General de Failly were standing in almost absolute 
 darkness, with Cartier before them, and the mysterious man 
 behind. Suddenly I saw two white hands part Rossel and De 
 Failly by the shoulders, and I heard a voice which said — 
 
 " Your name, then ? " 
 
 " Jacques Cartier." 
 
 " A good name, but Breton." 
 
 " It is not a sin to be Breton, Monsieur." 
 
 "It is little short," said the gentleman behind De Failly and 
 Rossel. " Are you true to the service of France ? " 
 
 " Most true, Monsieur." 
 
 "To the death? " 
 
 " To the death, Monsieur." 
 
 "You suppose that a great disaster is hanging over 
 France?" 
 
 " I know it, Monsieur." 
 
 " Suppose, now, that every conceivable evil was to happen to 
 France," said the invisible gentleman. " Suppose that in con- 
 sequence of our present rotten government ' ' 
 
 " My dear sir," said the General. 
 
 " Suppose," continued this gentleman, " that Paris was taken 
 and France ruined ; what would you do then ? ' ' 
 
 "Die or be revenged," said Jacques Cartier. 
 
 "This is an estimable citizen," said Gambetta. "I would 
 have him arrested for form's sake to-night, and then let him go 
 free." 
 
 Cartier was therefore arrested and walked off, without observing 
 me at all. When he was gone, I went to De Failly, Rossel, and 
 Gambetta, and I addressed them. 
 
 " And who are you ? " said Rossel, smiling. 
 
 " A Frenchman," I answered. 
 
 " To the death ? " said Rossel. 
 
 "To the death." 
 
 •' What do you wish for, my little sir ? " saic] De Faillv, 
 
42 VALENTIN : 
 
 "I wish a pass out of the town, and I wish the freedom of 
 Jacques Car tier." 
 
 " Are you Republican ? " asked Gambetta. 
 
 "No," I answered, "I am Orleanist ; hut before all I am 
 French." 
 
 " Will you not go to bed, my brave boy ? " said Gambetta. 
 
 " Yes, to my lair in the wood," I answered. " Let me out of 
 the town ; I have work on hand for France." 
 
 " What have you to do for France ? " said General de Failly. 
 
 " Sir," I answered, " nothing, except to tell grown men the 
 truth. Seize Belgian and Dutch Luxemburg, and save France." 
 
 "This is a strange boy," said de Failly. "Where do you 
 come from, boy? " 
 
 " Sedan." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 This chapter is rather a short one. Gambetta, Rossel, and De 
 Failly took me outside and handed me over to the guard, with 
 particular instructions to see me through the gate, and with 
 promises that Cartier should be released early the next morning. 
 My last words in Longwy were with Gambetta at the gate. 
 
 " My boy," he said, " will you have a soldier to see you on the 
 way?" 
 
 '"No, sir," I said; "I know my way well, but please let 
 Cartier out to-morrow." 
 
 "I will ask De Failly to bully the mayor for you," said 
 Gambetta, "you poor little innocent ; we are dragooned to death 
 in this old France of ours. And so you are not a Republican ! " 
 
 "No, sir," I said promptly ; " we are not fit for it." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Gambetta, thoughtfully. " But we do not 
 know ; had Washington spoken as you have spoken, where would 
 the United States have been now ? " 
 
 The drawbridge was lowered for me, and I sped away under the 
 twinkling stars towards my lair in the woodlands above Petange. 
 Yet I was scarcely across the drawbridge when I halted and looked 
 back, to see the last of Gambetta. He stood under the light by 
 the guard-house, with his hand to his head, thinking ; then he 
 turned and walked slowly back under the arch, and was lost to my 
 sight. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 43 
 
 Let us think for a little, young English gentlemen. I am a 
 Monarchist, and for that matter an Orleanist, yet I consider that 
 Gambetta is one of the greatest and noblest ol* men which France 
 has ever produced. Our people, our own French, have taken it 
 into their heads to laugh at him. I hate his politics, and think 
 him politically a fool, but what does that matter ? Look at the 
 man and what he has done. He rallied all France, until our 
 conquerors began to respect our raw levies ; he roused all France ; 
 it was too late, but was that his fault ? He was ignorant of war, 
 yet his rabble checked the unconquerable Germans before Orleans ; 
 only certainly to be thrown back afterwards. I confess that we 
 were utterly ruined : no Frenchman would deny that. I confess 
 also that we might have had better terms had it not been foi 
 Gambetta ; but I wish you to put yourselves in our place for a 
 minute. 
 
 Suppose that your fleet was ruined ; suppose that three hundred 
 thousand men were in Surrey ; suppose that London was locked 
 up from the outer world, and was given up to starvation, banded 
 round by an impregnable army. Suppose, then, also that your 
 Queen had fled to America, and that you had no government with 
 which a foreign nation could treat. Suppose, in fact, that London 
 was in the state of Paris the winter before last. What could you 
 do ? I am unable to say. We sent a young lawyer out in a 
 balloon to raise the provinces. Tt was entirely useless ; you 
 cannot make trained soldiers in a day ; but Gambetta did his best ; 
 no man, in fact, ever did better ; he got together three hundred 
 thousand men (not soldiers), and made them fight after the fashion 
 of civilians. His armies were overpowered ; he was ignorant of 
 modern war, he stuck to the traditions of the early revolutionary 
 wars ; he imagined that a nation could be raised to nice modern 
 arms. Gambetta has seen his folly by now, but his name should 
 be a great one in France as long as France lasts. 
 
 What, we are dead, are we ? Yes, indeed ! Quite so ! For 
 my part I do not think that we are quite dead as yet. I am not 
 dead yet, in spite of that sausage which Mere Hortense gave me 
 at Longyon. I think that you will hear of old France again. 
 Sept douleurs ! It maddens me to hear France spoken of as dead, 
 and Gambetta sneered at by fools, who never did anything in their 
 lives except cackle and lie. 
 
44 VALENTIN 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 You might as well ask a roebuck to observe the Ardennes frontier 
 as Cartier. I wonder very much how our pedlars manage with 
 regard to passports ; I strongly suspect that they can manage 
 entirely without them. Knowing this, I was perfectly certain that 
 the moment he was released he would follow me at once, and that 
 there would be but little trouble. I went to our lair in the woods, 
 and took my carbine and a game-bag, which I filled with necessary 
 things, and then I went down into Petange. 
 
 I had no difficulty there, for I said simply who I was and that 
 I was wandering, desiring to get to Mondorf. The landlord was 
 more than kind, he was deeply interested in me. How was my 
 mother, and how was my father ? Would I like to see my brother's 
 grave while Madame got breakfast ? I thought that I would like 
 to see my poor brother's grave very much indeed ; and so we 
 started out, and very soon stood against a tiny stone cross in the 
 churchyard. 
 
 " Here he lies, then ? " I asked inquiringly. 
 " No, Monsieur, not a vestige of your brother's body, or a relic 
 of his death, was ever recovered save one." 
 " And that my mother has," I said carelessly. 
 " Pardon, Monsieur, my wife has it, and has always kept it 
 concealed from your mother during her many visits." 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " It matters not what it is, Monsieur ; I will give it to your 
 father without a word, should he claim it, but we will never give 
 it to your mother." 
 
 " I will take it to my father, if you like," I said. And the 
 landlord thought for some little time. 
 
 " Will you promise not to show it to your mother? " 
 " I will." 
 
 " Then come with me." He took me back to the inn, and up 
 to his bedroom, where out of an old oak press he took an envelope, 
 which he carefully sewed into my waistcoat, I submitting with 
 perfect quietness, but most fully determined to unsew it and look 
 at it the moment I had an opportunity. Then I had my breakfast, 
 and offered to pay for it, but he would not let me. I got him to 
 show me the road to Mondorf, or rather the direction of Mondorf, 
 and then I started across the hedgeless fields towards Mont St. 
 Jean, skirting the frontier, and feeling rather lonelv without 
 Cartier. 
 
 I soon saw that I was watched, and by a friend too. I saw a 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 45 
 
 swift figure lurking wherever it was possible, aud beckoning me to 
 go towards, as I made it out, Mont St. Jean. I did so, and no 
 sooner was I in the copsewood, than I heard a laugh behind me, 
 and turning, I saw Mark, bare-footed and bare-headed. 
 
 " Here we are, safe and sound ; Cartier is free, but we must 
 dodge and skulk till you and he are through Luxemburg ; you 
 must not be seen for fifty miles now. How I wish I was going 
 with you ! ' ' 
 
 I w r as so glad to see him again ; I never loved any one as I did 
 Mark, I think. I asked him what we were to do. 
 
 " Skulk here," he said, " for a little while and watch ; come 
 higher up the hill, and we can peer through the trees ; but we 
 must not get as high as the chapel, or at least, I must not." 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because of the Prussians." 
 " But we are in Luxemburg territory." 
 
 "Ay, but the garrison of Luxemburg is Prussian. See, there 
 are four of them in the field measuring ; may the evil one take 
 them!" 
 
 Mark was as enthusiastically French as Cartier, and a German 
 could do no good ; most certainly there were four German officers 
 in the plain below us, but they were not measuring anything, but 
 apparently out for a ride, and coming straight towards us ; evidently 
 making for the road which led up to the chapel at the summit of 
 the mountain. 
 
 " Mark," I said, " they are making for the top of the hill. I 
 will go up to the chapel myself, they can do nothing to me. Keep 
 my carbine and wait here." 
 
 He took it from me and I began climbing. Those who have 
 climbed Mont St. Jean know that the side towards Petange is 
 heavy work, alternate belts of copsewood and gazons of slippery 
 turf. I made good weather of it, however, and was at the chapel 
 on the summit before I heard the Germans come toiling on horse- 
 back up the stony ride which led to the summit. 
 
 Suddenly a gunshot rang through the wood, and there was a 
 splintering of stones and a plunging of horses, followed by laughter ; 
 the four Germans came clinking up the hill out of the wood, and 
 then drew bridle before me. I was lying at the chapel door per- 
 fectly insouciant ; though with my heart beating pretty fast, for I 
 saw before me the two officers whom I had met when I was fishing 
 in the Ardennes. 
 
 "You had a narrow escape, von Alvenstein," said one to the 
 other. " These Luxemburgers are no jagers. That shot missed 
 the bird entirely." 
 
46 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Gott, yes, but it has gone through my coat," said the other 
 officer. " If the wood had not been so thick, I would have hunted 
 the careless fellow down and boxed his ears for him. You say 
 the bird ; did you see any bird, then, at which he could have 
 shot?" 
 
 " Why, no, friend," said the other officer, " that shot was fired 
 at you." 
 
 " A man can only die once," said the other German officer. 
 "These Luxemburgers are French at heart. Let it be, it is 
 not worse than Ireland after all. And we guarantee their neu- 
 trality, do we ? " 
 
 " We must stick to the letter of the law," said the other 
 officer. 
 
 " Confound the letter of the law," said the first officer. " What 
 letter of the law warrants England in keeping Gibralter ? and yet 
 an English minister who would let it go ought to be hanged on the 
 highest tower of Windsor, and left to rot there. What right has 
 Luxemburg to exist ? Are we to respect this tag on the Dutch- 
 man's breeches ? " 
 
 " We had better be on the right side," said the second officer. 
 
 The first officer grunted. " It is better, but suppose your fine 
 man of the 2nd of December (a matter for which I honour him) is 
 not loyal, and violates this dirty little strip of territory ; what 
 then ? He is not very scrupulous ; he has bought up England by 
 a commercial treaty, so he is safe at sea. Suppose, I say, that he 
 was to play us that trick ; what should we look like ? " 
 
 " Fools," said the other German officer. " But the king would 
 never allow it." 
 
 " Then the king is a — most Quixotic man," said the second 
 officer. " Are we, when the time comes, to lose 200,000 men 
 because we must march on Sierck instead of on Sedan ? " 
 
 " It seems so," said the other. " But we hold Luxemburg." 
 
 "Well, that is good," said the second officer ; " that is a nut 
 to crack, at all events. Ha ! ha ! Good luck to Luxemburg. 
 Why, here is our little trout-fisher on the steps of the chapel." 
 
 I must call the attention of the very youngest readers to these 
 facts. At this time there was a Prussian garrison in the neutral 
 town of Luxemburg, and the Prussian engineer officers were at 
 work to make it stronger than ever, with outlying forts. Luxem- 
 burg is the key to France, and most nations would have fought for 
 it as you would for the only place in the world which is stronger, 
 Gibralter, the key to the road of your Indian empire of 120,000,000 
 souls. Soon after I heard this conversation between the two 
 German officers at Mont St. Jean, rather strange things happened. 
 
A STOBY OF SEDAN. 47 
 
 The Emperor of the French, consulting no one, offered to buy this 
 fortress from the King of Holland. I must say that a deadlier 
 insult was seldom offered to another nation than this from France 
 to Prussia. Mutual friends, however, stepped in, and Prussia 
 gave up the fortress without a blow, on condition that it should be 
 dismantled, that is to say, that the Luxemburgers should spend a 
 million of money on a destruction which never could be done, and 
 which never will be done. We ask now, in this midnight of French 
 humiliation, why a kingdom like Prussia should have submitted ? 
 The answer is easy. Our prestige was terribly great at that time. 
 We had done well in the Crimea ; we had beaten the magnificent 
 army of Austria like an old sack ; Europe seemed to hang on our 
 hands, and every one, you English included, was afraid of us. 
 Prussia yielded because she was afraid; let them dare to say 
 otherwise. If they were not afraid, why did they cut down the 
 trees on the glacis of Cologne ? It is pitiable and horrible to see 
 how we deceived ourselves, but it is almost amusing to see how we 
 deceived the Germans. We knew nothing, our newspapers and 
 our officials always lied, and the end of it was that the Emperor 
 himself was deceived by his creatures, and went to war with 
 380,000 men against 1,000,000, in hopes that the South German 
 States would join him. The end came, as you know, but not 
 before some very long-headed men, including my lather, had learnt 
 something about the temper and resources of Germany, and made 
 themselves safe. Before we gave the old King of Prussia the last 
 cruel insult about the candidature of the Prince of Hohenzollern 
 for Spain, my father's money was mainly moved into the Rhine 
 provinces, to Amsterdam, and to London. My father's subscription 
 to the last French loan was only 8,000 francs. 
 
 But I am here at the chapel of Mont St. Jean, before the 
 two German officers, who spoke to me in German. I did not 
 choose to remember that language to-day, and I wished to see if 
 they remembered that I could speak it at all. They apparently 
 did not, but spoke to me in French. 
 
 " Hah ! my little Frenchman," said one — the one I have called 
 the second officer. " Come here to me, if you please." 
 
 I came to him ; he caught me by the back of my coat, and 
 lifted me into the saddle before him. 
 
 " Now, my boy," he said, " you will sit there. What is the 
 name of your friend we saw hiding down there in the wood with a 
 gun?" 
 
 I was so taken aback that I said, " Mark." 
 
 "Ah i well, do you see that if Mark shoots at us again, he is as 
 likely to hit you as any of the other four." 
 
48 VALENTIN : 
 
 I was only a boy, and could not hold my tongue. " He cannot 
 lire again, for I have all the cartridges," I said in my folly. 
 
 "It was Mark who fired at me, then," said the German, 
 laughing. 
 
 I turned frankly to him. " I cannot think it possible," I said, 
 " but he is a wild boy out of the woods, and I know nothing of 
 him. You cannot believe, sir, that I connived at such a thing ? " 
 
 "Little trout-fisher, no," he said; " your face is your pass- 
 port. Tell him to take better aim next time." And when we 
 came out of the wood he put me down, and the four rode away 
 towards Luxemburg, leaving me standing like a fool in a potato- 
 field. 
 
 Mark was beside me as soon as they were out of sight. " You 
 shot lit that man," I said, angrily. 
 
 "Indeed I did not," said Mark, eagerly. " I was aiming at 
 him, and thinking how nice it would be, and the infernal arrange- 
 ment went off in my hands ; I swear that is the truth." 
 
 And so I was obliged to accept Mark's explanation, and also to 
 accept the wonderful fact that Jacques Cartier found us, quite 
 accidentally, a quarter of an hour after the German officers had 
 gone. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 " .Now the route ! " I said to Cartier, when we started after our 
 next meal. " "Where shall we go next ? " 
 
 "Nowhere," he said, rising up and preparing to walk. "A 
 long way, but to nowhere to-night." 
 
 " We sleep out again, then ? " 
 
 "We sleep out many times. There will be danger to-night 
 again." 
 
 "I love it," I replied. 
 
 "Then you will have it. But we must have game; and I 
 think I know where to get it. We'll now cross the railway here. 
 We are going into France again. Dost thou hear ? " 
 
 I followed him over the railway, and we seemed perfectly 
 unobserved. After pushing through the forest, we came into an 
 open patch of potatoes and buck- wheat, and at his advice we took 
 our shot-guns. We had not walked twenty yards when a pack or 
 covey of hazel grouse rose before us, so close that you could not 
 see between them. We both fired, as you would say, " into the 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 49 
 
 brown," and we brought clown two brace and a half. This was 
 on the south side of the wood, where the birds were wild. When 
 we had picked them up, and deposited them in our game-bags, 
 we turned hack through a narrow belt of woodland, and Cartier 
 told me that we must " stalk" very cautiously. We did so, and 
 at last I saw daylight between the trees. We crept on ; and then 
 Cartier showed me a little square of barley, which had not grown 
 clear to us within twenty yards. 
 
 " Do you see," he asked in a whisper, " that little brown patch 
 about twenty-five yards off? " 
 
 " Yes." * 
 
 " Let us fire into it together. Take good aim, and run with me." 
 
 We fired together, and then ran. We had killed ten partridges, 
 two flew away, and another ran into the wood. It was rare sport. 
 I hear that you English always make them fly before you shoot 
 them. That is a great betise. You should shoot them as we do, 
 sitting, at least if you have such a chasseur in England as Jacques 
 Cartier ; for me, I do not think you have. 
 
 " This will do," said Jacques. " Now we will have an excuse 
 for anything. Let us walk now as we never walked before." 
 
 Twilight came, and then darkness. We were walking and 
 talking very pleasantly over a smooth field, when we came to 
 what seemed to me a large rose-garden, as indeed it was. We 
 passed to the left of this, and I observed a mass of trees to my 
 right, level with us. I thought that we were in perfectly flat 
 country ; everything was level as far as I could see, and there 
 was only one light — the light of what seemed to be a large cafe in 
 front of us out on the plain. At once I heard the sound of two 
 horses approaching us. 
 
 Jacques Cartier said, "Be silent and firm; speak only in 
 German." 
 
 The two horsemen came slowly on until we stepped aside. 
 Then one said, " Whom have we here ? " 
 
 "A young gentleman, sir, going to school at Treves," said 
 Jacques, readily. 
 
 " You are a Frenchman," said the horseman. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I am the gamekeeper of his father, a worthy gentle- 
 man, M. Schneider, who, has estates at Pont a Mousson." 
 
 " What have you got on your shoulder ? " 
 
 " Game, sir. May I?" 
 
 "Yes," said the jolly outpost. "Leave a brace over at the 
 cafe yonder with Mademoiselle Marie Cartier. She and I are 
 what you would call an mieux together. Tell her they are from 
 Private Ringersdorf, her lover." 
 
50 VALENTIN : 
 
 Cartier caught hold of my arm. " You are too old, and she is 
 too young, for you to be her lover," he said. 
 
 " You are right, my Frenchman," said the German. " She is 
 hut thirteen, and I am thirty-five. Yet she is like my little 
 daughter Gretchen away there in Pomerania, and I love her." 
 
 And so they rode on. I, for my part, loved the rough German 
 from the way he spoke of Marie Cartier. I thought it so good 
 that he should love the child because she was like his daughter. 
 Cartier, however, cursed him for an impudent German, and then 
 said to me, 
 
 "You must go in there alone, and you must stay there all 
 night. Find out if this Marie he speaks of is my neice or not. 
 You must be no one, and know nothing. You must meet me to- 
 morrow at the Toison d'Or, at St. Pierre. Any one will give you 
 the route. Mind you be cautious." 
 
 " But where are you going ? " 
 
 " Right down over the cliff into the lower town, by a way I 
 know. It is dangerous. I have done it before, but not so 
 heavily laden as I am now. Go in, listen to everything, and say 
 nothing." 
 
 " But over what cliffs are you going ? " I asked. " There are 
 no cliffs here." 
 
 " The most inaccessible ones in the world," he said. " I have 
 to go down them, with a chance of being shot by these infernal 
 Prussians, to get to our own people at the Cheval Blanc, in the 
 lower town. Remember what I am, and where we are." 
 
 "But what are you ? and where are we ? " 
 
 " I am a French spy ; and we are on the glacis of Luxemburg." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 I approached the cafe quite boldly ; what had I to care for ? It 
 was an adventure, or seemed likely to end in one ; and that I 
 loved. If there was no adventure, I was determined to make 
 one ; and indeed I did. I fell in love. 
 
 " You will allow that that is something of an adventure, I 
 think. 
 
 I had partridges on my shoulder, and I went in. " Hola, 
 messieurs et mesdames," I cried in French, " who will buy 
 partridges and hazel hens here, then ? " 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 51 
 
 "Here is a pretty little Frenchman," said a Brandenburg 
 hussar. " What price are thy partridges at, then ? " 
 
 "Luxemburg a brace, and South Belgium for the lot," I 
 answered, " always excepting one brace for Mademoiselle Marie, 
 the neutrality of whom is guaranteed by England." 
 
 There was a roar of laughter at this joke. I notice that it is 
 not very difficult to make Germans laugh at political jokes. They 
 get very few at home. In fact, the Germans are by no means 
 smart at political jokes : even Figaro and the Petit Journal pour 
 Hire can beat the German at political jokes. Your Punch, stands 
 supreme in Europe as regards both social and political jokes ; but 
 your Punch is an exception. The Germans are far wittier on 
 social questions than we are, but in politics we can beat them 
 hollow. Why ? Because we tasted a freedom in 1789, the taste 
 of which has never gone out of our mouths. You may imprison 
 Rochefort and shoot Ferre ; but, with all our faults and follies, 
 we will speak the truth in Europe — at least as we see the truth. 
 There is one thing you can never do, try you ever so hard— you 
 can never stop the tongue of a Frenchman or a woman. 
 
 Now here were these honest Germans in this cafe on the glacis 
 of Luxemburg. The least educated among them knew far more 
 than ever I was likely to know. The smallest drummer-boy there 
 might have thrashed me ; yet suddenly with my French wit I was 
 master of them all, by the mere power of repartee. 
 
 " Suppose, then," said the Brandenburger, " that we seize the 
 brace of partridges destined for Mademoiselle Marie. What will 
 England do? " 
 
 " She will send her ironclad fleet up the Moselle to Metz," I 
 answered; "nothing is impossible to her. One of her lords, 
 before the Crimean campaign, proposed to send her fleet into the 
 Caspian Sea." 
 
 A geographical joke always takes among the Germans, next to 
 the English the greatest geographers in the world. This one 
 took, and there was another roar of laughter. 
 
 "But suppose," said the Brandenburger, "that we chose to 
 invade England, and conquer her? " 
 
 " That would be no doubt possible," I replied. " In fact, the 
 great Napoleon had some idea of doing so ; but after Trafalgar he 
 did not see his way to it, and turned on you Germans as the 
 easier prey. You know the result." 
 
 The Brandenburger got sulky. I wished him to be so. 
 
 " We won Waterloo," he said. 
 
 " The greatest mistake in the world," I said. " The English, 
 with their raw levies, won Waterloo. The English troops who 
 
52 VALENTIN : 
 
 beat us out of Spain were never at Waterloo at all ; they were in 
 America." 
 
 " It would have gone hard with the English if we had not come 
 up," said the Brandenburger. 
 
 " I doubt that," I replied. " Wellington never lost a battle or 
 a gun. He had done better at Waterloo before six o'clock on the 
 18th than ever you did at Ligny." 
 
 " We had Napoleon against us." 
 
 " So had Wellington. Napoleon looked at your army, and 
 beat them. He never saw the English army but twice, and in 
 both cases he was defeated." 
 
 "You are fond of the English army since the Crimea," said 
 the Brandenburger. 
 
 " And before," I said. " They have systematically beaten us, 
 as we have beaten you." 
 
 " We may beat you yet," said the Brandenburger. 
 
 "It is possible,' but not probable," I said. (Oh, if I had 
 dreamt of what was going to happen to us !) " But this is not 
 the question. Who is going to buy my partridges ? German 
 money not taken. Neutrality of one brace guaranteed by Eng- 
 land. In case of any dispute arising, I refer the matter to the 
 arbitration of Lord Derby, the President of the United States, 
 and Mademoiselle Marie." I felt a touch on my arm, and I 
 turned and saw her. It was all over at once ; the boozing 
 Germans might go home. 
 
 Go, honest, hard-fighting, hard-thinking, honest fellows, go 
 your way • leave us to go ours ; there is room enough in the 
 world for both of us. Make love in your own way, if you like ; 
 but read from Romeo and Juliet by our French lights. You are 
 slow and sure at your love-making, and you assert that you 
 understand Shakespeare better than we do. Possibly ; yet do 
 you understand Borneo and Yiola as well as we do ? I think not. 
 
 You dull Northerns, you cannot understand your own Shake- 
 speare. With us, some brilliant spark in early youth leaps from 
 one soul into another, and burns there for ever. In one instant 
 Borneo is in love with Juliet, and death alone can part them. It 
 was so with me. 
 
 I turned and saw my fate ; a little girl, wonderfully beautiful, 
 with large blue eyes, and blonde hair falling down over her 
 shoulders. She turned her face to mine, and said, " You are 
 Valentin " ; and I said, " You are Marie." 
 
 It was all over. I had seen my love. I was not much like 
 Borneo, for my hair was tangled and my face brown, ^id the 
 blood of the partridges had stained my shirt ; yet I had found my 
 Juliet. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 53 
 
 I toll things too fast ; I was nearly mentioning Romeo and 
 Viola together. Put me as Romeo, and then understand, if you 
 English can understand, that I had not found my Juliet, hut my 
 Viola. My darling is not Juliet, but Viola. 
 
 Oh, my pretty love, my innocent sweetheart ! where should I 
 have been without thee ? In the horrible midnight of disaster at 
 Sedan, where one's heart was burnt to ashes, who was that 
 pretty boy who tended me so faithfully and who helped the brave 
 Englishwoman to carry me out of the flaming Bazeilles ? Was it 
 my own wife, my little bride of sixteen, dressed like a soldier of 
 the line ? I think it was she. 
 
 But it was on the glacis of Luxemburg that I saw her first, 
 and I kissed her ; and I heard the Branclenburger say, " Habet ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Bang went the gun from the bouc down below our feet, and there 
 was a general clatter of sabres and bayonets. The Prussians 
 were going, and had to go very fast ; they had been sitting here 
 drinking and amusing themselves until the last moment, and if 
 one of them was too late for the raising of the drawbridge, ho 
 would, as you say in England, " catch it." What would be the 
 pains and penalties inflicted on a young man who was left outside 
 the fortress all night, I cannot say. 
 
 I am cool now, and I can resume ; the affair understands itself 
 quite well. I am a Frenchman, and can argue with any one. I 
 will argue with you, although my argument goes against the 
 French. If the French had submitted to discipline as the Germans 
 do, and as your English .young gentlemen do, this disaster could 
 never have occurred. However, I argue like this : if our officers 
 and our men had attended to discipline as the Prussians did, we 
 might have won. 
 
 The Prussians dashed out of the room, and I was left alone 
 with Marie. A certain kind of Frenchman, like a certain kind of 
 Irishman, never hesitates in love or war. I was one of these 
 Frenchmen ; I had not exchanged twenty sentences with Marie 
 when I asked her to marry me. She at once consented, and, in 
 fact, we are married now ; but that is of no moment at all ; at 
 least, not for the present. You will perceive that I imitate the 
 manner of the inimitable M. Victor Hugo in telling my story, but 
 I am crippled, because he has the latitude of fiction, whereas I 
 
54 VALENTIN : 
 
 am bound down to the inexorable laws of fact. I can only say 
 that in style I copy M. Victor Hugo, the great master of prose in 
 this age, in the passage that follows. 
 
 We were alone, and I kissed Marie once more. 
 
 " You will marry none but me ? " 
 
 "None." 
 
 "There is blood on your shirt," she said; "is it sang des 
 Primes ? " 
 
 " It is sang des perdrix" I answered. 
 
 " You joke, you make calembours. Lay down your game and 
 let us walk." 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 " Through all the world, but at present on the glacis." 
 
 " And Mere Hortense ? " 
 
 " She is asleep." 
 
 So we innocent children stole out, leaving Mere Hortense 
 asleep behind the buffet, and we went on hand in hand. 
 
 By the rose-garden. 
 
 By the little cross which marked the place where the officer fell 
 in the duel. 
 
 Past the old cemetery. 
 
 Past the little auberge of Madame la Tige. 
 
 To the drawbridge. 
 
 A gentle whistle from Marie caused it to be lowered in a minute ; 
 and then — 
 
 Past the Cheval Blanc. 
 
 Past the Hotel de l'Europe. 
 
 Past the post-office, the gaol, the barracks, the convent, and we 
 were in Luxemburg. 
 
 (Here follows a long description of the fortress and town, 
 which the editor has been obliged to excerpt. M. Valetin 
 Schneider has copied the style of M. Victor Hugo a little too 
 closely. The editor most deeply admires M. Victor Hugo, and 
 would stand any amount of his narrative ; but when he gets 
 antiquarian, the editor must really take care of himself.) 
 
 (Note from M. Valentin Schneider) : The editor objects to M. 
 Victor Hugo's style of writing, and I of course submit ; I am 
 quite unused to narration. A friend of the editor tells me that 
 he considers Victor Hugo the greatest humbug in Europe, who is 
 seldom amusing without being improper. It seems now that 
 Frenchmen must submit ; but surely all the terrible faults and 
 stupidities of M. Victor Hugo must be half redeemed by the 
 tender and beautiful scenes in the convent in the Rue Picpus, in 
 " Les Miserables." I am not here to judge, I am only a Frenchman. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 55 
 
 Everybody knows we are pretty humble now. Every donkey may 
 kick a dead lion. I will write no more in the style of M. 
 Hugo. 
 
 (Here follows a very violent attack on the Bavarians, which the 
 editor has omitted, as tending to no good. The editor begs his 
 readers to remember that M. Schneider is in the same position as 
 a high-feeling Englishman would be had we lost Hampshire 
 (including Portsmouth), with Kent and Sussex, permanently ; 
 that London was half destroyed ; that Windsor was a heap of 
 ruins like Meudon ; that the Archbishop of Canterbury had been 
 shot ; and that the House of Commons no more dared to meet in 
 London than they dared to fly off the clock-tower, but were 
 meeting at Oxford, as in old times. Heat of language must be 
 excused to M. Valentin Schneider under such circumstances ; we 
 must allow him to continue his narrative. He is very angry at 
 times, but his bark is far worse than his bite. — Ed.) 
 
 Marie and I found ourselves in Luxemburg, with the drawbridge 
 closed behind us. This, you would say, was not only indiscreet, 
 but improbable. As for the indiscretion, I am one of the most 
 discreet of youths, so that answers itself; as for the improba- 
 bility, why, the fact actually happened, and therefore I argue that 
 being a fait accompli, a thing actually done, it cannot be im- 
 probable. 
 
 An Oxford student tells me that I am wrong. He says that 
 some of the greatest facts in history, facts which no one denies, 
 were utterly improbable. He speaks of the massacre of St. 
 Bartholomew, and the battle of Trafalgar ; he says that both 
 those things were highly improbable, yet he argues that they are 
 faits accomplis. I cannot argue with that young man — I was 
 educated by the Freres Chretiens — I only say once more emphati- 
 cally that a thing which actually happened cannot be improbable. 
 It pleases you English to amuse yourselves with the logic of M. 
 Louis Carroll. I think that his logic is all wrong from beginning 
 to end. How, then, I beg of you, could la petite Mees Alice have 
 seen the noble poem of Jabberwocky (German, I regret to say) 
 reversed when she got through the glass ? I say that M. Louis 
 Carroll is all wrong, and that Mees Alice would have seen Jabber- 
 wocky just as it was printed. I am, for my own part, no casuist, 
 like M. Louis Carroll ; but I will defy his casuistry here. Again, 
 I beg of M. Louis Carroll to explain to me why he dared publish 
 a poem so wicked as that of " The Walrus and the Carpenter." 
 While the Latin nations have been living on the purest sentiment, 
 the Teutonic nations have been going from one grossness to 
 another. The wicked ballads of M. Louis Carroll are worthy of 
 
56 VALENTIN : 
 
 the Fliegende Blatter of Munich. M. Louis Carroll fancies 
 that his political allusions can escape the microscopical eye of a 
 Frenchman. Not at all. That ballad of " The Walrus and the 
 Carpenter " has a political signification. The walrus is the 
 Emperor of Germany (Monsieur Tenniel, a Frenchman surely 
 from his genius, has made him very like) ; the carpenter is the 
 Prince Frederick Charles — all German princes (may Heaven con- 
 found them !) learn trades ; about the old oyster, who refused to 
 go out walking with the walrus and the carpenter, I am puzzled. 
 It could not have been the French Emperor, because he did go 
 out walking — that is to say, he mounted to horse, and took that 
 little oyster, his son, with him. Also M. Thiers followed the 
 walrus and the carpenter. I rather think that the oldest oyster 
 is the Comte de Chambord ; but I am not sure. Humpty Dumpty, 
 who nearly smiles the top of his head off, is evidently the late 
 emperor; and the allusion to " All the king's horses and all the 
 king's men," is at least premature, not to say indiscreet. I do 
 not, as a thinking Frenchman, believe that the Comte de Cham- 
 bord will give the slightest assistance in putting Louis Napoleon 
 on this throne again. Yet this political satirist, this M. Louis 
 Carroll, hints that such an effort will be made, and made shortly. 
 The English do not understand politics at all ; and it would be 
 much better if M. Louis Carroll would attend to his duties as a 
 professor, instead of irritating a very high- spirited nation as the 
 French by political poems like that of " Humpty Dumpty." The 
 fish are the English, that is patent. Look at the shameless 
 political intention of this passage, when the French ask the 
 English to stop supplying arms to the Germans : — • 
 
 " The little fish's answer was, 
 
 ' We cannot do it, sir, because ' " 
 
 That is bad enough ; but there is worse behind. With regard 
 to your great public satirist, M. Louis Carroll, I say that he is all 
 wrong. Look how he writes about Gambctta's appeal to Lord 
 Granville : — ■ 
 
 '• But he was very proud and stiff; 
 He said, ' I'll go and wake them if ' " 
 
 Exactly the thing he did not do, because his coronet was at 
 stake. He never dared to rouse the latent republicanism of 
 England and of Europe about his ears. Hear your M. Louis 
 Carroll again, with the Alabama claims hanging over his own 
 shoulders : — 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 67 
 
 "And when I found the door was shut, 
 I tried to turn the handle, but " 
 
 The door is shut for ever to you English, just as much as the 
 bridegroom's door was shut to the five foolish virgins. You saw 
 us down, and, by the memory of Inkerman, you never raised your 
 hands to help us. May you be forgiven ! I pass like a French- 
 man from folly to seriousness. I think that that allusion to the 
 five foolish virgins made me so suddenly serious. Perhaps also 
 it w T as recollection, for, in the course of narrative, I am only just 
 inside Luxemburg, and on a slope of turf above the bouc lie down 
 with Marie near me, while the whispering wind went through our 
 hair and moved the grass about our heads. 
 
 She said to me, 
 
 " I have not seen you for so long, Valentin. I knew nothing 
 of you, but I knew that I should love you." 
 
 And I said, 
 
 " Darling, I love yon better than Jacques Cartier." 
 
 So the little Paul and Virginia courtship came to an end for 
 that time. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 You make love, you English, in one way, we in another. I 
 think, for my own part, that you are stupid in your love-making, 
 and that, moreover, you leave it too late in life. Is it conceiv- 
 able that a fat rentier of forty years can be pleasing to a woman ? 
 For me I do not know. I should think not. 
 
 Mind, I say nothing of our manages tie convenance ; that is a 
 matter I do not understand. I am too young. It would seem 
 that any mature woman would marry any man with ten thousand 
 francs of rentes in France now. In England, I am told, the 
 price for a clever and handsome woman is still higher ; but of 
 this I know nothing. It is possible, as I allow that the rule in 
 the great towns is different from that in the provinces. I only 
 know that my father urged on my marriage with a penniless girl, 
 as you will see. 
 
 I want again to be heard. I will dash at any young unmarried 
 German whoever was born, with my bayonet, but I am afraid of 
 those Landwehr men who are married. Tliey carry two or three 
 
58 VALENTIN : 
 
 lives in their hands, and I am afraid of them. Married men 
 fight with the ferocity of desperation, and with ill-humour ; 
 unmarried men fight for fighting's sake, with no arriere \m\see 
 and with good-humour. I could give instances in our war, but 
 your own poet Tennyson has found out the secret about the 
 terrible power of the Landwehr. I don't admire English poetry 
 myself, it seems to me entirely unmusical ; but your Tennyson 
 has an idea now and then : — 
 
 "When all amidst the thundering drums 
 
 Thy soldier in the battle stauds, 
 Thy face across his fancy comes, 
 
 And gives the battle to his hands. 
 One moment while the trumpets blow, 
 
 He sees his brood about thy knee ; 
 The next like fire he meets the foe, 
 
 And strikes him dead for them and thee." 
 
 I don't like the Landwehr at all, and I have seen a good deal 
 of them in Lorraine. Let me ease my mind. Fiercer soldiers 
 or gentler citizens were never seen. One of them came to us 
 as we lay together talking on the slope at Luxemburg, and he 
 said : — 
 
 " Children, you will be cold here. Rise, and go into the town. 
 When you are old enough, you will fall in love with one another, 
 which will be a good thing if you reflect on three matters. That 
 you two, if you fall in love with one another, are bound to go 
 through eternity together. Eternity is like space, perfectly 
 illimitable. Of eternity we know nothing ; of space we know 
 nothing beyond the double nebulas ; but we all know that time 
 and space mean the same thing, and are illimitable. Life is but 
 one small episode in eternity ; as consciousness and recollection 
 began at birth, so consciousness and remembrance will end at 
 death, except in the case of two souls which are brought together 
 as yours seem to be. Conceive your two selves standing on the 
 double nebulas, and looking into space. You must allow space — 
 - — it is impossible not to allow it ; there can be no end and finish 
 of things. There is no end to things — there can't be. For me, 
 as a Pomeranian, I believe that there is only one God, and that 
 He is infinite and governs all. Whether space is filled with 
 matter I do not know; I should think it was." 
 
 " In the meantime ? " I said. 
 
 " In the meantime," he answered, " I think this, that you had 
 better go to your friends in the town. There are French spies 
 about, my little lad, who know nothing whatever about the 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 59 
 
 infinities of space, and who don't know the map of their own 
 country. Just go to some respectable house, or I shall he 
 forced to have you locked up. You are young Schneider. Your 
 precious friend Cartier is somewhere in the town. Tell your 
 lather that he had better sell out on the German side, and move 
 to the double nebula). Tell Cartier to mind what he is about in 
 case of war, or we shall hang him. You French are perfectly 
 idiotic ; but that is no matter. Kemember that life is only an 
 episode in eternity, that space is infinite, and that this little girl 
 ought to go to her bed. When the culbute generate comes, you 
 may remember the name of General von Alvenstein the younger." 
 
 "General," I said, "you spoke of culbute generale. What 
 will be the watchword on that day ? " 
 
 "Paris," he said, laughing. 
 
 11 That is not the word," I said. 
 
 He thought for a moment, and then he said — 
 
 " Chalons, then." 
 
 " That will not do," I said. " Is it Sedan ? " 
 
 " Try Cologne or Berlin, boy, and take that little French girl 
 in out of the cold. Nobody is likely to try Sedan except a 
 lunatic." 
 
 So Alvenstein the younger stalked away over the slope above 
 the bouc, and left us watching him as he went. It is all over 
 now, and you shall hear how we got through it. But the other 
 night Marie and I were sleeping together, and she suddenly shook 
 my shoulder. I asked .her what was the matter. 
 
 "Valentin, Valentin ! " she said, " strike a light." 
 
 I did so, and then she spoke. 
 
 " Valentin," she said, " General von Alvenstein was here in 
 the room, at our bedside." 
 
 "My darling," I answered, " he was killed at St. Privat, and 
 you yourself put a bouquet of autumn crocuses on the helmet on 
 his grave." 
 
 " That is true," she said ; " but he was here for all that. He 
 said that life was only one episode in all eternity." 
 
 I quieted her, and asked her — 
 
 " Did he say anything more ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he said that there were one hundred thousand upturned 
 feet appealing to Christ for justice, and that Christ had turned 
 away his head from the world." 
 
 " Were the feet French or German ? " 
 
 " Both." 
 
oo Valentin 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Makie and I went to a cousin of Mere Hortense, who kept a wine- 
 shop in the lower town, to which she directed me. The cousin 
 was an old lady, by name Christine, who seemed to expect us 
 somehow, for she opened the door a little way, shut it again at 
 once, and did not seem in the least degree surprised at seeing us. 
 Marie was taken by her up to bed at once, and then the old lady 
 came down to me again, and began getting me some supper. 
 
 " And the news from Champagne then, my pretty little gentle- 
 man," she said ; " have you been to the camp at Chalons ? " 
 I answered, " No." 
 
 " Hah ! I would like to see the dear French army. We are 
 all French here, you know." 
 
 " And indeed I am French also," I replied, but I had time to 
 say no more, for there was a loud trampling of men outside, and 
 a halt at the door. Immediately after a sword-hilt was banged 
 against the door, and a loud German voice called for admittance. 
 Mere Christine was equal to the occasion. In one instant she 
 had pushed me down on the settle before the fire, and caught up 
 a blanket which she threw over me, saying, "Tuck in and go 
 to sleep. When you are awakened, be stupid and know nothing 
 at all. Don't open the door till I tell you." 
 
 At the third beat of the sword-hilt at the door, not twenty 
 seconds after the first alarm, I sleepily cried out, " Who is 
 there? " for I was a French boy, and had my ideas. " Who is 
 there ? " I said, in a whimpering, sleepy voice. 
 
 "Hauptmann Fischer," was the reply ; " open your door, you 
 treasonable old Jezebel." 
 
 I believe that I should laugh if I was going to execution. I 
 laughed now, but I laughed more when I heard a window over- 
 head opened, and the voice of my new friend, querulously from 
 the open window on the second story crying out, " Aux voleurs ! 
 aux voleurs ! au feu ! an feu ! " 
 
 The trancendent old conspirator had torn her clothes off, as she 
 afterwards told me, and was looking into the street in her — well, 
 in her night-dress. I laughed as never boy laughed before, I 
 think. 
 
 " Come down, thou ridiculous old lunatic, and let us in," said 
 the Hauptmann, laughing ; and I gathered that Madame Hor- 
 tense' s cousin was looking rather absurd in the moonlight. Her 
 tone changed in an instant. 
 
 " Herr Hauptmann Fischer," she cried in German, "dear and 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 61 
 
 highborn gentleman, I will put on my clothes and be clown directly. 
 It is very late, and I am only a lone widow, but I will get my 
 clothes on and come down." Then she began yelling from the 
 top of the stairs to me, while she was apparently dressing, 
 "Valentin! Valentin! Sleepy boy, let the gentleman in at 
 once, do you hear ? Holy Virgin, how the boy sleeps ! Is he 
 dead?" 
 
 I arose, but now, having learnt a lesson out of the old lady's 
 book, in my shirt alone, shivering and yawning, and I undid the 
 bolts with my bare feet upon the cold stone floor. The Prussian 
 guard were in the room at once. 
 
 The Hauptmann took me by the two shoulders, and looked at 
 me in the face ; he said at once, " This is young Valentin 
 Schneider. Boy, where is Cartier?" 
 
 I told him frankly that I had not the least idea, and he saw 
 that I was speaking the truth. " Put on your clothes, little 
 gentleman," he said, " you will catch cold. I see you speak the 
 truth ; but would you have told on your friend had you known 
 where he was ? ' ' 
 
 I replied, " You might have burnt me alive, and I would not 
 have done so." 
 
 There was a murmur of applause from the whole guard when I 
 said this. The sentiment seemed to meet their views entirely. 
 A young man of Bonn (the young men of Bonn are generally the 
 rudest among the Germans) knelt down and put on my socks for me. 
 
 This was young Muchnitz. He lay quite close to my brother, 
 and from the position of the two bodies, I am inclined to think 
 that they had been assisting one another before they died. It is 
 awfully strange, yet perfectly true, that my brother died bare- 
 footed, and that the three young men who lay with him behind 
 the hedge in the potato field had only their stockings on. 
 
 It is most absolutely certain, that although we may never 
 know the details, the 17th of the French line were surprised in 
 their beds above Fond de Givonne, in the early morning. I 
 found four young men lying dead together under a little hedge 
 on the top of the cutting. All four had their boots off, and one 
 had been sleeping without his stockings, probably from sore feet. 
 It may be suggested that the camp followers had stripped them. 
 That is absolutely ridiculous ; before the war heated itself into 
 fury, the Germans were most careful of the dead, and in fact 
 made one take one's hat off in the presence of the corpses. 
 Besides, how was it that with the exception of these four, I saw 
 nothing which looked like the plundering of corpses among so 
 many ? 
 
62 VALENTIN : 
 
 However, I am, after the manner of that master of fiction, 
 Eugene Sue, getting discursive. 
 
 By the time I was dressed, the old woman was partly dressed, 
 and came into the room with her gray hair down like Madame 
 Macbeth, an awful figure, fit for any murder in the history of the 
 world. Madame Macbeth, did I say ? Try Judith ; try Salome, 
 the daughter of Herodias. She came in wanting nothing but 
 John the Baptist's head in a charger, to make a perfect murderess, 
 and she said, 
 
 " What will the good Hauptmann order to drink then ? " 
 At this point I went off in an eclat de rive. What you call at 
 school the bathos was too much for me. The Germans, such as 
 understood French, laughed loudly also, and the Hauptmann 
 said, 
 
 " Come, mother, we only want to be friendly. We want 
 Jacques Cartier. You will get yourself into serious trouble by 
 harbouring him. Potz tausend," he said, turning to me, 
 humorously, " your father sends you out in pretty company. Do 
 you know, for this old fool would never understand, that the 
 Ordonnance Department here have been robbed of certain very 
 important plans ? " 
 
 I told him fairly that I had not the wildest idea of such an 
 event having occurred, which was strictly true. 
 
 " Well, it is so. These Luxemburgers would do anything, and 
 one of them has these plans ; and we believe has handed them to 
 that scoundrel, Jacques Cartier. If he will give them up he may 
 go ; if not, we shall take our own course with him. Is he in the 
 house, mistress ? " 
 
 " On my soul, no ! " safd the old woman. 
 
 And it came on my mind afterwards that the Roman Catholic 
 religion is the most accommodating in the world, for a more 
 thundering lie was never told under the sun ; but she got quit of 
 it by card. 
 
 " Well, I must search the house at all events," said the 
 Hauptmann. " Sergeant, go forward. Young Schneider, you 
 come with us." 
 
 In the cellars there were beer and wine ; on the ground floor 
 nothing suspicious ; ou the first floor nothing particular, save that 
 in opening a doubtful-looking closet a very tall broom, which had 
 been set on end in that closet, came majestically down on the 
 Hauptmann's head, and knocked his helmet on to old madame's 
 toes, which gave rise to complications and apologies. We 
 searched the whole house over, save one room which the old lady 
 wished to be spared. 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 63 
 
 " It is little Mane's bedroom," she said. " You all know little 
 Marie, of the glacis, Messieurs. You may surely trust an old 
 woman's word, and not awake the girl. She has come in on a 
 visit to me." 
 
 "A dear little soul, niece to the very man we want. Go in, 
 old woman, tell her to cover herself up, for we must search here 
 in spite of your word." 
 
 Mere Christine went in. Almost at once we were admitted. A 
 light was burning, and we saw before us a sight which none of us 
 ever forgot. A very beautiful child sitting up in bed, with her 
 hands folded on the counterpane, and her hair falling round her 
 in masses like those of Fra Angelico's angels. A child who 
 seemed to wonder (ah, you English cannot act) — a child who 
 was amused at the invasion of her bedroom by these good, quaint 
 savages, the Prussians. The room was searched, and nothing 
 was found. Of course not. The Germans made their adieux 
 with all apologies, and left Marie sitting up in bed, with all her 
 clothes, and Mere Christine's clothes also about her, to keep her 
 warm. 
 
 The little heroine had got her uncle in bed with her, boots 
 and all I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Mere Christine told me to remain in Marie's bedroom while she 
 showed the Prussian gentlemen out. I did so with much 
 modesty, standing with my face to the staircase, down which the 
 Prussians were being escorted by this good woman, who stood at 
 the head of the stairs with a candle, entreating them to take care 
 how they stepped. " For, Messieurs," she said, " the stairs are 
 very old, and my landlord is not a good landlord for repairs ; 
 landlords are never good to solitary old widows like me. Ah ! if 
 my good man Max was alive, we should have had these stairs 
 mended. Take great care, Messieurs, the narrow stairs are to 
 the right." (Here a big young man of Andernach went thunder- 
 ing and crashing down to the bottom amidst roars of laughter 
 from his comrades.) " Ah ! Monsieur has hurt himself, I fear ; " 
 and so the old lady went on, holding the light above the retreating 
 leather and brass helmets. 
 
 I much regret to say that, in spite of all our troubles, I have 
 
64 VALENTIN : 
 
 always an inclination to laugh at those helmets even now. I 
 never can forget them groping down that narrow winding stair- 
 case, with the old Frenchwoman holding the light all wrong, and 
 giving them utterly wrong directions. I know that it is immoral 
 and undignified to laugh at our conquerors, but I cannot help it. 
 The English laugh at the French ; the French, again, caricature 
 the English and Germans. The nation which most habitually 
 caricatures itself is the French. We have laughed ourselves into 
 a pretty state of affairs. I see that you are making all your 
 leaders and politicians ridiculous in Vanity Fair. You will reap 
 the fruits of this. This is done, I believe, by an Italian. 
 
 Well, I laughed when I saw the pickelhaubes go downstairs, 
 and I laughed more when I heard the door banged behind them. 
 I turned again into Marie's bedroom, and she was sitting up in 
 bed laughing also, with her finger on her lips. 
 
 "My little angel!" I said, "these German dogs are gone. 
 Have you been frightened ? " 
 
 There was a great heave in the bed ; her uncle put himself out 
 sideways, and in another moment Jacques Cartier, with touzled 
 hair, stood by her side, grinning from ear to ear. 
 
 " Here is a little heroine for you," he said, " never flinched for 
 a minute, though she knew that her wicked uncle had the plans 
 in the bed ; or, to be more correct, that she had them in her 
 bosom. There is not a finer girl in all France. Did I bruise you 
 with my boots, darling ? " 
 
 "You frightened me out of my wits, uncle, when you began 
 laughing, and made the bed shake so. I thought that we were 
 all undone." 
 
 " I could not help it," said Jacques Cartier, " Mere Christine 
 was so clever and bizarre. I am born to be hanged but I should 
 laugh at the scaffold, I think. Now, lie down, pretty love, for M. 
 Valentin and I have something to say. Here comes Mere Chris- 
 tine." 
 
 I went up to Marie's bed, and bent down and kissed her in all 
 boyish loyalty and admiration. She threw her arms round my 
 neck, and drew my face close to hers, so that my hair and hers 
 were mixed together. I wondered at this favour very much, 
 until she whispered shortly and sharply in my ear, "Valentin, 
 you fool, be careful. Make him destroy those papers, or Ave are 
 all in trouble ; he has committed felony. He is a receiver of 
 stolen goods." 
 
 Oh, the dissipation of the romance ! Still I took two kisses 
 more, and got two smart boxes on the ear in return. I then 
 turned to Mere Christine and Jacques Cartier, and I found that 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 65 
 
 Mere Christine was preparing to light the fire, a matter at which 
 I very much wondered. 
 
 "You see, M. Valentin," said Jacques Cartier, " that I have 
 so far succeeded in my object in getting into Luxemburg. Well 
 and good. Now I have to get out again. Of that we will talk 
 presently." 
 
 " But, Jacques, dear, you cannot get out." 
 
 " Can I not ? You will allow that I got in." 
 
 "Yes."' 
 
 " You will soon have to allow that I can get out again. Bon. 
 I may or I may not. In case I do not, you must attend to me 
 with all your attention." 
 
 " (rood," I said. " Can we not write down anything ? " 
 
 " Nothing," he replied. "I am about to burn everything. I 
 am going to tell you what you must tell your father, and no one 
 else. You must mind what I say very carefully." 
 
 I determined to do so, and I told him so. 
 
 " I have done hitherto all that your father asked me. I have 
 endangered my life for him this night. If I am taken here, I 
 shall never get out of the prison at Treves at all, because I have 
 become a receiver of stolen goods in his interests. Well and 
 good, I am a Frenchman after all. If I am taken, nothing must 
 be found on me. You will go free, I shall go to prison. Y r ou 
 must tell your father these things, and be sure to forget none of 
 them. The plan of the Prussians is to refortify Luxemburg by 
 star forts, a mile from the enceinte all round. By doing this 
 they violate Dutch neutrality, and are therefore committed to 
 anything. I have here the plans of those forts, but I must burn 
 them ; nevertheless, assure him of the fact. France is negotiat- 
 ing with Holland for the sale of Luxemburg, and Prussia will 
 fight sooner than give it up. In case of war now, France could 
 not stop Germany short of Chalons. Your father should back up 
 General Niel in every way. Our army must be reorganised. 
 Can you remember all this? " 
 
 I said it over to him. 
 
 " Bon," he said. " Now we will burn these papers," and to 
 my horror into the fire went a whole pile of Prussian staff maps 
 and plans. Some of our precious friends had stolen them ; 
 Jacques Cartier had received them, and now he was destroying 
 them. I was a felon by construction. I said so. 
 
 " My dear," said Jacques Cartier, " there is no felony in 
 politics." 
 
 I rather doubted that, but I said nothing on that point, I only 
 asked, " How are you going to escape ? " 
 
 6 
 
66 VALENTIN : 
 
 He laughed. " You must go a long way by yourself now," he 
 said. " Opposite the church you will find a shop ; in that shop 
 are maps. You buy the map which contains the Eifel forest, and 
 you come as fast as you can to Bittburg. I will meet you there. 
 If I am taken, go straight home; no one will stop you. If you 
 hear nothing of me, go there. If you go home, tell your father to 
 sell oat in France." 
 
 There was a little time in deliberating where all our things 
 should be left. In the end, I took charge of the carbine, a large 
 number of cartridges, and about eight hundred francs. Jacques 
 Cartier took the shot-gun and a game-bag, and prepared to start ; 
 how, I did not exactly see, and so I asked him. 
 
 " I am going out of that window when the signal comes, and 
 along the roofs of three or four houses. We shall have a mes- 
 senger by -and -bye." 
 
 In about an hour there was a tap at the window ; it was opened, 
 and Mark jumped into the room barefooted. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I was to leave the house, and go by Treves to Bittburg alone. 
 Meanwhile, Jacques was to join me at Bittburg, and I was to 
 send from Treves the following telegram to my father : 
 
 VV. T. P. S. V. N. I. A. 
 
 It would be impossible for any one to make out this telegram, 
 from the mere reason that it was absolutely simple, and that 
 Cartier and my father were in perfect confidence. When I say 
 perfect confidence, I mean that my fathor was in as much con- 
 fidence with Jacques Cartier as he was with any one ; that is to 
 say, he had sent out Jacques Cartier as a spy, but had sent me to 
 watch him. 
 
 Let us, however, examine this telegram, and see how easily 
 the cleverest are cheated when two men understand one 
 another. 
 
 First, YV. 
 
 That is simply " Vendez, Yendez." Sell at once. My father 
 sold out all his rentes immediately, and bought into the English 
 Three per Cent. Consols. He said afterwards that those rascals 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 6? 
 
 of English would fight for their money, and that they had twenty 
 miles of sea- water between them and a gentleman. You see, my 
 father was one of the old school, and did not like the English as 
 I do. Now we come to 
 
 T. P. S. V. N. 
 
 That is to me pretty plain. " Tout est Perdu Sans la Fie de 
 Niel." I think that Jacques Cartier was right here. I think 
 that if Niel's scheme of the re-organisation of our army had 
 been carried out, and if the Radicals had not opposed it, we 
 might have been in a different position. I cannot say, but 
 certainly Niel's scheme was better than Gambetta's. There 
 is the same difference between these two as there is between 
 Epimetheus and Prometheus. Now we come to the last letters of 
 
 the telegram- 
 
 I. A. 
 
 "lis Arment," I read it. Certainly it was perfectly true, and 
 my father acted on it. I think that my father rather wished the 
 Germans to win in what followed. I rather think that his 
 interests, as well as his inclinations, went that way. For me, I 
 would have swept the streets for a living had France won. 
 
 Now, I had the telegram, and now Jacques was to be got out of 
 the town. It appeared, on consultation, that we must at once 
 communicate with Pere Hugon, who kept the tannery down on the 
 Alssette. When I say that he kept the tannery, I only mean that 
 he kept it from fire. He was a very poor old man, who watched the 
 premises by night, and who slept all day. Borne one must go to 
 him. I of course determined to go. 
 
 But I was stopped at once. " I should have difficulty enough 
 in getting out of the town myself," they said. ''Marie must 
 go." And at last I consented to let Marie go, with the reserva- 
 tion that I was to follow her twenty yards behind. 
 
 Marie was very soon dressed and let out. The street was very 
 quiet as she trotted along, so quiet that the twenty yards dimin- 
 ished to fifteen, then to ten, then to five, and at last to nothing 
 at all ; so that when we came to old Pere Hugon's tannery I had 
 my arm round her waist. When we got to Pere Hugon's tannery 
 we knocked at the door, and he opened the window three stories 
 above, and cried out, "Aufeu!" just like Mere Hortense had 
 clone. 
 
 " Be quiet, you old fool," I said, 
 
68 VALENTIN : 
 
 Whereupon he began crying out, " Aux voleurs ! " 
 
 " You old idiot," I said, "you will have the Prussians on us 
 directly." 
 
 He went for a light, and reappeared in a large pair of gold 
 spectacles, through which he looked at the houc, the moon, and 
 the stars. 
 
 I cried out impatiently, " Come down ; the patrol is in the 
 next street." And then he shut the window. 
 
 I spoke the truth ; the Prussian patrol was in the next street, 
 and was on us before we could get in. Fischer was in command 
 of it, and he said to me, pausing as he passed, " Get your man 
 out of the town quietly. If there is an}' difficulty, go to von 
 Alvenstein." 
 
 " You mean Cartier ? " 
 
 " Yes. He has no business here : get him out quietly." 
 
 I had some spirit, and I asked, " What has he done? " 
 
 " Ask that in two years' time," said Fischer and passed on. 
 
 Old Hugon admitted us. I opened the conversation by saying 
 that Jacques Cartier must be got out of the town in safety. Old 
 Hugon took off his spectacles, and, ordering Marie out of the 
 room, stroked his beard, and said, 
 
 " That is very easily done." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," I said ; "I thought it was, difficult." 
 
 " Has he got the plans of the outlying forts on him? " asked 
 old Hugon. 
 
 " No," I said ; " they are burnt." 
 
 " Hum ! What an ass is Jacques Cartier ! Did he believe 
 them real? " 
 
 " They were real," I said, but with a little wonder. 
 
 "Young goose," he said. "Those plans which Jacques 
 Cartier took so much trouble to steal were carefully prepared for 
 the French market. You met von Alvenstein ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Von Alvenstein is not in the secret of those plans. They 
 were prepared at considerable expense (for the Germans) on 
 purpose to be captured by spies. The fool Cartier has burnt 
 them. Just like him. Well, tell your father to sell at once, 
 and buy into English funds. If they respect our neutrality, it is 
 all which we can hope for." 
 
 " But, sir," I said, " France can fight for herself." 
 
 " And get beaten," said old Hugon, who was Parisian born. 
 " Tell your father that in two years from now we are ruined ; and 
 now get out of the house. I will see Jacques Cartier all safe. 
 Go home and to bed. Start in the morning for Bittburg, and 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 69 
 
 you will meet Cartier there. Remember that you are a spy, and 
 are watched." 
 
 I took Maria home, and kissed her as she went to her room. 
 I was very uneasy in my mind about matters. But I had a 
 holiday before me, and I knew that two years' drill at Metz was 
 coming to me. I had an idea that I was passing now, or about 
 to pass, the pleasantest time in all my life. So, in the early 
 morning I roused Mere Christine, and I went in and said good- 
 bye to Marie ; and then I took my bag, my fishing-rod, and my 
 carbine, walking out of the streets of Luxemburg as though it 
 belonged to me. Passing out of a certain gate I heard one 
 Prussian sentry say to another, " That pretty boy is a French 
 spy. He looks too good for such work." I turned at once and 
 said, "Sir, I am no spy." The German said, "Your face 
 betrays you, boy, you are not." "Arrest him," said two or 
 three others ; and arrested I was, to have coffee with much milk 
 in it, Bretzels (a delicious form of food) and butter. They let 
 me go at last, those jolly Germans, and stood looking after me. 
 I went down the road, between the high-piled rocks by the little 
 river. I ought to hate them, but I love them. I ask, is not the 
 world large enough for both of us ? 
 
 Why, look you, English, at your own case. What did Napo- 
 leon the Great write to your Prince of Wales, when Napoleon 
 had lost all ? " The most constant, the most generous, the most 
 powerful of my enemies." The English had the principal part in 
 sending him to St. Helena ; he the idol of the majority of the 
 French. Many Frenchmen vowed eternal hatred against the 
 English : your name was a name of infamy to most Frenchmen. 
 At Waterloo the Emperor cried out in the last disaster, "Mon 
 Dieu ! ils sont meles ensemble"; that was true. Then the 
 English and French were against one another. Forty years 
 later they were meles ensemble once more, at Inkerman — Guards 
 and Zouaves shoulder to shoulder. These hatreds do not con- 
 tinue themselves, my friend. If you are as young as I am, you 
 may see French and Prussians stand by shoulder to shoulder, in 
 defiance of the world. Have you not seen it yourself in the 
 boxing matches at your public schools ? 
 
 However, I must get away on the road to Treves, by the road 
 to Bittburg. 
 
76 VALENTIN : 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I was now entirely alone, and I found that to be extremely 
 pleasant. I loved the society of Jacques Cartier beyond 
 measure, yet there was something very pleasant in being entirely 
 alone. 
 
 There are probably few things more beautiful in the world than 
 the exit from Luxemburg, on the road towards Treves. Behind 
 you are the great bridges spanning the glen, above and around 
 are yellowish grey scraps and pillars of rock, fringed with copse- 
 wood and vineyard, before the glen goes on winding away towards 
 fairyland, where there are no fortifications and no Prussians. 
 The river dances merrily on at your side, and you can gather 
 flowers, or fish, or sing, or lie down and sleep ; you can do 
 anything you like. 
 
 And if you are very young and in love, you will have every now 
 and then that feeling which the learned call pre-cordial anl'ety. 
 That is to say, you will be anxiously wondering where a certain 
 young lady is, and what she is doing. I am not sure whether 
 that feeling is pleasurable or painful. Men of the middle age 
 sometimes say that they would give all their wealth to feel it 
 again. 
 
 You see that everything groups itself round one pure and holy 
 object, and for the first time in your life you feel that you 
 are totally unselfish. You are raised into a higher and nobler 
 atmosphere. 
 
 Here, for instance, by the river is a flower, the " Impatiens 
 noli me tangere." How beautiful it is, deep yellow with pearly 
 green leaves ! Bon ciel, how splendid it would look in her golden 
 hair ! There must be a trout there where the water rushes down 
 so freshly ; we will put our rod together and have him. A splash, 
 and the speckled beauty lies panting on the grass, among the 
 cowslips. I wish she were here to see him, what would she say 
 at our luck ? Why, she would say, sir, that you, being so 
 transcendently happy yourself, ought not to deprive one of God's 
 creatures of its happiness : so you (or at least, I) take the hook 
 gently from the trout's lip, and send him wriggling away free. 
 
 This is sentimental folly. I quite allow it, but I never knew 
 much good of a young man who was not a sentimental fool when 
 he was in love. When the shattered brown keep of St. Etienne 
 burst on my sight suddenly, I gave a cry of gladness, but in an 
 instant more I was very sorry. She was not here to see it soaring 
 in the summer air. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 71 
 
 I walked swiftly when I did not stay to play, and struck the 
 Moselle at Wasserbilig. The river was rushing on majestically, 
 green now in the early summer, a noble flood, dashing onwards to 
 meet her bridegroom, the Rhine at Coblence. 
 
 " As the silence that is broken 
 When the wished-for word is spoken, 
 
 And the heart hath a home where it may dwell, 
 As the sun and moon together, 
 In a sky of splendid weather, 
 
 Is the meeting of the Rhine and the Moselle." 
 
 I was fairly in Germany now. What idiots our people were 
 ever to think that we could make the Rhine provinces French ! 
 Will the Germans make Alsace and Lorraine German ? Will 
 the British ever make Ireland English ? I leave these questions 
 to MM. Bismarck, Erckman-Chatrian, and the late Lord London- 
 derry, commonly called Lord Castlereagh. Since the utter 
 submission of the slave-holding states in America, and since the 
 new movement for home rule in Ireland, I have rather given 
 up imperial politics as a hopeless business. For the Irish, 
 having an amount of freedom which we shall not get in a century, 
 say they are a down-trodden and oppressed race. In the name 
 of heaven, how ? Still, I only speak as a Frenchman, as one 
 who is puzzled by your insular politics, which I think ridicu- 
 lous. 
 
 At Wasserbilig I met a German boy, and we were comfortable 
 together. He kept my clothes while I swam in the river, and 
 then we talked. He was a very nice bay, he hated the French in 
 general, but he liked me in particular. We had sausage together 
 and we talked. 
 
 " You hate us ? " I said. 
 
 " Yes," said the German boy, " we do." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " For many reasons." 
 
 " Old reasons or new ? " 
 
 " Not for old reasons so much ; you beat us heavily, and 
 without cause, until we beat you at Waterloo ; no, not for old 
 reasons." 
 
 " The English beat us at Waterloo," I said. 
 
 " They held the ground till we came up. They did nothing 
 more than that. They would have been in the forest but for us. 
 You say that because they beat you through Spain." 
 
 " Alas ! " I said, " wherever the English met us they beat us. 
 England is a name of bad omen to us." 
 
72 VALENTIN : 
 
 "You seem to be happy enough together now," said the 
 German boy, " you are robbing and plundering m company. 
 There is no safety for an honest nation. Look at Pekin." 
 
 I apologised for the summer palace spoliation as well as I 
 could. 
 
 " The English and the French are the greatest robbers on the 
 face of the earth," said the German boy. "England has appro- 
 priated India without a shadow of right ; and you French, where- 
 ever you came you robbed and stole. In our public library at 
 Treves there is a copy of the ' Gallerie Francaise ; ' a catalogue 
 of pictures stolen by Napoleon, which he had to give back." 
 
 I asked him if he would kindly hand me my right stocking, 
 which lay on the grass beside him. I was getting rather the 
 worst of the argument, you see. 
 
 " Mind," he said, as he handed me the stocking, " when our 
 turn comes we shall take what we want, and do, not as we have 
 been done by, but simply do what is necessary for our own safety. 
 However, we are friends. Where are you going ? " 
 
 " To Treves." 
 
 "I also. Come, and I will show you Eiger. Come in my 
 boat, I have a boat below." 
 
 This was entirely delightful ; the German boy let his boat float 
 down stream and talked to me the while." 
 
 " French boy," he said, " is your name Schneider ? " 
 
 " Yes, Valentin Schneider." 
 
 "You are to be let go where you will, and do what you like. 
 My name is Yon Lindenau, son of the Librarian at Treves. AVe 
 have heard much of you. We hope to get your father on our side. 
 You, however, are French, and will remain French." 
 
 I rather thought of throwing him out of the boat when he said 
 this about my father ; but he looked very cool and strong, so I 
 only said, with great heat, that my father was no traitor. 
 
 " No, no," he said. " Set 1 where we are passing. This is the 
 mouth of the Sarre. What battles have been fought here for 
 eighteen centuries ! " 
 
 My good humour was restored, and I begged his pardon for 
 being angry. He bent over from his oars and kissed me. "I 
 wish you were a German," he said. 
 
 " But about the battles ? " I asked ; " where are we now ? " 
 
 II In the rift in the hills, which in old times divided Roman and 
 Celt, and which now divide Teuton and Celt. Look to the left 
 instead of looking into my eyes." 
 
 I looked to the left, and there was the great monument of 
 Eiger towering over the trees. I held my breath ; it was the 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 73 
 
 most magnificent specimen of Roman work I Lad ever seen. And 
 then we floated on. 
 
 11 When you force it on us, Valentin, we shall push our frontier 
 farther forward, or perish as a nation. If you ever say your 
 prayers, pray that you and I may not meet, for I like you so very 
 much." 
 
 And so we floated on, talking about many things, and at last 
 he said, " Here is Treves." 
 
 I got my things out of the boat and went with him along the 
 street, for he told me that he would show me the way to the 
 Hotel d'Angleterre. Passing the corner of one street I clutched 
 his arm and said, " What is that ? " 
 
 " The Porta Nigra," he said, coolly, " the gate between the 
 Roman and the Celt in old times, now the gate between the Teu- 
 ton and the Celt. In a year or two we shall pull it down and 
 build it up again to the west of Metz." 
 
 I went to bed after my dinner at the Hotel d'Angleterre. I 
 rolled myself up in the sheets, but I could not sleep. I looked 
 out of window and saw the horrible watchmen in long black 
 cloaks, who frightened me. They looked like fiends ; bat they 
 were not fiends, because they were very kind to an old French- 
 woman, who was very obstreperous and who apparently could 
 give no account of herself. I thought that this old lady looked 
 very like Mere Mathilde, but I was not sure. At last, trying bed 
 again, I got to sleep. But whatever turn my dreams took there 
 was the black gate at Treves being moved, stone after stone, off 
 my chest, and all through the middle of the night I was engaged 
 in removing each stone to the west side of Metz. Towards morn- 
 ing Marie appeared (in my dream), and pelted all the stones 
 merrily right and left, and so I slept heavily until the garcon came 
 and shook me roughly by the shoulder. 
 
 Then I rose, and having had my breakfast, went on the road to 
 Bittburg. I left Treves, the beautiful, by the northern gate. We 
 wished to have her, but we shall never get her now. The question 
 is, shall we get back Strassburg, or even Metz ? However, the 
 peace of continental Europe is impossible until we do. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 I walked very much faster than an old woman could possibly do, 
 and in one day I had arrived at Bittburg, twenty-three miles. 
 
74 VALENTIN : 
 
 Bittbnrg was by no means interesting, and I stayed only one day 
 and two nights for Jacques Cartier. I found it to be pleasanter 
 without him than with him; for, dear fellow as he was, I was 
 compelled to confess that he seemed always in trouble, and what 
 is more, seemed to be always getting me into trouble. I was 
 rather tired of it. 
 
 I had no fault to find with Bittbnrg. I had a little room 
 which opened on the street, a rather dull street. But my room 
 was very pleasant — I think the best room in the house, with abed 
 in a little alcove. The good woman of the house paid very par- 
 ticular attention to me, and the head of the gendarmerie (as we 
 should call it in France) came to see me. He told me that 
 although I had no passports, I could go in any direction I liked. 
 This was very civil, for indeed I had no passport at all, and I 
 thanked him very much. 
 
 " Little gentleman," he said, " I have a son just your age." 
 
 " I should like to know him, sir," I said. 
 
 " Well, you know his cousin." 
 
 " My friend of yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes. Now, my little man, I would not have sent him out on 
 such an expedition as this to save my life." 
 
 I hung my head. 
 
 " I do not think that your father is right. Yet your father is 
 a good man. See now, don't cry. Go where you will. Make a 
 holiday and enjoy yourself. I think a wolf will come to your door 
 to-night, little wehrwolf." 
 
 "A wolf, sir?" 
 
 "Ay, with bare legs," said the Prussian, laughing. And lo ! 
 a wolf did come. 
 
 I had gone to bed ; but I could not sleep, because of what he 
 had told me about the hare -legged wolf coming to the door. At 
 about twelve o'clock at night, I, lying awake, heard as plainly as 
 possible something moving at that door. I got out of bed and 
 looked out through the French windows. The street was still and 
 empty, and I could see nothing at all. I went to bed, and had 
 dropped off to sleep, when I heard as plainly as possible a very 
 small voice, coining from I know not where, say, "Valentin, my 
 feet are so cold." 
 
 I had been dreaming, and I had dreamt of a picture by M. Horace 
 Vernet, of the retreat from Moscow, and of a poor conscript lying 
 on the cold snow, with his feet turned up. I notice that the pic- 
 tures of M. Horace Vernet are apt to come to one in one's dreams, 
 I think, more than those of M. Gustave Dore. I dreamt, I say, of 
 this picture, and how our poor French lay down and died with 
 their feet to the sky. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 75 
 
 I thought that I was asleep. But the voice seemed natural. 
 Once more, " Valentin, my feet are as cold as death. Let me in, 
 for the memory of old Sedan." 
 
 " Old Moscow is what the ghost means," I said aloud. And I 
 was fairly roused by the voice saying, " Not Moscow, Valentin ; 
 Sedan, Sedan; let me in." 
 
 I was awake now, and I went to the door and opened it. 
 
 My brother Mark stood before me, shivering in the moonlight. 
 (You will remember that I did not know him for my brother.) 
 He said, 
 
 " Let me come in and lie on the floor, it was so cold outside 
 that I could not wait till morning." 
 
 " Were you waiting for me, Mark ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mere Mathilde is after you to fetch you back. You are 
 to be at Metz for two years ; now is your only chance of pure 
 liberty, my darling. Jacques Cartier is stopped ; we can go on. 
 Let us fly in the morning, and I will show you the most wonderful 
 things in the world. But my feet are so cold." 
 
 " Get into my bed, Mark, it is warm, and then we will talk." 
 
 He was not long in accepting my invitation, and I rolled my 
 Jersey shirt round his feet to warm them. I rolled the coat of 
 one of the 17th of the line round them at last ; but they were too 
 cold for warming then. 
 
 ''Valentin," he said, when we were in bed comfortably, "you 
 must come on with me." 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 " To the Eifel. You are your own master, you can go where 
 you choose. Let us escape to-morrow morning and leave those 
 others to find us. Mere Mathilde has been detained at Treves 
 for being turbulent : we are utterly free ; let us go on until we 
 are sent back." 
 
 Before we dropped to sleep, I had agreed. When I said " yes," 
 he rolled his heavy head over on my chest, and said, " We must 
 fly early, my feet are very cold." And then I went to sleep in 
 good earnest, and dreamt persistently of Moscow and the passage 
 of the Beresina. I dreamt also of Marie, and of many things ; 
 but dreams are always of the past, never of the future. 
 
 Or I should have dreamt of the warm feet now twined in mine, 
 cold for ever. I should have dreamt of a shattered wall and a 
 very pretty boy in a drummer's dress, against whose breast General 
 Von Alvenstein put his finger, and said, 
 
 " Madame Schneider, you must go back. I know all ; I cannot 
 allow you to follow these two English ladies." 
 
76 VALENTIN : 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 I have often seen summer clays which ended in thunderstorms. 
 I have been out, for my part, gathering spring flowers in the 
 afternoon, and at night have arrived home drenched and miser- 
 able. For me now it is all equal. Providence has afflicted us 
 bitterly, and Marie and I pray that the affliction may do us good. 
 You English are unable to understand the depth of our affliction : 
 everything has gone well with you. I cannot perceive how you 
 could have helped us, yet you will forgive a Frenchman for going 
 half mad over his ruin. 
 
 To pleasanter matters. I was by no means half mad when 
 I awoke Mark at Bittburg. That time was the summer day of 
 my life. I was young, innocent, pure, audacious, and I was 
 bound on a great holiday. Mark and I stood alone in the street 
 together, without one single care, or one single hope which 
 troubled us. 
 
 Stay, there was a single hope, and only one. The hope of 
 penetrating beyond that sheet of yellow rolling down, which 
 spread above Bittburg, and of seeing the wonders which those 
 downs enclosed. There was a hope, and it was realised. 
 
 Mark and I went arm in arm for a little ; but then we parted, 
 for we were in the forest, and there was but one track through 
 the copsewood. I had my fishing-rod, and he told me to get it 
 ready. That was not exactly possible, as the forest was so thick, 
 but I did my best. I had my English trout tackle perfectly ready 
 in five minutes after Mark and I sat down by the side of a little 
 stream which he told me was the Kyll. 
 
 That is a very lovely stream. Your English streams are purer, 
 possibly, but I have seen few of them, and must not speak. Your 
 Itchen is wonderfully pure, yet not, I assert, more pure than our 
 Arques. To compare the Kyll with the Arques or the Itchen, 
 would be absurd. I do not do so. I think that for perfect beauty 
 of surroundings, the Kyll would surpass any English or French 
 river. One place, where the stream comes through the magnesian 
 limestone was so beautiful, that I christened it " The Nymph's 
 Bath." A young Englishman, of the county of Derbyshire, now 
 studying as a cadet at the college of Woolwich, in England, tells 
 me that these glens in the Eifel are far surpassed by the glens in 
 Derbyshire. He is of the most excellent, this young man from 
 Woolwich. He says that he has a plan by which there shall be 
 no more war at all, and that all nations shall live in peace for 
 ever. His name is Jones, and he belongs to your engineers. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 77 
 
 Possibly, I am wrong in giving his name, because it might make 
 injury to him, and stop his promotion. That, however, I do not 
 believe, with a nation so generous as yours is. 
 
 Jones happened to be fishing on the Kyll, when Mark and I 
 arrived at the banks of that stream. Jones happened to have 
 hitched his flies up on the other side, and so happened to meet 
 us without a rag on his body, he having taken oil' his clothes to 
 recover his flies. I put it to you as a young English gentleman 
 whether you can tell another gentleman to be a gentleman if he is 
 stark naked. I can't. I asked him whatever he was doing 
 there ; and he told me to ask my grandmother (she has been dead 
 these twenty years), and also offered to knock my head off. I 
 declined both propositions ; and by degrees, as his clothes went 
 on, I saw that I was speaking to a gentleman. 
 
 Oddly enough, Mark says that he knew he was a gentleman 
 from the first, because his feet were so white and clean, and that 
 his nails were like filbert-nuts. Well, that is only what Mark 
 said. 
 
 Jones got his clothes on, and I saw at once that he was a 
 gentleman. Jones spoke French very well for an Englishman, 
 and he thought that my brother Mark was a gipsy ; to tell the 
 truth I thought so too. Jones was puzzled about me entirely, 
 and took me for granted, as something of which he had not read 
 in Cuvier. 
 
 "I see you have an English rod," he said. " Let us fish up 
 the stream to Kyllburg — I on one side, you on the other. Your 
 handsome gipsy friend is coming, I suppose. Do you know this 
 country, my lad ? I want to see Kyllburg." 
 
 " Fish up, and you will see it, Englishman," said Mark. 
 
 And so we worked up the stream. We caught in the slow parts 
 of the stream chub and grayling, in the sharper parts of the 
 stream we got trout. Before we got to Kyllburg, the Englishman 
 had left me. I was just landing a small chub with the assistance 
 of Mark, when he came back. 
 
 " Come with me, my boy," he said. 
 
 I left my rod and went with him. He pushed aside the briers 
 and brambles, as I followed him. We stood by a still pool by the 
 river, and I looked for the first time at Kyllburg. 
 
 Prince Frederick Charles, do you ever dream ? If you ever 
 dream, try to dream of Kyllburg. Until you awakened its echoes 
 with your drums and trumpets as you marched to ruin France last 
 year, those echoes had not been awakened for four centuries. 
 
 A mass of tangled vegetation, and through the vegetation the 
 noble red sandstone cloisters asserting themselves. I am as 
 
73 VALENTIN : 
 
 utterly unable to describe Kyllburg, as I am to describe Mont St. 
 Michel. I looked on the formulated red sandstone cloisters, and 
 the (apparently) unformulated vegetation, and I said to the 
 Englishman, 
 
 " Tell me about this." 
 
 He almost whispered, 
 
 " This is the death of an idea," he said ; " the men who piled 
 those beautiful stones together thought that they could have peace 
 in this world. You see the ruin of their work. Women and 
 idiots may get peace, but no man. Be as silent as death, boy. 
 Give me your carbine ; is it loaded ? " 
 
 I gave it to him. 
 
 " Watch those roses, those wild-brier roses," he whispered to 
 me ; "how prettily they trail over that pillar. The dead monks 
 might even admire the ruins of their own creation. Give me 
 another cartridge." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 He raised the carbine to his shoulder, took a steady aim, and 
 fired right into the roses. 
 
 In one instant a desperately wounded wolf bounded out and 
 stood at bay before us with grinning fangs. 
 
 For the life of me I cannot say why I ran on to the wolf to 
 prevent a second shot. It was a kind of mad, stupid instinct. 
 The beast was on his haunches when I approached him. I heard 
 the Englishman shout, " Stand aside, I have another cartridge." 
 I heard Mark say, " It matters nothing, he is the wolf's brother, 
 he is wehrwolf." Then the beast met my eyes and turned over 
 stone-dead before me. And then, as it seemed to me, I passed 
 into the garden of the Arsaciclre, and remained there some 
 time. 
 
 The fact was that my ague was on me again, and I had fainted 
 away. Mark says that I fell flat on the wolf, and that the 
 Englishman was half mad at not being able to put another bullet 
 into him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 I promise that no grass grew under our feet. Mark struck away 
 from the main road at once, through a dell fringed with copse- 
 wood, a dell which carried its waters towards the Moselle. I can, 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 7 ( J 
 
 see his pretty bare feet brushing through the impatiens and the 
 geranium as I write. The stream was a very small one where 
 we hit it, but other streams came in and made it larger and 
 larger. At last there was a cascade, and I wanted Mark to go 
 down and bathe under it, but Mark said, " No, we must push up 
 aloft at present." And so we clambered through the woods until 
 I was nearly tired. 
 
 " Mark," I said, " we are following in a path." 
 
 " To be sure we are," he said, " and we are nearly at the end 
 of it. Now load your gun, and keep perfectly steady. When he 
 rises at us, fire here." 
 
 My pretty brother took my hand and laid it on his jugular 
 vein. 
 
 "Between the cheek and shoulder, you know," said Mark. 
 " He will in all probability charge, in which case jump over his 
 back and dodge behind a tree till you have loaded again. Don't 
 let him catch you between the legs. He is not difficult to 
 escape." 
 
 " But who is lie ? " I asked, not, I confess, without anxiety. 
 
 " Who is who ? " said Mark. 
 
 " I mean, whom am I going to shoot ? " 
 
 " Why," said Mark, " Old Moses, to be sure. I love you, 
 little gentleman, and I think you love me. We are out on 
 pleasure together, and I want to give you the best pleasure. 
 Our people tracked old Moses to his frank, and I have given you 
 the chance of killing him. I can tell you that the priest at 
 Mauderscheid would give me twenty-five francs to put him where 
 you are now." 
 
 " But who is Old Moses ? " I once more asked. 
 
 " Why, don't you know ? He is the largest wild boar in the 
 Eifel. I know of one larger in the Ardennes, but old Moses is 
 the largest in the Eifel. The priest at Lazel had a try at him 
 with one dog, and he killed the dog and wounded the priest in 
 the leg. That was when he was quite young, a mere pig. He is 
 an old boar now, and will spare nothing. It is a matter of life or 
 death to attack him." 
 
 "I think," I said, "that some other amusement would be 
 better." 
 
 " You need not be afraid, dear," said my unknown brother. 
 " If you miss when he charges, I will stand close to you and 
 throw myself on him while you reload. I shall have my knife. 
 I may kill him with it if you have wounded him with your shot ; 
 but if I fail, for mercy's sake don't hesitate a second time in 
 firing for fear of hitting me. Remember that your life is worth a 
 
80 VALENTIN : 
 
 hundred times mine. I am only a poor dog, and you are a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Mark," I said, very quickly, " I don't like this adventure ; it 
 is extremely dangerous." 
 
 "Why, of course," said Mark, "it is very dangerous — the 
 sort of thing for an Englishman. Why, an English officer in 
 India will walk up to a tiger and shoot him stone dead before he 
 has time to spring. }\ T e are not less courageous than the 
 English." 
 
 I said "Certainly not;" but I could not help wondering 
 whether the English officers who shot tigers on foot felt exactly the 
 same anxiety about their personal safety as I did when I was 
 going to attack the great wild boar of the Eifel. I reflected, how- 
 ever, that I was a Frenchman. I am told that your Lord Nelson 
 at the Battle of Trafalgar signalled to his fleet, " England expects 
 every man to do his duty." I think that is a very fine sentiment. 
 The duty was to fire the guns with rapidity and precision 
 until we and the Spaniards had left off. That duty was done 
 well and we were beaten. (It was that grand bete Napoleon, who 
 never, in passing, was a Frenchman at all, but a Corsican, an 
 Italian-Greek, who forced out Yilleneuve) . The duty of the 
 English was to stand by their guns. My duty was to follow 
 Mark. 
 
 I beg of you to reflect. 
 
 When a nation loses honour and the power of courage, she has 
 lost everything which is worth having. That nation can live no 
 longer — she may exist. 
 
 In matters of national honour the slightest boy or the weakest 
 woman can give the key-note to a trumpet which will rouse a 
 nation to utter desperation and to ultimate triumph. You want 
 examples ? He ! Men done : 
 
 The death of Madame Garibaldi ended in the freedom and 
 consolidation of Italy. 
 
 " What song is that which you English boys sing called 
 " Casabianca " ? Casabianca was a French boy, yet there is 
 surely not an English boy who does not envy him his death. 
 
 Look once more at Gambetta's hair-dressers' and linendrapers' 
 apprentices, who at the last moment rode with scarlet trousers 
 and white cloaks straight at the Prussians before Paris. They 
 could not fight, but those young men were not dastards. 
 
 Those who undervalue the courage of the French might find 
 themselves terribly mistaken. 
 
 Why do I say this ? Why, because I wish to draw a moral. 
 I am not in the least degree answerable for the morality of my 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 81 
 
 moral. Take it as you find it. The members of a great nation 
 dare not be cowards. 
 
 No, depend upon that. For me, I am not particularly 
 courageous ; for example, I used to cry when I was left alone in 
 the dark when I was young. But mutter the word " France " in 
 my ear, and I will go to the stake at once. As for crying, you 
 cannot turn that against us, because your own terrible Colling- 
 wood, when he was sent on board ship at ten years old, sat down 
 on a gun and cried like a baby ; and when the lieutenant came to 
 him and told him not to cry, and said they would be kind to him, 
 little Collingwood offered the lieutenant the cake which his 
 mother had given him. I think that your Collingwood was almost 
 worthy of being a Frenchman. 
 
 The last remark, however, is a little too strong. I am no 
 Chauvinist, but I do not acknowledge the equality of any nation 
 with the French. At the same time, I had better recur to the 
 actual facts which occurred in this wonderful boar-hunt. 
 
 The boar's frank was among a lot of tangled briers. I could 
 actually see the beast's hide as he lay asleep. 
 
 We had a short conversation. 
 
 " You see his rump ? " said Mark. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Now calculate where his heart is, and fire ; then load again 
 like lightning, for he will be on us." 
 
 I heard a stealthy footstep behind me, and felt a touch on my 
 shoulder. It was only a half-naked young man, one of the 
 ubiquitous Carbonari. 
 
 " Fire straight through that rose," he said ; and I did so. It 
 was like lighting a powder magazine. The beast, with a noise 
 between a grunt and a roar, was on his haunches at once, looking 
 round for his enemies. I had loaded again before he made an 
 effort to charge. It was a feeble effort only. I put another 
 bullet into his head and he dropped dead ; to ravage the potato- 
 fields no more. 
 
 The young man took possession of him, and sold him to the 
 landlord of the hotel at Treves, as I afterwards learnt. Mean- 
 while Mark hurried me away over the hillside. 
 
82 VALENTIN : 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " There are no vines here," I said to Mark. 
 
 " No," he said, " we are out of the region of vines. The 
 vines here only grow about the rivers, and we are beyond rivers 
 now— we are among the lakes. Climb this last hill bravely 
 and you shall see one, such a one as you have never seen before." 
 
 How there could be a lake on the summit of the high down 
 covered with short grass, I could not imagine ; but when we got 
 to the top I gave a loud cry almost of alarm, for I was on the 
 edge of the Schalkenmar, and one false step would have sent me 
 rolling down two hundred feet into the forty fathoms of water, 
 which is without any shore whatever. As it was, one foot slipped 
 on the slippery grass, and Mark seized me, for, heavily laden as 
 I was, I must inevitably have been drowned had I rolled over. 
 
 There was a vast hollow depression in the hills about three- 
 quarters of a mile in diameter, but only at one place a small cliff 
 of rock. All round this turf sloped clown nearly perpendicular 
 into the water, the profound depth of which was shown by its 
 being of a sapphire blue. Salt water shows the sapphire blue at 
 forty fathoms, as our sailors tell us, but fresh water at a much 
 greater depth. A German professor tried to fathom this lake, 
 but found no bottom at two hundred and forty English feet. One 
 of the horrible things about it is that it has no outlet at all, but 
 is hemmed in on all sides by a perfectly level line of downs 
 without a break. People who have once seen it never forget it. 
 It strikes me with terror in my dreams even now. There is not 
 a tree or a bush round it, and it is as terrible now when filled 
 with water as it was in old times, when it was a roaring volcano, 
 casting stones and fire all around the neighbouring country. 
 
 " What an awful place," I said, " what an awful land ! But, 
 Mark, is there no way by which the water gets out? " 
 
 " No," said Mark. " Once it was an opening out of hell, and 
 the fire and smoke used to burst out, but the good St. Christopher, 
 who bore Christ through the river Jordan, prayed to the bon Dieu, 
 and the bon Dieu filled it up with water. And then Lazarus, who 
 lies in the bosom of Abraham, prayed also the bon Dieu that He 
 would let the water drip out of the bottom of it in hell, and cool 
 the tongue of Dives in torment. The bon Dieu agreed to that, 
 because He loved the kindness of Lazarus towards a man who 
 had been unkind to him when he was living. So when there is a 
 long drought, you can hear Dives crying for water, but when the 
 lake is at its full height, Dives is silent." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 
 
 But- 
 
 " Ah, wait ; you do not know all. When the drought is very 
 long, a shepherd's dog runs away, and, coming this way, goes 
 down there, leaps into the lake, and disappears. That dog is 
 one of the descendants of the dogs that licked the sores of 
 Lazarus, which goes to ask Lazarus to plead with the bon Dieu 
 for rain. You see Dives fed the dogs but neglected Lazarus, so 
 they plead for him. After a dog drowns himself in this lake rain 
 always conies." 
 
 I thought it highly improbable, but I kept my opinions to my- 
 self. " Who told you this — well — legend ? " I asked. 
 
 " Mere Mathilde ; and she said that it was a very good legend, 
 because it shows that the bon Dieu has pity even on souls supposed 
 to be lost." 
 
 " You must not say such things," I answered. " The story is 
 a foolish story, an old woman's story. What does Mere Mathilde 
 know of religion ? Leave such things to the priest." 
 
 Mark promised that he would do so ; and we had a little 
 religious conversation, which showed me that he was actually 
 ignorant of the very first principles of Christianity. He thought 
 that Joshua was a Prussian, and that Samson had carried away 
 the great gates of Thionville, and was afterwards engaged in the 
 burning of Moscow. I decline to repeat all I gathered from him 
 as to his notions of New Testament history, as we lay together in 
 the short grass over the lake. For example, I asked him, " Who 
 was St. Paul? " He answered that he was the Paris gentleman 
 who had the contract for the tents at Chalons, but who had 
 quarrelled with Marshal Niel. He had heard about St. Paul's 
 having been a tent-maker evidently, but further than that he 
 seemed to know nothing. " Who was St. Peter? " He was the 
 Pope ? and Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi would have hung him 
 long ago, only Mazzini and Victor Emmanuel had fallen out, 
 because Victor Emmanuel had discouraged the Carbonari. He 
 appeared to have a dim notion of contemporary politics, but none 
 whatever of religion. I asked him if he went to church. He 
 replied, rather proudly, that he was not a woman. I could do 
 nothing with him, he was lost in ignorance ; but there are many 
 such. I was determined to consult my father and mother about 
 him. I had not taken my first communion then, but I made a 
 secret vow that if Heaven gave me grace, this poor outcast, Mark, 
 should go to the altar with me. 
 
 I burst into tears. I loved him so well, and yet we had no 
 hope, no aspiration in common. He asked me why I wept ; and 
 before the sun set behind the hill, I had told him the whole great 
 
84 VALENTIN : 
 
 story of the Redemption, and he sat on the grass and stared at me 
 in wonder. 
 
 " Why, Christ was a hundred times greater than Mazzini him- 
 self," he said, "and the son of the hon Dieu ! And He rose 
 from the dead ! Let us leave here now and seek Him. The 
 Freres Chretiens arc wise men ; they will tell us where He is. If 
 we can find Him, as we will, we will tell Him how hardly we poor 
 folks live, and He will mend that. Let us go hence, you and I, 
 and seek Him through the world." 
 
 " But He has ascended into Heaven," I said. 
 
 " Up there ? " he answered, pointing aloft. 
 
 " Ay, hut He will hear us if we call on Him," I said. " He is 
 not here, but He is risen. He will come again when the world is 
 fit for Him, and then there will he peace." 
 
 " Let us ask Him to come quickly," said Mark. 
 
 We did so. We knelt down together on the bare down, and I 
 prayed with him. I ended by praying that Christ would come as 
 soon as the world was fit for Him, and give that universal peace 
 which existed on the night of His birth. 
 
 We rose from our knees, and Mark said, " The world is not fit 
 for Him yet. We must wait." 
 
 The answer to our prayer had come. On the opposite down, 
 across the lake, was a squadron of Prussian cavalry — blue, silver, 
 and gold — wending along under the westering sun. We had (jot 
 our answer for the time. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "Lend me your carbine, Valentin," whispered Mark. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I could pick off one of those men," said Mark. " Nothing 
 would be more easy." 
 
 " And what would be the use of that ? " I asked. 
 
 " There would be one less." 
 
 " You, however, would be hung for doing it, and so there would 
 be one less on our side." 
 
 "That is true," said Mark, very quietly. "I did not think 
 of that. Let us go round the lake and hear what they are say- 
 ing. Be stupid, you Valentin ; do not understand German. I 
 might get my knife into one of them to-night, for all you know." 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 85 
 
 " Mark, Mark ! have we not been praying together ? " I said. 
 
 " Yes ; and the bon Dieu sent an answer to our prayer in the 
 form of a Prussian squadron. It is certain to me that the bon 
 Dieu will have us fight. I will have one of those men before the 
 morning." 
 
 "We are not at war, Mark," I said ; "and even if we were, 
 such an act would be sheer assassination. In any case it is 
 against the laws of war." 
 
 "Laws of war!" said Mark; "you are talking nonsense. 
 There can be no law in a practice which puts aside all law. What 
 is the case ? The Germans wish to ruin us, and we wish to ruin 
 the Germans. That is fair, is it not ? " 
 
 I said, "Yes." 
 
 " Good," said Mark. " In war you wish to kill your enemy. 
 Is it not so ? " 
 
 I said, " Certainly." 
 
 " Why not, then," said Mark, " stop all war by killing your 
 chief enemy before the war begins ? The assassination of one 
 man might stop the whole thing. If on the opposite hill you saw 
 Frederick William, von Moltke, or Bismarck, would you not fire 
 on them ? ' ' 
 
 " Not in time of peace," I said ; " that would be the act of a 
 scoundrel." 
 
 "You are a fool," he answered, fiercely. "Give me that 
 carbine." 
 
 He fell on me and struggled with me for it. He was stronger 
 than I, but I retained possession of it, not, I am sorry to 
 say, without bruising him heavily on the head with the butt end 
 of it. 
 
 He was dazed and partially stunned. He sat up on the grass, 
 and said, " May Heaven forgive you." 
 
 I was at his feet in one moment. " I only did it to save you, 
 Mark." 
 
 " To save me, ay, I know," said Mark ; " but you might have 
 let me save France first. You have done a very foolish thing, and 
 forty thousand dead men will curse you for ever. I could have 
 hit that man, if you had not fought me. I cannot now, for my 
 bead is bad. Curse him ! I might get my knife in his ribs, 
 though. Look at him, and curse him ! " 
 
 I was rather surprised at this outbreak of Mark's, and I was 
 very much alarmed at it. I looked at the Prussian officer on the 
 other side of the Schalkenmar. He was a tall man, who sat his 
 horse well ; and he had brought his horse to the very edge of the 
 slippery gazon, and was looking into the lake, two hundred feet 
 
86 VALENTIN : 
 
 below him. The distance was, as I now know, three hundred 
 and fifty yards ; and if Mark had killed his horse, he would 
 have fallen into the lake hopelessly. I felt that we had had an 
 escape, and I felt also that I was with a very dangerous com- 
 panion. I looked at the Prussian officer, and then I turned to 
 Mark. 
 
 " Mark, if argument will do nothing, love may do somewhat." 
 
 "Well." 
 
 " Let us go hack to Sedan." 
 
 " Let me kill that man first." 
 
 " No, no ; I will not have it," I answered. 
 
 11 Well, then, see," said Mark. " You go hack to Sedan, and 
 leave me to kill him." 
 
 " You shall not do it ; I will kill you first," I said. 
 
 " My darling," said Mark, " do you think I would mind being 
 killed by you ? I will stand up and you shall shoot me dead. 
 You do not know what you are doing when you forbid me to kill 
 this man." 
 
 " I will have no assassination." 
 
 " But, see, my brother ; he sits there with his horse's hoofs on 
 the verge of the gazon glacis. We could kill him so easily now. 
 Give me your carbine." 
 
 I held my carbine the tighter. " What is the use of shooting 
 Prussian officers ? " I said rather vaguely. 
 
 "Not much," said Mark. "Kill one, and you get a dozen 
 in their place. But this one surely has been given into our 
 hands." 
 
 " This one ! " I said. " Do you know him, then ? " 
 
 "Do not you? " 
 
 " Not I." 
 
 " Why, it is our bitterest enemy — it is the Prince Frederick 
 Charles. You will give me your carbine, will 3-011 not ? " 
 
 Let us thank Heaven that such fearful temptations come seldom 
 in the life of a man. My first instinct was to hold my carbine 
 very tight, because I determined that, if the thing was to be 
 done, I could do it myself, and not let Mark do it. Then I 
 had a petulant wish that the Prince would go away, and not 
 tempt me ; but the Prince sat in thought, and peered into the 
 lake. 
 
 He little know what awful danger he was in. One shot would 
 have brought him and his horse down two hundred feet. But I 
 could not do it. The carbine was loaded, and a wild duck flew 
 over the surface of the lake. I pretended to fire at the duck, and 
 so emptied the carbine. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 87 
 
 "You missed him," said Mark in a whisper. " Ho sits there 
 on his horse still. Give me another cartridge and your carbine, 
 and I will kill him for you." 
 
 " On the contrary," I said, "we will walk round the lake and 
 talk to him." 
 
 " That is very just," said Mark. " I give my word that I will 
 not molest him. Let us hear what this dog has to say." 
 
 So, passing round the end of the lake, we came among the 
 Prussian cavalry. 
 
 Mark was by no means a had actor. I rather flatter myself 
 that I am an exceedingly good one, though my friends disagree 
 with me. At all events, Mark could act well enough to imitate 
 me. Our role was the role d'ingSnu, and we did it to perfection ; 
 at least, I did it to perfection — Mark, my brother, overdid it a 
 little. 
 
 For example, we first came on two Uhlans with lances and 
 flags. We spoke to them. Both Mark and I knew German ; 
 but our utter and entire ignorance of it then cannot be described. 
 We knew nothing on earth but French. The two young men 
 spoke to us iii German ; but we were so utterly and stolidly 
 ignorant of that language, that they lost their tempers, and called 
 us names. At this, Mark winked at me, and one of the young 
 men saw him do it. 
 
 To put matters entirely right, and to disarm suspicion, I took 
 Mark round and round these two young men, and discoursed 
 about their personal appearance in French. I pointed out to him 
 their eyes, their nose, and their moustaches. Finally, to crown 
 all, I went up to one of the young men, took his foot out of the 
 stirrup, and, holding it in my hand, pointed out to bare-legged 
 Mark that the spur of the German was longer than that of the 
 French. 
 
 You may destroy France, Poland, or Ireland, but you will never 
 destroy the unutterable impudence of those three nations. And 
 please, young English gentleman, who lives at home at ease, 
 answer me this ; Would you not sacrifice everything short of your 
 soul to be friends with Ireland ? You know you would. What 
 we have done for Poland you would do for Ireland. To tell the 
 truth, you are doing more for Ireland than any one has ever done 
 for us. But, young English gentleman, think of old France 
 brought down to this level. Don't be angry with us if we tear at 
 our chain ; you would tear at yours. We cannot bear it much 
 longer. One desperate rally there will be, and then we shall die 
 as a nation. But I wander a little. My argument is, that 
 although we may perish as a nation politically, yet we shall still 
 
88 VALENTIN : 
 
 remain as peculiar a nation as the Jews, in consequence of our 
 illimitable impudence. 
 
 We left the two young Uhlans, and at once inspected the staff- 
 officers. They understood French, and so my remarks told. I 
 took Mark up to one solemn hauptmann, and discussed his 
 personal appearance and the state of his horse. I took up that 
 horse's hind foot, and held it in my hand, discoursing to Mark as 
 to the had shoeing of German horses. The hauptmann was begin- 
 ning to get angry at this liberty ; but I heard the staff-officer in 
 gold spectacles, who sat next him, say, 
 
 " Let the boy do what he likes. He is mad. He is the little 
 Schneider of Sedan. He sleeps with the wolves. He is a Carbo- 
 naro. Let him get on to the Prince." 
 
 I put down the horse's foot, and went on just as if I had heard 
 nothing at all. Mark, however, was not so fortunate. The staff- 
 officer in gold spectacles hunted him back, and I went on to the 
 Prince alone. 
 
 I have known strong men, in good health, who were nervous at 
 being presented to the Emperor. I, poor young lad, with many 
 guilty secrets, was going alone to see Prince Frederick Charles. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The Prince Frederick Charles turned to me and told me to wait. 
 I had never seen a real prince before, and so I looked at this one 
 and examined him very carefully. 
 
 I was very much impressed with him. You ask me, as a 
 Frenchman, "Did I like him?" I answer, as a Frenchman, 
 that I liked him very much indeed. The most amiable princes 
 I have seen are the Emperor Napoleon, the Crown Prince of 
 Saxony, the Prince do Joinville, and Prince Frederick Charles. 
 He looked steadily on his right, and at last he put his hand down 
 on my shoulder, turned my face to his, and said, 
 
 " Well, my pretty little spy, you will not make any great 
 success in* your present business." 
 
 " In what business, your highness ? " 
 
 " In the business of a spy," said the terrible Prince. 
 
 " I am no spy, your Highness." 
 
 " Your pretty frank face and your eyes tell me that. What is 
 the distance between your house at Sedan and Madame De- 
 branche's at Mezieres ? " 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 89 
 
 "I decline to answer that, your Highness," I replied. 
 
 "As if I did not know," said the Prince, laughing. " If every 
 Frenchman was as loyal as you are, we should have great trouble 
 with you. Where is that little scoundrel, Mark ? " 
 
 I was utterly astonished at his knowing of Mark's existence, j 
 told him where Mark was. 
 
 " Tell him to mind what he is about," said the Prince. " The 
 pitcher that goes often to the well is broken at last. I am afraid 
 that he is a sad little rascal. Can you ride? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I can ride well. I had a pony once." 
 
 " And broke his knees on the chaussee in Bazeilles, I doubt 
 not," said the Prince. 
 
 "Your Highness does not know Bazeilles, I see," I replied 
 volubly. 
 
 " No ; I was never there," said the Prince. 
 
 "Ah ! " I said; "but you should go. The road — macadam, 
 I think they call it — is an English road, with fine trees on each 
 side." 
 
 "Trees, eh?" 
 
 " Yes, most beautiful trees. And also the street is not wide at 
 all ; and when you come to the end of the street, you can see 
 right into Sedan." 
 
 ' ' It must be a pretty place ; but Fond de Givonne, that is 
 prettier." 
 
 " One of the pleasantest places in the world," I said, proud of 
 talking to a real prince. " You should come out and gather the 
 autumn crocuses on the hill between Fond de Givonne and Givonne 
 itself. Hah, dear prince, the view on that hill is lovely. You 
 look straight into Sedan and beyond La Chapelle " 
 
 The Prince turned on me and said, very emphatically, "Hold 
 your tongue, boy. If you are a fool, remember that I am a 
 gentleman. Say no more." 
 
 I could not conceive what he meant at that time ; but when I 
 saw the white Arabs of the Chasseurs d'Afrique wandering about 
 riderless, masterless, seeking for water on the same hill, I saw 
 that I was a fool and that he was a gentleman. 
 
 With all their Uhlans, they never found out one thing. The 
 road, cursed by all Frenchmen for ever, which runs into Fond de 
 Givonne, between the potato-field and the cornfield (as the crops 
 were on the 1st of September), runs through a deep cutting. In 
 five minutes more I should have told him that ; but he was a 
 gentleman, and stopped me. The road in their map is set down 
 as level. I might have saved one thousand lives by telling him 
 the truth ; but he stopped me because he did not think it right 
 
90 VALENTIN : 
 
 for a gentleman to get information from a boy, But here are the 
 facts as I look at them. The horrible slaughter of the 17th of 
 the line in the potato-field occurred simply because the Saxons 
 were not aware that the road went down through a cutting. A 
 Saxon officer told me that his colonel ordered the first company 
 to double back through the second, when he came to this obstacle. 
 He then countermarched his regiment round his centre, with what 
 object I am unable to state, not believing in German regimental 
 tactics ; and then the French were aroused from their beds, 
 "than which," said the Saxon engineer officer, "nothing has 
 happened more disgraceful to the art of war since those turbulent 
 riots which occurred during the civil war in America, and which it 
 pleases the Americans to call great battles." 
 
 Well, the Prince was very good to me. He was cruel to us, 
 you say. I ask, have you never been cruel ? We were very 
 cruel to his nation ; it was his time for revanche. You English 
 have been more cruel than any, except the French. You have 
 no right to rail against the Germans for their punishment of us. 
 We lost, and we have paid ; we may pay in another manner some 
 day. But you English, what right have you to speak of the 
 Germans in this sanctimonious way ? The quarrel was a very 
 old one ; it was fairly fought out, and the Germans won. We 
 had to pay. But if you say the Germans were cruel, look at 
 yourselves, my friend. How did you get and keep India ? How 
 did you get Canada? Last, and worst of all, how did you get 
 your new provinces, one might almost call them kingdoms, of 
 Australia and New Zealand ? I see your answer in your eyes. 
 They were inferior nations. Quite so ; but we French are apt to 
 be logical. Were the French and Spaniards at Saint Sebastian 
 of the inferior races ? No ; I admire your insular Chauvinisms 
 immensely, but you will hardly go so far as to say that the French 
 and Spaniards belong to the inferior races. The man who says 
 that the French did not fight well at Sedan is a liar. 
 
 I lose my temper. I heat myself unnecessarily. It is the 
 French way. We are as proud as you are, which is saying 
 much : and sometimes I enrage myself over this German occu- 
 pation. Bismarck has been a fool about that. We would have 
 paid him every penny, but he should not have insulted us 
 by putting an execution in our house. And we have behaved very 
 well. I know I should not like to leave a French army of occupa- 
 tion in England on such terms ; very few of them would come 
 back. But you, with the strip of silver sea, could repudiate any 
 treaty forced down your throats in a moment of desperation, and 
 you could hem yourselves in with an iron band, making commerce 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 91 
 
 impossible to other nations. You are the arbiters of the world's 
 fate. Keep your trust, and keep it honestly. 
 
 Prince Frederick Charles might have been thinking of all these 
 things, or, on the other hand (as is very probable), he might not. 
 He, however, got off his horse, and told me to come and have 
 mittagsessen with him. I complied at once, as a hungry boy 
 would, and we sat on the grass together and had sausage and 
 white wine. 
 
 The prince seemed to take a great fancy for me. At one time 
 he asked me for bread, and as I was cutting it he passed his hand 
 over my hair. Mere Mathilde says that he had a son who was 
 drowned at my age. Of this I know nothing ; I only say that the 
 terrible Prince, who has left a red band on the map of Europe 
 from Sierck on the Moselle to Paris on the Seine, seemed to me 
 one of the gentlest and kindest of human beings. Look at your 
 own Nelson. Was he not kind ? See what he did at Naples. 
 
 We were so comfortable together that I should quite have for- 
 gotten that he was a prince at all, had it not been that a solitary 
 lancer stood in front of us, lance to heel. I had got so familiar 
 with the Prince, that I was going to ask him whether the young- 
 man might not dismount and have his dinner, when the young 
 man solved the difficulty. He waved his lance three times to the 
 right, jumped off his horse, took off his helmet and hung it on his 
 arm, and then knelt bareheaded in the sun. 
 
 " Get up," said the Prince to me. " It is the King." 
 
 I rose and saw him. His face is familiar enough to all of us now, 
 so I need not describe it. He held his hand shading his face, and 
 he said, " Frederick, I wish to speak to you." They went apart — 
 Frederick Charles on foot, bareheaded, and bending low, and they 
 talked together, about what I know not. 
 
 Two gentlemen were left sitting on horseback, behind them 
 were eight or ten Uhlans, as they are called ; who knows why ? I 
 looked at these two gentlemen with great interest, because it so 
 happened that I had never seen two such gentlemen before. 
 
 One had a dark moustache, and looked very wan and worn. 
 The other was much older, apparently a very old man ; but his 
 beardless face actually looked younger than the handsome face of 
 the man with the moustache. The old man had an immensely 
 powerful face ; but the younger one, though his face was very 
 powerfully cast, had a restless look, as though he was either 
 suffering or thinking — in fact, he was doing both. 
 
 I gazed on them intensely. I cannot say why, maybe I have 
 some genius. As I was looking at them, the man with the 
 moustache, who had evidently been riding hard, took out his 
 
92 VALENTIN : 
 
 pocket-handkerchief to wipe his face. He dropped it, and I ran 
 forward, picked it up, and gave it to him. 
 
 He took it from me, and smiled at me — such a weary, dull 
 smile. 
 
 " You are a French hoy, surely," said von Bismakck. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I should have guessed so from your looks and your politeness. 
 This is a pretty hoy, general." 
 
 Von Moltke turned and looked at me. 
 
 " He is a very pretty hoy, indeed. Where do you come from, 
 my child ? " 
 
 " From Sedan, sir." 
 
 Von Moltke gave one glance at von Bismarck, and then looked 
 over my head. I heard a deep voice say, 
 
 " What hoy is this ? " 
 
 " A hoy from Sedan, sire," said von Moltke. 
 
 I turned and looked. Behind me were the King and Prince 
 Frederick Charles ; in front of me were von Bismarck and von 
 Moltke. As I looked on the four stern faces I lost nerve. I 
 cannot tell why, but I would have given anything to cry. I 
 turned to the King, and I said, 
 
 " If you please, sire, I want to go to Mark." 
 
 The Prince (who spared Audun la Tige) said suddenly, 
 
 " This is a very nice hoy, sire. Let him go to his brother 
 Mark." 
 
 The Prince little thought that he was unconsciously telling me 
 what I did not know myself. The King smiled kindly on me, and 
 then they rode away. As they went I heard the King say, 
 
 " The boy is from Mezieres, is he not? " 
 
 And Bismarck said, 
 
 " From Sedan." 
 
 Then I was on the bleak down alone. I saw the King, the 
 Prince, von Moltke, and von Bismarck go trotting through the 
 grass, followed by a steel-blue line of cavalry, over the hill 
 towards the Gemunden Maar. There was no blood on their horses 
 feet then. 
 
 But I was alone on the down, and the wind in the grass at my 
 feet whispered, " Whence comes this boy ? " 
 
 And the swallows over my head replied, "From Sedan. From 
 Sedan." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 93 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 1 have now conic to the end of my long summer's holiday, and 
 take an entirely new position before you. I am from henceforth 
 no longer the wandering French hoy, but the young French 
 student. Your English judges, I see, always tell the jury entirely 
 to dismiss from their minds the very facts which they have been 
 thinking of for the last three weeks in all probability ; which 
 seems to a Frenchman odd. I ask you, as a young English 
 gentleman, to dismiss from your mind all that I have written to 
 you previously. According to your English law of jurisprudence, 
 that is entirely logical. You are now to know nothing whatever 
 of Mere Mathilde and Mere Christine, of Marie, of Jacques Cartier, 
 of Mark. Still less are you to know anything whatever about von 
 Alvenstein, of the Prince, of the Emperor, of von Moltke, of von 
 Bismarck. You must dismiss these people from your minds 
 altogether. I have told you about these people, but it is not in 
 evidence. Writing for the English, I adopt the English course 
 of procedure. 
 
 It was extremely wet on the night when Mark and I got back 
 to Givonne. We did not arrive there until past eleven. My 
 father, who had not expected us at all, was still up, and let us in. 
 To my unutterable surprise he kissed Mark before he kissed me. 
 Then he called for Jacques Cartier, who came half-dressed out of 
 the conciergerie, and he handed over Mark to the tender mercies 
 of Jacques, saying, 
 
 " Get the boy some supper, and let him sleep with you. 
 Valentin, come to my study." 
 
 My father might be stern, but he was never unkind. Yet I was 
 a little afraid when he took me into his study counting-house, and 
 ordered me to sit down. I feared that I had in some way offended 
 him. I asked if my mother was well. 
 
 " She is not well, my pretty boy," said my father ; " she and 
 I are at variance on one matter, and she loves me and her 
 country so well, that the little dispute has made her ill." 
 
 When he called me " pretty boy " (I am, as a matter of detail, 
 not pretty at all), I knew that he was friends with me. I said, 
 
 "I am sorry that you are at variance with my mother, sir. 
 Could I say no word to mend affairs ? " 
 
 " Yes," said my father, " you might say a word ; but it would 
 have an entirely opposite effect. Now you must sit still, child, 
 and be examined. Are you hungry ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
94 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Here is supper, then. Here is sausage, bread, and wine 
 Eat and answer. You cannot lie." 
 
 I did both eat and answer. 
 
 " Have the Germans begun their star forts outside Luxem- 
 burg ? " 
 
 " No, father : there is nothing beyond the glacis." 
 
 "What asses!" said my father, " they are going to observe 
 neutrality ; lucky for them if the French do. Why, child," he 
 continued, " if either party respects the neutrality of that wretched 
 little province in the struggle which is coining, the world will see 
 an amount of chivalry and honour such as she has never seen 
 before." 
 
 I could not understand him then, but I can understand him 
 now. Had the Prince crossed that sacred territory, the matter 
 would have been over sooner. Had the French, on the other 
 hand, pushed across this territory and threatened the line of 
 German communication, then Sedan would not have been written 
 down on the pages of history in blacker ink than Moscow, the 
 passage of the Beresina, or Waterloo. 
 
 Allow me to detain you one moment more. Ever since the 
 great Revolution, the French have distrusted their generals. 
 As I write this, I hear that Bazaine and Uhrich are to be brought 
 to court-martial. I am ashamed of my countrymen. Bazaine 
 and Uhrich were two of the noblest fellows who ever lived. 
 Neither of them could execute impossibilities. Bazaine, it 
 appears, from these Messieurs of Versailles, ought to have 
 "broken out." Can a scorpion get through a ring of red-hot 
 coals ? I think not. After the glorious attempt of Gravelotte 
 (which the Germans insist on confusing with the battle of St. 
 Privat), Bazaine could never move. An English gentleman 
 before Metz, for charitable purposes, tells me that on the 12th 
 of September he might have made a successful dash at St. 
 Marie aux Chenes. That I believe is true : but supposing he 
 got through to Aubone and Briey, where was his line of com- 
 munication, I beg of you ? 
 
 We must, however, attend to my father. My father said, 
 
 " Whom have you seen ? " 
 
 " The king." 
 
 " Well, that is one matter. Who was with him ? " 
 
 "Prince Frederick Charles." 
 
 " Bon ; and then again ? " 
 
 " Count von Moltke." 
 
 My father remained in thought. 
 
 " This looks very bad," he said. " Was there any one else ? " 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 95 
 
 11 Yes, one Count von Bismarck." 
 
 My father sat deep in thought, and then he said, 
 
 "I will go up and speak to your mother. Rouse Jacques 
 Cartier, and tell him to have my horse ready in an hour." 
 
 I was utterly puzzled. The king's name, the prince's name, 
 von Moltke's name, were all as nothing at all. My father seemed 
 sleepy and stupid until he heard the name of von Bismarck, then 
 he was utterly different. His face seemed to crystallise. He 
 went upstairs to my mother, and remained with her an hour. 
 When he came down he was dressed as for riding, with his 
 English breeches and boots ; and my mother, who was nearly 
 crying, asked me if Jacques Cartier was ready. 
 
 I said he was. My father had the saddle-bags packed, and 
 Jacques came in and took them away. Then my mother, my 
 father, and I stood alone. 
 
 " Good-b} r e, sweetheart," said my father. 
 
 " Good-bye, well-loved," sa'.d my mother ; " but oh, one word 
 more. Schneider, should you desert your country ? " 
 
 "What country?" said my father, not, I am glad to say, 
 angrily. 
 
 " France," said my mother. 
 
 " France," said my father ; " what is France to me ? " 
 
 " Your country." 
 
 "I do not see it. My money goes a long way the other side 
 of the Rhine just now. Where your treasure is, there will your 
 heart be also. I have 300,000 francs in that bag, my love, and 
 they will be in Frankfort in two days." 
 
 " But poor France, then," said my mother. 
 
 " If poor France cannot get on without me, she must do with- 
 out me," said my father. " Mind what I told you about the boy 
 and the girl. I made my will, and have left it with you. If the 
 boy fancies the girl, they must marry ; let them marry as soon as 
 possible. In two years they will be ready to marry." 
 
 " But, Schneider," said my mother, " these fiends have turned 
 on the Austrians." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Here is the telegram," she said ; and she showed him the 
 telegram which startled Europe. 
 
 My father stood in thought for a moment. 
 
 " Why did you not show me this upstairs ? " 
 
 " I forgot it," was my mother's feeble reply. 
 
 "Well, I am for Frankfort," said my father. "I thought 
 that we were to be taken first ; we are to come second, it seems. 
 Valentin ! ' ' 
 
96 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Keep your wits about you, and answer. Did you see no one 
 save the King, the Prince, von Bismarck, and von Moltke ? " 
 
 I thought, and said at last, 
 
 " There was a little priest, who was watching them, a rather 
 dirty little priest. I remember him now ; he gave me ginger- 
 bread." 
 
 Jacques Cartier had come into the room to say that my father's 
 horse was ready, and Jacques spoke over my shoulder. 
 
 " That would be Monseigneur Jubon, the Jesuit," he said. 
 
 And my father swore, or went very near it. 
 
 " Don't you see, monsieur," said Jacques Cartier, " that the 
 object of these Germans is to puzzle us all? They make a most 
 ostentatious demonstration on the French frontier just when they 
 are going to attack Austria. When they are going to attack us 
 they will probably raise a case against Servia or Teheran. The 
 worst of it is, that our Government is utterly hoodwinked. We 
 could perfectly well take care of ourselves if we had a king, prince, 
 or president, who ever heard a word of truth. Neither the 
 Emperor nor the Empress ever does. You are going to Frankfort, 
 I think, Monsieur? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " The best place you can go to, sir ; mind your money. Take 
 this pass, and show it if any one stops you." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " Only a pass from the Carbonari," said Jacques Cartier 
 quietly." 
 
 " You will be guillotined some day," said my father, putting the 
 pass in his pocket. 
 
 " The only wonder is that I have never been guillotined before," 
 said Jacques Cartier. " I would not give much for your neck, 
 with that pass on vou, in two years." 
 
 " Will it be so long ? " 
 
 " It will be longer," said Jacques Cartier. 
 
 " Jacques," said my father, " if everything comes to the very 
 worst, mind the boy. Valentin, whatever comes, remember that 
 Jacques Cartier is your second father." 
 
 My father rode away into the night, but what happened after 
 w r e can only find out in part. He arrived safe at Frankfort, and 
 deposited his money with the Rothschilds there, that we know. 
 Then we know that lie took Mark with him ; and what is more, 
 took Mark to London and Paris. That he is alive we know 
 perfectly well, or if he is not alive his ghost must be, because we 
 are rich through his means. But from the night when he set out 
 for Frankfort on the eve of Sadowa, we have seen very little of 
 him. 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 97 
 
 He was always a strange and mysterious man. In my opinion, 
 he thinks that he should not have deserted Franco in her need. 
 I cannot say. He was a good man, and my father. Alive or 
 dead, I will always love him. 
 
 Mark came back from London like a gentleman. No more bare 
 legs now. My mother never would kiss Mark, though she liked 
 him, and let us sleep together. One night in bed, Mark told me 
 that he was in for the conscription. Three weeks after, Mark 
 drew a low number, and was ordered for service. Another three 
 weeks and Mark came in on us, a glorious creature in scarlet 
 breeches, blue coat, and white gaiters ; 17th of the Line he was. 
 As I write, I put his epaulet by my side now. Here is the writing 
 on it : " 17 e de L. 4 e . 69. 4409." * 
 
 Well, I will say nothing more. Many other feet were turned 
 up to the sky on that fearful day of judgment, but none so dearly 
 loved as my brother Mark's. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Well, as I said, all was over with me. I was sent to the Lycee 
 at Metz, whereas I wished to go to the Ecole Militaire. ' My 
 father said, "I will have no soldiers in the family. To the 
 Lycee." And so to the Lycee I went. 
 
 I had a beautiful new trunk, with everything which a French 
 gentleman could wish for, but possibly not everything which an. 
 Eton young gentleman could wish for. The scale of luxury runs 
 thus among schoolboys. The Prussian has nothing ; the French 
 boy has more than he wants ; and the English boy has more than 
 he can possibly utilise. Why the other day I saw Lord Afterdale, 
 who had just left Harrow, and he told me that his aunt, when he 
 went to that school, gave him a gun. Milor added to me in 
 confidence, " What the Dickens " (that, you remember, is the 
 name of your great compatriot, by whom you swear, as our 
 religious women do by the holy saints), " what the Dickens," he 
 said to me, " did the old fool think I could do with a gun at 
 Harrow? The second master boned it and used it himself." I 
 suggested that it was given him for purposes of self-defence, for 
 we French are extremely spiritual, and, like an Irishman, are 
 never at a loss for an answer. This theory, however, by no 
 * 17th de la Ligne. 
 8 
 
98 VALENTIN : 
 
 means met his views. In fact, I could sec, in spite of all his 
 politeness, that he thought me very little better than a young 
 man deprived of understanding. 
 
 Such is your insular Chauvinism. It is amiable and amusing, 
 as is ours. Take care that it does not bring you to the same 
 miserable fate which we are undergoing — for a time. 
 
 The Lycee at Metz is pretty much like all Lycees, and I rather 
 think pretty much like most English schools. A strong boy, who 
 is a gentleman, can get on by sheer strength of will. A weak 
 boy, who is a gentleman, can get on by submission. A boy, who 
 is neither strong nor a gentleman, has a very hard time of it. 
 You do not know it, but we are more spiteful than you ; yes, 
 indeed, much more spiteful. A friend of mine was at school — 
 a very rude school in London ; he was a very gentle boy, and 
 could not strike a blow hard enough to kill a bird. But he told 
 me that he was not unhappy, for although he could hardly speak 
 the language, the English boys, always brutally fighting among 
 themselves, never laid a hand on him. Sometimes, he told me, 
 they would dance in a savage and camiibal manner round him, 
 but he soon got used to that. His father was an officer of 
 Zouaves, and was killed at Inkerman. After this, my friend was 
 fed carefully with buns and tartines. Yes, you English are not 
 unkind, though you may be brutal among yourselves. 
 
 Well, as I am here in England, and can tell you the whole 
 truth in spite of M. Thiers, we French boys at school are quite 
 as rough, and even more spiteful than you English boys. As 
 I must go with you to the Lycee some time or another, I had 
 better go now. 
 
 To do anything in our family without the assistance of Jacques 
 Cartier, was entirely impossible. Jacques has been sent over the 
 frontier from Treves, with a polite intimation that he was much 
 safer on his own side of the border than on the German. The 
 fact of the matter is, that there was much more against Jacques, 
 both on the French and German side, than we knew of. The 
 truth is, that the people I choose to call the Carbonari, are not 
 particular. If they want a thing, they have a pestilent habit of 
 taking it without leave. So I rather suspect that both Jacques 
 Cartier and my brother Mark had rendered themselves subject to 
 the action of the law which you call common law, in which case 
 extradition might have been necessary. However, neither French 
 nor Germans said one word about the matter, beyond telling 
 Jacques Cartier and Mark to mind what they were about. And 
 when all is said and clone, the Prussians are the last people to 
 complain about a few cocks and hens. A man must live. The 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 09 
 
 story of the pig I quite disbelieve. Jacques tells me that he 
 never saw the pig at all, but that he had pork for supper. Now 
 I think that is a very fair explanation. 
 
 However, I must not delay in defending my dearest friend. 
 Jacques was sent to see me to the Lycee at Metz, and one 
 morning at ten, he put down my box at the door, and rang. 
 Then our troubles began. 
 
 The concierge opened the door, and unluckily knew Jacques. 
 
 "Well, spy," he said, "are you on the French or German 
 side? which side has bought you now?" 
 
 Jacques shook his ten fingers in his face. Then he spat on 
 both his hands, and then he boxed the ears of the concierge. I 
 knew it was coining, but I would have died sooner than have 
 spoken. Trying to conceal my laughter I passed into the court- 
 yard, where nearly one hundred boys were in recreation. 
 
 The biggest of them, " cock of the school," you would call 
 him, came towards me. "What do you want?" he said. 
 
 "Monsieur le President," I said. "I am a new pupil." 
 
 " What is your name ? " he said, and I saw that I must hold 
 my own with him, for he was a manuals sujet — a fat, gross, 
 sensual young fellow, of about eighteen. Now I wish to tell 
 you something. When any of you young English gentlemen 
 meet a young fellow of this sort, and when he says to you any- 
 thing insulting or prurient, hit him in the mouth at once, and 
 you will never hear from him again. Of course, it is not pleasant 
 for me to write these words, but pray attend to them. If a 
 fellow like the one I describe says anything which you could 
 not say to your mother, smite him. You say he would thrash 
 you. Well, be thrashed; but before all, keep your honour. 
 France has been beaten by Germany, but I do not think that any 
 man in Europe will say that we have lost our honour. 
 
 I was like David to Goliath with this young man ; but then, do 
 you see, I was in love and pure, whereas he was neither. I have 
 seen the same animal reproduced in Germany and in England. 
 As I answered him, my love for my darling was tingling in my 
 veins. 
 
 " What right have you to ask my name ? I will give it ; I am 
 Valentin Schneider." 
 
 "He is a German boy, this one," said Leon ; and the others 
 gathered round him. 
 
 " You lie," I said ; " I am as good a Frenchman as you ; and 
 the boy who says I am not had better not say so twice." 
 
 Leon saw that he must act at once. He seized me by my 
 cravat. I, on the other hand, hit him on the mouth, tripped his 
 
100 VALENTIN : 
 
 right foot with my left, and fell upon him, I regret to say, with 
 my knees together. You must never do that ; it is too dangerous 
 for an ordinary quarrel ; it is apt to end in rupture of the colon. 
 Pray never do it. Jacques showed the trick to Mark, and Mark 
 showed it to me. I write it clown because it is the least 
 dangerous of the fighting tricks which the Carbonari know. An 
 old patriarch said to me once when I asked him about the use of 
 the dagger, " Our boys can kill any man. But the English do 
 not know anything about fighting at all." 
 
 I did not kill my fat friend, however. He did not even go to 
 the iiifmiierie, because, do you see, the diet there is carefully kept 
 down lest a boy should " put on a?ger," as an Oxford man 
 expressed it to me. 
 
 The Maitre d'Ecole and the President came flying out in their 
 dressing-gowns, and I expected discipline. But no ; I was young 
 Schneider, and young Schneider seemed to be a sacred person. 
 Leon was forbidden to go out next Sunday, and two other 
 messieurs had sixty lines a-piece because they had looked on 
 without assisting me — a thing I thought grossly unjust, because 
 I had assisted myself. It was very much like the courts-martial 
 on Uhrich and Bazaine. 
 
 The concierge got terribly scolded for insulting Jacques Cartier ; 
 not one word was said about Jacques having boxed his ears. 
 Jacques and I had wine (awfully bad ; he said it was Medoc) with 
 the President. And I was left at Metz — with a few kisses from 
 Jacques, in exchange for which I sent some to Mark— in a 
 binning hot fury of love, longing to distinguish myself, but seeing 
 no chance. Only a civilian. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 1 do not like a man who will speak badly of his father. I only 
 say that I think I should not have done as my father has done. 
 In my opinion Alsace is as much French as Ireland is English. 
 
 But he was and is a good father to me, and so I say nothing. 
 If he had known Mark was his son, things would have been quite 
 different. If I think that he failed in patriotism, I ask you why ? 
 Simply because he wanted to get money for me ! 
 
 Would I have done it myself? No, not then. I would not 
 have done it on any account at all. I would most certainly have 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 101 
 
 held every farthing in France at that time. I do not know now, 
 I cannot say what I should do now. 
 
 You see that my father was not alone in the world. 
 
 My father's property was situated in the debatable region, and. 
 he knew that ruin would come to one side or another , and which- 
 ever way the ruin went, he had to calculate on his chances. 
 
 He was not alone in the world ; he had my mother and myself 
 to provide for. So he sent out Jacques Cartier who might lie, 
 and myself who could not lie, to tell him various things, which 
 even his friends the Jews of Frankfort could not tell him. (Hah ! 
 Herr Judenstrasse, you lost your money ; you believed in the 
 French, did you ? when we win you will believe in the Germans, and 
 lose it again.) My father after hearing my report, more particu- 
 larly after my interview with the Prince and King, sold the larger 
 part, nearly all, of his French property, and invested it partly in 
 Bavaria and partly in the English funds. 
 
 Unpatriotic, yes. But my father's theory was that domestic 
 needs ranked above patriotic. He saved his fortune and gave 
 Gambetta 250,000 francs out of it. You see he had a wife and 
 a son. I was very angry with him for a time, but 
 
 Were you ever awakened by the whimpering of a child ? Did 
 you ever in your first sleep wonder where you were, and putting 
 out your hand find that it was among the long silken tresses of 
 your wife's hair on the pillow ? Did you ever feel the little 
 waxen fingers of the baby pulling at your moustache ? No ! well, 
 then, wait until you have, before you rate your patriotism. Your 
 sweetheart will tell you to go and die ; your wife will tell you to 
 go and live. 
 
 I have spoken before about the behaviour of this fearful 
 Landwehr, whom we could not face. They were married men 
 with children, separated by the inexorable laws of Germany from 
 their wives. That is the reason why they fought more like devils 
 than men ; they wanted to get back to their wives. 
 
 When did the Northern American States begin to win ? Unless 
 History lies more than usual, she would say, " When the married 
 men were called out." 
 
 My father was not in any way a fighting man. He was a 
 financier. He withdrew his right, like Vinoy, at this time for 
 the sake of my mother and myself. Do I blame him ? No. He 
 was as much German as French, and he took the German side, 
 and sold out in France. 
 
 I wished afterwards that he had taken the side I took, that is, 
 the French side. I believe that if he had known that Mark was 
 his son, things might have been different. For Mark was such. 
 
102 VALENTIN : 
 
 a glorious creature, that I believe my father would have preferred 
 him to me. And Mark was au unreasoning Chauvinist. It was 
 not to be. 
 
 'I. bad not been a fortnight at Metz when my father came to see 
 me. 
 
 " So you fought your comrades on the first day, pretty boy." 
 
 " I only fought Leon." 
 
 " Here are two napoleons for you ; and so you are in love, eh ! " 
 
 I answered roundly, " Yes." 
 
 "That is good," he said, "that is very good. I am in love 
 with your mother at this present moment. You hold to this love, 
 my dear boy. I have seen her, and she is worthy of you or of 
 any boy. Would you like to see her ? ' ' 
 
 " What would I not give to see her, sir ? " 
 
 " Would you give up your allegiance to France ? " 
 
 " No, sir ; I am a Frenchman, and will die one." 
 
 "Bravely answered," said my father; "I, for my part, am 
 not a Frenchman. But as regards the girl, she is here. I have 
 put her with the Huguenot sisters to be educated, and you are to 
 see her alone on Thursday and Sunday for two hours. Will that 
 suit you? " 
 
 I began some rapturous nonsense. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " he said ; " that is the sort of rant I used to talk 
 to your mother. Now be good, keep pure, and work hard. That 
 is all I have to say to 3 r ou." 
 
 "Not all, sir. There are some scholarships for the Ecole 
 Militaire. May I win one ? " 
 
 "They carry a commission," said my father, walking up and 
 down the room. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 He walked up and down again frowning, in thought. At last 
 he said — 
 
 " I have given up everything for you. You are the only one I 
 have in the world. If you win one ol these you will be fighting 
 in two years." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And against Germany ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was one wild sob, and then he said quite gently, 
 
 " Do it if you can. I yield. Can you tell me where that boy 
 Mark is?" 
 
 "No, sir.''' 
 
 Suddenly he caught me by the two shoulders, and said, 
 " Valentin, turn your eyes on mine." 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 103 
 
 I did so. 
 
 " They are the same eyes," he said ; "yet the whole thing is 
 too utterly improbable. Valentin." 
 " Yes, sir." 
 " When you meet that boy, treat him as your own brother." 
 
 II I have always clone so, sir," I replied; and my father went 
 away. 
 
 I have often wondered whether Jacques Cartier knew the 
 truth. I think not, for he loved Mark as I did. 1,200 francs 
 would have saved Mark. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Matters began to go with wonderful rapidity. I worked very 
 hard, and on Sundays and Thursdays I saw Marie. 
 
 My darling was always the same to me. She urged me on, 
 and I worked for her and for France. " Get the scholarship at 
 the Ecole Militaire," she said ; and the boys said, " This young 
 Schneider is fiancS." I was treated with great respect. 
 
 On Thursday and on Sunday I used to take her away as far 
 as St. Privat, Malmaison, or Amandvilliers. We would sit in 
 the woods alone, and watch the great cathedral, like a ship among 
 a sea of woods, but a ship which never sailed. 
 
 Once I asked the good sisters if she might go to Luxemburg 
 with me. They asked the bishop, and the bishop, to our great 
 delight, said, "Yes, we might go." We French, do you know, 
 are more free and innocent in our manners than you English. 
 
 That was a delightful journey. I took her first-class by 
 Thionville and Bettemburg right into Luxemburg. Well, what 
 we said by the way is just no matter at all. She went to her 
 own people on the glacis, and I put a cigar in my mouth in the 
 evening, and went into the town through the trees, meaning to go 
 to the Cafe de l'Europe. 
 
 Well, you will conceive my surprise. There were no sentinels, 
 and, going in by the north gate, it seemed to me that the place 
 had undergone bombardment. The scarp was clown, and was 
 half filling up the ditch. I could not in the least understand 
 matters. I looked round for a Prussian sentry, and I only saw a 
 nice-looking young man in a grey uniform. I exercised myself. 
 I spoke to that young man. His instincts were extremely 
 French. 
 
104 VALENTIN : 
 
 11 What has happened here ? " I asked. 
 
 " Do you not know, then ? " 
 
 " In France we know nothing : at our Lycee newspapers are 
 forbidden, unless they contain false news. For me, I have been 
 working so hard at mathematics, fortification, and love-making, 
 that I know nothing at all." 
 
 The Luxemburger whistled. " Then you do not know that the 
 Prussians are gone ? " 
 
 4 'This is the first word I ever heard of it," I replied, and 
 passed on. 
 
 At the Cafe do l'Europe I heard everything. Napoleon III. 
 had tried to buy Luxemburg from the Dutch. The Prussians had 
 defied him to take it. Both parties had withdrawn their claims. 
 France was livid with suppressed anger, and Prussia was red with 
 wrath. Boy as I was, I saw that it must come now ; but, boy as 
 I was, I believed that we should win. No one anticipated our 
 ruin. I most certainly did not, and thought my father a fool. 
 Remember that the wise Germans cut down the trees on the 
 glacis of Cologne, believing that they could not stop us short of 
 that place. 
 
 Who was to blame ? Well, the losing nation. He who breaks 
 pays. But if Niel had lived, things might have been very dif- 
 ferent. We pay for everything, we French. At a cost of about 
 six hundred millions sterling, we have just proved to the world 
 that a levee en masse is no use whatever now, and that all the old 
 Republican traditions are pure balderdash. W 7 hy, von der Tann 
 had no more than fourteen thousand men before Orleans. Look 
 at Gambetta ; if ever a man raised a nation, he did so. Look at 
 the result. 
 
 I did not in the least degree like the withdrawal of the 
 Prussians from Luxemburg. It seemed to me to be a very ugly 
 move at chess. I was saying so openly at the Cafe de l'Europe 
 (where every one is French), when I looked up and saw my father 
 and mother. 
 
 I went to him at once. "I am not dissipating, sir," I 
 said. 
 
 " I know that," he answered. " Your mother and I have kept 
 you well in sight. I am going to say something very strange to 
 you. Come with me and your mother into the next room." 
 
 I rose and followed them. 
 
 " Valentin," said my father, " you have been a good boy to us, 
 and we love you very dearly." 
 
 I remember the trifling blush which came on my face as I 
 answered, "I have done my best, sir." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 105 
 
 My father went on. " You do not know what has happened to 
 you, I suppose ? " 
 
 I said, "No." 
 
 " What did you think of your papers at the Ecole Militaire at 
 Metz?" 
 
 " I thought them very bad, sir." 
 
 "You have gained the first scholarship, which carries a com- 
 mission, and also the sword of honour for mathematics." 
 
 The room seemed to reel round with me. I had worked so 
 very hard, hut I had never expected anything like that. 
 
 My father went on, " I am glad that my son is a worthy boy, 
 but I think I would have been more glad had he been on the 
 other side. However, my dear, we will not quarrel on that point. 
 You will have the red breeches on in a week, and I hope you 
 won't die in them, for I love you. Boy, I want to tell you some- 
 thing more. Let me feel your pulse. That is right," he said. 
 " Valentin, will you obey me ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, to the death." 
 
 " Valentin, will you be married to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Only to one girl, sir." 
 
 " I know. Are you prepared for that ? " 
 
 I will tell you why I was silent. No, I cannot tell you why I 
 was silent. My joy was so unutterable that I remained silent. 
 Put it that way. I knew no more about marriage than the man 
 in the moon. I only knew that, if the priest said certain words, 
 I could call her my own for ever. I said, " Yes." 
 
 " I want you to be married to-morrow," said my father. 
 " Monseigneur will manage the matter before ten ; the train 
 for Metz starts at a quarter past two. You will not see anything 
 of your bride for a year or so. She will live at Fond de Givonne 
 with us." 
 
 Monseigneur performed the ceremony ; but I am sorry to say 
 that I missed my train, and never got to Metz until late the next 
 day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Then I put on the red breeches, and I should very much like 
 to write an essay on red breeches, only the Editor says he won't 
 stand any nonsense. The Editor is wrong in this matter ; he is 
 more than wrong, he is insular. The best thing which you 
 
106 VALENTIN : 
 
 English have produced since Shakespeare is " Sartor Resartus," 
 all about clothes. I propose an essay on red breeches to the Editor, 
 and he says no. However, the loss is his, not mine. He does 
 not see that the red breeches which he laughed at under the 
 empire were the same which lay strewn in heaps at Sedan and 
 St. Privat. Yet he is right again. Laugh and forget. 
 
 Well, the red breeches are not disgraced so far. Why, even 
 those miserable Communists fought very well. They gave us 
 terrible trouble, I can tell you. They fought with the halter 
 round their necks ; but in all countries, I can tell 3 t ou, a man 
 with a halter round his neck does not of necessity fight well. 
 These miserable dogs, on the other hand, fought very well. I 
 am not going so far with you as the Rue St. Honore, that I beg 
 of you to understand. But I can tell you that it was only by 
 superior discipline that we won. You see, as regards us, la ligne, 
 the Emperor had our consecutive time. Do you understand ? 
 We had been three years at it ; they had not been three months. 
 I doubt for my own part whether one single Communist regiment 
 could have marched by subdivisions round its centre ; yet they 
 fought well. 
 
 So I take you to Metz. Well, I take you to Metz in one 
 way, but not in another. I cannot tell you all about Metz ; it 
 was very ill and bad. No nation could go on long with such a 
 garrison town as that. I could tell you things about Metz which 
 would horrify and disgust you. Things were going on in Metz 
 which have never gone on in England. English and German 
 officers have told me that places which existed in Metz wore 
 unknown elsewhere. An English officer from Bengal told me 
 that the Nautch of India was not so bad as things he saw at 
 Metz ; I should think it could not be worse. Young Delfroy 
 took me to one of those places. I looked on for one instant, and 
 then I struck him in the mouth. I knew that we must fight on 
 the morrow, but I did not care. He had not insulted me, he had 
 insulted Marie. 
 
 His man came to me that night. Alphonse le Roy had made 
 me go to bed, because he said that you must sleep well before a 
 duel. He was sitting on my bed, and we were arranging all 
 about the duel, when Lieutenant d'Aurilliac came in and sat on 
 the bed also. 
 
 " My man is in bed, too," he said. " What time do you pro- 
 pose, Le Roy? " 
 
 " After parade, I suppose," said Le Roy. 
 
 " That will suit me exactly," I said ; " for I must write to my 
 wife and tell her that I have struck a Frenchman." 
 
A STOKY OF SEDAN. 107 
 
 They stared at me with astonishment for a moment ; hut before 
 they had time to speak they stared more. I started up in bed, 
 and they looked round. 
 
 Standing behind them was an old, strongly built man, very 
 square in features, and of tremendous physical power. I was 
 very much startled, because I had never seen such a man before, 
 and his look was, though stem, one of intense pity. 
 
 D'Aurilliac and Le Roy rose at once, and Le Roy said, 
 
 11 General Changarnier." 
 
 So I had seen him at last, the glorious old Republican hero, 
 and with a smile upon his face. I would have kissed his feet, but 
 he spoke sternly to me. 
 
 " Valentin Schneider, you are contemplating a duel to-morrow? " 
 
 " Yes, my General ; I have struck a French officer." 
 
 " A good excuse. Do you think nothing of your wife, then? " 
 
 " They do not know here that I am married." 
 
 " That is no answer. D'Aurilliac and Le Roy, did you know 
 that he was married ? " 
 
 " Married ! " said D'Aurilliac ; " why, he is a child." 
 
 " A child in innocence, a man in position. Delfroy, come in." 
 
 Delfroy came in. " I have come to apologise," he said. " How 
 could I guess ? ' ' 
 
 I told him not to say one word more, on his life. 
 
 General Changarnier said, " We must have no duels, my boys. 
 There will be duel enough soon to suit all of you. Listen to me. 
 Respect that lad Schneider's innocence and purity. I am mis- 
 taken if he will be in the rear on the day of judgment for the sins 
 of France." 
 
 Said Le Roy, "Name that day, General." 
 
 And General Changarnier paused a moment, and then he wrote 
 a word on a piece of paper, and put it in an envelope. 
 
 " You, Le Roy, are of the Engineers. Well, I trust this to 
 you for one year. After that, open it and read it." 
 
 A year atterwards we did so. Only one word was written, and 
 that was — 
 
 " Briey." 
 
 How near he was being right ! No one ever heard about that 
 marvellous little town before the late Versailles courts-martial. 
 The dear little place was absolutely untouched ; and a war corre- 
 spondent tells me that they made a little heaven of it while the 
 guns at St. Privat, six miles off, were roaring like Vesuvius. 
 Now, forsooth, the Yersaillists say about our glorious Bazaine 
 that he should have made another attempt to get to Briey after 
 Gravelotte. Whither was he to have gone afterwards? And 
 
10S VALENTIN : 
 
 with 200,000 men hanging on his flanks. Did Changarnier 
 know nothing ? Say Bazaine was a fool ; you will hardly go as 
 far as to say that Changarnier was one. I think that even you 
 will hardly go as far as that. The defence of Metz was as well 
 done as it could be done. I have more to say on that point, 
 perhaps enough to fill the whole of this volume t:n times over ; 
 but the Editor is the most inexorable. It remains, however, that 
 General Changarnier stopped my first duel for me. 
 
 I have noticed a tender gentle sentiment about my countrymen 
 which, you will forgive my saying so, I have not noticed in yours. 
 It got about, in that enfer on earth, Metz, that I, though only a 
 boy, was married. From the time when General Changarnier 
 stopped that duel, I never heard one word uttered willingly before 
 me which Marie herself might not have heard. Our people like 
 romance, and here was a little romance for them, illustrated, if I 
 may be allowed a calemhourg, with cuts by General Changarnier 
 — cuts at the state of military morality at Metz. 
 
 I must tell you that I was kept at headquarters there for a 
 whole year, working hard at my profession, without any communi- 
 cation, save by letter, with wife, father, mother, or any of my old 
 friends. I worked like a horse ; I gained my grade as lieutenant, 
 and then I wrote to my father, asking if I might come and see 
 my bride. The answer was in one word — 
 
 ""No." But there was more than that in the letter. He said, 
 " Niel, Trochu, and Vinoy are coming your way next week. You 
 must be there." 
 
 How on earth did he know this ? I thought ; and I went to 
 General Changarnier. I told the dear old man everything, and I 
 asked him whether I was justified in obeying my father under 
 such circumstances. I was married, I said, and I wanted to see 
 my own wife. 
 
 " I think," said the General, " that you had much better obey 
 your father. How old are you ? " 
 
 " Nineteen, General." 
 
 " Pretty boy ; and you love one another still ? " 
 
 " I would die for her, and she for me." 
 
 "Ah! Well, take an old man's advice. How long was I 
 separated from my darling ? Between four and five years at one 
 time. Surely you, Valentin, with a pure love and high hopes, 
 can for her sake bear the separation of a year. Is this a time 
 for a Frenchman to talk about love-making?" he continued 
 passionately. "No. Obey your father." 
 
 I did so to a limited extent. 
 
 At six o'clock the next morning the drums and horns announced 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 109 
 
 the arrival of Niel, Trochu, and Vinoy. The guard turned out 
 all right, and the regiment was ordered for parade at eight. 
 
 I was not officer of the guard, and was making myself spruce 
 for parade, when the officer of the guard rushed into my quarters, 
 cast his shako on the ground, and said, 
 
 " We are all ruined." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " The Colonel has got a terrible haemorrhage from that wound 
 which he got in the Crimea. The Adjutant can't move on his 
 bed. You, as junior lieutenant, must act as adjutant. Have you 
 got a pistol ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes; why? " 
 
 " Lend it to me, and let me blow my brains out." 
 
 " Bah ! " I said ; "we will get through it quite right." 
 
 In fact, the men turned out nobly. Our Colonel was one of 
 the best oi men and of martinets. The Adjutant was not what 
 he might have been ; but the Colonel had got the machine in such 
 perfect order, that it would go. I had really very little to do. 
 Parade is so absolutely perfect in French regiments, that I rather 
 wondered at an inspection by three such very famous generals. 
 There was really no inspection at all. 
 
 I was called up and I saluted. 
 
 " Give me the numbers of your companies, sir," said Marshal 
 Niel, " from your books." 
 
 I did so. I was ready enough at that. 
 
 " First company 183, rank and file, and " 
 
 " Never mind the officers, sir," said Vinoy ; " there are always 
 plenty of them. Number them," he said to me. 
 
 I did so ; there were 67 all told. 
 
 " How many in hospital ? " said Trochu. 
 
 I looked at my hospital book ; there were 19. 
 
 " Number your second company, sir," said Niel. 
 
 I did so. The nominal number was 163, and the actual men 
 present were 68. 
 
 I had done my duty, and I heard what Niel said. He said, 
 
 " This regiment, nominally 1800 strong, has not 900 men in 
 it. And Gambetta abuses me because I want to make France 
 strong." 
 
 At this moment an orderly rode up and said to Marshal Niel, 
 " Colonel Delafont is dead, sir." 
 
 " Another of the old school gone, Vinoy. I suppose that 
 wound in the thigh killed him?" 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I shall be the next," said Niel. " Young gentleman," to me, 
 
110 VALENTIN : 
 
 " you have done your work very well. Tell General Changarnier, 
 who suffers from some strange epidemic whenever I come near 
 him, that you are a good hoy. I will take your name, for you 
 seem a good officer, you are not toujours en cafe, I'll he hound ; 
 hut you are very young, you are a mere hoy. Take an old 
 soldier's advice — leave the French army, and get married when 
 you are old enough." 
 
 "I have been married already over a year, Marshal. And, as 
 for the French army, I intend to die in it." 
 
 That was the last of Marshal Niel. Had he lived there would 
 have been no Sedan. He was the first to find out that our 
 battalions existed only on paper. 
 
 The Emperor believed in them, and dashed on Prussia. But 
 the real destroyers of France were the Radicals in the Assembly, 
 who so persistently opposed Marshal Niel. 
 
 I should like to tell off the English army as I did my regiment. 
 Von der Tann had 14,000 men before Orleans, and 14,000 only. 
 But then they were all on the spot. It is so with German armies. 
 But it seems to me, with regard to English and French regiments, 
 that, for some unexplained reason, at least one -third of the 
 nominal force is either somewhere else, or does not exist at all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 You know perfectly well, if you are a soldier, that your father 
 can forbid you to come home ; while, on the other hand, your 
 conimanding officer may give you leave to go home, and, in point 
 of fact, will order you to go home, and save hospital expenses if 
 there is anything the matter with you, and if your home is near. 
 I told Colonel Barbot that I was ill, and wanted to go home, but 
 that my father had forbidden me to do so. He at once took out 
 a large book, rang the bell for the doctor, and then tapped the 
 table with his forefinger while he was waiting for the doctor's 
 arrival. We were very precise in those times — some say too 
 precise ; but if precision of a certain kind would have saved 
 Sedan, we most certainly should have saved it. When I was a 
 prisoner, I found that the Germans were more precise than our- 
 selves, confound them ! In Mark's petit livret which I took from 
 him, he was credited with one sock. He seems to have lost the 
 other before it was paid for. How on earth a man can have a 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. Ill 
 
 bill, even a washerwoman's bill, sent in to him for " one sock," I 
 cannot understand at all. Still wo were very precise. 
 
 Colonel Barbot would not in any way speak to me until the 
 doctor came. I remarked to him that the weather seemed likely 
 to be fine. He replied that the weather was no business of a 
 lieutenant's : it was the care of the Marshal of France. 
 
 He sat drumming on the table and smoking, until the doctor 
 came. Dr. Bouche we always called him, though his name was 
 Chateaurouge. He knew my complaint as well as he knew my 
 story. The colonel knew both things perfectly well ; but we were 
 at that time the most precise army in the world. 
 
 " This young gentleman says he is ill, and wants furlough," 
 says the colonel. " Will you give me your opinion ? " 
 
 Our clear doctor was as precise as any one. He made me take 
 off my shirt before the colonel, and put his ear to my chest. 
 
 " Precordial anxiety acting on the heart," he said, and I put 
 on my shirt again, while the colonel wrote it down. 
 
 "What do you recommend? " said the colonel, and he wrote 
 that down also. 
 
 " I should recommend a slight furlough — say, four weeks," 
 said the doctor. 
 
 " Well, that is granted," said the colonel (who wrote that down 
 also, and made the doctor and me sign it). "I have great 
 pleasure in granting furlough to Lieutenant Schneider, because he 
 is one of the finest young men I have, and yet I regret extremely 
 that I shall miss his services. It is evidently necessary that he 
 should retire for a month : and while we are at it, doctor, I want 
 you to examine me, for I am in extremely poor health." 
 
 French discipline will not always stand fire. Both the doctor 
 and I burst into laughter. I do not know which was the most 
 absurd part of the farce which followed — the utter impudence of 
 that claim on the part of Colonel Barbot (eighteen stone of Brit- 
 tany, with never an ache in his body save from Algerian and 
 Crimean wounds), or the cool way in which he slipped off his shirt, 
 and requested the doctor to examine his heart. 
 
 Yet it was not a thing to laugh at in any way. He was sixty- 
 one years of age, and those massive steel-clothed ribs had borne 
 themselves well from Leipsic to Inkerman. The doctor stetho- 
 scoped him, and I saw while he was stripped that his body was 
 scarred and seamed in every direction. 
 
 I said, " My colonel, may I look at your wounds ? " 
 
 " Yes, boy." 
 
 I laid my hand on his fore-arm, cut in every direction, with 
 white livid whales across and across. I never saw such an arm, 
 
112 VALENTIN : 
 
 save that of your own Jones, V.C., who put it to himself that he 
 must save one of his own privates, and did so. I said to Colonel 
 Barbot — 
 
 " What is this ? " 
 
 He said — 
 
 " Dresden, when I was a child like yourself. I was a drummer- 
 boy." 
 
 One long livid cut went across his breast ; I put my finger on 
 it, and loooked into his face. 
 
 " Passage of the Beresina," he said. " The present Madame 
 Barbot was old enough then to be vivandiere, and I to be in love 
 with her. By heavens ! boy, they were close on us there. I was 
 close to her all through that, and the Cossacks thought she was 
 a boy, and cut her over the shoulder. In the melee, before 
 we got over the bridge, I got that cut over the breast. I got my 
 revenge at Inker man." 
 
 " And this wound, sir? " I said, putting my hand on his hip. 
 
 "Alma," he said, brightly. (You English will never say 
 "Alma" in the proper way.) 
 
 And then the doctor came in on us, and he said, 
 
 " I find that you, like Lieutenant Schneider, are suffering from 
 precordial anxiety. I consider that you had better go to Madame 
 Barbot at Carignano for at least a fortnight. You, M. Schneider, 
 must go to Sedan for at least a month." 
 
 " How he orders us about, this one ! " said the colonel savagely. 
 "We might as well be the mud under his feet. An English 
 sergeant-major and a French doctor command their regiments." 
 
 " Well, I can only say," said the doctor, coolly, " that you are 
 both suffering from the same complaint, and if you wish to appeal 
 against my decision, you had better sign the form now, and have 
 done with it." 
 
 " I shall go," said the colonel. 
 
 " I suppose that I had better go also," I said. 
 
 I wrote and told my father that the doctor had ordered me home 
 on a month's furlough. He was very angry, I fear. The diligence 
 was late, and then I had to walk ; so when I came to my father's 
 house, I found no one to receive me, except Marie, no supper save 
 what she gave me, and no bed for me to be in save hers. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 113 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 I am professedly writing for boys, and I would not write one word 
 which would bring a blush on a boy's face : yet I will say this, 
 that one day in a good boy's life he will have an announcement 
 made to him by one of the other sex, dearer than father or mother, 
 which will make his face crimson with unutterable joy. 
 
 She will not say many words, my boy, but you will understand 
 them ; and then woe betide the man who lays hands on her or on 
 you. You may talk about meeting a bear deprived of her cubs ; 
 I dare say that is dangerous. For my own part, I never killed 
 but one bear, and there was a violent dispute as to who had killed 
 him. He knocked me head over heels, and I rammed my knife 
 into him ; but, being a male bear, I do not think that he cared much 
 for his cubs. But I would sooner meet a hundred she-bears with- 
 out a cub among them, than one young gentleman to whom a girl 
 has said the three words in French or the four in English. 
 
 And the whole thing is so perfectly pure, that the ultramontane 
 priests dare say nothing about it. They sprinkle the child with 
 holy water, and I hope that it does the child good. They have 
 dared much those ultramontanes, but they have never dared to 
 put a young father against a young wife at first. They are 
 wise. 
 
 I ramble in my speech like a real Frenchman. Thiers and 
 Gambetta, they never ramble, of course. Nothing has been wrong 
 in France save the Prussians and the latter empire, according to 
 them. Well, I can hardly agree with them. An English gentle- 
 man whom I know well told me, that the prurient and stupid talk 
 among English schoolboys was as bad as bad could be. Of course, 
 being both gentlemen, and grown up, we were unable to compare 
 notes, and let the loathsome business alone. I can only say that, 
 if your English schools are as bad as our French schools, they 
 had better be broken up. There are one hundred and fifty things 
 which boys may talk about ; why on earth do they choose to talk 
 about the one hundred and fifty-first ? 
 
 Well, I know what you are (I correct myself, you are a gentle- 
 man). I know what an ordinary boy says about a certain kind of 
 talk. I say to that ordinary boy that I have no argument, only 
 advice. When a boy begins that nonsense, hit him immediately 
 in the eye. You will soon stop it. 
 
 You have no right to listen to anything which your sister might 
 not hear. What would you do to a boy who made a blackguard 
 of himself before your sister ? Your sister is as sacred to 
 
 9 
 
114 VALENTIN : 
 
 you as your wife. What would be done in France to a man who 
 insulted his own wife ? 
 
 Well, the three French words did not come to me for a long 
 time. I worked very patiently, and I found out many things. One 
 thing was that our army was kept entirely in the dark about affairs 
 — nay, about all things ; and the other thing was, that Trochu 
 reported me as a very smart young officer. I consequently was 
 moved from pillar to post. I passed for the staff, and then I was 
 at Belfort, at Toul, at Chalons, everywhere but at Sedan. So a 
 year passed, and Niel died. With him, France. 
 
 Niel had been dead a long time, it seemed to me, when I had to 
 go to Chalons from Stenay. I rode like the — your patron saint 
 the Dickens — and I met a rather old general on the outside of 
 the line with a boy beside him, both on horseback. 
 
 I saluted, and would have ridden past, when D'Aurelles de 
 Paladine, who was with this rather old General, called to me, 
 " Halt, demontez et decouvrez." 
 
 Then I saw the EMPEROR. 
 
 I made every earthly or unearthly apology to him, but he only 
 laughed. To my unutterable astonishment, he said, 
 
 " You are young Schneider of Sedan? " 
 
 " Yes, your Majesty." 
 
 " Your father has gone on the other side," said the Emperor. 
 " I think that a pity ; but he knows his own business best. You 
 are, however, entirely French ; at least so he tells me." 
 
 Here I must break off to inform you that none of us know what 
 the connection between my father and the Emperor was. My wife 
 said that it dated from London in 1867, but we none of us know 
 at all. 
 
 "I am entire French at heart, your Majesty. I would blow my 
 brains out at this momemt for France." 
 
 " Yes ! But we will postpone the immolation for a few weeks. 
 I have something to say to you. You, are, I think, connected with 
 the Carbonari in the Ardennes ? " 
 
 The Tempter suggested a large " Yes," and a very large " No " ; 
 but my good angel suggested a very large " Yes," and I uttered 
 it. 
 
 " After that ' yes,' " said the Emperor, " I can see that I can 
 get no information from you at all. We want unbribable men, and 
 we have got one in you. I wish to do something for you." 
 
 The Prince Imperial here rather interfered with matters by 
 getting off his horse, and whispering to me, 
 
 " Give me your geraniums." 
 
 I, of course, did so. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 115 
 
 " Now you can pin on your cross," said the Prince Imperial. 
 
 The next moment the Emperor gave me the cross of the Legion 
 of Honour of the third class. Ha ! you English may laugh at it if 
 you like, but which among you has got it ? I was bought that 
 day. 
 
 The Emperor said, " I wish to ask you to speak to a young man, 
 a sergeant, who knows you." 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 A chasseur a pied came before me. I looked on his face for 
 one moment, and then I fell on his neck and he on mine, in the 
 French manner. 
 
 It was Mark. 
 
 Another chasseur a pied came up, and it was Jacques Cartier. 
 
 " You see that I know some of your treasons, Schneider," said 
 the Emperor. " I know all about Mere Mathilde also. Come 
 away with me. 
 
 I went dismounted, and talked to him as he sat on his horse. 
 Old Pelissier said, " S'il monte au cheval nous sommes perdus." 
 He was on horseback now. Pity that such a grand fellow was so 
 befooled by a third-rate woman. 
 
 " I could guillotine your two friends," he said. 
 
 " Without doubt, sire, and me with them." 
 
 " But you are not of the International." 
 
 " Me ! I am an Orleanist." 
 
 " That is a comfort. Boy, your two friends know every path 
 through the Ardennes." 
 
 " Yes; but, sire, the Germans know them better." 
 
 " Can you go to the extreme south — to Esch ? " 
 
 " Of course ; but I would rather be nearer Libramont." 
 
 " I would sooner you went to Esch." 
 
 "I am under orders, sire. Must I go to Esch at once ? " 
 
 " No. Do you want furlough for a fortnight ? " 
 
 " Sire," I said, "I have been married more than two years, 
 and I have not seen my own wife more than a month. A man 
 could do no more for France than that." 
 
 " Nothing will do anything for France," said the Emperor. 
 "We'll see. Where is your wife, boy? You shall go to her, 
 but only for a fortnight. Where is she ? " 
 
 I answered, " Sire, at Sedan." 
 
116 VALENTIN 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 That glorious stormy petrel Bourbaki came clown on us one 
 morning, and I heard him say to Colonel Barbot, " Hein, hein, 
 j'ai mes soupcons." Colonel Barbot declared that lie had also 
 his suspicions, but I had not the wildest idea what these 
 suspicions were. 
 
 Bourbaki said, " You had better go to Strassburg, it seems to 
 me; and Colonel Barbot said, "I suppose so;" and added, 
 "Will they break in on us by Colmar ? " 
 
 "We shall be at Cologne by then," said Bourbaki; "we 
 cannot fail to turn their left." 
 
 But all this, do you see, was Greek to me. 
 
 " Have you a smart officer ? " said Bourbaki. 
 
 "No," said Colonel Barbot. 
 
 "Not one?" 
 
 " Not one. Stay, there is a boy from Sedan, Schneider by 
 name, who is very clever," and he called me up. 
 
 " Monsieur," said Bourbaki, " I wish you to go to Strassburg." 
 
 " Sir," I said, " I think that the Emperor wished me to go to 
 Esch." 
 
 " The child is right," said Barbot. " This child is married, 
 and has been with his wife now twice. This child knows also the 
 Ardennes, and is connected with the Carbonari." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, General, I am not connected witli them," 
 I said. " I am an Orleanist, and not a Picvolutionist." 
 
 "It is the same thing," said Colonel Barbot. " But you know 
 the passes of the Ardennes ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What are we to do with this child who is married?" said 
 Barbot. 
 
 Bourbaki looked at me very keenly before he answered : then 
 he said suddenly, 
 
 " Will you swear to die for France ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Very well, then. Go to Luxemburg and examine the 
 frontier. 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Here there was an interruption. We were talking in a small 
 room at a place called Briey ; we heard the clatter of swords on 
 the stones. The door was thrown open, and Mademoiselle Sophie 
 announced 
 
 " General Uhrich." 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 117 
 
 The defender of Strassburg — the hero of our age stood before 
 me. A very gentleman, with moustaches slightly longer than 
 the pattern of the Algerian officers. I said to myself, "I would 
 go to the death after that man." 
 
 Can you conceive the infernal villany of some of our nation ? 
 They seem to me to match those who shoot at the Queen in your 
 nation. For my part, I say fairly that for rascality we can in 
 Fiance match the Fenians in England. I do not talk about the 
 Communists : their minds were abused, and, moreover, they were 
 excited ; and when a Frenchman is excited he is not to be trusted. 
 But I wish to point out this, that our glorious hero Uhrich has 
 had to demand courts-martial for his defence of Strassburg. 
 
 France is getting rotten through Chauvinism ; England has 
 been rotten from the same cause long ago. Yet England shows 
 signs of repentance ; France none. The Prussians are going in 
 for Chauvinism now. Their time is to come. The Americans 
 went in for it from the first ; but, as they are three thousand 
 miles from any civilised country except Canada, and as they do 
 not want Canada, and could not get Canada if they did, it does 
 not particularly matter. 
 
 Uhrich spoke. 
 
 "I am going to Strassburg. Who is this pretty boy, then? 
 Can he be trusted ? I should like a boy to go with me to 
 Strassburg. What sword is that you have, child ? " 
 
 " Sword of honour for mathematics, my General," I said. 
 
 ' ' Good, ' ' said Uhrich. ' ' I want the route. Can you give it ine ? " 
 
 " Whither ? " I asked, in a puzzle. 
 
 "ToMetz first." 
 
 I said, standing up before the dear old fellow, like a school-boy, 
 
 " Aubone, four kilometres ; St. Marie aux Chenes, five kilo- 
 metres ; St. Privat, three kilometres ; Jercesalem, one kilometre." 
 
 Uhrich had got on his horse, but, to my surprise, he got off 
 again. He said to Bourbaki, 
 
 " Can we trust this boy?" 
 
 Bourbaki said, "He is married." 
 
 "All the better," said Uhrich, "he will not lie. Boy, will 
 you lie ? " 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Can you go to the Emperor ? " 
 
 " If I am sent, sir." 
 
 Uhrich looked at me for a little time, and then he stroked his 
 moustache. 
 
 " He is too young to be trusted," he said, " with the fate of an 
 empire." 
 
118 VALENTIN : 
 
 "lama gentleman, and I can be trusted with anything." 
 
 " Shall we trust the boy ? " said Ullrich. 
 
 "I think I would," said Bourbaki. 
 
 "Well, boy, go to the Emperor, and tell him this. If he 
 respects the neutrality of Luxemburg, he is ruined." 
 
 That message was never delivered. 
 
 The streets at Briey are very steep, and I saw Uhrich ride 
 down one of the steepest of them towards Strassburg, and I saw 
 him no more. Bourbaki rode down another street, in the direction 
 of Sedan. 
 
 I have never seen those men since, but I may be allowed to say 
 that I conceived an affection for both of them which I think will 
 last beyond death. 
 
 I stood in the street for a little time, and I smoked. I could 
 see Uhrich on the other hill, and saw that he had got his route 
 in a correct manner. Then I heard a horse's feet behind me, and 
 I turned. 
 
 I knew my man at once. I had seen him before. It was the 
 Crown Prince of Saxony. 
 
 Those Saxons have manners nearly equal to those of the French 
 or the English aristocracy. The Crown Prince said, 
 
 " I beg a thousand pardons for troubling you, monsieur, but 
 can you tell me where I shall find General Uhrich and General 
 Bourbaki ? ' ' 
 
 I said that they were both gone away. 
 
 " I regret it," said the Crown Prince of Saxony. " I must ride 
 far and fast to-night. I must go to Luxemburg." 
 
 It struck me that I would go also. I proposed it to the Crown 
 Prince, and he was very much pleased with the idea. As a staff- 
 officer I had no difficulty with Colonel Barbot, and so the Crown 
 Prince and I trotted off very comfortably through Audun la 
 Romain, Audun la Tige, to Esch. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "A pleasant country, M. Schneider," said the Crown Prince of 
 Saxony. " I am sorry that you ever got it from us." 
 
 " We should be loth to give it back, sire," I said. 
 
 " And yet you want the Prussian Rhine provinces ? " 
 
 11 I do not ; they are emphatically German." 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 119 
 
 " And are these provinces so very emphatically French, then ? " 
 
 " Speak to the first peasant yon meet here, and see if he can 
 speak German." 
 
 " Not here at Audnn la Romain, but twenty miles off, in Alsace 
 and Lorraine. What do you say ? " 
 
 " They can certainly speak German there." 
 
 " And cannot speak French." 
 
 The argument was not prolonged. We were at Audun la 
 Romain, in front of the little auberge, when the deadly news 
 came. I knew nothing of what had happened. No one in 
 France knew much in those times. 
 
 A gentleman rode up to the Crown Prince, and put a news- 
 paper into his hand, pointing out a certain paragraph. He read 
 it very carefully, and then uttered an oath. He was turning to 
 ride away, when he seemed to remember that he had not taken 
 leave of me. He turned very swiftly, and bowed, and the paper 
 fell from his pocket. I was bowing to him, and I did not notice 
 it until he had ridden away. Then I saw it, and went and picked 
 it up. I was thinking of riding after him, but he was over the 
 farther hillside. I looked at it. It was the Independance Beige. 
 
 What could be in it? What could have disturbed the Crown 
 Prince, so as nearly to make him forget his manners ? Had he 
 been a Prussian, any breach of manners would have been quite 
 accounted for ; but a Saxon ! you might as well have expected a 
 breach of manners from a Frenchman or a Tyrolese. There was 
 something in the paper, and after all it was a public newspaper, 
 and I looked at it. I was not long in discovering what it was. I 
 stood before the auberge at Audun la Romain, with my bridle on 
 my arm. 
 
 I uttered a loud exclamation. The landlord asked me what 
 was the matter. 
 
 " Have you money hoarded here ? " I said. 
 
 He looked at me slily, and nodded his head. 
 
 " Move it — hide it — bury it," I said. 
 
 " But," said he, " I am going to buy Pere Thomas's orchard." 
 
 " Do not," I said, " you will get it cheaper in two years." 
 
 " Ho ! " he said, " M. le Lieutenant, then it is war." 
 
 " That is more that I can say, but mind your money." 
 
 " Hein, hein ! but this is a sad disappointment. I have set 
 my eyes on that orchard for ten years ; but even if it came to the 
 worst we should seize Treves and Cologne." 
 
 Of course I could say nothing else. My duty as an officer 
 prevented me. I rode away towards Sedan, hardly knowing what 
 I did. 
 
120 VALENTIN : 
 
 Had this aubergiste lived twenty or five-and-twenty miles 
 farther from the frontier, he would probably have scorned my 
 advice ; as it was, he, as I afterwards found out, took it. When 
 the Saxons came that way he was found to be possessed of an 
 admirable temper, two dozen of wine, eight bottles of atrocious 
 brandy, and nine francs, all of which he formally delivered over 
 to the Maire of Audun when the requisition came, and got a 
 receipt from the Government of the 4th of September. After the 
 peace, he opened his cellars, bought the orchard, drove a roaring 
 trade with the Germans, who swear by him, and has made rather 
 a good thing of it than otherwise. 
 
 What were the words which I read in the hide petulance Behje, 
 which made me turn my horse's head towards Sedan, and say, 
 
 " Which of them is mad ? " 
 
 The words were very few. " The Emperor sends an ultimatum, 
 demanding that the King of Prussia should guarantee that the 
 name of the Prince of Hohenzollern should never be mentioned 
 again for the candidature to the crown of Spain." 
 
 It was a declaration of war. I saAV it at once. No nation 
 could stand that and exist. It was possibly the most awful act 
 of arrogance since the paper blockade of the British ports by the 
 first Napoleon. For the gentleman who thus committed political 
 suicide I am extremely sorry. His position was a very difficult 
 one. Now, in his misfortune, I choose to forget everything — his 
 awful perjury, his terrible extravagance, and, lastly, his insensate 
 folly. I choose to forget them ; I can speak no more of them. 
 I held his commission once. I swore to be faithful to the French 
 Empire, and I was as long as it lasted. Then I joined the 
 Government of the 4th of September. Rossel, my poor mad 
 friend, did not, and was shot. There is not a single military 
 officer in France who has not violated his sacrameiitum militaire. 
 
 I am Orleanist now. France has among her sons a bevy of 
 princes, such as the world has seldom seen. Few can compare 
 with them either for virtue or talent. Suppose she selects one of 
 them. Why, then I must once more change my vows ; but, an 
 Orleanist once on the throne, I change my vow for the last time, 
 and there are many others who would do the same. 
 
 I rode to Fond de Givonne to see my father and give him the 
 news. I rang at the bell, and after a time that horrible old witch, 
 Mere Mathilde, opened the door. 
 
 " What do you do here '? " I said. 
 
 " I keep the house." 
 
 " Where is my father?" 
 
 " At Cologne, and your mother too. Here is a letter for you." 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 121 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 The letter from my father said in effect, " We have your bride. 
 Do your duty by France. If you are killed, you will need no 
 money yourself; I will leave some for your wife. If you live, 
 you are my own good son, and shall share all, on one solitary 
 condition— that you burn this letter at once. You must know 
 that we shall lose Alsace and part of Lorraine for a time, and 
 I do not choose to sacrifice my property ; in fact, decline to do 
 so. The Emperor is totally misguided by his wife and by his 
 generals. I have sources of information which you cannot have, 
 and I tell you that we are beaten before a blow has been struck. 
 The Germans do not know it, but I do. The Germans to a 
 man believe that we shall at least have Cologne. I dare say 
 no more." 
 
 I never knew whence my father got his intelligence ; but I had 
 such faith in him that I believed in a very great disaster, yet it 
 was not certain that war was declared. I gave a look at the old 
 garden and at the old house, and then I got on my horse and 
 rode away. 
 
 " Ho ! " croaked Mere Mathilde after me ; " there are yet two 
 other letters." 
 
 " Why did you not give them, then ? " 
 
 " Ha ! who knows? I think I wanted to plague you. So 
 Marie is not good enough for you, eh ? " 
 
 I said, "You are a fool," and took the letters. They were 
 serious enough. One was from Mark, a very difficult one to make 
 out ; but it ran like this : — 
 
 " Well-beloved, — The Prince will come through the Eifel. 
 The Prussians do not at this moment know whether the Southern 
 States will go with them. If they do, we are gone. We are told 
 off at 1,200 men, and we shall not fight above 500. 
 
 "Mark." 
 
 The other letter was from Jacques Cartier : — 
 
 " Dear, — Mind this. Our chance is against Falkenstein. Tell 
 your General so. The old dog is of the Bliicher school, and will 
 commit endless blunders. Our peo pie know him very icell indeed. 
 Now, in conclusion, try to use your influence to keep our officers 
 out of the cafes. This is a serious and sad business. The others 
 
122 VALENTIN : 
 
 are not ready ; but they are getting ready, and they will be three 
 to one on us with an inferior population. Our people say that 
 they will win in a canter, though I hardly believe that. Son of 
 my heart, I want to tell you this. The English won at Trafalgar 
 against great odds. Why should not we ? I talked to an old 
 English sailor once, and asked how they won. He said, because 
 they kept on firing after the others had left off. Keep your men 
 together, and continue the fire, even when hope seems lost. 
 Don't, if you can help it, dash at the Prussians and cross 
 bayonets ; it is a great mistake. Stand as the English stand, 
 but do no more. Dashing at an enemy is all nonsense ; our men 
 are not physically strong, and are never well trained. Elan is 
 our ruin. We go to pieces if we fail ; and it is difficult to rally 
 a French regiment. 
 
 "Jacques Caktier." 
 
 I wondered very much where Jacques Cartier had got this 
 accession of wisdom. In fact, it was not his at all ; it was that 
 of General Robinski, a Pole. Rob in ski was only a major in the 
 French army ; but he was a general in nearly every other, includ- 
 ing that of the Confederate States of North America. To write 
 his life would be to write another story as long as this ; but I 
 may say of him that, though he sold his sword, he was true to two 
 countries above all others — Poland, the land of his birth, and 
 France, the land of his adoption. 
 
 Robinski, poor fellow, had a tendency for an idea, greater than 
 that of nationality ; he believed in something which he called the 
 " Universal Republic." Naturally he was a great friend of my 
 peculiarly discreet friends, Jacques Cartier and Mark, my brother. 
 Naturally, also, when everything went wrong with us, he joined the 
 Commune. Naturally, also, when he was taken with Rossel, he sent 
 to me to give evidence to his character. I asked Lord Orley, who was 
 in Paris distributing les dons des Anglais, why. He said, probably 
 because I Avas the greatest fool he knew. He is a droll, Lord 
 Orley, and I gave him a coup tie poing in fun. I gave evidence 
 to Robinski's character, about which I did not happen to know 
 much ; but I said nothing about his being a Carbonaro and an 
 Internationalist. Orley did much better for him. Orley stripped 
 his sword-arm, and showed the cuts on it. They were eight ; 
 " They would have been twenty," said Lord Orley, " had not the 
 prisoner saved my life at Inkerman." 
 
 Said the President, a Royalist, "You do injustice to your 
 order, milord, in speaking for a traitor and a Communist." 
 
 " I should be unworthy to belong to that order, M. le President, 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 123 
 
 if I was capable of deserting a comrade in distress," said Lord 
 Orley. 
 
 There was that curious movement in the room which we French 
 call "sensation." For a moment I thought that Robinxki was 
 saved. Let me go on, please ; it is a very short episode. 
 
 There was too much known about the man, it seemed. I knew 
 more than I chose to tell ; but others, the detective police, knew 
 more, and told it secretly. The poor fellow had got Be volution 
 on the brain, and the French are pretty good judges of that 
 malady. Under the Commune he had done no more harm 
 than Rossel ; but when the court-martial came back they were 
 unanimous. 
 
 " A la mort." 
 
 It was a very wet morning, and very cold. When he was put 
 up at the post", Lord Orley, the priest, and myself went up to 
 him. He had finished his religion; so the priest simply gave 
 him the benediction, and he spoke to me. 
 
 " There is a cross round my neck, Schneider," he said ; " take 
 it off when I am down, and give it to your friend Mark. He was 
 one of us." 
 
 Mark had been under the turf many a long day, but I said 
 nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 The officer of the firing party ordered us away. He knew the 
 priest, Lord Orley, and myself, and we removed. Robinski never 
 staggered for a moment when the volley come ; he fell on the 
 back of his head. We feared while the utter horror of the coup 
 de grace went on with the other two, but our man was killed 
 outright. 
 
 The officer of the firing party came up as we were rifling him. 
 Round his neck were two gold chains — one with a cross, one with 
 a locket containing the portrait of a not very handsome woman. 
 The officer said, 
 
 " He loved some one once." 
 
 I turned on the officer, and said, " He loved France always ; 
 he never betrayed France." 
 
 " I think so," said the officer. " M. Schneider, you are a man 
 of mark, but you know the Carbonari." 
 
124 VALENTIN : 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Was he om) ? " 
 
 " I think so, but I cannot quite say. I got in an indirect 
 manner information from him at one time, which, had it been 
 listened to, might have saved France. 
 
 " We know that by your position," said the officer. " Gentle- 
 men, will you come and look at Rossel ? " 
 
 I did not go, but left the whole of the ghastly tragedy. 
 
 Lord Orley overtook me as we were going into Versailles, and 
 he said, 
 
 " All this seems to me a mistake." 
 
 "It is a necessity," I said, " thrust on us by the Revolution 
 of 1789, as your Fenian executions were thrust on you by the 
 Irish Rebellion of 1798." 
 
 "That is true," he said; "but we only executed absolute 
 murderers. It seems to me a pity that you should shoot such 
 gallant soldiers as Robinski or Rossel, who would have fought for 
 you." 
 
 " They would have given their heart's blood against a foreign 
 enemy," I said; "but they would always plot against the state. 
 No ; you the most gentle of all nations (save the Americans) 
 towards political escapades, should certainly not cast the first 
 stone at us. You found it necessary to give a terrible example ; 
 we have found the same thing necessary. You have an amount 
 of loyalty to the throne which we have never had, and yet you 
 capitally punished many. I say nothing whatever of the Indian 
 mutiny and its suppression. It was entirely necessary that sup- 
 pression, and it was done. What, then, has an Englishman to 
 say to vs ? " 
 
 "Well, I am shut up," said Lord Orley, and walked on in 
 silence. 
 
 I do not in the least know what he meant by saying that he was 
 " shut up." Shut up, as far as I understand English, means in- 
 carceration. Now, I will take my oath that that good milord walked 
 with me to St. Cloud, and saw the ruins that very afternoon. He 
 never was shut up at all, that man ; he was always free to come 
 and go, as Lloyd Lindsay or Dr. Russell. I conceive, however, 
 that he used the expression in the secunda intentio, and meant 
 that I had the best of the argument. 
 
 Heh, that secunda intentio : the Frere Chretien who taught us 
 our religion at Metz told us much about that figure as logic. I 
 called it a " figure," and was put en -piquet against the wall for 
 half an hour. There I repented of my sins, by telling the Frere 
 Chretien that the Roman Catholic religion was formed on the 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 125 
 
 grounds of spcunda intentio, I got four hours' piquet for saying 
 that, and a frightful scolding from the President. But I hold my 
 opinion to this day. 
 
 This is a catalogue of reminiscences ; hut it has its purpose. 
 Robinski gave information to Jacques Cartier, Jacques Cartier 
 gave it to my father ; and I am rich instead of being poor. I 
 must ask you to forgive me for laying a little immortelle on the 
 grave of liobinski and Ptossel, for I loved them both, with all their 
 sins. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 I would rather not write the next chapter ; but I must. I wish 
 that Spicheren was blotted out from the face of the earth. They 
 cry out about Sedan, but Sedan was only the end of our ruin ; 
 Spicheren began it. 
 
 War was declared, as you know, and the deadly game began. 
 It came on us very suddenly after all, though General Trochu tells 
 me that it came equally suddenly on the Germans, and the German 
 General von Lindenau tells me that they were totally unprepared. 
 We in the army, left without information, believed that it was a 
 war against Prussia alone. But we very soon heard that Saxony, 
 Wiirtemberg, Baden, and the other states of the Bund were 
 against us. We always believed that the oppressed states of the 
 war of 1866 would be for us. But no ; that idea of a united 
 Germany was in their hearts, as the idea of a united France is in 
 ours. 
 
 We never believed that Bavaria, for instance, would have gone 
 against us. Paris and Munich are the finest homes of art and 
 music north of the Alps. We never dreamt that the people of 
 Piloty, Kaulbach, and Wagner would have turned against us ; but 
 they did. Their feeling of patriotism was too strong ; and en 
 revanche for their going against Prussia, the doctrinaires of Berlin 
 made the highly cultivated people of Dresden and Munich do all 
 the dirty work. I appeal to Saxony and Bavaria if I am not right. 
 And this thing was done by the nation which produced Humboldt 
 and Bunsen. Well, the baseness of St. Sebastian was done by 
 the nation which produced Wilberforce ; and once more, the 
 affair of the September massacres was done by the nation which 
 produced Chateaubriand ; so that it seems to me that it is only 
 pot and kettle after all. 
 
126 VALENTIN : 
 
 For my part, I was now nominated to the staff of General Florie 
 des Anges (that is not his name, but he must bear it). My busi- 
 ness was to ride furiously about with written messages. I should 
 have liked to have known what was in the envelopes, but I never 
 did. The delivery of them produced generally a sudden disaster. 
 I noticed this during the whole campaign. I am anticipating 
 again when I say that General Florie des Anges was extremely 
 ilevot, and was supposed to be a relation of the Empress. 
 
 Now for a month, or it seems to me twenty years, I was utterly 
 dissociated from wife, father, mother, and everything I had ever 
 loved. I rode about three thousand miles, and no one knew me 
 when I turned up again. At least, I am a little wrong there. I 
 said no one. But then your wife is no one, you know. She is 
 everybody. 
 
 I 'may fairly say from what I had heard and from what I saw, I 
 suspected that we should get a reverse or two, and should have to 
 raise France against Germany, and beat her into submission (a 
 matter which Gambetta tried too late). But I was not prepared 
 for Spicheren. It took me utterly by surprise : our men did not 
 stand. 
 
 A great deal has been said about Spicheren. Vogel vonFalken- 
 stein was suspended from command at once for doing nearly the 
 finest deed of arms ever done in the world, and most properly. The 
 chances were fifty to one against him. In Prussia, as in England, 
 you shoot or suspend a general officer pour encourar/er les autres. 
 I can quite understand the extreme anger of von Moltke and his 
 school against Vogel von Falkenstein ; yet he won. Why ? 
 Because the old mastiff knew that the regiments before him would 
 not stand. 
 
 I did not know that. When I saw the steel blue battalions 
 coming up at us, I thought that the man was mad. They wound 
 in and out among the vineyard walls, and we fired at them (I was 
 a mere spectator you must rem ember). Our men fired very well, 
 and with great accuracy, but still this horrible blue snake came 
 winding on. We scotched it in places, but it was never killed. 
 
 Theorise of Spicheren is as steep as the roof of a house, and 
 you could see the men coming on. On level ground, you know, 
 you can only see the front rank of an opposing battalion. At 
 Spicheren you could see thousand after thousand preparing for the 
 assault should the first assault fail. I thank Heaven I was not 
 frightened ; but, then, young married men seldom are. 
 
 They fired very well. Their artillery did not support them so 
 well as in later 'battles. I found myself with the back of my 
 head against a wall, and somebody said that Lieutenant Schneider's 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 127 
 
 horse had heen shot under him. Like David Copperfield, on a 
 different occasion, I was prepared to deny the fact indignantly ; 
 hut seeing that the horse was dead, and that I was bleeding all 
 down my hack, I began to believe that there was something in it. 
 The next minute our inexorable enemies were over the wall. 
 Dazed and stunned as I was, I tried to do something. We had 
 regiments who would have disputed every inch of ground, but 
 these poor boys could not and would not stand. Do not laugh at 
 them or despise them in any way. You English stand to the 
 death better than any troops in the world. Yet do not even you 
 speak of Chillianwallah to a certain dragoon regiment of yours. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 I wish to speak the truth, and I think I do so when I say that 
 after Spicheren our men began to get frightened, and to distrust 
 their officers. Of the other three lost battles the men knew 
 nothing, until a pestilent rogue came in from Luxemburg with 
 copies of the Independance Beige. 
 
 Of all the lunacies committed under the sun, the lunacy of the 
 Emperor was the greatest. Fancy reading this : " Macmahonhas 
 lost a battle, but there is no reason why matters should not recover 
 themselves." From that moment we were utterly lost. He had 
 almost better have lied, and claim a victory. 
 
 We, like yourselves, have been so accustomed to victory, that 
 we do not behave well under defeat. AYhen your Yv T ellington bore 
 down on us from the lines of Torres Vedras, with the command of 
 the sea at his back, we did not behave well. Napoleon the Great 
 was elsewhere, and Wellington counted him for 30,000 men. We 
 were always in doubt after the first four great battles ; we began 
 looking to the rear, and that is fatal in soldiering. I do not 
 think that there was a coward among us, only we distrusted 
 " head-quarters." 
 
 Forbach was the worst of all, but that I never saw. A staff- 
 officer with whom I was lying told me that he had been there, and 
 that the battle showed that our men would not stand against the 
 Germans. I laughed at him. He told me to laugh, turned over 
 on his side, and went to sleep. 
 
 I remember nothing save episodes during the weary days which 
 followed before the frightful day of St. Privat. I was riding now 
 
128 VALENTIN : 
 
 continually. I could make out nothing at all. I was a mere 
 messenger. I had to put letters in my haversack, and cany them 
 across country. Sometimes I had something to eat, sometimes I 
 had nothing at all. My horse, which carried me long and well, 
 was an English bay horse. I tried to find where they had buried 
 him the other day, but I could not. 
 
 It is not so very safe, this carrying of despatches, I can tell you. 
 You lose your way sometimes in the dark, and, if you are close 
 to the frontier, you may violate neutrality. Now I was close on 
 the Dutch frontier, and I completely lost my way in the dark one 
 night ; that was before the passage of the Prince by Metz you 
 will notice, or, to be more correct, it was the evening before the 
 day on which Bazaine was doomed. 
 
 It grew very dark, and there was no moon ; my orders were for 
 Longwy, and there were two blazing villages in a line which 
 guided me past Metz. Then I got into a dark wood, and lost 
 sight of them and of everything ; then I got on a broad blank 
 down, and when I got to the summit of it I found that I had 
 entirely lost my way. 
 
 There was a cluster of lights a long way oft", which I made out 
 to be Thionville. It could surely be no other place. The silence 
 of death was all around me, and it was difficult to believe that 
 a great battle had been fought and lost within sight of where 
 I stood that day.* 
 
 The field of battle was above twenty miles away, and yet I felt 
 that the gentle wind which was waving the long grass on the 
 down, was also waving the dead men's hair who lay down yonder 
 behind the lights of Thionville. t I do not think that I ever felt 
 so sad and lonely in my whole life. 
 
 There was a little solitary pool of water on it, and I dismounted 
 from my horse and watered him. Then I let the poor beast graze, 
 and then I sat down and thought. 
 
 What was there to think about ? only disaster after disaster. 
 The Prince might turn Metz, and the peasants had told me that 
 the whole nation of Germany were on the march through Saarbruck 
 and Colmar. Now I thought of our attenuated battalions, and 
 I am afraid that I lay with my face on the short, dewless grass, 
 and made a fool of myself. 
 
 I roused myself, and thought, " Where was I? " I had eaten 
 nothing since six in the morning, and my poor horse was failing. 
 
 * The author is only correctly putting down personal recollections. 
 f From tbis down you can see the cathedral at Metz, twenty miles 
 away. I forget the name of it. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 129 
 
 I mounted him again, and went down from the summit rather 
 faint, but knowing, if you will look at the map, that I should be 
 at Longwy long before the boldest Uhlan. 
 
 The down dipped steeply, and then I was on a country road. 
 Then I suddenly found a stream before me, and a village beyond. 
 
 I was in great doubt. The village was in high festival, and 
 I remembered that it was a great day among the Catholics, 
 though I, as a Huguenot, could not for the life of me remember 
 which. I was well in the shade, and I reconnoitred. 
 
 I saw a young man come out with a young woman under the 
 eaves of a shed opposite. I knew what I was witnessing, for 
 I had done the same thing myself before. He was asking her 
 to have him, I knew that. She gave him one kiss, and went 
 back to her mother. I was glad of this, and I was also glad that 
 she told him not to come in again for a quarter of an hour, because 
 I wanted this young man most particularly. He stood under the 
 shed, there was no one near, and I said, 
 
 "Pst, pst." 
 
 " Qui vive ? " he whispered. 
 
 "Is it France?" I asked. 
 
 "No, not here. Come over the stream, and you will find 
 where you are." 
 
 He came at once, and looked at me. 
 
 " A French officer," he said. " My dear, if you come over the 
 stream, you break the neutrality of Luxemburg." 
 
 " I must have wandered," I said. 
 
 " Yet come over. We are all mad for your side here." 
 
 " I cannot. I must go south to skirt the frontier." 
 
 " Where do you wish to go ? " said the young man. 
 
 " To Longwy as fast as possible." 
 
 " Then see, clear officer, I can take you across Luxemburg by 
 daylight. No one will be a bit the wiser in any way." 
 
 I hesitated. It was a fearfully immoral proceeding. I do not 
 defend myself at all. Cast me out of the city, and stone me. 
 But when he told me the name of the village, I saw that it was 
 utterly hopeless to get to Longwy in time. I saw that I must 
 do it. I crossed the stream with him, and stood in the territory 
 of the King of Holland. 
 
 " Stay here under the shed," said the young man. " Were 
 you watching me and my darling ? " 
 
 "Yes; but it does not matter. I am a young married man 
 myself. 
 
 " See, then, how it happens. She is going to have me. She 
 is a French girl, and I would die for her or for France. It will 
 
 10 
 
130 VALENTIN : 
 
 be exactly ten minutes before I get my horse. It is only half- 
 past ten now ; I will go to her for one moment, then I will be 
 with you." 
 
 I stood for less than five minutes before I heard the sound of 
 two pretty little feet which stopped near me. A gentle little voice 
 said, 
 
 " Where is the French officer? " 
 
 I said, 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 Then two pretty little hands were clasped in mine. I knew 
 they were pretty, ' though I never saw them. It was too dark. 
 Then a little arm went round my neck, and I got a kiss on both 
 cheeks. With the cleverness of my nation, I guessed that this 
 was the young lady who was just engaged to my guide, and, with 
 the tact of my nation, I did not return them, saying only, 
 
 " I will pay those back to my wife." 
 
 My guide Max came round the corner, leading his horse. 
 
 " I have been kissing the officer," said the young woman. 
 
 "You had better kiss me," said Max, good-humouredly, "I 
 am handsomer than he is." 
 
 "Pas du tout," I said; "though we have never seen one 
 another, I will match myself for beauty against you, and I am not 
 handsome." 
 
 "Max is very handsome," said the young lady, and from 
 sounds which I heard, I should think that he got a great deal 
 more kissing than I did. " Save France, officer," said the 
 young woman. 
 
 "I will die for her if I can, mademoiselle," I said. "She 
 must save herself from herself." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 The cabarets were open in that village. The people were sitting 
 in the street looking at the weather ; at M. le Cure ; at Sister 
 Agatha, who had come out to air herself after attending a man 
 with a broken leg ; at M. le Maire, and Madame his wife, and 
 everything which was to be seen. Yet it is a most remarkable 
 thing that not one of these gentle Luxemburgers saw me. If 
 I caught an eye, there was naught but speculation in it. 
 
 I think that a French staff-officer, with a gold-hilted sword, red 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 131 
 
 breeches, a white cloak lined with scarlet, and patent leather 
 boots to his knees, is rather an impressive person. But they did 
 not see me at all. There are none so blind as those who will not 
 see. I saluted M. le Maire ; he looked me full in the face, and 
 cut me dead. I understood the joke when an anonymous hand 
 sent me the Luxemburg Chronicle. The Maire of this village 
 was called to account for letting me pass. His answer was very 
 good : — 
 
 "I can only say that several people were there in uniform. 
 Ostensibly, Herr Dukeldorf, of the Grand Duke's army. I amused 
 myself by watching the people swinging. I noticed very late at 
 night a man in scarlet and white, whom I took to be an English- 
 man. Lord Granville having guaranteed our neutrality, I thought 
 it indecorous to demand passports of an English officer, at a time 
 when we were en fete." 
 
 The answer passed, as I heard afterwards. Meanwhile I went 
 on with my guide into the darkness. He was most terribly 
 French, this young fellow, and his curses against the Prussians 
 were loud and deep. I reasoned with him. 
 
 " You continually abuse the Prussians. Why so ? " 
 
 " They are disagreeable blackguards." 
 
 11 They are better educated than we are ; their domestic morals 
 are excellent. We declared war, and they wanted to cripple us. 
 Why are we to abuse them at all ? " 
 
 " Did you know them at Luxemburg ? " 
 
 " Many hearts were sore when they left it," I said. 
 
 " That is true," he answered, " yet they are most disagreeable. 
 They have violated the sacred soil of France." 
 
 "No soil is sacred," I answered, "if it cannot be defended. 
 I dislike the Prussians ; their habits are by no means like our 
 own, in some respects they are better. But you must remember 
 that all the southern states have joined with them." 
 
 "Yes," said the Luxemburger, "the whole horde of barbarians 
 is on France at once." 
 
 " Are the people of Munich and Dresden barbarians ? " I asked. 
 " Are the gentle Bavarian-Tyrolese barbarians ? " 
 
 He was silent, and came to the woman's argument, " I hate 
 them all alike." 
 
 Then we had very quiet talk under the winking stars — very 
 pleasant talk, which made me think of Marie, and his being as 
 silly about his love as I was about mine. We rode very fast, and 
 at one o'clock in the morning we came to a large village, which 
 seemed to me to consist of very vast buildings, with a continual 
 noise of water. He trotted up before me through a beautiful 
 
132 VALENTIN : 
 
 garden, and I had no difficulty in seeing that I was in front of 
 a splendid hotel, and that there were two other splendid hotels 
 right and left of us. Still all was dark and silent. 
 
 " What place is this ? " I asked. 
 
 "The Baths of Mondorf," he answered. "Keep out of the 
 light when they open the door. Why, in the name of goodness, 
 do you French dress like that ? " and he rang the hell. 
 
 I whispered to him, " This is the extreme south point of your 
 Dutch territory, I think." 
 
 "It is so. Hide under the shade, dear officer, and turn that 
 white cloak of yours inside out. Unless I am mistaken, we 
 are in extreme danger. Do you see that light on the hill close 
 by?" 
 ' "Yes." 
 
 " What do you make of it ? " 
 
 " A watch fire." 
 
 "Yes, and I fear German. Turn your cloak, and keep in the 
 shade. If anything is wrong here, leave me to shift for myself. 
 Strike straight up the village, take the first turning to the right, 
 get among the lanes, and keep asking the way to Petange. Not 
 a villager will hetray you." 
 
 My chances of heing shot for a spy seemed to me extremely 
 prosperous. The only question was, how far had the Germans 
 pushed ? 
 
 My friend rang again. Now the door was thrown open on the 
 darkness, and a voice said, " Who goes there, monsieur? " 
 
 Then there was a whispering, and my guide went in. Then 
 he came out, and said, "It is all as it should he ; we must rest 
 here an hour. That fire on the hill is from burning weeds ; 
 there is no German within fifteen miles. We must rest, for we 
 shall have to ride far and fast, and our horses will not stand it 
 without rest." 
 
 " We are fearfully near the frontier," I said. 
 
 " The frontier is on the other side of the garden," he said. 
 
 I felt the necessity of rest. I passed in through a darkened 
 hall into a brilliantly-lighted saloon, though no light had been 
 visible from the outside, and to my unutterable astonishment 
 I found four gentlemen playing at cards, and a beautiful young 
 lady advising the youngest gentleman how to play. 
 
 The host, who had admitted me into this saloon was a tall, 
 grey-headed man. He said in the most apologetic manner, 
 "Messieurs les Anglais, will you allow a captain of the Duke of 
 Luxemburg's guard to have his supper here ? " 
 
 They rose and bowed. I saw by their eyes that they knew 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 133 
 
 everything, but they never said a word which could compromise 
 me. A very tall man, with a carefully curled moustache, came 
 forward and begged me to be seated. A shorter, stout-built man, 
 with a brown beard and a bright eye, took the opportunity to 
 sweep all the money and all the counters off the table, and put 
 them into his own pocket. There was about four francs, as I 
 guessed, and the thing was so openly and audaciously done that I 
 could not help laughing. The tall man with the moustache saw 
 from my laughing that something was wrong, turned at once, 
 missed the money, and at once began a personal encounter on the 
 youngest of the party, the man who had not taken it. 
 
 They were in no way heated with wine these two, but they 
 pulled one another about, until the younger one slipped on the 
 polished floor, and came down on the back of his head. Then an 
 older gentleman (he was not much over thirty, evidently the 
 brother of the younger combatant) picked his brother up ; and 
 then there was a general objurgation, which ended in the restora- 
 tion of the four francs by the short, stout-built gentleman with 
 the brown beard. 
 
 I thought, of course, that there would be at least two duels over 
 the matter. I never saw men handle one another like that before. 
 I only hoped that they would not ask me to interfere, and be a 
 second to either of them. The youngest among them begged my 
 pardon for tapage in most excellent French. Then I found that 
 they were going to supper. They did not look like lunatics at all, 
 though they behaved, as I should say, most disgracefully. 
 
 I took the opportunity to step out and ask the landlord who 
 they were. He said, " Oh ! they are only correspondents of the 
 London press. The one with the brown beard is trying to get 
 through the German lines into Metz. Here are their names in 
 the visitors' book. They must start in two hours from now, they 
 say." 
 
 I looked at the visitors' book, and then I looked at the landlord. 
 I knew the names of three of these men very well indeed, for I 
 had read much English lately ; the fourth, the younger of the two 
 brothers, I did not know, but as he had signed himself with V.C. 
 after his name, I took occasion, before supper, to ask the tall man 
 with the moustache, the correspondent of the , who he was. 
 
 "He is the hero of Rajpootpoor, in the Mutiny. He was only 
 seventeen then. He and his brother have come out, I suspect, 
 officially; but I don't know, and I don't ask. I ask nothing 
 which I do not want to know. I don't ask whether or no you are 
 a French officer carrying despatches." 
 
 "Please do not." 
 
134 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Of course I will not; but if you happened to meet such a 
 person advise him to read his despatches, to burn them, and then 
 to remember them ; but before all things to get to Longwy." 
 
 " How far have the Germans got ? " I asked, suddenly. 
 
 " I can't know. I shall know to-morrow afternoon, but that 
 would be too late for you. Do you know a place called Petange ? " 
 
 " I should, my brother was killed there." 
 
 " Was there ever a battle there ? " 
 
 " No ; he was killed by wolves in the snow years ago. I shall 
 keep to the right of Mont St. Jean, and drop on to Longwy com- 
 fortably." 
 
 "Are you afraid of the Luxemburgers ? I think they are 
 getting frightened." 
 
 " I shall keep to the country lanes." 
 
 " Now come to supper, and after supper to bed, then a start," 
 said the Englishman. 
 
 My Luxemburger had his supper in the kitchen, declining to 
 join us for political reasons. We had a most excellent company. 
 I desire no better company than that of educated Englishmen. I 
 was in hopes that they would become boisterous again, but they, 
 as they explained to me, were on the war-trail, and took but little 
 wine, only comparing maps. At half-past two my good young 
 guide came for me. They also ordered out their horses. I parted 
 from the kindly, gentle English War Correspondents, but not 
 from their writings. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 I thought very much of my fantastic companions, as I and my 
 guide rode away through the sleeping villages. No one noticed 
 us there at all, and, oddly enough, when morning dawned, no one 
 noticed us either. The Luxemburgers refused to see us in any 
 way at all. Their uniform is of the most modest sort, many of 
 your English volunteer regiments are gayer. Yet for me, with a 
 white cloak lined with scarlet, a blue tunic, red trousers, and a 
 gold-hilted sword, they had no eyes whatever. 
 
 We carefully skirted the frontier, keeping on the right side of 
 
 N . It was a most remarkable thing that the douaniers were 
 
 quite as blind as the peasants. I saw them go into their barracks 
 whenever we approached. At the very last, near Petange, I 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 135 
 
 caught an officer who was coming round the corner. He at once 
 addressed me in English. He said, 
 
 " English officers should scarcely travel in uniform, sir." 
 
 "It is extremely bad manners," I replied. " I will not trans- 
 gress again." 
 
 " You will get us into serious trouble if you do," he said, and 
 passed on. 
 
 " Longwy is close now," remarked my guide. 
 
 " Yes," I answered ; "we will go this way, through the wood, 
 and drop down on it nicely." 
 
 " Then you know this country ? " 
 
 " Now I do. Do you know that my brother was killed here 
 fifteen years ago by a wolf ? ' ' 
 
 " There was only one boy killed like that in the time of the 
 Crimean war. What did you say your name was ? " 
 
 "Valentin Schneider." 
 
 " Great heaven," he said, " then you are the wehr-wolf ! " 
 
 We were deep in the wood above Longwy as he said this, and I 
 answered, or rather began to answer, " That ridiculous story — " 
 when he pointed with his whip, and said, 
 
 " Look there ! " 
 
 There was a very large wolf in the forest path before us, with 
 the blazing morning sun shining down on his coat. I bethought 
 me of something. I thought that influence was influence, and 
 might be useful. I threw my rein to my guide, and jumped off 
 my horse, leaving him in terror. 
 
 I ran up to the wolf and called him to me. Then I stroked his 
 head, and kissed his face. Then I ordered him away into the 
 dense copse-wood, and he went. 
 
 Now you are puzzled. Well, I will deceive you no longer. It 
 was no more a wolf than your sister's Skye terrier is a wolf. It 
 was a large sheep-dog used to children, as all sheep-dogs are, and 
 I had just ordered him back to his master. 
 
 My guide looked on me with deep awe. 
 
 " Then it is true about you," he said. 
 
 " Many things are true and many untrue in this world," I said, 
 sententiously. 
 
 " Yes. But I can believe all things now. Your brother was 
 killed here by a wolf in the snow ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes," I said. 
 
 He turned to me and made a certain sign. I saw that he was 
 a Carbonaro ; but I looked him steadily in the eyes, and would 
 give no reply. 
 
 I said directly, 
 
136 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Ha, here are the chimneys of lower Longwy below us ; now 
 we had better part, kind friend. You must accept these four 
 napoleons from me." 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 "It is too much," he said. 
 
 " She will like something pretty," I said. 
 
 " Bon ! " he answered ; " you would persuade Satan to be 
 good with that French tongue of yours. See, I will give you 
 something for your money." 
 
 " And what is that? " I said, hoping for intelligence about the 
 movements of troops. 
 
 He pulled up his horse and said, 
 
 " Is there any man whom you love better than another in this 
 world ? I do not mean woman, for I know all." 
 
 I said, 
 
 " Yes, my father." 
 
 "Everyman except a dog loves his father," he replied; "I 
 mean a young man." 
 
 " Yes, I love one young man nearly as well as my wife." 
 
 "And his name? " 
 
 "Mark." 
 
 " I know you now. I have seen you together when you did not 
 think it. Mark is your own brother." 
 
 I saw it all in a dense mist. I remembered something in Mark's 
 eyes for which I could not account. But I was emphatically 
 determined to have the whole matter out. 
 
 " Man," I said, " how can you prove this ? " 
 
 " Does not your own heart prove it ? Do you not know your 
 remarkable likeness to him ? If you want proofs, go to Mere 
 Hortense." 
 
 " But he was killed." 
 
 " He was not ; he was stolen by Mere Hortense, to annoy your 
 father. The Carbonari all know that.' 1 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I cannot tell; your father did her some injury, and she 
 revenged it in that way." 
 
 " You will drive me mad. What relation was Marie, my wife, 
 to Mere Mathilde ? " 
 
 " None whatever." 
 
 " Thank heaven," I said ; for a horrible doubt had crept into 
 my mind. 
 
 " She was no relation to any one," he said. " Had she been, 
 a hundred of us would have told you. Now, good-bye." 
 
 And so he turned and left me. Mark my own brother ! Does 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 137 
 
 Nature ever err ? When he twined his pretty feet with mine, they 
 seemed to me like no other feet. I could see it all as plainly as 
 possible now. 
 
 Bang ! and a boom through the forest. The morning gun from 
 Longwy ; the dreams of the night were over. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The drawbridge was down, and I rode clattering in. Head- 
 quarters were already astir, and leaving my horse I went upstairs. 
 The Commandant and a certain great French General were 
 sitting together over coffee and business. They received me very 
 courteously. If the General had known the company I had been 
 in the quarter of an hour previously, as a strong Napoleonist he 
 might not have been quite so well satisfied. 
 
 I put my despatches before the Commandant ; he, as a matter 
 of etiquette, handed them to the General, who read them. 
 
 While he did so, I watched the shrewd, beautiful old face, 
 bronzed with Algerian, Crimean, and Italian suns. When he 
 had finished them he handed them to the Commandant, who 
 said, 
 
 II He must be nearly past us, General." 
 
 "I do not think it," said the General. " I cannot believe it. 
 These despatches are dated last night, sir. You must have 
 ridden fast." 
 
 " By which route could you have come ? " said the Commandant 
 of Longwy. 
 
 " Pst ! Pst ! don't ask questions," said the General. 
 
 "I have ridden all night," I replied, "save an hour which I 
 spent while I baited my horse with some English lunatics at " 
 
 " Don't tell more than you are asked," said the General. 
 " You have behaved splendidly. You shall hear of this some 
 day, my child. Old moustache," to the commandant, "did you 
 ever do better than this ? ' ' 
 
 "Not I. This baby-faced boy is like one of those boys which 
 the English breed. You remember the boy Arbuthnot, the young 
 ensign, who fell with the flag over him at the Alma ? " 
 
 I was a little nettled at his quoting an English boy. I said, 
 "And you also doubtless remember the French boy Casabianca, 
 who was blown up in the Orient because he would not leave his 
 
138 VALENTIN : 
 
 post. And I beg to add, gentlemen, that I am not a boy, but a 
 married man." 
 
 They were both startled, and asked me to sit down. 
 
 They whispered together for some time, and then the General 
 said, 
 
 " Sir, I did not notice your name. You are the younger M. 
 Schneider of Sedan ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You are aware that your father has deserted France ? " 
 
 " He was a German. I am a Frenchman. He will do nothing 
 against France. He has removed his property. He has done 
 nothing at all else." 
 
 " Good ; but you are utterly for France ?" 
 
 " Should I have violated every law of national honour for her, 
 as I did last night," I answered, " if I was not prepared to die for 
 her?" 
 
 " Your bride is in Germany? " said the General. 
 
 " She is," I said ; " and I shall never see her until the secret 
 of the French army has been told to the world — I mean if I am 
 not killed." 
 
 " What is the secret of the French army, M. Schneider ? " 
 
 " Attenuated battalions. The same secret exists with regard 
 to the English army, but that is of no consequence." 
 
 He rang a bell. " See to M. Schneider's horse," he said. 
 " You are going on a very long and dangerous journey, M. 
 Schneider." 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 " I do not think that there is much chance of your succeeding, 
 M. Sclmieder. You will either be killed or taken prisoner." 
 
 I bowed again. 
 
 " The Germans are pressing us very closely, and we do not 
 know what may happen. You have shown fine powers of riding 
 swiftly, and you must use them. Will you look at this map ? " 
 
 I did so. He put down his hand on a place called Ste. Marie 
 aux Chenes, and he said, " You must be there in twenty-four 
 hours." 
 
 It did not seem to me at all impossible. I said it would be easy. 
 
 " Not so easy as vou think," he said. " Did you ever hear of 
 Uhlans?" 
 
 I said, " Yes, but really know very little about them." I 
 thought that they were something of the nature of Cossacks or 
 Pandours, Mahrattas or Mamelukes. I had no idea that they 
 were men selected from every cavalry regiment in Germany, two 
 by two. I will say more of them afterwards. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 139 
 
 " The Uhlans are thirty miles in front of the main line of the 
 Germans. You must mind them." 
 
 " I am afraid of no German." 
 
 " But you might be afraid of two," said the dry old General. 
 "You have to carry despatches." 
 
 " Give them to me, sir, and I will start at once." 
 
 " On the contrary, you will breakfast with me and M. le Com- 
 mandant ; you will then go to bed, sleep for four hours, and then 
 you will ride." 
 
 There was a very good breakfast. I ate ravenously till I was 
 satisfied, then I proposed to lie on the sofa. But the wise old 
 Algerian made me take my clothes off and get into his bed. He 
 even insisted on my changing my shirt. When I dropped to sleep 
 I saw him putting the windows open and arranging my clothes. 
 
 Then I went into Fairyland. Marie and I and my father and 
 mother were gathering lilies in a most beautiful garden, and 
 Jacques Cartier came, and we gave him some of our lilies. And 
 Mere Mathilde came with a wolf beside her, and she said to my 
 father, " Come and look at your work." And we all went and 
 looked ; and Mark was lying, stark and bloody, with his white 
 gaiters turned up to the sky ; and I thought that Marie would 
 have cried, but she did not. She touched my eyes, and then I 
 saw a beautiful angel looking in Mark's face with curiosity and 
 pity, and the angel turned to Marie and to me, and I called to it by 
 name, for it was Mark himself ; and then the angel spread its 
 wings and flew away, leaving only Mark's corpse upon the ground. 
 I burst from Marie, and made a wild effort to get at the angel to 
 say good-bye, and I felt a strong arm round my chest, and heard 
 a voice say, 
 
 " Steady ; you have been dreaming." 
 
 It was the Commandant of Longwy. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 The General was also sitting on the bed. He said, " You must 
 keep all your wits about you, my boy." 
 
 " What time is it ? " I asked. 
 
 " Half-past one. We have been discussing together, and we 
 have come to a certain determination. The most important 
 despatch shall not be written. I will give you my authority to 
 
140 VALENTIN : 
 
 the Emperor, and that will carry you anywhere ; but you must 
 tell the words which I tell you to no one but a general. Here are 
 your clothes ; dress yourself. We have got you a good horse. 
 Put on your cloak with the red side outwards, and God speed you. 
 You must be at Ste. Marie aux Chenes by morning." 
 
 I was on horseback in ten minutes, as fresh as possible. They 
 gave me two glasses of claret, and then the General led me down 
 the street, where no one could hear, as he told me my despatch in 
 a few words. 
 
 "Tell the Emperor to avoid Sedan. The whole thing is con- 
 certed, and I know it ; move every man to the right, and make 
 for Paris. Tell him not to stand till he comes to Chalons, and 
 then only for a short time." 
 
 I learnt this by heart, and then I sped away through the glorious 
 summer weather over the plains of Lorraine. 
 
 The message was never delivered to any one who listened to 
 it. In my opinion it would not have made very much difference if 
 it had been. It would most emphatically have saved the surrender 
 at Sedan, but it would not have saved us elsewhere. 
 
 Heaven defend any nation from Yauban's fortifications. A 
 strong place without large star forts outside is a mere mousetrap. 
 Take Luxemburg, for instance, the strongest place in the world. 
 Why any fool could take Luxemburg in three or four days. The 
 Prussians knew that very well, and not being ready for war in that 
 year, dropped it, as the Irish say, like a red-hot potato. They 
 were not going to have an army corps, or possibly three, hemmed 
 in that valley. When they left Luxemburg they were just pre- 
 paring to put a series of star forts around it, at a mile's radius 
 from the glacis ! With modern artillery and engineering, a man 
 who could not take Luxemburg as it stands, has no earthly right 
 to draw his pay. 
 
 If you think that this is incroyable, just look at the case of 
 Sedan. Nay, look at every one of Vauban's fortresses ; and I 
 hear your French and English officers saying that taking a fortress 
 is only " a matter of time." Certainly, with regard to one of 
 Vauban's fortresses, with modern ideas pitted against it. But 
 give the Germans Luxemburg or Belfort for a year, and the world 
 would not get it from them. They are, I see, doing the matter 
 of outlying forts at Strassburg and Metz, so those towns are hope- 
 lessly gone. 
 
 Honour where honour is due. That funny little civilian, M. 
 Thiers (whom I do not admire), was the first man in France to 
 see this. He, as nearly as possible, saved Paris by his genius. 
 Let us hope that he may save France. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 You can put your horse at a gallop over those lovely cultivated 
 downs in Lorraine and Champagne, and ride as straight as an 
 eagle flies. We know that to our ruin. The subdivision of land 
 has made every inch of ground valuable, and so we have no 
 hedges at all. I should like to see a German army advancing 
 through the county of Kent, just for curiosity's sake, before the 
 volunteers of three counties. I am under the impression that I 
 would back the volunteers if they were properly handled. 
 
 Give them proper organisation and proper recognition, and they 
 would play very heavy mischief with an invading army till your 
 regular army was ready (which it seldom is). As for your regular 
 army, they were made to conquer, and they always have con- 
 quered. You English have scarcely a disaster to show out of 
 America. I can only remember two, both in Holland. 
 
 I had a fancy that the air of Champagne made the wine, for as 
 I rode (by the compass) the air was blowing from the pearly blue 
 hills of Champagne, far to the right, and I felt as though I had 
 drank a bottle of Moet or Veuve Cliquot. My horse was a 
 splendid beast, French bred, for he had the blood of his sire 
 Monarque in his veins, and his granddam was Blink Bonny. He 
 had been crossed into the grand Norman blood, and was heavier 
 than a race-horse, but had possibly more terrible powers of 
 endurance. 
 
 I think that in your Life Guards the horses are a little too 
 small for the men, though they are unsurpassed as cavalry horses. 
 It is not that the horses are too small, but the men are too large. 
 
 This horse of mine, Rataplan, could carry me as a racehorse 
 carries a jockey. I was only ten stone as I rode, your Life Guards 
 ride fifteen ; and Rataplan (to use your calculation) stood nearly 
 eighteen hands. I should have ridden straight through the 
 Chasseurs d'Afrique, with their pretty, weedy little Arabs. 
 
 I rode very hard, and towards evening I came to a little soli- 
 tary farm, a rare thing in those parts, where the farmers live in 
 the large villages ; and so, in case of an invasion, put, to speak in 
 a military sense, all their eggs in one basket. There was a very 
 pretty maiden watering the cows, and as I am very fond of all 
 maidens, pretty or otherwise (as I hope you are), I determined 
 to alight here and get my horse fed. 
 
 She was very glad to see a French uniform. It was the first 
 she had seen for twelve hours. 
 This seemed very ominous. 
 
142 VALENTIN : 
 
 " You see," she said, as I was taking the saddle off, " that the 
 good Emperor is tempting these dogs of Prussians on in order to 
 destroy them ; so I suppose that we shall have them here." 
 
 " Are you afraid of them ? " 
 
 " I ! Not I. I was in Treves, for a year, and was always 
 among them. They are barbarians, and talk a savage language 
 which I never could learn ; but they are kind dogs enough. The 
 people at St. Privat and Ste. Marie are afraid of them. Not I. 
 Possibly one of them may try to give me a beery kiss, in which 
 case I should slap his face, just as I should yours, if you offered 
 to do it, and we should part friends." 
 
 I said, " I should accept that challenge if I were not married." 
 
 " It is impossible; yet I think it must be true; or, young as mon- 
 sieur looks, he would have given me reason to smack his face." 
 
 We both laughed. She was such a very pretty, plucky girl that 
 I felt anxious about her. When we were in the stable together 
 feeding my horse, I urged her to fly. 
 
 She said, 
 
 " No. My grandmother and I keep this farm, the men have 
 gone away, and I got my grandmother away this morning." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you are going to remain alone here ? " 
 I said, aghast. 
 
 " Most certainly," she said. " Am I not a Frenchwoman ? And 
 you mistake the Germans. They will not hurt me, I know, the 
 sentimental fools." 
 
 " They are plundering in every direction," I said. 
 
 " That is very likely," she replied, coolly. " I have heard of 
 the French, nay, even of the saintly English doing the same thing. 
 If they plunder me they will not get very rich ; for if they can 
 find my grandmother's gold (of which there is a good deal) it is 
 more than I can. I know that she has hidden it in the house, but 
 where, I have not the least idea. Come in and eat while your 
 horse is eating." 
 
 She gave me cheese and wine. While I was eating, I said, 
 
 " Did your grandmother desert you ? " 
 
 " No ; she is a very clever woman. She, as an old Alsatian, 
 knew the Germans, and knew that I was a better guard for the 
 house than twenty hot-headed men. If our two men had stayed 
 (which they did not) we should have had a fracas, and might have 
 had the house burnt down. My grandmother would not tell me 
 where the gold was, lest some riotous men of our own nation 
 should force me to tell. Eat fast, the Uhlans cannot be far off. 
 Pierre Leroy saw them ten miles off at one o'clock. I will go and 
 saddle your horse for you." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 143 
 
 " Mais, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Yes. Be tranquil. You must rest. Where are you going ? " 
 
 "To Ste. Marie aux Chenes." 
 
 " You must ride hard. If you have despatches, read, them and 
 burn them here now." 
 
 " I carry no important despatches on paper, I have them in my 
 head." 
 
 " Bon. Look out at the door, and let me serve France by 
 saddling your horse." 
 
 " I cannot bear it." 
 
 " Please let me serve France, monsieur," she said. 
 
 How could I help it ? She would do it, and Bayard himself 
 could not have resisted her. She brought my horse round, and 
 then she made me hold him while she rolled up my cloak with the 
 red side outwards. 
 
 She then put it over my right shoulder and under my left arm, 
 then she tied the ends with a piece of string under my left arm. 
 I saw that my left arm and my right arm were quite free, and that 
 the thick rolled cloak covered my heart. 
 
 " I learnt that at Treves," she said, laughing. " By heavens ! 
 here they are. Take this kiss to madame your wife, and go for 
 the sake of her." . 
 
 I kissed her, but I would not leave her until she had urged me 
 in such a way that I could not refuse. Then I left her. 
 
 There were those two black specks on the hill before us, which I 
 knew well to be the terrible Uhlans. I rode straight towards them, 
 and when I was within pistolshot of them I waved a white handker- 
 chief. They both trotted towards me at once. I wheeled and 
 covered them with my Deane and Adam's revolver, knowing per- 
 fectly well that I could bring down both their horses. I cried out, 
 "Ein! Ein! " 
 
 One fellow, a very nice young fellow indeed, came forward to- 
 wards me. I talked to him in German. I told him that our 
 pickets were close by (as indeed they were, though I did not know 
 it), but that I was very anxious about the farm in the valley below, 
 as it was held by a solitary young lady. I hoped that they would 
 respect her splendid courage. 
 
 The young man said frankly that they did not make war against 
 women, and that I might be well assured. 
 
 I nodded to him and sped away. 
 
 But I must tell you the end of this episode. Affairs had not 
 heated themselves at that time, and there was much chivalry 
 among outposts. As for German chivalry towards women, I think 
 that has never been disputed. But among the soldiers there was 
 but little anger at this time. 
 
144 VALENTIN : 
 
 As I heard afterwards, within an hour after I rode away towards 
 Ste. Marie aux Chenes, two squadrons of cavalry rode up to and 
 surrounded this young French girl's farm. The officer in com- 
 mand drew up bareheaded in the entrance to the farmyard, and 
 called on the owner to come out. 
 
 The pretty solitary girl came out and confronted him. 
 
 "I am all alone, monsieur," she said. 
 
 "So we have been given to understand," said the German. 
 " In consequence of the necessity of war we must spend the night 
 here." 
 
 " All is yours." 
 
 " Mademoiselle exaggerates with the politeness of her nation. 
 Nothing is ours. Will mademoiselle point out to us the apart- 
 ments which she desires to keep ? If there is a battle I cannot 
 insure mademoiselle ; until that happens I can. If any of my 
 soldiers offer any rudeness to you, will you please mention it to 
 me?" 
 
 There were three hundred and twenty men quartered in her 
 house that night, and not one would stay covered as she passed 
 in and out. All the chivalry of their nature was aroused by her 
 fearless courage and trust in the German respect for women and 
 children. They hurrahed to her as they went away, and the officer, 
 who stayed last and had calculated the cost, offered her the 
 money for the things which they had bought of her. She burst 
 into tears, and said, as she handed it back to him, 
 
 " Pour les pauvres prisonniers, monsieur. Pour les pauvres 
 prisonniers de la France." 
 
 The house was held sacred after that. No battle was fought 
 there : but it passed from battalion to battalion of the Germans. 
 That one heroic girl had stayed behind in the farm when all the 
 men had fled. She was a heroine among the Germans. 
 
 Strong feeling was manifested against her by the French. She 
 was accused of being a German spy, and of more things than I 
 dare write. A Bavarian sergeant, it is said, won her heart while 
 he was lying wounded at Briey. I know not how true that may 
 be, but her end was very sad. She had to go to a violently French 
 village not far from the Belgian frontier, on business for her grand- 
 mother. She was known there, and was insulted by several young 
 men. She had to go out to a house outside the village after dark, 
 but she never reached it. She was brutally murdered, it is sup- 
 posed, from all that can be gathered, by a mob of revolutionists, 
 for a German spy, and the end is too painful to tell. 
 
A STOEY OF SEDAN. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 When General Ducrot gave me a certain order I was filled with 
 pleasure. The order was a very simple one. " You will carry 
 these despatches to the Emperor, sir, and say that we await his 
 orders." I did so at once, and it seemed to me that the Emperor 
 had no orders to give. 
 
 He was at Fond de Givonne, sitting in my father's garden under 
 the vine. It seemed so very strange to see him there. It is pos- 
 sible, however, that I am writing too fast, and shall have to go back 
 a little, as your good Thackeray did ; he, you remember, in " Pen- 
 dennis," writes his first scene and then goes back for eighteen or 
 twenty years to explain it. Well, I am not Thackeray or Dumas, 
 I have only taken the liberty of ten minutes. 
 
 When I arrived at my father's door on the thirty-first of August, 
 I found that our house was honoured by many guests whom we 
 Mould have dispensed with. Heaven defend us from the Prussians, 
 with their dirty boots and their tobacco ; but heaven also defend 
 us from French staff-officers, who are just as bad. My mother's 
 drawing-room was filled with them, and when I went upstairs I 
 found a young officer lying on Marie's bed, on my bed, smoking. 
 How near that young officer was to getting his nose pulled and his 
 ears boxed, I decline to say. I knew that the Saxons were straight 
 in front of us, and that the Bavarians were turning our left. My 
 solitary hope was in Vinoy on our right. 
 
 There has been more lying about that battle than about any 
 battle ever fought, and this is saying a great deal. Even the 
 Germans, who generally speak the truth when they win, do not 
 speak the truth about Sedan. However, I roused the young 
 French officer from Marie's bed and made him take me to the 
 Emperor. 
 
 He was sitting under our vine smoking. He was extremely 
 courteous, and motioned me to one of my own father's chairs. 
 He had little remembrance that I was a very violent Orleanist, but 
 it would have made no difference to him. My opinion is now, as 
 it always has been, that the man was a gigantic gambler like his 
 uncle, and that he began to see that the game was played out. 
 
 He took my despatches and put them aside, all save one. 
 That one he read very attentively. I knew that it was from an 
 eminent lady, and I heard him say, 
 
 " Women are more often wrong than right." 
 
 " M. Schneider," he said to me, after a pause, " this is your 
 house, I believe ? " 
 
 11 
 
146 VALENTIN : 
 
 " It is my father's, your Majesty." 
 
 " Present my compliments to him, if you please, and apologise 
 for the liberties I have taken with it." 
 
 " My father will be proud, sire. For myself I am an Orleanist, 
 and serve only France." 
 
 "Well," said he, "they are the only hope for a regenerated 
 France. Where are the Bavarians ? " 
 
 " They are closing on our left, sire." 
 
 "Ah, that is a bad business. These Prussians make the 
 smaller states do all the fighting." 
 
 " Sire," I said, " will you not save yourself? I know Sedan ; 
 I was born there and brought up here. I can take you by a 
 hundred ways out of this place. Sire, let me save you, for to- 
 morrow's field is lost. Sire, I have unwritten despatches which I 
 got at Longwy. Sire, you must avoid Sedan." And I told him 
 all. 
 
 I never shall forget the awful look of affectionate pity which I 
 got. " Boy," he said, " would your friend D'Aumale do such a 
 thing? " 
 
 I was obliged to say "No." 
 
 " Then do you think that a Buonaparte dare do what a 
 Bourbon dare not ? No, I dare not leave a legacy of infamy 
 to my son." 
 
 I respected the man from that moment. But 
 
 The man had ruined France, and he began to see how he had 
 been deceived. He saw that he was a ruined gambler, and he 
 tried hard to die. 
 
 He is too personally brave for actual suicide. Suicide is the 
 act of a coward. The' Emperor, with all his faults, is a French- 
 man and therefore no coward. 
 
 He put his hand on my shoulder, and said, 
 
 " Boy, you are married, I think ? " 
 
 " Yes, sire." 
 
 " See if this ring will fit your wife's finger. I shall not have 
 much to give soon ; I have saved nothing." 
 
 As the last remark is an actual fact, it is as well to write it down. 
 
 The Emperor has come out of it all with very clean hands. 
 All we true Orleanists allow that. 
 
 I left the Emperor and went to get some supper. I got 
 sausage and wine. There had been a heavy business at La 
 Chapelle that morning, and the men had come in from it. I ate 
 my sausage and drank my wine, and knowing that there would be 
 a terribly heavy day to-morrow, I went to bed, in my own bed and 
 in Marie's. 
 
A STORY OP SEDAN. 147 
 
 Different people have different tempers. I have a very gentle 
 temper towards women and children, but a very had one towards 
 men. I went upstairs, and found my bedroom occupied by 
 officers. That was all well and good. It was for dear old 
 France. So I rummaged about in cupboards which I knew of, 
 and got them blankets. Two had been at La Chapelle, were 
 wounded and groaning. I got them on to Marie's bed, and did 
 the best I could with them. I told them all that this was my 
 father's house, and that they and the Emperor were my guests, 
 and then I went downstairs, and in a particular manner opened 
 my father's wine cellar, to get them some wine. 
 
 The Germans never found out that trick, and they don't know 
 it now. It was an invention of my father's. You had only to 
 press your thumb heavily on the lower part of the lock, and the 
 whole thing came open. My father says that he was brought 
 into the world to lose keys, and so he made this arrangement. 
 My mother never learnt the trick. She is very like Mrs. Shandy. 
 
 I took a light and looked round ; there was no one near. I 
 pressed the spring and went into the wine-cellar. In one instant 
 I had a hand in my hair, and I saw a knife flash towards my left 
 breast. 
 
 As God's mercy would have it, I had my scarlet and white 
 cloak on ; that saved me. The candle was thrown down but was 
 not put out. I fought, but it was only with a woman. I got her 
 wrists in mine, and looked at her by the light of the candle. 
 
 It was Mere Mathilde. 
 
 " You old wretch ! " I said ; " why did you want to stab me?" 
 
 "I did not want to stab you," she said; "I thought tUit I 
 was discovered." 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 "I am told off by the Carbonari to assassinate the Emperor, 
 the Decembrizeur. Do you know that you are denounced ? " 
 
 " By whom ? " 
 
 "By the Carbonari." 
 
 " Take them my bitter defiance," I replied. 
 
 "Jacques Cartier and Mark are both denounced also. And 
 the Fenians are determined to have the Queen of England's 
 life." 
 
 "The Fenians are great tools," I said; "but they are not 
 such idiots as to turn the world against them by killing the most 
 pure, spotless, and august lady in the world. You must go out 
 of the house, or I will give you up." 
 
 She went, and I took some bottles of wine and went upstairs 
 with them. When I got upstairs, there were not two men on my 
 
118 VALENTIN : 
 
 bed, but three. The third was the young staff officer who had 
 previously offended me. I told him that this was my house, and 
 that was my bed. I would gladly share my bed with a wounded 
 comrade, but I requested him to get off it. He lay there and 
 smoked ; I sadly wanted some one to quarrel with, and I found 
 him. I took him by the heels, and had him off the bed on to the 
 floor. I never had greater satisfaction in doing anything in my 
 life. 
 
 There was of course a terrible quarrel, and an arrangement to 
 meet on the next morning. He was fearfully angry, and said that 
 one of us must die. I quite agreed if it pleased him, and laughed 
 in his face. I had not the remotest intention of fighting him. 
 In the first place no married man is forced to fight unless his wife 
 or sister is in question ; and in the second place, the idea of two 
 staff officers fighting in the presence of the enemy was absurd. I 
 let him fume, and lay down beside my two wounded friends to 
 sleep. 
 
 I slept on that night of doom without a dream. I rose once 
 only, to get one of my wounded friends some water. I looked out 
 of the window, and saw that the stars were shining. One of the 
 most beautiful nights I ever saw was that night of the 31st ot 
 August. What will the night before the day of judgment be 
 like ? 
 
 It was before dawn when I was awakened by a chasseur-a-pied, 
 I rose, and he said, 
 
 " General Ducrot wants you. Come." 
 
 I rose and made myself very tidy (we French do that quicker 
 than you English can), and I went down. He had just arrived, 
 and was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, writing. 
 
 " M. Schneider, "he said, " you know these parts well ? " 
 
 " I have the honour to entertain his Majesty the Emperor and 
 General Ducrot as my guests. This house is my father's, and I 
 was brought up here." 
 
 ' ' You know the way to Givonne ? ' ' 
 
 I laughed. " Does M. le General know the way round 
 Madame Ducrot's flower-garden? 
 
 He smiled faintly. " To-day is the end of all things, or I 
 should laugh at your fatality. Surely you will not be killed ? " 
 
 " Surely not, General," I answered. 
 
 " How far is it from here at Fond de Givonne to Givonne ? " 
 
 " Two miles." 
 
 " Get your horse and go to the height above Givonne ; take 
 this to the colonel of the 17th of the line. Make haste." 
 
 I left him instantly, and got my horse saddled. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 149 
 
 The 17th of the line ! It was Mark's regiment. I should go 
 through it with them, and my brother and I should meet in 
 depth. 
 
 I rode towards Givonne as hard as I could go, but before I 
 reached there the fate of France was sealed.* 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 They moved so suddenly and sharply that we were not ready for 
 them. I could see the stars still when it began. The 17th were 
 sleeping in the potato and onion field on the left off the road when 
 I rode up. My horse, Rataplan, stepped gingerly among the 
 sleeping bodies, and I found the Colonel of the 17th on horseback 
 and smoking. I gave him General Ducrot's orders, and he read 
 them. 
 
 "Lieutenant," he said, " my men are as tired as dogs; the 
 Saxons also must be tired : you are well mounted ; ride across 
 those two fields, and see what you can. Bugler, sound reveille. 
 
 My ride was never accomplished ; I got to the little hedge 
 above the cutting in the road just as the bugler blew, and I saw 
 four young men, without their boots, rise from the straw in which 
 they were lying, and look sleepily about them. The next instant 
 the devil's game began. 
 
 Within two hundred yards a terrible but not continuous volley 
 of musketry poured in on us from the Saxons. The four men 
 near me went down at once. I was not hit, strange to say, but 
 of the four men sleeping in the paille, only one rose again. He 
 was bareheaded and in his stockinged feet. He began to fire 
 rapidly across the cutting, and I saw a tall Saxon, a nice-looking 
 young gentleman, roll off his horse sideways, with his hands to 
 
 * The author wishes it to be understood that he saw the battle of 
 Sedan from the German side, and merely gives his own account of it 
 from a very careful examination of the dead on the 3rd, when very few 
 had been buried. It would seem that no coherent account of this battle 
 has been published as yet, unless it is in Messrs. Cassell's " History of 
 the War." It appears to him that no consistent account of any battle 
 was ever pub ished since the world began. The most coherent accounts 
 of battles are those of Thermopylae, Salamis, Trafalgar, and Waterloo, 
 but no one agrees about them. Younger readers must remember that 
 the battle of Sedan was by far the greatest which has ever beeu seen ; 
 80,000 prisoners and an Emperor, with six hundred cannon. The world 
 has never seen the like. 
 
150 VALENTIN : 
 
 his head. My instinct told me that he was dead, and I was sorry 
 for him, for, after all, our quarrel was not with the Saxons, but 
 with the Prussians. I fired as rapidly as I could with my 
 revolver, with the solitary pair of red breeches before me ; I knew 
 my young man was badly wounded, and I called to him to come to 
 the rear, but he would not. We were now partly protected by the 
 little hedge, and I kept my horse's nose carefully against a 
 poplar tree. My wounded young man also seemed to me to 
 know what he was about, for he kept his head very carefully 
 behind another poplar tree. How well I know those poplar trees 
 now ! 
 
 It was three minutes before the regiment was aroused. During 
 that time the young man and I were simply fighting the whole of 
 the 29th regiment of Saxons. It was no deed of heroism at all ; 
 they had nothing to fire at except us, and like really good soldiers 
 as they were, they having knocked over the outpost, had nothing 
 to fire at except us two, and as we were behind trees, they could 
 not hit us. I heard my young man laughing. 
 
 Then I saw the ghastly steel blue line of the Saxon rifles go to 
 the shoulder, and so I knew that our 17th were in fighting order 
 now. I gave one glance behind, only one, and I saw two or three 
 strange things, as I was loading may revolver. 
 
 The 17th regiment was coming on in line, through the potato 
 field. The Colonel was leading in the centre on a tall chestnut 
 horse. The sun had scarcely risen, but the light of the morning 
 was on their tired, hungry faces. 
 
 Then I looked behind the Colonel, and I saw my own father's 
 house. 
 
 Then I saw before me a German staff officer in blue, and I saw 
 that men were coming with spades. " Are they going to bring 
 artillery to their centre ? " I thought. Prussians would never do 
 that. They were pitching the earth about, however. I fired six 
 shots at the staff officer, but I could not hit him. I rode to the 
 next tree where the young man was, and I said, 
 
 " Pick off that staff officer." 
 
 " I can't hit him," said the young man ; " he is covered." 
 
 " Run out," I said, " to the next tree. I can't hit him with 
 this English revolver. Try that for old France ; if it is suddenly 
 done the chances are two hundred to one in your favour ; you will 
 cover him from the next tree." 
 
 I rode with him from the one tree to the other, and gave him a 
 hold of my stirrup. My horse was hit through the neck, but the 
 young man, who kept his face averted from me, never reached the 
 other tree, and never killed the Saxon officer. The horrible affray 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 151 
 
 was well on between the two regiments now, and I saw my young 
 man throw away his rifle, and hang heavily on to my stirrup. 
 
 Then, for the first time, he turned his face to mine, and fell 
 dead. 
 
 Oh, heaven, send us pity in this wicked world ! It was my 
 brother Mark. Gained only to be lost ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLYIII. 
 
 I believe that if a curse could kill, I should have killed the whole 
 German army that day, from the brutes of Prussians (who had 
 not so very much to do with it) down to the gentle and refined 
 Bavarian Tyrolese. The Saxons dashed at us and beat us ; there 
 is no use in disguising the matter. The reason why the Saxons 
 beat us is simply that they fought better. In my opinion, the 
 people who fought best of all in that wretched war were the 
 Bavarians. And look what the Prussians said of them and the 
 other armies of the Bund in old times. Yet they can put them 
 forward to win at Sedan and at Orleans. I tell you, young 
 English gentleman, that the Emperor of the French's calculations 
 about the independent states refusing to join Prussia in a war 
 against France were not entire leagues wrong. It was a very 
 doubtful matter ; and it is my opinion that if my father had not 
 been told by the Carbonari he would have been ruined. 
 
 You have, most of you, been in a sham fight; for you English 
 exercise arms very much. In fact, I see that the aristocratic 
 college of Eton marches to-day four hundred to Wimbledon, to 
 engage in battle with your gigantic cuirassiers of the guard. This 
 appears to me at first sight dangerous. I do not like it when 
 strong men are mounted against boys. It is not a place for 
 reflections at all, but we French think always. Paris is the 
 centre for intelligence and thought now, as Rome was in old times. 
 
 Well, a sham fight differs not very much from a real one, if 
 you have nerve. In a sham fight no one is killed, but in a real 
 one you merely miss your comrade, and whether you are in 
 advance or retreat, you know nothing about him. In not one 
 hundred real fights do you get such an incident as that of my 
 meeting my brother at Sedan in the supreme moment. That is 
 why Horace Yernet's pictures, lovely as they are, are totally false. 
 The only war pictures I ever saw which were not false was one called 
 
152 VALENTIN : 
 
 " The Effect of a Prussian Shell," and those of jour English M. 
 Simpson, of the Illustrated London News, who has your English 
 sang-froid to such an extreme extent, that he executes tableaux 
 of the most divine under the heaviest fire. Your Doctor Russell, 
 again, is a brave boy, and in no other country would you find a 
 physician risking his life to tell of battles, while he neglects the 
 wounded. But you English are not like the others. 
 
 [We beg to inform Captain Schneider that Doctor Russell is 
 not a physician, but that he was made Doctor of Common 
 Law by the University of Oxford for his glorious services as a 
 journalist. — Ed.] 
 
 [Captain Schneider writes in return : " Then I was right when 
 I said that you English did nothing like others. In France we 
 should have given Doctor Russell the Legion of Honour of the 
 first class. In England you make him a judge. What would 
 be thought in France if one rewarded Vinoy by making him a 
 Doctor of the Sorbonne ? Do the only honours come from your 
 universities? "] 
 
 [Answer from Editor. " No. A large number of Civil C.B., or 
 Commanderships of the Bath, have been given to civilians lately. 
 These all emanate from the Queen, the fountain of honour in our 
 country. That is the crowning honour which we can give to any 
 civilian. The gentlemen selected for this honour are carefully 
 chosen by the most august lady in the world, and most men would 
 give ten years of their life to write the letters after their name. 
 Next to this honour, the highest honour which a civilian can 
 receive is that of D.C.L., given by our two great seats of learning. 
 May I ask if you will continue your account of the battle of 
 Sedan, or let me know ? "] 
 
 [Answer from Captain Schneider. " I will not write another 
 word until you tell me whether the Victoria Cross is given to 
 civilians ? "] 
 
 [Answer from Editor. " Lord bless the man, no. It is a 
 military order. We reward civilians for bravery by the medal 
 of the Humane Society. Do go on ; we shall be late again this 
 month."] 
 
 [Captain Schneider writes : "I refuse to go on until I express 
 my opinion that you English are no good at all. I am sorry to 
 have been led into this discussion ; but I will register my thought 
 that the Queen is ill-advised not to do as we do in France, to give 
 the highest honour to those who distinguish themselves. Are Miss 
 Nightingale, Miss Burdett Coutts, or Miss Mary Stanley, Y.C. or 
 C.B. ? I say nothing of the two English ladies who came into 
 burning Bazeilles."] 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 153 
 
 [Editor writes : " How many legions of honour have been 
 given to ladies in France?" And Captain Schneider does not 
 know, but sends us some more copy, and high time too.] 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Do you perceive that if you fire straight on a regiment in line you 
 have only the chance of hitting two men at the outside ; whereas 
 if you can turn the flank of a regiment, you have your chance at 
 one hundred men instead of at two. Our flank was turned, and 
 what was happening to our regiment was happening to our whole 
 army. Both our flanks were turned. In the case of the whole 
 army we were by nine o'clock in this position, if our editor will 
 kindly allow us a little diagram. The crosses go for German 
 artillery, the noughts go for French artillery, and the asterisks 
 for French infantry. The matter was altered after, before eleven, 
 because the cavalry were then hard at work, but at, say, from 
 seven to nine o'clock, the battle was very much like this :— 
 
 X 
 
 Givonne. 
 
 * * * o o o o o o * * * 
 
 * * * o o o o o o * * * 
 
 Sedan. 
 
 This plan is utterly deficient, for the Bavarians had turned 
 Bazeilles, and had burnt it on our reed left, which is the right in 
 the above plan. If you reverse it you will see that throughout that 
 day, and throughout many other days, we infantry never got near 
 the Germans without being heavily pounded by artillery. My 
 poor friend Rossel, who took to the Radicals, saw this very clearly. 
 The Germans risked their guns and kept them, we refused to risk 
 ours and lost them. 
 
 I am sorry to say that after six o'clock, I, inexperienced as I 
 was, saw a disaster impending. Our Colonel never lost his head 
 for a moment, but when the artillery fire came full upon us, I 
 regret to say that some of our officers did. Our men fought like 
 Turks or Frenchmen, but some of our officers were by no means 
 
154 VALENTIN : 
 
 up to the mark. We were beaten back point after point. Our 
 Colonel was not hit, as I thought, and I thought that I was not 
 hit myself, till I noticed a long streak of blood down my white 
 cloak. The Colonel, at whose side I was, said, " You are hit, my 
 child. I also am hit with a death-wound. Take this, Schneider. 
 Aliens, mes braves, vous gagnez toujours." 
 
 lie tore a gold chain from round his neck with a locket hanging 
 to it, and gave it to me. " You will see to whom to give it. 
 Allons, mes garcons ! Allons, mes enfants ! " 
 
 We made three mad dashes at the Saxons, but the good 
 fellows held their own, and their artillery was playing upon us 
 over their heads with fearful rapidity. By nine o'clock our 
 regiment had become a disorderly mob, and to my unutterable 
 astonishment, as I looked round I saw that we were at the head 
 of the street of Fond de Givonne. 
 
 Suddenly the Colonel shouted to me in a strange voice, " Ride 
 to the right, Schneider. Catch the Emperor or Ducrot, and tell 
 him that all is lost here unless we are reinforced." He rolled 
 heavily off his saddle. I dashed away to the right, knowing every 
 lane in the country for miles round. 
 
 The frightful ruin and confusion was the worst ever known in 
 war. We were pent into the crater of Vesuvius. I was getting 
 horribly sick, with a fearful thirst upon me ; but I found the 
 Emperor in Sieur Delafone's garden. They were preparing a last 
 charge, which the Emperor was to head. I began speaking of 
 reinforcements. He waved his hand and smiled. " Join our 
 charge, my boy," he said, " that is the best reinforcement." 
 
 " Up that lane, sire," I said ; " And keep under the walls. I 
 will show the way." 
 
 That charge was made, but I never saw it. 
 
 A general said to me, " Ride to the right within our lines, and 
 get to Vinoy. Tell him that if everything be lost, he must get to 
 Paris. They have turned our left ; tell him to mind he sees that 
 the right is not turned." 
 
 I was very sick and faint, getting worse and worse. I was in 
 the melee again. I drew up suddenly among a company of Turcos, 
 who were fighting very well. Their only officer was wounded, and 
 seeing cavalry coming down on us I gave the word for rallying 
 square, and had the savages round me in a moment. 
 
 The German cavalry came up at us full gallop, a very foolish 
 thing to do. The young gentleman who led them, a fine fellow, 
 was unhorsed, and one or two of the front rank were killed. They 
 wheeled ; the young German gentleman running with a trooper's 
 stirrup in his* hand. Two or three stupid savages, seeing his 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 155 
 
 orders, ran out at him to get them. They were at us again in a 
 minute, and sent us riving, for our ranks were broken ; but this 
 young gentleman was unhorsed, and apparently forgetting the 
 circumstances ran among the Turcos, cutting right and left. I 
 knew what would happen. I cannot tell what happens with 
 Turcos. I saw that ten or so were lying down and shamming 
 dead. I saw a Turco ready with his rifle, and I held up both my 
 hands to him as I rode up. 
 
 " I am your prisoner," I said ; " come here ! " 
 
 He came to take me, and I seized him with my failing strength 
 and hoisted him on the saddle before me. I thought that I was 
 going to die, and I wished to save one life, even if it were a 
 Prussian's. I have learnt to like the Prussians better since, but 
 I hated them then. 
 
 As I trotted towards my captors, the savage dogs gave me a 
 volley in my rear, which hit me through the shoulder, but which 
 never hit my captor. 
 
 He told me afterwards that the German cavalry then and there 
 exterminated those Turcos. 
 
 For me, my captor did not get his will of my person ; for in the 
 first place he thought I was dead and let me drop, and in the 
 second one of the finest parts of the cavalry business at Sedan was 
 fought right before me as I was lying on the ground. I was not 
 unconscious, and I prayed. I fear I prayed that the Germans 
 might win, because I should have been stamped into pieces if they 
 had lost. 
 
 The Chasseurs of Barbary had made a last mad charge against 
 the Germans. I could see the flicker of the swords like lightning 
 on the summer night. This German regiment was in line, do 
 you see, and so beyond the dark blue line of the fighting Germans, 
 I could perfectly well see the white and scarlet of our men. 
 Strangely enough, as it seemed to me, the Germans beat back our 
 men. That seemed very strange, because, as I remarked before, the 
 Germans being inline, there were but two German regiments between 
 me and one of the most splendid cavalry regiments in the world. 
 
 I was not in much pain ; I was beyond pain, and I thought 
 about it. Wellington, a man who never lost a battle or a gun, 
 the cleverest general of the last generation, rebuked your George 
 IV. by telling him that the French cavalry were the best in the 
 world ; yet I saw what I should have thought the crack regiment 
 in Europe go back before men I should have called German louts. 
 There was no demoralisation. The men fought like men, and, as 
 far as I could see, their swordsmanship was splendid. In fact, all 
 the world knows that I laugh in speaking of it. But they were 
 
156 VALENTIN : 
 
 driven back in fair fight, though Miss Dixon tells me that she and 
 Miss Braby found ten Germans in that part of the field to one 
 Frenchman. Colonel Descorches says that our Chasseurs were 
 underhorsed, and that the horses had not been fed. That seems 
 to me very probable indeed. You also, if a volunteer (as I hope 
 you are), should listen to Colonel Descorches, because he says that 
 your volunteers, with a very trifling assistance from your govern- 
 ment, might be made one of the most dangerous bodies of men in 
 Europe. 
 
 Ah, you should hear the Colonel on the Battle of Dorking. 
 Eh ! but he is amusing, this Colonel. He says : " The 
 English are so triste that they must amuse themselves with some- 
 thing. They amuse themselves with the Battle of Dorking. My 
 dear, if the battle ever came through their own insensate stupidity, 
 it would not make itself at Dorking at all, but 226 kilometres from 
 there." 
 
 The Colonel amuses himself with you English. Without doubt 
 you amuse yourself with me, for my French way of telling a story. 
 
 I am at present, do you perceive, lying dying on the field of 
 Sedan. 
 
 I wish to point out to you that I did not die. I wish to make 
 this clear to you at once by a single question. If I had died who 
 could have written this story ? Therefore I did not die at all. I 
 beg a hundred thousand pardons for pointing out the fact, but you 
 English have no logic, whereas we French are logical to a fault. 
 
 Mind, I do not assert that the logic of the Comte de Chambord, 
 the logic of M. Thiers, the logic of M. Gambetta, or the logic of 
 the Commune is quite infallible. The only infallible logic is the 
 House of Orleans. But you English are so illogical that we 
 French have to prove everything in a most indisputable manner 
 to you, and so I have had to prove to you that if I had died at 
 Sedan, I could not possibly have written this story. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 The roar died away as I lay perfectly quiet, but, as I well knew, 
 very heavily wounded. I lay with my face towards Givonne, and 
 so the last thing I heard of the battle was the cannonade and 
 fusillade of Vinoy's retreat towards Paris. I knew perfectly well 
 that we were beaten again, but like a true Frenchman I took it 
 as a matter of course. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 157 
 
 Your English generals never fight unless they are sure to win. 
 That peak-nosed Wellington of yours never moved from the lines 
 of Torres Vedras till he knew that he could win every battle. He 
 called Busaco " a political battle," he only fought there because 
 your Parliament wanted a victory in order to obtain supplies. 
 Your Duke was a very great man, in his way greater than 
 Napoleon. He knew, that man Wellington. What does he say ? 
 11 1 consider that the presence of Napoleon amounts in fact to the 
 presence of thirty thousand men." Hah, he values Napoleon's 
 intellect at the rate of thirty thousand men. Are we French 
 nothing then ? 
 
 Well, do not be hard on us. I will allow that Napoleon was 
 half Greek, half Italian. We in a matter of detail arc cleverer 
 than you others, that we attract all the cleverest men in the world. 
 We attract, for example, the Americans. The Americans say, 
 " Good Americans when they die go to Paris." The English are 
 partly attracted to us ; the Prussians not at all ; we should like to 
 catch them at it. 
 
 I was with Jacques Cartier only as it were yesterday in 
 Versailles. Count Arnica drove by. I saw Jacques Cartier had 
 on his sword-bayonet, and I pulled it back and kissed him in our 
 French way. He said, "You are right, sweetheart" (that is the 
 way I render hie n- crime into English) ; " not yet." 
 
 If we had invaded you successfully, if we had occupied your 
 glorious southern provinces, and if we had treated you as the 
 Prussians have treated us, what would have been the value of a 
 Frenchman's life in England ? Your papers talk of us as 
 passionate and furious, they tell us to submit to affairs. What 
 right have they to dictate to us ? You never helped us, you could 
 not : but now you tell us to be calm and to submit. Would the 
 conquerors of Hindostan be very calm and submissive with a 
 French army in Kent, Surrey, and Sussex ? I think not. I 
 hope not. 
 
 Once more. I ask you why the man Bismarck did not trust us, 
 without insulting us by occupying the provinces ? I ask that. 
 
 [The editor is very sorry to fall out with Captain Schneider 
 again, but he must remind him of the piratical wars of the first 
 Napoleon, during which everything, from fire-irons to porcelain 
 and Raphael pictures, was stolen and carried away to Paris. In 
 the last war no bitises of the kind have occurred. The burning of 
 the Strassburg library was a mere accident, and the removal of the 
 Metz library to Berlin is no great harm after all. It is far safer 
 at Berlin than at Metz. We must let M. Schneider continue his 
 adventures.] 
 
158 VALENTIN : 
 
 I was lying quite comfortably, because a woman in a red 
 petticoat had brought me some water. But the sun was very 
 hot, and I put my pretty white cloak over my head. It must 
 have been long past two when I heard two voices talking near me. 
 
 I knew German as well as a Frenchman can, but I was puzzled 
 by their accent. It was like the croaking of frogs. I cannot 
 reproduce it. They stood on each side of me. 
 
 " The Herr Hauptmann says that the French officers are not 
 to be buried with the French soldiers," said one. 
 
 " That seems to me a distinction," said the other. 
 
 "It is distinct, not different," said the other. 
 
 " Give me plain German for that," said the other German. 
 
 " Fool, thou hast had no education. Thou knowest not logic." 
 
 " No, but I know a pretty Frenchman when I see him. Look 
 at his red legs, his white gaiters, his white cloak with the scarlet 
 lining. Why should such a pretty fellow be killed ? It is too 
 bad, Caspar." 
 
 I raised my white cloak from my face, and looked at them. 
 They were two great giants in blue, with great heads, and they 
 bent over me. 
 
 " We thought you were dead," said one. 
 
 " No, but I am a prisoner. I am very hardly hit ; but I think 
 that if I could get to an ambulance I might be saved. I want to 
 see my wife again." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," said the largest of the Germans, " that 
 a smooth-faced boy like you is married '? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," I said, for I was getting very thirsty and very 
 humble ; " I am married, and what is more " — I went into other 
 particulars. 
 
 Caspar said to Fritz, " Carry the boy down to the barn, put 
 him in the straw with the others. I never heard such a story as 
 this. Why, he does not look fifteen." 
 
 In one minute I was in the arms of the great German barbarian. 
 My cheek fell into his beard, and I spoke to him. 
 
 " Are you one of those Prussians ? " I asked. 
 
 " / am a Pomeranian," he said, " a Prussian, if you choose." 
 
 " Ah ah ! " I replied ; " Pomerania is where the amber comes 
 from, and also the pretty little white dogs." 
 
 " That is the place, officer." 
 
 I turned my face over his shoulder and saw my white cloak 
 drooping over his broad blue back. (I must pause to say that 
 the above-named white cloak served me in a singular way, us 
 you shall hear.) He carried me as a full-grown man does an 
 infant. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 159 
 
 At last we came to a barn, where there was straw on the ground, 
 into which he laid me very gently, telling me that there were only 
 eighteen or twenty others, and then he went away. 
 
 But not for long. He came back with some water in a large 
 pitcher, and then he wanted to give me money, but I told him 
 that I had abundance ; and I begged him to do a small com- 
 mission for me. It is absolutely horrible that such men should 
 be killed. Men with every virtue and all courage put up to fight 
 for what they know not. I say again that it is horrible, this war. 
 In the morning I would have shot this man down like a dog. At 
 mid-day I was blessing him, and was determined (although a 
 Huguenot to the backbone) that my mother should have eighty 
 masses at ten francs each said for his soul. 
 
 As I am now lying in the straw in an old barn (which happened 
 to be the property of my own father, if it mattered), and as I 
 have nothing else to tell you, I may mention that when all was 
 over my mother offered this sum to Pere Lasel, to do as I wished. 
 He, though a needy man, emphatically refused both money and 
 masses. He was a man of such staunch principles that he would 
 not even pray for a heretic's soul. Some Jesuits will not. I 
 fear that the Emperor's order for the expulsion of the Jesuits will 
 come very hardly on him. He was a very good man Pere Lasel, 
 and was not doing very much harm. But the Emperor is right, 
 you cannot have a state within a state. 
 
 I lay here for above twenty-four hours, with nothing at all to 
 eat. A German doctor, who was very kind, came in and dressed 
 my wounds. But we got nothing to eat ; and then we had bread 
 and water, for which we thanked God. 
 
 I could not move in the straw, and I only could talk to one of 
 the men beside me, a Breton, for the man who lay on the other 
 side of me was an Arab, who knew no French at all beyond the 
 words of command. I shared my water with them, and dozed 
 and dreamed my time away until the afternoon of the third. 
 
 So strange to be lying in my own barn on the straw. Marie, 
 Marie ! where was she now ? I got better in the afternoon of the 
 third, and I got up and crawled about assisting the others. I 
 had gold, and I offered it to the sentry for bread. I think that 
 he would have liked the gold, but he told me that there was no 
 bread till five o'clock, and refused my money, asking me to lie 
 down again and rest. This young man came from Ems in 
 Nassau. They must be good people in those parts. I did not 
 lie down, but sat in the sun beside him. He was a married man 
 like myself, and we talked about home and love, until I got weary 
 and crept back to the straw. 
 
160 VALENTIN : 
 
 My neighbour, the Turco, was snoring comfortably, but my 
 poor Breton was quite dead. 
 
 Don't think me a fool or a coward if I tell you that I cried 
 myself to sleep. The only French voice audible to me was stilled 
 for ever. 
 
 I took his dead hand in mine as I fell asleep. 
 
 I was awakened by some one turning my face over. Two men 
 were kneeling beside me. One I knew at once — he was the 
 brown-bearded English journalist whom I met at Mondorf. The 
 other was a man I had never seen before. I smiled and showed 
 my teeth, which a certain lady says are very good teeth. 
 
 " Here is an officer," said the journalist. 
 
 "Yes," said the other, an eminent London surgeon, as I 
 afterwards knew. " My dear sir, when were you fed last ? " 
 
 " Twenty-four hours ago, dear sir." 
 
 " You must be fed, dear sir, or you will die." 
 
 " I shall not be fed," I replied, smiling ; " and I shall not 
 die." 
 
 " What," said the surgeon to the journalist, " would you give 
 for a bottle of Liebig's extract now ? " 
 
 " Ten pounds," said the journalist. 
 
 "I would give twenty," said the surgeon ; "but that is esprit 
 de corps. I could save this gentleman, and I could save half the 
 barn, if there was plenty of Liebig. Now, my dear," he said, " I 
 must trouble you to take off that pretty white cloak, which I regret 
 to see is streaked with blood, and that pretty blue tunic, and let 
 me look at you." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 " So," he said, " you are doing very well ; " and then he put 
 on my clothes again with the gentleness of a nurse. 
 
 " Here are biscuits and a little brandy. That Turco next you 
 has drank more than his share, but there is a drain left for you. 
 What is the matter with the Chasseur next you, whose hand you 
 were holding? He seems to be sleeping well." 
 
 " Oh," I said, " he was dead before I went to sleep. He is a 
 Breton. He was married as I was, and we talked as we lay here 
 of our wives and of old times. So I took his dead hand in mine 
 as I fell asleep. Are the French going to win and come back 
 here? " 
 
 " I fear not," said the journalist. 
 
 " N'importe" I replied. " But if they do, tell General Ducrot 
 that the sentinel at the door was very kind to me, and that if he 
 is made a prisoner, my father will take him at Cologne, and treat 
 him well." 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 161 
 
 " My boy," said the English doctor, " do you know what has 
 happened ? " 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "Your Emperor has surrendered with eighty thousand men, 
 who are on their way to Germany." 
 
 I rose from my straw and stood erect. I said one word three 
 times in my injustice : — 
 
 "Dog, dog, dog! " 
 
 Then I lay down again, and dozed after they had gone. In 
 the intervals of my dozing I tried to think. Could he not have 
 died ? Could he not have led us to death ? Eighty thousand 
 men ! Where were Uhrich and Bazaine ? Thank heaven, still 
 threatening the enemy's lines of communication. Alas, I knew 
 nothing, none of us did. So I dozed, and two ladies woke me up 
 this time. 
 
 These ladies were obviously English by their accent. They 
 were dressed in grey gowns, and had large red crosses on their 
 breasts. 
 
 " How are you doing, sir? " said the taller. 
 
 " I am better, madam. Have the Germans violated the 
 neutrality of Luxemburg and Belgium, and turned our right 
 again ? ' ' 
 
 "No," said the shorter lady; "they have behaved perfectly 
 well in that respect. They have, however, masked hopelessly 
 both Bazaine and Uhrich. Paris must go, and at the same time 
 you must drink this." 
 
 If I could love a Prussian, it would be Liebig ; but he was not 
 a Prussian, I think, but a Nassauan from Giessen. This short 
 English lady gave me diluted Liebig with a little brandy in it, 
 and made me feel a man again. 
 
 " Now, officer," said the taller lady ; " please to show us your 
 worst cases. Can you stand ? " 
 
 " I can stand," I said ; " but I am not in charge here. I will 
 do all I can for you. You need not mind this man here, he is 
 dead." 
 
 " Quite so," said the taller lady turning over his face, "would 
 you be so kind as to close his eyes, my dear? " to the other lady. 
 "This Turco is not dead, however; mind his knife, my love; 
 remember the escape you had at Bazeilles." 
 
 I was thinking dreamily that English ladies must have a way 
 of looking at things rather coolly, when a certain incident 
 happened. As the taller lady was exhibiting Liebig and brandy 
 to the Turco, I reeled and stumbled against the shorter lady. 
 She caught hold of me, and laid me down in my original straw. 
 
 12 
 
162 VALENTIN : 
 
 " Bother the dear boy, he is not fit to be moved," she remarked ; 
 " had not we better have her in, and make her see to him ? " 
 
 "I think so," said the tall lady; "it is a nuisance that he 
 can't be moved. This Turco here will make a mess of his leg, if 
 we can't get this bullet out. I wonder where Dr. Kerkstone is ? 
 Oh, here he is, and alone. Who on earth is to hold the arteries ? " 
 
 " I will do that," said the shorter lady. 
 
 And she did it, and I could give you her name, if she would 
 allow me. 
 
 The taller lady called to the sentry, and said, 
 
 " Send in that French drummer-boy, if you please." 
 
 I saw a French drummer-boy in the door, and I wished him 
 anywhere else, for I wanted a Sceur de Charite rather badly, and 
 from what I heard I thought there was one near. However, a 
 drummer was better than no one at all ; so, as he came to me, I 
 merely lay quietly over, and I said, 
 
 " You will have to slit my tunic, and also my shirt, for I believe 
 that I am bleeding again. Be so good as to ask the doctor to see 
 to me when he has done with the others." 
 
 "Yes, sii\" 
 
 I started. Was it Mark's brother ? No ; Mark had no brother. 
 
 The drummer-boy came to me, and pulled out a knife to cut my 
 tunic. Then he put his hand over my neck, and kissed me twice. 
 
 I turned in wrath ; the liberty was unpardonable. But in one 
 instant the kisses which the drummer-boy had given me were paid 
 back with interest. 
 
 For the drummer-boy was Marie — my own dear wife. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 She had run away from Cologne, it seemed, to get to me. She 
 had met these good English ladies at Luxemburg first, and had 
 told them the whole truth about the matter. Had she stayed 
 with them she could have got to me perfectly well, but at the 
 passage of Prince Frederick Charles this simply happened, a 
 thing which our brown-bearded journalist saw with his own 
 eyes : — 
 ' A lady was sitting at the table d'hote, when a foolish man 
 came in from Thionville, and told us that the left of Bazaine was 
 turned, and that the eleventh Chasseurs were cut to pieces. The 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 163 
 
 lady rose and loft the room, her son was in that regiment. That 
 the (then) left of Bazaine was turned, was perfectly true, but the 
 eleventh Chasseurs were never engaged in the grand passage. 
 
 As this lady left the table, our journalist noticed that a pretty 
 little woman rose and followed her. In a few minutes after, the 
 journalist followed both of them, and found that they were going 
 to Metz in an open carriage. 
 
 The little woman was Marie. She had run away from my 
 father and mother, and was coming to me. My brown-bearded 
 journalist wanted to get to Metz himself, and offered a large sum 
 of money to the courier of the two ladies. The courier em- 
 phatically refused to take him at any price at all, and frankly 
 informed the Englishman that he was a French spy and dared 
 not. Jacques Cartier tells me that the Englishman offered him 
 forty pounds sterling to get him through. " It was a great 
 temptation to me," said Jacques ; " but the thing had been done 
 once or twice too often, and I had no particular wish to be hung, 
 but I wanted to get Marie to you above all things, and to tell 
 General Ducrot that they were respecting the frontier inexorably, 
 and that if we could hold on by our left we were all right still." 
 
 Marie, as we lay in the straw, told me the rest. Jacques 
 Cartier had got her on from one post to another, trying to get 
 her to me, and trying to get himself to General Ducrot (a man he 
 swears by). In seeking Ducrot he went too far to the right, and 
 when he crossed the frontier for the third time, near Mezieres, he 
 found himself close to the Bavarians, at least so close as to be 
 very unpleasant. 
 
 He was a man of resources ; the 97th of the line was there, 
 and he spoke to the Colonel. 
 
 " Sir, I must get to Ducrot. But I have a young lady with 
 me, who says that she must see her husband." 
 
 " Diantre ! I hope I may see my wife again," said the Colonel. 
 
 "Cannot you get her on to an ambulance as nurse?" said 
 Jacques Cartier. 
 
 " There are none of the neutral ambulances within three 
 miles," said the Colonel; "and we shall certainly fight to- 
 morrow. It is not safe for any woman. Stay, I have a plan. 
 Go and fetch the lady." 
 
 Marie was fetched. 
 
 "Madame," said the Colonel, "I understand that you wish to 
 see your husband, who is on Ducrot's staff." 
 
 "Yes, sir; I wish to see him. I must see him. I have 
 something to say to him." 
 
 "Madame, my wife has often much to say to me," said the 
 
164 VALENTIN : 
 
 Colonel ; " and I have known her sit up till three o'clock in the 
 morning to say it. But I doubt even for the sake of scolding 
 me, that she would do what vou must do if you intend to go 
 on." 
 
 " What is that, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " To wear the clothes of a drummer." 
 
 "Mais, M'sieu?" 
 
 "It is the only way, Madame. I can get you to the Geneva 
 ambulance in that way, and in no other. With the ambulance I 
 will trust you. You must, I think, go on now that you have 
 come so far. But you must go in uniform. Do you consent ? " 
 
 Marie thought for an instant, and then said, 
 
 " Yes, I will see him ; though I think I shall see him dead." 
 
 "A good resolution. Now, my good lady, my time is precious. 
 You will find a Bister of Charity below who will cut your hair 
 oft'." 
 
 " My hair — oh, Monsieur ! " 
 
 " Madame, I cannot argue. My regiment will be engaged 
 with the Bavarians to-morrow, and if you go at all you must 
 inarch as a drummer-boy. Your plan is to get with the English 
 ambulance. Give this note to the Sister of Charity downstairs, 
 and she will attend to everything which you can want." 
 
 That was all. She went through it all to try and get to me. 
 The two English ladies were preparing for their awful inarch on 
 their two waggons, when they saw a beautiful boy running towards 
 them. 
 
 " Ladies," said the boy, " I am not a young man, but I am a 
 woman, and I want to see my husband." 
 
 In a moment she was in the straw of the waggon ; the rest is 
 soon told. She hunted me until she found me. Then she lay in 
 the straw beside me, and cared for my wounds. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 She had not been long at my wounds, when there came suddenly 
 into the barn a group of German officers, whom I knew not to be 
 Prussians, because they took their shakos off when they saw our 
 two English ladies. I recognised the foremost among them at 
 once, it was the man whose life I saved in the battle of Sedan, 
 and whose prisoner I was. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 165 
 
 I whispered to Marie, " Keep quiet, darling, keep quiet ! Hide 
 that white cloak of mine. I fought that man." 
 
 Marie covered me as well as she could, and the tall German 
 spoke to the two English ladies in English. 
 
 " I am the Prince of Hetmold, ladies. I have come here for a 
 French officer with a white cloak lined with scarlet." 
 
 " We really cannot have our patients disturbed, your royal 
 highness," said the taller lady; and the shorter lady said, 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " I do not want to disturb him, but I want to recognise him," 
 said Prince Hetmold ; and one of his staff said, " We want nothing 
 but good." 
 
 "Well, here is a French officer in a white cloak lined with 
 scarlet," said the taller lady ; "he is the only one we have. See 
 if he is your man. Madame, let the Prince see if it is the man 
 he wants. He sha'n't be moved, and that is flat." 
 
 The Prince knelt over me, and we interchanged smiles. " Please 
 do not move me," I said, " for I am very ill." 
 
 " You saved my life, and you are also my prisoner. What can 
 I do for you?" 
 
 " Save me from going to Germany. I will not give my parole 
 not to serve against the Germans in this war. I cannot do it. I 
 wish that I could, but I cannot. I only ask to be left with her, 
 for a very few months." 
 
 " With her ! with whom ? " 
 
 I pointed to Marie. 
 
 " He is a drummer-boy," said the Prince in amazement. 
 
 The English ladies bent and whispered to him a short time. 
 He rose with his face flushed. 
 
 "You French beat us in romance. But I have no power. 
 My hands are tied by Prussia. Can you make no terms, my 
 Frenchman ? " 
 
 Marie stood up and spoke. Her shako was off, and her hair 
 was all gone ; it had been cut off close to her skull, so that you 
 could see the splendid shape of her head. She said, " Yes, he 
 will make terms, this husband of mine. He will give his parole 
 to go to Cologne with me till my baby is born. We go to his 
 father and mother. We live quietly ; and when the child is born 
 he shall go ; is that enough ? " 
 
 " My dear lady," said the Prince, humbly, " will he not have a 
 difficulty in leaving Prussia ? " 
 
 " Not if the Prussians keep their word," said Marie. 
 " I will try to get those terms for you," said the Prince ; " but 
 really I am very, very doubtful." 
 
166 VALENTIN : 
 
 'Try," said Marie. 
 " Try," said the two English ladies. 
 I must " try " to tell you the result in another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 There were present, Prussia, Saxony, Wiirtemberg, Baden, 
 Nassau, Hanover, Bavaria, and Hetmold. None of the others 
 were there, which was fortunate, because there would have been a 
 worse row than there was, and as it was it was pretty bad. The 
 whole row was about me. 
 
 I was the casus belli ; that is to say, they had all been wanting 
 something with which to blow oft' the steam of the united 
 Fatherland, and they selected me. We French can squabble 
 pretty well, and burn half Paris down in doing it ; but the united 
 Fatherland beats us in strong language. To gather the senti- 
 ments of a Saxon or Bavarian, Tyrolese or Prussian, is to get a 
 very splendid lesson in Teutonic oaths. 
 
 We Latins can't swear to any great extent. I could write an 
 essay on Teutonic oaths, but I should have to use so much bad 
 language that I could not get it published. Ask, I repeat, a 
 Southern German what he thinks of Prussia. I think that you 
 would get a little bad language if you did so. 
 
 All these persons were at a village a very short distance beyond 
 Sedan, on the Paris road. 
 
 It was the last time they met before they met at Versailles. 
 Hetmold, it may be said, was notoriously the spokesman among 
 the little German States, against the overwhelming hegemony of 
 Prussia. He was a dear young fellow, good enough for a French- 
 man. He began it. He told me that he intended to do so. 
 
 Hetmold said to Prussia, " Oh, a young French officer has 
 saved my life, and I want to take him for my Xenos, and send 
 him to his wife at Cologne." 
 
 " Has he given you his parole ? " said Prussia. 
 
 " For three months only," answered Hetmold. 
 
 " Then I cannot allow it," said Prussia. 
 
 " But I request it," said Hetmold. 
 
 " And I refuse it," said Prussia. 
 
 "What right have you to refuse?" said Hetmold. "You 
 have no crown on your head, as I have. Where would you 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 167 
 
 Prussians have been if we other German States had not been 
 loyal to united Germany ? And that does not mean Prussia, and 
 never will." 
 
 "I agree with what you say," said Saxony, " but this is not 
 the time to quarrel." 
 
 "I don't know that," broke out Bavaria. "We have had 
 more than our fair share of the fighting, and so have you, 
 Hetmold." 
 
 Nassau and Baden laughed approvingly. Baden whispered 
 something to Wiirtemberg, and Wiirtemberg broke out laughing. 
 Bavaria laughed also, and begged them to be quiet. 
 
 Saxony requested, before the discussion went farther, to ask 
 what Hetmold' s contingent was. 
 
 " 9,400," said Hetmold. 
 
 " And you have lost ? " 
 
 "2,300." 
 
 "And Prussia refuses to give you a single officer," said 
 Saxony, at which Wiirtemberg and Nassau laughed once more. 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Prussia. " I know who the officer is. He 
 is a spy, and a Carbonaro." 
 
 " Prove it," said Hetmold. 
 
 " I can prove it very easily," said Prussia. " My cousin knows 
 this gentleman perfectly well. He met him over the frontier in 
 the Eifel with the most notorious spy in Europe, Jacques Cartier. 
 Will that suffice you, Hetmold ? " 
 
 "No! " said Hetmold, stoutly, "it will not suffice me. He 
 refused to give his parole for a longer time than until his wound 
 was healed and his child bom. That man is no rascal and no 
 spy, I will take my oath." 
 
 General murmurs of approval from Saxony, Wiirtemberg, 
 Baden, and Bavaria. Hanover knew nothing about Jacques 
 Cartier, so he said nothing. Nassau knew Jacques Cartier 
 perfectly well, because he had happened to employ him himself a 
 short time before Sadowa. So he held his tongue. 
 
 "Jacques Cartier is his father's groom, or was rather," said 
 Hetmold. " A mere boy may cross the frontier with his father's 
 groom." 
 
 " Not at all," said Prussia, who declined to argue. " I will 
 not give up this gentleman, unless he takes his parole like 
 others." 
 
 "He won't do it, you see," said Bavaria. "We shall get a 
 nice name in Europe if we carry on matters as we are now. 
 Bazeilles will be a stink in mv nostrils till I. die." 
 
 " Why did you do it then ? What forced you ? " 
 
168 VALENTIN : 
 
 "Your strategy. You knew it must be clone. Why did you 
 not do it yourselves ? " 
 
 Prussia began to get very angry. Hetmold declares that 
 when Bavaria said this, Prussia clapped his hand on his sword- 
 hilt, 
 
 The smaller states and kingdoms were deeply interested. 
 There was no doubt about Prussia's personal courage, and a duel 
 between Prussia and Bavaria would have been a splendid incident 
 in the war. They all hated Prussia like poison, but they loved 
 Fatherland better. 
 
 Bavaria said, " I am not going to fight you, Prussia, but you 
 are using the armies of the smaller States a great deal more 
 freely than you have any right to do." 
 
 " Why?" said Prussia ; "because you cannot find a general 
 among you." (Which I think was hardly fair on von der Tann, 
 if on no one else.) " What did the army of the Bund ever do ? 
 They could only fight when led by Prussians. This thing I will 
 not do ; I emphatically refuse to do it." 
 
 Nassau, a very excellent and amiable prince, had slipped away, 
 for he saw that there would be more high words, as indeed there 
 were. For the smaller States felt themselves deeply aggrieved by 
 the part they had been made to play, and most extremely disliked 
 the dictatorial tone of Prussia. On this occasion even the gentle 
 Saxony, irritable like most poets, forgot himself, and said that if 
 his father had known how his son was to be treated, not a man 
 should have inarched. Matters were growing to an unseemly 
 squabble. Hetmold nailed his colours to the mast about me, not 
 that he could have cared for me, but on principle, as representing 
 the smallest of the small States. Prussia was quite cool, and 
 would not yield an inch. Wiirtemberg and Saxony fell out, and 
 had a private and nearly furious fracas between themselves, 
 about some matter which Hetmold told me he should never find 
 out to his dying day. Prussia thought he would try to get out of 
 the argument with Bavaria and Baden, by making the peace 
 between the two new combatants. The moment he attempted to 
 do so they were the best friends in the world, and at last he 
 had the whole of Germany at him, with the exception of the 
 Austrian States and Nassau, and it was apparently all about me. 
 
 Suddenly the door was thrown open, and Nassau said, " The 
 King." There was silence at once when he entered. 
 
 "I do not like him, I suppose I never shall; but he is an 
 impressive man." Hetmold told me after, there was silence 
 when he came in. 
 
 He said, " What is this of which Nassau tells me, Fritz ? " 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 169 
 
 " Hetmold has been insolent to me, sire, and so has Bavaria ; 
 we are quarrelling in the face of the enemy, that is all." 
 
 11 Instead of blessing God for the great victories He has given 
 us. Oh, my children ! my children ! " 
 
 Your Dickens says that Mrs. Lupin had such a profound belief 
 in Mr. Pecksniff, that if he had said to her " Seven times seven 
 is forty-nine, my good soul," she would have treasured it as a 
 great moral sentiment. I do not think myself, speaking as a 
 Frenchman, and therefore strongly prejudiced, that the Emperor 
 of Germany was a humbug or a Pecksniff at all. He had a great 
 deal to thank God for in the name of his nation, and he was not 
 ashamed of doing it. I like him for it. Every nation has its 
 Te Deums on a victory. There is a service in your church for 
 it. I don't blame the man, but I do wish that he would not do 
 it in such a very Tartuffian way. 
 
 It is a strange thing the influence that a pure domestic blame- 
 less life and a continually increasing good fortune gives a man. 
 The assembled princes had each one of them more real intellect 
 in his little finger than Emperor William has in his whole body. 
 Yet they were every one afraid of him. He calmed the storm in 
 one instant. 
 
 "Fritz," said he, "my dear boy, let us hear clearly what is 
 the matter." 
 
 " Hetmold," said Prussia, " desires me to give him up a young 
 French officer, who refuses to give his parole for more than three 
 months, until his wife is confined." 
 
 " Speak no more, Fritz, that is enough," and he sat down and 
 wrote. Then beckoned to Hetmold, and whispered to him. He 
 then wrote down my name, and had soon finished. This is the 
 paper : — 
 
 " You are requested to let pass, into any part of the French 
 lines he may choose, Captain Valentin Schneider, of the staff. 
 He is the bearer of this. 
 
 "William." 
 
 He handed this to the Prince of Hetmold, and said, " You 
 should have come to me at first, Hetmold, instead of going 
 to my Fritz. You take a great interest in this young French 
 officer." 
 
 " Sire, he saved my life after I had taken him prisoner, and 
 there is a story about him. He is married, and his wife has 
 come on with some English ladies in the ambulance to be with 
 him," 
 
170 VALENTIN : 
 
 Touch a German on sentiment and he is your man. " Why 
 was I not told this at first? Let him go as free as air," said 
 Prussia. 
 
 " What is wrong with you, Bavaria ? " said the Emperor. 
 
 ''The same that is wrong with the other small States, your 
 Majesty. Our men are being overworked. Ask Hetmold." 
 
 Hetmold entirely agreed. He had lost 2,300 men out of 
 9,000. 
 
 " I will see to this, dear Bavaria, I will see to this. God bless 
 you, my very dear children. Good-night." 
 
 He did see to it. He told von Moltke that several of the 
 smaller States were recalcitrant, more particularly Hetmold and 
 Bavaria. Von Moltke and another gentleman took this home to 
 their hearts. Hetmold went home to his pleasant little princedom, 
 when all was over, with 2,900 men, to be received in triumph 
 certainly, with flowered arches and all that, but also with no less 
 than 6,000 widows, orphans, and bereaved parents ; and this to 
 a man who dearly loved his people, and whose people loved him as 
 dearly as they hated the Prussians (which is saying a great deal), 
 was not very agreeable. As for the work which the Bavarians 
 were set to do, after the dispute which arose about me, you had 
 better ask von der Tann how many men he brought away from 
 before Orleans. 
 
 CHAPTER LIY. 
 
 I was sitting beside Marie, in the sun, when the best of princes 
 managed to get back through the still lying dead early in Sep- 
 tember. I saw him coming with one equerry, and as he came he 
 waved his hand to me. He took out a paper, and gave it to me. 
 It was my freedom. 
 
 I suppose that it was because I was wounded, that my breath 
 came so short and thick. The Prince said to me, 
 
 "I should like to shake hands with Madame, the brave 
 drummer ; for I must ride far and fast. I fear you have cost me 
 a thousand men." 
 
 I pointed to Marie, who was beside me, against the wall. He 
 had not recognised her at all. The English ladies had given her 
 a grey gown with a red cross on it, and no one would have known 
 her again as the drummer-boy. 
 
 The Prince quickly kissed her hand. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 171 
 
 11 1 would have asked for a lock of your hair," he said gallantly, 
 " but you have not got half an inch to give me. The ladies are 
 getting all the hair which they can buy. Soon, Madame, if you 
 wear your hair in that becoming style, you will be in the fashion. 
 Ladies will soon be like you — en Zouave. But how about your 
 husband ? " 
 
 " I want him to go to Cologne with " 
 
 The Prince hesitated. 
 
 " Is that quite moral, Madame ? " said the Prince. 
 
 " Would it not be immoral to do anything else ? " said Marie. 
 
 " No ; he is dismissed, and his country is being ruined. He 
 has got a pass into the French lines as a dismissed prisoner, with 
 full power to serve. We Germans understand his position per- 
 fectly well. I know what I should do, if I were his age." 
 
 " And what is that, sir ? " 
 
 " I should wait here until these good Englishwomen had put 
 me on my legs, and then I should pass into the French lines, and 
 do what I could. Only mind, M. Schneider, that we are xenoi, 
 and we never fight again." 
 
 And with these words he rode away. 
 
 But he turned and came back. 
 
 "Madame Schneider," he said, " can you find a flower for 
 me?" 
 
 There was a snapdragon on the wall, and she gave it to him. 
 
 " May I have a kiss, Monsieur? " he said. 
 
 I looked at her, and saw that her eyes said yes. 
 
 He bent from his saddle and kissed her. Then he was gone. 
 I was free, and Marie and I were alone in the sun together. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 I feak you must think but very little of me, now. I think that 
 you must hate me. Yet, pause — would you not have done the 
 same thing? 
 
 I was absolutely free. Was I to cast that freedom to the winds 
 for an idea ? I think not. You may think differently, but I hold 
 my own opinion. I had to serve France before all things in this 
 world, and if I had a technical right to serve her, I had no 
 possible excuse to dispense with that right. 
 
 I owed my freedom to the King of Prussia, but a German prince 
 owed his life to me. It seemed to me a perfectly equal thing. 
 
172 VALENTIN : 
 
 Let us, however, put to ourselves a perfectly parallel case, though 
 an entirely impossible one, and see how you would judge me. 
 
 In 1882 England was invaded by the French. The Queen had 
 been deceived by her ministers as to the state of her fleet and 
 armies, and had declared war on a peculiarly foolish question, with 
 their advice. The French, by some perfectly superhuman and 
 inconceivable manoeuvres, which can only be paralleled in Don 
 Quixote, had tempted away the British fleet. The British fleet 
 was in some place whither the human imagination cannot follow 
 it. Two hundred ships of war, however, were entirely missing, 
 with the exception of the Glatton, the Hotspur, and the Devasta- 
 tion, not intended to go to sea, and which do not intend to go to 
 sea at all. The Glatton did not steam ten knots an hour, and 
 disarranged the whole business. The Coastguard and Volunteers 
 were all at Ascot Races, and so could do nothing. The men from 
 Aldershot and Colchester were not telegraphed for, and conse- 
 quently did not come. So the French landed, on a perfectly 
 undefended coast, an army of 80,000 men, with a basis of opera- 
 tions only secured by the French fleet, every officer in which 
 knew perfectly well they would go to the bottom of the sea when 
 the English fleet returned, which it might do at any moment. 
 
 Meanwhile, also, the English Government had not abrogated 
 the Treaty of Paris, and there was not the greatest mercantile 
 navy in the world giving the very slightest opposition to French 
 transports. There were not five hundred steamships, ranging from 
 1000 to 4000 tons, armed with one gun each, handled by first- 
 class officers as easily as river-boats, cutting into the French 
 transports in every direction. Also it is to be remarked in the 
 annus mirabilis 1882, that the buoys were not removed, and 
 torpedoes were not put in their place. A most remarkable fact ! 
 
 Lord Westminster, Lord Salisbury, Lord Carnarvon, Lord 
 Bute, the Duke of Bedford, the Duke Sutherland, men with 
 money to lose, did nothing whatever. They did not send every 
 horse out of their stables, every carriage and waggon they had, 
 to form a commissariat for the Volunteers. In any other year 
 every English gentleman would have done so, but this particular 
 year of the invasion, nobody in England did what they had always 
 done before, and would do again the next year. It was the annus 
 mirabilis. 
 
 Let me pause, and have a laugh at the invasion of England. 
 It is too entirely absurd. I have laughed, and I will go on now. 
 But my head aches from laughing. 
 
 Though mind, you must spend your money, you must not stint 
 that. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 173 
 
 I proceed with my annus mirabilis. In this year the Queen 
 got very frightened at the beginning, for the first time in her life. 
 The southern farmers, who, as it is well known, have no horses, 
 never moved their goods. The consequence was, that the French 
 army lived upon Liebig's extract and hogs. You suggest bacon ? 
 Well, that shows your penetration. There was much bacon cer- 
 tainly, but in the annus mirabilis it was tainted with trichinites, 
 and made our men ill. There was beef also, but the foot and 
 mouth disease was bad in Kent that year, and so the beef dis- 
 agreed with our men worse than the pork. 
 
 The British ministry were all very ill in consequence of drinking 
 ginger-beer at Greenwich. Mr. Gladstone was very ill indeed, be- 
 cause he had to speak four hours fifty-nine minutes and three- 
 quarters to his constituency, before he got one mouthful of dinner. 
 Nobody did anything at all ; it is entirely impossible to speak of the 
 masterly way in which none of you did anything whatever. But 
 none of you did anything ; you had no troops, no militia, no 
 artillery, and your fleet was at the Island of St. Borondon, in the 
 Atlantic. For those reasons, we won the great, and now historical, 
 battle of Dorking. 
 
 I was at that battle in a very prominent position ; in fact, I 
 wear the order of the Goose and Gander (instituted by our Presi- 
 dent, M. Mardi Prochaine) for my services there. I am of opinion, 
 that if you had had any troops there, you would most certainly 
 have won. As it was, you led us on, per ambages, until we saw 
 your real line on Blackheath, where all the army were massing 
 round the Queen. 
 
 Your artillery was right and left of us. I knew that it was all 
 over as well as I did at Sedan. You, if you can remember as 
 long ago as 1882, you will remember that I was captured in that 
 cavalry charge by you. And you took me up to the Queen ; and 
 she said, 
 
 ' ' Will you give your parole not to serve against the English ? ' ' 
 
 And I said, 
 
 " No ; though I am married, your Majesty, I will not give that 
 parole. Take me to Windsor dungeons." 
 
 " Let this officer go," said the Queen. 
 
 I went and fought again, and when our crowning disaster came 
 at Farnham, I captured you ; I let you go that time, for the sake 
 of the best woman the world ever saw (that is, your Queen). I 
 had a fight for you, you will remember, with Ducrot and Aurelles 
 de Paladine ; but you thought nothing of helping to hunt us back 
 to the sea. 
 
 Be fair. I am only putting parallel cases. I conceived that I 
 
174 VALENTIN : 
 
 was right, and I think so now. Something happened, however, 
 which, to a certain extent, delayed me. I think that I should 
 have gone before, for I was nearly well. Still Marie and I sat in 
 the sun so pleasantly, that I thought I would wait a little longer. 
 She worked very well among the wounded, and then she came 
 and sat, and read with me in the sun. And one night, I saw 
 that she was ill, and I said : — 
 
 " Let me get you a flower, darling ; will you have a lily ? " 
 And she did a strange thing. She had learnt much English 
 with these ladies, and they had lent her a book of Mr. Charles 
 Kingsley's, and she quoted from it : — 
 
 " The song told me so long, long ago, 
 How a maid she chose the white lily ; 
 But the bride she chose the red, red rose, 
 And by its thorn died she." 
 
 I got her a rose, a Souvenir de Malmaison. But she got worse ; 
 and I went in to the two English ladies. 
 
 The taller of the two looked at her, and she said, 
 
 " Carry her in for us ; you had better sleep with that Chasseur 
 to-night. Your arm will not want dressing ; keep his arm moist ; 
 there is still some suppuration." 
 
 " But what is the matter with Marie ? " I asked. 
 
 " Well," said the taller English lady, " you will be a father or 
 a widower before to-morrow morning — possibly both." 
 
 I went to bed as I was told, for I had full faith in those two 
 ladies. I went to bed with the Chasseur, and at proper intervals 
 watered his hand with a small English watering-pot. It was a 
 damp business, and I, as a rule, prefer to sleep dry. Mais que 
 voulez voits ? La guerre, c'est toujours la guerre. Also and 
 furthermore, my bedfellow was a very strong young man, of 
 
 the province of Brittany, and he stunk like all the 1 beg a 
 
 thousand pardons, it is my first betise ; he did not smell quite so 
 nice as you do. 
 
 I object also, that the English ladies did not come to me as 
 soon as they might have done. My Chasseur did not smell as 
 Chasseurs — nay, as all of us — should. I was dozing off with a 
 most grand theory of stinks in my head. I had nearly done the 
 first volume, when I found that I was awakened by a woman. I 
 immediately wrote a whole volume on smells. Then I rose in bed 
 (I did not happen to have many clothes on), and the Chasseur 
 cursed me violently in the Biscayan language, which I do not in 
 the least degree understand. 
 
 I sat up in bed as far as decency would allow, and I saw the 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 175 
 
 taller English lady before me, with a naked child in her arms. 
 With a wild recollection of a certain passage in Rabelais, I 
 said, 
 
 " Madam, do you know what you are doing with the little 
 infant?" 
 
 " Sir," she said, " this little baby is yours." 
 
 How I could possibly have launched into the world a small 
 specimen of a man, who was so small that it would fit into the 
 English lady's hand, I could not understand. I quite submitted. 
 I saw my wife's eyes in his head, and I said, 
 
 " Give him to me." 
 
 " For an hour only you will remain," said the English lady. 
 
 So the Chasseur and I got the baby between us in bed. It was 
 not very big, and we turned down the clothes, and let the baby 
 play between us. 
 
 That it was the most astounding baby ever seen, I need not say. 
 He — not born ten hours — put his little fingers into that Chasseur's 
 beard, in a way which would astonish you. It does not much 
 matter, however. 
 
 In the middle of the night I had to take the child across the 
 road, and lay it to Marie's breast. 
 
 When you have done that, you have done most things. Well, 
 I am going to conclude. I cannot say how sorry I am to part 
 with you, but one man does not happen to be ten (this is exactly 
 the place to say that Wellington said that Napoleon was 30,000 
 men. This is exactly the place to begin the argument. I assert 
 that I am not ten men, but that Wellington was quite right in 
 saying that Napoleon was 30,000. In my opinion he was more). 
 I only say that I am not by any means ten men. If I had been, 
 I should have told you all about the affray before Orleans. 
 
 I was with Marie for a month after the baby was born. I was 
 absolutely free, and I did not leave her till I was fit to go. Then 
 I went to D'Aurelles de Paladine, and he sent me south to meet 
 Ricciotti Garibaldi at Dijon. 
 
 I met Ricciotti Garibaldi in England, and he said to me quite 
 what I knew before. The French was utterly demoralised. They 
 could not meet the Germans. They went out of the end of a field 
 as soon as the Germans came in at the other end. " We could 
 not make them fight," said Ricciotti to me ; " and if the family 
 of Garibaldi can't make men fight, who can? " 
 
 Let me lay down on the grave of a dead man one little wreath. 
 I am an Orleanist. I love the name of the family. I would go 
 to the devil for the Due d'Aumale, and as I write the news comes 
 to me that the Due de Guise is dead. Is God going to plague us 
 
176 VALENTIN : 
 
 for ever for the sins of that scoundrel Orleans ? Why docs God 
 smite the first-born of France like this ? What have we done, I 
 beg of you ? It seems to me, speaking as an Orleanist, that God 
 is not just to France. He took the Prince de Conde, now He 
 takes the Due de Guise. Is God going to stamp France into the 
 dirt ? 
 
 Marie says " No." He is going to do nothing of the kind. 
 She says that there will rise a regenerated France, under the 
 house of Orleans, at the sound of whose mouth all the earth will 
 tremble. And Marie says also a very strange tiling. She says 
 that no nation will trust France again. 
 
 I asked why France was not to be trusted again. 
 
 "Because she has the Revolution behind her; and no nation 
 dare face a revolution save England." 
 
 " Why England ? " 
 
 " Because England has done her duty by the people, and the 
 Queen has helped her. 
 
 She had her ideas, this young woman. 
 
 I beg you to observe that under the Emperor of Germany's own 
 signature I was no prisoner. Hetmold did his spiriting well. I 
 was in Metz before the capitulation : and what is more to the pur- 
 pose, I got out of it before the capitulation, with intelligence. Oh, 
 my dear von Alvenstein, I wonder what you would say to that. 
 Dear von Alvenstein, you don't in the least degree think it pos- 
 sible that a young Alsatian who could talk German as well as 
 yourself, would strip a young drummer who happened to be acci- 
 dentally dead, and put on his clothes ; you never thought of that, 
 General von Alvenstein. But I did that same thing, and the place 
 where I did it was within ten minutes' walk of Malmaison. 
 
 When everything came to an end before Orleans, I fancied 
 myself a lost man. Three years in Prussia was the least thing I 
 had to undergo. 
 
 I beg to remark to you that my parole was given without my 
 asking for it. Now I was ordered to Sedan, and to Sedan I went. 
 
 " Is my father's house standing ? " I said to La Rose, of the 
 " Europe." 
 
 " It is standing, and your father's there," said La Rose. 
 
 I went out. The wrong had been righted. One had died since 
 the battle ; so what did it matter ? I went to my own father's 
 house, and knocked. 
 
 The door was opened by my own wife. Oh, that pressure of 
 breast to breast ! It seemed to me now that the child had come, 
 there was a new love more glorious than the old one. We were 
 in one another's arms for one moment only. 
 
A STORY OF SEDAN. 177 
 
 I heard my father say, " Let them be alone together for a little," 
 and then I heard a furious knocking at the door, just when my 
 wife's bosom was on my breast. 
 
 I opened it. Mere Mathilde and Jacques Cartier were there, 
 pursued, they said, by the Carbonari. While I was parleying with 
 them, the door still open, a wounded wolf dashed in among ns as 
 we stood in the hall, and looking round upon us came and lay at 
 my feet. 
 
 Marie said to me, " Oh, Valentin, the poor dog is dead." 
 
 " The wolf to the wehrwolf," said Mere Mathilde ; " save us, 
 save us, in God's name." 
 
 They were suddenly upon us like fiends. The Prussians were not 
 within a quarter of a mile. It was a matter for revolvers, and we 
 were unarmed. I fought like a Frenchman, with a poker, and 
 Jacques Cartier did all he could ; but this deadly sin of talking 
 had been committed by us against the Carbonari, and we were 
 doomed. Mere Mathilde fell wounded first, and then my mother 
 went down. My father wrested a revolver from a man before we 
 were hunted into the dining-room, and found five barrels loaded. 
 Jacques Cartier fought with a chair. My father did splendid service 
 by carefully shooting five men, but his valour was of no use, for he 
 was shot himself, and very dangerously. Jacques Cartier was hit 
 twice. All was going badly with us, and Marie had suddenly given 
 me what she thought was the last kiss in this world, when we heard 
 that awful — 
 
 Halt! 
 
 It was the Prussians. The Carbonari were hemmed into the 
 hall, and a volley was poured in on them. When the volley had 
 had its effect, the Prussians ran in. My father was confronted by 
 a solemn young officer in his own dining-room. 
 
 " You keep pretty order in the conquered provinces, sir," said 
 my father. 
 
 " We cannot undertake to keep order with the Carbonari, sir." 
 
 " I suppose not, sir. But my wife is killed in consequence of 
 your negligence." 
 
 " Gott imHimmel ! " said the young officer. " Let us look, 
 dear M. Schneider." 
 
 Mere Mathilde was not dead, nor was my mother. She was 
 shot through the thigh and through the deltoid muscles, but she 
 was not dead at all. In fact, she is alive now. 
 
 One ugly thing happened at the very last, One of the wounded 
 
 13 
 
178 VALENTIN : A STORY OF SEDAN. 
 
 Carbonari had been disarmed by the Prussians, but he had a little 
 American pistol concealed on him. Jacques Cartier approached 
 him to give him some water, and he said, " Foul hound and 
 traitor," and he shot him so that he maimed him for life. 
 That is all I have to say of Sedan. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF KHYADER AND FESTINIOG. 
 
 The two sons of the old house of Rhyader developed singularly 
 different dispositions, though both gave great cause of anxiety to 
 their father, at one time. Scarcely divided by one year in age, 
 they were as distant as the poles, both in pursuits and in character. 
 Gervase, the elder, began life as a solemn and pensive baby, who 
 at his christening attended cautiously to the ceremony, as if to 
 see that it was correctly done in every particular. Shortly after- 
 wards he became a precocious boy and wrote some admirable 
 poetry. Not long afterwards he became a precocious young man, 
 with all the learning of the Egyptians at his fingers' ends. He 
 was a young gentleman of great promise, and although his per- 
 formances never came up to his promises, he was an all too excel- 
 lent young gentleman. His inexorable virtues led him at one 
 time it was suspected Romewards, but he never went ; he never 
 did anything incautious. 
 
 Iltyd, the younger son, was, on the other hand, a violent baby, 
 a violent and, as some said, a stupid boy, and a most headstrong 
 young man. The mother died not long after Iltyd had attained 
 his tenth year, leaving the head of the house a widower ; and after 
 that event no one could do anything with the younger son, save 
 his father and his brother. To these two people, and to these 
 alone (save possibly the colonel of his regiment when he chose), 
 would he listen. The father and brother, who were both crazy 
 about their pedigree, were proud of him. The father would say, 
 " He is a real De Barri, the inexorable spirit of Giraldus Cam- 
 brensis is alive in him;" and the brother would say, " It is true ; 
 he may do us honour in war ; it is a pity we ever took the name 
 
 181 
 
182 NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 of Arnaud, and allowed the Irish Barrys to usurp our real 
 honours." 
 
 Iltyd Gerald Baldwin Arnaud, christened carefully after the 
 Saint, the Archdeacon and the Archbishop, cast the traditions of 
 his family to the winds, and voted Giraldus Cambrensis the 
 greatest bore of all the Barris. The great Rhys he pronounced 
 to be a noodle, inasmuch as he oould not keep his own kingdom ; 
 and he very much affected the company of one Halfacre, a groom, 
 who, he declared, was a descendant of Halfager, and consequently 
 a prince in disguise. Iltyd was sent into the army very young, 
 and was a most excellent young officer, though he got into early 
 trouble by incontinence of speech. The colonel of his regiment 
 having incautiously remarked that his family had come over with 
 the Conqueror, Iltyd said, "You pack of rascals were a little too 
 late, we came over with the Fitz Geralds in the time of Edward 
 the Confessor." He was a foolish young man, and was rebuked 
 most properly. He would laugh at his own pedigree, but only in 
 his own family. 
 
 As the brothers Gervase and Iltyd grew to manhood, one 
 seemed to give to the other what was wanted by each. Gervase 
 over-read himself, and pushed his religion to the verge of extreme 
 asceticism ; Iltyd, on the other hand, would come home on leave 
 from his regiment and tear Gervase from his study, carrying him 
 over hill, moor, and torrent, up to some nook among the wild 
 Welsh mountains, where they could hear no sound save the 
 distant trickling of waters. Then Iltyd would tell Gervase all 
 about the strange magnificence of London and Paris : and how 
 he, whose short curls were now lying on his brother's shoulder, 
 had yesterday been at court ; and how the pale man that he had 
 been trying to describe was the Emperor, and the boy was the 
 Prince of Wales, and so on ; trying to fix the colours and forms of 
 a kaleidoscope to suit the eye of his brother, to whom, at this 
 time, all these people were mere names. 
 
 Then they would wander down to the old priory in the hollow, 
 so dearly beloved by the greatest of their family, and among the 
 shattered Norman and early English arches, Gervase would talk 
 about the crusade preached by Giraldus Cambrensis and Baldwin 
 in that spot, until Iltyd would catch his enthusiasm, and believe 
 that the campaign which was now imminent was, in reality, 
 another crusade to snatch the holy places from the hands of an 
 alien and, in reality, barbarous power. Then they would go back 
 to the castle, and their father would say, as he saw them coming 
 home arm in arm, " nothing will separate those two, except a 
 woman " 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 183 
 
 The war came, blazed up, burnt low, blazed up again, and then 
 died out. Iltyd was all through it and behaved with credit and 
 distinction : he came home a captain, but, being in the Guards, 
 with, of course, the title of colonel. But meanwhile something 
 had happened to the branch of the Barri family which had never 
 beon calculated on for a moment. 
 
 The head of the Festiniog family lost his eldest son by typhoid 
 fever, and before he had time to reflect on the matter, news 
 came that his last surviving son was killed in the trenches. The 
 head of the Rhyaders, the father of our two young gentlemen, at 
 once went to give such consolation to his cousin as he could ; and 
 he urged him strongly to marry again. The old man, with the 
 obstinacy of the Rhys family crossed through endless generations 
 with that of the De Barris, had a will of his own. He said that 
 the hand of God was in it, that the Festiniog estates must join 
 those of Rhyader, and that the latter house had two noble sons to 
 represent the allied families. Instead of marrying, he made his 
 will, and by no means too soon, for he died very shortly after- 
 wards, leaving, out of his personal property, seven thousand 
 pounds to Iltyd, as a memorial of his gallantry in war. 
 
 The Rhyaders, therefore, from being merely, as the Irish say, 
 " decent " people, that is to say very rich, became immensely so. 
 Rhyader took the title of Festiniog, and became a pillar of the 
 State. 
 
 The Romish tendencies of Gervase, the elder of the two sons, 
 gave the most dreadful trouble to his father. The entailed estates 
 of the two branches of the family would most certainly come to 
 Gervase. 
 
 Gervase (as was said by his friends) was actually thinking of 
 joining the Roman priesthood, and openly talking about it. Had 
 he done so, a large part of the vast revenues which had come to 
 the Rhyader branch of the family would flow into the coffers of 
 the Papacy. Llanavon would be restored, and monks would walk 
 about among the violent Welsh dissenters to be stoned : to the 
 new Lord Festiniog such a state of things appeared most horrible, 
 for he was one of the most extreme of all Protestants. Yet he 
 was afraid of his son, and he did not know what to do. He, in 
 the end, had to do nothing at all ; affairs arranged themselves for 
 him. Gervase, with his new honours fresh upon him, went to a 
 ball at Powys Castle, to look, they said, for the last time, on the 
 frivolities of this wicked world. Like many holy men, including 
 Richelieu, he was an admirable dancer, and he danced that night 
 so often with only one young lady, that the county raised their 
 eyebrows, and listened to such of the conversation as they could 
 
184 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 hear between the Festiniog heir and Miss Ormerod as hard as 
 they could. In the interval of the dances they seemed to talk 
 about nothing but religious matters, and the noise went abroad 
 that Miss Ormerod was going to take the veil when Gervase took 
 the cowl. 
 
 Such was by no means the fact. Gervase had fallen in love 
 with Alice Ormerod the moment he saw her. She was so exceed- 
 ingly beautiful and charming, that there would have been no 
 wonder in the matter at all had it not been put about that Gervase 
 had not only devoted his life to the secular Roman priesthood but 
 even to the regular ; the reality being that he was nothing more 
 than a very High Churchinan for those times, and had a peculiar 
 and very strong antipathy to the Papacy. 
 
 Miss Ormerod held similar views, and, to the great delight of 
 her father-in-law, very soon became the wife of Gervase. 
 
 Twelve months had not passed before she had an heir to the 
 combined estates of Festiniog and Rhyader ; but twelve months 
 more had not passed before she was a hopeless, childless cripple, 
 and active life was over for her in this world. Driving down one 
 of the mountainous lanes near Llanavon, the pony took fright and 
 became unmanageable. The nurse and child were thrown against 
 a stone wall and killed ; and Lady Rhyader, after trembling for a 
 year between this world and the next, became an apparently hope- 
 less invalid. 
 
 If Gervase had loved her before, he adored her now. The 
 year during which he had dreaded to lose her had only rendered 
 her more precious. The eight years which followed on that year 
 had rendered her more precious still. Gervase Arnaud thought 
 that he had made his mind up on every subject save one ; and on 
 that one point he could get no information whatever. His wife 
 and he had every thought, every sentiment, every hope in common ; 
 but he wanted to know if there was any chance of their meeting 
 after death. Rome said no, save under certain conditions, to 
 which he would not submit. The Anglicans said, very properly, 
 that they could not tell him. Neither the Irvingites nor the 
 Swedenborgians satisfied him. A keen, shrewd man enough in 
 most things, he had cast his lot in with one woman, and made 
 himself foolish about her. The High Church people declined 
 most properly to tell him more than they knew, and he went else- 
 where. The last people he tried were the Moravians ; they told 
 him that if he thought so much of his wife he was unfit for bliss. 
 In short, he could get no satisfaction at all on the subject of his 
 meeting his wife in a future state. Spiritualism was not then, or 
 he might have taken to that. After eight years it would have 
 taken a Mosheim to say of what heresy he was innocent. 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 185 
 
 Possibly of none ; any man who studies theology is the heretic 
 of half an hour. A man who does not assimilate the various 
 heresies one by one, wants genius, and is no true theologian. 
 Gervase was a postulant to every heresy in ecclesiastical history 
 for some time, but he came back to the High Church party after 
 all. 
 
 His father, Lord Festiniog, had gone to Rome, and had written 
 from there that he wished to see him. At this time his wife, 
 Lady Rhyader, for the second title of Festiniog was the same as 
 their old one, was hopeless. She was moved from the sofa to her 
 bed, and back again. He left her in the most reluctant manner, 
 for she had not stood upright for seven years. He saw his father 
 at Rome, and then came back to Llanavon, after an absence of 
 six weeks. 
 
 There had been a silence as regards letters between them, which 
 will be explained immediately. He thought from this that she 
 might be worse ; that she could write to him no longer. He got 
 no word from her at all ; he dared not go to his own home at 
 Llanavon, for the servants might tell him she was dead. 
 
 He got out of the train at Llanganfraid and went across the 
 mountains. After a long walk he came in sight of the castle, and 
 everything seemed as usual. He looked on the terrace, and he 
 saw her invalid chair there, with the rugs and shawls upon it, but 
 it was empty. 
 
 He did not know what to think. He clashed from rock to rock. 
 Space and time seemed to be annihilated. Here was the chair in 
 which he had left her, a hopeless invalid ; here was her fan, here 
 were the letters from her friends strewed around ; here were the 
 prints of her sacred feet on the cushion, but where was she ? 
 
 " Alice ! Alice ! " he called aloud, " where are you ? " 
 
 " Gervase ! Gervase ! " answered a clear, strong voice from the 
 shrubbery close by. " I am here ; come to me, darling." 
 
 He ran into the thicket close by, and there was his wife, more 
 beautiful than ever. She told him the truth at once. 
 
 " First I found that I could stand, and then I found that I 
 could walk ; but I thought that I would say nothing about it to 
 any one. I should not even have told you, had you not surprised 
 me in this way ; during the last fortnight I must have walked 
 miles." 
 
 " But have you never asked Doctor W ," said Gervase. 
 
 " No ! I do not think he knows his business at all. I shall be 
 able to walk with you again now ; I shall soon get stronger, I am 
 sure. We can go over the hills together as of old. We shall be 
 together as we once hoped to be." 
 
136 NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 It now becomes necessary to leave Gervase in his new honey- 
 moon, and follow Iltyd. The fact must be told at once ; after 
 the war lie had done little good for himself or others. He had 
 very nearly quarrelled with his father and his brother, and was in 
 their bad books. He had lost some money at horse-racing, a 
 thing which has been done before. He had also run away with a 
 young milliner from the West-end, which was bad ; and was re- 
 ported to have married her at the consulate at Leghorn, which 
 was considered in certain circles to be worse. After having ful- 
 filled the catalogue of his crimes he died. Some people were 
 very sorry for him — the commander-in-chief was, his father was ; 
 while his brother Gervase would have given half his income to get 
 him back again ; but unfortunately he was dead, and so sorrow 
 was not of the least avail ; no more, in short, than it would be in 
 your case or in our own. 
 
 The sorrow of two people only took practical results. Lord 
 Festiniog held consultation with his son Gervase. They deter- 
 mined that "the woman" and her child, just born, should not 
 suffer, in a pecuniary point of view. 
 
 This detenu ination was mr.de just after the birth of Gervase 's 
 first child ; before the accident which made the now great house 
 heirless. It was persevered in, most faithfully as far as " the 
 woman " was concerned for many years, until after the time when 
 Gervase's second child, the one born after his wife's recovery, was 
 a boy of fourteen. 
 
 The poor woman had from the first accepted her position most 
 humbly : she thanked Lord Festiniog and Lord Khyader most 
 heartily for their assistance, pointed out frankly to the family that 
 she had six thousand pounds left her by her husband, and needed 
 nothing except the future help of the family for the education of 
 her little boy. Every promise was given, and of course no 
 objection was made to her request to live abroad at Leghorn, near 
 the grave of Iltyd ; it was the best for all parties. No objection 
 was made either to her supplementing her income by her trade : 
 in fact, they never knew that she was doing so. 
 
 She lived in great retirement with her child in Leghorn, and 
 she was more than once seen there by the family solicitor, young 
 Mr. Drummond, who generally spent part of the long vacation 
 there. He gave the most excellent account of her beauty, her 
 character, and her accomplishments, and spoke so much about 
 her, that one day Lord Festiniog turned from some papers which 
 ho was examining, and said, 
 
 "Drummond, if you have really any honourable intentions 
 towards the poor woman, tell me so. Our family have done her 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 187 
 
 the most irreparable wrong ; if you think of marrying her, I will 
 most certainly make her a very handsome settlement." 
 
 " My lord," he replied, " there are insuperable objections." 
 
 11 Nonsense, man, none but what may be got over with time." 
 
 " I mean on my side, my lord." 
 
 " Pray forgive me ; I ought notio have mentioned the subject ; 
 only you spoke of her with such enthusiasm and admiration, that 
 you cannot blame me." 
 
 " I do not, my lord ; but the strict truth is that before I knew 
 my own mind I formed other ties." 
 
 " I never heard of that." 
 
 " Nor do I wish others to do so. I only mentioned the fact to 
 account for my conduct." 
 
 11 Then it is your duty surely to keep away from her, is it not ? " 
 
 " I assure you that there is not any danger, less than you could 
 possibly dream of. Mrs. Arnaud, as she calls herself, is my friend, 
 but she never could be anything more." 
 
 Lord Festimog pretended to be satisfied, but he was very far 
 from being so. He put the matter aside as being no particular 
 business of his, though he thought that the cool Drummond was 
 one of the last men to make a foolish and clandestine marriage. 
 Still he reflected that if one half of the world knew half of the 
 follies committed by the other half, society would become im- 
 possible. 
 
 Drummond saw Mrs. Arnaud every summer for some years, and 
 did her many little services. One summer when he went, he found 
 that she was at Ravenna, and followed her there, only to find her 
 startlingly ill in a rather secluded lodging by the sea. She ex- 
 plained to him that she had only come there for the boy's sake, 
 for that he wanted a little change, and her servant had told her 
 that Ravenna was particularly healthy. " The woman had been 
 born there," she said. 
 
 Drummond was very angry and loud about the matter. " The 
 woman wants to come here after her people, I suppose — confound 
 her. It is one of the worst fever holes in Europe. You should 
 come away at once." 
 
 " I should like to do so, I am sure," she said ; " but I feel too 
 ill to move." And indeed she seemed so. Drummond went away 
 after her servant, and came back telling her that he had scolded 
 the woman, that she was going to be ill, and that there was no 
 danger. 
 
 It appears that the woman deceived them on that point ; Mrs. 
 Arnaud was very ill indeed, and Drummond was evidently terrified. 
 The woman Carlina told him that she would be delirious for a 
 
188 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 few days. She became so, and sunk into a lethargy ; once she 
 seemed so nearly gone that he said to Carlina, in a way very 
 different from his ordinary business one, " if she dies, I will kill 
 
 you." 
 
 She did not die, she lingered on into a slow return to conscious- 
 ness. She asked for her child, but she was told that it was 
 dangerous for him to come near her. The necessity for breaking 
 the truth to her came at last. The child had caught the fever 
 from her and had died. 
 
 She relapsed into delirium, and imbecility for a time. The 
 first day she was in good health enough to travel she insisted on 
 going straight to England as soon as she had put a stone on the 
 grave of the boy. She was perfectly resolute about it, though 
 Drummond rather urged her not to undertake the journey. 
 Nothing could turn her, and to England she came in his com- 
 pany ; and went straight to Lord Festiniog, asking his protection : 
 he saw no reason why he should not grant it, and so gave his 
 consent, which was by no means necessary, to her entering a 
 society of religious ladies which had become known to his eccentric 
 son in one of his religious experiments. Here she lived for some 
 years unmolested, and almost happy. Her dead child was always 
 before her certainly : but he was in heaven, so she thought how 
 wicked it was for her to mourn for him. He could not always 
 have been a child, but must have grown to be a man. And 
 although her husband Iltyd was a saint, still all men were not 
 satisfactory. He might have grown into a Drummond, and that 
 would not have pleased her, kind as he was. 
 
 Lord Rhyader and his very charming wife frequently saw T her ; 
 her guilt was so apparently innocent that they thought of it very 
 little. Once Lord Rhyader, in one of his religious moods, spoke 
 to her about it, and expressed himself glad to see how entirely 
 she had repented. 
 
 " My guilt ! " she said ; "I am not guilty. My poor saint, 
 Iltyd, made a most innocent mistake. That is all. You must not 
 use that word again to me, my lord ; " and she rose and looked at 
 him in a way he did not like. 
 
 " Come," he said, " do not call me my lord, call me Gervase : 
 do not let us quarrel. Are you happy here ? " 
 
 " Yes. I shall go into the world no more, I think. My 
 mother and the rest of my relations left me soon after — — 
 Well, you know what I mean." 
 
 "So I understood," said Lord Rhyader. "You have, I sup- 
 pose, given the money you have to the sisterhood. Not that I am 
 likely to care about it, but if you have made any deed of gift in 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 189 
 
 this direction, you might feci yourself, as it were, bound to stay 
 here. If you desire to go once more into the world, I assure you 
 that we will take the greatest care that you have ample means : 
 even in case of your marrying again." 
 
 11 That is very nobly said, Grervase," she replied ; " but I have 
 kept what money I have entirely in my own hands." 
 
 " Then you will not be beholden to us in any way ? " 
 
 " If it becomes necessary, yes ; at present, no." And on these 
 terms they remained. 
 
 Her money was part of it laid out in mortgage, and one of her 
 mortgagers died. Her lawyer, who had been her husband's, was 
 no other than her old friend Drummond. It was necessary that 
 she should go to London and see him. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE RETURN TO THE WORLD. 
 
 Years had passed since she had seen Drummond, and years had 
 passed since she had been in London. She had heard from him 
 formally many times, and on one or two occasions confidentially. 
 But as far as she was concerned he belonged to the past, and she 
 supposed that he had entirely forgotten the passion which he had 
 once undoubtedly entertained for her. 
 
 She approached his office with a feeling of curiosity. What 
 was he like now ? She thought he was a handsome fellow once, 
 though never comparable to Iltyd. " However, he played the 
 villain to me ; he pestered me with his attentions, and I only 
 found out from Lord Festiniog that he was married all the time. 
 If my lord knew that, what a rage he would be in ! I will never 
 tell the truth about that, for the man was very kind to me when 
 my boy died. He was very agreeable, and I think that I could 
 have trusted him once ; I certainly cannot now." 
 
 She went into his front office in Westminster, and sent in her 
 name. No client was with him, and she was asked in at once. 
 She passed into the room a handsome woman of less than forty ; 
 she came out, the clerks noticed, looking much older. 
 
 He was little altered, as she saw at once when he rose to 
 receive her. He held out his hand and said, "Mary " ; but she 
 replied, " Mrs, Arn.aud, if you please." The clerks heard no 
 
190 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 more. What passed between them is a mere matter of detail : no 
 one knew, in fact, until long afterwards. 
 
 Her last words, however, as she was leaving, were perfectly 
 audible. "You are certainly right, and I see it now. I thank 
 you, though I never can reward you in the way you desire. You 
 have done Iltyd's memory a great service. Could he know of it 
 he would thank you as deeply as I do. I will vindicate his 
 memory in my own way. Meanwhile, I will entirely keep your 
 counsel for the sake of old times. Depend completely on that." 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud never went back to the religious house where she 
 had lived so happily. She stayed in London, and entered into a 
 long and acrimonious correspondence with Lord Festiniog. They 
 both lost their tempers over the matter, and at last he said that 
 she might carry out her threat and go to anywhere her own way. 
 
 She did so, and from this moment our story as regards her 
 really begins. She was determined to live without the countenance 
 of the family any longer. She will explain her reasons herself 
 hereafter. 
 
 She consulted Drummond as to the best way of doing so. He 
 at once told her oi an excellent investment at No. 17, Hartley 
 Street, Cavendish Square. It was a fashionable milliner's business 
 which she could conduct herself most perfectly, and which was for 
 sale by private contract. He had known of the fact through his 
 own son being a lodger in the house. 
 
 " Your son," she said. 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " I have not brought him up to the law. He 
 is in the Home Office ; a poor appointment as yet. You have 
 heard, surely, how painful my married life was ? " 
 
 " Yes, Lord Festiniog told me some of it." 
 
 " Well, I love the young man, and he is devoted to me, but he 
 has at times a look so fearfully like his mother that I dread to 
 look at him. I could not have him sitting opposite me in the 
 office all day, and every day. I should never forget the past. 
 You can understand that, my dear Mrs. Arnaud." 
 
 " Well indeed," said Mrs. Arnaud, " the past has not been 
 very happy for either of us. You, however, have had most to 
 bear. I earnestly hope, Mr. Drummond, that the presence of 
 your son in my house will not cause us to meet oftener than 
 courtesy permits." 
 
 " You persist in your difficult resolution." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, do not mention my name." 
 
 " I will certainly not do so." 
 
 And so Mrs, Arnaud began life once more on her own account. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 191 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MRS. ARNAUD. 
 
 To be entirely alone in a strange house, after making a great 
 resolution and carrying it out to the end : after doing a thing 
 which was terrifying to think of before it was done, and when 
 accomplished was more fearful still ; was not by any means a 
 reassuring position. Mrs. Arnaud felt that as she sat down in 
 her little dark back parlour and thought of the past and of the 
 future. She had taken the great step of her life, and was by 
 herself, for the first time, face to face with facts. 
 
 She was at this time about forty, looking about five -and -twenty : 
 complexion and features were still perfect, and her vast mass of 
 dark hair, gathered behind and falling in a large curl over her left 
 shoulder, was untouched with grey : she wore over it a small lace 
 cap ; from the throat downwards fell a long white shawl of the 
 same material, and her gown was of dark purple silk. Possibly 
 there was not in the West End of London that summer's evening 
 a handsomer or more perfectly dressed woman than Mrs. Arnaud, 
 of No. 17, Hartley Street, Cavendish Square, milliner and dress- 
 maker. 
 
 She had come back at last to her old trade, which had been her 
 mother's before her. After many years' seclusion as a religious 
 lady, she had once more thrust herself before the public in fulfil- 
 ment of a certain threat, and she was utterly alone in her terror : 
 she had sent out her maid Rachel, and there was no movement in 
 the house except the ticking of the French clock on the mantel- 
 piece. She opened the door leading to the shop and looked in : 
 it was nearly dark, for the shutters were up, but was set out ready 
 for the morrow, when she would open it. It was full of ghostly 
 female figures, in splendid dim-seen raiment, but without heads. 
 Two of them nearest the window, in her sickly fancy, seemed like 
 Marie Antoinette and the Princess de Lamballe risen from the 
 dead. To-morrow morning the shutters would be down, and the 
 garish sunshine would be in the place ; she herself would have to 
 take her place among the headless images, herself the best dressed 
 among them all. On the dreadful morrow every noodle in London 
 would have the right of staring at the beautiful Mrs. Arnaud, and 
 would discuss her history unfavourably to herself. And although 
 she wished that the morrow was come, and that her torture was 
 begun, the present solitude was almost too horrible to be borne. 
 
 One of the bravest men in the world, a non-combatant, said to 
 
192 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 us once, about the battle of the Alma, that he was more frightened 
 at the beginning of that battle than ever he had been since he 
 went in for viva voce in his little-go. Our friend was not easily 
 frightened, any more than was Mrs. Arnaud. Still Mrs. Arnaud 
 was in a state of nervous terror difficult to be conceived. She 
 kept on saying to herself, " If he were to come now, when Rachel 
 is away and I am alone, I should go out of my mind. And he is 
 in town, and might take it into his head to come. What on earth 
 should I do then?" She sat down again and waited, with her 
 heart in her mouth, for every footfall. 
 
 What could Lord Rhyader have done to her if he had come ? 
 She never asked herself that question : an all too blameless noble- 
 man, devoted to his country's good, a man who would have died 
 sooner than say a rude word to a costermonger's wife ; what had 
 she to fear from Mm ? He was not likely to murder her ; had he 
 done so, her troubles would have been over for ever, and he would 
 have fallen a victim to the outraged laws of the British Empire ; 
 two results, which in her present state of mind she could have 
 regarded with quiet satisfaction. Why should she, therefore, be 
 so dreadfully afraid of Lord Rhyader ? 
 
 She was so afraid of his coming and finding her alone, however, 
 that she could not sit still ; she wandered out from the little back 
 parlour through the door which connected it with the hall. Here 
 she found something which distracted her thoughts for a short 
 time. She had not only bought the dressmaking business of her 
 predecessor, but she had bought the lease of the house, and the 
 lodgers also. She had got a categorical description of those 
 lodgers, but she had never seen any of them, for it was her first 
 evening in the house : according to her predecessor, they were the 
 best lodgers ever seen : giving no earthly trouble and paying like 
 clockwork. It suddenly struck her that her new servants had not 
 arrived, that her lodgers were still out, and that it would be quite 
 as well to go through their rooms and see that all was comfortable 
 for them. The new servants were to come at night ; Rachel 
 would not be home before that time and would probably be cross ; 
 so she went upstairs with a candle, and with a new anxiety left 
 her fright behind her for a short time. 
 
 The first floor, directly over the shop, was so large, that she lit the 
 Honourable Algernon D'Arcy's gas for him, and then looked round 
 his room, or rather her own. He was a young guardsman, she knew, 
 so she was bound to love him, and assist him in every way, as a 
 soldier's widow. After a very carefully carried out examination of 
 his rooms, and such of his papers as were lying about, she was 
 forced to conclude that he had not so much as learnt the grammar 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 193 
 
 of art, and had turned his genius principally to mathematics. His 
 oleographs and chromolithographs were neither well selected nor 
 well arranged ; and as for the mathematical papers which were 
 strewn about, she argued from the frequent corrections that it 
 would take Mrs. Somerville and Sir John Herschel to set them 
 right again. That he was an extremely diligent officer she had 
 hoard from her predecessor, but she left his room with the impres- 
 sion that he was cramming with an insufficient education. That 
 he desired to be married to a religious young lady, and that 
 there wore temporary difficulties in the way, she discovered before 
 she had been in the room ten minutes. We can no more tell how 
 she did so than we can tell how a laden bee knows the way home, 
 or how she discovered that he was careless with his money, and 
 that his mother was dead. She, however, made all these dis- 
 coveries before she left his room and went up to the second floor, 
 saying to herself, "Poor fellow, he wants looking after, I will 
 treat him as though he were my own lost boy." 
 
 The second floor was in the occupation of Mr. George Drum- 
 mond, the lawyer's son and heir, a young clerk in the Home 
 Office. His aesthetic tastes seemed to be superior to Mr. D'Arcy's, 
 and his habits more methodical ; his solitary picture was an 
 artist's proof of Holman Hunt's "Finding in the Temple," and 
 altogether he seemed a methodical person ; none of his papers 
 were lying about ; his pipes were arranged in racks over the 
 mantel-piece, and on either side were two japanned receptacles, like 
 those in an office, one marked "bills paid," and the other "bills 
 unpaid " ; the former was full, the latter was empty ; Mr. D'Arcy 
 below had no such arrangement, and Mrs. Arnaud thought that 
 Mr. Drummond would be an excellent lodger, who would require 
 no taking care of, as he seemed perfectly able to take care of 
 himself. He was evidently the sort of person she disliked heartily, 
 the very arrangement of his books in his bedroom offended her ; 
 he must have put them right himself that morning, for there was 
 no one else to do it : they were there in a row, just as if an idle 
 valet had placed them. She took a dislike to Mr. Drummond, 
 and a very strong liking for Mr. D'Arcy, "Yet," she thought, 
 " it is unfair to remember who his father was." 
 
 Then she went downstairs again, and as she went looked into 
 D'Arcy's room, and sat down in his easy chair for a time. Then 
 she found herself in the hall, with the light playing in over the 
 door, and she knew that she must go back again alone into her 
 solitude. 
 
 There was a swift foot upon the steps, and for an instant she 
 remained paralysed with the idea that it was Lord Rhyader. She 
 
 14 
 
194 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 might have reassured herself had she had time to think, for what- 
 ever powers Lord Rhyader had over her, he had certainly not got 
 the latch-key of her house. The new-comer had, and used it 
 with familiarity ; the door was open for a moment and she saw a 
 tall figure against the evening sky. Then the door was shut, and 
 she was in semi-darkness with a man. 
 
 " To whom have I the honour of " said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 " George Drummond," said a pleasant voice. " I suppose you 
 are Mrs. Arnaud." 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 MRS. AKNAUD's DEFIANCE. 
 
 It was rather an unfortunate introduction between these two 
 people, for at the sound of George Drummond's voice she grew 
 faint, and asked him to give her his arm. He did so at once, of 
 course, and led her into the parlour behind the shop. She sat 
 down on the sofa, and George Drummond would possibly have 
 asked her how she felt, but at that moment there came a thunder- 
 ing knock at the door. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud started up at once. " There he is," she said : 
 " Mr. Drummond, I charge you not to leave me alone with that 
 man." 
 
 " Certainly not," said George Drummond, "but what is the 
 man's name ? " 
 
 " Lord Rhyader," said Mrs. Arnaud. " If I am left alone with 
 him there will be mischief." 
 
 "Lord Rhyader!" said George Drummond: " why, I know 
 him very well. What makes you afraid of him ? " 
 
 "No matter," said Mrs. Arnaud, "you stay with me, that is 
 all." 
 
 "I will stay with you, certainly," said George Drummond; 
 " but when is your servant going to open the door ? " 
 
 "My servants are all out," said Mrs. Arnaud. " Heavens, lie 
 is knocking again." 
 
 " Let me go and open the door," said George Drummond. 
 
 " If you are not afraid," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 "Who was ever afraid of Lord Rhyader?" he said; and 
 while she lit the candle, he went and opened the door, so they 
 came in together. 
 
NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 195 
 
 He was by no means a terrible looking person, being of peaceful 
 aspect, about forty-five, wearing spectacles, and mutton-chop 
 whiskers. Had you met him in the street you would have taken 
 him for a successful barrister, a thing which he probably would 
 have been had he not been possessed of fifty thousand a year in 
 prospect. His first words as he came before George Drummond 
 were, " My dear Mary, what insanity is this? " 
 
 " Gervase," she said, trembling and pale, " you have brought 
 it on yourself, and you see the results. Allow me to observe that 
 there is a third person in the room, a stranger to me at all events, 
 though his father was none." 
 
 Lord Rhyader turned and saw George Drummond. " Why, 
 Drummond ! " he exclaimed, with unfeigned astonishment, " what 
 brings you here ? ' ' 
 
 " I might ask you the same question, with the same look of 
 amazement, Lord Rhyader," said George Drummond, laughing, 
 " only Mrs. Arnaud, whom I found alone in the house, told me 
 whom I was to expect. The mystery on my part is easily solved, 
 I am Mrs. Arnaud' s lodger." 
 
 "I did not know you had moved," said Lord Rhyader. "I 
 am very anxious to see Mrs. Arnaud alone. Xay, Mary, I will : 
 sooner or later we must have an explanation. Why not have it 
 over at once ? ' ' 
 
 "You had better go, Mr. Drummond," said Mrs. Arnaud, 
 quietly ; and he went. 
 
 Lord Rhyader sat opposite to Mrs. Arnaud silent for half a 
 minute, until he saw that he would have to speak first ; he did so. 
 
 " This is scarcely fair, Mary." 
 
 "I do not know what you mean, Gervase." 
 
 "I think you do, for you have accepted my protection and that 
 of Lady Rhyader for some years now, and acquiesced in your real 
 position, which I confess was a very painful one." 
 
 11 1 never acquiesced in my real position ; I consented to a false 
 one, for the sake of one who' is lost. Now that I know the truth, 
 I withdraw from my former situation, and prove him to be an 
 honourable man." 
 
 Her courage was coming back to her rapidly now. The terror 
 of this interview and this explanation had nearly driven her mad ; 
 here it had come : here she was face to face with facts, and she 
 was not in the least degree frightened. How completely absurd 
 artificial terrors are, and yet how terrible until they are faced. 
 The thing had come on her, the anticipation of which had made 
 her half crazy, and she was almost laughing over her winning 
 hand. He had played his last card. He could do nothing more 
 
19G NUMBEIl SEVENTEEN. 
 
 than he had done. He was entirely powerless. What a fool she 
 thought herself for ever having heen frightened. 
 
 " Mary," he said, " will you listen to reason ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will you allow me to go through the facts of our relations, 
 like a lawyer ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly. I shall correct you when you err, however." 
 
 "Good," said Lord Rhyader : "My poor hrother grossly 
 deceived himself and you by inducing you and himself also to 
 believe that you were married to him. Such you know was not 
 the fact." 
 
 " Such, I know, now, was the fact. Lord Festiniog and your- 
 self could have known it had you cared to do so. I was married 
 at the consulate at Leghorn, but I was told afterwards that the 
 marriage was illegal. I believed it, whereas, Gervase, you know 
 that I am as honestly married as you are." 
 
 ' ' Have you the proofs ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, I certainly have. Otherwise I should never have had 
 painted up over my shop door ' The Honourable Mrs. Arnaud.' ' 
 
 " Mary, you have never done that ! " 
 
 11 Take the candle out into the street, and look for yourself, 
 Gervase. You will see that I have done it ; and I told your 
 father that I would, and I have, and it will bring custom to me, 
 and annoyance to Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " Why do you wish to annoy my father ? He has been very 
 kind to you." 
 
 " Kind ! I am beholden to him for nothing, and after I have 
 put the proofs of my marriage in his hand, he still hesitates to 
 recognise me." 
 
 " Then this is the dreadful quarrel between you two, of which 
 he has spoken since I came from France." 
 
 " I suppose so. It is a matter of indifference to me if it is or 
 not. He knows that I could put my legal claims to be his 
 daughter-in-law before any court of equity in the land, were it 
 worth my while, which it is not, for I have no children. I offer 
 to prove that your brother Iltyd was an honourable man ; he 
 tries to prevent me, and leave your brother's memory with the 
 stain of villainy upon it. Iltyd was no villain, and I will not 
 have him called so, even by his own father. What is the use of 
 discussing the matter further ; your father has defied me, and the 
 consequence is that I have had ' The Honourable Mrs. Arnaud ' 
 painted up over my shop." 
 
 " But, Mary, supposing all this to be true, why do you irritate 
 my father so ? " 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 197 
 
 "Why does he irritate me?" was her answer. " He has 
 refused to acknowledge me. Besides, what is the use of talking 
 over the matter ; the thing is done, and all London will see it 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " It will kill my father," said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " What nonsense people in your position can talk, when they 
 give their minds to it. It will kill him, you say, to have his 
 favourite son's innocence proved to the world. I, however, am 
 not afraid of him. " 
 
 " I fear you are afraid of no one, Mary." 
 
 "Yes. It is odd, hut I am afraid of you. At times only, 
 mind, but still sometimes." 
 
 " At what times are those ? " 
 
 " We have talked enough," she replied. " I am not afraid of 
 you now, brother-in-law, at all events. I am your sister-in-law, 
 and you cannot disprove it. Ah, you may wince, but you cannot. 
 Take my defiance to Lord Festiniog, and tell him that if he will 
 freely do what I could force him to do, acknowledge that his son 
 was not a villain, I will paint out my own name over the shop 
 window, and paint in my niece's, for she is my heiress." 
 
 " Your niece. I never saw her." 
 
 "Nor I. She is my brother's child. She was brought up to 
 the same trade as I was, and by that great mistress of it, my 
 mother. You knew very little of us ; we never desired that you 
 should. My family, with which I have parted in consequence of 
 marrying your brother, are the greatest family of dressmakers in 
 the world. It is in the bounds of possibility that even my own 
 mother may speak to me again, when Lord Festiniog recognises 
 me — as he shall, now I know the truth." 
 
 " I suppose there is no use prolonging the discussion, Mary." 
 
 " There is none to prolong," said Mrs. Arnaud, " good-night," 
 
 Lord Rhyader felt that he had nothing to say but " good- 
 night," and' so he said it and went. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MORE OF THE FIRST NIGHT. 
 
 The nightmare was gone. She had faced Rhyader, and he had 
 not quarrelled with her. The whole secret of her terror lay in 
 
198 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 that. He was her husband's brother, and had been more kind to 
 her than anybody. He was really the only person who connected 
 her with her dead love. It is idle to think that women capable 
 of* such strong and almost violent resolutions, like Mrs. Arnaud, 
 have not a deep fund of tenderness about them — that they cannot 
 at times be utterly weak. Gervase was Iltyd's brother, and so 
 she, who cared nothing for the world as represented by Lord 
 Festiniog, was terrified lest he should quarrel with her. She 
 might have known that he never quarrelled with anybody, but 
 unfortunately she was without that information. He was gone to 
 his father, and she feared he would have rather a stormy time of 
 it. 
 
 However, it was early yet, and there was much more to be seen 
 to before she went to bed. Rachel was unaccountably long gone, 
 but here she was at last. A square -featured middle-aged woman, 
 who had lost her way, and her temper also, in the wilderness of 
 London, and who was very cross. She had, it appeared, got into 
 an omnibus to go a little way up Oxford Street, and had found 
 herself at Smithfield. On getting out she registered a vow never 
 to get into one of those vehicles again, and walked back asking 
 her way. She had been unable to do the errand she was sent on, 
 and was so utterly dazed that she thought she could not dare to 
 go out again. Mrs. Amaud remonstrated, but it was no use until 
 George Drummond, coming down for something, at once volun- 
 teered to escort her. Mrs. Arnaud was so delighted with his 
 good humour that she could have done anything for him. So 
 she was left alone in the house again, but not in terror as before. 
 
 A single knock. It was the new maid. She was easily 
 disposed of and set to work. Another single knock, it was the 
 new footman, who, having for the time being deposited his box 
 downstairs, asked if he could make himself useful at once. Mrs. 
 Arnaud sent him at once upstairs to see if Mr. Drummond's fire 
 was burning. 
 
 The latch-key again, loud voices in the hall, the door slammed, 
 a crash of falling human bodies, and oaths. Captain D'Arcy and 
 friend had come in in a very great hurry and tumbled headlong 
 over the footman's box. " Here is a pretty beginning," said Mrs. 
 Arnaud, as she took out a candle, and discovered to her horror 
 that the hall gas had never been lit. Two good-looking soldierly 
 men were rubbing their shins and elbows, when this splendid, 
 almost ghostly figure of Mrs. Arnaud approached them. 
 
 "Captain D'Arcy," she said, addressing the wrong one: "I 
 am exceedingly sorry that the hall lamp was unfortunately not 
 lighted sooner. I will do everything I can to make you comfort- 
 
MUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 19D 
 
 able, but I have only arrived this afternoon, and you must try to 
 forgive the mishaps of the first night." 
 
 " That is done in every theatre, madame," said the man she 
 had addressed, " but I am not D'Arey, he is somewhere back in 
 the darkness, looking for his hat." 
 
 D'Arey reappeared with it on his head ; the moment he saw 
 Mrs. Arnaud, he took it off again and bowed. " I beg a 
 thousand pardons, Mrs. Arnaud, for entering the house in this 
 manner, but I fancy that you have had some new convenience 
 erected in the hall since this morning, with the existence of which 
 I was unacquainted. I am aware somehow of the presence of a 
 foreign substance." 
 
 A nice smiling slight man, very pleasant to look at indeed, 
 with a manner winch set them all three laughing ; he bowed again 
 and passed on. Immediately afterwards Rachel and George Drum- 
 mond came in, and the whole house was in a bustle. She, the 
 maid, the footman, and Rachel, were upstairs and down. It was 
 eleven o'clock before she, being then at the top of the house, 
 asked the maid (as pleasant a little maid as need be) whether she 
 knew if her supper was ready. 
 
 " Mrs. Rachel had got it ready," she said. 
 
 "Well, then, I shall go to it," she said, adding to herself, 
 " She will not come to-night now. I hope she will to-morrow." 
 
 She went down slowly to her own little back parlour, approached 
 the fireplace, and then suddenly cried out loud, " Good gracious 
 have mercy upon us 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HELOISE. 
 
 Sitting in Mrs. Arnaud' s own chair, with open work-box beside 
 her, and her bonnet off, looking exactly as if she had been sitting 
 there habitually for the last ten years, was the most lovely and 
 beautifully dressed little French brunette she had ever seen. 
 She simply took Mrs. Arnaud's breath away, and if she had faded 
 away at once Mrs. Arnaud would have taken her to be a halluci- 
 nation of her own brain, produced by over excitement, and taken 
 medical advice. But she was perfectly real ; when she heard Mrs. 
 Arnaud's exclamation she looked up and came towards her, sewing 
 
200 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 briskly. She put her work behind her, kissed Mrs. Arnaud on 
 both cheeks, and then stood before her laughing with her eyes 
 and mouth (" What teeth," thought Mrs. Arnaud), but making 
 no sound whatever. She was real enough. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud repeated, " Why, good gracious, goodness me ! " 
 The beautiful little creature began nodding her head now, and 
 smiling instead of laughing. Mrs. Arnaud found it necessary to 
 speak in spite of her delighted surprise : " Why, my love, you 
 must be Heloise, and are you dumb ? " 
 
 It very soon appeared she was not ; from between her pearly 
 teeth came a babbling flow of the most perfect English, with just 
 such a slight soupcon of French accent as would be totally 
 unproduceable in English by a far cleverer pen than this can 
 pretend to be, and with no imitation of which shall we trouble the 
 reader. She began — 
 
 " Yes, aunt," she said, " it is Heloise, your little housekeeper 
 and assistant. Ah ! but you have my father's eyes, though, and 
 I should love you for that if for nothing else. We will be happy 
 in this pretty little parlour, will we not? " And much more in 
 the same pleasant way, before Mrs. Arnaud could get in a word 
 at all. 
 
 " How did you get into the house, my dear," she said at last. 
 " Chemin de fer clu Nord, and then the packet-boat, and that 
 you will understand was a sad thing ; not that I was sick, aunt, 
 but that the others were lamentably so. And in my opinion, 
 those who are sick at sea should declare themselves at the 
 custom-house, and be put in a separate cabin. Well, then, 
 next the Douane, where I had nothing to declare ; then the 
 South-Eastcrn Railway to Charing Cross, and then the cab there. 
 Then I knocked at the door, and Madame Rachel opened it, 
 and the cabman asked four shillings, to which demand Madame 
 Rachel replied in words of the most proud and contemptuous, and 
 gave him half-a-crown. He at once intimated that he should 
 appeal to the judge of instruction, and she replied that he might 
 if he liked. He then departed without success. She then let 
 me in, and told me that you were busy au troisieme, and I came 
 in and set to work. You open to-morrow, I understand, and I 
 should like to open well. 
 
 "I have no doubt that we shall do so," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 " But I think that you had much better go back to Paris." 
 " Ah, you laugh now at me, but your reason ? " 
 "You are too pretty, my love; I am sorry for it, but that is 
 the simple fact of the case. I, when I made this bargain with 
 my brother and my mother, never bargained for you." 
 
Number seventeen. 201 
 
 " Well, then, you have made a bad bargain, and must abide 
 by it. Now, aunt, I am certainly not going back to Paris, and so 
 
 the best thing we can do is to " she paused. 
 
 " What now, little one ? " said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 " Look into the shop, my dear aunt. Of your genius there is 
 no doubt, but of your knowledge of later details, much." 
 
 " We will have supper now, Heloise, and see to that in the 
 morning," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 "It is a good proposition," she said, and they sat down to 
 supper, Rachel waiting. 
 
 " Is my brother well," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 "No," said Heloise; "he has the continual cramps in his 
 stomach, which he derives from the drinking of the wine from 
 the vineyard which lie purchased of Alphonse Bourdon. The 
 doctor advises him cognac, but he insists that the wine of his 
 vineyard is better. I wish, I am sure, he would take to cognac, 
 for no wine worth drinking is grown in the north of France. He, 
 however, sent his love to you." 
 " And your grandmother ? " 
 
 "Well, for that, she is my grandmother, and tells me that I 
 have no taste in colours, shall come to no good, and marry an 
 English paper-hanger. I say, for my part, that I will certainly 
 do so if I like him, and he has enough money." 
 
 " We must try to do better for you than that, my love," said 
 Mrs. Arnaud. " You seem to have very good taste. Stand up." 
 The little fairy did so. The jewel was certainly set in a case 
 which, to Mrs. Arnaud's experienced eye, was worthy ot it. She 
 put her elbow on the table and her hand on her forehead, and 
 remained silent. Heloise with quiet dexterity arranged the 
 remains of the supper together, ready to be carried away, and 
 when that was done rang the bell. 
 
 Rachel appeared, and Mrs. Arnaud took no notice. 
 "Madame," said Heloise, "shall I assist you to carry these 
 things downstairs ? we are in a little confusion to-night, as you 
 doubtless know. I will tell you a secret, Madame Rachel. Have 
 you ever travelled? " 
 "No, Miss." 
 
 " Then I tell you that we French are far better housekeepers 
 than you English. I shall give you the benefit of my advice and 
 assistance, and if you rebel against me at all I shall beat you. 
 Let us help one another ; I will take these plates, you take 
 those." 
 
 Rachel did as she was bid. As soon as they were in the 
 passage together, Rachel said to her, bluntly, 
 
202 KUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " I would have given a thousand pounds, if I had it, Miss, to 
 have you here. You will do more good for my mistress than 
 what you know. You are the very person we wanted to keep her 
 out of her low fits. For, brave as she is, she has them still. 
 When you see one coming on, you, just in your pleasant way — 
 bother that knocker, there is some one else now ; we sha'n't get 
 to bed until two. Here, Susan, come and open the door." 
 
 Here was the last arrival for the night. Mrs. Arnaud had 
 roused herself, and was silently helping Heloise and Rachel in 
 putting away the things, when the door was opened ; there was a 
 scuffle in the passage. Susan screamed, and a railway-porter was 
 towed into the room by a large dog. The porter finding himself 
 apparently, as far as the dog was concerned, en pays de connais- 
 sance, let go of the chain ; the dog leaped on the table and 
 flew, apparently, at Mrs. Arnaud's throat. She embraced him. 
 Rachel, who was counting the plate, banged him violently over 
 the tail with a tablespoon, and the porter, like a man who had 
 done his duty, took off his hat and wiped his fevered brow. 
 
 " Bran ! Bran ! " said Mrs. Arnaud, " why it is my own Bran. 
 And grumpy sister Mary has sent him to me after all. Has sister 
 Mary sent any message with him ? " 
 
 The porter said that he understood from the station-master that 
 the dog was to be brought on that night at any expense. Lady 
 Mary Corby had requested that it should be done. She, as the 
 lady doubtless knew, was their chairman's sister ; and so he had 
 come away with it at once. 
 
 The porter was rewarded beyond his utmost hopes ; Bran, 
 a long Scotch terrier, was quieted, Captain D'Arcy's friend 
 departed, and, oh ! for the bathos, everybody went to bed. 
 
 Heloise slept in her aunt's room. Mrs. Arnaud thought that 
 the girl was asleep. But when she had lain down the girl said 
 to her, " What did you say, aunt ? " 
 
 "Nothing," said Mrs. Arnaud. But that was not exactly true. 
 She had said to herself aloud, " The girl is too pretty, and might 
 get into mischief." So there was peace in that house for one 
 night, at all events. 
 
NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 203 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OrENING DAY. 
 
 The morning, the most dreaded morning, came ; and Mrs. Arnaud 
 woke with very much the feeling of a criminal about to be hanged 
 as soon as he has eaten a hearty breakfast ; a thing which 
 murderers under sentence seem always to do. She had to nice 
 the world once more in her old character ; and that to her was 
 worse than going out of it by an easy death. She said to herself 
 (she would never have used such a vulgarism to any other human 
 being), "I would sooner be — well — executed, than go through 
 to-day. They say that the death is so easy. Yet how can they 
 possibly know? they have none of them been executed them- 
 selves." 
 
 With such feelings did Mrs. Arnaud get out of bed, slip on her 
 dressing-gown, and go to the window to look into the silent street. 
 The atmosphere of London in the summer mornings is very good ; 
 even St. George's, Hanover Square, looked sharp and clear ; and 
 she thought that it would not do badly under the sky of Paris, 
 though a poor building enough in our mid-day London smoke. 
 She opened the window to let the fresh air in, so that it might 
 awaken Heloise, and then she turned to her bed : it was empty. 
 
 Not only empty but perfectly made. Heloise's night-dress was 
 lying in a pretty embroidered bag, on the smoothed pillow. Her 
 peignoir was carefully folded on the chair beside the dressing- 
 table ; and as Mrs. Arnaud looked round, she perceived that 
 everything which she, Mrs. Arnaud, could possibly want, had 
 been set out and arranged for her while she was asleep, yet it 
 was only seven o'clock. 
 
 "Well!" said Mrs. Arnaud. "If that girl is as good a 
 milliner as she is a lady's maid, we shall do very well. She must 
 have a foot like a fox, for I never heard her. I suppose I had 
 better dress myself. I wish she were not so pretty." 
 
 She did so, but it took a long time, though it was only her first 
 toilette. She was beautiful, and she knew it well ; but she never 
 dressed because she was beautiful, but from the instinct of her 
 life. She was perfectly dressed when she left her room to go 
 downstairs, but she would no more have gone beyond the street- 
 door in such a costume, than she would have walked about the 
 Palais Royal in her dressing-gown, or than she would have used 
 her magnificent voice in a music-hall at Stepney. She had no 
 passion for dress, only an instinct, which some say is only 
 
204 NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 
 
 acquired at Paris, though we should say that it was equally strong 
 at Metz. 
 
 Coming downstairs, however, perfectly dressed, she passed into 
 the parlour ; she found her breakfast ready, with the coffee on the 
 hob, and her hot roll before the fire. There also she found Heloise, 
 rather better dressed than herself, if it were possible, sitting in her 
 chair, with a great fold of blue satin over her knees, the hem of 
 which she was turning up diligently. 
 
 " My dear aunt," she said, "come here and kiss me, and tell 
 me that you forgive me for not waking you. I cannot serve you, 
 for I should soil my hands ; but Rachel and I have your breakfast 
 ready. I have been in terror over this dress, and I find that you 
 have no machine in the house. 
 
 " What dress is it ? " 
 
 " It is Lady Bludyer's, due to-morrow. I have sent out to hire 
 a machine, and I will manage it for you." 
 
 " But I know nothing about it." 
 
 "No doubt ; but it is in the order-book, which I looked over 
 this morning, and it must be done. There are many other things 
 in the order-book, do you see. I can manage them all with a 
 machine. Your predecessor was a vastly stupid person, but in 
 spite of her stupidity she had a good connection ; you and I must 
 keep it." 
 
 "You little jewel, you shall stay with me," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 " And indeed I mean to do so," said the busy little Heloise. 
 "There is one thing, aunt, which I wish to know." 
 
 "And that?" 
 
 " Is this little parlour of yours private ? Do vour lodgers come 
 here?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Make that a rule. I am not afraid of Frenchmen, but man- 
 ners are different in different countries, that is all." 
 
 " No one shall speak to you, dear." 
 
 " I did not mean that. I shall speak to any one I choose, but 
 always first. Remember that. Ah ! here is Madame Rachel." 
 
 "When at ten o'clock the shop windows were opened, Mrs. 
 Arnaud sat down among the headless effigies in a perfectly calm 
 frame of mind. She had changed her toilette, and was ready for 
 anybody. She heard the busy machine of her niece Heloise going 
 in the back parlour, and, witli that brave beauty at her back, 
 feared nothing. 
 
 For she thought that the girl was as brave, as honest, and as 
 true as she was herself, and she knew also that the girl had ex- 
 periences of a world of which she knew nothing, the world of 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 205 
 
 Paris. She herself knew Leghorn, Naples, and Rome, but what 
 was that ? The girl's taste in colour was more bright than neutral, 
 but was every one to dress in the same way ? The girl was a 
 mine of gold to her, and besides she loved her, and intended to 
 take uncommonly good care that no one else should. Little did 
 she dream the truth. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud sat in her shop from ten o'clock until twelve, but 
 nobody came. She began to think about the bankruptcy court, 
 and went into the parlour to speak to Heloise on the subject. 
 The moment she had done so, she was fetched back by the foot- 
 man, and began life in earnest once more. 
 
 Her first customer. She remembered her well in her mother's 
 time, and the lady remembered her very well ; but from motives, 
 possibly of delicacy, did not choose to say so. She only said, 
 "I believe that you are the daughter of Madame Merton, who 
 emigrated most unfortunately to Paris after a sad domestic afflic- 
 tion some years ago. If you inherit her taste you ought to do well." 
 
 " To mention it the first clay," thought Mrs. Arnaud. " I will 
 plague her. What w r ould Lady Sotheby desire ? " she asked. 
 
 Lady Sotheby, a beauty, originally of very low extraction, who 
 was fifty if she was a day, w r as now about to marry a third time. 
 The new bridegroom was a rich manufacturing engineer, without 
 any pretensions to birth, a man who had worked at the bench, it 
 was said, but with infinitely more pretensions to be a gentleman 
 than ever Lady Sotheby had to be a lady, if manners and educa- 
 tion were taken into account. He was one of the first practical 
 engineers in the land, and an F.R.S. ; and, at forty-five, he had 
 taken it into his head to propose to Lady Sotheby. She had 
 hummed and hawed over the matter, and at last had referred him 
 to her last noble father-in-law, who told him that he, as far as he 
 was concerned, was perfectly willing in the matter, and told her, 
 in a private interview, that she had made a splendid catch, and 
 that he hoped she would leave off her nonsense for the future, 
 because her new husband most certainly would not stand it. 
 
 Lady Sotheby at first seemed to want everything in the shop, 
 but she settled down at last to a purple satin gown, and a powder 
 blue (Chasseur cVAJ'riqae) cloak, both to be made up at once and 
 sent home. She then asked what were the fashionable colours 
 for a bride on her wedding tour. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud' s irritation against her found its vent at last. She 
 said, 
 
 "For a lady who is going to be married for the third time, 
 within three months of her own mother's death, slight mourning 
 is the most fashionable, mv ladv." 
 
206 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 The old Elizabethan expression of one person " looking 
 daggers" at another is of no use to us at all. Lady Sotheby 
 looked cobras and rattlesnakes. If she could have bitten Mrs. 
 Arnaud and have given her the hydrophobia she would have done 
 it. But the good millionaire had heard nothing, so she only said, 
 " You will be pleased to send the dress and the cloak by to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " I beg your ladyship's pardon," said Mrs. Arnaud : "Do you 
 mean to wear them together ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly," said Lady Sotheby. 
 
 " Then," said Mrs. Arnaud, " I am sorry to say that I cannot 
 supply you. If you went into the streets such a figure, and the 
 iniquity of it was traced home to me, I should lose the confidence 
 of my customers, and might as well shut up my shop." 
 
 Lady Sotheby said, " Woman ! " 
 
 "Yes, my lady. I think we understand one another; but to 
 be fair and frank with you, I am not afraid of you at all. I neither 
 want your good word nor your custom." 
 
 On the dignified departure of that lady, she went back to 
 Heloise. " Brave aunt," she said, " I heard every word. Is he 
 rich ? Will he pay the money she owes grandmamma in Paris ? " 
 
 " Never name it, child ; never make mischief between man and 
 wife. Here is another customer." 
 
 "I will undertake this one," said Heloise, going quietly into 
 the shop. The footman whispered to her, "Lord and Lady 
 Morningside." 
 
 The old Scotch judge had seated himself, and Lady Morning- 
 side was wandering about among the fine things. My Lord, very- 
 old and short of breath, looked at Heloise as she curtsied to him ; 
 he said not one word, but called to Lady Morningside to come and 
 look. She did so, and he remarked, " That is the most beautiful 
 creature I have ever seen in my life. She is the very image of 
 what you were when I married you." 
 
 Heloise heard him, and said to herself, " Ah, I have heard that 
 once or twice before. But now to business, my good people : her 
 ladyship was never any more like me than I shall be like her. I 
 shall never have a nose like a tapir, and a mouth like a hippo- 
 potamus." 
 
 She fancied herself very witty to have thought that ; she made 
 up her mind to tell it to her aunt and make her laugh, but our 
 little miss got a lesson which she did not forget. 
 
 " My dear," said Lady Morningside, " I want a cap." 
 
 " Shall I assist your ladyship to take your bonnet off? " 
 
 " No, I will do that myself, I think," said the old lady. "If 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 207 
 
 you were to take off my bonnet you might take off my wig too, 
 and then a pretty spectacle I should look without a hair on my 
 head." 
 
 " I should never have guessed it, madame," said Heloise. 
 
 " You must be pretty young at your business then, my child," 
 said the old lady, " or you would know false hair from real. My 
 hair was as good as yours once. What pretty teeth you have." 
 
 Heloise could not help smiling. Not to show them — of course 
 not. 
 
 " Ah ! I could smile once," said the old lady, " now I can only 
 grin ; but my teeth are as pretty as yours. They are artificial, 
 my dear, and cost thirty guineas. You will be a worse spectacle 
 than I am if you live, for there are no women like Ninon l'Enclos 
 left among the French. See that you get a husband who will 
 love you to the end, as mine does." 
 
 " How am I to select him, madame ? " said Heloise. 
 
 " God will select him for you. Do your duty by him, and when 
 you are seventy you will be as happy as I am now. Once get a 
 good man, and he will be exactly, as far as you are concerned, 
 what you make him." 
 
 Heloise had nothing to say, but she thought of these things 
 afterwards. Lord Morningside, who had not been in London for 
 some years, seemed inclined to decorate this rather hideous old 
 lady as though she had been a bride. Though he would have died 
 on the block sooner than confess it, he had a distrust of all Scotch 
 millinery and jewellery as being provincial. Abusing and pretend- 
 ing to hate London, he nevertheless determined that Lady 
 Morningside should return to Edinburgh in garments which 
 should raise envy in the county families, among whom he, as a 
 mere law lord, risen from the ranks, and his wife, who had, it was 
 said, been a shepherdess, were merely admitted by courtesy. Yet, 
 the strange, childless old couple were well known, and profoundly 
 respected. She, in Edinburgh, as one of the most charitable and 
 excellent of women : he, in London, as the shrewdest of Scottish 
 lawyers. Mrs. Arnaud could have had no better advertisement 
 than the good will of the grand old man. 
 
 Nor, indeed, did she suffer in a pecuniary point of view, as she 
 found when she joined the party. Lady Morningside was buying 
 everything she could lay her hands on, and what is more, exer- 
 cising very great good taste. The Scotch women have, on the whole, 
 better taste in dress than the English, though it takes a French- 
 woman to wear tartan to perfection. Mrs. Arnaud found no fault 
 with Lady Morningside' s arrangements, save in slight details, 
 which that lady altered at once by her advice. Finally, Lord 
 
208 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 and Lady Morningside got the footman to fetch a four-wheeled 
 cab, and went away in it, leaving Mrs. Arnaud richer by £116. 
 
 "Now," said Heloise as they sat down to table: "we will 
 have dinner. If other customers come, Rachel shall serve them, 
 and put on their things upside down. That we shall make our 
 fortunes is quite undoubted. But she is an old skeleton who has 
 come out of the cupboard." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Why, Lady Morningside," said Heloise. " She said that I 
 should be just as terrible a figure as she is when I am her age. 
 But she said, moreover, that I must choose my husband by 
 chance, and form him afterwards. I would not take the trouble. 
 Aunt, what is the use of having a husband at all ? that is what I 
 am unable to discover. If you loved a man I can understand that 
 you undertook his sorrows and your own together, until the day of 
 judgment. But a mere husband, Bah ! a man you have never 
 seen half-a-dozen times, and who may be disagreeable, and spend 
 all your money. I cannot see why women who can earn their own 
 living should marry." 
 
 " You do not like men, then, my little niece," said Mrs. 
 Arnaud. 
 
 "On the contrary, I adore men; but I do not want them to 
 marry me." 
 
 " You mean that you have never seen a man you cared to 
 marry." 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Have you had any lovers ? " 
 
 "Two. They, however, were lovers sent by the family, and 
 came with bouquets and new gloves. I soon disposed of them. 
 They came smirking as though the affair was settled. One, a 
 sensible fellow, took his answer and went away : the other per- 
 sisted after I had given my answer. The Burgundy blood which 
 is in me came out. I arose in my fury — I was at work — and told 
 him that if he did not leave the room, I would stab him to his 
 false heart with my needle. He was frightened, this one, and 
 departed like the other. Save these I have had no lovers — See, 
 we have a soldier in the room." 
 
 She actually sat before Mrs. Arnaud and uttered all this without 
 change of countenance, looking Mrs. Arnaud straight in the face. 
 She surely should have hailed from Gascony, not from Burgundy. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Arnaud," said a very quiet voice, 
 " but I am on duty this afternoon, and I should be exceedingly 
 obliged if you would — I think I see Mademoiselle Heloise, whom 
 I knew in Paris." 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 209 
 
 " Surely," she said, rising. " Why, it is M. D'Arcy, my old 
 confidant. And how goes the ? " 
 
 He shook his head, laughing, and addressed Mrs. Arnaud. He 
 was a well-looking young man at all times, and looked all the 
 better in his uniform. He was certainly very attractive, and Mrs. 
 Arnaud might have wished him less so, but she remembered what 
 she had seen upstairs, and did not mind. He was engaged. 
 
 " I am pleased to renew my acquaintance with the young lady. 
 I hope I shall be allowed to pay my respects to her sometimes. I 
 will take my leave." 
 
 They had a busy afternoon ; her predecessor's customers seemed 
 to rally round her very well, and it was evident that she and 
 Heloise were in possession of a handsome income, and so ended 
 the first clay, Heloise being more cheerful in the evening than she 
 had been in the morning, if possible, and continually wondering 
 why women were ever so silly as to marry. 
 
 " You will be married within a year, my fawn," said Mrs. 
 Arnaud, as they went upstairs. 
 
 " That is quite unlikely," replied Heloise, looking sharply at 
 her aunt from the shadow. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JAMES AND GEORGE DRUMMOND. 
 
 When Drummond, the lawyer, told Mrs. Arnaud that he disliked 
 to see George Drummond, because he reminded him of his 
 mother, he told a falsehood. He was greatly attached to the 
 young man. No father ever loved a son better or did more for a 
 son. ° Lord Festiniog often noticed it to Lord Rhyader, and 
 thought it very much to Drummond' s credit, for, to tell the truth, 
 Drummond had made a hopelessly bad match, and Mrs. Drum- 
 mond, long before her death, was settled out of his house by a 
 monetary arrangement. With her we have nothing whatever to 
 do. She was dead, and Drummond, a comparatively young man, 
 was free to marry whom he liked, provided that the lady was of 
 the same mind as himself. 
 
 The day after Mrs. Arnaud's new entry into the world, he had 
 asked George to dine with him, and George and he were sitting- 
 together over their wine in a small but very expensive house in 
 Park Lane. 
 
 15 
 
210 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " Well, and have you seen your landlady yet, George ? " said 
 Drummond, passing the decanter, "and if so, what do you think 
 of her?" 
 
 " I think her a magnificent woman ; I was very much taken 
 with her. I tell you everything, you know, father, and so I tell 
 you this. I saw her under Very peculiar circumstances. Rhyader 
 came to her the first night she was in the house, and terrified 
 her." 
 
 "Ah, I daresay she would be frightened at seeing him for the 
 first time under the circumstances >" 
 
 ' ' And what were they ? ' ' 
 
 "Well, I will tell you," said Drummond, "She has, after 
 many years, found out that she was really married to Rhyader's 
 brother, Iltyd, and she insists that my lord should recognise the 
 fact. They have had a most tremendous fight over it. She told 
 him that she would shame him into acknowledgment by writing 
 ' The Honourable Mrs. Arnaud,' over her shop door. Has she 
 done so?" 
 
 " I don't fancy she has, but I was never aware of the fact that 
 you knew her. You astonish me completely," said George 
 Drummond. " There is ' Mrs. Arnaud ' in very large letters, but 
 there are undecipherable words on each side. So she may have 
 done so." 
 
 " Clever woman ! I daresay if you look closer you will find that 
 she has." 
 
 " But will Lord Festiniog acknowledge her ? " 
 
 "I don't know. After fighting the woman single-handed, he 
 came to me for assistance, and asked me, as his legal adviser, 
 whether she had any claim. I looked into the matter, and told 
 him that he had not a leg to stand on, and that she was his son's 
 wife. Then he got into a huff, and said he should have counsel's 
 opinion. But all the counsel in the world will make her nothing 
 but his son's wife. I told him that as she had no children, the 
 acknowledgment of her could do him no harm, and proposed to 
 him to offer her a sum of money to keep her counsel. Even he 
 laughed at the idea of such a thing, and so the matter stands to 
 this hour." 
 
 " Who was Mrs. Arnaud, father ? " 
 
 " Marie or Mary Merton. Her father was an Englishman, her 
 mother the queen of French modistes in England. When her 
 daughter went oft' from Bond Street with young Iltyd Arnaud she 
 migrated to Paris, and refused to see or hear of her daughter ; 
 but now Mrs. Arnaud has proved her marriage, they are the Lest 
 friends in the world, again, I believe. I saw her in Paris only a 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 211 
 
 fortnight ago. She is sending over a niece of Mrs. Arnaud's, a 
 favourite grand-daughter of hers, to assist her in the business. 
 Have you seen her ? ' ' 
 
 " No, I am not in the least degree likely to see her." 
 
 " Well, that is lucky for your heart, at all events. She is the 
 most beautiful creature I ever saw." 
 
 " Then my fellow lodger, D'Arcy, should see her, and console 
 himself. ' ' 
 
 " I know what you are going to say. Poor spoony, that is all 
 over with him. I can tell you that he has got his conge. 1 ' 
 
 " From her father ? " 
 
 " Yes, and from the whole lot of them. The family would not 
 have stood such a thing for a moment. He can't keep her as 
 she would expect. She will be much happier without him ; I 
 daresay he won't mind ; he will be free again, and if he makes 
 much acquaintance with Mademoiselle Heloise, he will be a 
 dangerous rival." 
 
 " To whom?" 
 
 " To yourself." 
 
 " But I don't want to have anything to do with the girl." 
 
 " Well, you may be deficient in good taste, of course." 
 
 " But I could not marry a French milliner." 
 
 " Why not, if you asked her ? You are only an attorney's son. 
 I can tell you, from what I have heard of the young lady, that / 
 should not object." 
 
 "Ah, you are having your joke, sir; I thought I was to be a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " And so you are; though, mind, I will not have you an idle 
 one. You stick to your desk ; it won't give you much money, my 
 boy, you must come to me for that, but it will give you position ; 
 you will rise in that service, with your talents and industry, far 
 higher than you could in my business. Do you want any money, 
 George ? " 
 
 "No, father; I can lend you ten pounds if you like. Why 
 should I want money ? You give me my horse and my clothes, 
 and keep me like a gentleman ; you have done everything which 
 could be done for me. I wish that I could go back to the 
 university, and get a better degree than I did to show my grati- 
 tude, but that is too late." 
 
 " I am perfectly satisfied, George ; your degree was good 
 enough. If I had meant you to take a better degree I should 
 have sent you to another college. You held your own bravely, 
 and I am proud of you." 
 
 George reached over his hand, and the other took it silently. 
 
212 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 Mr. Drummond's hand shook, and his face was disturbed by some 
 strong emotion. The conversation changed, and not long after- 
 wards they parted. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FESTINIOG AND RHYADER. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud's dreadful threat of writing up " the Honourable 
 Mrs. Arnaud," over her shop, had actually been fulfilled. But it 
 had been clone in a way which left a compromise possible. Two 
 little flourishes on the left contained the dreadful words, those 
 words of fate, " the honourable " ; but no one could read them ; 
 while on the right were two other little nourishes, also illegible, 
 containing the words " milliner and dressmaker." Between 
 those two scrolls came the great golden legend, " MRS. 
 ARNAUD." And so no one, unless he had taken an opera- 
 glass, was one whit the wiser. 
 
 With the exception of Lord Rhyader. After his interview with 
 Mrs. Arnaud he had reconnoitred the premises, and had seen that 
 she had really done as she threatened. He departed and told 
 his father. They laid their heads together, and agreed that it 
 would not do to trifle with her. 
 
 " And it would not be right to trifle with her either," said 
 Lord Rhyader, " now that we know all we do." 
 
 " Why, no ! " said Lord Festiniog. " As long as I was in 
 doubt I did not care. But there is no doubt any longer now. 
 She is your sister-in-law, and her marriage was perfectly legal. 
 It would be most ungentlcmanly, and also most impolitic to 
 dispute it. I suppose she will marry Drummond." 
 
 "I don't think so. Still she might. We can, however, not 
 dispute the fact of her having been married." 
 
 "Now Rhyader, will you explain to me this? Drummond 
 must surely have known of the circumstances, for he was often 
 with her abroad. Why did he conceal them from me ? I appealed 
 to him about the matter, and he at once gave it against me. I 
 don't clearly make that out." 
 
 "Nor I either," said Lord Rhyader. " If I were to say that 
 I distrusted Drummond, I should lie : if I said that I trusted him, 
 I should also lie. He loved her once, you know : that explains 
 much. He is a lawyer : that explains more. He evidently could 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 213 
 
 have known the thing had ho chosen, but did not choose until you 
 appealed to him to do his duty by you. I don't profess to under- 
 stand a man like Drunimond. If you had had a drunken wife, 
 sir, you might have had a craze or so in your brain. Have you 
 any fault to find with him, further than this concealment, if con- 
 cealment it be? " 
 
 " None. Money grows under his hands ; I have really nothing 
 to do but to sign my name. And, besides, he must be very 
 rich." 
 
 "You had better let him marry Mary, sir," said Lord 
 Rhyader. 
 
 " The Honourable Mrs. Drummond," said Lord Festiniog. 
 " I should not care. But she would not have him." 
 
 " Indeed, I think so." 
 
 "However," said Lord Festiniog, "you agree with me that 
 this squabble with Mary ought to be patched up. You had better 
 leave the how to me." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir. She is such a dear creature, and such a noble 
 creature, that now, when we know all, or think we do, we should 
 not continue it. Besides, in doing so, we redeem poor Iltyd's 
 memory so entirely. I pray you to do it." 
 
 " It shall be done, Gervase : it shall be done. Say no more." 
 
 " You won't show any distrust to Drummond, father, will you ? " 
 said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 "Distrust Drummond, bless my heart, no. I will not distrust 
 him at all, at least in money matters. Yet he did an unprincipled 
 thing once : he made love to Mary when he was a married man : 
 that was utterly ill ; but he was mad then, and it was very long- 
 ago. Have you seen his son lately ? " 
 
 " That prig ? yes, I often see him." 
 
 "What is he growing to be like? Does he take after his 
 father ? I like what I have seen of him." 
 
 " I do not particularly. George Drummond is one of my pet 
 horrors. Rugby, with a finish off of Brasenose, and a post 
 pleiocene crust of Home Office." 
 
 "Cad?" 
 
 " Why no, worse than that. You may lick a cad into shape, 
 but George Drummond has licked himself into shape, and a most 
 objectionable shape it is." 
 
 " I'll see more of him," said Lord Festiniog. " I fancy, from 
 your description, that I should like him very much indeed. By- 
 the-bye, that cub of yours has never been near me for two days, 
 and his mother not for four. If they are going to cut me alto- 
 gether, let me know it," 
 
214 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 "Oh, I should have told you. Alice and George have run 
 down to Richmond for a few days." 
 
 " I will follow them as soon as I have done with Mary. I 
 sha'n't be long with you, Gervase, and then you will have all. 
 Let me see the boy as much as I can." 
 
 "I am afraid that Barri loves you better than he does me, 
 sir," said Gervase. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LORD FESTINIOG AND MRS. ARNAUD. 
 
 Some days had passed of Mrs. Arnaud's new life. Even in that 
 short time business had accumulated most rapidly. People had 
 seen her and Heloise, and told other people about them. Lord 
 and Lady Morningside had sounded the first trumpet about them 
 with no uncertain sound, and when a trumpet is sounded at the 
 beginning of the season, it is generally attended to. There was 
 a general assembly over these two splendid women, and the world 
 rushed to see them. Had anything been wanted to add to their 
 popularity, it was the fact that Lady Sotheby steadily abused 
 them, and said that Mrs. Arnaud had been grossly impertinent 
 to her. As she was always impertinent to that part of the world 
 to which she was admitted, this was a further recommendation, 
 and so Mrs. Arnaud found her hands full. 
 
 Lady Drycough, who delighted in all the innocent wickedness 
 of this world, once examined Heloise as to what Mrs. Arnaud 
 had said to Lady Sotheby. Heloise said that she was not sure, 
 but that she believed that her aunt had said that she was not 
 there to dress up Guy Fawkes. This being repeated with emen- 
 dations, did them vast good, for insulting the common enemy is 
 a more popular thing in a certain world than assisting the common 
 friend. 
 
 On the afternoon of the third day, Mrs. Arnaud and Heloise 
 had been extremely busy. Affairs had increased on them so far, 
 that Mrs. Arnaud had written to Paris for Heloise's sister, 
 Clotilde. Mrs. Arnaud felt perfectly faint with the work, and, 
 asking Heloise to stand in the breach for a quarter of an hour, 
 said that she would go into her back parlour, and sit down in her 
 chair. 
 
 Her chair ; her own sacred chair, was tinned with its back 
 
NUMB Eli SEVENTEEN. 215 
 
 towards the door, and in it was a square dogmatic head, covered 
 with short white hair, the top and rear of which was only visible. 
 The head was reading her illustrated Wordsworth, and the hands 
 which belonged to it were long, thin, and old, and the right hand 
 was covered with diamonds. 
 
 " Is that you, Mary? " said the head, without moving. 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 "Yes, fiddle. Come and sit down somewhere. I want to talk 
 to you. Sit down somewhere, where I cannot see you. Have 
 you sat down? " 
 
 "Yes, Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " Good, Mary. I have been entirely in the wrong in the matter 
 in dispute between us. I have asked Drummond about it, and he 
 says that you are in the right. I acknowledge you, entirely, as 
 my poor son Iltyd's wife, and your patience, and your virtues 
 under your wrongs, have entirely endeared you to me. If you 
 had any children living I might have been more eager to dispute 
 your claim to be my daughter-in-law, but it would have been no 
 use. I see that your marriage was legal in every way, and I 
 rejoice that the cloud is removed from the memory of my son, 
 who was dear to me, with all his faults. Do you desire anything 
 more ? ' ' 
 
 " What more can I desire ? I only wish that our old relations 
 should be renewed, and that I may see Lady Rhyader and the 
 boy again. Pity my childless condition, and let him come to me 
 sometimes." 
 
 " He shall come to you as often as you choose, though, faith, 
 I am speaking for Rhyader rather freely. But he will not object, 
 and you need not fear Alice. Don't spoil the boy, you know, for 
 he is the only hope of the house." 
 
 "I will take care of him," said Mrs. Arnaud, bending over 
 and kissing Lord Festiniog's forehead. " Now, good papa, would 
 you like to see my niece Heloise ? ' ' 
 
 " Very much indeed. I hear she is the most beautiful creature 
 in London." 
 
 Much as he had heard of her, however, in a few days, the 
 reality surpassed his expectation ; he had a short conversation 
 with her, and, as he rose to go, he said to himself, "Master 
 George Drummond had better look after his heart in that 
 quarter " ; but in the hall he met D'Arcy and put a rider to 
 his opinion, " unless she takes a fancy to that spark, indeed, 
 which is quite probable ; he seems as though he lodged in the 
 house, for he came in with the latch-key. Mary has been a fool 
 to have such a girl as that in the house, with young men for 
 
216 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 lodgers ; she will have a murder about her ; aud now that I have 
 privately acknowledged Mary as a dressmaker, we shall he still 
 more distinguished. I will go back and have another talk to 
 her." 
 
 This time he went right into the shop and beckoned her to 
 follow him into the parlour. She did so at once, to the surprise 
 of the one customer who was there, and to the astonishment of 
 the footman. 
 
 "Mary," he said, " I have forgotten one or two things. Our 
 reconciliation need not be exactly public, I suppose, but I think 
 that Rhyader and I had better have a paper drawn up by Drum- 
 mondj saying that we are fully satisfied on the subject of Iltyd's 
 honour and your own." 
 
 "I don't want Drummond in it at all, my lord," she said. 
 " Gervase and you could do it perfectly. I don't want to be 
 
 thrown against Mr. Drummond : he is " 
 
 She was as near as possible saying, " He has for his own 
 purposes, I believe, done me a great service ; but he has been 
 utterly false to you," when she made this awkward pause. 
 
 "He is what?" said Lord Festiniog, not helping her in the 
 least. 
 
 " He is," said Mrs. Arnaud, looking steadily at him, " attached 
 to me." 
 
 She expected an outburst of anger, but none came, to her 
 surprise. He said, " I suspected that long ago, but he would 
 never do for you, would he ? not to be thought of ? " 
 
 " Can you, who knew your son Iltyd, ask me such a question ? " 
 
 " Why, only with the idea of getting one answer," he said, 
 
 good-naturedly. "I say, to change the subject, you will have 
 
 trouble with that niece of yours, the young men will be cutting 
 
 one another's heads off about her." 
 
 " She can take care of herself," said Mrs. Arnaud ; which 
 Mademoiselle Heloise certainly could do, though not exactly in 
 the way Mrs. Arnaud meant. 
 
 Ah! but can the young men take care of themselves?" he 
 replied. " I never could, I know. By-the-bye, Mary, put a dab 
 
 of black paint on the left of your signboard, will you, unless " 
 
 " Unless what ? " 
 
 " Well, I was going to write it, but I will speak it — Unless you 
 choose to have ten thousand pounds settled on you ; to make over 
 your business to your niece ; and to retire comfortably." 
 
 " No. You are most kind and generous. You always were, 
 save for a short time, but my answer will be now, always, no. A 
 few days have shown me that I want employment, and I shall be 
 
NUMBEll SEVENTEEN. 217 
 
 happy here. Our secret is entirely our own ; as for the small 
 matter which, to spite you, I wrote up, it was done so artistically 
 that I doubt if the painter could read it. No, Lord Festiniog, 
 leave me to be happy in my own way, but let the boy come to me. 
 I wish to see the boy sometimes. It is not much to ask. Send 
 Barri." 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "I suppose, aunt Arnaud, that you have heard from my sister 
 Clotilde? " said Heloise, within a week of the last conversation. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I have. I heard yesterday." 
 
 " Then she is coming at once, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Why, no; I do not think that she is coming at all. I am 
 afraid, my dear, that your grandmother is coming instead." 
 
 " Le ban Dint ne U per " Heloise had got as far as that, 
 
 when she was stopped by a look from Mrs. Arnaud, so she never 
 said, " mettra jamais" ; which was what she meant to say. 
 Mrs. Arnaud rode the high English horse over her at once. 
 
 "Family circumstances," said Mrs. Arnaud, solemnly, "have 
 for certain reasons brought about a coolness between my mother 
 and myself. Those circumstances and reasons are now removed. 
 I shall welcome my mother as a daughter should." 
 
 "But, grandmamma," said Heloise, looking as cross as she 
 could, and shrugging her shoulders. 
 
 " She is your grandmother, my dear, and my mother ; you 
 should remember that." 
 
 "I am not likely to forget it, aunt. I came here to escape 
 from her, and now she is coming after me. I thought that we 
 were going to be so comfortable." 
 
 "My child," said Mrs. Arnaud, "have you earned comfort? 
 What have you ever done which should give you the right of 
 avoiding your grandmother? " 
 
 "Well, if you come to that, aunt, what have you done which 
 should give you the right of avoiding your grandmother ? " 
 
 " My grandmother is in Heaven," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 "I wish mine was," said Heloise. 
 
 " Child, you talk nonsense ! Child, you are a fool ! Your 
 grandmother is worth ten of you or ine, She has strong political 
 
218 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 opinions, and is of the old fashion ; but there are very few women 
 in Europe like her." 
 
 " Very well, aunt," said Heloise : " I will submit, I never did 
 anything else. How long is it since you saw her ? " 
 
 " Twenty -two years. I informed her that I had made a certain 
 discovery. She most generously believed me, without waiting for 
 further proofs, and extended to me her full forgiveness." 
 
 " You won't stand her," said Heloise, " I can tell you that. I 
 will be all obedience, but it is hard that a poor girl like myself 
 should find no protection in Europe. However," she added to 
 herself, " the remedy is always in my own hands." 
 
 A great friendship had arisen in this short time between Heloise 
 and her aunt's ill-tempered maid, Rachel. Friendships of this 
 kind are made up of similarities and contrasts. But, Victor Hugo 
 apart, an old, cross, and ugly woman may have a strong friendship 
 for a very young, well-tempered, and beautiful woman, if they have 
 anything in common. Rachel was old, ugly, and cross ; Heloise 
 was young, beautiful, and very amiable. Rachel had, at the first, 
 been strongly opposed to the introduction of Heloise into the 
 house, yet, now, she would have deserted her mistress to serve 
 her. They had a point d'appui, these two. Rachel very quickly 
 discovered, Suffolk woman as she was, that the French girl, 
 Heloise, was a better housekeeper than she was herself. Heloise 
 had never asserted herself in the kitchen, but when she had seen 
 Rachel holding up her eyes over the iniquities and wastefulness of 
 the London servants, she had answered with her eyes. 
 
 These demonstrations brought about, first, consultation, then 
 confidence. Heloise showed Rachel twenty things in French 
 domestic economy which she never knew before, and Rachel was 
 almost converted to the idea that the French were not idiots. 
 Heloise was half English, however, and so, without withdrawing 
 her allegiance to the British throne, Rachel was able to believe in 
 Heloise as the most charming person, next to the Princess of 
 Wales. After this announcement of the coming of Mrs. Arnaud's 
 mother, they had a slight confidence in the kitchen. 
 
 " My grandmamma is coming, Rachel," said Heloise, "and 
 there is no more rest for us this side of the grave." 
 
 "That will be worse for you than for me, Miss ; will it not? 
 What sort of a lady is she ? " 
 
 " Hein, I do not know. At least, I cannot say. She is 
 different with different people. She is not kind to me, but to my 
 sister most kind. She loves money, and in my opinion comes 
 here " 
 
 Suddenly Heloise remembered fchat she was talking to a 
 
NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 219 
 
 servant, and left off. In France things were different, she 
 argued ; in England no one talked with servants. Rachel wished 
 to continue the conversation, but Heloise was inexorable. 
 Rachel, however, had heard as much as she chose to hear, and 
 she was strongly prejudiced against Madame Merton, before she 
 ever came into the house. 
 
 But the old lady arrived before affairs had in any way settled 
 down, and before Mrs. Arnaud quite knew what she was about. 
 Business was coming in in the most remarkable manner. Heloise 
 and Mrs. Arnaud had not an hour to themselves. The receipts 
 were enormous, so large, in fact, that Mrs. Amaud was at her 
 wits' end to supply stock. She was in an embarras des richesses. 
 She must borrow some money soon, for she had spent all her own, 
 and though people bought, it was on credit. Should she borrow 
 of Lord Festiniog ? that she did not wish to do. Drummond 
 would let her have any money she wanted, but that would not do 
 by any means. Within a fortnight, she saw that she must expend 
 more money in replenishing stock, and at the end of that time 
 her mamma arrived from Paris, and relieved the garrison, not 
 only with money, which might have been got elsewhere, but with 
 taste and experience, which could have been got nowhere. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mrs. Arnaud's freedom, and that of Heloise, was 
 gone once more. Madame was in her way a harder taskmaster 
 than she had ever had before. At once, Rachel and Heloise had 
 entered into a Holy Alliance against her, and Mrs. Arnaud, as an 
 Englishwoman, preserved an armed neutrality. She was amused 
 to see the extraordinary confidence which was growing up between 
 Heloise and Rachel : it was doubtless due to their hatred of the 
 common enemy. 
 
 When she first came, Rachel was extremely astonished at 
 Heloise's account of her, for she seemed a very agreeable old 
 lady, who was most affectionately attentive to Mrs. Arnaud and 
 most courteous to herself. But Rachel soon found out what was 
 the matter with her, and groaned in spirit. It is difficult to 
 explain why she drove every one mad, but we must endeavour to 
 do so. 
 
 In the first place, she never stopped talking, which might have 
 been got over, but then she never talked about anything in any 
 way agreeable, or had a solitary good word for any one : she and 
 her family were the most important people in the universe, and 
 tho world seemed to her to be in a combination against them. 
 Then she would have everything explained to her at full length, 
 of whatever nature it might be, and never by any chance allowed 
 that any one had done right. If the most trifling thing went 
 
•220 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 wrong, it was because she had not been consulted about it : prove 
 her wrong in any one thing and she would speak a quarter of an 
 hour afterwards, exactly as if she was in the right. She was a 
 prodigiously good housekeeper, and although she took none of the 
 responsibility of the housekeeping herself, she never ceased talking 
 about it to her daughter. 
 
 There she was, however, sitting in Mrs. Arnaud's easy chair, 
 and talking without ceasing on details of all kinds : about herself, 
 about Mrs. Arnaud's relation with the late Iltycl, about the money 
 she had lent her daughter (she never left that subject alone for 
 above a quarter of an hour together), about the servants, about 
 every kind of minute detail in the house. Always giving advice, 
 offended when it was not taken, returning to the charge until it 
 was, and then turning on her daughter for a poor, silly, dear 
 thing, if the matter went wrong. There she was, an old woman 
 of the sea, with but one fact about her which gave any hope of 
 escape from her, and that was her rheumatism. 
 
 It was after she had been there half of one day that this great 
 fact about her was discovered. Heloise remembered it first, and, 
 with her brilliant genius, saw hope. 
 
 Madame on the very first day showed the weak point in her 
 armour, and, as we said before, Heloise, knowing her well, had 
 hope. Madame was partly agreeable on the first day, but Heloise 
 la K\v that she could be so, for her own purposes, after dinner; 
 but knowing what would with ordinary luck occur, she said 
 nothing until Madame, who had been talking at her best, desired 
 to go to bed, and asked where she was to sleep. 
 
 " You sleep at the top of the house, grandmamma," said 
 Heloise, promptly. "I shall sleep in the same room now — I 
 have moved up — a very nice one. You must be tired ; shall I 
 take you to bed ? " 
 
 "At the top of the house?" said Madame, aghast. "My 
 dear Heloise, you know, as well as I do, that I cannot walk 
 upstairs." 
 
 " I do not know what is to be done then, grandmamma : unless 
 you take aunt Arnaud's bed, and she sleeps in yours ; that is to 
 say, in the same room with myself." 
 
 "I suppose that there is nothing else to be done," said 
 Madame. "It is hard on a woman of my age, but I have always 
 sacrificed myself to my children. I will sleep downstairs." 
 
 The arrangement was most promptly made ; Mrs. Arnaud and 
 Heloise departed upstairs, leaving the old lady in full possession 
 of the back-parlour and the bedroom adjoining. The Emperor of 
 Russia calculated the effect of cold on the French army, but he 
 
NUMBEll SEVENTEEN. 221 
 
 had a long time to think about it. Heloise had hut little time to 
 think about her grandmamma's rheumatism, yet she utilised it in 
 the most dexterous manner. She and her aunt were free at the 
 top of the house, where no grandmamma could reach them. 
 
 Was it for better or for worse that that cunning old French- 
 woman was isolated in the lower part of the house with Rachel ? 
 That is a question which will answer itself. 
 
 To go on with our narrative. The coming of the old French- 
 woman sent Heloise and Mrs. Arnaud upstairs, leaving her to get 
 through the night in the best way she could. Mrs. Arnaud and 
 Heloise encamped in the apartments immediately above George 
 Drunmiond's, and found peace and freedom. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Madame never guessed what she had done on the very first day of 
 her coming, by her temper and her rheumatism. She drove Mrs. 
 Arnaud and Heloise into the third story. Heloise had seen this 
 from the first, and had devotedly removed her own bed there, but 
 she had held her tongue about her grandmamma's rheumatism, 
 just to avoid discussion. She had also mentioned the third story, 
 generally, as a " bed-room," whereas it was an excellent suite of 
 rooms, slightly lower from floor to ceiling than the two other 
 floors, but most comfortable in every way, as the late tenant, 
 Major Chutney, knew full well. Madame, however, had the 
 intense pleasure of believing that her daughter and grand- 
 daughter were sleeping in an attic under the tiles. 
 
 The rooms were most excellently furnished, and so high over 
 the street that the noise, such as there was in Hartley Street, was 
 almost inaudible. Mrs. Arnaud and Heloise made themselves 
 completely comfortable, and although meals were eaten in the 
 back-parlour downstairs, under the superintendence of Madame, 
 who grumbled persistently at Rachel's cooking, still, more went 
 on upstairs than ever she knew about. People desiring to see 
 Mrs. Arnaud privately had only to knock at the private door, be 
 let in by Rachel, and ascend to the sanctum at once. 
 
 Barri, the son of Lord Rhyader, was one of the first visitors. 
 Heloise, one morning, taking rest from the business and her 
 
222 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 grandmamma, was reading in the sitting-room, when Rachel 
 announced Mr. Drummond and the young gentleman. Heloise 
 rose, and saw George Drummond for the first time. He seemed 
 in an instant startled and confused. She was woman, and 
 Frenchwoman enough to know that it was at her own beauty. 
 She liked it, and, what is more, she liked him. By his side was 
 a handsome boy whom she did not know. 
 
 " I beg pardon, Mademoiselle, but Lord Rhyader asked me to 
 convey my young friend here to see Mrs. Arnaud. Mr. Barri 
 Arnaud — Mademoiselle Heloise." 
 
 "As if," Barri said, with his hands in his breeches pockets 
 and his hat under his left arm, " a fellow of fourteen at Eton 
 couldn't find the way for himself, without having the way shown 
 him by a clerk in the Home Office, and that clerk George Drum- 
 mond. I assure you, Mademoiselle, that this man is a lunatic." 
 
 " Barri," said George Drummond, " I will give you something 
 that you will remember, directly." 
 
 " All right, my boy. I sha'n't resist. I will wait until I am big 
 enough, and then I will give it back." 
 
 " Well, then, don't be impertinent, child." 
 
 " Child, yes, I am a mere child, am I not, Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Monsieur, and I am fond of children." 
 
 " Then just give me a kiss, if you please," said Barri, and he 
 at once took one. " What would you have given for that? " he 
 said to George. 
 
 Heloise was not in the least degree disconcerted. She laughed 
 at George Drummond, keeping her hand on Barri's shoulder. 
 "He is to come here often, I hear," she said. " Shall you 
 always come with him ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if it gives me the pleasure I have now." 
 
 "It is entirely mutual," she replied ; " you will sit down until 
 my aunt comes up. I have not met you before, and so I could 
 never thank you for your great kindness to my aunt the first night 
 she came here. Believe me, Mr. Drummond, that my aunt is a 
 woman that requires the most delicate kindness, and those who 
 show it to her shall have all that I can give them — my thanks." 
 
 " There is no such woman in the world as Mary Arnaud," said 
 Barri; "by Jove, here she is!" and the next moment he had 
 his arms round her neck. 
 
 She looked as handsome as ever, and sank down in her easy 
 chair with the same exquisite grace. " I am so glad," she said, 
 "that Barri has caused this new introduction between us, Mr. Drum- 
 mond ; though, indeed, I might have claimed your acquaintance 
 after the first night we met, but I waited for you to move in what 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN, 223 
 
 I hope may be a lasting acquaintance. Your father," she con- 
 tinued, drawing Barri to her and stroking his hair, " was very 
 kind to me once, before I retired from the world. Until I left 
 that retirement and saw him again, I was unaware that he had a 
 son. Lord Festiniog and Lord Rhyader speak of you in such 
 high terms that I shall be proud to know you, not as a lodger, 
 but as a friend. Come and see us as often as you can ; I am 
 sure my niece will be glad to see you." 
 
 "Assuredly, Monsieur will be welcome, both for his own kind- 
 ness to you, and for his father's." 
 
 " The fact is," said Mrs. Arnaud, " that my mother, Madame 
 Morton, occupies the ground floor, and assists me, not only with 
 capital, but with what is far better, her experience and taste. 
 She, however, is old, and dislikes visitors, so I can better receive 
 my friends here." 
 
 " She dislikes visitors so much," said Barri, "that she raises 
 Cain because nobody ever comes to see her. I must go down 
 and pay my respects before I come up again." 
 
 " You had better not," said Mrs. Arnaud ; but youth is rash, 
 and he was gone. 
 
 George Drummond took his leave after twenty minutes' con- 
 versation, during which he explained that Barri and he had an 
 old friendship, arising out of a stay which he had once made at 
 Festiniog. But the deed was done ; he had entered that room 
 an ambitious, careful, heart-whole man, with a dozen projects in 
 his head for raising himself in the world. He left it with the 
 same number of projects, but they were all now for another. His 
 thoughts about his own future had passed away, except in so far 
 as he might make a glorious future for Heloise. 
 
 Did she know it ? Did she know that the man was walking 
 and breathing in a different atmosphere to that in which he had 
 existed half-an-hour ago ? We think that she did. 
 
 He w r as a young man whom any one would have been proud of 
 loving ; she could have loved him herself, had she not loved some 
 one else. The most unfortunate fact was, that she had got into 
 an awful entanglement elsewhere, and that she had told Mrs. 
 Arnaud such a Mississippi of lies at first, that she could now 
 neither ask for her sympathy nor advice, when she most needed 
 them. She very nearly made a vow never to tell another story in 
 her life, or only a certain number a day ; but when she saw how 
 perfectly futile such a resolution would be, she gave up the idea ; 
 for the little lady had, at least, this merit, that she knew her own 
 character perfectly, and that though she deceived other people, 
 she never deceived herself. 
 
224 NUMBER SEVENTEEN, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A FAMILY CONSULTATION. 
 
 Lord Festiniog, Lord Rhyader, Lady Rhyader, Mr. Drummond, 
 and Mr. George Drummond, sat down to dinner together : it was 
 a family party, and more than one of them knew perfectly well 
 that family affairs, and those only, were to be discussed. 
 
 Never having been in the ministry ourselves, we are unable to 
 say what goes on at a meeting of cabinet ministers. We should 
 be inclined to think that every one was either silent, or talked on 
 indifferent matters, until the chief gave the key-note. Then, we 
 should conceive, might follow a long and, sometimes, acrimonious 
 argument, after the making up of which, her Majesty was advised. 
 We know nothing about the matter, we only guess. 
 
 Every one present at Lord Festiniog' s table knew perfectly 
 well that Mrs. Arnaud and her relations were to be the subject of 
 conversation. The gentle, and now middle-aged, Lady Rhyader 
 knew the fact so well that she never offered to go away when the 
 dessert was set on and the servants had withdrawn. She, in fact, 
 relieved them all from the difficulty of beginning, by plunging in 
 medias res. 
 
 "Now that we are alone together, Lord Festiniog," she said — 
 "for I do not mind Mr. George Drummond— I wish to have a 
 few words with you about Mrs. Arnaud." 
 
 " And why not ? " said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 " That is no answer, sir. I want to know what you are going 
 to do about her." 
 
 "I have acknowledged her as my daughter-in-law, and we 
 ought to have her here." 
 
 " So I think. You have gone to such astounding lengths in 
 this matter that you ought to go further ; we ought not to do 
 things by halves." 
 
 "Here's a woman for you," said Lord Festiniog, " has had the 
 best dinner that money could buy, and then breaks out like this. 
 What is the matter with you, Alice ? " 
 
 " Never you mind, sir. You give me a fair answer to a fair 
 question, and don't be diplomatic with me. I want to know what 
 you are going to do about Mary ? ' ' 
 
 "Oh! I see what you mean. You want me to tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " Exactly," said Lady Rhyader. 
 
 " Well, then, I will do anything you choose to propose." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 225 
 
 "And So OH," said Lady Bhyader. "Then you will ask her 
 here." 
 
 " Certainly. She was always, as it were, one of the family 
 when we were alone. No one knew but that she was some poor 
 relation." 
 
 11 And her mother and niece ? " 
 
 " Of course. I will do anything which I am asked to do, if I 
 am asked civilly." 
 
 " Well, then, I must civilly ask you not to have her mother 
 and niece here. Do you understand '? " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I am mistress of this house, and I refuse to answer you. 
 I will receive Mrs. Arnaud, but neither her mother nor her 
 niece." 
 
 "May I not plead for the niece, Madam?" said George 
 Drunimond. 
 
 She rose and looked full at him ; then they all rose as she went 
 upstairs. George Drunimond was nearest the door and opened 
 it for her. As she passed him she said three words only to him 
 in a low tone, and then passed out. 
 
 A moment after a footman came in and whispered to George 
 Drunimond. He went out. Lady Rhyader was standing on the 
 staircase waiting for him. 
 
 " Mr. George Drunimond," she said, hurriedly, " are you in love 
 with that girl'? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then I will say no more. Is your decision irrevocable ? " 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 " Then God help you, my poor boy," and so she left him. 
 
 When he came back to the dining-room it was obvious that 
 they had been saying something in his absence. They had 
 evidently been talking about him, and as he did not want to stop 
 their conversation, he made a pretence of finishing a glass of 
 wine, and went upstairs to Lady Rhyader. We will remain in 
 the dining-room for the present. 
 
 "Drummond," said Lord Festiniog, "have you been to see 
 the widow lately ? " 
 
 " Xo, my lord. I do not think that she wishes to see me." 
 
 "Want of taste on her part," said Lord Festiniog, " for you 
 are a handsome and agreeable fellow still, Drunimond." 
 
 " If you flatter me, Lord Festiniog, I shall begin to be dis- 
 agreeable." 
 
 "Don't lose your temper, Drunimond ; that was always your 
 fault, as it was the fault of your father before you." 
 
 16 
 
226 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 "Well, you know that I cannot have much wish to see her. 
 Our relations in old times were extremely painful." 
 
 "True," said Lord Festiniog, "what a singular thing it is 
 that she should settle in the very house where your son was 
 lodging." 
 
 "Well, that was my doing," said Drummond. "I sent her 
 there." 
 
 " That you might go and see her sometimes, eh?" said Lord 
 Festiniog. 
 
 "No. I have no wish to see her until she asks me, and that 
 is not likely." 
 
 " Don't say anything more about that, father," said Lord 
 Rhyader. "Is she likely to do well in this business, Drum- 
 mond ? " 
 
 "Yes. She will probably make her fortune; were it not so, 
 I should not have sent her there." 
 
 " Who on earth could it have been," said Lord Festiniog, 
 " who put her first on the truth about her being really married ? " 
 
 " Her mother, doubtless," said Drummond, looking Lord 
 Festiniog straight in the face. 
 
 " It most certainly was not the old lady, I should say," said 
 Lord Rhyader. " At least, I do not think that it could have 
 been. She never cared twopence about the matter ; she thought 
 that she had done her duty as a mother by pitching her daughter 
 overboard. I saw her in Paris a year ago, and she was most 
 affectionate to me. She did not harbour any ill-will to her 
 daughter, but extremely lamented her loss to the business. I 
 don't think that the old woman would have made or meddled in 
 the matter. It must have been her brother who urged the rest 
 of the family not to receive her." 
 
 "That is rather a lame conclusion, is it not?" said Drum- 
 mond, who knew fifty times more about the matter than Rhyader. 
 
 " Possibly, but such is my instinct." 
 
 " Ay, but instincts are not business," said Drummond. " By- 
 the-bye, talking of business, you have written to me to raise five 
 hundred pounds for you. But you don't tell me on what security : 
 is it on post obit or what ? " 
 
 The sum was really £5,000, but Drummond withheld that fact : 
 he wanted to hold the whip hand of Lord Rhyader, and he thought 
 that this was the best way of doing so. He was completely mis- 
 taken in his tactics, and liked father and son none the better for 
 the fact. 
 
 " You want money ! " said Lord Festiniog, laughing. " What 
 have you been doing ? A saint like you in the money market : 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 227 
 
 that is too good. Come, pass the wine and tell us all about it. 
 This is the best thing I have heard for some time." 
 
 " Well, sir, the fact is that I made a very foolish speculation. 
 I am an avaricious man, and I put five thousand pounds in the 
 Gulf Stream Company, believing that there was a subsidy. There 
 is none, and I have lost my money : that is all." 
 
 " Why did not you come to me instead of going to Drummond ? 
 Don't let us pay it, Rhyader, my boy. Let us see if we can 
 dispute it in law. Drummond, just see if we have any chance, 
 and Rhyader and I will fight it. Or, if you hate publicity, 
 Gervase, of course I will pay it ; but I ask you, as a favour, to 
 let Drumniond get counsel's opinion. A lawsuit would be 
 immense fun." 
 
 " I am bound both by gratitude and by duty to follow your 
 directions, sir," said Rhyader. 
 
 " Then hey ! for a good lawsuit, I say. I will find the sinews 
 of war, and Drummond shall find the talent. Now, let us go up 
 to your wife and George Drummond : he is no bottle breaker. 
 You should tell him to take wine in moderation, Drummond, or 
 he being unused to it might get overtaken by it." 
 
 " He has a will of his own in all matters, Lord Festiniog," was 
 all that Drummond said. 
 
 They went upstairs. Lady Rhyader was ready with coffee, but 
 George Drumniond had disappeared. Lady Rhyader, in answer 
 to their inquiries, said that he had a bad headache, and was gone 
 home. They thought nothing about the matter. 
 
 "Where is Barri ? " said Lord Festiniog. " He was not at 
 dessert, and he is not here." 
 
 "He is at Mrs. Arnaud's, I believe. Mr. George Drummond 
 left him there, and said that he would walk home with him. The 
 boy wants a balloon, to let up with the gas, and Mrs. Arnaud's 
 footman told him that he could tell him where to get one. He 
 will be home soon." 
 
 "He is pretty familiar at Mrs. Arnaud's already," said Lord 
 Festiniog. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he is there nearly every day. She treats him as if 
 he were her own son. The boy is tiresome at home and I like 
 his going there. He has a fancy for doing so, and I do not see 
 why he should not." 
 
228 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DRUMMOND THE ELDER. 
 
 Drummond left Lord Festiniog's very early, and on getting to his 
 study, was extremely surprised to find his son there with his 
 head buried in his hands before the fire. He at once saw that 
 something was wrong, and he approached George Drummond and 
 put his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " What is the matter, my boy ? " he asked. " What has Lady 
 Rhyader said which has given you a headache ? " 
 
 " Now, you save me the trouble of coming to the point," said 
 George Drummond. " She has been saying things which I do 
 not understand." 
 
 "Well, tell me what she has said; if you cannot trust me, 
 who can you trust ? ' ' 
 
 " Ay I but she says that you are the last man to be trusted ; 
 what am I to do if she says that again ? ' ' 
 
 " Tell her that she lies," said Drummond, very quietly. " No,, 
 you can't do that. But what has she been saying about me ? " 
 
 " Well, I hardly like to tell you, father. We got in hot. 
 dispute over a certain matter, and lost our tempers. Then she 
 said that you were the person who had put Mrs. Arnaud in 
 possession of the facts of her marriage, and that you had set 
 her on Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " She is a clever little woman," said Drummond, with an 
 expression of admiration. " She is perfectly right." 
 
 " Father, did you do that ? " 
 
 " Certainly, my son. You inherit all my property, and I have 
 no idea of your marrying into a family with the curse of illegiti- 
 macy on it. You will marry Heloise, I suppose ; at least, from 
 what the boy Barri tells me, I should think it probable. If you 
 decide on her, I wish her to be received into society. Barri tells 
 me that you are au mieux with her ; go on and prosper." 
 
 The transparency of this falsehood never struck George 
 Drummond. He could not possibly have known that George 
 would ever see Heloise, when he told Mrs. Arnaud the truth ; 
 therefore, how could he have betrayed his client for such a 
 purpose ? George never saw that until afterwards. 
 
 " I am in love with her, I confess, father, but she will never 
 marry me. Lady Rhyader told me all about it to-night ; Heloise 
 knew my fellow lodger, D'Arcy, in Paris, most intimately. She 
 has followed him here." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 229 
 
 "That is an outrageous untruth," said Drummond. "What 
 else did Lady Rhyader say ? " 
 
 " She said that the whole thing between them was notorious in 
 Paris, and that Madame Morton had in reality only come over to 
 bring him to book." 
 
 "Now listen to me, George," said the elder Drummond. 
 " Lady Rhyader is as incapable of telling lies intentionally as 
 you are, but she believes them. All this story about D'Arcy is 
 false, from beginning to end, by whom told I do not know. The 
 whole thing is" a fiction. I have got the key to it, but I don't 
 know the whole truth. I will go and see the old woman to- 
 morrow, and get it out of her. Now look here, boy, I have 
 watched Mrs. Arnaud all her life, and I know everything about 
 her and her relations. I tell you that there never was anything 
 in the world between D'Arcy and Heloise. Will that satisfy 
 you ? " 
 
 "Well, no. I am afraid that there is something between 
 them." 
 
 " I will look into that for you. I fancy that you are wrong. 
 I conceive that there is a confidence between them, but that it is 
 about some other person I don't know. I will get it out of the 
 old woman to-morrow." 
 
 "What, Madame Merton? " said George ; "she is a difficult 
 customer, I fancy." 
 
 " Fiddle ! " said Drummond ; " ask her how much money she 
 owes me ; she will cast her old wig on the fire." 
 
 ' ' Owe you money ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, boy. Like all Frenchwomen, she speculated under the 
 Empire, and I, having certain designs in hand, made friends with 
 her, and lent certain sums to her. She has naturally not repaid 
 them, though she could do so if she chose. I will just go to her 
 to-morrow, and hear what she has to say. The threads of a very 
 vast matter are in my hands, George; when I have got them 
 together, I will use my power for your interest." 
 
 "But, father, you are scheming about something. Pause, and 
 think how happy we might be without any attempt to go higher 
 in the world." 
 
 " Who told you that I was scheming ? " 
 
 " Your face.' I know it well; you are hiding something from 
 me." 
 
 "I am." 
 
 " Confide to me, father." 
 
 " I cannot ; I have committed a great crime, and I dare not 
 tell you of it," 
 
230 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you would cast me away as the dirt under your feet, 
 if I told you." 
 
 " Father ! father ! why should you say that to me ? Of myself 
 I say nothing. I have tried to do my duty by you, and you will 
 allow that I have never failed in it." 
 
 " Never for a moment," said Drummond. 
 
 " As for your duty to me, what can I say about that ? Why, I 
 have not words to express what I owe you. No man had ever 
 such a father as you have been to me. Believe me, that I love 
 and trust you beyond all living men, and that everything which 
 you say to me is sacred. Let me share your sorrow or your 
 crime ; do not, after so many years of kindness, entirely repel me 
 from your heart." 
 
 "You are talking like a madman," said Drummond, " and you 
 are driving me mad. I cannot say any more to-night. You shall 
 marry the girl if money can do it, but I will not urge you to marry 
 her if she loves some one else. Now, go home to Number Seven- 
 teen, look up Madame Merton, if she is not gone to bed, and tell 
 her that I am coming to see her to-morrow. You may say that I 
 want £1,500 of her, and that will make her civil." 
 
 " But, father," said George Drummond, recurring to the very 
 singular revelation which Mr. Drummond had made, " won't you 
 confide in me ? ' ' 
 
 Drummond looked at him pensively for a minute, and then 
 said, " I cannot do it, my boy. I cannot part with you, at least 
 not yet." 
 
 "But, father, I would go to the scaffold for you. Lay your 
 hand on my heart, and see how true it beats." 
 
 " Go away, old boy." 
 
 " Father, I would almost give up Heloise for your sake." 
 
 " No, by no means. You must know nothing. I have an 
 object to gain, and then " 
 
 " And what then ? " 
 
 " Would you do anything which I asked you ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I would." 
 
 "Murder?" 
 
 " Why no," said George Drummond, laughing. " But I would 
 do anything to oblige you. Well, now, I will really go ; I shall 
 bring you to confidence some clay ; " and he went. 
 
 Drummond the elder sat over the fire, and thought deeply, but 
 without any result. Undecided in purpose he had always been : 
 he was never more so than now, when he held the cards in his 
 bands, or at least thought that he did so, 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 231 
 
 He never had been married, save once for a very short time. 
 He had lived with more than one woman for a time, but he had 
 never loved one of them ; the only woman he had ever cared for 
 in his life was Mrs. Arnaud ; and she seemed as far away from 
 him as ever. In fact, she seemed to get a growing dislike to him. 
 He had asked himself often why this was, and now he began to 
 see the answer. 
 
 She was a woman of singular loyalty and truthfulness in her 
 way ; although she had a latent genius for fiction, scarcely inferior 
 to that of Heloise, which she only used when required by extreme 
 necessity ; and she could not trust him. 
 
 It was he that had made love to her during the time that he 
 was married. It was he who, for the sake of putting her under 
 an obligation, had found out the fact of her having been married. 
 He had betrayed Lord Festiniog in doing this, and had been false 
 to him about it since. But he had got no nearer to Mrs. Arnaud's 
 heart. She despised him for the treachery which had benefited 
 her. 
 
 His affection for George Drummond was singularly strong. A 
 lonely man all his life, George Drummond, with his innocence 
 and talent, both as boy and as man, had been a great pleasure 
 to him. He wanted to do that young man a great service, and 
 himself a greater. He wished to marry Mrs. Arnaud, even 
 though she hated him. It seems strange, but it was so ; we see 
 the thing every day if we look for it. His last chance for gaining 
 his object was in George Drummond — and in murder. It is no 
 use disguising the fact. A certain life, as he thought, stood 
 between him and his object ; and that life must go. There was 
 no actual necessity for it, but a secret which will leak out soon 
 about him will account for his folly. He could never think on a 
 certain subject consecutively. 
 
 Yet in most things he was a respectable man. He had an 
 excellent practice and a most excellent income. He had more 
 business than he knew how to get through with ; yet it w r as 
 observed, by those who cared about his affairs, that he had not 
 made his son a lawyer but a gentleman, as if the two things were 
 totally incompatible, which, we are happy to say, is not the case. 
 He had not used his son's great talents by educating him for the 
 law, and taking him into practice. He had other designs for him, 
 and his business friends thought him a fool, for George Drummond 
 could have made the business twice what it was. " Why, then, 
 was he kicking his heels at the Home Office ? " they asked. 
 
 His father desired no confidant in his business ; it is the oldest 
 storv in the world. One man was mad. about one woman, and 
 
232 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 there was a wild and ever-fading chance of her, through carefully- 
 planned assassination. 
 
 " If I fail in that," he said, " I will kill her, and then myself. 
 I am not sure that I had better do both those things this very 
 night. I would do it, only I have some lingering superstition 
 about the next world. However, the cub shall go ; that will pave 
 the way. 
 
 " How on earth shall I ever get into the household ? There 
 will be the difficulty. If I could only get them to Italy I could 
 do it, or rather she could ; but there is no chance of it." 
 
 The dexterous, keen-headed lawyer was left without any power 
 of decision whatever. 
 
 Murder "tirled at the pin," but the murder must be done by 
 another hand ; and there was only one which he could command. 
 It never struck the man that wealth, honour, and virtue would be 
 in the end too strong for him. Least of all did it strike him that 
 Nature would in this case invade civilisation, and solve the matter 
 in her own peculiar way. 
 
 Let him disappear for the present, ready for any mischief, but 
 not quite sure of his means. Charged with 100 lb. of compressed 
 guncotton, let us leave him to go off under the bottom of that 
 very safe ship the " Festiniog." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MOVEMENTS AT NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 The pleasant and almost whimsical life of Mrs. Arnaucl went on. 
 She had seen trouble, and serious trouble, nay, had been close 
 upon tragedy. Now, however, her ship was sailing with a per- 
 fectly fair wind in a tolerably smooth sea. If any one had told 
 her of great danger, she would have smiled ; had any one told her 
 that the quiet, middle-aged lawyer Drummond was prepared to 
 blow her and others into the air, she would have laughed. 
 
 There was a great attraction towards Number Seventeen, to all 
 the people we have mentioned. Barri began to discover that he 
 was one of the most popular persons in the establishment. Mrs. 
 Arnaud had always been fond of him. Heloise liked him because 
 he was impudent and handsome, and because she could get any- 
 thing out of him which she chose, Rachel liked everything young, 
 
NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 233 
 
 and so liked him. The maid liked him because he made love to 
 her, and the footman liked him because he was told off to take 
 him to toy shops, and so escaped much of his duty. Toy shops 
 we said ; say rather the theatres at the morning performance and 
 the Crystal Palace itself. Barri and Mrs. Arnaud's young footman 
 saw a great deal of life together. 
 
 Not that Barri was ever out after dark. Lady Rhyader was 
 very particular on that subject, as was also Mrs. Amaud. The 
 heir to a vast fortune was not to be trifled with, more particularly, 
 because in case of anything happening to the boy Barri, there was 
 no possible heir, and the title was extinct. The boy was treated 
 by all as though he was a moss rose done up in silver paper. And 
 he knew his value too ; his father and mother Rhyader, were 
 answerable for that. 
 
 He was a very good little fellow, affectionate, shrewd beyond 
 belief, but over-grown and not over-strong. He seemed to take 
 mostly to George Drummond, Mrs. Arnaud, and Madame Merton ; 
 and one charming fact about Barri was, that he always carefully 
 repeated in one society what he had heard in another. 
 
 " How do you do, Madame Merton?" he would say, dashing 
 into the back-parlour, the same room in which Mrs. Arnaud had 
 undergone her penance on the first night of her arrival. 
 
 And "Comment vous portez-vous, petit vaurien ? " would 
 madame reply. 
 
 " You are not polite, madame," replied Barri. " What a pity 
 it is that your rheumatism does not allow you to go upstairs" 
 
 " Why, monsieur ? " 
 
 " There is better fun upstairs than there is down here. I say, 
 Madame Merton." 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " Is Heloise going to marry D'Arcy or George ? Because she 
 seems to be setting her cap at both. Grandpa says that Mrs. 
 Arnaud will ultimately marry Mr. Drummond. Now a woman 
 with such a noble wig as yours ought to have some sense under 
 it. If I was in your "place I should set them all right." 
 
 So the boy went away, and the old woman prepared to make 
 herself disagreeable to Lord Festiniog. She wrote him a letter 
 which she knew would bring him, and began packing for a 
 journey to Paris. 
 
 He "arrived at the most busy time of the afternoon ; he was un- 
 certain as to which way he had better get at her, and like many 
 people who deliberate, he took the most foolish course. He went 
 into the shop. 
 
 He had no time to ask for her. She bore down on him full 
 
234 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 sail, threw her arms round his neck, kissed him, and addressed 
 him in the most friendly and affectionate terms before every one ; 
 then with an enormous amount of loudly-expressed anxiety, she 
 swept him into the parlour, leaving the whole affair to be talked 
 of all over London for the next week, and find what solution it 
 could. 
 
 She had succeeded in her object of publicly annoying him ; now 
 she took a turn at him in private. If the unhappy nobleman had 
 anything to say for himself, she gave him no time to say it. She 
 had called him there by a letter which urged private matters of 
 the highest interest as the object of the interview. The private 
 and confidential matter was that Mrs. Arnaud's footman was 
 teaching Barri to drink, and that she as a mother could not depart 
 for Paris without telling his lordship of the state of the case. 
 Her daughter, she said, was a fool and a most ungrateful fool, as 
 silly and weak now as she was when she married that brigand- 
 looking son of his, Iltyd. (She had never seen him, and he was 
 of a singularly frank and pleasing aspect.) Next, she said that 
 she was going to Paris because she could not stay any longer in a 
 house where such things went on, as were going on upstairs. 
 D'Arcy and George Drummond were both in love with Heloise, 
 and her ingrate of a daughter favoured George Drummond, while 
 Heloise herself was attached to D'Arcy. So she scolded on, and 
 in the course of time came to George Drummond's father. The 
 son, according to her, was a disreputable spendthrift, but he was 
 a saint to Drummond himself. She had been forced to borrow 
 money of him in consequence of the ruin brought on her by her 
 daughter's alliance with his family, and what interest she paid on 
 it she declined to tell ; his lordship would not believe it if she 
 did. (As she did not pay any interest at all, and as Drummond 
 had no earthly security for it, Lord Festiniog would have been 
 extremely surprised had he known that such a shrewd person as 
 Drummond had let her have it on such terms, even though he 
 did happen to admire her daughter.) 
 
 Now, all this affected Lord Festiniog very slightly, he trusted 
 Mary Arnaud, George, and the boy perfectly well, though he had 
 not yet made uiy great acquaintance with George, whom Rhyader 
 still disliked. The old woman, whose object was simply to make 
 every one uncomfortable, through the head of the family, saw this, 
 and shot her last bolt, which hit. 
 
 She said that she had the greatest dislike to betray her own 
 daughter, but that she would never see a viper plotting against 
 Lord Festiniog's peace of mind, now that he had done justice to 
 her old, and hitherto respectable family. Then she finally, and 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 235 
 
 beyond doubt, proved to him what she knew was the truth, that 
 Drummond was a traitor to him, that it was he who had told Mrs. 
 Arnaud of the legality of her marriage. 
 
 " Can you prove that, madamo ? " said lie. 
 
 " Tax him with it ; or, stay milord, tax her with it, and see 
 what answer either of them dares to give." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for your information, madame, 
 which I am sure is given with the best intentions. May I ask 
 you the favour of the loan of one of your rings ? ' ' 
 
 Madame made the empnmt with the greatest alacrity, and was 
 so eager to get the ring off, that in the struggle she gave herself 
 a muscular strain in the back : the effect of this was, that she 
 accompanied the presentation of the ring by a wild and dismal 
 howl, such as only rheumatism can produce. 
 
 The unpitying and brutal insular old booby (that was what she 
 called him to herself) took no notice of her yell, and departed with 
 the ring, returning almost immediately with another in addition, 
 of which he begged her acceptance. As, next to dress and 
 mischief-making, she liked jewellery better than anything else in 
 the world, she would have risen and embraced Lord Festiniog, 
 but she was afraid of another rick in her back ; because she knew 
 that when one came, another was pretty sure to follow, and it 
 would not have done for her to have given a war-whoop just as 
 she was kissing him. She therefore gave him her benediction and 
 put on her ring, after which they parted with mutual satisfaction, 
 and saw one another no more in this world. 
 
 Lord Festiniog ascertained from Heloise that Mrs. Arnaud was 
 upstairs alone. He went up by himself, and found her sitting by 
 the window resting. When she saw him she came towards him 
 with her old, frank, pleasant smile. He was half disarmed before 
 he opened his mouth, but she saw that there was a cloud on his 
 face, and she took his hands and looked wonderingly into it. 
 
 " Mary," he said, " have you always been frank with me ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said, with a pause ; " I think so." 
 
 " Who was it who told you of your marriage, and set you on me ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you have found that out," she said. " Well — I am not 
 at all sure that I am sorry. I do not ask you who told you, only 
 you can bear me out that I did not. I bound myself in honour 
 to him, and even now his name is not mentioned." 
 
 " Nor shall it be," said he : " do you trust him ? " 
 
 " No ! He put me in possession of the fact in hopes that I 
 would marry him. I need not say what answer I gave." 
 
 " Do you think he has some scheme in hand still, of which you 
 are the object ? " 
 
236 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " I fancy so, but I cannot tell what it is. He has two pair of 
 eyes on him now, however, yours and mine. Sit down, and let us 
 talk a little more. You have been with my mother ; what sort of 
 a character has she given me ? " 
 
 ' ' The character of a poor, weak saint, surrounded on all sides 
 by harpies and villains. Your footman, I gather, is teaching 
 Barri to drink ; your lodgers are quarrelling about your niece ; I 
 forget the rest." 
 
 " What a shame ! The young man is an excellent young man, 
 and as for my lodgers quarrelling about Heloise, they are very 
 good friends, and I hope will remain so. I admit them both, 
 certainly, D'Arcy because he knew Heloise in Paris, and George 
 Drummond because he is here with Barri, who thinks him the 
 best of created beings, after his own family, of course." 
 
 " Are either of them epris with Heloise ? " 
 
 " I fancy both of them, to a certain extent. But you must 
 remember that I should be the last person to see to what extent. 
 Before me, of course, there is nothing but politeness." 
 
 "What do you think of George Drummond?" said Lord 
 Festiniog. 
 
 " I like him amazingly, now. I did not care much for him at 
 first ; his manner is cold, but when the crust of him is got 
 through, you will not find a more affectionate or warm-hearted 
 fellow anywhere. I wish you would see more of him. He is 
 such an admirable companion for Barri, and the boy takes to 
 him." 
 
 " Barri and he are old friends, and I will see more of him. 
 But Rhyader says that he is such a prig." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Arnaud, " Gervase ought to know better 
 about that matter than I can pretend to do, for he is the king of 
 prigs himself. I cannot say that I find George Drummond to be 
 anything of the sort. I should pass him as a gentleman." 
 
 " Would you pass Rhyader as one, Mary? " 
 
 "Well — h'm — yes, I suppose so. Much as I would pass you. 
 I think Rhyader, by his birth and position, fancies that he can 
 take liberties which would not be allowed to other people. You 
 do it yourself, you know, and it is not to be tolerated." 
 
 " Well, Mary, I will not do it any more : let us be friends." 
 
 " By all means. I desire nothing more. I thought we were, 
 for we have gone through much together with only one quarrel. 
 Surely we are friends. But stay a moment before you go. Are 
 you aware that Rhyader and his wife distrust Drummond ? " 
 
 " I have a suspicion of it, but I do not like to talk about it — it 
 causes words. He is a good man of business, and I do not wish 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 237 
 
 to part with him. He was shamefully served by his wife, but I 
 fear he has served one woman, at least, very badly. Did you ever 
 hear of a woman called Perrot ? " 
 
 " No. Stay ! My servant at Leghorn and at Ravenna married 
 a Frenchman called Perrot. I wonder if it is the same woman." 
 " It does not matter much," said Lord Festiniog. " She was 
 dunning me for money, saying that she knew something. I sent 
 her to Drummond as my legal adviser. Since then she has been 
 very quiet ; and Drummond has confessed to me that he was in 
 intimate relations with her at one time." 
 
 " So he was," said Mrs. Arnaud. " She was my maid. I 
 should like to see her again. She was with me when my poor 
 child died. She was with me during the whole of that horrible 
 fever at Ravenna. I really should like to see the woman." 
 
 " Well, it is possible that you may, if she ever wants any 
 money," said Lord Festiniog. " What do you say to my going ? " 
 " You may go if you like, but I would much rather that you 
 stayed. Stay ten minutes, will you? " 
 
 "Why, yes. The sight of your honest, handsome face would 
 make me stay any time." 
 
 " Quite so ; and we will consider the rest understood. I want 
 you to see a face more pleasant than mine." 
 " That of Heloise ? " 
 
 " I do not say no to that. But the face I wish you to see just 
 now is of another kind. It is familiar to you, and yet you seem 
 scarcely to know it." 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 "George Drummond. He is downstairs; let me fetch him, 
 and leave you to talk to him." 
 
 " I have no objection ; but with what object ? " 
 " I wish to bring you together ; that is all." 
 "Let him come if you like," he replied; and she went. 
 •George Drummond was not long in coming. 
 
 "Well, George,' said Lord Festiniog, "that mysterious Mrs. 
 Arnaud says that she wants me to see more of you. I suppose I 
 must, for she always has her own way." 
 
 " I shall be only too happy to see as much of your lordship as 
 you choose," said George, " for one reason, if for no other." 
 "And that?" 
 
 "And that is, that I have a very great affection for Barri 
 Arnaud, and I think that I have more influence over him than 
 any one else— an influence which I need not tell you I should use 
 for good. The boy has high purposes, which it does not seem to 
 me any of his family understand. He is a petulant, spoilt boy, 
 
238 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN 
 
 but with a great deal of good in him. I wish that I was his 
 tutor ; in fact, I wish that I was anything but what I am ; and if 
 I might see more of the boy, I might prevent his life from being 
 ruined as mine has been ; nay, I could not do that, but he would 
 be a companion to me in my unutterable desolation." 
 
 " But, George Drummond" said Lord Festiniog, " what is the 
 use of talking in this manner ? There is not a young man in 
 England with finer prospects. Your father is rich ; you are an 
 only son ; he tells me the scheme he has thought out so shrewdly 
 for your future. He says that you have accepted that future, and 
 have great ambition ; there is nothing to prevent your being an 
 ambassador, or, if you choose to spend your cash in that way, a 
 member of parliament." 
 
 " A month ago, my lord, I had high purposes : now I have 
 simply none." 
 
 " All ! " said Lord Festiniog : "I see. Mademoiselle Heloise 
 has been asked if she will share your future, and prefers a military 
 life :— is that it ? " 
 
 " No, I have not spoken to her, as I know it would be hopeless. 
 I have seen too much." 
 
 " Well, perhaps she does like some one else better — that cannot 
 be helped, can it ? " 
 
 " No, but life is valueless to me." 
 
 " Well," said Lord Festiniog, " if any one had told me this, I 
 would certainly not have believed it. A sensible young fellow like 
 you to talk this to me. Why, man, you have scarcely seen her a 
 month, and you can't be so hard hit as all this comes to. I have 
 been ten times worse off than ever you have. You will get over 
 it, man (Z have, twice), and wonder why vou were ever such a 
 fool." 
 
 George Drummond politely declined to allow the possibility of 
 his ever getting over it, or of his ever putting faith in woman 
 again. 
 
 " Then there is something you do not choose to tell me about," 
 said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 George Drummond was obliged to confess that there was. 
 " Then I will ask no more questions. I am sorry for you. If 
 you like to make love to Barri to console yourself, I will use my 
 influence in your favour. Rhyader does not like you as he ought 
 to, yet, but he soon will if I abuse you to him ; the heir to the 
 throne is always in opposition you know. Lady Rhyader, I think, 
 is as fond of you as she is of any one : the Ormerods are never 
 demonstrative. If you repeat carefully everything which we say 
 to one another behind each other's backs you will soon be the 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 239 
 
 most trusted friend in the family circle. Well, good-bye, don't 
 be downhearted. Come whenever you like. I think that I shall 
 make sure of a warm welcome for you." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF D'ARCY AND HELOISE. 
 
 There was something more about Heloise than George Drum- 
 mond had chosen to tell Lord Festiniog. A very black suspicion 
 about her had been unfortunately confirmed beyond all manner of 
 doubt, in his mind, and he did not care whether he lived or died. 
 We have a hesitation in explaining what the matter was, yet we 
 must do so, or the reader will be as much puzzled as George Drum- 
 mond was ; and, what is worse, will think that there is something 
 wrong, something which should not be told, in the most innocent 
 and romantic business in the world. 
 
 D'Arcy had met in London, and very much admired, a certain 
 young lady of very high birth and fortune. He thought that he 
 was very much in love with her, and he followed her to Paris. 
 She liked him well enough, but there was but little chance of her 
 family consenting to her marriage with a comparatively poor man 
 like D'Arcy. Still, opposition only made them like one another 
 more, and they came to a clandestine correspondence. 
 
 Heloise was at this time in Brittany. The young lady was so 
 closely watched by her friends, that correspondence was difficult. 
 But a French friend, in whom D'Arcy confided, informed him of 
 what was pretty w r ell known elsewhere — namely, that Madame 
 Merton, of the Rue St. Honore, had for many years managed 
 affairs of that kind for her customers, and charged for her services 
 proportionately in her bill. 
 
 " She will not undertake an affair, you know," said his French 
 friend. " The old woman is a dragon of virtue. But for an 
 honourable matter like yours, she is the most convenient and 
 sensible person in Paris, which is the same thing as saying in the 
 miiverse. Still, you must pay, my child, and you say that you 
 are not rich." 
 
 " Oh ! I am tolerably w r ell off," said D'Arcy; "but how do 
 you manage with the old woman ? ' ' 
 
 "Let me look at your pocket-handerchief," said his French 
 
240 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 friend. "Bah ! " he said, " this is not in the fashion at all ; I 
 would not ask my valet to dust his boots with it. You must 
 have a new set, and, like all the world, have them embroidered at 
 the corner with your monogram. All the world does it, and 
 Madame Morton has a specialite for such work : they will cost 
 you thirty-five francs a-piece, but you must pay to win." 
 
 " Good ; and what next ? " said D'Arcy. 
 
 " Why, you get into discussion with Madame, you pay before- 
 hand, and give her one of your own handerchiefs for a pattern ; in 
 that handerchief is the letter you wish forwarded. It will reach 
 its destination." 
 
 "How? " 
 
 "Faith, how am I to say? It is her business, not mine. 
 She gets her share out of the young lady also. She gets much 
 expensive custom in this way, that is all I know. Only, mind 
 that you never make an appointment to meet the young lady, or 
 she will denounce you at once." 
 
 "But how does she know what there is in the letters she 
 passes on ? " 
 
 "How does she know?" said the Frenchman, contemptuously. 
 ' •' Do you suppose that she does not read every word of them before 
 she sends them ? Why, if anything wrong were discovered with 
 her hand in it, it would ruin her, easy-going as we are in 
 Paris." 
 
 D'Arcy's expensive friendship with Madame Merton was begun 
 in this way. His suit did not very greatly prosper, for he never 
 had the chance of meeting the young lady in private, and, warned 
 by his friend's experience, he never dared to hint at such a thing 
 in a letter. His acquaintance with Madame became more expen- 
 sive after a short time, for Heloise returned from Brittany, and 
 he was thrown against her in the course of business. 
 
 From that moment the young lady was forgotten. He grew 
 cool with a rapidity for which even she could not account ; but in 
 reality she was not broken-hearted, as she had seen some one who 
 was much richer, and whom she liked better. D'Arcy's affections 
 had been transferred to Heloise, and in talking to her about his 
 passion for the young lady for whom he cared no longer, he got 
 into the most confidential relations with her. 
 
 What should have made her love him so suddenly ? Who can 
 say ? There was not much in the man ; he was handsome and 
 agreeable ; he talked French well ; he dressed well. He was 
 only an Englishman after all ; yet there was a je ne sais quol 
 about him which made him more attractive to her than any other 
 man she had ever seen. She had plenty of young Frenchmen 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 241 
 
 who paid her attention, and who were better dressed and better 
 mannered than he was. Yet she chose him from among them all. 
 For his wealth ? no : he was not singularly rich. For his beauty? 
 why, he had only the ordinary good looks of a well trained and 
 bred Englishman. For his talents ? he was not very clever ; he 
 could hold his own and no more. She was stupid, save in her 
 exquisite power of management ; most half- educated Frenchwomen 
 — we shall be getting into trouble — what we were going to say is 
 that most half-educated women of all nations seem stupid, because 
 they have no facts to reason from. She was stupid, we repeat ; 
 and he knew more than she did. On occasion he could tell 
 her of things which had never been told her during her convent 
 education. The young Frenchmen who had paid her attention 
 could make themselves more agreeable than D'Arcy ever did. 
 Yet there was the je ?ie sais quoi about him — and — she fell in 
 love with him. 
 
 He came and went for some time. Her time with her grand- 
 mother was not a pleasant one. She was a woman of business, 
 and she calculated D'Arcy's affairs. They were sufficient for 
 her, and in the end he asked her to be affianced to him : she 
 consented. 
 
 At about this time, her aunt Arnaud, who was seldom spoken 
 of in the family, began the fight with Lord Festiniog, which 
 ended in her recognition. Madame Merton at once took her 
 daughter's part, as far as she could, though she could do little 
 for her daughter save vituperation, which did Mrs. Arnaud no 
 good at all. Even before Mrs. Arnaud was recognised, Madame 
 Merton on Heloise's proposition that she should go to England to 
 help her aunt, gave her ready consent. It is no use repeating 
 what we have hinted at previously. 
 
 But matters between D'Arcy and Heloise had gone very far. 
 She told him that her aunt was taking such and such a house, 
 that it was probable that she would be sent for to help in the busi- 
 ness, and so on. D'Arcy went to London and took the lodgings. 
 He came into them only a few days before Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 Her position was extremely difficult. The fact was that D'Arcy 
 had married Heloise in Paris, and neither of them dared confess 
 the fact to any human being. He dared not confess it to his 
 family, nor she to hers. They were man and wife, however, 
 according to all laws, human and divine. 
 
 She came with a smiling face to assist Mrs. Arnaud in the 
 business. She assisted her in the noblest manner, and she sat, 
 like a little Burgundian as she was, opposite Mrs. Arnaud day 
 after day, and night after night, wondering when she would get 
 
 17 
 
M2 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 the courage to tell the truth. Then her grandmother came, and 
 frightened her still more. And George Drummond came and fell 
 in love with her, which made a complication which was beyond 
 her powers to solve. 
 
 D'Arcy behaved very well. He began to wish that the mar- 
 riage should be known to his family, but she begged him, for a 
 time, to say nothing about it, unless — certain contingencies should 
 occur. He agreed to that ; but in concealed marriages things 
 are apt to be misunderstood by those not in the possession of the 
 real facts. 
 
 George Drummond and D'Arcy had made a sort of friendship 
 together. George had been the oldest lodger in the house, and, 
 during the interregnum between Mrs. Horsey and Mrs. Arnaud, 
 had naturally made acquaintance with him, as a newly- arrived 
 lodger. George had no special information from his father about 
 Mrs. Arnaud ; such as he had he gave to D'Arcy. There w r as no 
 need for the two young men to talk about family affairs in any 
 way. They neither of them had a point d'appui, they simply 
 made friends. Mrs. Arnaud came, and they talked of her. 
 Heloise came, Madame came, Lord Festiniog came, and Barri. 
 George Drummond and D'Arcy talked over them all in the most 
 free and easy manner. More freely possibly after the advance of 
 Madame sent them upstairs into Mrs. Arnaud's rooms, where 
 George Drummond was free to meet Heloise, and D'Arcy was 
 free to meet his wife. 
 
 George Drummond had determined for some little time to ask 
 D'Arcy about his love for Heloise. He had delayed doing so 
 because he was afraid. He saw that they admired one another. 
 
 Yet it would be better surely to speak to him about it. He 
 resolved to do so, and at ten o'clock one night he came down to 
 D'Arcy 's rooms to speak about the matter. 
 
 D'Arcy was not in his sitting-room, but the door of his bed- 
 room was open. There were two people talking and laughing 
 there ; one of them was D'Arcy, the other Heloise. D'Arcy was 
 sitting in a chair, and Heloise was standing behind him, brush- 
 ing his hair. George slid out of the room without making a 
 sound. 
 
 Life was now of no value to him. Look at it for yourself, 
 reader ; conceive how unutterably horrible it would be in your own 
 case, and think well of him. In some men such a thing would 
 have produced brutality, ferocity: in him it only produced heroism; 
 and, we think, heroism of the highest kind. 
 
 With D'Arcy and Heloise we will trouble you very little. We 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 243 
 
 do not think that there is anything very much to trouble about 
 with them. We only ask you to go forward with George 
 Drummond. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GEORGE DRUMMOND TAKES CHARGE OF BARRI. 
 
 All things, as the Scotch say, seemed to be put past him. He 
 had never loved any woman but Heloise, and she — it was not to 
 be borne, and yet it must be. That that frank, beautiful crea- 
 ture should be unfit to be named was horrible. Yet she was talk- 
 ing familiarly to his friend in his friend's bedroom. He had seen 
 it with his own eyes ; he saw it through the open door, against 
 his will. She was in his bedroom, brushing his hair, late at 
 night. French manners might be free, but never so free as that. 
 To us, who know the truth, the matter is harmless enough, but to 
 him it was unbearable. 
 
 He also heard her say to him, "You have inked your cuff 
 again, you very imbecile noodle ; you lay your pen down on the 
 desk, and then put your arm in the ink. You are incomparably 
 foolish." 
 
 So it was all over, as he told Lord Festiniog. It was neces- 
 sary to shape out some new life for himself. 
 
 What career was there conceivable for him ? What should he 
 do now ? He had partially failed at the university, and he had 
 hopelessly failed in love. Could he trust a woman after his ex- 
 perience of Heloise ? He thought not. He put women aside 
 altogether, and thought, once more, of a career in life. 
 
 But for whom ? As a totally unselfish person, he could not 
 decide. 
 
 He had got to be very fond of Mrs. Arnaud, but, when all was 
 said and done, what was she ? A handsome milliner, nothing 
 more. Yet, sometimes, he remembered that she had ventured to 
 kiss him, and that he liked her doing so. He rambled on in idle 
 thought of this kind, and ended by wishing that he was king of 
 England, under which circumstances he fancied that he could put 
 all things right. Then he went to sleep, and was awakened late 
 in the morning by Barri rousing him out of bed with Mrs. Arnaud 's 
 dog, and requesting to be taken to the Crystal Palace, dog and 
 all. 
 
244 NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 
 
 He took Barri to the Crystal Palace, and they had a long day 
 together. It was after this that he spoke to Lord Festiniog. 
 That excellent old man gave him all the comfort in his power, 
 hut it was none. He moped and brooded by himself a great deal, 
 dreading to meet either D'Arcy or Heloise, who seemed also to 
 avoid him. As for Mrs. Arnaud, though he liked her, and she 
 liked him, he dared not he much with her after what he had dis- 
 covered about her niece. The responsibility was too heavy. He 
 made a certain discovery also, without interchanging a word. 
 That woman Rachel knew what was going on between D'Arcy and 
 Heloise : she looked so guiltily at him. Yet, could he speak and 
 warn Mrs. Arnaud ? He was the very la ?t man who could possibly 
 do so. 
 
 The boy Barri had always taken very kindly to him, and now 
 they got greater friends than ever. Lord Festiniog had said to 
 George Drummond that he would abuse George to Rhyader, in 
 order to make sure that that gentleman would get to like him in 
 consequence. He did nothing of the kind, however, but praised 
 George so steadily that Lord and Lady Ehyader saw much more 
 of him, and got to appreciate him. 
 
 He was very much with them after a short time. The truth 
 which he supposed that he knew about Heloise drove him from 
 Number Seventeen almost entirely, and he found in his new 
 friends, who had been old acquaintances, people much more kindly 
 and agreeable than he had ever thought. He never mentioned 
 his terrible disappointment, but Lord Festiniog hinted enough 
 about it to make them pity him, and to render them very kind 
 to him. 
 
 He seemed to make a home at Festiniog House ; and his father 
 approved of his doing so. Drummond said that George would 
 get into good society, might make a man of the world, might 
 make useful friends — might, in fact, do everything except what 
 he, Drummond, wished to be done. 
 
 What was that ? Time only can tell. 
 
 George saw his father frequently ; and the more he saw of him, 
 the more he was puzzled. His father, Drummond, who had always 
 been frank and kind to him, now became a perfect sphinx. He 
 tried to talk to him about strange things ; things which George 
 had never heard of before. He said something so very odd one 
 day that George came to the conclusion that his father was getting 
 a little mad, and that he could not trust him. 
 
 It was a curious thing for a son to do about his father, but he 
 did it. He consulted Lord Festiniog. He asked that gentleman 
 if he could tell him anything about his grandfather. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 245 
 
 Lord Festiniog was very loath to say anything at first, and 
 wished to change the subject. But George Drummond stuck to 
 his point, and at last Lord Festiniog told him the truth. 
 
 " My dear young friend," he said. " Providence afflicts in 
 various ways. You ask about your grandfather. Will you ask 
 about mine ? " 
 
 " No, my lord." 
 
 " Very well, then, I suppose I must tell you about both of them. 
 My grandfather was a hopeless criminal, a man who, in these 
 purer times, is never named. Yours, my poor boy, was a lunatic, 
 and died in Bedlam." 
 
 " Have you ever, my lord, seen any symptoms of lunacy in my 
 father?" 
 
 "No," said Lord Festiniog. "Madness misses a generation. 
 It is your turn, not his." 
 
 " I think that my turn has come, for there are matters which I 
 cannot understand . ' ' 
 
 " There is no doubt about that," said Lord Festiniog. " I 
 should conceive that you were as mad as a hatter. I am not 
 excessively sane, myself; in fact, I fancy that I am going mad. 
 Do not you think that a little change would be good for you ? it 
 might keep off the disease, you know. What is it, after all ? 
 merely congenital tubercular disease of the brain ; I expect that I 
 have got it. Now, we will talk no more nonsense. What do you 
 think of me, George ? " 
 
 " I think of you — well, give me time — I think of you first as a 
 kind patron." 
 
 "Yes, but what more ? " 
 
 "What more?" said George Drummond, "that is a curious 
 question. Do you mean personally ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I think of you as a very excellent nobleman. As a Radical 
 myself," he said, smiling, "I object to noblemen theoretically, 
 but I go as far as to say that I think that if all noblemen were 
 like yourself, we should require no Reform Bills. But, then, you 
 see they are not." 
 
 "Quite so," said Lord Festiniog, "you will get over this 
 Radicalism in time ; if you do not, it will sit very pleasantly on 
 you. Well, now, I see you trust me, and will do as I ask you. I 
 want you to do something for me." 
 
 "It is done, my lord." 
 
 " No, it is not, George. It has to be done." 
 
 " Mention it then." 
 
 " Take away this boy Barri for us. Be his tutor. Get 
 
246 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 him entirely out of the way, and answer for his life with your 
 own." 
 
 " This is very puzzling, my lord." 
 
 " Yes, as a matter of course it is puzzling," said Lord Festiniog, 
 " you need hardly remark that. I want you to take away this 
 boy, for a time, until I can see into matters." 
 
 " What matters, my lord ? " 
 
 " I really hardly know myself," said he. 
 
 " I could not do anything without my father's consent, my 
 lord." 
 
 " Who asked you ? I only ask you to take the hoy away while 
 I deal with the woman." 
 
 " What woman ? " 
 
 " I am coming to that : now I have been appealed to by two 
 young people to break a matter to you, and ask your confidence. 
 You had reason to suspect that a flirtation was on between D'Arcy 
 and Heloise." 
 
 " How could you know that ? " 
 
 " Rachel, the spy and confidant, saw you coming from D'Arcy's 
 room on one occasion. She informed them of the fact, and, after 
 considerable deliberation, they came to me as one having some 
 weight, and asked me to break the truth to you. They were 
 married in Paris four months a° - o." 
 
 o 
 
 " Married ! And does Mrs. Arnaud know ? " 
 
 " Not a word. I am to have the inestimable privilege of telling 
 her, when Mrs. D'Arcy overcomes her almost unreasonable repug- 
 nance to my doing so." 
 
 " Well ! " he said with a sigh, " I am glad that she was honest. 
 But, however, the sooner I am away, the better." 
 
 "I am glad that you see that. She is a good young woman, 
 of whom you should never think again. I don't exactly see, now 
 that I know all, what there is in her ; but she drives the young 
 fellows mad." 
 
 "Well! " 
 
 " ' Well,' is not much to say to a man in my position. You 
 should say, ' Well, my lord,' or, ' I profoundly appreciate and 
 esteem your lordship's confidence,' or, ' You are an old noodle and 
 are frightening yourself about nothing ' ; anything but ' Well.' ' 
 
 " I don't know what you are driving at, my lord." 
 
 "How, on earth, can I tell you if I do not know myself? I 
 cannot confide to Rhyader and his wife, they would either laugh 
 at me, or have a series of fits, or do something or another 
 ridiculous. I want the boy taken away, and I want you to do it," 
 
 " Is there any danger to him ? " 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 247 
 
 " I think so. I have received anonymous letters which puzzle 
 me. It seems a very strange thing for an old man like myself to 
 tell you in broad daylight, in this most prosaic and, I might say, 
 police-ridden town, London — but I fear that the boy's life is in 
 danger." 
 
 " That is very strange. My dear lord, you must have some 
 reason for speaking. Is it not some scheme to extort money? " 
 
 11 Why, apparently not ; that is one of the puzzles of it ; not a 
 stiver of money has been demanded of me. I am only warned 
 that the boy's life is in danger, and that he had better be got out 
 of London." 
 
 11 But no one can have any interest in the boy's harm. It seems 
 absurd to ask, but you positively have no other heir ? ' ' 
 
 " None. The boy Barri is the last descendant, in the male 
 line, of the sister of Giraldus Cambrensis. The title is extinct 
 with him, and the estates might be left by Rhyader to build a 
 church if anything happened to Barri." 
 
 "I faney — only fancy — this, Lord Festiniog. There must be 
 some collateral branch, the representatives of which are unscru- 
 pulous. Some conscientious person has found out what they aim 
 at, and has warned you." 
 
 " Man ! man ! there is no collateral branch. The head of the 
 Barrys might try some wild claim, but he and all his family are 
 pre-eminently respectable, and besides, we have not been even 
 related for three hundred years." 
 
 " Some old charter may exist," said George Drummond. 
 
 " That answers itself. If that is the case, why was the claim 
 not made on my accession, or why is it not made now ? " 
 
 That seemed unanswerable. George Drummond resumed the 
 conversation by saying, 
 
 " Well, Lord Festiniog, I am deeply attached to Barri, and he 
 to me. I will take him anywhere you like, and leave you and 
 Lord Rhyader to solve the mystery, for I am fairly puzzled. 
 Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Take him to France and teach him the language, or indeed, 
 anywhere you like. As for money, I find that." 
 
 " WiU Lord Rhyader not object ? " 
 
 " Why, no," said Lord Festiniog, rubbing his chin. 
 
 " The fact is that Barri is too lively for them, when he is at 
 home, and I fancy that they would not object to have him else- 
 where. They have no vitality, and Barri has too much. There 
 will be no difficulty there, particularly as I pay. Rhyader is a 
 screw, and if he can give his boy a foreign tour for nothing, he is 
 the very man to acquiesce. She won't offer any opposition I 
 
218 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 warrant you. But mind that you and I are in entire confidence ; 
 not a word of what I have said to you must escape your mouth." 
 " You may trust me entirely," said George Drummond ; and so 
 the thing was settled. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TUTOR AND PUPIL. 
 
 " Barri," said George to him, as he met him at the door next 
 morning, " I want to speak to you very seriously ; what are you 
 learning at school ? ' ' 
 
 Barri enumerated all human knowledge as given in the cele- 
 brated summary of Plato, and mentioned, moreover, French and 
 German, in addition to the accomplishments of the ancient Greek 
 philosophers ; the fact being, that he knew nothing, except how 
 to ride, to swim, to row, and to fight, and even those things in- 
 differently. He was not a fool, and tolerably diligent, but he had 
 desired to be everything, and was nothing. Lord Festiniog said 
 that he had got such a smattering of everything that he would 
 make a most admirable third-rate debater, and would consequently 
 come to an evil end. 
 
 George walked with him along the street towards the Regent's 
 Park, and insisted on speaking French to him. The boy could 
 understand him after one or two repetitions, but he could not 
 answer him. 
 
 " In your position," said George, " you ought, at least, to have 
 French at your fingers' ends ; and you can't talk it." 
 
 " I could learn to talk it," said Barri, " if I went abroad." 
 
 " Would you like to go abroad ? " said George. 
 
 " Yes, I should, very much." 
 
 " Would you like to go abroad with me ? " 
 
 " That would be too good a thing even to dream of," said Barri. 
 
 " My boy, we all dream. I have dreamt a little too much, and 
 my dream has not come true." 
 
 "Ay! " said Barri, " you mean about Heloise ; but you will 
 dream about some one else some day, and your dream will come 
 most perfectly true." 
 
 " So you think, my child. But are you ready to come abroad 
 with me ? " 
 
 "You are the only man I ever cared about," said Barri, " ex- 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 249 
 
 cept, of course, my father and your father. But what is the use 
 of talking about it ? It cannot he done. Father would not mind : 
 I don't think that he can call his soul his own. Mamma would 
 not mind very much, because I know she likes me to be away 
 sometimes. She would be sorry if anything happened to me, but 
 I am not good company for her, as I know too well. Grandpa 
 likes me, and would never trust me out of his sight. He is lord 
 and master, and he would never consent for an instant." 
 
 "But, Barri," said George, "he desires it." 
 
 " All right," said Barri ; " I have nothing more to say. If he 
 chooses to make me happy, I shall offer no objection. I don't 
 believe that pa is grandpa's son." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don't know; they are so utterly different. Pa does not 
 care so much about me as grandpa does." 
 
 " Well, you are not a very easy subject, Barri. You are very 
 rude." 
 
 " Was I ever rude to you or grandpa ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " That was because you or grandpa were never rude to me. 
 My father and mother always are. Q. E. D. I should like to go 
 abroad with you. You will be kind to me, will you not ? " 
 
 " Did you ever know me to be unkind ? " 
 
 " Why, no ; but you never can tell. We shall get more 
 familiar,* perhaps, and shall forget small civilities. I believe that 
 my father and mother are devoted to one another, yet they are 
 always quarrelling. 
 
 "I don't think that you are right in saying that, Barri." 
 
 " Well," said the boy, misunderstanding him ; " perhaps I am 
 not. They never quarrel, but they often disagree. She is always 
 ready to be down on him if he says or does anything wrong ; and 
 he would, at times, resent it if he had the pluck. He has not, 
 you know. I have. He is always at his books, and she hates 
 his books: she can't understand them. It is all very well," 
 continued this young schoolboy, " talking about marriage, but I 
 consider that it is a mistake, myself. My father and mother 
 would have been much better apart." 
 
 " I should think so, or you would not have been born." 
 
 " That is the kind of thing," said Barri, " that they say to one 
 another, and in my presence too. I don't wonder at it. They 
 have neither of them got anything to do, and so they quarrel. If 
 they would both turn Turk together and defy the Pope, they would 
 get* on most excellently. But then, you see, they will not. They 
 spend their lives in disagreeing about small things ; if they could 
 
250 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 agree about one large one, there would be no happier couple in 
 the world. I wish they would both turn Koman Catholics." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " Because I would not, and then they would have a point of 
 agreement at my expense. I assure you, George Drummond, 
 that I love them, but I do not think that they are very fond of 
 me." 
 
 " Now, Barri, you must listen to me. You are coming away 
 with me through Europe as my pupil, and you must obey me in 
 every particular. You have got a little habit in your little head 
 which must be got rid of. I say must, and I will be obeyed ; you 
 mind that. You are a sharp boy — a most objectionable thing to 
 begin with ; and you will turn out to be a sharp man — a horror 
 not to be contemplated. You are beginning badly. You know a 
 vast deal more than you ought to. What you have said about 
 your father and mother is very smart, but you ought never to 
 have said it. It was not gentlemanly." 
 
 Barri looked up in his face, and said, " Nobody likes me. I 
 wish that some one would. I thought that you would. And I 
 sha'n't die for so many years : it seems hard that nobody should 
 like me. Put it to yourself, George. I have done no harm ; I 
 have only spoken the truth, and yet I am alone in the world. 
 Even you have gone from me. I have no one now. Yes, I have 
 aunt Arnaud. I will go to her ; ay, and there is grandpa too. 
 Let me go to them." 
 
 " Won't you stay with me, Barri ? " said George Drummond ; 
 " you say that you are alone. Is your loneliness to be compared 
 with mine ? I will be your slave, if you like, but don't leave me 
 now, for I want a companion." 
 
 The boy was puzzled. The mentor and tutor of five minutes 
 before was, morally, at his feet. He could not understand the 
 matter at all, but his instinct told him what to say and to do. 
 
 ''George Drummond," he said, "be my friend, and make a 
 man of me. I will follow you anywhere, and do anything which 
 you tell me. But you must not bully me. I have had too much 
 of that, and am in rebellion. Go anywhere, and I will follow you. 
 You are the best friend I have ever made in my life. Take my 
 hand, and let us go where you will." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 CONFIDENCE BETWEEN MRS. ARNAUD AND GEORGE DRUMMOND. 
 
 George Drummond went about London that afternoon, making 
 inquiries about steamboats, outfits, expenses, and so on. He 
 arrived about nine before No. 17, without the -wildest idea of any 
 result in his head. He had been thinking continually about 
 Barri, and had neglected to put his latch-key in its proper place, 
 and so, when he arrived before the door, he had to knock. 
 
 The door was opened by Rachel, who promptly informed him 
 that Mrs. Arnaud desired to see him at once. 
 
 Why ? Who could tell ? He was so thoroughly puzzled by 
 the day's proceedings, that he did not much care. But he had 
 an instinct that a new mine was going to be exploded under his 
 feet. He went into the back- parlour, in which he understood that 
 good lady was, and she saved him all trouble. 
 
 "Mr. Drummond," she said, "do you know anything about 
 this?" 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Arnaud," he said, " you are the very woman I 
 should have wished to speak to about this painful and, I think, 
 absurd matter. You must hold me blameless." 
 
 "Undoubtedly. I never suspected you for an instant. The 
 plot was executed before poor silly people, like you and myself, 
 knew anything about it." 
 
 "Executed! Mrs. Arnaud. You are out of your mind. 
 There is no fear as long as I am alive of such a thing 
 happening." 
 
 "It is done, however," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 " Now, make your mind easy, my dear madam. Assassinations 
 are more often talked of than done. Read history, and see how 
 seldom they succeed. Out of my own reading I could give you 
 ten instances, and by going to the London Library I could give 
 you twenty more. The boy is perfectly safe." 
 
 " I do not understand you, Mr. Drummond. Of what are you 
 speaking? " 
 
 " Why, of the proposed murder of Barri, of course. I fancied 
 that you knew all about it, but I suppose that I have let the cat 
 out of the bag." 
 
 " The murder of Barri," said Mrs. Arnaud. " Have you been 
 drinking, Mr. Drummond ? No, I withdraw that inquiry ; you 
 never do. Who can possibly want to assassinate Barri ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no one," said George. " I was mad ; but I am not so 
 
252 NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 
 
 now. Possibly you will tell me what is the matter ; I thought you 
 had a clue to something else. Now, go on." 
 
 " You were very much attracted by Heloise, were you not ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " She has been married to D'Arcy these four months. That is 
 all." 
 
 " Exactly. Well, I have known that since the morning, and I 
 am not dead." 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 " Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " Who told him ? " 
 
 " They told him themselves, by the advice, I believe, of Rachel, 
 who was their confidant." 
 
 " Hem ! " said Mrs. Arnaud. " Then she knew. Well, they 
 are gone away now, and so long as you are satisfied, of course I 
 have nothing to say. You seem very easily satisfied. I hate being 
 deceived, myself. Now, we naturally come to this ridiculous 
 nonsense about the murder of Barri. What is it ? " 
 
 " I'll be burned alive if I can tell you. There is no object for 
 it. I have let out so much that I may be as well hung for a sheep 
 as a lamb. Lord Festiniog believes in it, and has asked me to 
 take the boy abroad. I am going to do so." 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud bent her head down, and remained in thought for 
 some time. Once or twice, George Drummond said something, 
 but she grew impatient with him. At last she said, 
 
 " I have the key to this somewhere, but I must find it. Take 
 the boy abroad, and at once, and leave everything to me. If I 
 seem to do anything wrong, believe the best of me. I only desire 
 to do right. I tell you, George Drummond, that I suspect that a 
 certain woman, whom your father and I know, is at the bottom of 
 all this. This comes with other things which I am utterly unable 
 to understand. I only suspect an entire impossibility. Mind, I 
 will never injure your father ; only, I will do my duty by the 
 family which has, on the whole, treated me so kindly and so well. 
 Meanwhile, kiss me, George Drummond, for your own mother 
 never could have loved you better than I do." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MRS. ARNAUD TELLS A LIE TO DRUMMOND. 
 
 George and Barri went away to do the tour of the Continent 
 together, and No. 17 saw them no more. D'Arcy and Heloise 
 were gone, and Mrs. Arnaud was left alone with Rachel. 
 
 She had never been so much alone before. Rachel, " excellent 
 woman," was no company to her, for Mrs. Arnaud thought she 
 had been deceived by her in the matter of D'Arcy's marriage ; 
 and, besides, she was not a woman who could talk to servants. 
 In her old semi-religious life she had always had some one to talk 
 to, and to confide in ; now, she had no one except Lord Festiniog. 
 She was even deprived of him now, for a change of ministry 
 occurred, and he was, to his own astonishment, and that of the 
 world, asked to take a rather high position. He came to her 
 one night, and told her that he did not think they would last a 
 month. "Fancy," he said, "putting me in office and passing 
 over Rhyader. I don't know anything about it. I can speak a 
 little ; but I never attended to politics. I suppose you see that 
 James Drummond is going into parliament ; that is a new idea. 
 Have you seen him ? " 
 
 "Why, no," said Mrs. Arnaud; "his election has made him 
 very busy. I shall see him in a day or two. Any news from 
 Barri, and his son ? " 
 
 "Yes, nothing but good; they seem to get on charmingly 
 together, and they are going to the south of Italy." 
 
 " I will get their address, and write to George Drummond. He 
 might go and see my poor child's grave at Ravenna." 
 
 " Well thought of, Mary, but I won't have the boy taken there. 
 It is an unhealthy hole of a place." 
 
 "I hate the name of it," said Mrs. Arnaud, "but George 
 Drummond would, I know, go there and lay a wreath on the little 
 child's breast." 
 
 " Surely he would. By-the-bye, that woman who was with 
 you there is now living with Drummond as his housekeeper." 
 
 "Is she? I do not care to see her. She recalls the most 
 miserable time of my life. Yet, I liked her, too ; she was very 
 kind to me." 
 
 " If you go to see him you will have to see her; but I wish 
 you would go." 
 
 "It shall be done." And so they separated. 
 
 Drummond had now taken a furnished house in Wilton Cres- 
 
254 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 cent for a year, as befitted a member of parliament. He also had 
 an establishment corresponding to the house ; and so when Mrs. 
 Arnaucl knocked at his door one Sunday afternoon, she was ad- 
 mitted by a butler, with a footman to match, and saw nothing of 
 the dreaded housekeeper. 
 
 He thought that it was some other person, and came out of the 
 dining-room into the hall, before they had time to show her into 
 the drawing-room. He said " Good heavens ! " and she went into 
 the dining-room before him. 
 
 His lunch was not cleared away, and there was a decanter three 
 quarters empty by his plate. She had a dim suspicion that he 
 had been sitting there, alone, drinking. She did not see any 
 signs of it in his manner, but still she thought so. She said at 
 once, " You and I are old acquaintance enough to allow me a 
 liberty, Drunimond. As we are alone, let me have a glass of 
 wine." 
 
 " Bring some sherry at once for Mrs. Arnaud," he said to the 
 butler. 
 
 " Nay, I will take some of what you have there," she said. 
 
 ''Bring the brown sherry directly, and don't stand staring there," 
 was his answer to the butler, who went away. 
 
 " Sit down, Mrs. Arnaud, I cannot tell 'you the pleasure I have 
 in seeing you. 
 
 "Drummond," she said, sitting down, " that is brandy that you 
 are drinking, and there is not a drop of water on the table. I 
 don't want any wine ; I only asked for it to enable me to let you 
 know that I see what you drink." 
 
 "Why should I not drink brandy ?" he said coolly, sitting 
 opposite to her. " I have nothing left to live for in the world." 
 
 " Your son." 
 
 " Oh, that fellow. Yes, but he would be better off if I was 
 dead, would he not ? " 
 
 " There are a few friends who care enough about you, still, to 
 be sorry to see you drink." 
 
 " Do you care about me, then ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed, I assure you that I do. I think you used me 
 ill once, but I have forgotten that. I think you behaved like a 
 bad man to me in saying what you did, when you were married." 
 
 " I was not married at that time, Mary." 
 
 " My good friend, you know that you were." 
 
 "I will swear that I was not, though, and I will swear that I 
 was never married in my life." 
 
 " That only makes matters worse then ; but I have not come 
 here to discuss your private affairs, I come to consult you." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 255 
 
 "As a friend? " 
 
 " Scarcely as an enemy, or I should not be here at all." 
 
 " Can I ever be more than a friend to you, Mary ? " 
 
 She let him call her so ; she did worse ; she did what never 
 could be excused ; she said, 
 
 " It is not a time to talk about that. I do not say but that it 
 might be possible in the future." 
 
 What were her motives in telling such a falsehood ? She had 
 as much idea of marrying the man as she had of marrying Lord 
 Festiniog. Her motives were not high, we fear. She liked being 
 admired by the man ; she liked to see her power over him ; and 
 her curiosity was strong. She suspected that he knew something 
 which she desired to know, or that, at all events he could find it out 
 for her, and so oblige Lord Festiniog, whom she liked very much : 
 there was simply no other motive for her leading the wretched man 
 on. And yet, the usual tenor of that woman's life had been before, 
 and was again, perfectly truthful and loyal. 
 
 " I will die for you, Mary, if you choose." 
 
 "I do not desire that, I want your advice and your assistance, 
 that is all." 
 
 " They are freely given. May I kiss your hand ? " 
 
 She thought, and said, " No." 
 
 " That will be for the future, I hope," he said, " Now, let me 
 know what you wish." 
 
 " Well, then, Lord Festiniog seems to me a little mad." 
 
 " Well, he will make a good mess in office, but he is certainly 
 sane." 
 
 " Well, you know best. He says that some one wants to kill 
 Barri, and that is why he has sent him away with George." 
 
 " That is very odd," he said, looking straight at her. " Who, 
 on earth, could possibly want to kill the boy ? " 
 
 11 1 thought that you might find out," she said. 
 
 " Do you wish it found out ? " said he. 
 
 "I do, very much. Can you find it out if you choose ? " 
 
 "My dear Mary, all things can be found out if people choose 
 to give information. If I find this out, shall I stand more highly 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Indeed you would ; but I commit myself to nothing." 
 
 " Not at all. I will go to work." 
 
 " I thank you." And so she went. 
 
256 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DRUMMOND AND CARLINA. 
 
 The door had scarcely shut upon her, when the smiling lawyer, 
 Drunimond, began walking up and down the room, more like a 
 lunatic than the extremely keen, cold-blooded man he was. The 
 butler came in and asked if he should clear away. Drummond 
 swore at him and ordered him away. The butler went downstairs 
 and swore to the footman, not at him. The butler swore that 
 there was not a better master in England than Mr. Drummond, 
 and the footman agreed. For Drummond, with all his villainies, 
 was a very kind man. He used to tell a most intimate acquaint- 
 ance that he could not bear the sight of sin or sorrow He com- 
 mitted a vast deal of the one, and saw much of the other. 
 
 What was he to do now ? — that was the question before him. 
 His aim in life had been to marry Mrs. Arnaud. He had risked 
 his liberty for that ; he had become a criminal for that ; now the 
 chance, as he thought, had come, and he dared not act. If he 
 told her the truth, she would repudiate him ; if he withheld the 
 truth, what chance had he ? She might, at any moment, say that 
 he had continued to deceive her after her confidence with him ; 
 and he would be as far away from her as ever. 
 
 He sat back in his chair, and thought. He was a man eternally 
 thinking and never acting. The time had come for him to act, 
 and to act in the most decisive manner, and yet he could not. 
 
 A lie, nay more, a felony had been on his mind for nearly twenty 
 years. That fact had made him drink at night, and go to sleep 
 forgetting the matter. But if a man drinks at night he is crapu- 
 lous in the morning, and so Drunimond always woke with a 
 nightmare more ghastly than any which came to him in his 
 dreams. 
 
 He wanted to marry Mrs. Arnaud. Why ? That is beyond 
 our power to tell. There was nothing very particular about Mrs. 
 Arnaud. We know her well, but she has nothing about her to 
 make a man desire to marry her. She is a fine showy woman 
 with every possible good quality, save that of consistent truthful- 
 ness. But the man who desired, or desires, to marry Mrs. Arnaud, 
 was, or is, a thoughtless man. Consequently, James Drunimond 
 was a thoughtless man. 
 
 She would have made him a good wife. Certainly, but for how 
 long ? She would have cured him of all evil habits, such as that 
 of drinking, but again, for how long ? It is impossible to say, 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 257 
 
 because she never married him. We will return to him as he sat 
 after she had left him — begging pardon for the digression. 
 
 When he looked up, Mrs. Arriaud was not in the chair before 
 him. Silently, another woman had come into the room, and was 
 sitting before him. 
 
 " Is that you, Carlina ? " he said. 
 
 " I suppose that I am one of the most unmistakable people in 
 the world, and this is I," she replied. 
 
 Most unmistakable, assuredly. A handsome, very splendid 
 woman. She had a shawl over her head, which made her face look 
 more square and resolute than it would have looked had the vast 
 mass of her coarse hair been freely falling about her shoulders, as 
 was usually the case. 
 
 " Have you come here to plague me ? " said Drummond. 
 
 " Yes," said the woman, Carlina. " I suppose you do not love 
 me?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " You love that woman still, I fear? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What are you going to do about the matter? I will never 
 hurt you, you know ; but what will you do ? " 
 
 " Carlina, shall I tell her the truth? Should I win her by — 
 that way?" 
 
 " I cannot tell you. What on earth is in the woman ? I have 
 seen her, and I cannot see anything in her. Well, come Drum- 
 mond, I will tell you what I am going to do with you. I am 
 going to tell the truth." 
 
 " You would not do such a thing as that ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Carlina. " It might be worth my while 
 to do so. I might make terms with Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " That would be sheer treachery," said Drummond. 
 
 " How have I been treated, Drummond ? I ask you how ? " 
 said Carlina. "Man, there are things which you and I dare not 
 talk of, even to one another. One thing, and one thing only, is 
 in common between us, and that is the Ravenna business." 
 
 "No one knows anything more about that than we do," said 
 Drummond. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Carlina. "The whole matter is 
 known perfectly well at Ravenna. I can assure you of that fact. 
 In Italy, people can know as much or as little as they like. A 
 scandal like that cannot be hidden." 
 
 " But, woman, George is going to Ravenna. Old Festiniog has 
 told me so to-day ; I do not know if the boy is going. George 
 goes." 
 
 18 
 
258 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " To dig himself up ? " said Carlina. 
 
 James Drummond was not beyond a joke yet. He replied, 
 
 " No, to lay a wreath on his own grave. Mary has asked him 
 to do so. Lord Festiniog, as I said, told me so to-day." 
 
 " The farce might get into a tragedy," said Carlina. " Come, 
 take my advice, and make a clear breast of it. What can you 
 possibly gain by keeping the secret ? " 
 
 " Power over Mary." 
 
 " That is to be thought of," said Carlina. " I would not pay 
 this price for any man in the world that you are paying for that 
 woman." 
 
 " Women cannot love," said Drummond. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Carlina. "Well, I go to another point; 
 you have no power over this woman, none on earth. Knowing 
 what we know, Barri always stands between yon and any power over 
 her." 
 
 " Remove Barri." 
 
 "He is in Italy, certainly," said Carlina; "but, even there, 
 murder is expensive and dangerous. The removal of Barri is 
 nonsense. Why cannot you be quiet over the matter, at least for 
 a time ? I am puzzled myself. If you tell the truth she might hate 
 you ; and if you lied, and she found out the truth afterwards, she 
 would hate you still more. One way or another, I don't think that 
 she will ever marry you." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 LORD FESTINIOG MAKES HIS REVELATION. 
 
 Although Lady Rhyader and Lord Festiniog had many polite 
 quarrels, they liked one another as well as relations generally do. 
 In France, as far as we have observed, relations and connections 
 are very scrupulously polite to one another ; in our dear little 
 island, relations, particularly if they are religious, find it necessary 
 to do their duty by being rude, and saying things which no one 
 else would dare to say. That is all for the best, no doubt, although 
 the people in Massachusetts and Vermont do not think so. To 
 avoid being led into an essay on the matter, we merely come back 
 to the simple fact that Lord Festiniog and Lady Rhyader quarrel- 
 led continually, but liked one another tolerably well. 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 259 
 
 They discussed matters very much. She was not a bad-tempered 
 woman, hut she thought it her duty to he always in mild opposition 
 to the ruling power, whether that power was represented by her 
 husband or her father-in-law. Her belief was that Rhyader was 
 the wisest of human beings, but that he never must be allowed to 
 find it out ; consequently, they nagged at one another continually. 
 The theory which she advanced to her father-in-law and the world 
 was that he was a fool, who would be nothing without her. She 
 had a profound belief in Lord Festiniog, though she would have 
 died sooner than tell him so. She was an excellent little lady, 
 but was totally unequal to a crisis. 
 
 One came," and she never put the matter before her husband; 
 for although she would fight him at times on small matters, 
 she yet was, at heart, afraid of him. She took it straight 
 to Lord Festiniog. Possibly it was the best thing she could 
 have done, for he was in possession of more facts than Lord 
 Rhyader. 
 
 Lord Festiniog was at breakfast one morning, with his Times, 
 enjoying himself thoroughly, when his valet threw open the door, 
 and announced Lady Rhyader. 
 
 "My dear soul," said Lord Festiniog, sitting carefully on his 
 
 chair, 'and not moving, " what the what, on earth, is the 
 
 matter?" 
 
 " My boy," said Lady Rhyader, sinking into a chair. 
 
 "What! Barri?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What has he been doing ? " 
 
 " Get up, and take this letter from me." 
 
 " I can't. Why do you come bursting into my dressing-room 
 like a lunatic ? Bring it to me." 
 
 Lady Rhyader rammed a letter down before him, retired to her 
 chair, and burst into tears. 
 
 She thought that he would be impressed with the letter. He 
 did not appear to be so at all. " This," he said, " is part of the 
 nonsense which I have heard before." 
 
 " Do you believe in it ? " said Lady Rhyader. 
 
 " Partially," said Lord Festiniog. " Have you told Rhyader 
 about it?"' 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That is a pity," said Lord Festiniog. "Would you mind 
 going away ? — because the fact is that I intend to walk through 
 the whole "of this business with a high hand, and I have not got 
 my trousers on. The boy Barri shall be safe : no one shall touch 
 him." 
 
2G0 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " But, Lord Festiniog, do you believe this ? Is it possible that 
 the woman's words can be true? " 
 
 " I can't tell you," said Lord Festiniog. "James Drummond 
 has lied to me more than once, and may have lied now. The 
 woman does not seem to have lied. And, all said and done, Alice, 
 what, in the name of confusion, does it matter ? What can possibly 
 befall Barri ? " 
 
 " He is going to Ravenna with George Drummond." 
 
 " Well, I wish he would go anywhere else," said Lord Festiniog, 
 " it is a most unhealthy place." 
 
 " Truly ; and if he finds out the truth, which this woman says 
 is perfectly well known there, what a safe nurse he would be for 
 the boy." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, Alice ; you would never suspect him ? " 
 
 "What did you know of him before you entrusted my son to 
 his care? " 
 
 " I don't know very much of him," said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 "Any one is good enough for Barri, I suppose," she replied, 
 angrily ; " his father is a dear saint according to this woman — is 
 he not ? His virtues may be hereditary." 
 
 " I cannot distrust him." 
 
 " Of course not," she said, scornfully. 
 
 "Now go away," he said, "let me dress, and I will see all 
 about it. Meanwhile I will telegraph to stop them going near the 
 place. I will do everything which can be done, but you must let 
 me do it in my own way. Now, go and tell Rhyader ; you ought 
 to have told him first." 
 
 She went, and Lord Festiniog dressed hastily, and ordered his 
 carriage. His valet noticed that he was extremely disturbed ; he 
 drove to the nearest telegraph-office, and was there for a short 
 time ; he had sent a message to Rome, requiring George Drum- 
 mond not to approach Ravenna, for that it was most unhealthy in 
 the autumn ; he was, however, too late here, though he did not 
 know it : then he got into his carriage again, and told the coach- 
 man to drive to Ravenna. 
 
 "To where, my lord ? " 
 
 " To Ravenna — I mean, to No. 17." 
 
 ' ' In which street, my lord ? ' ' 
 
 " Fool, are there two number seventeens in the world ? There 
 is but one, that in Hartley Street, and I wish that it had been 
 burnt down before I saw it." 
 
 All this temper and haste had entirely disappeared before he 
 got there. Like a perfect gentleman, as he was, he apologised to 
 his coachman, when he got out, for calling him a fool. He 
 knocked at the private door, and was admitted by Rachel. 
 
NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 261 
 
 " Is your mistress at home ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, but Mr. Drummoncl is with her in the back-parlour." 
 
 He at once went out and told his coachman to drive into the 
 square and wait for him, and then, putting a sovereign into 
 Rachel's hand, he bade her silently show him upstairs into Mrs. 
 Arnaud's private apartments. 
 
 Rachel was one of those extremely honest and crusty people, so 
 much admired for their frankness, who could have risked her soul 
 for a couple of pounds ; more dangerous humbugs do not exist ; 
 that sainted piece of virtue slipped Lord Festiniog past the parlour- 
 door and up the staircase with the speed and dexterity of an 
 experienced Spanish duenna. 
 
 When Mrs. Arnaud came up after her interview with Drum- 
 mond, she started to find Lord Festiniog there, standing before 
 the fire. 
 
 " How on earth did you get here ? " 
 
 " I bribed your servant with a sovereign. Keep that woman, 
 she is simply worth her weight in gold." 
 
 " I have a good mind to send her to the rightabout." 
 
 " Don't do that," said Lord Festiniog. " Never part with ser- 
 vants who will tell everything they know for money ; they are 
 invaluable. I cannot get them. That woman might be useful. 
 Now sit down to the most important conversation you ever had in 
 your life. To begin with — what has Drummond been saying to 
 you?" 
 
 " That is a very long story to tell, and I am loth to begin it ; 
 still more loth to end it, because the end will lower me in your 
 estimation. I will tell it to you if you like, for you have always 
 been kind to me. The man has always loved me from the first, 
 but I have never cared for him. I never absolutely disliked him, 
 or we should not have been so intimate. He was very good to me 
 abroad, and afterwards I thought him to be a villain, who was 
 paying attention to me when he was married to another. Such, 
 I now find, is not the case. Well, he has been renewing his suit 
 to me." 
 
 " With what success ? It seems strange that he should do so 
 after so many refusals." 
 
 " Well, your family affairs are the cause of it. I felt positively 
 certain that he knew, or could find out something about these 
 extraordinary letters, threatening Barri's life. I wished to get at 
 the truth, and I lied to do it. Now, you will never speak to me 
 any more." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, Mary. How did you lie ? " 
 
 " Not at all in words, but I gave him to think that if he could 
 
262 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 find the matter out for me, I would look more favourably on him. 
 I never meant to do so, but I wanted to get the secret from him." 
 
 ' ' Have you done so ? " 
 
 " No. I cannot get him to speak ; he will not without a decided 
 written promise from me." 
 
 " Which you have not given ? " 
 
 " How could I, with the memory of Iltyd in my heart ? " 
 
 " Oh ! please never mind Iltyd ; he was undoubtedly a saint ; 
 when did you ever hear me say to the contrary ? He was my son ; 
 and I have always stuck by my family, and paid their debts. 
 Gervase might be fifty times the ass he is, but I would stick by 
 him all the same ; Iltyd, however, is dead and buried ; try to for- 
 get him just now, or at least, don't Balmoralise over him." 
 
 " I will not, then. Drummond has said that he will put me in 
 a position I never dreamt of assuming if I would give him the 
 promise of my hand." 
 
 11 What more has he told you ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I have had such a terrible scene with him, Lord 
 Festiniog. He drinks, at times, but just now he is mad." 
 
 " He has not let out the truth to you, then ? " 
 
 " I can't say, I do not know what the truth is. The matter lies 
 in a nutshell : he wants to marry me ; I will not marry him, and 
 he holds some secret." 
 
 " I have found it out, Mary." 
 
 " Thank God, then, I have nothing more to do with it." 
 
 " I fear that you have, Mary," said Lord Festiniog. " Can you 
 cast your mind back to the time when you were at Ravenna ? " 
 
 " Yes. I do not see any difficulty in doing that. I have told 
 you of those times before." 
 
 " Once again go through the facts." 
 
 " Well, I went to Ravenna with Carlina. I had my child with 
 me. I fell ill there. I recovered, and the child died while I was 
 delirious." 
 
 " Drummond was with you ? " 
 
 "Drummond was with me at first ; but it was Carlina who told 
 me of my child's death. Then the doctor confirmed her." 
 
 "Now, Mary, listen to me, and keep your head. Your child 
 never died at all." 
 
 " But I saw his poor little grave." 
 
 " But he did not die for all that." 
 
 " When did he die, then ? " said Mrs. Arnaud, very quietly, but 
 rather — well — dangerously. 
 
 "He is not dead at all," said Lord Festiniog. "That is 
 Drummond's great secret, and I have discovered it." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 263 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud burst out laughing. 
 
 " My lord," she said, " you are perfectly wrong. My poor boy 
 is dead enough." 
 
 " I think that I can prove the contrary," said Lord Festiniog. 
 " I feel sure of it. I have had an interview with Lady Rhyader 
 this morning, who knows what, I think, is the truth, and who is 
 in a state of mind about it ; — she always is in a state of mind, 
 you know — but, previous to her coining, I had an almost over- 
 whelming amount of authority in my hands. I have deceived her, 
 but I will not deceive you. Your child never died at all." 
 
 " Then if you allow that, and also allow my marriage, my son 
 would succeed after Barri's removal." 
 
 " Certainly. James Drummond knows it, and has traded on the 
 fact. You can see that now ? " 
 
 " Perfectly, my lord." 
 
 "Do you remember George Drummond? " 
 
 " My lodger, why not ? " 
 
 "Did you like him?" 
 
 " Yes, surely. He was very kind to me the first night I came 
 here. He was in that miserable mistake about Heloise, and suf- 
 fered for it. I took rather a fancy for him." 
 
 " Mary, that young man is your son." 
 
 There was a dead silence, scarce broken by the passing carriages 
 in the street. She sat with her head bent over the fire, without 
 saying a word. Lord Festiniog rose quietly and withdrew, putting 
 a packet of letters in her hand. When he was gone, she read 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MARY ARNAUD's GREATEST TRIAL. 
 
 They were simply the letters of the woman Carlina, the ex- 
 mistress of Drummond, who had, in a fit of combined jealousy 
 and avarice, put the whole of the facts before Lord Festiniog, 
 and part of them before Lady Rhyader. Nothing did that 
 excellent woman ever write to Gervase. She knew that he would 
 never believe a word of it, true as it was. She was a country- 
 woman of Catherine de Medici, and knew perfectly well what she 
 was doing. 
 
 The facts were most simple. We see, in this excellently 
 
264 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 ordered country of ours, stranger things every day. Drummond 
 wished Mrs. Arnaud to be left alone in the world, and to be 
 dependent on him. He had her child removed. Italy is no 
 better than our unimpeachable England, and no worse. He paid 
 freely, and the child was taken from her. 
 
 Carlina was his agent, but she nearly went too far. He had 
 offered her a large reward to do the thing for him. Knowing the 
 certainty of her falling ill at Ravenna, at a certain time of 
 the year, Carlina had persuaded her to go there. She succeeded 
 perfectly. 
 
 But she was not a woman in the least degree likely to leave 
 herself without witnesses. More people than she, in Ravenna, 
 knew what had been done ; in fact, the matter was so notorious, 
 that she had to divide the money which she got from Drummond 
 amongst those who were in the secret. She always, however, gave 
 Drummond the idea that she was the sole repository of the secret. 
 
 It was only when the people, little better than banditti, whom 
 she had employed, got too pressing for her pocket, that she came 
 to London. Drummond had supplied her with money liberally, 
 but she was getting middle-aged, and the continual calls on her 
 worried her. She came to England with Drummond's money, 
 and used it for the purpose of seeing if she could make a better 
 bargain with Lord Festiniog. It seemed hopeless until she 
 found that Drummond, with whom she renewed her acquaintance, 
 was actually thinking of finding agents to remove Barri. 
 
 Drummond not only loved the mother, but he loved the son. 
 The boy, George Drummond, had been adopted by him, and he, 
 having no children, had taken to the boy. No boy in England 
 had a more affectionate father than George Drummond had in 
 his present father, James Drummond. 
 
 He had it in his power to make the boy a possible earl, and at 
 the same time he had it in his power to lay an overwhelming 
 load of obligations on Mrs. Arnaud. In the last interview with 
 her he had hinted very strongly on the latter point, and asked her 
 to give him a promise of marriage on his parting with a secret 
 which would make her the proudest and happiest woman in 
 England, or leave her a melancholy and wretched woman, of 
 doubtful position, for the remainder of her days. 
 
 She had been playing with him, and she saw on what terribly 
 dangerous ground she had been walking. Not one word had she 
 got out of him about the threats to Barri. He only reiterated 
 that he could discover everything about the matter, if she made 
 him the promise. She ended her trial and his by saying coolly, 
 but with extreme terror, with her hand on the door, 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 265 
 
 "James Drummond, I have made up my mind, at once and 
 for ever. Sooner than marry you I would be found dead some 
 cold morning in the casual ward of the worst workhouse in the 
 city of London." 
 
 "You distinctly encouraged me the other day," he said, 
 hoarsely, yet almost inaudibly. 
 
 "For that forgive me, James. I have made my ultimate 
 resolution now. If you could make me a duchess, nothing would 
 alter it. I am going, and, so, good-bye." 
 
 " Then I must serve you in spite of yourself. Will you shake 
 hands with me before I go ? " 
 
 Her heart melted to him suddenly. She came back, sobbing, 
 and said, " God bless you, James Drummond, for your kindness 
 in old times. May God save you from all evil." 
 
 "God!" he said, taking her hand, "why do not you do it 
 yourself? " 
 
 She broke from him, and went upstairs, to find the whole 
 mystery cleared up by Lord Festiniog. The man who had been 
 her suitor for twenty-five years, to whom she had just been kind 
 in a moment of pity, this man had inflicted on her the most 
 ghastly injury which man could inflict on woman. He had kept his 
 vile secret in his heart, to use against her, all these years ; he had 
 seen her bitter sorrow for her pretty child, and had never relented ; 
 he had professed love to her a hundred times ; but now she saw 
 what kind of love he meant, and cursed her beauty when she 
 thought of it. 
 
 She had no pity on the man, of any sort or kind, but a most 
 furious hatred ; she felt as though she could have held the hand 
 which had just clasped his in the fire. To torture her for all 
 these years ! to let her kneel on an empty grave, and offer up the 
 purest prayers which ever flowed from human heart ! She had 
 prayed on the grave at Ravenna, that when she met Iltyd, purified 
 and ennobled in heaven, her dead child might be with him in the 
 form of a cherub, and that the three might pass into heaven 
 together sanctified. All this, which had been the sentiment of 
 her life, was made foolish, idle, almost absurd, by the selfish lust 
 of a scoundrel. 
 
 Her throat was parched, and her hands were clenched, when 
 she thought of what this man had done to her. More awful 
 things came into her head. God had heard her fruitless prayers 
 for her dead child, and had made no sign. 
 
 It would have been a bad thing for Mr. James Drummond had 
 he come near No. 17 that night. He could never justify himself ; 
 his accomplice, Carlina, had noticed that a certain habit had 
 
266 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 greatly increased upon him lately, and thought that his life was 
 not to be depended on. After his death, she would be completely 
 ruined. She, therefore, like a keen Italian woman, just threw 
 herself into the hands of Lord Festiniog, stated her case com- 
 pletely, of course sparing herself as much as possible, and 
 offered to go to Ravenna to prove it further, which she could 
 easily do. 
 
 There was no doubt about the matter, as Mrs. Arnaud read 
 through the letters which Lord Festiniog had left with her. He 
 seemed satisfied that there was a strong prima facie case, and 
 had the woman in hand. She at once knew it to be true. A 
 hundred acts and hints of Drummond's, a hundred circumstances 
 after her recovery came crowding on her, and made the matter 
 certain for her which might still be doubtful for others. 
 
 Yes, that wretch had violated all that was most tender in her 
 nature, and what had she got in return ? Even that had not 
 been given to her by him, but by the partner of his crime. 
 What had she in place of her beautiful child ? — " George 
 Drummond." 
 
 "What," she said, in her first burst of anger, "was he to 
 her?" Was there any resemblance in him to Iltyd ? She had 
 not seen him enough to judge, and yet she began to see resem- 
 blances in voice, features, and manners. She went to her 
 desk and took out the portraits of her husband and her lost 
 child, and sat before the fire to compare them to George Drum- 
 mond. 
 
 It grew late and dark, but she sat still, brooding over the fire, 
 with the two pictures before her. She tried to pray, once or 
 twice, but she could not. God had allowed her to make fruitless 
 prayers over her dead child, and had made no sign that he was 
 living. The religion which had served her so well, through so 
 many troubles, was suddenly swept away. Mrs. Arnaud went to 
 bed that night, a lonely and desperate woman. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 GEORGE DRUMMOND'S TEMPTATION. 
 
 From London to Antwerp, from Antwerp to Brussels, from 
 Brussels to Namur, from Namur to Luxemburg, went George 
 
NUMBEIi SEVENTEEN. 267 
 
 Drummoncl and Barri. Never were two such hearty companions 
 in this world. Barri was, or seemed to be, in paradise. On only 
 one subject was George at all disagreeable ; he insisted on Barri 
 speaking French every hour of the day before dinner. After 
 dinner Barri might speak English, but before they had gone very 
 far on their journey, Master Barri found French trip so lightly on 
 his tongue that he preferred it, because he was proud of it ; his 
 French was by no means bad, and he had some right to be so. 
 Finding at Strasbourg that German was necessary, he began 
 studying that language, but made little progress in it. 
 
 Basle — the boy complained of Basle as being uncivilised ; but 
 then, by a divergence they made to Interlachen, he began to think 
 more about Switzerland. Then they passed the mountains by 
 the St. Bernard, and saw the monks and the dogs ; then they 
 passed on into Italy, until they came to Rome. 
 
 George Drummond at first had liked Barri as he might have 
 liked half a hundred other boys, though, as a rule, he objected to 
 the general run of boys, as mistakes. Barri, however, gained on 
 him. The boy was shrewd, and would not only accept and under- 
 stand a fact, but would generalise on it. Not always wisely, 
 perhaps, but wisely enough to render an argument necessary, in 
 which case his cousin, unknown as yet as his cousin, got the best, 
 from superior knowledge and, possibly, superior intellect. 
 
 At last there came confidence between them. They were lying 
 together in the ruins of the Coliseum, when Barri said, 
 
 " George, I wish you would confide in me." 
 
 " About what ? " said George Drummond. 
 
 " About Heloise, of course. I know all the trouble you had 
 about her. Why do men like you care so much about women ? 
 I did not care much for her." 
 
 "You cannot understand these things, child," said George 
 Drummond. 
 
 "No; but I could speak to you about them when you were 
 sorry. May I ? For you have been so very kind to me." 
 
 "My poor little Barri," said George Drummond, "you may 
 talk as long as you please about Heloise. I have entirely got 
 over that attachment. I loved her very much for a time, and I 
 think that she made a fool of me. But she is far less to me than 
 you are." 
 
 " That is odd," said Barri. 
 
 "Not at all," said George Drummond. "I have always 
 thought that I should like to form a mind. Ever since I read 
 Plato, I have thought of what the perfect prince or president 
 should be. You are pure and clever, why should you not form 
 
268 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 yourself, young as you are, for the splendid position which you 
 will ultimately occupy ? Boy, if you did so, you might he prime 
 minister of England. Do not speak any more to me ahout 
 Heloise or any such people. I am carving my way in the world 
 with desires and amhition hcfore me, of which you cannot, as yet, 
 dream. Your grandfather is no one ; your father is a fool ; you 
 may do something yet. I would to God I was in your place." 
 
 " I thought that you were still in love," said Bam. 
 
 "That's all gone, my hoy. I want a career. I have more 
 than your ability : I want your prestige. You will he Lord 
 Festiniog ultimately. It is doubtful whether I shall ever he in 
 Parliament at all." 
 
 " But you will he rich, George." 
 
 " Rich. Yes, unless my father makes some fiasco. Suppose 
 he was to die to-morrow and leave me unprovided for ; suppose 
 he was to leave his money — Maxima debetis — elsewhere, where 
 should I be? I don't know what to do, Bam. I am utterly 
 sick of the world." 
 
 " Then come to church," said Barri. 
 
 "I suppose that is the best thing," said George Drammond. 
 " We'll go together." 
 
 It was their first day at Rome, and Barri had seen nothing as 
 yet. Holding tight by George Drummond, he passed through 
 vast crowds, keeping on his feet as well as he could. It was an 
 angry crowd, and they gesticulated at one another, but let them 
 pass. The crowd grew thinner, and Barri found himself beside 
 George Drummond in a vast building, with circular arches and 
 domes which seemed to whirl above his head. There was a 
 height before them of marble steps, down which streamed a crowd 
 of singularly dressed people, some in brown, some in white, some 
 in violet ; near to the summit of the eminence which he saw, were 
 groups of men in scarlet ; before and below them went up a cloud 
 of incense. Suddenly, an old gentleman in white came forward, 
 and bowing, raised his hands. Barri was puzzled ; it was the 
 most awful and splendid thing which he had ever seen. 
 
 " Where are we, George ? " he asked. 
 
 "In St. Peter's." 
 
 "Who is the old man?" 
 
 " The Pope." 
 
 So, from town to town, they went on idly. Lord Fesiiniog's 
 telegram had missed them, and they were free to go where they 
 would. They went to Naples, and it was there that George be- 
 thought himself of his promise to go to Ravenna and do what 
 Mrs. Arnaud had asked of him. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 269 
 
 Ravenna is a most abominable hole ; — one of the most fever- 
 stricken places in Italy — but he did not know that. He and 
 Barri arrived there to find the Florence telegram sent on, for- 
 bidding him to go there. He telegraphed back to say that they 
 had come there. Eight hours after, he received a telegram from 
 Lord Festiniog, ordering him to send Barri back to Rome, but to 
 stay there himself until he received letters. He telegraphed back 
 to say that Barri was ill, and that he disliked to move him ; still, 
 he made an effort to do so, but found that the boy was too unwell 
 to travel. 
 
 Barri was, undoubtedly, very ill. He had Mediterranean fever. 
 "A matter," said the most excellent doctor, "which time alone 
 can remedy, Mr. Drummond. You are, I think, the now cele- 
 brated Mr. Drummond, of whom the lady, Carlina, forsooth, has 
 written to me ! " 
 
 " I am at a loss to understand what you mean, doctor." 
 
 11 It will be, I suppose, in the Courts of Law ; so, why need we 
 avoid speaking of it ? It is a simple thing, and often happens 
 here, as, probably, in respectable England. Madame Arnaud 
 came here with her child. Drummond also came here with Mrs. 
 Arnaud. He desired that her child should be taken from her. 
 He was legal adviser of Lord the English names are droll." 
 
 "Festiniog?" 
 
 "Exactly. Well, why more ? Carlina and her relations did 
 the matter for Drummond, and was, no doubt, paid. Her family 
 assisted her ; she has now telegraphed to her family to tell the 
 whole truth about the matter. They will probably do so, if they 
 are paid. I have known it for years ; but what business could it 
 be of mine ? It remains, beyond doubt, that you are the cousin 
 of this boy." 
 
 " I cannot believe it." 
 
 " Well, that is your affair. Half Ravenna will swear to it. 
 The lawyer, Drummond, managed the business, and he will have 
 to manage very dexterously to get out of the difficulty. The 
 woman, Carlina, has paid her relations to keep this thing quiet ; 
 now, she has sent a message to say that she has made another 
 bargain, and that the truth is to be told. You have, as far as I 
 understand, only this boy between you and a vast fortune." 
 
 " I will accept that as truth," said George Drummond. " Is 
 the boy very ill ? " 
 
 " He might live, or, with care, might die." 
 
 ' ' And no one the wiser, doctor ? ' ' 
 
 " No." 
 
 " How well you speak English ? " said George Drummond. 
 
270 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " I have practised much in Rome," said the doctor. 
 
 " What should be done with him, if you wished him to live ? " 
 said George Drummond. 
 
 " He should be kept warm, he should have some one in bed 
 with him. That is our practice." 
 
 " And if you wanted him to die ? " 
 
 " Well, if he is kept cold, a boy of that age would die. If you 
 want to keep him alive, give him beef-tea and stimulants every 
 four hours. If you want him to die, leave him alone. That is 
 all I have to say. But I warn you, Mr. Drummond, that it is a 
 very dangerous thing to go very near him and take his breath. 
 Our fever is most distinctly contagious." 
 
 "But, under the circumstances which you mention, the boy 
 may live? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I will call to-morrow morning." And so, the 
 doctor went away. 
 
 The object of the death of Barri was now fully understood by 
 George Drummond. He was next in succession. Lord Festiniog 
 was too old to marry. Lady Rhyader could never have any more 
 children, and he would be an Earl with £50,000 a year. It was 
 time for him to act in the matter. 
 
 He went to Barri's bedside. The boy was getting delirious, 
 and his breath came hot, foul, and poisonous. He propped his 
 head up and wiped his lips. The doctor had said that he was to 
 have port wine and beef — where were they to be got ? Not even 
 at the British Consul's at that hour. 
 
 But there was brandy and some portable soup which they had 
 bought on their travels. He made a mixture of these things, and 
 got the boy to swallow them. Then he turned the silly old crone 
 who was watching the boy out of the room, telling her that he was 
 going to sleep with him. She went, saying that he was going to 
 his death-bed. She had never learnt the magnificence of duty. 
 In what school could she have possibly been taught it ? 
 
 The boy turned, sometimes, in the night, with his foetid breath 
 hot on George's cheek : he asked always for drink, and George 
 got up and gave it to him, though one act of neglect on his part 
 might have given him all that he desired in this world. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud who scarcely cared for him, Lord Festiniog who 
 scarcely liked him, Lord Rhyader who did not care to think about 
 him, would have held different opinions about him, had they seen 
 his patient love for the boy who stood between him and all his 
 earthly ambition, through the next three days. The only man 
 who really loved him, the only man who would have understood 
 him, the only man who ever knew him at his best, was the poor, 
 
NUMBER. SEVENTEEN. 271 
 
 ruined, maddened attorney, Drummond, whom lie had so long 
 believed to he his father. 
 
 On the morning of the second day, he made inquiries, about 
 Ravenna, as to the circumstances made known to him by the 
 doctor. There was no doubt about them. The good folks of 
 Ravenna laughed when they were spoken to on the subject. On 
 the third day he got a letter from Lord Festiniog, saying that he 
 was prima far ir satisfied, and commending Barri to his care. 
 
 So, the poor wearied head of Barri rolled about upon the 
 pillow, and George Drummond watched it, as though it was the 
 most precious thing to him in the world. One single act of 
 neglect would have put him in a splendid position, and given him 
 everything that the world could give. 
 
 But George Drummond was a better nurse to the boy than 
 could have been got for money. Why? Simply because he 
 loved the boy better than he did himself ; and because, prig as he 
 was, he loved his duty better than either. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A DISASTER. 
 
 By degrees his charge recovered, and George gladly obeyed orders 
 from home to return. The time selected was long past the 
 equinox, and it seemed hard to go from the bright Italian sky 
 into the darkness of London. They went again to Rome, and, 
 by medical advice, stayed there a short time, and saw the Pope 
 again, which was, at once, a mystery and a delight to Barri. 
 George was a Protestant ; and tried to teach the boy that the 
 present Pope, though the most amiable of mankind, was, person- 
 ally and authoritatively, the enemy of all that was good. It was 
 no use at all — the traditions of his family were too strong ; his 
 ancestor De Barri, Giraldus Cambrensis, had admired the Popes 
 of those times, why should not he admire the Pope of these 
 times ? George had no answer to his young charge, and they 
 got on very admirably until they came wandering to Leghorn. 
 
 Here Barri was slightly ill again, and George got alarmed about 
 him. He sent for the famous English doctor there, and con- 
 sulted him. 
 
 The doctor said that Barri had a slight relapse, and ought to 
 be kept perfectly quiet, with as little motion as possible. 
 
272 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 "But," said George, "I am his tutor, and I am ordered to 
 bring him home ; the boy is heir to a large estate, and I dare not 
 show my face in England if anything happened to him." 
 
 " I should not take him over the Alps," said the doctor. 
 " Does he mind the sea ? " 
 
 " Not at all." 
 
 " Then take him round by steamer, and let him get the fresh 
 air ; it would be the best thing in the world for the boy." 
 
 " There is no danger at this time of the year? " said George. 
 
 " Good heavens ! my dear sir, we are not in the North Sea. 
 We never have our ships lost, even in the Bay of Biscay. No, 
 take your pupil round by sea, by all means. But I see that you 
 are in difficulty ; who is your patron ? ' ' 
 
 "Lord Festiniog." 
 
 "He is the head of the family still, eh "? " 
 
 " Yes, and likely to remain so." 
 
 " Well, then," said the doctor, "I will write to him, and tell 
 him that you, as tutor, did not recommend the course, but that it 
 was done on my authority." 
 
 "I shall be much obliged to you," said George; and the 
 doctor wrote : — 
 
 " My Lord, — I have ordered, on my professional responsibility, 
 that Mr. Barri Arnaud, the hope of your house, should not cross 
 the Alps at this late season. Mr. Drummond, his respectable 
 and intelligent tutor, will, therefore, take him by sea from this 
 place. 
 
 " The boy requires quinine and iron ; also, I should let him 
 have port wine in your climate, not, of course, in sufficient 
 quantities to encourage a desire for stimulants, but in sufficient 
 quantity. Exercise, change of scene, and athletics, but not 
 objectless ones, are what the boy mostly wants. Expand his 
 chest, or he will never make an orator — the thing, I suppose, 
 which you desire. 
 
 "As for yourself, don't believe in colchicum for that gout of 
 yours. Come here, and I will get you up in a fortnight. 
 Climate, my dear lord — climate is everything, and there is no 
 climate in the world like Leghorn. To me it was left to discover 
 this city. 
 
 " Your Humble Servant, 
 
 " George Pilgarlic, M.D." 
 
 " Shall I send this by post, or will you enclose it to Lord 
 Festiniog ? ' ' said the doctor. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 273 
 
 11 1 will enclose it," said George Drammond. 
 
 " Good, then, here it is : I will introduce you to the captain 
 of the Newcastle, and see that you have the best berths. What 
 is this I see ? My dear sir, I never take fees from people in Lord 
 Festiniog's position ; it does not pay in the long run ; I mean 
 that I am already under too deep obligations to his lordship." 
 
 George Drammond wrote to Lord Festiniog, and told him of 
 the decision. He enclosed another letter, strangely different from 
 the doctor's. 
 
 " Sir, — As you now know the whole facts of your position, I 
 can be perfectly frank with you. When this letter is gone to you, 
 I shall show a copy of it to my lord ; not before Mr. Drammond 
 has left London, and has gone south, with what purpose I am not 
 prepared to say. I only say that two courses are open to you. 
 
 "If you bring the boy Barri over the Alps, there is great 
 clanger to him. I should not do that if I were in your place. I 
 think it dangerous. I know it to be dangerous. I, most cer- 
 tainly, if I cared for his life, should do nothing of the kind. 
 
 "A sea- voyage after our marsh fever is always recommended. 
 By avoiding the Alps and coming by sea from any port, you would 
 save two people from the commission of a crime, yourself and Mr. 
 Dranimond. 
 
 " Carlina Gersotti." 
 
 George Drammond thanked God that the difficulty was cleared 
 out of his way by the independent testimony of two people. He 
 would get his cousin home, and remove the horrible responsibility 
 from his shoulders. The boy, whose death would ennoble him, 
 was getting dearer and dearer to him. 
 
 And he saw such wondrous promise in the boy ; Barri had twice 
 the intelligence which he had had at the same age, and only wanted 
 education : that he could give, and make a great man of him, as 
 he thought. " I shall see him from afar off at first, but the deuce 
 is m it if I don't make a name in the world too : I in one place, 
 he in another. We shall make a sound in both houses yet." 
 
 So they sped away across the Mediterranean. What were his 
 thoughts about the man who had been such a kind father to him ? 
 We cannot say. All we know of the man is from Barri, and to 
 Barri he never mentioned Mr. Dranimond or Mrs. Arnaud. The boy 
 was in absolute ignorance, to the last, that George was his cousin. 
 That had been agreed on between Lord Festiniog and himself ; the 
 boy was only to know after they came home. And so they went 
 on their voyage together, Barri looking about the ship, and George 
 
 19 
 
274 NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 watching him, as though the slightest accident would not put him 
 in a position for which some men would have committed a crime. 
 
 The bay was passed, and they saw Ushant under a lurid sunset. 
 The barometer had lowered so suddenly that the captain made up 
 all his fires, and headed apparently for America. George laughed 
 to him about his course. 
 
 " If we get behind the Start, Mr. Drummond," he said, "we 
 are lucky. You are no sailor." 
 
 "Why, no," said George Drummond, "will there be any 
 danger ? ' ' 
 
 " God knows," said the captain, "the ship is too long and too 
 narrow. By Jove ! see, there it comes." 
 
 The sun had scarcely sunk into the sea, when the western sky 
 was as black as pitch. As sail after sail, which it was impossible 
 to get in, was blown away, with a sound like a cannon followed by 
 a rattle of musketry, George Drummond stood on deck, amused 
 with his good fortune in seeing a real storm at sea. He went 
 down once to where Barri was now sleeping quietly, and looked at 
 him. He had no thought of danger, but the boy seemed cold, 
 and he put another coat over him ; then he went on deck. 
 
 It was piercing cold, and the engine-room looked bright and 
 warm. There had been a heavy Atlantic sea all day, necessitating 
 the using of the compensating gear, for her screw was frequently 
 out of water. He was a great friend of the engineer, and he 
 stepped down, cigar in mouth, to see how the gear worked. He 
 sat in the little room and baked himself. The engineer was not 
 at all alarmed ; though, as the captain had put her head, she was 
 pitching heavily. 
 
 It was beautiful to sit in the warmth, and watch the working of 
 the compensation gear ; as her bow dipped it spun rapidly, as her 
 stern dropped it stopped slowly. They have better things of the 
 kind now, but the original one was a splendid idea. 
 
 Her bow was out of the water higher than ever, and they were 
 nearly unseated. The compensation gear was spinning as hard 
 as ever. It had got out of order. The engineer rose hurriedly, 
 with an oath, but it was too late, a ripping crack went through 
 the ship, hurried feet were heard overhead, and the word went 
 about that the screw- shaft was broken. 
 
 At once, of course, the ship was in the trough of the sea, a more 
 fearfully dangerous engine of destruction than M. Victor Hugo's 
 celebrated loose cannon. Every mast went overboard directly, at 
 her first whip up into the wind. She. was nothing better than a 
 floating wreck, with the sea bursting on board of her every moment. 
 In ten minutes, the warm engine-room was changed into a sea of 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 275 
 
 stinking steam, in ten minutes more, it was a seething sea of black 
 coal mud. 
 
 George hurried to Barri at once. He had been thrown out of 
 his bunk, and was dressing himself. He took him up to the cabin, 
 and then he asked what was the matter. 
 
 " There is danger. Will you sit here while I go down again ? " 
 
 " I will try to stand," said Barri. 
 
 George was scarcely away from him for five minutes ; then he 
 came up with his desk, and wrote a few hurried words, which he 
 folded up and put in the breast-pocket of Barri's pea-jacket. 
 
 " We might part, Barri, you see," he said. " Give that note 
 to Lord Festiniog. You must get ready, my boy. I hear the 
 captain ordering out the boats." 
 
 Barri was perfectly still, but very much frightened. The captain 
 came in, hurriedly, after a time, and said — " Mr. Drummond, I 
 have lost my ship. I have the long-boat out, and some men in 
 her. Will you and your charge jump into her at once, or she will 
 be stove against the side ? " 
 
 "Now, Barri, be firm," said George. "You must leap into 
 the boat." And so they passed out of the cabin into the horrible 
 hell of the tempest. 
 
 The ship was beginning to settle down. One boat had been got 
 out, and she was still fast to the ship. George put Barri on the 
 bulwarks, and told him to jump into her. The boy was terrified. 
 
 A brave man might have been. The boat was surging, leaping, 
 diving nearly head under, in the lee of the ship, at one time near 
 the side, at another an oar's length away. The men in her were 
 shouting to those who were on the bulwarks to leap. Few dared. 
 Was the boy to blame ? 
 
 " Leap yourself, Mr. Drummond," said the captain ; " the men 
 will cut the painter directly ; your life is more valuable than the 
 boy's." 
 
 George Drummond had other ideas, though. He took Barri in 
 his arms, and at the next and last surge of the boat towards the 
 ship he dropped the boy among the sailors at his feet, before she 
 swerved away from the ship again. The man at the bow cut the 
 painter, and the boat parted from the ship. A great roller parted 
 them, and they saw one another no more. 
 
276 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI. 
 
 barm's return. 
 
 Lord Rhyader received one morning the following singular 
 telegram : — 
 
 "Brown Jones, Falmouth. Lord Rhyader, Bolton Street, 
 Piccadilly. Come here at once. Boat Nemesis has been picked 
 up by Arethusa, and men landed here in Sailors' Home. Boy 
 says that he is your son. Men confirm it. Boy rather exhausted. 
 Come directly." 
 
 Lord Rhyader had for some time disliked to do anything without 
 his father's advice or knowledge. The fact was that Lady Rhyader 
 was getting a little peevish, and they did not get on so well together 
 as they did formerly. She always, when consulted about anything, 
 at once opposed it, without a moment's thought, and then defended 
 her opinion through thick and thin ; while, on the other hand, old 
 Lord Festiniog always thought before he spoke, and then gave the 
 best advice he could. Consequently he gained, without meaning 
 it, a power over Rhyader which his wife had lost. She knew it, 
 and was jealous of it. Lord and Lady Rhyader were, of course, 
 on the best of terms ; but it was impossible to deny that there was 
 not more confidence between father and son than between wife 
 and husband. He, on this occasion, however, never thought for 
 one instant of his father. With an energy of tenderness which 
 he had not shown for a few years, he ran into her dressing-room, 
 and, with his arm round her neck, read the message to her. 
 11 Alice," he said, " you must help me now." 
 "Gervase," she replied, "I am as well able to help you as 
 Lord Festiniog : or, indeed, as Mary Arnaud. We must act 
 together here, my love, and never act apart any more." 
 
 Lord Rhyader was man enough to say no more : if she had 
 been in the wrong, so had he. They had both been a little too 
 much absorbed in their separate selves, and the potential disaster 
 united them at once. The truth must be told, they had never 
 cared very greatly for the boy : he did not suit them, and they 
 were more comfortable without him than with him. Now, how- 
 ever, he was likely to be lost by some hitherto unexplained disaster, 
 they were in confidence instantly : in a confidence which lasted to 
 their deaths — as far as it went. 
 
 They both knew that their mutual confidence had returned. 
 They made no effort at an explanation, the chances would have 
 been as ten to one that they would have quarrelled had they done 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 277 
 
 so. The new, unspoken reconciliation between them was so 
 pleasant that neither of them desired words. 
 
 "We must start at once, Gcrvase," she said, with a view of 
 bringing in other matters. 
 
 " At once," he said, ringing the bell, which was answered before 
 either of them spoke. He and she gave directions for an immediate 
 and sudden journey, and they were alone again. She chivalrously 
 broke the ice for him. 
 
 " This is a piece of your father's work, Gervase." 
 
 " So it seems," said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " Our boy Barri is sent abroad with George Drummond, who it 
 seems is heir to the house. Do you believe it ? " 
 
 "Yes, darling. I think that there is little doubt about it. 
 Don't attempt to dispute that. Drummond has confessed it, you 
 know." 
 
 ' k Well, I will not dispute it. But that young man is suddenly 
 taken into favour, and sent abroad with our boy. Who did that ? 
 answer me." 
 
 "My father." 
 
 "Exactly. And what do you think of your father now?" 
 This was said with scorn. 
 
 Lord Rhyader thought about his father as he had always done, 
 as a good gentleman and a kind friend. But he saw from Lady 
 Rhyader' s eyes that she considered that she had scored a point 
 against him, and was too polite to contradict her. He said 
 nothing, but looked as if there was really nothing to be said in 
 palliation of his father. 
 
 " Mark my words, Gervase," she said, solemnly, rising up to 
 prepare for her journey, "this is a plot, hatched out at No. 17, 
 and Mary Arnaud is in it. Your father, although dictatorial, is 
 weak, and he has been led into it by that woman." 
 
 " But, my dearest Alice, I don't think " 
 
 " Good. When I am dead, and you know the truth, you will 
 remember my words. I will go and get ready for my journey." 
 
 "But, Alice, my father would not lend himself to anything 
 underhand. You must think of that." 
 
 She thought of it, at once, in her usual way, for one second, 
 and then enlarged upon it, without exactly knowing what she was 
 going to say next. " You will find it, Gervase, exactly as I have 
 put it to you : and if your father was here before me, I would tell 
 him the same thing. Will you be convinced by one question ? 
 Where is George Arnaud ? ' ' 
 
 Lord Rhyader seemed to think that there was a great deal in 
 that, though he could not tell why, knowing nothing about the 
 
278 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 matter. He said, rather meekly, " I suppose we had better send 
 this telegram on to my father ? " 
 
 "I suppose that you had better," she said: " that would be 
 only decent ; but let us get to Falmouth first. I don't want his 
 interference." 
 
 They were a difficult couple to move. The telegram had been 
 sent to Lord Festiniog more than two hours before they were at 
 Paddington. They were not deeply anxious, for there was nothing 
 to make them so in the telegram. They took the journey quite 
 comfortably in the train at noon, wrapping themselves up warm, 
 eating and drinking, in a trifling manner, and getting up their 
 mutual case against Lord Festiniog. Lady Rhyader acted as 
 attorney, and Rhyader himself accepted the brief provisionally, 
 knowing perfectly well that he would no more dare to say one half 
 of the things to his father which his wife put into his mouth than 
 he dared fly. However, he knew that his father had some sixty 
 or eighty thousand pounds which he could leave to his groom, and 
 so he held a large trump card over his wife, in case she should go 
 too far, and provoke an entire rupture. He let her ease her long- 
 suppressed mind on Lord Festiniog, therefore, with the greatest 
 complacency : and they got on most charmingly : particularly as 
 he intended to make her spokeswoman in the business, whatever 
 it was. And that he could not quite make out ; there was to be 
 a war of liberation from his father's authority, and his father in 
 his chivalry would never quarrel with him for taking his wife's 
 part. If there was to be any real fighting, she could do it better 
 than he could ; and he could always check her by reminding her 
 of the loose cash. 
 
 So they amiably got to Shrivcnham, and got out there to walk 
 about while the train was being shunted. It was an unusual 
 thing and Lord Rhyader asked the station-master the reason 
 of it. 
 
 " A special train a-coming through, sir. Stand back there ! 
 stand back ! ' ' 
 
 A distant humming sound, then a long-drawn shriek ; then an 
 approaching roar which swelled upon the ear. Then a vision of 
 a fiery dragon filled with smoke, fire, and steam, coming towards 
 them swifter than the wind, with pulses going quicker than a 
 madman's heart; smoke-grimed, steadfast men upon the monster's 
 back, guiding it as it shook the station with a shock like an 
 earthquake. One saloon carriage in the rear of the engine, which 
 seemed to leap at the point. That was all, the whole terrible and 
 dangerous arrangement was out of sight before the echoes which 
 it had raised could die away. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 279 
 
 Lord and Lady Rhyader continued their journey methodically. 
 The greatest event in their journey to Falmouth was that Lady 
 Ehyader's maid lost a shawl. The loss was discovered at Exeter ; 
 the lady's maid having, as a preliminary to confession, given a 
 month's warning in the waiting-room, told Lady Rhyader of the 
 awful fact. Lady Rhyader was iii tears at once. It was not a 
 very valuable shawl, and she could not bear to part with her maid. 
 She did not care about the matter, and Rliyader, with that shrewd- 
 ness which his father ranked so high, discovered that the maid 
 had got the shawl on herself ; and the valet proved that in the 
 confusion at Shrivenham he had, in an absent moment, put it 
 over the young woman's shoulders. Lady Rhyader made her a 
 present of the shawl, and so sold her liberty to her maid. The 
 month's notice was withdrawn, and they, to use a Devonshire 
 expression, drumbled on to Falmouth. 
 
 What was their astonishment when they were met by Lord 
 Festiniog at the door of the hotel ! He was among a group of 
 sailors, talking eagerly to them, but he seemed to know of the 
 Rhyaders' coming perfectly well, and to take little thought about 
 it. 
 
 " I have got the boy here, upstairs," he said: " but I doubt 
 if we shall ever make anything of him again. It is the most 
 unhappy business which ever was seen. The poor boy is idiotic. 
 I can't get anything out of him. He has had a shock to the 
 system from which he will never recover, unless we take very great 
 care of him." 
 
 Lady Rhyader, now, was seriously alarmed. Her rebellion 
 against Lord Festiniog might stand over, at all events for a time. 
 She went swiftly upstairs to Barri, and from the moment she saw 
 him never thought about herself as long as she lived. After she 
 had once seen the boy she thought no more of Lord Festiniog. 
 The terror of the sight before her put every frivolous and ill- 
 tempered idea from her mind for ever. Who was to blame for 
 the catastrophe? She cared nothing at all. It was her own 
 child who was before her, the child for whom she bad cared too 
 little, as she saw now, but, in what fearful case ! 
 
 Worn almost to a skeleton, he was sitting up in bed, rocking 
 his body to and fro, as if to allow for the motion of a boat. His 
 right hand, thin with illness, clutched the mattress convulsively, 
 while his left was held up as if to shield him from an enemy 
 expected every moment. The nurse explained it to her. The boy 
 had been three days in the open boat in the heavy sea, and had 
 sat like that with his right hand clasping the gunwale, trying to 
 
280 NTjMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 shield himself from the drenching waves which sometimes broke 
 over them from the South-West. " The men put him to leeward, 
 ma'am," said the nurse ; " that is why he holds his left arm up 
 to shield himself, and holds on to the gunwale with the other." 
 
 " Why will he not lie down ? " said Lady Rhyader, utterly 
 terrified. 
 
 "He will never lie down anymore, ma'am," said the nurse. 
 " He will have the rattles in the throat in ten minutes." 
 
 " Get out, you old fool, do," said a voice behind them. " How 
 dare you, you crone, frighten her ladyship like this, when you 
 know that the best man in Europe has given his opinion 
 to-day?" 
 
 Lady Rhyader turned : it. was Lord Festiniog who spoke. 
 
 "My dear Alice," he said, " do not listen to the croaking of 
 this old witch. When you sent me the telegram this morning, I 
 did two things — ordeied a special train, and got Sir Alexander 
 McFittie to come with me. He says that the boy will not die, 
 but that he has a nervous shock which will spoil his career, at 
 least for a very long time. You must brace up your nerves, my 
 dear, you must nurse the boy, and so make him fonder of you 
 than he was before. That is easily done, for he is an affectionate 
 little fellow, and you might make him, at least, as fond of you as 
 he is of me." 
 
 He was going to say — as he was of Mary Arnaud — but he 
 thought twice before he said that. 
 
 " Lady Rhyader," he said, suddenly and sternly. 
 
 " Yes, Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " Have you done your duty by this boy ? " 
 
 "No," she said. "You always made the boy jealous of us. 
 How could we possibly do our duty by him ? " 
 
 Lord Festiniog had never looked on it in that light before. He 
 said, 
 
 " I should not have looked on the matter in that light myself." 
 
 " Without doubt," said Lady Rhyader, determined to win every 
 point she could possibly score, but wondering what would be the 
 next one. 
 
 " Well, let bygones be bygones, let us take care of the boy. 
 You stay with him, I must go and break the news to Mary 
 Arnaud." And so he went out to Lord Rhyader, leaving mother 
 and son together. 
 
 "What, on earth, has Mary Arnaud got to do with it?" 
 thought Lady Rhyader. But there was the boy, delirious in his 
 bed, calling out for that woman and not for his own mother. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES. 
 
 He found Lord Rhyader alone, walking up and down the room, 
 and a very important conversation ensued between them. 
 
 "I have made light of your boy's case to Alice, Gervase," he 
 said, "but there is no doubt whatever that he is extremely ill, 
 and it is very doubtful if he will live to be a man. You must 
 really rouse yourself to look facts in the face. The boy has 
 undergone horrors and privations which have half killed those 
 strong sailors who have brought him home. Do you know that a 
 mutinous part of the boat's crew wanted to " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well — wanted to kill the boy for a horrible purpose. It was 
 only by the resolution of two or three that he was saved. And 
 he knew it, for he heard them talking about it, and he will, it is 
 feared, never get it out of his head any more ; such shocks are 
 not felt at his time of life without permanent results." 
 
 "I am deeply grieved, father, but I do not share your fears 
 to this extent which you speak of. I cannot understand your 
 anxiety." 
 
 " It is real, however," said Lord Festiniog. " I loved the boy, 
 I think, better than you did." 
 
 " I will not argue that point, father," said Gervase. " If you 
 loved him so much, why did you insist on his going abroad with 
 his only rival ? " 
 
 "I sent him abroad to keep him out of mischief. I sent him 
 abroad with George Arnaud because I trusted the young man. 
 He has gloriously fulfilled his trust." 
 
 " By bringing back my boy an idiot," said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 "Bringing?" 
 
 " Yes. I suppose he has taken care of himself? " 
 
 "George! Have you not heard? George went down with 
 the ship, and saved the boy at the sacrifice of his own life ! " 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 Lord Evador was silent for some time. He was a just man, 
 ami his regret at having been so unjust to George was great. 
 " Y^ou are sure of this ? " he said. 
 
 " Hear for yourself; ask one of the sailors in. Send in George 
 Horrocks," he said to a waiter who was in the room. 
 
 A sailor came in. " My son, Lord Rhyader," said Lord 
 Festiniog, "wishes to ask you a question or two. Your general 
 
282 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 evidence will be given before the Board, of course, but answer 
 him what he asks you." 
 
 "I wanted to know if Mr. Drummond could have saved his 
 own life, if he had deserted the boy whom he dropped into the 
 boat?" 
 
 "Most certainly, sir," said the sailor; "half-a-dozen times 
 over. The boy was frightened and would not jump, and so, he 
 gave up his own life for the boy's, fair and square. No doubt 
 about that." 
 
 " And you saw him drowned after, with no attempt to save 
 him?" 
 
 " We had done all that it was possible for men to do. We 
 kept near her until she went down, in hopes that some one might 
 rise, but I need hardly say that no one did. We incurred great 
 danger by not keeping the boat's head straight before the wind, 
 at once, as you would know, my lord, if you were a sailor." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Lord Rhyader. " I have no doubt 
 that everything was done. I wish you a good afternoon," and 
 the man went. 
 
 " There is the end," said Lord Festiniog ; " the end of a good 
 family, too." 
 
 "IfBarridies." 
 
 " Well, his life is very problematical. In case of his death, 
 the entailed property all goes to you, and, I suppose, afterwards 
 to some religious establishment. I am more sorry than ever 
 about George." 
 
 "You seem to think more of him than you do of Barri, 
 now." 
 
 " There you do me an injustice, as usual, Rhyader. I have a 
 stronger personal feeling for the boy than ever I had for poor 
 George Ar.uaud. I loved the boy better than ever you did. My 
 feeling for him is one thing, my feeling for the extinction of our 
 family is another." 
 
 "The remedy lies entirely in your own hands, father," said 
 Rhyader. " Alice will live to any age, and have no more children. 
 The remedy lies with yourself. ' ' 
 
 " I do not see how." 
 
 "Marry, yourself." 
 
 Lord Festiniog kept steady on his feet, but, morally, he reeled 
 as this proposition was made to him. He had not thought of such 
 a thing for thirty years. Was Rhyader mad ? 
 
 Apparently not. He was most perfectly cool over the matter, 
 and appeared in earnest. He repeated, 
 
 " Marry, yourself." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 283 
 
 " But you would not approve that," said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 " I should, most entirely," said Lord Rhyader. " Why should 
 I not ? It can make no difference to me, and would prevent my 
 feeling any responsibility as to the disposal of the property." 
 
 "But I am so old," said Lord Festiniog, still doubting if he 
 heard aright. 
 
 " Not a bit. You are only sixty-two." 
 
 " But whom am I to marry? You are mad. Have you any 
 one in your eye ? Have you ever thought of this before ? " 
 
 " Never. It only came into my head when I heard your 
 description of poor Barri. As for the lady, why, you must choose 
 for yourself; I really am too much out of the world to advise 
 you." 
 
 " Just conceive how very much at random you are talking, my 
 dear Rhyader. What would Alice say to you, if she knew that 
 you had made this proposition ? " 
 
 " Oh ! you must not think of speaking about it to her yet. It 
 may come to nothing. Think about it for yourself." 
 
 Lord Festiniog had plenty of time to think about it, for he by 
 no means went back by express. The slowest train on the line 
 would do for him now, for at the other end he had to tell poor 
 Mary Arnaud that her newly-found and scarcely-known son was 
 dead. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " he said to himself. " This world is very hard 
 on her. There seems to be no end to her troubles. I wish she 
 could have made up her mind to marry Drummond, and that he 
 had not been such a rascal. She might have been happy with 
 him." 
 
 He had forgotten the awful proposal which Lord Rhyader had 
 made of his own marriage. This thought of Mrs. Arnaud' s 
 marriage brought it back to him with a shock. 
 
 Going by a slow train, Lord Festiniog naturally met with an 
 accident. His own special train, in which he had come down, 
 had to be sent back to Paddington somehow. It was sent back in 
 the rear of the ordinary slow train, and, by way of distinguishing 
 itself, dashed into the ordinary train by a combination of circum- 
 stances which were afterwards proved to be entirely impossible. 
 It was clearly proved before the Board of Trade that the thing 
 never could have happened, and yet it did, for all that, and Lord 
 Festiniog broke one of the small bones in his hand, and, in try- 
 ing to give assistance, had his whiskers scorched by the fire of one 
 of the engines. When asked which, he declined to answer the 
 question, as he might commit the company, in which he was a 
 Large shareholder. 
 
284 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 He, however, got to London somehow, and was driven to his 
 house in due time. To his great surprise he found that Mr. 
 Drummond had called three times on that morning. He had not 
 thought that Drummond would have sought him so very eagerly, 
 and he was puzzled. 
 
 Meanwhile it was necessary, in common kindness, for him to go 
 and see Mary Arnaud, and break the news to her as gently as 
 possible. He had not been near No. 17 for some time, and felt 
 considerably guilty on that score. Mary, of whom he was secretly 
 afraid, would be angry with him in the first instance. She had 
 always had a good case against the family, and now had a stronger 
 one. He would have to tell her that her so recently acknowledged 
 son was drowned. It was not a very agreeable matter under any 
 circumstances ; still less so under the present. 
 
 People enjoy themselves in three ways : by anticipation of a 
 pleasure, by the realisation of that pleasure, and by the recollec- 
 tion of it afterwards. In the same way people plague themselves 
 in three ways : by the anticipation of the trouble, by the realisa- 
 tion of the trouble (which is generally not half what they thought 
 it to be), and thirdly, by the solution of the trouble, and the 
 humiliating doubt as to whether there was any trouble to be afraid 
 of after all. 
 
 Lord Festiniog was deeply plagued about Mary. He knew, or 
 thought that he knew, that he should have a scene with her. And 
 he was not well ; the railway accident had shaken him, his finger 
 was in pain, and that irritated him. He had anticipated more 
 than half his troubles, however, before he drove up to her door, at 
 nine o'clock in the evening. 
 
 The house was completely dark, as he knocked at the private 
 door. It was opened with startling rapidity, and he found himself 
 pulled into the passage, and the door shut behind him. There 
 being no light, he was unaware what was going to happen to him ; 
 he was not long in doubt. He was kissed in the dark all over 
 his face. 
 
 " Darling," said the kisser, " it is so good of you to come from 
 the club so soon ; and you have not been smoking. Good child ; 
 come up now, and smoke in our bedroom." 
 
 The lady, who had her arm round his neck, was proceeding to 
 stroke his hair. Lord Festiniog had gone so far in an explanatory 
 speech as " Madam, I think you are in error," when the hall was 
 suddenly illuminated by two candles. Lord Festiniog saw that 
 one of them was carried by Mrs. Arnaud, and the other by the 
 terrible old madame of Paris. Regarding himself as a lost man, 
 he looked down to see who was accidentally kissing him. He dis- 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 285 
 
 covered at once that it was ex-Mademoiselle Heloise, now Mrs. 
 D'Arcy. 
 
 She, with a shriek which was nearly a yell, fled for protection 
 to her grandmother, and threw herself on her bosom. They both 
 came down together ; Madame Merton, being underneath, made 
 some vigorous attempts to break her grand-daughter's head with 
 the candlestick. Mrs. D'Arcy, now alive to the situation, and 
 having had to do the thing once or twice before, defended herself 
 in such a scientific manner, that Madame Merton cast the 
 candlestick at Lord Festiniog, and begged for life, saying that she 
 was an old woman, and would not trouble them long. 
 
 Lord Festiniog and Mary Arnaud got the old lady on her feet, 
 and took her into the little parlour. Mrs. D'Arcy, the gentle and 
 excellent Heloise, came in to them, and then it appeared that that 
 most excellent of young ladies had lost her temper. 
 
 She was as beautiful as ever ; nay, she was looking better than 
 ever she had done ; but old Lord Festiniog's eyes were opened, as 
 regarded her, for the first time. The thin crust of bour</eois 
 French respectability had been worn through, and the real nature 
 appeared below. 
 
 Let us not be misunderstood in any way. Three-quarters of 
 France and three-quarters of Ireland produce a population which 
 the whole world, for certain qualities, cannot match. But there is 
 a residuum in both countries unmanageable, and save on one soli- 
 tary subject, unsympathetic. We name no provinces in either 
 kingdom, and yet we know that we have to deal with certain 
 people, possessing certain virtues, as we would with wild beasts. 
 
 Heloise came from a part of France pre-eminent for its virtues, 
 but also pre-eminent for its temper. She had lost her temper, 
 firstly, because she had kissed Lord Festiniog in the dark, and, 
 secondly, because her grandmother, who came from the same part 
 of the country, had beaten her over the head with the candlestick. 
 What is mainly to the purpose, however, is the fact that the scene 
 which followed between her and her grandmother put the idea of 
 matrimony in a rather difficult light to Lord Festiniog's eyes. 
 
 The debate was carried on in the French language, which was 
 possibly a relief to the servants, but none to Mrs. Arnaud or Lord 
 Festiniog, who were both mistress and master of that fluent and 
 elegant language, so well adapted for all phases of soul. Mrs. 
 D'Arcy and Madame Merton, being both extremely angry, used 
 the resources at their command with all the genius of their nation. 
 At one period of her life, Madame Merton had not been so suc- 
 cessful in her affairs as she was now, and every detail of those times 
 was hurled in her teeth with the most singular epithets. In this 
 
236 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " hurling in the teeth," the fact that those teeth were false, and 
 that they never had been paid for until the outraged laws of France 
 forced the old lady to do so, was by no means forgotten. Madame 
 Merton's establishment also was, as we have previously said, a 
 place of meeting for innocent lovers. This circumstance was now 
 turned against the old lady with singular esprit. Some of the 
 marriages, practically made up in the magasin, had by no means 
 turned out so well as those which are proverbially made in heaven ; 
 and the details of many of them were alluded to by Mrs. D'Arcy, 
 not only with singular freedom, but with powers of oratory which 
 excited the surprise, almost the admiration, of Lord Festiniog. 
 In fact, that most admirable and gentle housewife, Mrs. D'Arcy, 
 ended, as his lordship afterwards rudely expressed himself to Lord 
 Ehyader, by leaving Madame Merton without a single rag of cha- 
 racter to cover her back. One transaction, involving 25,000 francs, 
 a penniless duke in the employment of the later empire, and a 
 young heiress, was so repeatedly alluded to, that Lord Festiniog 
 lost the thread of the story in consequence of Mrs. D'Arcy's volu- 
 bility, and he could not quite make out whether it was the wife 
 who had exchanged into a regiment of turco for service in Algeria, 
 or whether it was the husband who had burned men. It was made 
 perfectly certain, however, by this young lady that they both cursed 
 the day on which they saw Madame Merton. 
 
 Madame, however, seated now peacefully in Mrs. Arnaud's easy 
 chair, with a glass of curacoa, let her grand-daughter scold her- 
 self into quiescence without doing anything but agreeing with a 
 sardonic laugh to everything which the young lady said ; occa- 
 sionally correcting her when she appeared to soften circumstances, 
 and saying " bon ! bon!" when she made a more desperately 
 ruinous assault on her reputation. Scolding cannot last for ever, 
 as both ladies knew perfectly well ; and Madame Merton, with the 
 military genius of her nation, allowed her enemy to exhaust her 
 resources before she attacked her in full force. Nay, she showed 
 more than the military genius of the nation, great as it is. She 
 combined it with that of such great generals as Fabius Cunctator, 
 Frederick the Great, the Duke of Wellington in the last Spanish 
 campaign, and General Grant in his advance upon Richmond. 
 She chose her own time of fighting, the neglect of which rule has 
 ruined both the Napoleons. 
 
 When Mrs. D'Arcy was quite exhausted, it became her turn to 
 receive punishment, and by this time her husband was in the room, 
 wondering what could possibly be the matter. The old lady had 
 calculated on this with the subtlety of a Cleopatra or a Catherine 
 de' Medici. In the most inexorable manner she overhauled the 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 287 
 
 character of Heloise before her bridegroom in a way which made 
 Lord Festiniog desire to kill her. Heloise had been, in her way, 
 a very considerable flirt, and had drawn a great deal of money into 
 the perfectly virtuous establishment of her grandmother without 
 receiving any recognisable per-centage on the same. Still, she 
 was a good girl, as her grandmother perfectly knew. Every man 
 she had spoken to as a friend was now made out to be a lover, and 
 the old lady absolutely revelled in the disclosures which she 
 thought she was making before a jealous husband. The end was 
 that Mrs. D'Arcy was reduced to somewhat spiteful tears. 
 
 It was becoming very distressing until D'Arcy came forward to his 
 wife, and, kissing her kindly, burst into a laugh. " She says, in 
 effect, that the men all ran after you," he said. " Of course they 
 did ; I did ; and, what is more, I have got you. Ah, Madame, you 
 can't prevent that ! " 
 
 " You have got a fickle heart and a bad temper, Mr. D'Arcy," 
 said the old lady. But D'Arcy only laughed at her, and went 
 away pleasantly with Heloise. 
 
 " Good evening, Madame," said Lord Festiniog. " Mary, you 
 must come upstairs with me at once ; I have something to say to 
 you which can wait no longer, though I wish that some other 
 cause of delay would intervene before I tell it to you." 
 
 "Come, then," she said, leading the way. "Here are the 
 bride and bridegroom toiling upstairs before us. Say a good word 
 to them, as few, except you, can say it." 
 
 " But it would be a liberty." 
 
 " Not in the case of an old man like } r ou," she said. "You 
 can say anything." 
 
 " Anything," he thought, "but what I have come to say. This 
 horrible procrastination ! " 
 
 He ran upstairs and touched D'Arcy's arm. " Captain D'Arcy," 
 he said, " I hope you will allow a very old man, like myself, to tell 
 you, before your wife, that you have behaved like a most loyal 
 gentleman in not paying attention to Madame Merton's objur- 
 gations. 
 
 D'Arcy looked at him in calm wonder. 
 
 " Did you think such a thing possible, then, Lord Festiniog? " 
 
 " I could not say. I hope that I have not taken a liberty. But 
 you behaved so well, that, as an old man, I thought I might 
 speak." 
 
 " I am only too proud of your approval ; but, indeed, I saw this 
 little woman of mine in Paris under such difficult circumstances 
 and temptations, that nothing would shake my faith in her now ; 
 not even Madame Merton's tongue." 
 
288 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 Lord Festiniog admired the young man's chivalry, and bade him 
 good-night. From certain things which Madame had let drop — 
 " let drop," we say — poured out in buckets — he rather thought 
 that his imperfect acquaintance with the French tongue, when 
 spoken with extreme volubility and with a pure Parisian accent, 
 had something to do with his complacence. However, here was 
 
 Mary following upstairs ; here was her room, and here was 
 
 sitting in her chair, another Heloise, much older than Mrs. DArcy, 
 and, in his opinion, considerably more beautiful. 
 
 " Oh, you are here, Clotilde, my dear soul. Grandma and 
 Heloise have been quarrelling downstairs. Lord Festiniog, this 
 is my cousin, Mademoiselle Clotilde Aubigne. Try to make friends 
 with her, for she has been a loving friend to me." 
 
 " Say no more, Mary, say no more," said Lord Festiniog. 
 " We want a mutual friend to-night. I hope that Mademoiselle 
 Clotilde will let me number her among mine." 
 
 As she advanced towards him, offering her hand ; as he looked 
 at her matured, Madonna-like beauty — so like that of Heloise in 
 feature and colouring, and so unlike it in its splendid repose — 
 Lord Festiniog found a little monitor in his left breast, asking him 
 if he was quite so old as he had represented himself to the 
 D'Arcys on the stairs. Was that admiration for him in her eyes ? 
 " No, I am not vain enough for that at my time of life," he said. 
 "It is only the reflection of my own admiration in hers." 
 
 " Can this lady, in whom you have, as you say, the most entire 
 confidence, stay with us while I tell you some very distressing 
 news ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes, I would rather she did. God has sent her to me as a 
 comfort, and why should she leave me ? Clotilde, you will stay, 
 will you not ? Now, my dear papa, what makes you so grave ? " 
 
 " Mary, you are a widow." 
 
 " Yes," she said, with a sudden movement of her hands. 
 
 " You are now a childless one." 
 
 She looked at him steadily, and said, "I do not understand 
 you." 
 
 " Your son George is drowned." 
 
 " When I was trying to love him — when I was hoping, hoping 
 for his return — when I was thinking of every good quality which 
 his father possessed, and endeavouring to see them reflected in 
 him ? This is rather hard, is it not ? It is cruel." 
 
 " The sea is very cruel, Mary." 
 
 " Ay ! but God is more cruel that the sea itself. I was not 
 prepared for this. Let me be quiet awhile. I would rather that 
 no one spoke to me for a short time, if they did not mind." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 289 
 
 ^ She bent her head over the fire, and Clotildc beckoned to Lord 
 Festiniog to come and sit beside her. He went to her, and she 
 took his hand in hers, while she whispered in French : — " Good 
 and admirable friend, what has happened ? " 
 
 " Her son is drowned," said Lord Festiniog. "Drowned in 
 the most noble manner, but at the bottom of the deep sea for all 
 that. She will wish to know the particulars immediately. Stay 
 with us, dear lady, while I tell them to her." 
 
 He took her hand, and kissed it. 
 
 " I will stay with you by all means, my lord," she said, " but 
 she will want an answer soon. She was getting to love the son 
 so little known to her. Yes, my lord, she will be wanting an 
 explanation soon, and I will stay with you. She has never said 
 anything but good about you." 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud rose and confronted them at this point. She 
 was not in the least degree angry or emportec but she was terrible 
 in her beauty for all that. Lord Festiniog was glad that he had 
 such a protection in the gentle, though unknown, Clo tilde, against 
 the equally gentle, though better known, Mary. 
 
 " Lord Festiniog," she said, " I wish to say a few words. Did 
 I ever seek an alliance with your house ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, Mary." 
 
 " Did I ever seek to intrude myself on you, until after I had 
 discovered that I was legally married ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, Mary. But you must remember " 
 
 " I know. You and Rhyader were kind, believing me not to be 
 legally married. When you could dispute the fact no longer, 
 what did you do ? " 
 
 " Acknowledged the fact, Mary ; you cannot deny that" 
 
 "Yes, after you were forced to do so. Drummond did that for 
 me. I owe more to Drummond than I do to you, after all." 
 
 "Mary! Mary!" 
 
 " I say it again, I owe more to him than I do to you." 
 
 " But he stole your child." 
 
 " Yes, and you have made away with him. At least, you come 
 and tell me that he is drowned. He went to sea by your orders. 
 Is Barri drowned ? " 
 
 " No, but he is an idiot." 
 
 " He never was anything else," said Mrs. Arnaud. " I do not 
 see why my son should be sacrificed, and Lady Rhyader's left in 
 a mere state of idiocy. It is not just." 
 
 "But you will not argue matters, Mary. You have lost your 
 old sense. I cannot understand you. If I had been asked who 
 was the most sensible woman in London, I should have named 
 you. I am utterly surprised." 
 
 20 
 
200 KUMBEft SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " I will go to bed," said Mrs. Arnaud, wearily. " 1 cannot 
 stand this any longer. I will go back to a religious life. I am 
 not fit for the world." 
 
 And so she left Lord Festiniog without any further recognition. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 LOKD FESTINIOG AND CLOTILDE. 
 
 Lord Festiniog and Mademoiselle Clotilde being left alone 
 together, became at once confidential. 
 
 "You are an old friend, as I see, my lord," she said. "I 
 have heard much of you." 
 
 " Mademoiselle, if you will give me your confidence, I will 
 value it like a mine of diamonds." 
 
 " It is yours, with all my heart," she said. " She has not 
 been a well used woman." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Lord Festiniog. " My son Iltyd did not 
 use her altogether well. For me, I behaved like a dog to her, 
 once." 
 
 " Your behaviour, my lord " here she paused. 
 
 " Festiniog," he suggested. 
 
 "I cannot pronounce that" she said. "I would if I could, 
 but I can't. Say it again." 
 
 He did so, and she made two or three attempts. They were 
 no use, and she ended by saying that she, for the sake of argu- 
 ment, would call him M. Bonnechose. He agreed to this, and 
 she continued. 
 
 < 'Your behaviour, M. Bonnechose, was always very excellent to 
 her. No one can find fault with you about it. She was married. 
 Good. You did not know it. Good. You disputed it. That 
 was right of you. Drummond had stolen her child. When that 
 was proved and confessed to by Drummond, you allowed the fact. 
 That was most honourable. But, were you good when you sent 
 George Arnaud to sea with Barri? I do not think that you 
 were." 
 
 " But I did not know it. I did not know that the facts were 
 proved." 
 
 "Then I am misinformed," said Mademoiselle Clotilde, " that 
 is all I can say." 
 
KUMBEK SEVENTEEN. '291 
 
 " Who was your informant ? " 
 
 "Drummond," said she. 
 
 " But, has he been making mischief between Mary and 
 myself?" 
 
 11 My lord, her position is this. He has told my cousin 
 Arnaud, and she has told me, that since you have discovered the 
 fact that George Arnaud is next in succession, you have been 
 trying, in every way, to get rid of him. He will now say that 
 you Lave succeeded in doing so ; and, what is more, Marie might 
 believe it." 
 
 "But, is the man here, back in London, and saying such 
 abominable falsehoods ? ' ' 
 
 " It is perfectly certain, and what is more, he has threatened 
 your lordship in my presence." 
 
 " The What does he threaten me with, then ? " 
 
 " He only says that you are a lost man without him. He 
 declares that your property is dependent on him, that you do not 
 know where certain deeds are, and that you never dare to face 
 him." 
 
 " But when was he here last — yesterday ? " 
 
 " No, this morning. He is in a very dangerous state. If I 
 might detain your lordship, I would ask for a little advice. We 
 want some, I assure you." 
 
 " I will give you all that it is in my power to give," said Lord 
 Festiniog, " but I must ask you again, what has Drummond been 
 baying ? " 
 
 " My lord, how can I say ? He has been telling Mrs. Arnaud 
 that you are not Lord Festiniog at all ; that there is some matter 
 of an old marriage which he has discovered ; that there is — I 
 know not what. I cannot tell you, for I do not remember the 
 whole." 
 
 " What has Mary said to this ? " 
 
 " She has been calm as usual. I think that she has been 
 prepared for a journey." 
 
 "Indeed! " 
 
 " Yes ; but you must come back to-morrow. Do not delay 
 here now." 
 
 Lord Festiniog decidedly agreed that he would come back on 
 the morrow. 
 
292 KUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 Lord Festiniog- went back to No. 17, and was extremely well 
 received there, by no one better than by old • Madame Merton. 
 Whatever that excellent old lady's temper might be previous to 
 and after the arrival of Lord Festiniog, during his stay in the 
 house she was all sunshine. 
 
 A most pleasant, chatty old woman ; slightly and lightly 
 scandalous at first, until she saw that Lord Festiniog did not 
 like it ; then quite as scandalous as ever, but in a moral manner, 
 and without any levity. She pulled everybody's character to 
 pieces quite as charmingly as ever, but finding that Lord Fes- 
 tiniog was religious, she did it in a religious way, which was quite 
 as poignant as the other way. She discoursed about the repent- 
 ance, and ultimate (as far as she could tell) salvation of great 
 sinners, with illustrative anecdotes, which became moral from the 
 tone of voice in which she told them. She let Lord Festiniog 
 know very soon that she had repented, and then, treating him as 
 a man on the verge of the grave, told him of what. His lordship 
 told her that he was very glad to hear it, in fact, congratulated 
 her. She received his congratulations with a smile, and hoped 
 that he himself would some day find peace. 
 
 Madame always, during the short time which followed, treated 
 Lord Festiniog as a repentant sinner, who might yet be saved. 
 She never hinted at his turning Roman Catholic, or at his marry- 
 ing her last importation from France, Mademoiselle Clotilde. 
 She always vilipended her spiritual director as a noodle, and 
 ordered Clotilde out of the room when Lord Festiniog came. 
 Still, to use a vulgarism, she took her change out of Lord Fes- 
 tiniog, by pointing out to him that he was the author of all the 
 woes of her family. Had he been kinder to Iltyd, Iltyd never 
 would have made a secret marriage ; had he acknowledged Mary 
 Arnaud's marriage at once, she never would have been thrown 
 against James Drummond (which was totally untrue) ; had he, in 
 short, done anything but what he had done, George Drummond 
 never would have been drowned, Barri would not have been an 
 idiot, and the last horrible catastrophe never would have occurred 
 at all. Lord Festiniog was, in spite of his better reason, obliged 
 to admit that it would have been better for him if No. 17 had 
 never existed, and far better for No. 17 if he had never come 
 near it. 
 
NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 293 
 
 The last disaster which had befallen this most unlucky number 
 in that most unhappy street is almost too terrible to be written 
 down. Mary Arnaud had eloped almost openly with James 
 Drummond. They had started off together from the London 
 Bridge Station ; they had been tracked to Paris, and so to 
 Vienna, with all the acumen of an associated European police. 
 At the last-named town they were arrested, and discovered to be 
 Lord and Lady Hartley on their wedding tour. A great deal of 
 acrimonious correspondence followed on the subject of this arrest, 
 both at the time of which we are speaking and afterwards ; still, 
 the fact remained the same ; Mary Arnaud had gone off with 
 James Drummond, and the ferocious virtue assumed by the 
 injured family from Paris was an awful thorn in Lord Festiniog's 
 side. 
 
 Why had they been pursued ? Whose business was it to 
 interfere with their arrangements ? If Mary, who had lived so 
 excellent and so virtuous a life, chose, at the end of it, to cast 
 reputation to the winds, to go away with a man who had treated 
 her in the most shameful manner, with the man who had actually 
 stolen her child, now drowned, whose business was it, again? 
 Why, no one's. 
 
 Drummond had played fast and loose with Lord Festiniog, but 
 Lord Festiniog had forgiven him, and, on the whole, was kindly 
 disposed to him. He was not the first man, thought Lord 
 Festiniog, who went to the devil after a woman. 
 
 " As the late Mrs. Crawley said," he added, for he was old, 
 rich, and virtuous, "I like the man's devotion to Mary; it is a 
 fine trait in the man's character. 
 
 " And Mary's devotion to Iltyd also," thought his lordship, 
 " that is gone. A very good woman. I am sorry I ever 
 quarrelled with her. Well, God forgive us all our sins. I'll go 
 to No. 17, and talk to them all." 
 
 So he went, and heard more particulars. It was only after a 
 second visit there that he heard the whole truth from Rhyader, 
 who met him at the shop -door. 
 
 Mary Arnaud and James Drummond had not only gone off 
 together, but had taken title and other deeds to the amount of 
 two hundred thousand pounds with them. Hence, the hunt after 
 them to Vienna — hence, the fact of the arrest of the innocent 
 Lord and Lady Hartley, who were twenty years younger than 
 either of them. And hence, the fact that Lord Festiniog, being 
 persistently bullied by Lord and Lady Rhyader, was eternally at 
 No. 17, very frequently, during the absences of Madame Merton, 
 in the company of Mademoiselle Clotilde, 
 
294 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 AM EHEIN. 
 
 The dawn comes flushing up over the brown-grey crags and the 
 shattered castles, lighting them one by one, and creeping lower 
 and lower down the iron cliffs which confine the mighty river, and 
 hurl it in its anger from side to side of the glen. Wreaths ot 
 mist still linger among the closely-packed vineyards, and along 
 the dark rift of the Switzerthal, which on the opposite bank sends 
 its flashing, sparkling contribution of water into the great Rhine 
 itself. The swine-herd's horn is heard, not unmusically, in the 
 little town below, which is awaking to the tinkle of the bell for 
 early mass. Now the sun reaches the river, and lights it with 
 gleams of gold, green, and silver, most beautiful to behold ; and 
 now it has sketched out all the hills, and the solemn peace of the 
 autumnal sabbath has settled down upon the beautiful Rhine 
 lands. 
 
 Nowhere, neither on vineyard, on crag, on castle, on church- 
 tower, nor on wooded valley, rich with the purple saffron, did the 
 sun shine with more pleasant radiance than on the crucifix on the 
 hill above the town, where the copse and vineyards end, and the 
 broad cornfields clothe the level plateau as far as the eye can 
 reach. Here four roads meet, and at the meeting-place is the 
 little shrine, with the great figure above it, a landmark for some 
 miles either in sunshine or in snow. 
 
 Only one figure was in sight on this morning, that of a woman 
 kneeling in long devotion, with her head bent. So long did she 
 remain in this attitude, that a little bird flew down and settled 
 quite close to her, uttering a low, melancholy note. At length 
 she rose, and turned her face towards the sunlight, looking round 
 on the glorious prospect. It was Mary Arnaud. 
 
 Pale and harassed, but with a quiet, calm confidence in her 
 face, which would have dispelled at once any fear of her, had it 
 been seen by those most interested. The fresh morning air, and 
 the pleasure of the landscape, put a slight colour in her cheeks, 
 as she set her feet down hill towards the town. 
 
 Some of the earliest risers in the place were the patients of Dr. 
 Holland, who had there, in the old convent of Marienburg, above 
 the highest roofs, an establishment for people who were ill, or 
 fancied themselves to be so. It was called a hydropathic sana- 
 torium, but it was a very agreeable place, with quite as agreeable 
 a table d'hote as any near, The guests on this morning had 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 295 
 
 returned from their early walks or baths, and had sat down to 
 breakfast with the voracious appetite gained by foreign air and 
 early hours, and there was a short silence ; but very soon con- 
 versation began, and ran mainly on one point, the arrival of Mr. 
 Hickson and his distingue looking sister the day before. They 
 were discussed from every point of view, and it was agreed that 
 she, at all events, would do. If they could get no other entertain- 
 ment out of her, they could speculate about her and copy her 
 exquisite clothes to the best of their ability. 
 
 On one side of the doctor sat the father of the guests, a man of 
 three seasons, a fat old gentleman from Porto Rico, and on the 
 other the clergyman, a reverend London rector, the guest of two 
 years. These two had the doctor's ear. 
 
 " And what shall you make of your new patient, doctor ? " said 
 Porto Rico. 
 
 "I am almost afraid I shall want your assistance," said the 
 doctor, turning to the reverend gentleman. 
 
 "Mind troubled?" said the reverend gentleman. "Well, I 
 have been used to sick beds for forty years, and I am ready for 
 him." 
 
 " I was not referring to spiritual consolation," said the doctor ; 
 " I meant that I fear I shall have to ask you to read the burial 
 service over him." 
 
 " So bad as that. Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! Ay ! ay ! " 
 
 "I fear so. He is in a state of intense nervous depression, 
 from which, if he does not rally " The doctor said no more. 
 
 "How fortunate that he has a relation with him," said Porto 
 Rico. 
 
 " She is most devoted to him," said the doctor. " I should 
 be almost powerless without her. She has had him in this state, 
 or even worse, ever since Antwerp, and has only got him on by 
 slow degrees. He would have died at Antwerp, were it not for 
 her." 
 
 "How did she manage to find us out, I wonder?" said the 
 clergyman. 
 
 " I knew her in Paris," said the doctor ; " I knew her family. 
 And you two do me the favour not to talk about her at all ; there 
 are very painful family circumstances which render it as well not. 
 Her brother has been living too hard, and also has met with some 
 great disappointment. I can only say of her that she is the 
 noblest of women." 
 
 She entered shortly after he had finished speaking, and took 
 her seat in the place which was left for her next the clergyman. 
 She talked quite calmly about indifferent topics, the scenery, the 
 
296 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 air, the river, and then, turning to the doctor, asked him what he 
 thought of her brother's state that morning. 
 
 "I think it is extremely grave, madam," said the doctor. 
 " Still, such unremitting attention as yours must do more than I 
 can. He is very uneasy without you." 
 
 " I have been away from him this morning," she said, " for a 
 lovely walk. I will spend the rest of the day with him." 
 
 She went back to his room, and the doctor came with her. 
 There, on a sofa before a window which looked down upon the 
 Rhine, lay the miserable wreck called James Drummond, trembling 
 at every sound, and staring at them as they entered with dilated 
 pupils and quivering lips. He tried to speak, but he only pro- 
 duced an inarticulate babble. With the aid of the doctor's and 
 Mary's arm he tried to walk across the room, but his knees smote 
 together and they were afraid of his fainting. The doctor made 
 a little weak brandy and water for him, but at the sight of it he 
 gave an inarticulate howl, dreadful to hear, and fell back on his 
 couch. 
 
 " He has been so ever since Antwerp," said Mary. " He can- 
 not bear the smell of the brandy." 
 
 " Yes, I will try opiates," said the doctor. " When did the 
 worst of this begin, did you say ? " 
 
 " At Antwerp, the day I joined him. In fact, I found him in 
 the. state I have mentioned to you." 
 
 " He must have had some violent shock, surely, in addition 
 to his intemperate habits." 
 
 " Well, he had," said Mrs. Arnaud. " I was the cause of it." 
 
 " H'm. Had you not better write home ? " 
 
 " That is totally impossible," said Mrs. Arnaud. " Ehyader, 
 or possibly Festiniog, would be thrusting their hands in and ruin- 
 ing everything. I must take the sole responsibility. Will he die ? " 
 
 " I cannot say, it is very doubtful." 
 
 " Will he speak before he dies ? " 
 
 " He may or he may not. One thing is certain, for a long 
 time no subject in the least degree likely to agitate him must be 
 broached. That would be death." 
 
 " Then I must wait here and watch." 
 
 " There is no doubt of that if you wish to have him speak again 
 reasonably. But reflect again, madame, is there not one friend 
 to whom you could confide ? " 
 
 " Not one, doctor. I have no friend whom I could trust — who 
 would not commit an indiscretion. I could have confided in my 
 poor drowned son, but he was lost in saving his cousin. No, I 
 must go through it myself." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 297 
 
 So she took up her watch alone and unaided, and such a watch. 
 Beside the couch of a man whom she had come to save, whose 
 feeble hand, whenever it touched hers gave a gentle pressure which 
 made her almost mad, whose eyes never met hers without an ex- 
 pression of tenderness and gratitude. Such was her watch, with 
 the full sense that on his recovery, when she had wrested his secret 
 from him, the poor wretch must be rudely undeceived as to her 
 feelings for him, and by herself — by no other. 
 
 He had come to her wild with drink and rage, and had made a 
 terrible scene. She had lost her temper, and had spoken words 
 to him as fierce as any of his own, and so they had parted, as she 
 believed, for the last time ; it was not so, however ; they were 
 bound to meet again, and that suddenly. 
 
 Five hours after she had parted from him, she got a letter from 
 him telling her that he was ruined, but that he was determined to 
 drag down others in his ruin ; that he was mad, but that he 
 would make some others as mad as he was. He had taken Lord 
 Festiniog's title-deeds and securities to the value of two hundred 
 thousand pounds, and was gone with them to America. One 
 single word from her would stay him, even now, and it was to be 
 sent by telegram to Gravesend, to a certain address. 
 
 She did not hesitate for an instant. She telegraphed the word 
 " yes," and received in answer, "Hotel du Pare, Antwerp. 
 Hickson." 
 
 She went to his office, and told his head clerk that she was 
 going to join his master for a tour on the Continent, and that his 
 letters were to be addressed to Vienna. The head clerk had long- 
 suspected that something of the kind would occur sooner or later 
 between Mrs. Am and and James Drummond, and was not at all 
 surprised. He no more believed that they were going to Vienna, 
 than he believed that they were going to Timbuctoo, but, like a 
 good servant, he wished to cover his master's retreat, and did so, 
 to the confusion of the police. A short note from Drummond, 
 dated Gravesend, informed him that his master had not only gone 
 abroad, but had taken Lord Festiniog's securities with him ; at 
 which point in the plot, he considered it necessary to communicate 
 with Lord Rhyader, and save himself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mary had found out that there was but one boat to 
 Antwerp by which he could go, and, taking a very hurried farewell 
 of every one, she put herself on board of it. He joined the boat at 
 Gravesend, and she kept close, watching him carefully with her 
 veil down. 
 
 He was very ill, so ill that it seemed to require an almost 
 desperate effort on his part to get to his cabin. He had no 
 
298 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 servant, that was a comfort. His portmanteau was brought on 
 board by the porters, and stowed with the other passenger's 
 luggage. He went to his private cabin at once, and lay down. 
 They were hardly out of the Thames before Mary Amaud took 
 the Belgian captain into her confidence. She told him that her 
 brother was very ill, and that she had followed him. As he was 
 undoubtedly very ill, the captain pitied her, and gave her every 
 assistance in his power when they got to Antwerp. At the Pare 
 she had taken possession of him entirely as his sister ; but he was 
 delirious, and did not know her. 
 
 His keys she had, but they revealed nothing. The papers were 
 not in his trunks ; that she very soon discovered. Where were 
 they ? No one knew, save the madman who lay gasping on the 
 bed before her. The task before her was to save him until he 
 could speak articulately and think consecutively. Then she knew 
 that she could have his secret from him, for she was certain on 
 that one point. 
 
 But his disease fought terribly against nature, and it was only 
 against overwhelming odds that she got him to St. Goar. There, 
 to her horror, the thing which she longed for, yet dreaded, 
 happened ; the man began to recognise her, and to try and call 
 her by name, to press her hand and, as he in his vanity thought, 
 to believe that she had relented after all. 
 
 She watched him like a sister, no sister was ever more diligent 
 or more faithful to a brother. And yet she hated the man. She 
 had set a certain duty before her — that of recovering the lost 
 papers for Lord Festiniog, "who had been kind to her." she 
 knew perfectly well that if any of them interfered the papers would 
 be lost ; and so, silent and unassisted, she kept watch over the 
 man she liked least in all the world. 
 
 He began to mend before the beginning of October, and she 
 began to dread the scene which must ultimately come. But that 
 scene, which she had so often featured to herself, never came at 
 all. Half the evils of this world are purely imaginary. The curse 
 of successful nations, like the Anglo-Saxon and Teutonic, is the 
 anticipation of evil, as may be seen in our everyday history, and 
 is called familiarly, and somewhat foolishly, by the daily and 
 weekly journals " panic." Mrs. Arnaud had prepared herself for 
 a state of things which never occurred. 
 
 James Drummond got by degrees so much better that he came 
 to the table d'hote, and ultimately went out driving with his 
 reverence and Porto Rico. On his return from one of these 
 drives, he asked Mary to come to his room, as he wished to speak 
 to her very particularly. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 299 
 
 She came, and sat down by him, not daring to begin the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Mrs. Arnaud," he said, "they tell me that you have been 
 utterly devoted to me during my illness. You must perceive that 
 I am not long for this world, and I wish to make a clean breast as 
 regards you, for my memory has quite come back now." 
 
 " Yes, I have pulled you through, James," she said. 
 
 " James ! Ah, well, it is all the same now. If that word had 
 been said like that years ago, things might have been different. 
 For what reason, Mrs. Arnaud, have you paid this remarkable 
 attention to me?" 
 
 It was an awful question, an unanswerable question. Mrs. 
 Arnaud sat dumb. 
 
 "I see that you cannot answer me. I thought for awhile, 
 during my delirium, that you had come after me for myself. Now 
 that my intellect is restored, I know that you have only tended me 
 to get the truth about Lord Festiniog's papers. So good a nurse 
 should be properly repaid. You have ransacked my trunks, I 
 suppose ? ' ' 
 
 Mary Arnaud was obliged to say " Yes." 
 
 " Thank you. If you will open that one nearest the window 
 you will find everything you want. No, not there, my dear 
 madam, nor there,' neither ; press that little spring on the lid. 
 There you are." 
 
 She stood up before him with the papers in her hand, but with- 
 out a word to say for herself. 
 
 " Mary Arnaud," he said, " you are answerable for those papers 
 now, not I. Take them back to the people whom you always 
 loved better than you did me. Y T ou are absolutely heartless." 
 
 " Because I could not love you ! " she flashed out. 
 
 "No, I am not a loveable person. But you are so utterly 
 deceitful. You have saved my life for a few weeks, and you have 
 tended me like a sister or a saint. And for what ? Why, to get 
 those papers. I have no gratitude towards you at all ; you may 
 take them, and go to the devil with them." 
 
 'May God forgive you, James Drummond, as I do," she said, 
 with the papers in her hand. " Now, good-bye." 
 
 " Stop, Mary," he said, "in decency's sake, stop. You must 
 go through those papers, and give me a receipt for them. That 
 is only fair." 
 
 She was so silly and confused that she did it. She counted the 
 papers, and gave a receipt for eight. The doctor and Porto Rico 
 were called in to witness the document, which she left with him ? 
 and then she departed. 
 
300 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " Doctor," she said to that functionary, "I am going to 
 England." 
 
 " You cannot possibly take your brother, madam," said he. 
 
 "I am aware of it; but I must go. Is his situation so 
 critical?" 
 
 " I cannot tell at all. He may live to be eighty if he leaves off 
 drinking now. I never thought that I should have pulled him 
 through. I will take the best care of him." 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud at once thanked him, and left the corridor with 
 singular haste, the doctor thought. But the steamboat was nearly 
 due, and she had to pack, a matter about which she was very 
 nimble. 
 
 The steamboat did not come to the wharf, the Rhine was low 
 that year. She put off in a boat, with her trunks, and scrambled 
 on board. James Drummond got from his bed, and saw her go. 
 He gave her bon voyage. 
 
 " Curse you, my lady," he said. " I have been angling at 
 your worthless heels for too many years. You have tried to 
 conceal your hatred from me, but you have not quite succeeded. 
 You have been the cause of my drinking, a habit which never gave 
 me any pleasure. I took to it because you scorned me, I leave it 
 because you scorn me still. I think that I have prepared a nice 
 little bed of nettles for you, madam, when you get home." 
 
 The doctor came to see him later in the clay. He was surprised 
 to find his patient so much better. His patient entered into con- 
 versation with him. 
 
 " To what do you attribute my late illness, doctor ? " 
 
 " To drinking'." 
 
 "Exactly. I have always hated it; and now I am going to 
 give it up, for I never got any real pleasure from it." 
 
 "It is time you did give it up," said the doctor. " You will 
 not survive such another bout as this." 
 
 " I know : it was that woman who has just gone, who drove me 
 to it." 
 
 " Your sister ? " 
 
 " My sister ! she is as much my sister as you are ! She is one 
 of the most swindling thieves in Europe. Has she paid her 
 bill ? " 
 
 The doctor thought it worth while to step down and inquire. 
 Mary, certainly, in her haste, had not gone through that cere- 
 mony, and the doctor returned to inform him of the fact. The 
 invalid laughed. 
 
 "You will find my cash-box in that trunk, doctor; bring it 
 here and I will pay .you," 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 301 
 
 " My dear sir, there is no need to " said the doctor. 
 
 "Bring it here, my dear sir," said Drummond. "Short 
 reckonings make long friendships." The cash-box was brought 
 to him, and the key of it was at the top of his dressing-case. It 
 was quickly opened. 
 
 The doctor saw on the top of a pile of bank-notes a yellow parch- 
 ment, evidently very old. Drummond's trembling hand selected 
 a note for £100, which he placed in the doctor's, begging him to 
 carry on the aecount between them. The doctor received it 
 gravely, and Drummond locked up the box with great rapidity. 
 "There is ten thousand or more here, doctor," he said, "but 
 there are no thieves in Germany. I think that if you will send 
 up Gretchen with some more of that draught, I will go to sleep." 
 
 " Gretchen is in the kitchen," said the doctor. " If you do 
 not mind new faces, I will send up the other woman ; but, after 
 all, I think that I had better bring you your sleeping draught 
 myself." 
 
 " It is all one to me," said Drummond. The doctor gave it to 
 him, and he went to sleep. 
 
 Drummond was fast asleep now, so fast asleep that he was 
 nearly waking in eternity. Gretchen, the honest German woman, 
 was really in the kitchen again, and had a hard day's work among 
 the patients. The doctor met the "new woman" on the stairs, 
 and said to her, " Carlina, you had better go up and sit beside 
 Mr. Drummond." 
 
 " Why do you call me Carlina ? " she asked. 
 
 "It is your real name, is it not?" said the doctor, coolly. 
 "It is on your certificates." 
 
 " Did the lady who has just left ever ? " said she. 
 
 "I should think it impossible," said the doctor. "I do not 
 suppose that she would trouble herself much about you. I do not 
 suppose that she has ever seen you." 
 
 " I have taken good care about that," said Carlina, as she 
 walked upstairs to her duty. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE END OF JAMES DRUMMOND'S SCHEME. 
 
 Carlina approached James Drummond's bed with a curious 
 mixture of feeling regarding him. She had loved the man, and, 
 
302 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 in one way, loved him still. He had used her as his plaything 
 first, and afterwards as his tool. She had submitted to him, 
 worked for him, and betrayed him to Lord Festiniog. She had 
 done everything she could to ruin him, and bring him once more 
 to her feet. She had not succeeded. Mrs. Arnaud always stood 
 like a good angel between him and her. She had worked about 
 through crafty, secret ways to separate them, but that seemed, at 
 last, impossible. When Mary Arnaud followed James Drummond, 
 she followed also, and hid herself in the house where they had 
 taken refuge. 
 
 She listened to what they said to one another on the occasion 
 which has been described above. She saw that Mary Arnaud had 
 never loved Drummond, and that Drummond had ceased to love 
 Mary Arnaud. 
 
 " His heart shall be mine again," she said. " I will get a new 
 power over him. Somehow, I care not how. I listened to every 
 word which passed between them, and if you — (here she addressed 
 her daimon) — mean to tell me that he told her the whole truth, I 
 will be burnt alive." 
 
 So she entered the sick man's room. He was sleeping very 
 quietly ; there was not the remotest need for her to hurry herself. 
 She knew from spying where his keys were. She took out his 
 cash-box and examined it. There were about six thousand pounds 
 in notes. She first took two hundred-pound notes for necessary 
 expenses, then she took three, then she took four, and locked up 
 the cash-box, virtuously refusing to take another farthing. She 
 came of a very decent banditti family, and the honour of her 
 family appealed to her strongly not to take more than was abso- 
 lutely necessary. She had actually locked up the cash-box, when 
 the Neapolitan blood of her mother came through her head like a 
 wave, and told her to take the whole six thousand pounds. But 
 then the blood of her father, who was a Genoese, and con- 
 sequently a calculating man, a trader, came to her assistance, and 
 said, " The doctor knows that there is nearly ten thousand pounds 
 there ; if you take it all you will be found out." She invoked the 
 Virgin for this suggestion, which doubtless came from above. 
 She opened the box, took out another hundred pounds, and felt 
 transcendcntly virtuous. 
 
 Is she the only person in the world who has thought that she 
 has made her peace with God by committing a small crime when 
 she might have committed a greater one ? 
 
 She went to look at the sleeping man. He was sleeping very 
 quietly. She had been familiar with him in old times, and now 
 she was but his nurse. He was lying, as she thought, uneasily, 
 
NUMBEll SEVENTEEN. 303 
 
 and she tucked his clothes in. A yellow old paper dropped from 
 the tumbled clothes. She picked it up, and, taking it to the 
 candle, read it through. 
 
 "You are one artful sinner, James Drummond," she said. 
 "I see now why you got rid of that woman Arnaud in the way 
 you did. After your illness you were tired of her. I can't think 
 what you ever saw in her, myself. Now I have you in my hands, 
 my lad. The doctor, when you unlocked the cash-box and gave 
 it back, could never have seen this ; even he would not have with- 
 stood the temptation. Why, this paper is worth a hundred 
 thousand pounds . ' ' 
 
 Well, we will deal with this wondrous paper afterwards. It 
 was worth nothing, but James Drummond and Lord Festiniog 
 both thought that it was. Not to make any mystery, it was a 
 grant of the whole Barri estates to Tom Killigrew, signed by 
 Charles the Second. There was no date, and but one witness, 
 whose name was undecipherable, but who had written pathetically 
 under the word, " Don't know what it is all about." 
 
 She secured this paper, and then went to see after the sick 
 man again. He was extremely quiet — so much so that she 
 moved the bedclothes from his face. She looked at him only 
 once — she had seen the thing before. She went down to the 
 doctor at once, and said, " I wish you to come up with me." 
 
 The doctor came, but fifty doctors could not alter circum- 
 stances — James Drummond was dead. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LORD FESTINIOG'S CONFESSION. 
 
 The present writer is not the only person who considers that 
 the practice of confession, as carried out in certain communions, 
 is a most objectionable thing. Still, there is much to be said for 
 it by its admirers. It is used in almost all sects under various 
 names. Some call it " confession," some " religious advice," some 
 11 experiences of conversion." All mean, to a certain extent only, 
 the same thing — the desire to confide to some one else what is 
 too great a burden for your own heart. Lord Festiniog was one 
 of the last men to go to confession, and yet he did so most 
 decidedly. 
 
304 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 It comes to very much the same thing in the end. People 
 want to tell the truth and get excused, even if they are not 
 Catholics. 
 
 Lord Festiniog wanted confession and absolution most emphati- 
 cally. He knew that he could find some one to whom he could 
 pour out his whole soul, and he knew that he could get excused, 
 hut he wanted to be absolved, and that his conscience told him 
 that he could not very easily be. 
 
 There must be something very delightful in belonging to a 
 religion which provides a not peculiarly literate man to answer 
 for your sins. Lord Festiniog knew that no such easy-going 
 faith was available in this world, but he got all that he wanted 
 from a priest of the Anglican church — that is to say, confession 
 and absolution. 
 
 It occurred to him, that as he was extremely vexed and worried 
 in every way, he would go and walk in Pall Mall. Why he should 
 have done so is no business of ours. Pall Mall is not a place for 
 a disturbed spirit. Lord Festiniog belonged to the Reform Club, 
 but he was so vexed that he walked into the Travellers' by 
 mistake, went into the morning room, and took up a newspaper. 
 
 The porter had followed him. 
 
 "Are you a member, sir?" that functionary asked. "I do 
 not know you." 
 
 Lord Festiniog was going to swear, but a soft voice at his 
 elbow stopped him. 
 
 " You have come here to see me, Lord Festiniog, I think ? " 
 
 "If you choose to put it so," said Lord Festiniog, " Why — 
 good gracious, it is Archdeacon Luxmore ! " 
 
 "Let us come to the Athenaeum," said the archdeacon; "we 
 are both members there." 
 
 And at the Athena3iim Lord Festiniog made his confession 
 to the archdeacon. We are about to betray the secrets of the 
 confessional. 
 
 When they were settled comfortably, Lord Festiniog said, 
 " You know, my dear archdeacon, that I am a fool ? " 
 
 " My religion and my training as a gentleman prevent my ever 
 contradicting any one," said the archdeacon. 
 
 " Exactly. If you like I will prove it to you," said Lord 
 Festiniog. 
 
 " I will take your word for fact, my dear friend," said the 
 archdeacon. " I am inclined entirely to agree with you, without 
 any proof." 
 
 Lord Festiniog continued, in a tone which was at first cross, 
 but which afterwards grew more genial and confidential, 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 305 
 
 "I never had much education in the ways of the world. I 
 spoilt my two boys, and let them do pretty much as they liked. 
 Gervase always did as I wished him, though I have had words 
 with him at times. Iltyd never cared very much about me, but I 
 loved him the best of the two. Do you understand me ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Well, Iltyd took his own way when he grew up. He married 
 a milliner. Mary is a most remarkable woman, archdeacon. 
 Few women like her. I thought that she was not really married, 
 and that Iltyd had deceived her. I and my son Rhyader treated 
 her like one of the family, and she was our humble servant. 
 After twenty odd years, she flew out at us, defied us, and said, 
 and, what is more, proved, that she was properly married at 
 Leghorn. 
 
 " Good. We had a quarrel, but she won. And then conies 
 the most remarkable part of the story. My lawyer, James 
 Drummond, had access to her for business purposes in Italy, and 
 fell in love with her ; not in an ordinary way, but in a mad way. 
 I will make matters as short for you as I can ; but I must tell you 
 that he was persistently mad about that woman, and that he stole 
 her child, my own grandson, thinking by this means to engage 
 her heart." 
 
 "A curious way of doing it, was it not?" said the arch- 
 deacon. 
 
 " He thought," said Lord Festiniog, " that if she was left 
 without any tie, she would be more easily won. He adopted the 
 boy he had stolen, and brought him up. Now the most astound- 
 ing thing is this, archdeacon. Whether the man Drummond 
 managed it or not, I can't tell. After above twenty years of 
 friendliness, that woman, Mary Arnaud, quarrelled with me. 
 She started as a milliner at No. 17, Hartley Street, and the very 
 first person she met in her house was Iter own son, whom she did 
 not know from Adam." 
 
 " How on earth did that happen? " said the archdeacon. 
 
 " I don't know," said Lord Festiniog, " but happen it did. I 
 did not know that the young man was my grandson. How should 
 I ? I liked him well enough, and of course would have done 
 anything for him. In the meantime I drowned him." 
 
 " That seems a mistake as it stands," said the archdeacon. 
 
 "I did not mean to do it," said Lord Festiniog. "I sent 
 him abroad with Rhyader's son, as his tutor. He found out that 
 he, in case of Barri's death, would be heir, and he — well " 
 
 " Pitched the boy overboard? " said the archdeacon. 
 
 " Why, no ; he drowned himself to save his rival." 
 
 21 
 
306 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " A noble creature," said the archdeacon. " Well ? " 
 
 "It is all very good to say ' Well! ' " said Lord Festiniog, 
 testily; "but everything is in the most infernal mess. Iltyd's 
 son, who was called George Drummond, is drowned. The boy 
 Barri seems a hopeless idiot in consequence of the sufferings he 
 went through in his shipwreck. Mary Arnaud, Iltyd's own wife, 
 after twenty years of good behaviour, has bolted to the Conti- 
 nent with my family laywer, taking papers to the value of 
 £200,000 ; taking, in fact, one which could not be replaced, and 
 which would utterly ruin me if it was discovered." 
 
 " What could that be ? " said the archdeacon, for priests are 
 curious. 
 
 " Well, my dear sir, if that paper was correct, I am no more 
 Lord Festiniog than you are the Pope of Rome. This is safe 
 with you ? ' ' 
 
 " Certainly; I am accessory after the fact," said the arch- 
 deacon. " Proceed in the tale of your wrongs." 
 
 " I think that I ought to be treated with more respect by 
 Rhyader, and I have fallen in love. At sixty-two— what do you 
 think of that ? What advice do you give me ? " 
 
 " You seem to have made a tolerable mess of it among you," 
 said the archdeacon. "If I was in your place I should most 
 certainly do nothing. What is the missing paper, and who is 
 your new lady-love?" 
 
 "Well, never mind about the lady; I may get over that 
 business ; I have done so once or twice before. The paper is a 
 grant of all we hold to the Killigrews by Charles the Second." 
 
 " That," said the archdeacon, " is dangerous ; and you should 
 not have told me. However, I will shrive you on condition that 
 you do the right." 
 
 And what was that ? 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 A SURPRISE FROM MADAME MERTON. 
 
 Lord Festiniog had long ago decided that life would be worth 
 having were it not for its troubles. At nearly the same time 
 Cornewall Lewis had come to the conclusion that life would be 
 possible without its pleasures. Victor Hugo would make out 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 307 
 
 that they both meant the same thing. But we are not so clever 
 as Victor Hugo, and are perfectly certain that they meant some- 
 thing entirely different. Lord Festiniog desired quiet, diligent 
 action, and Sir George Lewis did not. Lord Festiniog said 
 always that the women were driving him to the deuce in his old 
 age. Sir George Lewis never said anything of the kind. 
 
 Lord Festiniog, however, had very hard times. He was sitting 
 one evening with Mademoiselle Clotilde at No. 17, when the door 
 was opened, and the renegade Mary Arnaud walked in, and, without 
 the least remark, took off her bonnet, placed it on the sofa, and 
 requested Lord Festiniog to poke the fire. She then sat down. 
 
 "I want some tea," she said to Clotilde; "I have been 
 travelling." 
 
 Clotilde departed with amazing alacrity, and left Mary and 
 Lord Festiniog alone together, to his immense horror. He felt 
 that an explanation must come, and he hated explanations. 
 
 " Well, my lord," she began, " I think that I have made every- 
 thing right for you. Here are the papers." 
 
 " The papers which you took, Mary ? " 
 
 " The papers which I took ? I think you mean the papers 
 which he took. I got them from him. Here they are." 
 
 " I thought that you had been false to me," said Lord 
 Festiniog. 
 
 " Then you must be a noodle," said Mary Arnaud. " Look at 
 these papers. They are, I fancy, correct. After trusting me so 
 many years, you might trust me for a few more." 
 
 Lord Festiniog looked at her with admiration, and then he went 
 through the papers. " Mary," he said, " you only went with the 
 poor fellow who is dead to get these papers for us." 
 
 "I do not understand you, my lord. I went with him to get 
 these papers. I allow that. That I was true to Iltyd — I neither 
 insult myself nor you by going further with the matter. I got 
 these papers from him ; but you speak of him as dead. I left him 
 mending." 
 
 " I have had a telegram which tells me that he is dead, how- 
 ever." 
 
 And Lord Festiniog watched her carefully, to see how she would 
 take the news. 
 
 " Poor James," said Mary Arnaud, without a show of emotion ; 
 " and so he is dead. Poor fellow. He loved me very tenderly, 
 and I liked him, to some extent. But I am not sorry he is dead, 
 on the whole." 
 
 " My dear Mary " 
 
 " Your dear Mary ! Has not the man been the very bane of 
 
308 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 my whole life ? A falser friend never existed, neither to you nor 
 to me. Can I possibly pretend to a regret which I do not feel ? 
 Are you sorry ? " 
 
 "You are so terribly blunt," said Lord Festiniog. "I don't 
 mean to say that I am very sorry." 
 
 11 Then, what do you suppose I am," said Mrs. Arnaud, " at 
 the removal of the irritation of my life ? Lord Festiniog, do you 
 know that when I left him he hated me ? " 
 
 "Perhaps," thought the old man, "that may have something 
 to do with your singular coolness about him." And he quietly 
 went over the abstracted papers. 
 
 " The only paper which was of any vast value," said he, quietly, 
 " is not here ; your errand has been perfectly fruitless, I am sorry 
 to say. He lied roundly, and has utterly deceived you. The 
 paper which would ruin us is missing." 
 
 " I thought that he was rather easy with me," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 "What is to be done now, in the name of goodness ? Has he 
 destroyed it, do you think, in spite ? " 
 
 " I wish to heaven he had," said Lord Festiniog. " I was a 
 fool to keep it so long, I know that. If Khyader knew of it ! But 
 he cannot have destroyed it ; it would be a most friendly action." 
 
 "Well, I don't know what is to be done now" said Mrs. 
 Arnaud. " He knew the contents of this paper, of course." 
 
 " Why, of course he did, my dear soul, he found it, and pointed 
 out its value to me. Don't you know that he said to you once 
 that I was not Lord Festiniog at all ? If another family gets hold 
 of that paper I am poorer than the poorest beggar who whines for 
 pence at a crossing. If it is known that I had it in my possession, 
 and was ever aware of its contents, I should be utterly disgraced 
 as well as ruined. In God's name keep all this from Rhyader — 
 don't let a soul alive know of what has passed between us." 
 
 " How charmingly you look to-night, dear Lord Festiniog," 
 said a voice, which made them both start to their feet, with an 
 exclamation of terror from the lady, and a loud oath from the 
 gentleman. 
 
 There, behind them, stood old Madame Merton, charmingly 
 dressed and smiling ; they were absolutely dumb with utter horror. 
 
 "I have been listening to you two for the last five minutes," 
 she said, " and have heard every word you uttered. I am a most 
 unscrupulous listener ; I learnt the habit at my magasin in Paris, 
 where, to tell the truth, I made money by it. The instant I heard 
 Marie's voice in the passage, I pulled my old rheumatic bones 
 upstairs, and here I am. You, Lord Festiniog, look as though 
 you wished that I was anywhere else." 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 309 
 
 " Madame, I have not that power of concealing my thoughts, 
 which is possessed in such an eminent degree by your charming 
 nation, and by no member of it more than yourself. I wish, 
 Madame, you had been at — (he was going to say Jericho, but 
 substituted) — Paris before you had heard what you have." 
 
 " My lord," said the old woman, with a strange, indescribable 
 radiance in her lace, which utterly puzzled and surprised Lord 
 Festiniog ; " my lord, try to recall what I have heard." 
 
 " You have heard me confess my own dishonour, madam." 
 
 " Ay ? " cried the old woman, " and I have heard my daughter 
 vindicate hers, and so, what is yours to me ? My own long- 
 suffering Marie, take your mother's blessing, and try to forgive 
 her for ever distrusting you." 
 
 They were between the door and him, and so Lord Festiniog 
 was obliged to escape to the window, against which he leant while 
 there was silence in the room, broken only by a few sobs. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 LORD FESTINIOG'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 " Now, my dear people," said Madame Merton, sinking quietly on 
 the sofa, "we three had better put our heads together over this 
 business. This paper must be got hold of and burnt. I have 
 managed a few things in my time, and I fancy that you could not 
 have a better adviser." 
 
 " Madam, certainly not ! " said Lord Festiniog, " but you must 
 perceive, from what I have let fall, that my honour is in your 
 hands. I can move no further in the matter. My hands are clean 
 about it (which was a fiction). I cannot tell what I shall do." 
 
 " There is one thing you will not do," said Madame Merton; 
 "you will not act, or speak to Lord Rhyader, or any other human 
 being, until you have consulted with us. You will promise 
 that?" 
 
 Lord Festiniog thought for a little ; at last he said, " Yes, I 
 will promise that, I think that I can say that much." 
 
 "To be sure," said Madame Merton; "and come to us to- 
 morrow morning. We will do nothing until we see you, you may 
 depend upon that." 
 
 So Lord Festiniog went. 
 
BIO NUMBEE SEVENTEEN. 
 
 He knew that he was partly consenting to a dishonourable 
 action. He most entirely thought that his son Rhyacler would 
 have gone at once to the other family, and told the whole truth to 
 their utter ruin. Yet he could not determine what to do. As he 
 went downstairs, there was nothing, as it appeared to him, staring 
 him in the face but utter, sheer ruin. He was not like a man 
 beside himself, because old training had given him the habit of 
 keeping his thoughts to himself, but he was utterly and entirely 
 at his wits' end. 
 
 As he came into the hall, Clotilde came to meet him with a 
 light. 
 
 " My lord," she said, " come into the little back-parlour, which 
 is now empty, and speak to me ; I see from your face that you are 
 in great trouble, you must let me share it." 
 
 He followed her in, and sat beside her on the sofa. 
 
 He came very near her, but she did not seem to object in any 
 way whatever. He took her hand in his, and she did not with- 
 draw it ; and then he made a fool of himself, not for the first time 
 in his life. 
 
 " Clotilde," he said, " I am a very old man, is it in any way 
 possible that you can love me ? I will try to make you -" 
 
 "You need not try," said Clotilde. "I do love you beyond 
 any other man in the world." 
 
 " But, Clotilde, some terrible things have happened. I dare 
 not ask you for your hand until — until — I know not when." 
 
 " For my hand ! " said Clotilde, wondering, "you have got it, 
 have you not — at least, my right hand ? You shall* have the other, 
 if you like." 
 
 " I mean your hand in marriage." 
 
 She stared at him, but without withdrawing her hand. " Why, 
 you never thought of marrying me ? " 
 
 " I certainly did." 
 
 " My dear lord, pray banish the idea at once and for ever. I 
 like you better than any man I have ever seen, except my grand- 
 father, who was very like you, though I fancy he had more of the 
 grand air than even you have. Come, there is a kiss for you, 
 grandpapa. If I ever marry any one, I will ask you to give me 
 away. But I fancy, myself, I do not care about a husband — hus- 
 bands and wives perpetually disconcert one another ; there is only 
 one other man in the world who can make himself a worse nuisance 
 to a woman than her husband." 
 
 " Who is that ? " said Lord Festiniog ; " her brother ? " 
 
 "Oh, no! her lover," replied Clotilde. "Brothers are by no 
 means objectionable. If you quarrel with them you can make it 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 311 
 
 up again ; and even if you do not, they never shoot themselves, or 
 another man, or, what is still more important, yourself. Husbands 
 and lovers are a mistake. Now, we will be real friends." 
 
 "Certainly," said Lord Festiniog, and before he had any time 
 to say more, she went on, 
 
 " Look at D'Arcy and Heloise, I would not change places with 
 her, although she has become Lady Hartop. Nobody cares to 
 receive her, because she kept shop here. No, every one is not so 
 generous as you are, Lord Festiniog ; we will be friends, if you 
 please, but nothing else." 
 
 " Well ! well ! " said Lord Festiniog, " I would have made you 
 happy, in my way. Be happy in your own." 
 
 " My dear grandpapa," said Clotilde, " will you have the good- 
 ness to consider what a life we should have led with the Ehyaders 
 if we had ever married ? " 
 
 " Hah ! " said Lord Festiniog. " Well, my dear — yes — I did 
 not think of that. It is better as it is ; oh, yes ! it is far better 
 as it is, though he did urge me once." 
 
 " Now, then, we are comfortable," said Clotilde. " Tell me 
 now, as we are in entire confidence, what is going on upstairs ? " 
 " But I promised not to mention the matter to any human being, 
 if I recollect." 
 
 " If you don't tell me all about it, I will tell Rhyader that you 
 proposed to me," said Clotilde. 
 
 Lord Festiniog forgot, at once, his duties as senator, father, and 
 gentleman. He told Clotilde every word of what had passed 
 upstairs, but bound her to secrecy as regarded every other human 
 being in the whole world. 
 
 " I sha'n't tell anybody," she said. " I wish it had been pos- 
 sible to tell Heloise, for she is the most artful little minx in the 
 world ; but she has made the mistake of marrying, and is there- 
 fore unworthy of confidence. She would tell her husband. You 
 had better leave the matter with those two souls upstairs." 
 
 "I suppose I had better for the present, but I am sorely 
 puzzled, and I dare not tell Rhyader. You have been a kind 
 friend to me, Clotilde — — " 
 
 "And have prevented you making a fool of yourself," she 
 added. 
 
 "Hardly yet," said Lord Festiniog, " that still depends on the 
 powers above," and he pointed accidentally with one of Clotilde's 
 fingers, and not his own, to the upper storey, where Madame 
 Merton and Mrs. Arnaud were seated in conclave. 
 
 At this moment there came a loud knock at the door. They 
 drew suddenly apart and were silent. 
 
312 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 This last incident may appear strained and improbable to those 
 critics who do not reflect that the same thing happens in most 
 London houses at least once in five minutes, and that they had 
 been talking for at least twenty without its happening. The 
 improbability of the thing lies in its not having happened before. 
 
 Some people were in the passage asking for Lord Festiniog. 
 "By heaven," that nobleman exclaimed, "they are coming in 
 here." And, indeed, Rachel opened the door, and admitted Mrs. 
 Arnaud's dog, before heard of in these pages. Clotilde, with the 
 fervour of her nation, at once caught him to her bosom and carried 
 him to the opposite sofa. But that did not prevent Rachel 
 announcing Lord Rhyader and Mr. Barri ; nor did it prevent 
 Lord Festiniog from sitting bolt upright, with an expression on 
 his face like that of a man who has robbed a bank, and is fully 
 conscious of having the whole proceeds on his person when he is 
 arrested by the police. 
 
 Suppose that terrible old Merton was to hobble into the room 
 now, and make some frightful disclosure before she could be 
 stopped. Suppose she ever were to know the frightful nonsense 
 which he had been talking to Clotilde. Suppose — well, he sup- 
 posed everything which a guilty man will when he fears detection, 
 and he looked such a perfect noodle that his own son scarcely 
 recognised him. 
 
 " How are you, father ? " said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 "I don't know," said Lord Festiniog. " I thought I did this 
 morning, but I'll be hanged if I do now." 
 
 The boy came towards him, but very unsteadily. Lord Festiniog 
 met him and put him on the sofa beside him. " This is one of 
 your bad days Barri, eh ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Barri, "one of the days when everything goes 
 round. But I am getting very much better, grandpa. I am 
 beginning to read a little again now. You will never make a man 
 of me, but you may make a scholar. Poor George Drummond, he 
 died to save me, though it was against his interest. My heart 
 would break with joy if I saw him again." 
 
 " We will not," said Lord Rhyader, " pursue that subject. 
 George Drummond is drowned. Barri, go upstairs and see 
 Madame Merton : who, the servant tells me, is there." 
 
 " No! " said Lord Festiniog, sharply, " send the boy into the 
 street to walk about. Mademoiselle Clotilde, would you mind 
 leaving us, and taking the dog with you? " 
 
 He went, and he opened the door for her, kissed her hand. 
 He then sat down, looking anything but a noodle now, and con- 
 fronted his son. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 313 
 
 "Arc you going to marry that lady, sir?" said Rhyader, 
 haughtily, thereby putting the battlefield entirely in his father's 
 hands. 
 
 " No, sir ! " said Lord Festiniog. " I asked her to marry me 
 just now, and her answer was at once dignified and sensible. She 
 pointed out the difference in our ages, and, what is more, she 
 showed what extreme opposition I should meet with from you. I 
 desired to marry that lady, sir, and I asked her. She has refused 
 me." 
 
 " She is a young lady of great sense," said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " That is a civil thing to say to your own father, sir," said 
 Lord Festiniog, who above all things wished to get into a passion, 
 with some show of reason. "I do not see that I have done any- 
 thing to give you reason to insult me." 
 
 " My clear lather " 
 
 " There, enough, sir, you can go. I desire to hold no more 
 communication with you at the present moment. I am using 
 every endeavour to keep a house over your head, and I am met 
 in this way." 
 
 " But I assure you, my dear lord " 
 
 "I am not," said Lord Festiniog, now nearly laughing, but 
 taking a lesson from the school of Mademoiselle Clotilde, "to be 
 pacified by endearments, however plausible. I request you to 
 leave me, sir, and to believe that I am working for your good." 
 
 " I cannot understand it," said Lord Rhyader ; " why have you 
 turned against me suddenly, after so many years ? " 
 
 "Rhyader, go away. There is more hatching in this old No. 
 17 than you dream of or must know about." 
 
 Lord Rhyader thought it best to go ; and as he led poor 
 struggling Barri along he thought, very sadly, that his father was 
 losing his head, and that he would soon be master of the family. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 MADAME MERTON GOES ON THE WAR TRAIL. 
 
 " Mamma," said Mrs. Arnaud, when they were alone together, 
 " did you actually suspect me ? " 
 
 " My love, I did." 
 
 " Then you must make amends." 
 
314 NUMBEB SEVENTEEN. 
 
 ''Yes, in what way?" 
 
 " First, you must in future be kinder to all of us than you have 
 hitherto been ; and secondly, you must assist us by the whole 
 power of your brain." 
 
 " I promise both things, my darling. Now let us get to work 
 at once, and lose no time. From whom did Lord Festiniog get 
 this telegram announcing James Drummond's death ? " 
 
 "From Dr. Holland.'' 
 
 " I suppose that the dead man must have told him to telegraph 
 to his lordship, then. You know more about the late man than 
 any one else : had he any relations ? " 
 
 " None, that I am aware of." 
 
 11 What sort of a man is Dr. Holland ? An upright man ? " 
 
 " One of the noblest and most upright of men," said Mrs. 
 Arnaud. 
 
 " That is a terrible nuisance. It is the way of the world. You 
 can find rogues enough when you don't want them, and then when 
 you want one particular man to be a rogue, you find him an honest 
 man." 
 
 " Why do you desire him to be dishonest, mamma ? " 
 
 " It is fortunate that your mother was born before you, simple- 
 ton," said the old lady. "Do not you see that by this time he 
 has made an inventory of the dead man's goods, and has the paper 
 in his possession? " 
 
 " That is perfectly true," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 " How long were you there with him, did you say ? " 
 
 " About a fortnight." 
 
 " What did you represent yourself to be ? " 
 
 "His sister." 
 
 ' ' Cannot you go back in the same capacity and take possession 
 of everything ? Why of course you can." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that we are checkmated there again," said 
 Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " That woman Carlina, who helped him to take George from me 
 at Ravenna, had followed him there, and she would be pretty sure 
 to tell the truth, if it was only to spite me." 
 
 " That does not follow," said madam. "Post away and try; 
 you can do no harm by that. Go and see how the land lies." 
 
 " It is rather a difficult tiling for me, but if you advise " 
 
 " I'll tell you what," said the old lady, " I'll go with you." 
 
 " My dear mamma, with your rheumatism ! " 
 
 " I shall howl occasionally," she said coolly ; " you will explain 
 the reason of that to our fellow- voyagers if they exhibit any symp- 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 815 
 
 toms of terror or alarm. All my pain will be amply compensated 
 for if I can have the opportunity of matching my art against a 
 woman. You are an excellent woman, but you are a nigaude, my 
 dear. This Italian woman may be worth talking to. I dare say 
 that she will give us a vast deal of difficulty, but all that will be 
 intense pleasure to me. I only live in a world of excitement. 
 Get the things ready, and we will start to-morrow morning." 
 
 "But what are we going to do?" said Mrs. Arnaud. "It 
 seems fearfully like a conspiracy." 
 
 "It is one, my dear," said Madame Merton. "But you must 
 help in it. The family were very kind to you. And, moreover, 
 you can scarcely help yourself, because by representing yourself as 
 the dead man's sister, and getting possession, with your usual 
 cleverness, of every paper but the right one, you are deep in it 
 already." 
 
 This was obviously true, and Mrs. Arnaud abandoned herself to 
 her fate, only remarking to her mother that they must be very 
 careful, or that they would find themselves in Coldbath Fields 
 prison. 
 
 Madame Merton assented to this. "It shows you, my dear," 
 she said, "how extremely careful we should be. Don't commit 
 yourself, and don't sign anything. Allow me to observe that it is 
 not good ton to speak to a woman with chronic rheumatism (and 
 that woman your own mother) of Coldbath Fields. It is sufficient 
 of itself to bring on a violent lumbar attack." 
 
 " Well, mamma, I trust you, and I will do everything you tell 
 me. I have given you very much trouble in my life, and I will 
 try to be dutiful now." 
 
 " The result of which, my dear, will be that we shall probably 
 end our days in jail. English jails are, I believe, very insuffer- 
 able, but they cannot possibly be worse than the streets of London. 
 In jail, my dear, there are neither shoeblacks, costermongers, nor 
 whistling boys. If they place a shoeblack outside my cell, I have 
 about me, in my stockings, the means of putting an end to an 
 existence which Providence evidently had decided to have lasted 
 too long." 
 
 " But you don't carry poison in your stockings, mamma," said 
 Mrs. Arnaud, anxiously. 
 
 " Far from it, my dear. I only speak as a milliner. From my 
 knowledge of textile fabrics I could hang myself in my stockings 
 most dexterously, that is all." 
 
 "I could easily cut you down, mamma," said Mrs. Arnaud, 
 anxious to keep the old lady in good humour. 
 
 " My dear, no," she replied. "I get my stockings from a 
 
316 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 French firm, not from an English one. Go down and see if Lord 
 Festiniog has gone." 
 
 The report was that Lord Festiniog had been gone a long time. 
 That Lord Rhyader had been there with Barn. That Clotilde was 
 waiting supper, and that everything was quiet. Madame Merton 
 descended to the little back-parlour in better humour than she 
 had been in for some years. 
 
 The aged female warrior scented a battle. The quarrel was 
 none of hers, but the fighting was by no means less pleasant for 
 that. In the Middle Ages Italians, Germans, Poles, Swiss, nay 
 even it is said English, Scotch, and Irish, used to take part in 
 wars with which they had logically no connection whatever. Mr. 
 Dugald Dalgetty had no personal quarrel with any human being, 
 and had very few political ideas. Madame Merton wished well to 
 her species, but she liked fighting them. She was hungering for 
 a battle when she came down to supper. She had made a grand 
 jia.c with Mrs. Arnaud, which she intended to keep — in the first 
 place because she really admired her ; in the second place because 
 she had got to love her ; and in the third place because she was dead 
 afraid of her. She argued that from her late conduct you could 
 never tell what Mary Arnaud would do next ; she was like a fire 
 or torpedo ship, and Madame Merton wished to be in command. 
 
 At the same time it was not to be supposed that the old lady 
 had got rid of her temper all at once ; she wanted an object for it, 
 and she discovered one in Clotilde. When she had eaten her 
 supper she ordered off Mrs. Arnaud to pack up, and then asked 
 Clotilde, in the presence of Rachel, who was clearing away, 
 
 " Are you going to marry Lord Festiniog ? " 
 
 "No.' ; 
 
 " Has lie asked you ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You are a fool, if ever there was one in this world. All my 
 family appear to be idiots." 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud suddenly appeared in the doorway. " Mother," 
 she said, " what did you promise ? " 
 
 "Right, child," said the old lady. "Clotilde, I am sorry for 
 what I said. Rachel, there is the baker ringing at the door-bell. 
 Clotilde, put me to bed, for I cannot disguise from you, my dear, 
 that Marie and I are bound for a long journey to-morrow." 
 
 Clotilde took her aunt to bed, helped to undress her, and tucked 
 her in. This took a considerable time, because, although the old 
 lady was by no means " made up," yet — well — she had the habit 
 of making a long toilet, both when she went to bed and when she 
 got out of it. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 317 
 
 On this occasion her toilet was assisted by a character which 
 has scarcely appeared in these pages : Mrs. Arnaud's dog, the one 
 which was sent to her from the religions house in which she had 
 lived so long. Rover got on the old lady's bed when she was 
 putting that finishing touch to her hair, which some old ladies 
 consider necessary before they go to sleep, lest, we suppose, death 
 should overtake them before they awake, and hurl them into eternity 
 with their hair out of curl. Rover, we say, got on the bed and 
 licked her nice. The old woman did not hit him with her hair- 
 brush, but spoke kindly to him. She noticed that Rachel was in 
 the room, and asked her to put her pillow straight ; this from her 
 was a compliment. 
 
 "A long journey to-morrow, Rachel," she said; " and then 
 the long journey of all. You will try to remember me kindly, 
 Rachel, will you not ? " 
 
 Rachel was about to reply, when Mrs. Arnaud entered suddenly. 
 She was very pale, and her eyes were a little dilated, but she was 
 perfectly firm. 
 
 " Clotilde and Rachel, go upstairs. Bv this door. Leave the 
 dog." 
 
 They went, and she sat on her mother's bed. The dog growled, 
 but she laid her hand on his neck, and he was pacified. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" she said. "What shall we do now? 
 There is a message from the sea." 
 
 " I always believed that there would be," said the old woman, 
 rising in her bed. "I have dreamt of it, and prayed for it. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 " Will you let the man come in and speak for himself? " 
 
 "What, George?" 
 
 " No, only a sailor." 
 
 " Let him come at once," said the old lady. " A Frenchwoman 
 who knows how to manage her complexion is afraid of no man." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYI. 
 
 WHAT MADAME MERTON DID WITH HER WATCH. 
 
 Few contrasts ever seen in this world could ever have been greater 
 than that between the old Frenchwoman sitting up in her bed, and 
 the sailor who came into the room. Her complexion was like a 
 
318 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 very pale rose — his was very much like a rather badly burnt brick. 
 But they had something in common : they both had grand bold 
 black eyes ; and Mrs. Arnaud, standing in an atmosphere com- 
 posed of eau de cologne on the side of her mother, and bad 
 tobacco on the side of the sailor, came to the conclusion that 
 neither of them were particularly afraid of anything. 
 
 " Madam," said the sailor, " I hope I see you well." 
 
 "I am rheumatic, sir," she said; "but otherwise perfectly 
 well. I am bound for a journey to-morrow. Will you state your 
 intelligence ? " 
 
 "I come to speak of Mr. George Drummond, madam," said 
 the sailor. " He requested me to come, in case I should escape. 
 He said that his relations lived here, and I have done as he 
 told me." 
 
 "You see, sir," said Madame Merton, "his grandmother and 
 his mother, pray proceed." 
 
 " When the Newcastle was lost, madam, I stayed with him and 
 with the captain. When she went down — we all three on the 
 same piece of wreck — and a very few hours passed before we were 
 seen by two ships. They both bore down upon us at once. One, 
 apparently homeward bound, got nearer to us quicker than the 
 other, but passed a little to leeward. I left the spar and struck 
 out for her, because I wanted, as a poor man, to get home. The 
 captain and Mr. Drummond, not being such active swimmers as I 
 am, preferred to risk being taken up by the other ship, and I saw 
 them both taken on her deck, apparently safe and sound. I ex- 
 pected to have been home long ago, but, with my usual luck, the 
 Italian barque which picked me up lost her foremast, and was 
 driven out into the Atlantic by the easterly wind which followed 
 the gale. We were glad to make the west coast of France before 
 we were right. Here I got a berth back to the Mediterranean, 
 and telegraphed to my wife from Brest. The French people made 
 such a mess of my English that she never understood any more 
 than that I was alive, and as our owners had paid her as if I was 
 dead, she didn't bother them. But, to make a long story short, 
 both the captain and Mr. Drummond were taken safe on board an 
 outward bound ship." 
 
 "But did she not signal her name?" said sharp Madame 
 Merton. 
 
 " She did, madam, but I fairly tell you that if she had I should 
 not have remembered it. I was very much knocked about by the 
 sea. I can only repeat that Mr. Drummond was perfectly safe 
 when I saw him last." 
 
 " On board the outward bound ship ? " said Madame Merton. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 319 
 
 " By no means, madam. I have seen Mr. Drummond since. 
 I have seen him at Bordeaux. He is coming to England as fast 
 as he can, bat his leg was broken, it seems, and, for some reason 
 or another, he seems in no hurry." 
 
 "There is no great reason for him to hurry," said Madame 
 Merton. " Well, sir, we are very much obliged to you. Would 
 you kindly accept my watch ? It is a Brequet, and of no use to 
 you, I dare say, but you can exchange it for an English chrono- 
 meter, you know. So, good-bye." 
 
 " Stop one moment, sir, said Mrs. Arnaud, speaking to the 
 sailor, with Madame's watch in his hand. 
 
 " Did Mr. Drummond tell you by what route he was coming 
 home ? I am his mother, and I wish to see him." 
 
 " I can tell you that, madam, I think," said the sailor. " He 
 was coming through the Alps, and down the Rhine." And so the 
 sailor departed. 
 
 " What are we to do now, mother? " said Mrs. Arnaud. " Is 
 there any use for my trying to intercept him ? " 
 
 " Not the remotest, my dear. He would be of no earthly use 
 in any way whatever. You and I have to commit what the world 
 would call a crime together ; and, to tell you the truth, I would 
 rather that your son was out of the way at this moment. He is 
 alive, and that is enough for you. Let him go. You and I must 
 hunt in couples, and get that paper back. I think we owe that to 
 the family. We will start to-morrow morning." 
 
 The intelligence of the declaration of a most bloody war, or the 
 result of a University boat-race, generally arrives at some parts of 
 Her Majesty's dominions long before the fact has scientifically 
 taken place. The telegraph has set back the dial of Ahaz. 
 Science triumphs when she tells us that things are known in 
 Constantinople before they have (chronologically) happened in 
 England. The sun is too slow for us. The University race is, 
 according to Calcutta time, rowed at midnight, and they get the 
 result of it on their breakfast-tables in the early morning, just 
 when our children are being put to bed. 
 
 Mrs. Arnaud and Madame Merton started early in the morning 
 to catch Carlina, and bargain with her about the lost paper. 
 Neither of them had travelled very much, and they thought that 
 they were making good speed. 
 
320 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 MADAME MERTON DEFEATS ENGLAND AND PRUSSIA. 
 
 In due course of time they arrived at St. Goar. Madame had 
 behaved very well, and was singularly gracious. She occasionally 
 showed slight symptoms of rheumatism by giving wild yells in 
 improper places, but she was very amiable. At Aix-la-Chapelle she 
 howled in the middle of high mass, and being asperged with holy 
 water by a priest on her back, for the purpose, as he afterwards 
 explained, of driving the evil spirit out of her, shook her fist in 
 secret, and said words about the Roman hierarchy which we 
 decline to repeat, both on religious and on political grounds. 
 Ultramontane as madame most emphatically was, she uttered 
 words which are more fitly left, in our opinion, to the ear of 
 her spiritual director than to that of our readers. She simply 
 expressed her opinion about the too liberal use of holy water in a 
 way which might have satisfied the gentleman who is traditionally 
 supposed to have an extreme horror of it in any form. The fact 
 is, that she referred the ministering priest personally to that 
 gentleman. It was a mistake on her part, clearly ; but we only 
 say that Madame Merton behaved, for her, like an angel. 
 
 Mary Arnaud was always good-natured. She was a trifle colour- 
 less, perhaps, but she was always resolute enough and good-natured 
 enough. She had a way of viewing life which was a little different 
 to that of ordinary people. Nothing would ever have induced her 
 to commit a crime for herself, but she did not hesitate to do any- 
 thing very strange indeed for those she loved, and who had been 
 kind to her. Of course she ought to have been a heroine, and 
 have refused to act in the matter of this paper ; but alas ! she 
 was no more of a heroine than old Madame Merton, who would, 
 now her blood was up, have most willingly injured Carlina and 
 half-a-dozen more people who stood in her way. 
 
 You are angry with Lord Festiniog. He behaved shamefully, 
 there is no doubt about that. His duty was perfectly clear. He 
 should never have concealed that paper, in which he believed. 
 He should have done his duty. He should have put it in the 
 hands of the family, and have gone out into the world a beggar ; 
 leaving Rhyader, his wife, Barri, and George Drummond without 
 one solitary penny in the world. But he was a very immoral old 
 man, and he did not see his way to doing it. 
 
 It may be supposed that, with an honest old gentleman like 
 Lord Festiniog, there was some mental struggle about the matter. 
 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 321 
 
 That he thought he was doing wrong, is perfectly certain, but 
 there was no mental struggle whatever. He was called upon, as 
 he thought, to give up so many thousands a year, which his family 
 had enjoyed, not entirely without benefit to the State, for two 
 centuries. He determined most emphatically not to do it, and 
 he invoked a malediction on his own head, similar, though rather 
 stronger than that used by Madame Merton in the Dom Kirk of 
 Aachen, if he did anything of the kind. 
 
 His idea was that the deed would be brought to him, and that 
 he could buy it. He had a faith about that, because the deed 
 was worth more to him than to any one else. He let the two 
 women go to see what they could discover, and, with a degree of 
 cowardice, stopped at home himself, to see what they could do. 
 
 The women were avenged on him ; they had considerably better 
 times than he had. Had that excellent old lady, Madame Merton, 
 known, while she was travelling up the Rhine with her daughter, 
 what a tremendous pickle Lord Festiniog was in at No. 17, I am 
 afraid that her amiability would have become angelic. It was one 
 of the great points in that sainted woman's character that she was 
 always most cheerful when she saw her fellow-creatures in distress. 
 She would have loved Lord Festiniog had she known the state of 
 affairs at No. 17. She would have given him money. She would 
 have lent him her air-cushion. She would have sat by his bedside 
 till he swore at her, and then have sat like a saint. Alas ! she 
 never saw Lord Festiniog in his agony. She would have given 
 all she was worth for it, but it was denied her. 
 
 They arrived at St. Goar. Mrs. Arnaud took rooms, and then 
 went to see the doctor. He was in his room, and she knocked at 
 the door. They interchanged greetings, but Mrs. Arnaud saw at 
 once that the doctor was cool. 
 
 There was a little indifferent conversation about the death of 
 James Drummond, and then she said, 
 
 " I have come mainly about my poor brother's papers and 
 effects." 
 
 "Mrs. Arnaud," he said, "I am very sorry to say that I 
 cannot put myself in communication with you on the subject. 
 Before I give up one single paper you must swear before the 
 Mayor that you arc his sister." 
 
 "I can't do that," said Mrs. Arnaud, promptly. "I would 
 if I could, but I cannot. I am not his sister. Now you have 
 the whole truth." 
 
 " Good! " said the doctor. " Are you any relation to him ? " 
 
 " No. May I look through his things ? " 
 
 The doctor hesitated, and then said, 
 
 22 
 
322 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " Mrs. Arnaud, you inspire such confidence, that I will do 
 wrong and say yes." 
 
 " God bless you for that," said Mary Arnaud. " Come, I will 
 tell you this much of the truth. The man loved me, hut I could 
 never love him. He did me the most irreparable wrong that man 
 could do to woman, yet I was kind to him at last." 
 
 " Most kind. He did not marry you ? " 
 
 " Sir," she said, "you utterly mistake me. He did me a 
 wrong inconceivably greater than the one of which you are think- 
 ing. He got me away alone after Iltyd's death, and he stole my 
 child, with the assistance of that woman, Carlina, who is here 
 now. It was done at Ravenna, and that woman knows it. I 
 forgave him because he, for my sake, brought the boy up as his 
 own son ; and the boy is alive, and, I hope, will live to comfort 
 my old age." 
 
 "Will you, Mrs. Arnaud," said the doctor, "kindly tell me 
 what you wish me to do ? Yours is a very singular story, and 
 I have the very firmest faith in it. But, my dear madam, the 
 last time you left here you carried away a large number of his 
 papers ; and I would greatly prefer the presence of a notary before 
 you go through his effects." 
 
 " My dear doctor, you arc stronger than I am, and I am not 
 likely to steal any of his papers. Let us, by all means, have a 
 notary, and I will go through them with you." 
 
 " I shall be most happy to do so," said the doctor. " But you 
 spoke just now of the woman Carlina. She has left this place." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " Yes ; she has gone, I believe, to England, but I am not sure. 
 However, if you will wait, I will send for the notary, and do as 
 you desire." 
 
 " May my mother be present, doctor ? " 
 
 " Surely, Mrs. Arnaud, I will agree to that." 
 
 The notary came, the effects were examined, but the paper was 
 not to be discovered. 
 
 The poor man had brought away nearly seven thousand pounds 
 with him, that was found perfectly secure ; but there was no trace 
 whatever of the important document. The notary got a little 
 impatient. 
 
 "Mrs. Arnaud," he said, in perfectly good English, "you, 
 under pretence of being the dead man's sister, carried off to 
 England his papers. That is a matter which you cannot deny." 
 
 This was turning the tables with a vengeance. 
 
 "I took away the papers which he gave me," said Mary 
 Arnaud. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 323 
 
 " My dear madam, that is no answer." 
 
 "I don't know anything about answers," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 " I wish I had never come here." 
 
 " That is likely, madam. You confess to having carried oft 
 his papers under false pretences. I am afraid I must ask the 
 Mayor to put you under arrest. It seems rather a black case. 
 It was a terribly black case," the notary continued, in the Conti- 
 nental fashion of believing every one to be guilty until they were 
 found innocent, unlike our similar procedure, which is radically 
 different. "You took away the dead man's papers, and have, 
 it seems, returned for one which you missed. What was that 
 paper?" 
 
 " Am I under examination ? " said Mary Arnaud. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then why do you assume all this against me? What right 
 have you to do it ? Be quiet until I send for my mother." 
 
 Madame Merton was not long in coming. The Frenchwoman 
 faced the Prussian as the Ophiophagus Elaps faces the Cobra. 
 She, at all events, had never forgiven the advance of Blucher 
 from Ligny to Waterloo, though she had long ago forgiven the 
 English, Scotch, and Irish for standing in that rain of iron for 
 so many hours, and, in fact, considered Wellington only inferior 
 to Buonaparte and Moreau. She was nearly old enough to have 
 heard of Rossbach. She faced the Prussian notary with what may 
 be called, without disrespect, an evil eye. 
 
 "What have you been saying to my daughter ? " she asked, 
 stamping her stick upon the ground. 
 
 "I have been saying, madame, that your daughter has removed 
 Mr. Drummond's papers before his death, and has carried them 
 to England. She has represented herself as his sister, and now 
 confesses that she is nothing of the kind, that, under the Prussian 
 law, is what you call in England felony. We cannot disguise from 
 ourselves, madame, that she has returned to seek a paper which 
 she missed, and we must detain her." 
 
 "Did the dead man," said Madame Merton, slowly, "give 
 her a receipt in full, witnessed by the doctor, for all the papers 
 she took? " 
 
 " He certainly did," said the doctor. 
 
 "We can produce the document," said Madame Merton, 
 " but that is of very little matter. We have come back to recover 
 a paper which belonged to the dead man, and which was certainly 
 in his possession, as we know. Now, I want to ask you two 
 scoundrels, you, Prussian notary, and you, quack English doctor, 
 what you have done with it between you ? I have more money 
 
324 NUMBEK SEVENTEEN. 
 
 than you two put together, and I will hunt you from one court to 
 another. What have you done with it? You have not a leg 
 to stand on. If my daughter was dishonest, would she have come 
 back here to seek it ? You have the paper between you, and if 
 there was law in Prussia, I would make you give it up ; but I will 
 take uncommonly good care, doctor, to denounce you in England 
 as a swindler." 
 
 To say that Mrs. Arnaud was taken by surprise by her mother's 
 flank movement is to say nothing. She had had so many surprises 
 in this world that another was nothing to her. I am sorry to say 
 about my very dear friend that she was pretending to weep behind 
 her handkerchief, while she was choking with laughter, about the 
 way in which her mother had turned the enemies' flank. She 
 thought that the conclusion was the best. 
 
 " Gentlemen," she said, rising and whisking her handkerchief. 
 "I am an old woman, near my grave. You have been tempted, 
 doubtless, as many of us have, and you have yielded to temp- 
 tation. I am a woman of business. You have the document 
 I require here ; I am rich, and I will give you a thousand 
 sovereigns for it." 
 
 And so she marched off to bed. The Englishman and the 
 Prussian were no match for the old Frenchwoman. She had 
 entirely beaten them, and the doctor only desired to get her out 
 of the house. There was no more talk of arrest; and when Mrs. 
 Arnaud was putting her mother to bed, she mildly remonstrated 
 with her. 
 
 " Mamma, you went too far." 
 
 "You can never do that, my dear. I have played the low 
 insular game of cribbage, and if you peg too far you may be 
 detected and have to go back ; but you will find, if you raise 
 a sufficient argument, that your adversary in the next hand will 
 not play well, and so you gain in any way." 
 
 " But, mamma, were you right in saying those dreadful things 
 about them ? ' ' 
 
 " My dear, they have not got the paper. Besides, even if they 
 had, I offered them a thousand pounds for it, and they neither of 
 them had presence of mind to refuse. That in England would 
 be twenty years' penal servitude for cither of them. Their tongues 
 are tied." 
 
 " I wonder where the paper is," said Mrs. Arnaud. 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ONE SMALL FLAME GOES OUT. 
 
 It is very painful for the present writer to speak of the fearful 
 disasters which came clown so suddenly on the most venerated 
 head of Lord Festiniog. Of course, our moral readers will quarrel 
 with us at once when we say that he was a good old fellow, and 
 that there really was no harm in him. He wanted to possess the 
 property, and he believed in the validity of a certain document, 
 which was not worth the paper on which it was written . 
 
 He let the two women, Mrs. Arnaud and Madame Merton, go 
 to St. Goar to see if they could recover it. That was extremely 
 wrong. They made an utter failure, which served him right. 
 Still, Nemesis punished him somewhat heavily ; for the woman, 
 Carlina, had taken the paper straight to Lord Rhyader, and before 
 she had been with him half an hour, George Drummond had 
 arrived from Marseilles. 
 
 Lord Rhyader — who was now in the House — was among 
 pyramids of blue-books. He was thinking about making a 
 speech, which has never been made. He heard a rustle in his 
 study, and swore under his breath. Seeing that it was only his 
 valet, he kept his temper. 
 
 "An Italian woman wishes to see your lordship," said the valet. 
 
 " Am I an organ-grinder man," said Lord Rhyader, " that 
 you should talk to me of an Italian woman ? " 
 
 " You had better see her, my lord. It is that woman, 
 Carlina." 
 
 "Oh, I see. Send her up." 
 
 Up came the Italian woman, and went straight to the point. 
 She told Lord Rhyader very much which he had guessed, but 
 a great deal which he did not know. She pointed out that she 
 had a certain paper in her possession, which deprived the Fes- 
 tiniog part of the family of all their inheritance, and gave it to 
 the Killigruws. 
 
 11 May I see this paper? " he asked Carlina. 
 
 " No, my lord, it is in safer hands than mine." 
 
 " You will give me time for deliberation, will you not? " said 
 Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " I can only give you two hours," said Carlina. 
 
 "I am all abroad over this matter," said Lord Rhyader. "I 
 wish for advice. Could you possibly meet me in two hours from 
 this time, at No. 17, Hartley Street, Cavendish Square? " 
 
326 NUMBER SEVENEEEN. 
 
 Oarlina hesitated, and looked at him. At last she said, 
 
 " The English word is to be trusted. Will you swear to me, 
 from being assassinated in that horrible house ? " 
 
 Lord Rhyader gave his word to her. He said, 
 
 " I do no quite understand what you mean. No. 17 is pleasantly 
 remembered by some of our family." 
 
 " Your family are idiots," she replied. " Mrs. Arnaud, 
 Madame Merton, Clotilde, and Heloise, are all Jesuits. Every 
 one." 
 
 "Well, my dear madam," said Lord Rhyader, "I will see you 
 safe through your visit. Do not fail us." 
 
 Lord Rhyader went at once to No. 17 ; the door was opened 
 by Rachel ; he was shown into the back-parlour by Clotilde ; 
 and there sat, looking extremely tired and worn, George Drum- 
 mond. 
 
 '•Nephew George," said Lord Rhyader, " we all thought that 
 you were drowned. We are very glad to find that it is not the 
 case." 
 
 "Uncle Rhyader," said George Arnaud, " it would have been 
 better had I been drowned. I risked my life to save your boy. 
 That is acknowledged ? ' ' 
 
 " Most fully, my dear Arnaud. God knows how fully." 
 
 11 Have I omitted any duty to your family ? " 
 
 " Certainly none." 
 
 " Suppose I were to tell you that there was no family ; that 
 we were beggars and impostors. What would you do ? " 
 
 " I suppose that the woman Carlina has been with you? " said 
 Lord Rhyader. 
 
 "Well, she has." 
 
 " What do you propose to do, George Arnaud ? " said Lord 
 Rhyader. 
 
 " Give up everything," said George Arnaud. "Put the thing 
 in Chancery, and let the estate pay, if you like." 
 
 " Quite my idea," said Lord Rhyader. " But my father, Lord 
 Festiniog. What would he do ? " 
 
 It was rather an alarming question, because Lord Festiniog 
 happened to walk into the room at that moment, looking exactly 
 as if nothing was the matter, whereas he perfectly well knew that 
 a very great deal was the matter. He had heard of George 
 Arnaud's arrival, and was very glad, apparently, to see him. He 
 had something on his mind : something which put everything 
 else in the shade. The arrival of George Arnaud was nothing 
 now. 
 
 "I am glad that you are here, sir," said Lord Rhyader; 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 327 
 
 "there is this woman Carlina, who seems to have a great deal 
 more to do with our family than I like, coming ; she, it seems, 
 holds some deed which utterly disinherits and ruins us. Do you 
 know anything about it?" 
 
 "Yes, I do," said Lord Festiniog. "I encouraged Mary 
 Arnaud and Madame Merton to go to Germany, and try to 
 secure it." 
 
 " Is the document of any value ? " asked Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " Of the greatest value," said Lord Festiniog. " We are 
 beggars without it. We must make terms with the woman, 
 Rhyader, or we shall be in the workhouse." 
 
 11 Neither I nor George Arnaud will do anything of the kind, 
 sir. What relations have you made over this matter with Mrs. 
 Arnaud and Madame Merton? " 
 
 "They were very brief, Rhyader. I think that I was not to 
 blame very much. You should not be angry with me just 
 now." 
 
 Lord Festiniog looked peculiarly troubled. 
 
 "You have," said Lord Rhyader, "entered into some com- 
 pact with those two women about this Italian woman's paper. I 
 and George Arnaud will have nothing to do with it. I, for my 
 part, curse it." 
 
 "Rhyader!" said Lord Festiniog, drawing himself up, "do 
 not curse your father's actions." 
 
 " Why not, my lord ? " said Lord Rhyader. 
 
 " Because you have no son left to curse your own. Barri 
 died two hours ago." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 TEMPTED ONCE TOO OFTEN. 
 
 " So Barri is dead ! " said George Arnaud. " I am most deeply 
 sorry. I risked my life for him, and I could do no more. Lord 
 Rhvader, vou will bear me out in that fact." 
 
 " Certainly. Barri dead ? Yes ! Well ! God afflicts us 
 sorely. Why, heaven help us, all the property would have gone 
 to you, George Arnaud." 
 
 " My dear Rhyader," said Lord Festiniog, " have you no other 
 word to say when I tell you of the death of your son ? " 
 
328 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 " Everything which is affectionate I will say or write down. 
 But I fancy the boy is better out of the world than in it." 
 
 " Why ? " said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 "Because he would be a beggar, like the rest of us. He will 
 be an angel in heaven." 
 
 "Do you mean to give up everything, sir?" said Lord Fes- 
 tiniog, turning on George Arnaud savagely. " I ask you : do 
 you mean to do it, and retire once more into the original beggary 
 from which you were rescued ? Are you going to follow that ass, 
 noodle, and prig of a son of mine in his curses, or are you going 
 to behave like a man ? " 
 
 " Let us come outside and talk, Lord Festiniog," said George 
 Arnaud. 
 
 They went out into the shop, among the dresses, and Lord 
 Festiniog said, 
 
 " My dear George Arnaud, I want to put a matter before you, 
 and to put it without temper. I lost my temper just now with 
 my son, and I apologise for it. There is no doubt that your 
 putative father was a great scoundrel, and that long after he was 
 married he behaved very badly to your mother. Now, he got 
 possession of a certain document, which would disinherit the 
 whole of us, and the woman Carlina has it in her possession. 
 Under these circumstances, I ask you, as a moral young man, 
 what is to be done? " 
 
 George Arnaud— that most moral, excellent, and admirable 
 young man — sat down in a chair in the shop at No. 17, and 
 thought. At last he spoke. 
 
 " My lord," he said, " I have thought through the matter once 
 more" (had he?) " and I think that on the whole I would buy 
 the document from the woman. I think that it would be best." 
 
 Lord Festiniog spoke again. 
 
 "George Arnaud," he said, "do you see this? Neither 
 Rhyader nor myself will ever marry again. You will take my 
 title and my estates without any dispute. It is in your interest 
 that the paper should be got hold of and destroyed, as much as 
 any one else's. Do you agree to its being done ? " 
 
 " Rhyader might object." 
 
 " Fudge ! " said Lord Festiniog, " I am not going to consult 
 that noodle. You have got to decide whether you will be a beggar 
 or a peer. I know that the woman is coming here directly. Say 
 the word." 
 
 " Why does not your lordship say it yourself? " 
 
 " Because it is a matter of entire indifference to me, personally. 
 There will be a grand lawsuit, but plenty of money to keep me 
 
NUMBEll SEVENTEEN. 329 
 
 comfortably. As for Rhyader, I don't care for him very much. 
 I have liked you better lately. Come, decide." 
 
 " I would buy the paper of the woman, then, my lord." 
 
 Lord Festiniog was standing behind George Arnaud, and so 
 he could not see the look of intense scorn which was on the lord's 
 face. He said, 
 
 "It is felony, mind you, and you are concerned in it with 
 me." 
 
 George Arnaud said, quietly, "I am in good company, my 
 lord." 
 
 " Then we will both go to hell together," said Lord Festiniog. 
 
 The speech startled George Arnaud for a moment. He had 
 meant to be very pure over the matter, but he had changed his 
 mind. With Lord Rhyader he was trying to do his duty ; with 
 Lord Festiniog he was prevented from doing it. Lord Festiniog 
 — he, George Arnaud, was the future Lord Festiniog ; and from 
 the contemplation of that fact his morality suffered. 
 
 I do not wish to dwell on what happened almost immediately 
 at No. 17. The Italian woman, Carlina, came with her paper, 
 accompanied by her relatives, probably either bandits or organ- 
 grinders : George Arnaud declares that they were the latter. 
 She gave Lord Festiniog the paper, which was not worth a 
 shilling, and he paid her one thousand pounds in bank-notes. 
 When she was gone, George Arnaud and he solemnly burnt that 
 paper, and Lord Rhyader politely declined to know anything about 
 the matter. 
 
 George Arnaud had been tempted once too often, and had 
 fallen. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I am afraid that our story has been very immoral, and that every 
 character in it, with the exception of the two young French 
 ladies, Heloise and Clotilde, and of Lady Rhyader, ought to be 
 picking oakum in Coldbath Fields. The writer has not a single 
 word to say for any one of them, except that he likes them, as 
 some people have been known to love extremely naughty children 
 of either sex. 
 
330 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 It is possible, however, that the reader may like to hear how 
 the judgments of Nemesis overtook the gang of miscreants of 
 which the writer has attempted to give a sketch. Although they 
 were all engaged more or less in a misprision of felony, no remark- 
 able judgments overtook them. 
 
 Madame Merton's rheumatism and obstinacy caused her to 
 remain in Paris during the siege, where it has been affirmed that 
 she ate her cat. That is totally untrue, because her cat is at 
 No. 17 to this day. What became of Mrs. Arnaud's pet dog, 
 who certainly went into Paris, and equally certainly never came 
 out again, we don't know. Since the Commune business, Madame 
 Morton had settled in England permanently, as she intended to 
 do several times before. Her conversation is charming, but she 
 objects to any mention of the siege of Paris, unless she has all the 
 conversation to herself. 
 
 She says that the behaviour of the Germans was extremely 
 odious, but that all the Germans in creation were less detestable 
 than Madame Virmesch, who induced her husband to ruin trade 
 in Paris. She says that M. Virmesch was a "bon garqon" ruined 
 by his wife. The Communists, she adds, had no taste for colour. 
 The red, which they so abundantly used, was extremely raw, and 
 by no means of the right tint. When madame is examined on 
 the subject of French politics she is rather puzzling. She is 
 not Caesarist, because she says that the lady of Chiselhurst had 
 never any taste in ribands, though she was in other ways a 
 most admirable lady. " What," says Madame Merton, " are you 
 to do with a great lady who wears round her neck English eau de 
 Nile from Coventry? " In fact, Madame Merton has quarrelled 
 with the Imperial family on the subject of dress. She has also 
 had a few very decisive words with Madame MacMahon on the 
 same subject ; and Madame MacMahon has had to yield, at least 
 so it is said. Mrs. Grant's head-dress was reported to her corre- 
 spondent as being objectionable. She at once wrote to the Pre- 
 sident of the United States. Nay, more : our own Queen had on 
 one day a bonnet which, as Madame Merton thought, did not suit 
 her ; and Madame Merton at once wrote off to say that she Mould 
 be glad of an interview. It was not granted, and No. 17 remained 
 without royal patronage. 
 
 But No. 17 flourished strangely. There was a curious atmo- 
 sphere about it which attracted certain people. There was no 
 one ever came there who was not in some sense a sinner ; but 
 then who is blameless ? The people who came there were people 
 who were tired of the world, and who were waiting for death. 
 They had all of them more money than they knew how to dispose 
 
NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 331 
 
 of; but they were tired oi the world, and wished to be out of it. 
 Lord Rhyader expressed this opinion first, and Lord Festiniog 
 rebuked him, but Mary Arnaud and Madame Merton backed 
 him up. 
 
 "Why need we live?" said Mrs. Arnaud. "I have lived 
 three lives, and I am tired." 
 
 "Why were we ever born?" said Madame Merton. "For 
 art ? Nonsense. For politics ? Once more, nonsense. To 
 reproduce ourselves ? Again, nonsense. There is my daughter, 
 is she in any way worthy of me ? Yes, my darling, you are worth 
 fifty of me. Don't mind the old woman. How much happier we 
 shall be when we are dead ! " 
 
 Lord Festiniog was not certain about that. He considered 
 that we did not know enough about the next world. 
 
 George Arnaud backed Lord Festiniog, and the conversation 
 changed, although from time to time it was renewed for some few 
 years. 
 
 Lord Rhyader was, singularly enough, the first to go. He 
 took to his bed, stayed there, and died. His last words were 
 very solemnly spoken. " Giraldus Cambrensis," he said, " was 
 the founder of our house. He was a Churchman, and I want no 
 scandal in the family ; but I would sooner have the bar sinister 
 on our arms than deny the fact. He was head of the Barris. 
 
 As for the Irish Barrys — there " Those were his lordship's 
 
 last words. 
 
 It was some time before Madame Merton went that Clotilde 
 took the veil. D'Arcy had come into a great deal of money, and 
 he and Heloise were spinning about in the world like a couple of 
 teetotums. Madame Merton, as D'Arcy and his wife averred, 
 had asked Lord Festiniog to marry her, and his lordship had 
 declined, though with the greatest politeness, urging age, which 
 madame said was of no consequence at all. 
 
 However, they were not married, and Madame Merton died. 
 In reality she was killed by her rheumatism, but she declared 
 that her death-blow came from seeing a great lady in blue silk 
 with rubies. " Whatever you may say of the Buonapartists, they 
 would never have done that" And so she closed her eyes, and 
 never opened them any more. We fancy, after all, that she 
 died in the Buonapartist faith ; and in the end only a very high 
 Catholic. There are many worse old women in the world than 
 Madame Merton, when all is said and done, though the present 
 writer would much rather be her biographer than her spiritual 
 director. 
 
 We were in Westminster Hall a few days ago, when we saw a 
 
332 NUMBER SEVENTEEN. 
 
 woman in deep mourning talking to a very tall young man. Both 
 of them had their backs towards us, but I was perfectly certain 
 that there were not three women in England who could carry 
 themselves in the way of the lady in mourning. We approached, 
 and they turned. We saw before us Mrs. Arnaud and a young 
 gentleman, tall, gaunt, and melancholy, whom we did not recog- 
 nise — a man with a large heard, ill trimmed, with a bronzed face 
 — a man who frowned at you, but did not scowl. 
 
 " My dear sir," said Mrs. Arnaud, " I want to get into the 
 House of Commons ; can you tell me any one who would help 
 me ? My son says that it is difficult to-night. Let me intro- 
 duce you. My son, Lord Festiniog." 
 
 " Lord Festiniog ? " I said. " You don't mean to say that the 
 dear old man is dead ? I have been in Scotland, and have never 
 heard of it." 
 
 We went into a recess between the Hall and the lobby of the 
 House of Commons, and she told us of it. The old fellow had 
 died in his chair one morning, and his last words had been, 
 " Divine Providence is mysterious, when it permits the increase 
 of the human race. What does it all mean ? Merely misery, 
 sorrow, and sin. Now I am going to be happy." 
 
 Lord Festiniog, whilom George Drummond, came up, took 
 his mother's arm, and led her away. " You will make an excel- 
 lent peer," thought we ; " but I liked the dear old fellow better 
 than I shall ever like you." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 St audi sh of St an disk : A Story of the 
 
 Pilgrims. By Jane G. Austin, Author of " Nantucket 
 Scraps," etc. With Two Illustrations by George 
 Hutchinson. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Miss Austin writes their (the Pilgrims') story as one 
 inspired. ... A most satisfying story, and a valuable 
 addition to historical fiction." — Sheffield Telegraph. 
 
 AVERY MACALPINE 
 Joel Marsh : an American ; and Other 
 
 Stories. By AVERY Macalpine, Author of "A Man's 
 Conscience," etc. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 '"Joel Marsh' tells the old tale of the Good Samaritan 
 in a new guise — related with much humour, touched with 
 sympathetic humanity. Of the other stories, 'A Sacrifice 
 to Faith ' is the strongest, is powerfully depicted, and im- 
 presses the hall-mark of distinction upon the volume." — The 
 Speaker. 
 
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POPULAR THREE- AND-SIXPENNY NOVELS IT 
 
 JULIEN GORDON 
 
 Vampires, and Mademoiselle Resdda. 
 
 By JULIEN GORDON, Author of " A Diplomat's Diary." 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " A clever sketch of contemporary manners . . . full 
 of charming touches." — Morning Post. 
 
 "'Mademoiselle Reseda' is a charming love story." — 
 Sheffield Telegraph. 
 
 MRS. A. BLITZ 
 
 An Australian Millionaire. By Mrs. 
 
 A. BLITZ, Author of " Digger Dick's Darling." With 
 Frontispiece and Vignette by George Hutchinson. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Its plot displays remarkable originality of conception as 
 well as ingenuity of construction. . . . The story in 
 question has conspicuous merits of its own, which entitle it 
 to honourable mention, and its author to cordial encourage- 
 ment." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " 'An Australian Millionaire' is a novel of considerable 
 ability. . . . It is a book with brains in it." — Bookman. 
 
 "A novel of exceptional power and originality. . . . 
 The story is a fascinating one, and will hold the reader from 
 the first page to the last." — Liverpool Mercury. 
 
 E. DONNISON 
 
 Winning a Wife in Australia. With 
 
 Frontispiece and Vignette by George Hutchinson. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " Written in a spirited fashion, and one gets the impression 
 that the 'local colouring' is as accurate as it is vivid. The 
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12 MR. JOSEPH HOCKIXG'S WORKS 
 
 JOSEPH HOCKING 
 
 Ishmael Pengelly : an Outcast. By 
 
 JOSEPH Hocking, Author of "The Story of Andrew 
 Fairfax," etc. With Frontispiece and Vignette by 
 Walter S. Stacey. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " The book is to be recommended for the dramatic effect- 
 iveness of some of the scenes. The wild, half-mad woman 
 who has been wronged is always picturesque whenever she 
 appears, and the rare self-repression of her son, because of 
 the girl whom he loves, is admirably done." — The Athe?iceum. 
 
 "The critical point in the book is finely managed, and 
 the whole story is told with quite unusual power and a large 
 measure of trained skill. Mr. Hocking has produced a novel 
 which may unhesitatingly be recommended to all classes of 
 readers." — TJie British Weekly. 
 
 The Story of Andrew Fairfax. By 
 
 Joseph Hocking, Author of " Ishmael Pengelly," etc. 
 With Frontispiece and Vignette by Geo. Hutchin- 
 son. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " The really excellent part of the book is its accurate 
 picture of the monotony of rural life. ... A readable, 
 wholesome, and carefully written story." — Westminster 
 Gazette. 
 
 " The author writes of a country folk whose troubles and 
 needs he knows, and whose prejudices he can see, and with- 
 out losing his hope for them. He is full of quiet humour, 
 too, and the book is pleasant reading throughout." — Literary 
 World. 
 
 The Monk of Mar Saba. By Joseph 
 
 Hocking, Author of " Ishmael Pengelly," etc. With 
 Frontispiece and Vignette by Walter S. Stacey. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 
 "Of great power and enthralling interest. . . . The 
 scenery of the Holy Land has rarely been so vividly de- 
 scribed as in this charming book of Mr. Hocking's/' — The 
 Star. 
 
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BOOKS FOX BOYS 
 
 ARTHUR LEE KNIGHT 
 
 The Mids of the " Rattlesnake " ; or, 
 
 Thrilling Adventures with Illanum Pirates. With 
 Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 " A stirring sea story, with plenty of fun and adventure to 
 satisfy the most voracious reader. The loss of the Rattle- 
 make and her subsequent recapture, with plenty of pirates 
 and Malays, make up a regular boys' book. The pictures are 
 good." — The Sheffield Independent. 
 
 The Rajah of Monkey Island. With 
 
 Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Crown Svo, cloth 
 gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 "There is plenty of dash and spirit in 'The Rajah of 
 Monkey Island,' and the writer may be quite satisfied that 
 no boy will take up the book without finishing it with breath- 
 less interest. . . . All lovers of sailors and the sea will 
 appreciate this excellent yarn." — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 A Sequel to the Above 
 
 The Cruise of the " Cormorant!' With 
 
 Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 "A rousing tale of adventure by Mr. A. Lee Knight, whose 
 talent for work of this kind is so well known, and so highly 
 appreciated. . . . Full of sensation and excitement, and 
 spiritedly illustrated." — Glasgow Herald. 
 
 Dicky Beaumont ; His Perils and Adven- 
 tures. With Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. Crown 
 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 ;i Thoroughly entertaining. . . . This is exactly the 
 book for spirited lads with a taste for salt-water life. — 
 Yorkshire Post. 
 
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 FRANKLIN FOX 
 
 Frank Allreddys Fortune ; or, Life on 
 
 the Indus. The Story of a Boy's Escape from Ship- 
 wreck, his Perils, and Adventures in India. By Captain 
 Franklin Fox, Author of " How to Send a Boy to 
 Sea," etc. With Full-page Illustrations by W. S. 
 Stacey. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " A rattling story of life at sea and in India, which we can 
 cordially recommend. . . . Teems with exciting interest 
 and hairbreadth escapes." — Review of Reviews. 
 
 R. M. FREEMAN 
 
 The Heir of Langridge Towers ; or, The 
 
 Strange Adventures of Charlie Percival. By R. M. 
 
 Freeman. With Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " Handsomely bound and cleverly illustrated, this book 
 will prove a most acceptable present for young lads fond of 
 fun and fighting. . . . The scenes and incidents, excit- 
 ing adventures and rollicking humour, make up a first-class 
 story." — Newcastle CJiro?iicle. 
 
 HENRY FRITH 
 
 The . Romance of Navigation and 
 
 Maritime Discovery. From the Earliest Periods to the 
 iSth Century. With about 120 Engravings. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, full gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 "A capital boys' book. . . . Bright, entertaining, and 
 
 satisfactory Handsomely got up, admirably 
 
 printed, and enriched with a multitude of illustrations." — 
 Aberdeen Free Press. 
 
 The Romance of Engineering : Our 
 
 Highways, Subways, Railways and Waterways. With 
 150 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. 
 The Daily Telegraph says — " Those who desire to com- 
 bine entertainment with amusement could not do better than 
 present an intelligent youth with a copy of ' The Romance 
 of Engineering.' " 
 
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BOOKS FOR GIRLS 15 
 
 MARY E. WILKINS 
 
 A Humble Romance, and other Stories. 
 
 By Mary E. Wilkins, Author of " A New England 
 Nun," etc. With Frontispiece and Vignette by Geo. 
 Hutchinson. Crown Svo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Miss Wilkins has taken a place quite in the front rank of 
 writers of short stories. These charming stories are without 
 an equal in their way. 
 
 By the same Author.— A Book for Children. 
 
 The Pot of Gold, and other Stories. 
 
 With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " Every one who has read the simple little stories of New 
 England life, which Miss Wilkins tells with so much skill, 
 will have perfect confidence in her power to interest children. 
 Of that power she gives fullest evidence in ' The Pot of 
 Gold.' She can tell the oddest little romances in the gravest 
 fashion, always writing understanded of young people. This 
 is a book they will like."— Yorkshire Post. 
 
 CATHERINE J. HAMILTON 
 
 Women Writers: their Works and Ways. 
 
 First Series. Including Fanny Burney, Madame de 
 Stael, Jane Austen, Maria Edgeworth, etc. Crown Svo, 
 cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " Entirely delightful. For a young girl with bookish 
 tastes it will make an ideal present."— Review of Reviews. 
 
 Women Writers : their Works and Ways. 
 
 Second Series. Including Mrs. Hemans, Harriet 
 Martineau, Letitia E. Landon, Mrs. Browning, Charlotte 
 Bronte, Mrs. Gaskell, " George Eliot," etc. With 
 Portraits. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " We do not remember having often seen this sort of work 
 so pithily and pleasantly done."— Literary World. 
 
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BOOKS FOR GIRLS 
 
 SARAH TYTLER 
 
 Author of " Citoyenne Jacqueline," etc. 
 
 i . Days of Yore. 
 
 2. A Hero of a Hundred Fights. 
 
 3. Papers for Thoughtful Girls. 
 
 4. The Diamond Rose. 
 
 5. Heroines in Obscurity. 
 
 6. Girlhood and Womanhood : The 
 
 Story of some Fortunes and Misfortunes. 
 Each with Frontispiece and Vignette by Walter 
 
 S. Stacey, Crown 8vo, handsomely bound, cloth gilt, 
 
 2s. 6d. each. 
 " We have over and over again heard parents speak some- 
 thing in this style : ' We are at no loss for books for our boys ; 
 there are Mr. Smiles' volumes and others ; but where to look 
 for a good girl's book, a good companion to a young lady just 
 leaving school, we know not, and would be glad for any one to 
 help us.' This complaint need no longer be heard. Miss Tyt- 
 ler's books are exactly of the kind desiderated, and may with 
 all confidence be recommended at once for their lofty moral 
 tone and their real artistic qualities, which combine to make 
 them equally interesting and attractive."— Nonconformist 
 
 MRS. WHITNEY 
 Ascutney Street : A Neighbourhood 
 Story. With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " The story is told in a charming fashion, and its moral is 
 one that needs enforcement in our day ."— Literary World. 
 
 A Golden Gossip : Neighbourhood Story 
 Number Two. With Frontispiece and Vignette by 
 Geo. Hutchinson. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, 2s. 6d. 
 " The character sketches contained in it are smart and full 
 
 of individuality. . . . The portrayal of the beautiful 
 
 character of the 'golden gossip' herself is exceedingly 
 
 clever." — Nottingham Guardian. 
 
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