The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 24, 1902, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CAL _4___—____—__—__—“_______,—_____________.___ eny case. In dim self-knowledge I saw ihat the core of my resentment was her treating me with commiseration. Madame de Ferrier had not treated me so. “You live among the Indians?” Madame Tank resumed. The fact was evident. “Have they been kind to you?’ I said they had. -t Madgame ‘lank’s young daugl ae’-d near her and inguired in a whisper, “Who 1s_he, mother?” “Hush!” answered Madame Tank. The head of the party laid down his violin and bow, end explained to us: “Madame Tank was maid of honor to the Queen of Holland, before reverses overtook her. She knows court secrets. “But she might at Jeast tell us, coaxed Annabel, “if this Mohawk is a Dutchman.” adame Tank said nothing. “What could happen in the court of Ilolland? The Duich are slow coaches. 1 saw the Van Rensselaers once, near Albany, riding in & wagon with straw under their feet, on common chairs, the old Patroon himself driving. This boy is £ome offscouring.” 5 “He outranks you, mademoiselle, torted Madame Tank. “That's what I wanted to find out,” sald Annabel. 1 kept half an eye on Croghan to see what he thought of all this woman talk. For you cannot help being more domi- nated by the opinion of your contem- poraries than by that of the forerunning cr following generation. He held his countenance in excellent command, snd did not meddle even by a word. You could be sure, however, that he was no credulous person who accepted every- thing that was said to him. Madame Tank looked into the reddened fireplace, and began to speak, but hesi- tated. The whole thing was weird, like & dream resulting from the cut on my head: the strange white faces; the camp stuff and saddiebags unpacked from horses; the light on the coarse floor; the children listening as to @ ghost story; Mademoiselle de Chaumont presiding over re- it gll. The cabin had an arched roof &nd no loft. The top was full of shad- ows. “1f you are the bc{ I take you to be,” Madame Tank finally said, sinking her Voice, “you may find you have enemies.” “If I am the boy %'ou take me to be, madame, who am I?” She shook her head. “I wish I had not spoken at all. To tell you anything more would oniy plunge you into trouble. You are better off to be as you are, than to know the truth and suffer from it. Besides, I may be mistaken. And I am certalnly too helpless myself to be of any use to you. This much I will say: when you are cider, if things occur that make it neces- £ary for you to know what I know, send & letter to me, and I will write it down.” ‘With delicacy Monsieur Grignon be to play & whisper of a tune on his violin. I did not know what she meant by a let- ter, though I understood her. Madame Tank spoke the language as well as any- body. I thought then, as idiom after idiom rushed back on my memory, that it was & universal language, with the excep- tion of Iroquols and English. ““We are going to a place called Green Bay, in the Northwest Tamtor!. Re- member the name: Green Bay. It is in the Wisconsin country.” Iv. Dawn found me lying wide awake with my head on a saddle. I slipped out into the dewy half light. That was the first time I ever thought sbout the mountains. They seemed to be newly created, standing up with streamers of mist torn and floating across their breasts. The winding cliff-bound lake was llke a gorge of smoke. I felt as If 1 had reared upon my hind feet, lifting y face from the ground to discover there was & God. Some of the prayers our priest had industriously beaten into my head began to repeat themselves. In & twinkling 1 was a child, lonely in the universe, separated from my dim old life, instinct with growth, yet ignorant of my own needs. What Madame de Ferrier and Madame Tank had said influenced me less than the intense life of my roused activities. It was mid forenoon by the sun when 1 reached our lodges and sat down {: outside my father's door, to think-longer before I entered. Hunger was the prin- cipal sensation, though we had eaten in the cabin the night before, and the Indian life inures & man to fasting when he can- not come by food. I heard Skenedenk talking to my father and mother in our cabin. The village was empty; the chil- dren and women, hunters and fishermen having scattered to woods and water. “He ought to learn books,” said Skene- donk. “Money is sent out every year to be spent upon him; yet you spend nothing upon him.” ¢ What has he needed?” saild my father. “He needs much now. He needs Amer- fcan clothes. He wept at the sight of a book. God has removed the touch since he plunged in the water.” “You would make a fool of him,” said my father. “He was gcne from the lodge this morning. You taught him an evil path when you carried him off.” “It is a natural path for him; he will go to his own. I stayed and talked with De Chaumont and I bring you an offer. De Chaumont will take Lazarre into his house and have him taught all that a white boy should know. You will pay the cost. If you don’t, De Chaumont will look into this annuity, of which you give no account.” “I have never been asked to give ac- count. Could Lazarre learn anything? The priest has sat over him. He had food and clothing like my own. “That is true. But he is changed. Marianne will let him go.” “The strange boy may go,” said my mother. “But none of my own children shall leave us to be educated.” I got up and went into the cabin. All three knew I had heard and they walited in silence while 1 approached my mother end put my hands on her shoulders. There was no tenderness between us, but she kad fostered me. The small, dark eyes in her copper face and her shapeless body were assoclated with winters and summers stretching to a vanishing point. “Mother,” I said, *“is it true that I am not your son?” She made no answer. “Is it true that the chief is not my father?” BShe made no answer. Who sends money to be spent on me every year?’ Still ehe made no answer. “If I am not your*son, whose son am I?" In the silence I turned to Skenedonk. “Isn’'t my “hame Lazarre Willlams, Bkenedonk?” “You are called Lazarre Williams.” “A woman told me last night that it was not my name, Every one denies me. No one owns me and tells whose child I &m. Wasn't I born at St. Regis?” “If you were, there is no record of your birth ‘on _the register. The chief’s other children have thelr births recorded.” I turned to my father. The desolation of being cut off and left with nothing but the guesses of strangers overcame me. I sobbed so the hoarse choke echoed in the cabin. Skenedonk opened his arms and my father and mother let me lean on the Oneida’s shoulder. I have thought since that they resented with stoical pain his taking their white son from them. They both stood severely rese;\'ed, passively loosening the filial nd. All the business of life was suspended, as when there is death in the lodge. gkel;edonk and I sat down together on a unk. “Lazarre.” my father spoke, “do you want to be educated?” The things we pine for in this world are often thrust upon us in a way to choke us. I had tramped miles, storming for the privileges that had made George Cro- ghan what he was. Fate instantly picked me up from unendurable conditions to set me down where I could grow, and I squirmed with recoil from the shock. 1 felt crowded over the edge of a cliff and about to drop into a valley of rain- bows. “Do you want to live in De Chaumont’s house and learn his ways?"” My father and mother had been silent when 1 questioned them. It was my turn to be silent. . “Or would you rather stay as you are?" “No, father,” I answered, “I want to 0.” ‘The camp had never been dearer. I walked among the Indian children when the evening fires were lighted, and the children looked at me curiously as at an alien. Already my people had cut me off from them. “What I learn I will come back and teach you,” I told the young men and womer. of my own age. They laughed. “You, are a fool, Lazarre. There is a home for you at St. Regis. If you 1 sick in De Chaumont’s house who care for you?" kenedonk is my friend,” I answered. “Skenedonk would not stay where he Is tying you. When the lake freezes you will be mad for snowshoes and a sight of the St. Lawrence.” “Perhaps so. But we are not made alike. Do not forget me.” They gave me beits and garters, and I distributed _among them all my Indian property. Then, as if to work a charm which should keep me from breflklns gbrough the circle, they joined hands an danced around me. I went to every cab- in, half-ashamed of my desertion, yet un- speakably craving a blessing. The old people variously commented on the meas- ure, their wise eyes seeing the change in one who had been i}l child rather than a oung man among them. }'" {he wrench from the village was hard, the_induction into the manor was harder. Skenedonk took me in his boat, ekirting the long strip of mountainous shore which separated us from De Chau- mont. He told e De Chaumont would permit my father to pay no more than my exact reckoning. i “Do you know who sends the money? I inquired. The Oneida did not know. through an agent in New York. “You are ten years older than I am. You must remember very well when 1 ‘was born.” “How can that be?” answered Skene- donk. “Nobody in the tribe knows ‘when you were born. gflmg of b id It came ““Are children not like the other creatures? Where come from?"” ““You came to the tribe with a man, and Chief Willlams adopted you.” > “Did you see the man?”’ “No. I was on the other side of the ocean, in France.” ““Who saw him?” “None of our people. But it i# very well known. If you had noticed anything you would have heard the story long ago."” ‘What Skenedonk said was true. asked him, bewildered—"“Why did I never notice anything?” The Oneida tapped his bald head. ‘““When I saw you first you were not the big fellow with speaking eyes that you are to-day. You would sit from sunrise to suneet, looking straight ahead of you and never moving except when food was put in your hand. As you grew older the chil- dren dragged you among them to play. You learned to fish, and hunt, and swim; and knew us, and began to talk our lan- guage. Now at last you are fully aroused and are going to learn the knowledge there is in books.” I asked Skenedonk how he himself had liked books, and he shook his head, smil- ing. They were good for white men, very 00d. An Indian had little use for them. He could read and cast accounts. When he made his great journey to the far country, what fnterested him most was the behavior ef the people. ‘We did not go into the subject of his travels at that time, for I began to won- der who was going to teach me books, and beard with surprise that it was Dr. Chantry. ‘But I struck him with the little knife that springs out of a box.” Bkenedonk aStured me that Doctor Chantry thought nothing of it, and there was no wound but a scratch. He looked on me as his pupll. He knew all kinds of books. Evidently Doctor Chantry liked me from the moment 1 showed fight. His Anglo- Saxon blood was stirred. He recelved me from Skenedonk, who shook my hand and wished me well, before paddling away. De Chaumont’s house was full as a hive around the three sides of its flowered court. A ball was in preparation, and all the guests had arrived. Avoiding these gentry we mounted the stairs toward the Toof, and came into a burst of splendor. As far as the eye could see through square east and west windows, unbroken forests stretched to the end of the world, or Lake George wound, sown thick with islands, ranging in size from mere rocks support- ing a tree, to wooded acres. The room which weaned me from ab- original life was at the top of the central building. Doctor Chantry shuffled over the clean oak floor and introduced me to my appointments. There were curtains like frost work, which could be pushed back from the square panes. At one end of the huge apartment was my huge bed, formidable with h&mn Near it stood a table for the toilet. He opened a closet door in the wall and showed a spiral staircase going down to a tunnel which led to the lake. For when De Chaumont first came into the wilderness and built the central house without its wings, he thought it well to have a secret way out, as his chateau in the old country had. ““The tunnel is damp,” said Dr. Chan- try. “I never venture into it, though all the corner rooms below give upon this stairway, and mine is just under yours.” It was like returning me the lake to use in my own accustomed way. For the re- mainder of my furniture I had a study table, a cupboard for clethes, some arm- chairs, a case of books and a massive fireplace with chimney seats at the end of the room opposite the bed. I asked Doctor Chantry, ““Was all this made ready for me before I was sure of coming here?”’ “When the Count decides that a thing will be done it is usually done,” sald my schoolmaster. ‘“And Madame de Ferrier ‘Tu very active in forwarding the prepa- tions.” The joy of youth in the unknown was before me. My old camp life receded be- hind me. Madame de Ferrier's missal-book lay on the table, and when I stopped before it tongue-tied, Doctor Chantry sald I was to keep it. “She gives it to you. It was treasured in her family on account of personal at- tachment to the giver. She is not a Cath- olic. She was brought up as good a Prot- estant as any English gentlewoman. “I told her it was my mother's. It seeméd to be my mother's. But I don’t know—I can't remember.” My master looked at the missal, and sald it was a fine specimen of fllumination, His manner toward me was so changed that I found it hard to refer to the lancet. This, however, very naturally followed his examination of my head. He said I had healthy blood, and the wound was closing by the first intention. The pink cone at the tip of his nose worked in a whimsical grin as he heard my apology. “It is not often you will make the medi- cine man take his own remedy, my lad.” We thus began our relation with the best feeling. It has since appeared that I was a blessing to Doctor Chantry. My education gave him something to do. For although he called himself physician to Count de Chaumont he had no real oc- cupation in the house, and dabbled with poetry, dozing among books. De Chau- mont was one of those large men who ther in the weak. His older servants ad come to America with his father, and were as attached as kindred. A natural parasite like Doctor Chantry took De Chaumont as means of' support; and it was pleasing to both of them. My master asked me when I wanted to begin my studies, and I said, “Now.” We sat down at the table, and I learned the English alphabet, some phrases of English talk, some spelling, and traced my first characters in a copy- book. With consummate desire to know, I did not want to leave off at dusk. In that high room day lingered. The doctor was fretful for his supper before we rose from our task. Servants were hurrying up and down stairs. The whole house had an air of festivity. Dr. Chantry asked me to walit in a lower corridor while he made some change in his dress. xl I sat down on a broad window sill, and when I had waited a few minutes Mad- emoiselle de Chaumont darted around a gorner, bare armed and bare necked. he collapsed to the floor at sight of me, and then began to dance awa; osite direction with stiff lamb does in springtime. I saw she was in pain or trouble, need- ing a servant, and made haste to reach her; when she hid her face on both arms against the wall. “Go off!” she hissed. “—S-s-s! Go off! I haven't anything on! Don’t go off! Open my door for me quick—before any- body else comes into the hall!” * ich door is it?” I asked. She showed me. It had a spring catch, and she had stepped into the hall to see if the catch was set. ‘‘The catch was set!” gasped Mademoi- selle de Chaumont. ‘‘Break the door—get it_open—anyway—quick!"” By good fortune I had strength enough in my shoulder to set the door wide off its sprihg, and she flew to the middle of the room, slamming it in my face. Fitness and unfitness required nicer dis- crimination than the crude boy from the woods possessed. When I saw her in the ballroom she had very little more on than when I saw her In the hall, and that lit- tle clung tight around her figure. Yet she looked quite unconcerned. After we had eaten supper Dr. Chantry and I sat with his sister where we could see the dancing, on a landing of the stair- way. De Chaumont’s generous house was divided across the middle by a wide hall that made an excellent ballroom. The sides were paneled, like the walis of the room in which I first came to my senses. Candles in sconces were reflected by the polished, dark floor. A platform for his fiddlers had been built at one end. Fes- toons of ireen were carried from a clus- ter of lights in the center of the ceiling to the corners, making a bower or canopy under which the dancers moved. It is strange to think that not one stone remains upon another and scarcely a trace is left of this manor. When De Chaumont determined to remove to his seat at Le Rayville, in what was then called Castorland, he had his first hold pulled down. Miss Chantry was a blunt woman. Her consideration for me rested on being her in the op- eaps, as a brother’s pupil. She spoke more readily than he did. From our cove we looked over the railing at an active world. “Madame Eagle is a picture,’’ remark- ed Miss Chantry. ‘“— Eagle! What a name for civilized people to give a chris- tened child! ut these French are as likely as not to call their boys Anne or Marie, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they called their girls Cat or Dog. Eagle or Crow, she is the handsomest woman on the floor.” 5, “Except Mademoiselle Annabel,” the doctor ventured to amend. “That Annabel de Chaumont,” his sis- ter vigorously declared, ‘‘has neither con- sclence nor gratitude. But none of the French have. They will take your best and throw you away with a laugh. My master and I watched the brilliant figures swimming in the glow of wax candles. Face after face could be sin- gled out as beautiful, and the scant resses revealed taper forms. Madame de Ferrier's garments may have been white or blue or yellow; I remember only her satin arms and neck, the rosy color of her face, and the powder on her hair making it white as down. Where this assembly was collected from I did not know, but it acted on the spirits and went like volatile essence to the brain. “‘Phew! Miss Chantry, “how the French smell!” I asked her why, if she detested them 80, she lived in a French family; and she replied that Count de Chaumont was an exception, being almost English in his tastes. He had lived out of France since his father came over with Lafayette to help the rebellious Americans. I did not know who thé rebellious Americans were, but I inferred that they were people of whom Miss Chantry thought as little as she did of the French. Croghan looked quite a boy among so many experienced gallants, but well ap- pointed in his dress and stepping through the figures featly. He was, Miss Chantry said, a student of William and Mary Col- lege. ““This company of gentw will be Eride— 1y scattered when it disperses home,” she told us. ““There is at least one man from over-seas.” B I thought of the Grignon and Tank fam- illes, who were probably on the road to Albany. Miss Chantry bespoke her broth- er’s attention. “There he is.” “Who?" the doctor inquired. “His Highness,” she inclslvelx respond- ed, “Prince Jerome Bonaparte. 1 remembered my father had said that Bonaparte was a, great soldier in a far- off country, and directly asked Miss Chantry if the great soldier was in the ballroom. She breathed a snort and turned upon my master. ‘“Pray, are you teaching this lad to call that impostor the great sol- dier?” Dr. Chantry denied the charge, and cast a weak-eved look of surprise at me. I sald my father told me Bonaparte was a great soldier, and begged to know if he had been deceived. “Oh!” Miss Chantry responded in a tone which slighted Thomas Williams. “Well! I will tell you facts. Napoleon Bonaparte is one of the worst and most dangerous men’ that ever lived. He sets the world by the ears and carries war into every country of Europe. That is his yoyngest brother yonder—that super- fine gallant, in the long-tailed white silk coat down to his heels, and white small- clothes, with diamond buckles in his shoes and grand lace stock and ruffles. Jerome Bonaparte spent last winter in Paltimore; and they say he is traveling in the north now to forget a charming American that Napoleon will not let him marry. He has got his name in the newspavers of the day and so has the young lady. The French Consul warned her officially, For Jerome Bonaparte may be made a little King with other relations of your great soldler.” The young man who might be made a little King was not as large as I was my- self and had a delicate and womanish cut of countenance. 1 sald he was not fit for a King, and Miss Chantry retorted that neither was Napoleon Bonaparte fit for_an Emperor. “What i{s an Emperor?’ I inquired. “A *chief over Kings,” Dr. Chantry put In. ‘“‘Bonaparte is a conquerer and can set Kings over the countries he has con- quered.” I said that was the proper thing to o, Miss Chantry glared at me. e had weak hair like her brother, but her eyes were a plercing blue and the angles of her jaws were sharply marked. Meditating on things outside of my experience I desired to know what the white silk man had done. “Nothing.” ““Then why should the Emperor give him a kingdom?" “Because he s the Emperor’s brother.” “But he ought to do something him. self,” T insisted. “It is not enough to ac- cept a chief's place. He cannot hold it If he is not fit.” “‘So the poor Bourbons found. But they were not upstarts at any rate. I hope I shall live to see them restored.” Here was another opportunity to in- form myself. I asked Miss Chantry who the Bourbons were. “They are the rightful France.” “Why do_they let Bonaparte and his prothers take their place?” Dr. Chantry turned from the promen- Kings of aders below, and, with slow and careful speech, gave me my first lesson in history. “There was & great civil war in France called the Revolution, when part of the people ran mad- to kill the other part. They cut off the heads of the King and Queen, and shut up the two royal chil- dren_in prison. The dauphin dfed.” “What is a dauphin?” “The heir to the throne of France was called the dauphin?” “Was he the King's son?” “The King's eldest son.” “If he had brothers were they dauphins to “No. He alone was the dauphin. The 1ast dauphin of France had no living brothers. He had only a siste ““You said the dauphin died “In a prison called the Temple, Paris.” “Was the Temple a prison?” “Yes. Madame de Ferrier had said’her father and gome other person did not believe the dauphin died in the Temple. “Suppose he was alive?” I hazarded. “Suppose who was alive?’ sald Miss Chantry. “The dauphin.” ‘“He isn’t.” “Did all the people belleve he was dead?” “They didn’t care whether he was dead or not. They went on killing one another until this man Bonaparte put himself at the head of the army_and got the upger hand of them. The French are all fire and tow, and the man who can stamp on them is their idol.” “You said you hoped you would live to see the Bourbons restored. Dead people cannot be restored.”” “‘Oh, the Bourbons are not all dead. The King of France had brothers. The elder one of these would be King now if the Bourbons came back to the throne.” “But he would not be King if the dau- phin lived?” “No,” said Miss Chantry, leaning back indifferently. My head felt confused, throbbing with the dull ache of healing. I supported it, resting my elbow on the railing. The music, under cover of which we had talked, made one of its pauses. An- nabel de Chaumont looked up at us, al- lowing the gentleman in the long-tafled sitk coat to lead her toward the stairs. V. Miss Chantry exclalmed, and her face stiffened with an expression which I have since learned to know as the fear of dig- nitaries; experienced even by people who profess to despise the dignitaries. Mad- emciselle de Chaumont shook frizzes around her face, and lifted the scant dress from her satin _shod feet as she mounted the stairs. Without approach- ing us she sat down on the top step of the landing with young Bonaparte and beckoned to me. I‘ went at her bidding and stood by the in ail. “Prince Jerome Bonaparte wants to see you. I have told him about the bear pen and Mme. Tank, and the mysterious marks on you and what she said about your rank.” I must have frowned, for the young gentleman made a laughing sign to me that he did not take Annabel seriously. He had an amiable face and accepted me as one of the odditles of the country. ‘“What fun,” sald Annabel, “to intro- duce a prince of the empire to a prince of the woods!" ““What do you think of your brother?” I inquired. He looked antonished and raised his eyebrows. L aupgou you mean the Emperor?” I told him I did. “If you want my candid opinion,” his eyes twihkled, and he linked his hands around his white satin knees, “I thiuk my brother rules his family with a rod of iron.” - “What will you do,” I continued, “when your family are turned out?” “My faith!” sald Annabel, “this in a house favorable to the empire “‘A very natural question,” sald Jerome. ;Y{l have often asked myself the same ng. "Tig King of France,” I argued, “and all the Bourbons were turned out. Wiy shouldn’t the Bonapartes be?’’ s, ‘Why shouldn’t tney, indeed!” respond- ed Jerome. “My mother insists they will be. But I wouidn't be the man who un- dertakes to turn out the Emperor.” ©“What is he like?” iImpossible to describe him." Is he no larger than you?” Annabel gurgied aloud. +He is not as large.” “Yet he is a great soldler?”’ ‘A_great soldier. And he is adored by the French.” 5 ‘The Krench,” I quoted, “are all fire ok ulling out “Thank you!” sald Annabel, pulling ou hgr light frizzes. ‘You seem Interested in the political situation,” remarked Prince Jerome. and did not know wha he meant by the olitical situation, but told him I had just eard about the Bonapartes. ‘Where have you lived?”’ he laughed. I told him it didn’t matter where people lived; it all depended on whether they un- derstood or not. “What a sage! I think I'm one of the people who will never be able to under- stand,” said Jerome. 1 sald he did not look as if he had been idiotic, and both he and Mademoiselle de ‘haumont laughed. “*Monsieur—" n;'b!.gl;zarre ‘Willlams,” supplemented An- “‘Monsjeur Lazarre Willlams, whatever your lot in life, you will have one advan- tage over me; you will be an American citizen.” ‘‘Haven't I that doleful advantage my- self?” mourned Annabel. ‘A Baltimore convent, an English governess—a father that may never go back to France!” “‘Mademoiselle, all advantages of nation- ality, of person, of mind, of heart, are yours!” So tipping the interview with a compli- ment he rose up, and Annabel rose also, making him a deep courtesy, and giving him her hand to be led back to the floor, {ie kissed her white forefinger and bowed 0 me. “You have suggested some interesting thoughts, monsieur prince of the woods. Perhaps you may.yet take your turn on the throne of France. What would you do in that case?” ‘I would make the people behave them- selves if 1 had to grind them to powder. “Now there spoke old Louls XIV! laughed young Jerome Bonaparte. We both bowed, and he passed down with Annabel into the hall. I did not know what made Madame de Ferrier watch me from her distant place with widened eyes. Miss Chantry spoke shrilly to her broth- er behind me. “You will never be able to do anythin with a lad who thrusts himself forwar like that! He has no sense of fitness— standing there and facing down the broth- er of a crowned head—bad as the head is. Of course, Mademoliselle Annabel set him on; she loves to make people ridiculous!” I walked downstairs after Prince Je- rome, threaded a way among gazing dan- cers, and left the hall, stung in_my pride. We do strangely expand and contract in vital force and reach of vision. I want- ed to put the lake—the world itself—be- tween me and that glittering company. The edge of a ballroom and the society of men in silks and satins, and of bewitching ‘women, were not intended for me. Homesickness like Ehysical ain came over me for my old haunts. hey were newly recognized as beloved. I had raged against them when comparing myself to Croghan. But now I thought of the even- ing camp fire and hunting stories, of the very dogs that licked my hand: of St. Regls, and my loft bed, of snowshoes and the blue northern river, longing for them as the young Mohawks said I should long. Torn betwixt two natures, the white man’s and the Indian's, I flung a boat out into the water and started to go home faster than I had.come away. The slow- mness of a boat’'s progress, pushed by the silly motion of oars, which have not the nice discrimination of a paddle, impressed me as I put the miles behind. ‘When the camp light shone through the trees it must have been close to midnight and my geople had finished their celebra- tion of the corn dance. An odor of sweet roasted ears dragged out of hot ashes reached the poor outsider. Even the dogs were too busy to nose me out. I slunk as close as I dared and drew myself up a tree, lying stretched with arms and legs around a limb. They would have admitted me to the feast, but as a guest. I had no longer a place of my own, either here or there. It was like coming back after death, to real- ize that you were unmissed. Young men chased the young maids, who ran squeal- ing with merriment. My father, Thomas ‘Willlams, and my mother; %rianne, sat among the elders tranqui: d satisfled. They were ignorant Indlans; but.I had no cther parents. Skenedonk could be seen, laughing at the young Mohawks. f there was an oval faced mother in my past, who had read to me from the mis- sal, T wanted h?'. If, as Madame Tank said, T outranked De Chaumont’'s daugh- ter, I wanted my rank. It was necessary for me to have something of my own; to haye love from somebody! Collapsed and dejected, I crept down the tree and back to the life that was now forced upon me whether I wished to con- tinue it or not. Belonging nowhere, I re- membered my refuge In the new world of 00KS. Lying stretched in ‘the boat with oars shipped, drifting and turning on_ the crooked lake, T took exact stock of my position {n the world, and marked out my future. These things were known: I was not an Indian. I had been adopted into the family of Chiet Williams. Money was sent through an agent in New York for my support and education. There were scars on my wrists, ankles, arm and eyebrow. These scars identified me in Madame de Ferrier's mind and Madame Tank’s mind as i]ldpel‘son from the other side of the world. I had formerly been deadened in mind. I was now keenly alive. These things were not known: Who I was. Who sent money for my support and education. How I became scarred. dithL man had placed me among the In- ans. For the future I bound myself with three laws: To leave alone the puzzle of my past. To study with all my might and strength, When I was grown and educated, to come back to my adopted people, the Iro- quois, draw them to some place where they could thrive, and by training and education make them an empire, and my- self their leader, The paleskin’s loathing of the red race had not then entered my imagination. I said in conclusion: ‘“Indians have taken care of me; they shall be my brothers.” VL The zltgzng track of the boat represent- ed a rift widening between me and my past. I sat up and took the oars, feeling older and stronger. It was primitive man, riding between the highlands, uncumbered, free to grasp what was before him. £ De Chaumont did not believe in and was Indifferent to the waif whom his position of great seigneur obliged him to grmect. ‘What did I care? I had been idden among the Indians by klnqred or guardians humane. enough not to leave me destitute. They should not troubie my thoughts and neither—I told myself like an Indian—should the imaginings of women, A boy. minds no labor in following his caprices. The long starlit pull I reckoned as nothing; and slipped to my room when daylight was beginning to surprise the dancers. It was so easy to avold people in the spaciousness of De Chaumont’s manor that I did not afain see the young Bona- Rarte nor any of the guests excei)t Crog- an. They slept all the following day and the third day separated. Croghan found my room before leaving with his party and we talked as well as we could and shook hands at parting. The impressions of that first year stay in my mind as I have heard the Impres- sions of childhood remain. It was per- haps a kind of brief childhood, swift in its changes and running parallel with the development of youth. My measure being sent to New York by De Chaumont, I had a complete new outfit in clothes; coat, walstcoat and small clothes, neckwear, ruffles and shirts, buckle shoes, stockings of mild varn for cold weather and thread stockings. Like most of the things for which we yearn ‘when I got them I did not like them as well as the Indian garments they obliged me to shed: Skenedonk came to see me nearly every day, and sat still as long as he could while I toiled at books. I did not tell him how nearly I had disgraced us both by running secretly nwfig’ to ca.mr. o T was able to go back and pay visits with dignity and be taken seriousiy, instead of encountering the ridicule that falls upon retreat. My father was neither pleased nor dis- leased. He pald my accounts exactly, efore the camp broke up for the winter, making Skenedonk his agent. My mother Marianne offered me food as she would have offered it to Count de Chaument, and I ate it, sitting on a mat as a guest. Our children, particulariy the elder ones, looked me over with gravity and re- frained from saying anything about my clothes, Our Iroquois went north before smow flew, and the cabins stood empty, leaves drifting through fireholes in the bark : There have been 'students greedy of knowledge. I seemed hollow with the fasting of a lifetime. My master at first tried to bind me to times; he had never encountered so boundless an appetite. As soon as I woke in the morning I reached for a book, and as days became darker, for tinder to light a candle. I studied in- cessantly, dashing out at intervals to lake or woods, and returning after wild activity, with {ncreased zest to the print- ed world. My mind appeared to resume a faculty it had suspended and to re- sume with incredible power. Magnetized by books I cared for nothing else. That first winter I gained a hold on Englishand Latin, on French reading, mathematics, geography and history. My master was an Oxford man, and when roused from dawdling, a scholar. He grew foolishly proud and fond of what he called my pro- digious advance. e Chaumont’s library was a luscious 1d, and Dr. Chantry was permitted to turn me loose in it, so that the books were almost like my own. I carried them around hid in my breast; my coatskirts Wwere welghted with books. There were Plutarch’s Lives” in the old French of Amyot, over which I labored: a French translation of Homer; Corneille’s trag- edles; Rochefoucauld; Montaigne's es- says, in ten volumes; Thomson's poems and Chesterfleld’s letters, in English; the life of_ Petrarch; three volumes of Montes- quiew's works; and a Bible; which I found greatly to my taste. It was a wide and catholic taste. De Chaumont spent nearly all that autumn and winter in Castoriand, wher2 he was building his new manor and founding his settlement called Le Ray- Ville. As sooh as I became a member of Lis hougehold his patriarchal kindness Wwas extended to me, though he regarded me simply as an ambitious half-breed. The strong place which he had built for his first holding in the wilderness thus grew into a cloistered school for me. Tt has vanished frem the spot where it stood, but I shall forever see it between lake and forest. . Annabel de Chaumont openly hated the isolation of the place and was happy only When she could fill it with guests. But Madame de Ferrler evidently loved it, re- maining there with Paul and Ernestine. Sometimes I did not see her for days to- gether. But Mademoiselle de Chaumont, before her departure to her Baltimore con- vent for the winter, amused herself with my education. She brought me an old book of etiquette in which young gentle- men were admonished not to lick their fingers or crack bones with their teeth at table. Nobody else being at hand she befooled with Dr. Chantry and me, and 1 saw for the first time, with surprise, an old man’s infatuation with a poppet. It was this foolishness of. her brother's which Miss Chantry could not forgive De Chaumont’s daughter. She was in- cessant in her condemnation, yvet unmis- takably fond in her English’ way of the creature she condemned. Annabel lnved to drag my poor master in flowery chains before his relative. She would make wreaths of crimson leaves for his bald bead and exhibit him grinning like a Wweak-eyed Bacchus. Once he sat doting beside her at twilight on a bench of the wide gallery while his sister, near by, kept guard over their talk. I them, coming back from my tramp, with a glowing branch in my hand. For hav- ing set my teeth in the scarlet tart udder of a sumach, all frosted with delicate fretwork, I could not resist bringing away some of its color. “Did you get that for me?” called An- nabel. 1 mounted the steps to give it to her and she sald, “Thank you, Lazarre Willlams. Every day vou learn some pretty new trick. Dr. Chantry has not brought me anything from the woods in a long while.” Dr. Chantry- stirred his gouty feet and looked hopelessly out at the landscape. “Sit _here by your dearest Annabel,” said Mademolselle de Chaumont. Her governess breathed the usual sigh of disgust. I sat by my dearest Annabel, anxious to light my candle d4nd open my books. She shook the frizzes around her cheeks and burled her hands under the scarlet branch in her lap. “Do_you know, Lazarre Willlams, I have to leave you?” I said I was sorry to hear it. “Yes, I have to go back to my convent and drag poor Miss Chantry with me, though she is a heretic_and hates the forms of our rellgion. But she has to submit, and so do I because my father will have nobody but an English gov- erness ‘‘“Mademoiselle,” spoke Miss Chantry, “T would suggest that vou sit on a chair by yourself.” “What, on one of those little crowded chairs?” said ‘Annabel. She reached out her sly hand for mine and drew it under cover of the sumach branch. “I have been thinking about your rank a great deal, Lazarre Williams, and won- dering what it is.” “If you thought more about your own 1t would be better,” said Miss Chantry. v “We are Americans here,” said Annabel. ‘All are equal, and some are free. I am only equal. Must vour dearest Annabel obey you about the chair, Miss Chantry?” “I said I would suggest that you sit on a chair by yourself.” “I will, dear. You know I always fol- low your suggestions.” I felt the hand that held mine tighten its grip in a despairing squeeze. Annabel suddenly raised the branch high above her head with both arms and displaced Doctor Chantry’s hand and mine clasped tenderly in her lap. She laughed until even Miss Chantry was infected, and the doctor tittered aad wiped his eyes. ‘“Watch your brother, Miss Chantry; den’t watch me. You thought he was squeezing my hand—and he thought so, too. Lazarre Williams is just out of the woods and doesn’t know any better. But Doctor Chantry—he is older than my father!” “We wished to oblige you, mademoi- selle,” I said. But the poor English gen- tleman tittered on in helpless admiration. He told me privately—"I never saw an- other girl like her. So full of spirits, and so_frank.” Doctor Chantry did not wear his dis- figuring horn spectacles when Annabel was ngar. He wrote a great deal of poet- ry while the blow of parting from her was hanging over him, and read it to me of mornings, deprecating my voice- less contempt. I would hear him quar- reling with a servant in the hall; for the slightest variation in his comfort engen- dered rages in him that were laughable, Then he entered, red-nosed, red-eyed and bloodlessly shivering, with a piece of pa- per covered by innumerable small char- acters. #‘Good morning, my lad,” he would say. *“Good morning, Doctor 'Ch: ¥ - swered. £ RAD) h;“gege :rs :.dfaw llttllfe stanzas which I just set down. ou hav - Jection I will read them."y e I must have listened like a trapped bear, sitting up and longing to get at him, for he usually finished humbly, fold- ing his paper and putting it away In his breast. There was reason to believe that he spent valuable hours copying all these Yerses for Annabel de Chaumont. But there is no evidence that she carried them with her when she and her governess de- parted in a great coach all gilt and ding. Servants and a wagon load of ag- gage and supplies accompanied De Chau- mont's daughter on the long journey to her Baltimore convent. Shaking in every nerve and pale as a sheet, my poor master watched her out of sight. He sald he should not see his sis- ter again until spring; and added that he was a fool, but when a creature of light came across his path he could not choose but worship. is affections had been blighted by a_disappointment in youth, but he had thought he might at least bask in ps!slnf sunshine, though fated to unhappiness. ‘was ashamed to look at him, or to give any sign of overhearing his weakness, and exulted mightily in my youth, despising the enchantments of a woman. Madame de Ferrier watched the departure from another side of the gal- lery, and did not. witness my poor mas- ter’s breakdown. She came and talked to him, and took more notice of him than I had ever seen her take before. In a day or two he was quite himself, plodding at the lessons, suddenly furious at the servants, and giving me fretful his- tories of his wrongs when brandy and Wat‘::tr J‘V;e:s not ipl.lt by his bedside at ., warming-pan was n e e v us s time n to know without being taught and without expressing it in words, that thére is a natural law of environment which makes us grow like the company we keep. During th six months of my stay in De Chagmorrs house r_Chan was my sole com- panion. I looked anxiously int on my dressing-table, drleyadln: tthne!gel.u: rslé;ctllon olt Nt‘ Dettines ‘l saw a face arge features, ea exp! E The eyes were hazel and h,llul-h r:::xonl:l _the iris rims, the nose aquiline, the chin full, the head high, and round templed. The hair was sunny and wavy, not 'k passed’ ad-. nd tight fitth ke that of my Indian ?atdhergand m;‘tgher. There would be al- ways a scar across my eyebrow. I no- ticed that the lobe of my ear was mnot deeply divided from my head, but nnh”- ioned close tl?i it 31}‘ .trl“ ne mmme . though I could nof life snd abundant food, and the dfl"&f purpose, were developing all my par! 1 took childish pleasure in watching my Indian boyhoodh go, and vital force mounting every hour. Time gassed ,\;v‘mmut marking until Jan- uary. e New England Thanksgiving we had not then heard of; and Christmas was a holy day of the church. On a JI.H; uary afternoon Madame de Ferrier sen Ernestine to say that she wished to see Doctor Chantry and me. My master was asleep by the fire lltl an armchair. I looked at his disabled ;« 'y and told Ernestine I would go with her alone. She led me to a wing of the houses Even an Indian boy could see through Annabel_de Chaumont. But who mig] fathom Madame de Ferrier? Every time I saw her, and that was seldom, sg‘ma chonge made her another Madame de Fer- ier, as if she were a thousand women in 'one. I saw her first a White clad spirit, ‘who stood by my head when I awoke; next, a lady who rose up and bowed to me; then a beauty nmongp dancers; afterward a little girl running across the turf, or a kind woman speaking to my master. Often she was 2 distant figure, coming and going with Paul and Ernestine in De Chaumont's ‘woods. we encountered she alway said, od-day, aeonsieur,” and I an- swered, “Good-day, madame.” I had my meals y‘lone with Dr. Chantry, and never questioned this custom from the day I entered the house. De Chau- mont’s’ chlef, who was over the other servants and “had_come with him from his chateau near Blois, waited upon me, while Dr. Chantry was.served by another man named Jean. My master fretted at Jean. The older servant paid no atten- tion to that. e Madame de Ferrier and I had lived six months under the same roof as strangers. Consciousness plowed such a direct fur- tow in front éf me that I saw little on either side of it. She was a name, that I found written in front of the missal, and copled over and over down foolscap paper in my practice of script: 3 .Eagle Madeleine Marie de Ferrier.” “‘Eagle Madeleine Marie de Ferrier. She stood in her sitting-room, which looked upon the lake, and before a word passed between us I saw she was unlike any of her former selves. Her features were sharpened and whitened. She looked beyond me with gray-colored eyes and held her lips apart. “T have news. The Indlan brought me this letter from Albany.” - I could not help glancing curfously at the sheet in her hand, spotted on the back with broken red wafers. It was the first letter J had ever seen. Dr. Chantry told me he received but one during the winter from his sister, and pald two Spanish reals in postage for it, besides a fee and some food and whisky to the In- dian who made the journey to deliver such parcels. It was a trylng and an important experience to receive a letter. I was surprised that Madame Tank had recommended my sending one into the ‘Wisconsin country. “Count ' de Chaumont is gone, and I must have advice.' “‘Madame,” I sald, “Dr. Chantry was asleep, but I will wake him and bring him_here.” “No. I will tell you. Monsieur, my Cousin Philippe is dead.” It might have shocked me more if I had known she had a Cousin Philippe. I said stupidly: “Is he?” ““Cousin Philippe was my husband, you understand.” +Madame, are you married?” “‘Of course!” she exclaimed. And I con- fessed to myself that in no other way could Paul be accounted for. “But you are here alone?” Two large tears ran down her face. ,“You should understand the De Fer- riers are poor, monsieur, unless some- thing can be saved from our estates that the Bonapartes have given away. Cousin Philippe went to see if we could recover any part of them. Count de_Chaumont thought it a favorable time. But he was too old for such a journey: and the dis- appointments at the end of it.” 0ld! Was he old, b young.” T was only 13 when my father on his deathbed married me to Cousin Philippe. We were the last of our family. gow Cousin Philippe is dead and glu.l I are orphans!" She felt her loss as Paul might have felt his. He was gurgling at Ernestine’s knee in the next room. “I want advice,” she said; and I stood ready to give it, as a man always is; the more positively because I knew noth— ing of the world. “‘Cousin Philippe and said I mu: France, for Paul's sake, and ‘l‘p‘pe'.& to the Empress, who has great influence over the Empercr. His command was to g0 at once.” “Madame, you cannot go in midwin- ter “‘Must T go at all?* she cried out slonately. “Why don’t you tell me ‘DIDI; Ferrier shall not crawl the earth before a Bonaparte! You—of all men! We poor and exiles because we were royal- ists—are royalists—we always shall be royalists! 1 would rather make a wood- chepper of Paul than a serf of this Na- poleon! She checked herself, and motioned to hair. a “Sit down, monsfeur. Pardon have kept you standing.” T I placed the chair for her, but she de- g‘t‘}?ed it, and we continued to face each er. “Madame,” T said. “you seem to blam me for something. What have I don‘f" “Nothing, monsteur.” “I will now ask your advice. What do You want me to do that I have not done?"” are doing exactly what “Monsieur, you I want you to do.” ‘;'.I_‘I!xen you are not displeased with “I am more pleased with you every time I see you. Your advice IZ good. I ca‘E‘A“Ot 8o in midwinter.” Te you sure your coust: to ¥gke this journey?* B o ~‘The notary says so in this letter. Philippe died in the farm-house of one of our peasants, and the new masters could not refuse him burial in the church where De Ferriers have lain for hundreds of years. He was more fortuna my father.” T This interview m k with Madame de rier in which I cut so poor a ngure.'-lfx'; f:ulflrly influenced me. ~ It made me rest- ess, as_if something had entered my blood. In January the real spring be- glns, for then sap starts, and the lichens seem to quicken. I felt I was young, and rose up against lessons all day and part of the night. I rushed In haste to the woods or the frozen lake, and wanted to do mighty deeds without knowing what to undertake. More than anything else I wamted friends of my own age. To see Dr. Chantry dozing and hear him grumbling, no longer remained endurable; for he reminded me that my glad days were due and I was not receiv. ing them. Worse than that, instead of proving grateful for all his s I be- cn.nl-n)e l&tlolerant of lhls opinion. “‘De Chaumont will m: her,” when he heard of Mn:al.::yq de Fhorrl. 'I‘r'lg Wwidowhood. “‘She will never be obliged to sue the Bonapartes. The Count is as fond of";laer Lfls he is of his daughter.” ust a woman marry a succession tal:jhe"?”zl wart!d to know, o Yy master pointed out that the was a very well favored and yo\?thfuong looking man. His marriage to Madame de Ferrier became even more distasteful. She and her poppet were complete by themselves. WVedding her to any one was cl:l!ngbl.{l ‘iindlcg{lnlty upon her. nnabel de aumont was a _Countess and Madame de Ferrier was a lg-rqum. These names, I understood, meant that they were ladies to be served and protect- ed. Chaumont’s daughter was served and protected, and as far as he was al- lowed to do so, he served and protected the daughter of his fellow coun ; ‘‘But the pride of emigres,” Dr. try sald, “‘was an old story in the De Chau- mont household. There were some Saint- Michels who lived in a cabin, strictly on their own means, refusing the Count's help, yet they had followed him to Rayville in Castorland. Madame de Fer- rier lived where her husband had placed her, in a wing of De Chaumont’s :ome. refusing to be waited on by anybody but Ernestine, paying what her keeping cost; when she was a welcome guest.” 5 My master hobbled to see her. And I began to think about her day and nl!h!. as T had thought about my books; an lated little girl in her early teens, mother and widow, facing a future like a dead wall, with daily narrowing fortunes. The seclusion in which she nlgvod made her sacred like a religious person. I did not know what love was, and T intended to dote, like my poor master. Before the end of January, however, such a worked in me that I was as flerce for t! vital world as I had been for the world of books. Am;kofflwuns.ametturn?d the mouth corners, the very color of the hair—some irresistible physical trait, may compel a ;re(aranco in us that we cannot control; especially when we first notice these traits in a woman. My crying need fi" to be the presence of Madame de rrier. It was youth calling to youth in that gorgeous winter desert. Her .zvmdov- were hoar-frost furred without and curtained within. Though I knew where they were I got nothing by tramping past and glancing up. I used to gaunter through the corridor that led to her rooms, startled yet pl if Ernes- tine came out on an errand. Then I would close my book and nod, and she would courtesy. “Oh, by the way,” I would turn to re- mark, “I was passing, and thought I would knock and ask how Madame de Ferrier is to-day. But you can tell me.” When_assured of Madame de Ferrer's health I would continue: “And Paul—how is Paul?” Paul carried himself marvelously. He was learning to walk. Ernestine belleved the lie about knocking, and I felt bolder every time I told it. The Indian rart of me thought of going hunting and laying slaughtered game at their door. But it was a doubtful way of pleasing and the bears hfl_bernaled and the de):‘r were perhaps a day’s journey in the white wastes. 1 used to sing in the clear sharp air when I took to the frozen lake andbsav; those heights around me. I look bac upon that winter, across what befell me terward, as a time of perfect peace; be- fore vi n snows melted, when the world was a white expanse of innocence. Our weather-besie; manor was the center of it. Vaguely I knew there was life on the other side of t seas, and that New Yo Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore and New Orleans were cities in which men moved and had their be- ing. My country, the United States, had bought from Napoleon Bonaparte a large ‘Western tract called Loulstana, which be- longed to France. A new State named Ohio was the last added to the roll of commonwealths. Newspapers, which the Indian runner once or twice brought us from Albany, chronicled the doings of Aaron Burr, Vice President of the United States, who had recently drawn much condemnation on himself by a brutal duel. “Aaron Burr was here once,” said my "V;:n; llk‘hna ltke?” I inquired. ‘A lady-killer.” But he 15 next In dignity to the Prest- den! Cha. sniffed. P&FY'I:: 1s evl:tnr{lu President of a federa- tion like this, certain to fall to pleces some fine day! I felt offended, for my instinct wsaJ to weld ropla together and hold them so welded. ” “If I were a President or a King,” I told him, “and men conspired to break the state, instead of parleying I would h“% lhlsm uDJile dogs.” “Would you?” Despising the country in which he found himeself, my master took no trouble to learn its politics. But since history had rubbed against us in the person of Jerome Bonaparte, I wanted to know what the world was doinf. “Colonel Burr had a pleasant gentle- man with him at the manor,” Dr. Chan- added. *“His name was Harmon B enx-erhnsseuh a man of English stock, though baving a wild Irish strain, which is deplorable.” The best days of that swift winter were Sundays, when my master left off snap- ring and stood up reverently in our din- ing-room to read his church _service. Mme. de Ferrier and Paul and Ernes- tine came from their apartment to join in the Protestant ritual, and I sat beside them so constantly that the Catholic priest who arrived at Easter to dress up the souls of the household found me in a state of heresy. I have always thought a woman needs a dark capping of hair. whatever her complexion, to emphasize her beauty. For light locks seem to fray out to nothing and waste to air instead of fisly binding a lovely countenance. Mme. de Ferrier's hair was of exactly the right color. Her cyebrows were distinct dark lines and the lashes were so dense that you noticed the curling rim they made around her gray eyes. Whether the gift of looking to your core is beauty or not, I can only say she had it. And I could not be swory what her features were, such life and ex- pression played over and changed them every moment. As to her figure, it was just in its roundness and suppleness and had a hghtness of carriage that I have never seen equaled. There was charm in look- ingat without approaching her that might bave satisfled me indefinitely, if De Chau- mont had not come home. Ernestine herself made the first breach in that sacred reserve. The old womaa met me in the hall, courtesied and passed as usual. I turned behind the broad rib- bons which hung down her back from cap to_heels, and sald: Oh, by the way, Mme,’ de Ferrier? Ernestine, how is ‘was going to knock And Ernestine courtesied again and opened the door, standing aside for me to_enter. Mme. de Ferrfer sat on a bearskin be- fore the hearth with Paul, who climbed over her and gave her julcy kisses. Thers was a deep wood fire, upheld by very tall andirons having cups in their tops, which afterward I learned were called posset cups. She was laughing so that her white teeth showed, and she made me welcome ke a playmate; remaining on the rug and bidding Ernestine set a chair for me near the fire. “It is very kind of you to me time. monsleur. - sald Madarme de Fervier She admonished Paul—“Don’t choke your llt]tle llgo;:her't:)ld to! er ly that noth: but the dread ,of disturbing her ke, m‘m. from knockfng every day. We had always ‘walked into the lod’(en without knocking, and I dwelt on this as one of my new lcclompllshxtnents‘n “I am not studying night and day,” she answered. “Sophle %llnt-llchel lzld her mother were my teachers, and they are éone now, one to heaven and the other to %storhnt:i.'r" 5 emembering what Annabel de Chau- mont said about holy Sophie, I inquired if she had been religious. “The Saint-Michels were better than re- liglous; both mother and daughter were eternally patient with the poor Count, whose troubles unsettled his reason. They had no dear old Ernestine, and were re- duced to the hardest labor. I was a little child when we came to America, yet even then the spirit of the Saint-Michels e vt -~ coul remem) wi a llcf.:le child.” o Can you not recall anything?” +I have a dim knowledgs of objects.” . Regis Church and my communion _and the hunting, the wood: and water, b gy z food I liked ine?"” ‘Yes; yours, madame. it above th:”fim Tou e Tty oo at e looked past me and sald: “You have fortunately missed some of the most terrible events that ever hap- pened in the world, monsleur. My mother and father, my two brothers, Cousin Phii- ippe and I, were in prison together. My mother and brothers were taken, and we M Sndutatood that she #e unders t she ke of t - ror, about which I "oal o master was inclined to press upon me. “How rq‘n you go back to France, “That’s like a strange htmare. Yet there was our chateau, fi‘lfin-hu!l. “'eo or three days’' journey east from Paris. The park was so beautiful. I think of it A . “And what about this country, ma- dame? Is there noth! beautim'lr,here?" ‘“The fact has been impressed on me, monsieur, that it does not belong to me. I am an emigre. In city or country my father and Cousin th‘wa kept me’ with them. I have seen nothing of young peo- ple, except at balls. We had no intimate ;fl:nds.mIWe fl'"‘t -lw%y.:kcolng back. m st waliting to ,, monsieur— and refusing to go u?mnn." It was plain that her life had been as restricted as mine, though the bonds were different. She was herded with old peo- ple, made a wife and mother while yet a child, nursed in shadow Instead of in the hot sunshine which produced Annabel de Chaumont. After that we met each other as com- rades meet, and both of us changed like the face of nature, when the snmow went TEhis Tooking At hor without g at _her out really aj innocently when proaching was going on one day Count de umont rode up to attendant the manor, his horse and hiy