The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 24, 1902, Page 5

cret resentment we rioper. me over from head to foot erest than he had ever be- are getting on, we are getting on! Doctor Chantry, or the little mad- or the winter housing? Our white s very much in evidence. When s comes back to the summer not know his boy.” “The savage is inside yet, monsieur,” I told him. “Scratch me and see.” “Not L" he laughed. “it is late for thanks, but I will now thank you for taking me into your house.” “He learned gratitude for little fa- ] is Mme. de Ferrier's work.” hope I may be abie to do something wiil square our accounts.” at’s Dr. Chantry's work. He is full c and never emp- i elf. When you have learned all your master knows, what are you going 1o do with it?” “l am going to teach our Indians.” ‘Good. You have a full day's work be- fore you. Founding an estate in the wil- is nothing compared to that. You have more courage than De Chaumont.” Whetner the spring or the return of De haumont drove me out, I could no longer v indoors, but rowed all day long on e lake or trod the quickening woods. efore old Pierre could gt audience with s house accounts De Chaumont was in e. de Ferrier's rooms, inspecting tne wafer. blotched .etter. He giu noOt appear @&s depressed as he should have been by the death of his old friend. “‘These French have no hearts,” I told Dr. Chan.ry. He took off his horn spectacles and wiped his eyes, responding: “But they find the way to ours.” Slipping between island in water paths that wound as a meadow stream winds through land, I tried to lose myself from the uneasy pain which followed me every- where. There may be people whe look over the scheme of their lives with entire com- placence. Mine has been the outcome of such strange misfortunes as to furnish evidence that there is another fate than the fate we make ourselves. In that early day I felt the unseen lines tighten around me. I was nothing but a young student of unknown family, able to read and write, to talk a little English, with some knowledge of history, geography, mathe- matics and Latin. Strength and scope came by atoms. I did not know then as I know now that I am a slow grower, even when making gigantic effort. An oak does not accumulate rings with more dallébcrsuan than I change and build my- self. My master told me a few days later that the Count decreed Madame de Fer- rier must go back to France. He intend- ed to go with her and push her claim; &nd his deughter and his daughter’s gov- erness would bear them company. r. Chantry and I contemplated each other, glaring in mutual solemnity. His eyes ‘were red and watery, and the nose sharp- ened its cone. “When are they going?” I inquired. “As soon as arrangements for comfort- sble salling can be made. I wish I were going back to England. I shall have to save twenty-five years before I can go, but the fund is started.” If T save a hundred and twenty-five years I could not go anywhere; for I had nothing to save. The worthlessness of civilization rushed over me. When I was an the boundiess world was mine. build a shelter, and take food and lothes by my strength and skill. My oat or my strong legs carried me to all ol s t b h boundaries. I did not know what ailed me but chased by these thoughts to the lake, determined not to go back again to De Chaumont’s house. I was sick, and my mother woods opened her arms. As If to show me what I had thrown away to nt the cages of men, one of those nge sights which is sometimes seen that region appeared upon the moun- tain, o one can tell who lights the torc! thread of fire ran up like an opening seam, broadened, and threw out E The flame wavered, paled but shielding itself with ng smoke, and leaped from ledge to e. I saw mighty pines, standing one ment green and the next columns of So the mass diverged or ran r until a mountaip of fire stood the sky and stretched its reflec- wing furnace, ac the water. Flecks of ash sifted on me in the boat. mself a part of it, as I felt myself f the many sunsets which had t oA that lake. Before night to the heart of an island so overgrown, even in spring when d no curtains, that you were lost E usand mile forest. I camped dry ravine, with hemilock and over me, and next day ken logs, and cut poles and eens with my knife, to make a lodge It was boyish, unmannerly conduct; but the wcrld had broken to chaos around me; and I set up the rough refuge with skill Some books, my fish line and knife, were always in the boat with me, as well as a box of tinder. I could go to the shore, get a breakfast out of the water, and cook it myself. Yet all that day 1 kept my fast, having no appetite. Perhaps in the bottom of my heart I expected somebody to be sent after me, bearing large inducements to return. We never can believe we are not valuable to our fellows. Pierre or Jean, or some other servants in the house, might per- force nose me out. I resolved to hide if such an envoy aproached and to have #peech with nobody. We are more or less ashamed of.our secret wounds, and 1 was not going to have Pierre or Jean report that I sat sulking in the woods on an island. It was very probable that De Chau- mont's household gave itself no trouble about my disappearance. I sat on my hemiock floor until the gray of twilight &nd studied Latin, keeping my mind on the text; save when a squirrel ventured out and glided bushy tailed and sinuous before me, or the marble birches with ebony limbs drew me to gloat on them. The white birch is & woman and a god- dess. I have associated her forever with that afternoon. Her poor cousin the poplar, often so like her as to deceive you until ashen bough and rounded leaf ipstruct the eye, always grows near her like & protect!: servant. The poor cousin rustles and fusses. But my calm lady stands in perfect beauty, among pines straight as candles, never tremul- ous, mever trivial All alabaster and ebony, she saw another figure glow through the loop-holes of the woods. It wes Madame g;{en‘l:h A leap of the heart and dizziness shot h me and blurred my sight. The reality of Madame de Ferriers to seek me surpassed all imaginings. Ehe walked with quick accustomed step, parting the second growth in her way, ving tracked me from the boat. Seeirg my lodge in the ravine she paused, Mer face changing as the lake changes; and caught efnr breath. I stood exultant and ashami down to the ground. “Monsleur, what are you doing here?” e Ferrier jed out. madame,” I responded. Do you hmln Jou bave re- turned to your old ts 7" ba: returned to the woods, *“You do mot intend to stay here?” *Per] xel “You must not do itI* at must I do?”’ “Come back to the house. You have given us much anxiety.” 1 liked the word “us” until I remem- bered it included Count de Chaumont. “Why did you come out here and hide yourself?” My conduct eppeared contemptible. I looked mutely at her. “What offended you?” “Nothing, madame.” “Did you want Doctor Chantry to lame himself hobbling around in search of you, and the Count to send people out in every direction?” “No, madame.” “What explanation will you make to the Count?” “None, madame.” I raised my head “I mey go out in the woods without asking leave of Count de Chaumont.” “He says you have forsaken your books and gone back to be an Indian.” I showed her the Latin book in my hand. She glanced slightly at it, and continued to make her gray eyes pass through my marrow. “How did you know I was here?” “Oh, it was not hard to find you after I suw the boat. This island is not large.” “But who rowed you across the lak madame?” “I came by myself, and nobody except Ernestine knows it. I can row a boat. I s::fped through the tunnel, and ven- tured.” “Madame, T am a great fool. pot worth your venturing.” “You are worth any danger I might encounter. But you should at least go back for me.” “I will do anything for you, madame. But why should I go back?—you will not lcng be there.” “What does that matter? The impor- tant thing is that you should not lapse egain into the Indian.” “Is any life but the life of an Indian open to me, madame?” I am e She struck her hands together with a scream. ~Louis! Sire! Startled, I dropped the book and it sprawled at her feet like the open mis- sal She had returned so unexpectedly to the spirit of our first meeting, *O if you knew what you are! During my whole life your name has been cher- ished by my family. We believed you would some time come to your own. Be- lieve in yourself!" I seemed almost to remember and per- ceive what I was—as you see in mirage one inverted boat poised on another, and are not quite sure, and the strange thing is gone. Perhaps I was less sure of the past be- cause I was so sure of the present. A wisp of brown mist settled among the trees spread cloud behind her. What I wanted was this woman, to hide in the woods for my own. I could feed and clothe her, deck her with necklaces of garnets from the rocks, and wreaths of the delicate sandwort flower. She said she would rather make Paul a wood- chopper than a suppliant, taking the con- stitutional oath. 1 could make him a hunter and a fisherman. Game, bass, trout, pickerel, grew for us in' abund- ance. 1 saw this vision with a single eye: it looked so possible! All the crude imaginings of youth colored the spring woods with vivid beauty. My face be- trayed me, and she spoke to me coldly. “Is this 'vour house, monsieur?” I said it was. “And you siept there last night?” “I can bulld a much better one.” “What did you have for dinner?" ‘Nothing." What did you have for breakfast?” “Nothing."” Evidently the life I proposed to myself to offer her would not suit my lady. She took a lacquered box from the cover of her wrappings, and moved down the slope a few steps. “Come here to your mother and get your supper.” I feit tears rush to my eyes. She sat down, spread a square of clean fringed linen 'upon the ground, and laid out crus- ty rounds of buttered bread that were fragrant In the springing fragrance of the woods, firm slices of cold meat, and a cunning pastry which instantly maddened me. 1 was ashamed to be such a wolf. ‘We sat with our forest table between us and ate together. “I am hungry myself,” she said. A glorified veil descended on the world. If evening had paused while that meal was in progress it would not have sur- prised me. There are half hours that di- late to the importance of centuries. But when she had encouraged me to eat ev- erything to the last crumb, she shook the fringed napkin, gathered up the lac- quered box, and said she must be gone. “‘Monsieur, have overstepped the bounds of behavior in coming after you. The case was too urgent for considera- tion of myself. I must hurry back, for the Count’s people would not understand my secret errand through the tunnel ‘Will you show yourself at the house as soon as possible?” 1 told her humbly that I would. “But let me put you in the boat, mad- ame.” She shook her head. “You may follow, after 1 am out of sight. If you fail to follow”—she turned in the act of depart- ing and looked me through. I told her I would not fail. ‘When Madame de Ferrier disappeared beyond the bushes I sat down and walt- ed with my head between my hands, still seeing upon closed eyelids her figure, the scant frock drawn around fit, her cap of dark hair under a hood, her face moving from change to change. And whether I sat a year or a minute, clouds had de- scended when I looked, as they often did in that lake gorge. So I waited no longer, but followed her. The fog was brown and capped the evening like a solid dome, pressing down to the earth and twisting smoke fashion around my feet. It threw sinuous arms in front of me as a thing endowed with life and capable of molding itself; and when I reached my boat and pushed off on the water a vast mass recelved and enveloped me. More penetrating than its clamminess was the thought that Madame de Ferrier was out in it alone. I tried one of the long calls we some- times used in hunting. She might hear, and understand that I was near to help her. But it was shouting ain.ln!t many walls. No effort pierced -the muffling substance, which rolled thickly against the lungs. Remembering it was possible to override smaller crnft. I pulled with caution, and so bumped lightly against the boat, that by lucky chance hovered in my track. “Is that you, madame? I asked. he hesitated. ‘g that you, monsjeur?” es.” I think I am lost. There is no shore. The fog closed around me so soon. I was waiting for it to lift a little.” “It may not lift until ‘mornlnF, madame. Let me tle your boat to mine." “Do you know the way?” “There is no way. We shall have to feel for the shore., But Lake George is narrow and I know it well.” . I want to keep near you.” “‘Come into my boat and let me tie the other one astern.” She hesitated again, but decided, “That would be best.” I drew the frail shells together—they seemed very frail ahove such depths—and helped her cross the edges. We were probably the only people on Lake George. Tinder lighted in one boat would scarce- ly have shown us the other, though in the fkv an oval moon began to make itself seen amidst rags of fog. The dense eclipse around us and the changing light overhead were very weird. Madame de Ferrier's hands chilled mine, and she shook in her thin cape and hood. Our garments were saturated. I felt moisture trickling down my hair dropping on my shoulders. She was full of vital courage, resisting the deadly chill. This was not a summer fog, lightly to be traversed. It went dank through the bones. When I had helped her to a bench, remembering there was nothing dry to wrap around her, I slipped off my coat and forcibly added its thick- ness to her shoulders. “Do you think I will let you do that, monsieur?” My teeth chattered and shocked to- fether. s0 it was impossible to keep from laughing, as I told her I always preferred to be coatless when I rowed a boat. ‘We could see each other by the high light that sometimes gilded the face, and sometimes was tarnished almost to eclipse. Madame de Ferrier crept for- ward, and before 1 knew her intention, cast my garment again around me. I helped the boat shift its balance so she would have to grasp me for support; the chilled round shape of her arm in my Tond then sent waves of fire through me. With brazen cunning, moreover, that sur- prised myself, instead of pleading, I dic- tated, “‘Sit beside me on the rower's bencl madame, and the coat will stretch aro: both of us.” Like a child she obeyed. We were in- @deed reduced to saving the warmth of our bodies. I shipped my oars and took one for a paddle, bidding Madame de Ferrier to hold the covering in place while I felt for the shore. She did so, her arm cross- mF my_ breast, her soft body touching mine. She was cold and still as the cloud in which we moved; but I was a god, riding triumphantly high above the world, satisfied to float through celestial regions forever, bearing in my breast an un- quenchable coal of fire, The moon played tricks, for now she ead, and was astern, and now straight ah in that confusing_wilderness of vapor. “Madame,” I sald to companion, “why have you been pemmd t0 go back to France?” “‘She drew a deep breath. “I have mot been persuaded. I have been forced by circumstances. Paul's fu- ture is everything.” “You sald you would rather make him a woodchopper than'a suppliant to the Bonapartes.” “I would. But his rights are to be con- sidered first. He has some small chance of regaining his inheritance through the influence of Count de Chaumont now. Hereafter there may be no chance. You know the fortunesand landsof all emigres were forfeited to the state. Ours have finally reached the hands of one of Na- poleon’s officers. I do not know what will be done. T only know that Paul must never hdve cause to reproach me.” 1 was obliged to do my duty in my place as she was doing her duty in hers; but I wished the boat would sink, and so end all journeys to France. It touched sho: on ‘the contrary, and I grasped ur—l& which jutted towArd us. It might be the point of an island, it might be the eastern land, as I was inclined to believe, for the moon was over our right shoulders. Probing along with the oar I found a cove and a shallow bottom, and there I beached our craft with a great shove. “How good the earth feels underfoot!” said Madame de Ferrier. We were both stiff. I drew the boats where they could not be floated away, and we turned our faces to the unknown. T took her unre- sisting arm to gulde her, and she depend- ed upon me. This day I look back at those young fig- ures groping through cloud as at disem- bodied and blessed spirits. The man’s in- tensest tenderness, restrained by his vir- THE SUNDAY CALL. ginhood and his awe of the supple deli- cate shape at his side, was put forth only in her service. They walked against bushes. He broke a stick, and with it probed every yard of the ascent which they were obliged to make. Helping his companion from bush to log, from seam to seam of the riven slope, from ledge to ledge, he brought her to a level of high forest where the fog was thinner, and branches intelaced across their faces. The climb made Madame de Ferrier draw her breath quickly. She laughed when he ended it. Though I knew the shores as well as a hunter, it was impos- sible to recognize any landmark. The trees, the moss and forest sponge under our feet, the very rocks, were changed by that weird medium. And when the fo opened and we walked as through an end- less tunnel of gray revolving stone, it was into a world that never existed before and would never exist again. There was no path. Creeping under and climbing over obstacles, sometimes walk- ing briskly across lighted spaces, we reached a gorge smoking as the lake smoked in the chill of early mornings. Vapor played all its freaks on that brink. That edge had been sharply defined. But the fog shut around us like a curtain, and we dared not stir. Below, a medallion shaped rift widened out and showed us a scene as I have since beheld such things appear upon the stage. With the round changing frame of wispy Yapor two men sat by a fire of logs and branches. ‘We could smell wood smoke, and hear the branches crackle, convinein us the vision was real. Behind them stoo a cabin almost as rude as my shelter on the island. One man was a grand fellow, not at all of the common order, though he was more ;)lalnly clothed than De Chaumont. His ace was so-famillar that 1 almost grasped recognition—but missed it. The whole cast was full and aauiline, and the lobe of his ear, as I noticed when light fell on his profile, sat close to his head like mine. The other man worked his feet upon the treadle of a small wheel, which revolved like a circular table in front of him, and on this he deftly touched something which appeared to be an earthenware vessel. His thin fingers moved with spider swift- ness, and shaped it with a kind of magic. He was a mad looking person, with an air of belm;I tremendously driven by f{nner force. e wore mustaches the llike of which I had never seen, carried back over his ears; and these hafry devices seemed to_split his countenance In two crosswise. Some broken pottery lay on the ground, » and a few vessels, colored and lustrous 80 they shone in the firelight, stood on a stump near him. The hollow was not a deep one, but if the men had been talking, their volces did not reach us until the curtain parted. “You are a great fool or a great rascal, or‘dboth. Bellenger,” the superior man said. “Most people are, your Highness,” re- sponded the one at the wheel. He Kept it going, as if his earthenware was of more importance than the talk. ““You are living a miserable life, S eny other F ‘“Many other Frenchmen are no better off than I am, my Prince."” i “‘;[‘rue enough. I've roved about my- self.” “‘Did you turn schoolmaster in Switzer- land, Prince?" “I did. My family are in Switzerland no: “Some of the nobles were pillaged by their peasants as well as by the Govern- ment. But your house should not have lost everything.” ‘“You are mistaken about the losses. The Orleans Bourbons have little or no rev- enue left. Monsieur and Artois were the Bourbons able to maintain a court about them in_ exile. So you have to turn pot- ter, to help support the idiot and your- self?” “Is your Highness interested ‘“What have I to do with art “But your Highness can understand how an’'idea will haunt a man. It is true I live a wretched life, but I amuse myself trying to produce a perfect vase. I have hroken thousands. If a shape answers my expectations, that very shape is cer- t?ln to crack in the burning or run in the aze.” z"‘x’I‘"hcn you don’t make the things to sell?” “‘Oh, yes. T make noggins and crockery to sell in the towns. There is a kind of clay in these hills that suits me.” “The wonderful vase,” sald the other yawning, “might perhaps interest me more if some facts were not pressing for discussion. I am a man of benevolent disposition, Bellenger. “Your royal Highness—-'" Stop! I have been a revolutionist, like my poor father, whose memory you are about to touch—and I forbid it. But I am a man whose will it s to do good. It is impossible I should search you out in America to harm my royal cousin. Now I want to know the truth about him." Mme. de Ferrier had forgotten her breath. We both stood fastened on that scene in another world, guiltless of eaves- dropping. The potter shifted his eyes from stde to side, seeming to follow the burr of his vessel upon the wheel. “I find you with a creature I cannot recognize as my royal cousin. If this is he, sunk far lower than when he left France in your charge, why are two- thirds of his pension sent out from New York to another person, while you re- ceive for his maintenance only one- third?"” The potter bounded from his wheel, let- ting the vessel spin off to destruction, and danced, stretching his long mustaches abroad in both l.ands as the ancients must have rent their clothes. He cried that he had been cheated, stripped, starved. “I thought they were straitened in Mon- sieur’s court,” he raged, “and they have been maintaining a false dauphin!”’ “As 1 said, Bellenger,” remarked his superior, ‘“vou are either a fool or the greatest rascal 1 ever saw.” He looked at Bellenger attentively. “Yet why should yoy want to mix clews —and be rewarded th evident misery? And how could vou lose him out of your hand and remain unconscious of it? He was sent to the ends of the earth for safety—poor shattered child—and if he is safe elsewhere, why should you he pen- sloned to maintain another child? They say that a Bourbon never learns any- thing: but I protest that a Bourbon knows well what he does now. I feel sure my uncle intends no harm to the disabled heir. Who is gullty of this double-deal- ing? I confess I don’t understand it.”” Now whetker by our long and silent stare we drew his regard, or chance cast his eye upward, the potter that instant saw us standing in the cloud above him. He dropped by his motionless wheel, all turned to clay himself. e eyeballs stuck from his face. He opened his mouth and screeched as if he had been started and could not leave off— “The kingl—the king!—the king!—the g king!’ IX. The fool's outcry startled me less than Madame de Ferrier. She fell nst me and sank downward, so that I was obliged to hold her up in my arms. I had never seen a woman swoon. I thought ghe was dying, and shouted to them be- low to come and help me. The potter sat sprawling on the ground, and did not bestir himself to do anything. As soon as my hands and mind were free I took him by the scruff of the neck and kicked him behind with a good will. My rage at him for disregarding her state ‘was the savage rage of an Iroquois. The other man laughed until the woods rang. Madame de Ferrier sat up in what seemed to me a miraculous manner. We bathed her temples with brandy, and put her on a cushion of leaves. raked up and dried to make a seat by the fire, The other man, who helped me carry her into the ravine, stood with his hat off, as was her due. She thanked him and thanked me, halft shrouding her face with her hood, abashed at finding herself lost among strangers in the night; which was my fault. 1 told him I had been a bad gulde for a lady who had missed her way; and he sald we were fortunate to reach a camp instead of stumbling into some danger, He was much older than I, at least 14 ears, 1 learned afterwards, but it was flke meeting Skenedonk again, or some friend from whom I had only been parted. The heartening warmth of the fire made steam go up from our clothes; and seeing Madame de Ferrier alive once more, and the potter the other side of his wheel taking stock of his hurt, I felt happy. ‘We could hear in the cabin behind us a whining like that uttered by a fret- ful babe. My rage at the potter ending in good nature, I moved to make some amends for my haste; but he backed off. “You startled us,” said the other man, “standing up in the clouds like hosts. And your resemblance to one who has been dead many years is very striking, ,monsieur.” T had kicked the roving in art?’ P sald I was sorry if I potter without warrant, but it seemed to me a base act to hesitate when help was asked for a woman, “Yet I know little of what is right among men. moneieur,” I owned. “I have been learning with a master in Count de Chaumont’s manor house less than a year. Before that my life was spent in the woods with the Indians, and they found me so dull that T was considered witless until my mind awoke.” “You are a fine fellow,” the man said. laying his hands on my shoulders. “My heart goes out to you. You may call me Lo Philippe. And what may I call zarre. He had a smiling good face, square, but well curved and firm. Now that I saw him fronting me I could trace his clear eyebrows, high !orehea(kgnd the laughter lines down his cheeks. e was long be- tween the eyes and mouth and he had a full and resolute chin. “You are not fat, Lazarre,” sald Phil- ippe, “‘your forehead is wide rather than receding, and you have not a double chin. Otherwise you are the image of one—. Who are you?” “I don’t know.” “Don’t_know who you are?” “No. We heard all that you and the potter were saylng down here, and I wondered how many boys there are in America that are provided for through an agent in New York, without knowing their parents. Now that is my case.” “Do you say you have lived among the Indian: “Yes; among the Iroquols.” ““Who placed you there?”’ “No one could tell me except my Indian father; and he would not tell,” “Do you remember nothing of your childhood 7" “Nothing.” “Did you ever see Bellenger before?” “I never saw him before to-night.” “But I saw him,"” sald Mme. de Ferrier, “in London, when was about seven years old. It made a stronger impression on me than anything else that ever hap- pened in my iife, except’—she stopped, “Except the taking oft of my mother and brothers to the gulllotine.” The man who told me to call him Louis Philippe turned toward her, with atten- tion as careful as his avoidance when she wished to be unobserved. She rose and came around the fire, making a deep courtesy. “My family may not be unknown to his royal highness, the Duke of Orleans. We are De Ferriers of Mont-Louis; emi- gres now, like many others.” “Madame, I knew your family well. They were loyal to their King,”. “My father died here in America, Be- fore we salled we saw this man in Lon- ‘And with him—" ‘A boy.” “Do you remember the boy well?” “I remember him perfectiy.”” The wailing in the cabin became louder and turned to Insistent animal howls. In- stead of a babe the imprisoned creature “r’.“ ev:deng')(', a :lfllgt hl wondered that the potter no e im ou ‘war hig hide at the fire. bt v “Did you ever see the boy again?” “I did not see him again until he was brought to Count de Chaumont’s house last summer,” Le Ray de “Why to De Chaumont? Chaumont is not one of us. He is of the new nobility. His chateau near Blois was bought by his grandfather, and he takes his name from the estate. I have heard he ]l;a in lnvor‘wtl;h Bfinanunls.” “Even we o e old nobility, may be reduced to seek Tavor 'of Boa: parte. ‘‘Heaven forbid, madame. I say noth- ing against him; though I cou’l’d uuy much.” “‘Say nothing against Count de Chau- mont. Count de Chaumont befriends all emigres.” ‘I _have nothing to say nst Count de Chaumont. e Is not of our party; he is of the new. Fools! If we Princes had stood by each other as the friends of the Empire stand 'by thelr Emperor, we could have killed the Terror,” The animal in the cabln by this time was making such doleful cries I sald to the potter. “Let him out. It is dreadful to be shut in by walls.”" The potter, stooping half over and roll- - ing stiffiy from foot to foot in his walk, filled me with compunction, and I hur- ried to open the door for him. The ani- mal clawed vigorously inside, and the in- stant I pushed back tne ill‘fitted slabs, it strained through and rushed on all fours to the fire. Madame de Ferrier fled backward, for what I Iliberated could hardly be seen without dread. It was a human being. Its features were a hoy's and the tousled hair had a nat- ural wave. While it crouched for warmth Ibreltt the shock of‘:leellng 1 CTeature about my own age nnin, ck at me, fishv-eyed and biack.mouthed. ¥ “There!” Bellenger sald, stralghtenin up in his place like a bear rising from fours. “That Is the boy your De Ferrlers aaiw in Eduna" % o rem ered the bo adame Tank had told about. “’heth{r myself or this less fortunate creature was the boy, my heart went very pitiful toward him. Madame de Ferrler stopped and examined him; he made a julcy noise of delight ‘with his mouth. “This {s not the boy vou had in Lon- don, monsieur,” she sald to Bellenger, The potter waved his hands and shrugged. “You belleve, madame, that Lazarre is the boy you saw in London?’ said Louis Philippe. “I am certaln of it.” ‘What proofs have you ‘The evidence of my eyes.’ ;’{e]l that to Monsieur!” exclaimed the potter. ““Who is Monsieur?” I asked, “The eldest brother of the King of France is called Monsieur. The Count de Provence will be called Monsieur until he succeeds Louls XVII and is crowned Louls XVIII—if that time ever comes. He can- not be called Louls XVII"—the man who told me to call him Louls Philippe took my arm, and T found myself walking back and forth with him as in a dream while he carefully formed sentence after sentence. “Because the dauphin who died in the Temple Prison was Louls XVII. But there are a few who say he did not die; that a dying child was substituted for him; that he was smuggled out and carried to America. Bellenger was the agent employed. The dauphin's sister is married to her cousin, the nephew of Monsieur. She herself believes these things; and it is certaln a sum of money is sent out to America every year for his maintenance. He was reduced to imbe- cility when removed from the Temple. It is not known whether he will ever be fit to reign if the kingdom returns to him. No communication has been held with him. He was nine years old when re- moved from the Temple; he would now be in his nineteenth year. When I last saw him he was a smiling little Prince with waving hair and hazel eyes, holding to his mother's hand”— “Stop!” The frenzy of half recollection came on me and that which T had put away from e my mind and sworn to let alone, selzed and convulsed me. Dreams, and sensa- tions ,and instincts massed and fell upon me in an avalanche of conviction. I was that uncrowned outcast, the King of France! BOOK II. ‘WANDERING. I A primrose dawn of spring touched the mountains as Mme. de Ferrier and I stepped into the tunnel's mouth. The ‘wind that goes like a besom before sunrise swept off the fog to corners of the sky, except a few spirals which still unwound from the lake. The underground path to De Chaumont’s manor descended by ter- races of steps and entered blackness. A rank odor of earth fillled it; and I never passed that way without hearken- ing for the insectlike song of the rattle- snake. The ground was' slippery, and thick darkness seemed to press the soul out of the body. Yet I liked it; for when :ye :';l(,lclheg the Ethalrcue of rock that en- ered the house she w And so it was. T She did say—“Good night ana good mxn‘\iing." % n answered, “Good mo; B e Sere noth phyat s by e were physically exh: i head swarmed as with s%u‘xkl::“:?lduz thousand emotions tore me, for I was at the age when we risk all on chances. I sat alone on the steps, unmindful of that penetrating chill of stone which in- creases rather than decreases, the longer Kou sit upon it, and thought of all at ad been said by my new friend at the camp-fire, while the moon went lower and lower, the potter turned his wheel and the idiot siept. | The mixed and oblique motives of hi- man nature—the boy’s will—worked lilke e e sad very Lt e had said very e to me in the boat, and I had said very little to her; not realizing that the ‘camp talk, in which she took no part, separated us in a new way. Sitting alone on the steps I held this imaginary conversation with her. “I am going to France!” “You, monsieur?” *“Yes, 1. +“How are you going?” “T don't know: but I am going.” “The Duke of Orleans did not mention such a thing.” e “Bother the Duke of Orleans! “When are you going?” “Now!” e! ‘‘Monsieur, do not throw away your future on an unconsidered move.” l‘t‘M'adame, I will throw away my eter- nity!” Then I went back through the tunnel to the beach, stripped and took a plunge to clear my head and warm my blood, rub- bing off with my shirt. On reaching my room, the first thing I did was to make a bundle of everything I considered necessary and desirable. There was no reason for doing this be- fore lying down; but with an easier mind 1 closed my eyes, and opened them to find sunset shining through the windows and Doctor Chantry keeping guard in ¢n armchair at my side. “Nature has taken her revenge on you, my lad,” said he. “And now 1 am going to take mine."” “I have slept all day.” ‘“‘Renegades who roam the woods night must expect to sleep all day.” “How do you know I have been in the ‘woods all night?* “I heard you slipping up the tunnel stairs without any shoes on at daylight. I have not been able to sleep two nights on account of you.” ‘““Then why don’t you go to bed your- self, my dear master?”’ “‘Because I am not going to let you glve me the slip another time. I am re- sponsible for you; and you will have me on your back when you go prowling abroad again.” “Again?’ I questioned innocently. “Yes, again, young sir! I have been through your luggage, and find that you have packed changes of clothing and things necessary and unnecessary to a Journey—even books." “1 hepe you put them neatly together™ “Nothing of the kind. I scattered them.” “Do_you want me to go bare into the world?” I laughed. “Lazarre,” said my master, ‘‘you were a good lad, studious and zealous beyond anything 1 ever saw.” “And now I am bad and lazy.” “‘You have dropped your books and taken to wild ways.” “There is one thing, dear master, I haven't done; I haven’t written poetry.” He blinked and smiled and felt in his breast pocket, but thought better of it and forebore to draw the paper out. There was no escaping his tenacious grip. He sat by and exercised me in Latin de- clensions while I dressed. We .had our supper together. I saw no member of the household except the men, Pierre and Jean. Doctor Chantry ordered a mattress put in my room and returned there with all me. We talked long on the approaching de- parture of the Count and Madame de Fer- rier. He told me the latest datails of preparation, and tremulously explained how he must feel the loss of his sister. “I have nothing left but you, Lazarre. My dear master,” I said, patting of his shriveied hands between mine, am going to be open with you.” I sat on the side of my bed facing his armchair, and the dressing giass reflected his bald head and my young head drawn near together. “Did you ever feel as if you were a Prince?”’ Pocmr Chantry wagged a pathatic neg- ative. “Haven't you ever been ready to dare anything and everything, because s,me- thing in you said—I must!” ain Doctor Chantry wagged a nega- 4 tive. “Now I have to break bounds—I have to leave the manor and try my fortune! I can't wait for times and seasons—to be certain of that! I am Io\n‘ to leave the housac; to-night—and am going to cried Doctor Chantry, springing up. “He is going to Francel Kouse the servants! Call De Chaumont!” He struck his gouty foot against the chair and sat down nursing it in both hands, I restrained him and added my sympathy to his groans. “‘Have you as much as a Spanish real of your own, my lad?’ he catechised me, ‘when the foot was easy. I acknowledged that I had not. “It costs dear to travel about the world. It is not like coming down the trall from St. Regis to Lake George. How are you travel without money?” I laughed at the very uncertainty, and answered that money would be found. “Found! It isn't found, I tell you! It is inherited by the idle, or gathered by the unscrupulous, or sweated and toiled for! It costs days and years, and comes in drops. You might /as well expect to find a kingdom, lad!” “Maybe I shall find & kingdom, master!” “Oh, what a thing it is to be young!" sighed Doctor Chantry. felt it myself, and hugged my youth. ‘Do you know how to reach the sea port?” he continued. I said anybody could follow the Hudson to New York. “You're bitten, my poor lad! It's plain what ails you. You might as well try to swim the Atlantic. De Chaumont intends her for himself. And in the unjust distri- bution of this world, your rival has the power and you have the feelings. Stay ‘where you are. You'll never forget it, but it will hurt less as years go by."” ‘“‘Master,” I said to him, ‘“‘good sense is on your side. But if I knew I should per- ish, I would have to go!” % “And I added from fullness of convie- on—» ““I would rather undertake to do some- thing and perish than live a thousand vears as I am."” Doctor Chantry struck the chair arm with his clenched fist. . “My lad, so.would I—so would I! I wish I had been dowered with your spirit! I'm going with you!” As soon as he had made this embarrass- ing resolution my master blew his nose and set his British jaws firmly together. 1 felt my own jaw drop. ‘“Have you as much as a Spanish real of %our own?’ I quoted. “That I have, young sir, and some American notes, such as they are, and good English pounds, besides.” “And do you know how to reach the seaport?”’ “Since I came that way I can return that way. You have youth, m— lad, but I have brains and experience.” “It's plain what alls you, Dr. Chantry. And you might as well try to swim the Atlantic.” My poor master dropped his head on his breast and I was ashamed of baiting him and began to argue tenderly. 1 told him he could not bear hardships; he was used to the soft life in De Chaumont’s house; while my flesh had been made iron in the wilderness. I intended to take a boat from those hidden at our summer camp, to reach the head of Lake George. But from that point to_the Hudson River— where the town of Luzerne now stands— it was necessary to follow a trail. I could carry the light canoe over the trail, but ht’yx" l?mld no} even w;!fl;{ti‘ " e more I reason t] the more obstinate he became. There was a won- derful spring called Saratoga, which he had visited with De Chaumont a few years before as they came into the wilder- ness; he was convinced that-the water ‘would set him on foot for the rest of the Journey. p It is twenty-nine miles above Albany.. We could soon reach it,”" he % “I have heard of it I answered. “Bkenedonk has been there. But he says you dl:;lva the river and go into the ‘woods."” “I know the way,” he testily Insisted. “And there used to be near the river a man who kept horses and carried visitors T i o e sp of reckless adven| b - ing through years of extreme prudence, outran youth. ““What will you do in France?’ I put to him. He knew no more than I what I should do. l”Anrl t}mdare dwuflCmmt demch;umont to considered. low woul e regard such a leave-taking? Dr. Chantry was as insensible to De Chaumont as I mysélf. Still he agreed to write & note to his protector while I pre- ared my_quill to write one to Mme. de ‘errier. With the epirit of the true para- site, he laid all the blame on me, and said he constrained by duty to follow and ‘watch over me since it was impossible to curb a nature like mine. And he left a loophole open for a future return to De Chaumont’s easy service, when the hard- ships which he willingly faced brought him his reward. 4 This paper he brazenly showed me while I was struggling to beg Mme. de Ferrier's pardon, and to let her know that I aimed at something definite whether I ever reached port or not. 1 reflected with satisfaction that he would probably turn back at Saratoga. ‘We descended together to his room and brought away the things he needed. In bulk they were twice as'large as the load 1 had made for myself. He also wrote out strict orders to Pierre to seal up his room until his return. The inability of an old man to tear himself from his accustomed environment cheered my: heart. We then went back to bed, and like the twoh Zld boys we were, slept prepared for fitg] y II. “This is fine!” said Dr. Chantry, when ‘we descended from the rough stage which had brought us across a corduroy trail, spacious wooden tavern. ‘“When I pas: aratoga before there were only three log houses, and the inn had two rooms below and one above. It was lighted by pine torches stuck in the chinks of the wall— and see how candles shine through these windows!" The tavern stood In s cleared place with miles of forest around it, and a marsh stretching near by. Dusk could not pre- vent our seeing a few log habitations, one of them decorated with a merchant’s sign. We entered among swarming crowds, a little world dropped into the backwoods. This was more surprising be- cause we had just left behind us a sense of wild things gathering to their night haunts, and low savage cries, and visions of moose and deer through far-off arches. A man who adapeared to be the host met us, his sprightly interest in our welfare being tempered by the conselousness of having many guests; and told us the house was full, but he would do what he could for us. “Why is the house full?" fretted Dr. Chantry. “What right have you, my dear sir, to crowd your house and so insure our_discomfort?” None at all, sir,” answered the host ood-naturedly. “l1f you think you can 0 better, try for lodgings at the store- keeper's.” “The storekeeper's!” Dr. Chantry’s hys- terical cry turned some attention to us. “I shall do nothing of the kind. I demand the best you have, sir.” ““The best I can give you,” amended our host. “You see, we are very full of poli- ticlans from V&/umnglon. They crowd to the spring.” My master turned his nose like the in- flamed horn of a unicorn against the politicians from Washington and trotted to the fireplace, where blazing knots cheered a great taproom set with many tables and benches, And there rested Skenedonk in silent gravity, toasting his moeccasins. The Iro- quois_had long made Saratoga a gather- ing place, but I thought of this Oneida as abiding in St. Regis village; for our people fil not come to the summer hunt- ng In May. ‘orgetting that I was a runaway, I met him heartily, and the fawn eyes in his bald head beamed their accustomed lus- ter upon me. I asked him where my father and mother and the rest of the tribe were, and he said they had not left St. Regls, “And why are you so early?” I inquired. He had been at Montreal, and had un- dertaken to gulde a Frenchman as far as/Saratoga. It Is not easy to surprise an Indian. But I wondered that Skenedonk accepted my presence without a ques- tion, quite as if he had himself made the appointment. However, the sights to be seen put him out of my head. Besides the taproom crowded with men there was a parlor in which women of fashion walked about, contrasting with the place. They had all been to a spring to drink water; for only one spring was greatly used by them; and they talked about the medicinal ef- fects. Some men left the stronger waters, which could be had at a glittering port- cullised bar opposite the fireplace In the taproom, to chat with these short-waisted beauties. T saw one stately creature In a white silk ball costume, his stockings splashed to the knees with mud from the corduroy road. But the person who distinguished him- seif from everybody else by some name- less attraction was a man perha; 40 years old, who sat in a high-backed set- tee at a table near the fire. He was erect and thin as a lath, long faced, square browed and pale. His sandy hair stood up like the bristles of a bru: Carefully dressed, with a sword at his side—as many of the other men had—he fllled my idea of a soldier. And I was not surprised to hear his friends sitting opposite call him General Jackson. An inkstand, a quill and some paper were placed before him, but he plllg:d them aside with his glass of toddy to lift one long forefinger and emphasize his talk. e had a resonant, impressive voice, with a manner gentle and persua- sive, like a woman's; and he was speak- ing ‘of Aaron Burp, the man whose duel had made such a noise in the newspapers. “I disagree’ with you, Mr. Campbell. You are prejudiced against Mr. Burr on account of his late unfortunate affair. Even in that case I maintain every man has a right to honor and satisfaction. But he loves the Spanish on our south- western borders no better than I do—and yc_ax\‘xhknuv:hhow I love tae Shp:dnluh!" e other man , loungin against the table. Ax ot “You can't believe anything ill of Aaron Burr, general.” I might have given attention to what -they were saying. since here were men from Wnshlnfl%n. the very fountain of government, | r. Chantry had not made me uneasy. He chose the table at which they were sitting and placed himself in the scat nearest the fire, with the utmost nicety about his own comfort. He wiped his horn spectacles and produced his own ink and ouill and memorandum from a breast pocket. I had begged the doctor to keep strict account between us, that I might pay back from my pension what- ever he spent on me, and with fine spider- like characters he was proceeding to debit me with the stage fare, when another quill barred his entrance to his ink-horn. He took off his spectables and glared pink-eyed at the genial gentlemen with sandy upright hair. “Sir!" he cried, “that is my ink!"” General Jackson, absorbed in talk, did not notice Dr. Chantry, who half arose and shouted directly at his ear. ‘}“SIr,k thl): :‘l! r:: ink.” le knocked the interlopi: direction of its owner e the The genial sandy gentleman changed countenance in a way to astonish behold- ers. .Have I disputed it, sir?” ~'No, sir, but you have dipped into its ‘without asking leave.” “By God, sir, what is a fip'ny bit's worth of ink?" “But it’s mine, sir!"” "% see, stlr; l);_v:-u'lre nEYmksu. sirl” “I'm not, sir; I'm Englisl rage in the worla:” i eneral Jackson looked him a down_as they rose fronting ele;rpo!hgg ar}.dl fll:Iedldtl;edBlr wlt!lj] dazzling words. should judge so, sir, spec % f')ee léehtoré mg!" r, by the imen T antry was like a fighting-cock, and it was plainly his age which k: t the other from striking him. He was gin- ning our journey well, but I felt bound to intercent whatever fell upon him and stood between them. The other men at thfctal:{e rose v;'ilh] General Jackson. entlemen.” I nleaded words I could commiand ln'{h‘: . “do not forget your dignit: et itxl;f Deace Tth{: hmusn toyr '."%o;{fi“‘;? The quarrel was ridiculo Southerners * laughed. General " Tackeng himself again changed countenance, and gave me, I do not know why, a smile that must have been reflected from face of a woman he adored. master “showed the bulldog; and him by the arm and the coilar I toddled him away from that table to a dark entry, Wwhere I heid him without any admonition save a sustained grip. He became like a child, weeping and trembling, and de- clared that everybody was In Il uf\lngt him. Argument is wasted on peo- ga having such an infirmity of temper. en he was well cooled I put him in an arm-chair by a fire in the Ldle- parlor, and he was soon very meek and tract- able, watching the creitures he so ad- “You must go to bed as soon as you have your supper,” I said to him. “The Journey to Saratoga has been a hard one for you. ut Skenedonk is here fortun- ately, and can take you home In.” My T looked at me with the s! - ishness of an elephant, I had not at that time seen an elephant. When I did see gne, !'::;weve‘\'.t '::e lhin!nx‘of its eyes rought bacl of Dr. Chan when 1 had him at n.,w!y the fire, ‘“You are not going get away from me,” he responded. “If you are Jud of it, so am I. ‘We proceed.” “If you pick quarrels with soldiers and dns.l.m. at every step, what are we to lo T picked no quarrel. Tt is Ev one is against me!” T in such a dejected manmer that I felt ashamed of bri his temperament him that I was cer- to account; and tol i t: WO come of it. “T am not genfal;”” Dr. Chantry owned; “I wish I were. Now you are genfal, La- zarre. People take to you. !‘ou attract them. But whatever 1 am. you are obliged to have my company; you canpot ge:’l along :idthon( me. !olu ‘;nve no bx- perience, and no_money. ve - ence—and a_few’ pounds—not. m::rrto retire into the counfry upon, in England; but enough to buy a little food for the resen 5 thought I could get along better without the ex ce and even the few pounds, than with him as an incumbrance; though 1 could not hfln{ myself to the crusity of telling him so. or there is in me a ahl the But my T -softness which no man can have and over- thers bear of in_this world. It constrains me to make the other man's cause my own, though he be at war with my own Interests. Therefore I was at the merey of Skene- donk, also. The Indian appeared in the doorway and watched me. it may not be best to go at this and found ourselves at the entrance o:es thought there was to be trouble with the ‘It 1s always best to go where you gentieman from W: to him to ease his Skenedonk had nothing to say, however, and made me a sign to follow him. ..3 we passed through the tap-room, General Jackson gave me another pieasant look. He had resumed his conversation and his own ink bottie as if it had never been interrupted. ~ ‘The Ind:an led me upstairs to one of the chambers and opened the door. In the room was Lows Pnuippe, and when we were shut alone together né em- braced me and kissed me as [ did not know men embraced and kissed. “Do you know Skeneaonk?” I exclaimed. “1f you mean the Indian who brought ou at l?y order, he was my guide from ontreal.” “‘But he was not with you at the pot- 's camp.” Yes; he was in the hut, wrapped in his blanket, and after you drove tne door in he ne: all that was said. Lazarre’'— Louis Pnilippe took my face in his hands —make a clean breast of it.™ We sat down, and 1 told him without being questioned what I was going to do. He gravely considered. *“1 saw you enter the house and had a suspicion of your undertaking. It was the worst venture you couid possibly make at this time. We will begin with " my hn;llyA I?.uy I‘:IM l:dyhou into whlc'h 1 m: ave been betra; no guaran of monsieur's, Belek ¥ou undsrecand. said Louis Philippe, “that monsieur stands next to the throne if there is no dauphin, or an idiot dauphin?" I said 1 understood. “Monsteur is not a bad man. But Bel- lenger, who took charge of the dauphin, has in.some manner and for some reason provided himself with a substitute, and he utterly denies you. Further: suppos- ing that you are the heir of France, re- stored to your family and proel: ‘what use is it to present yourselif before the French people now? They are be- sotted with this Napoleon. The em) seems to them a far greater thing any legitimate monarcny. Of what use, do I say? It would be a positive danger for you to appear in France at this timel! Napoleon has proscribed every Bourboen. Any Prince caught alive in France will be ut to death. Do you know what he did st year to the ke d'Enghein? He sent into Germany for the Duke, who had never harmed him, never comspired against him—had done nothing, in fact, except to live an innocent life away from the seat of Napoleon's power. The Duke was brought to Paris under guard and put in the dungeons of Vincennes. He de- manded to see Bonaparte. Bonaparte Wwouid not see him. He was tried by night, his grave being already dug in the castle diteh. That lovely young fellow—he was \scarcely above thirty—was taken out to the ditch and shot ilke a dog!™ I stocd up with my hands cienched. “'Sit down,” said Louis Philippe. “There 1s no room in the world at this time for anybody but that jealous monster."” “He shall not tie me here,” I sald. “You intend to go?” “I intend to go.” ‘This Bonaparte,” sald Louis Philippe, “has his troubles. His brother Jerome bas married an American in Baltimore. A fine explosion that will make when it reaches his ears. Where are you going to land, Te?” I :md that I must depend on the ship I ook. “‘And what are you going to do when you land?’ I said I would think that out later. ‘Then the spirit being upon me, I burst bounds and told him impetuously that I was going to learn what the world held for me. Without means, without friends, Oor puwer or prospects, or certainty of any good results—impudent—reckless—ut- terly rash—“I am going,” I cried, “be- cause I must go!" “There is something about you which inspires love, my boy,” said Louis Phil- ippe; and I heard him with astonishment. “Perhaps it comes from the mother; she Wwas a witcher of all mankind.” “I cannot understand why any one should love so ignorant a creatu: but God grant there be others that love me, too; for I have lived a life stinted of all affection. And, indeed, I did not know I warted it until last year. When we talked late the other night, and you tosd me the history of ail my family, the cruelest part of my lot seemed the separ- ation from those that belonged to me. Separation from what is our own ought not to be imposed upon us even by “What!" said Louls Philippe, “Is he foi- lowing ‘woman!™ and probably went on, and [ went My face burned, Wwhite, for I felt the blood go back on my heart. He took my hand and stroked t. “Don’t chain yourself behind that char- fot. Wait_ a little for your star to rise. I wish I had money. I wish I could be of use to you in France. I wish I stood nearer to monsieur, for your sake. Every one must love this bold, pure face. It bears some resemblance to Madame Royal. The sister of the daupa~ inis a girl, not many years your uch dominated by her uncles but a royal Duchess. It is the fashiom new to laugh at chivalry. You are the most foolish example of it I ever saw! It is like seeing a knight without a horse, armor, or purse, set out to win an equipment before he pursues his quest! Yet I love you for if, my boy!" “It would be well for me if I iad more friends like you.” “Why, I can be of no use! I fo back to France at this time, and could, what is my influence there? must wander around in foreign parts, a private gentleman eking out m; {l.vl'- by some kind of industry. Wz-( are you going to do with the fretful oid fel- low you have with you?* 1 groaned and laughed. “Carry him on my back. getting rid of him. to France. There He is following: al another follower,” Louis Philippe. “Your Indian has in France, and after hearing our at the camp, he foresaw you ht moved to this folly, and told me tended to guide you there, you go!" -« “And Skenedonk, too I shook with laughter. It was so like Skenedonk to draw his conclusions determine on t?e next .'&m ‘:_}Vl']hnllzhall X do '"hbe " “The old master can be your secretary, and as for the Indian, you can take him for your servant.” ‘A secretary and a servant, for an oute cast without a penny in his pouch!” “You see the powers that order us are beginning well with you. Starting with a secretary and a servant, you may with a full household and a co ought to add my poor item of tribute, this I can do. e is a shipmaster tak- ing cargo this month in New York Bay, who is a devoted loyalist; a Breton sailor. For a letter from me he will carry y and your suite to the other vo'rég.: but you 52 will have to poi “‘And what will the “Nothing, except if case as sti ly to as I for you. Itallan salt ships. work crossing the sea; ways danger of falling into the pirates. Are you I looked him in mug. and thanking him for all :lho had so Iltfl'c n:{l m. The sweet heartiness an ond in and word Eaowlodger T could stoop to such a raw savage, ‘me by storm. I asked him if he had who the idiot was that we had con seen s camp. Holhoolhh# that idiot: the lots were plentiful, sz £ the °-'n-'ammmm»- g = &s 588 B A man so far tainments Touts Prifipe. ren not_aj there I should not dauphin.” Philippe. ‘%'he com! -1 had a fashion of dividing the 'hot"‘bo or h::‘ n‘rt:'. that a o so heav. carry kets. This L the )oc'" picked up in the Tufleries