The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 7, 1902, Page 12

drawn out of his veins, face fell in. Then it burned and instead of good friend and tor, I saw myself a convict. His £ blue eyes came out of alflg;n big like an owl's, and shot me through. lieve he saw everything I ever did in my life and my intentions about Eagle most nly of alL. He bowed and wished me n nd took her out of the Tui- t you saw him again?” Ver'jet me sec him again, or her 1 am certain he forbade her to punicate with us. They did not go back to Mont Louis. They left their hotel in Pa: 1 wrote imploring him to hoid the estates. My messages were returned. I don’t know how he got money enough to emigrate. But emigrate he did; avoid- ing Castorland, where the Saint Michels, who brought her up, lived in comfort, and might have comforted her, and where I could have made her life easy. He prolz- ably dragged her through depths of pov- before they joined a company bound the Indian Territory, where the Pig- eon Roost settlement was planted. I bave seen old Saint Michel work at clear- ing, and can imagine the Marquis de Fer- rier swe weakly while he chopped trees. It is a satisfaction to know they had Ernestine with them. De Ferrler might have piowed with Eagle,” said the Count, hotly. H. never hesitated to e use of her.’ i m{*\kn" I had been living a monk’s studi- ous, well-provided nge, as she toiling in se fields? 1 groaned aloud. S Chaumont dropped his head on his breast It nybod: burts me more than I care to let but you know, Lazarre. If I t received that letter I should have evoided you. 1 wish you had saved Paul. 1 would adopt mma' i T think my dear P 1 wouldn't let you a child.” “Her husband has her. But let us not pitch and toss words. No use quarreling over a dead boy. What right have you to right of faithful, wuseful p. Only my own righ “What's that? 2y “Nothing that she ever admitted.’ “] was afraid of you,” said De Chau- mont, “when you flowered out with old Du Plessy, like an heir lost in emigration and fo egain. You were a startling fellow, dropping on the Faubourg; and enything was possible under the empire. You know 1 never believed the dauphin nonsense, but e few who remembered sald ke the King. You were the ebove mating with the best She wouldn't have ng to he: of the old nobility. rried you." mflDxd she ever giv _'you reason to think vould marry you?” '}E‘!E‘feo never gave me reason to think she would marry anybody. But what's the use of groaning? There's distraction abroad. I took the trails to see you, when 1 heard you were with the troops on Champlain. I shall be long tnw!"rsnce. What can I do for you, my boy? “Nothing, Count. You have already much.” do‘“;h ad a foolish interest in you. The @dauphini—too good to it at table with . you raw savage!—had to be waited on by old Jean. Ang_,.g_he would have had rve you myself! m;le“lnfig’hed. and s;l] dldml. We held hends, clinging in fellowship. “] might ot have refused your service, like Marquis de Ferrier.” The Cou face darkened. % “T'll not abuse him. He's dead.” this time, re you sure he's dead c“)"jAn‘Kickapoo is carrying his scalp. Trust my runners. They have traced him g0 much for me they know the hair on his stubborn head. I must go where I can have amusement, Lazarre. This coun- try is a young man's country. I'm get- ting old. Adieu. You're one of the young T Some changes of light and darkness passed over me, and the great anguish of my wound increased until there was no rest. However, the next man who vis- jted me stood forth at the side of the stretcher as Bellenger. I thought T dreamed_him, being light headed with fever. He was unaccountably weazened, robbed of juices and powdering to dust on the surface. His mustache had grown again and he carried it over his ears in the ridiculous manner affected when I saw him in t re's yO og. potter's wheel?” I in- , sire.” quired. - ge : suits you?” n the woolls by Lake Geor; “Do you still find clay that “Yes, sire. s "HZ\e you made that vase yet?” to the surgeon’s camp chs,lr. 5 ‘ in your presence, sire. y “Have you lost your real dauphin?’ I inquired. E] have the honor of standing before eal dauphin.” ‘ you swore at Mittau." vou doing now?” 2 men in failing health. Be- I have come to tell you the think you can do 1t?” said Bellenger, Your King is Louis XVIIL” ded him. He is not my King.” 2 “Taken your pension away, has he?" “I no longer receive anything from that court.” “And your dauphin?” *“He was left in Europe.” “Look here, Bellenger! Why 4id you treat me so? Dauphin or no dauphin, what harm was I doing you?" “] thought @ strong party was behind gou. And I knew there had been Gouble dealing with me. You represent- ed some i was besi: ¥ Mittau. I have been used shamefully, and thrown aside when I am failing. Hiding out in the hills ruined my heaith.” “Let us get to facts, if you bave facts. Do you know anything about me, Bel- lenger?” “Yes, sire.” Vho am I?” “Louis XVII of France.” “What proof can you give me?” ““First, sire, permit a man who has been made a wretched tool to implore for- veness of his rightful sovereign, and a ittle help to reach a warmer climate be- fore the rigors of a northern winter be- I re- n. “Bellenger, you eare entrancing,” I gald. “Why did I ever take you serious- 1y? Ste Pelagie was a grim joke, and tipping in the river merely your playful- mess. You had better take yourself off now, and keep on walking until you come to & warmer climte. He wrung his hands with a gesture that touched my mnatural softness to my enemy. "Tdk, then. Talk, man. What have you to say?’ “This, first, sire. That was a splendid @ash you made into France!” “And what a splendid dash I made out of it again, with & gendarme at my coat- talls, and you behind the gendarme!™ “But it was the wrong time. If you were there now—the French people are so changeable—"" “I shall never be there n. His Majesty the eighteenth Louls ‘welcome. What the blood stirs in me to know is, have I & right to the throne?” “Sire, the truth as I know it, I will tell ou. You were the boy taken from the ‘emple prison.” “Who aid_it7” ‘Agents of the royalist party whose mames would mean nothing to you if I gave them.” “] was placed in your hands?’ “You were placed in my hands to be taken to America.” “1 was with you in London, where two royalists who knew me recognized me?” “The two De Ferriers.” “Did a woman named Madame Tank see me?”’ Bellenger was startled. “You were noticed on the ship by a court-lady of Holland: a very clever cour- tier. 1 had trouble in evading her. She suspected too much, and asked too many questions: and would have you to play with her baby on the deck, though at that time you noticed mnothing.” it where does the idiot come into my “Sire, you have been unfortunate, but I have been a victim. When we landed in New York I went directly and made myself known to the man who was to act as purveyor of your Majesty's pension. He astonished me by declaring that the dauphin was already there, and had claimed the pension for that year. The country and the language were unknown to me. The agent spoke French, it is true, but we hardly under- stood each other. I supposed I had noth- ing to do but present my credentials. Here was another idiot—I crave your Majesty's p: “Quite right—at the time, BellerfRer.” —*“drawing the annuity intended for tie dauphin. T inquired into his rights. The egert showed me papers like my own. I asked who presented them. He knew no more of the man than he @id of me. I demanded to face the max=. No such per- son could be found. I demanded to see the idiot. He was shut in a room and fed by a hired keeper. I sat down and thought much. _Clearly it was not the agent's affair. He followed instructions. Good! 1 would follow instructions also. Months would have been required to ask and receive explanations from the court of monsieur. He had assumed the title of Louis XVIII, for the good of the royal- ist cause, as if there were no Prince. I thought I saw what was expected of me. “And what did you see, you unspeak- able scoundrel?”’ “I saw that there was a dauphin too many, hopelessly idiotic. But if he was the one to be guarded, I would guard him."™ 'Who was that idiot?” h“Sumg unknown pauper. No doubt of that.” “And what did you do with me ‘A _chief of the Iroquois Indians can tell you that.” “This is a clumsy story, Bellenger. Try egain.” “Sire—" “If you knew so little of the country, how did you find an Iroquois chief?”’ “I met him in the woods when he was hunting. I offered to give you to him, pretending you had the annuity from Eu" Tope. Sire, I do not know why trickery was practiced on me, or who practiced it; why such pains were taken to mix the clews which led to the dauphin. But afterward the same agent had orders to glve you two-thirds and me only one- third of the yearly sum. I thought the court was in straits—when both Russia and Spain supported it! I was nothing but a court painter. But when you went to France 1 blocked your way with all the ingenuity I could bring.” ~1 would like to ask you, Bellenger, what a man is called who attempts the life of his King?" ‘‘Sire, the tricks of royalists pitted us against each other.” ““That's enough, Bellenger. I don’t be- lieve & word you say, excepting that part of your story agreeing with Mme. de Ferrier's. Put your hand under my pil- low and find my wallet. Now help your- self and never let me see you again.” He helped himself to everything except 2 few shillings, weeping because his necessities were so great. But I told him 1 was used to being robbed, and he had done me all the harm he could; so his turn to pluck me naturally followed. Then I softened, as I always do toward the claimant of the other part, and added that we were on the same footing; I had been a pensioner myself. “‘Sire, I thank you,” sald Bellenger, having shaken the ‘wailet and poked his fingers into the lining where an unheard- of gold piece could have lodged. It tickles my vanity to be called sire.” “You are a true Prince,” said Bellinger, “My life would be well spent if 1 could see you restored to your own.” So I infer, from the valuable days you have spent trying to bring that result about.” “Your Majesty is sure of finding sup- port in France.” “The last King tinkered with clocks. Perhaps I like to tinker with Indlans.” *Sire, it is due to your birth—"" “Never mind my birth,” I sald. busy with my life.” He bowed himself out of my presence without turning. This tribute to royalty should have touched me. He took a hand- some adieu and did not afterward seek further reward for his service. I heard in the course of years that he died in New Orleans, confessing much regarding my- self to people who cared nothing about it, and thought him crazy. They doubtless had reason, so erratic was the wanderer whom 1 had first consclously seen through Lake George fog. His behavior was no more incredible than’ the behavior of other Frenchmen who put a hand to the earlier years of their Prince’s life. The third to appear at my tent door was Chief Williams himself. The surgeon told him outside the_ tent that it was a dan- gerous wound. He had little hope for me and I had indifferent hope myself, lying in torpor and finding it an effort to speak. But after several days of effort I did speak. ;l'he chief zat beside me, concerned and t. ent. “Father,” I sald The chief harkened near to my lips. *“Tell me,” I begged, after resting, ‘““who brought me to you sullen face became tender. “It was a Frenchman,” he answered. “I ‘was hunting and met him on the lake with two boys. He offered to give you to me. ‘We had just lost a son.” When I had rested again I asked: “"20 you know anything else about me?” “No The subject was closed between us, And all subjects were closed betwixt the world and me, for my face turned the other way. The t void of which we know nothing, but which our faith teaches us to bridge, opened for me. “I'm VL But the chief's and Skenedonk's nurs- ing and Indian remedies brought me face iurmwnrd again, reviving the surgeon's ope. When blood and life mounted and my torn side sewed up its gap in & healthy scar, adding another to my collection, au- tumn was upon us. From the hunting lodges on Lake George and the Wii- liamses of Longmeadow I went to the scorched capital of Washington. In the end the Government helped me with my Indian plan, though when Skenedonk and 1 pushed out toward Illinois Territory we bad only my pay and a grant of land. Peace was not formally made until De- cember, but the war ended that summer. Man’s success in the world is propor- tioned to the number of forces he can draw around himself to work with him. I have been able to draw some forces, though in matters where most people pro- tect themselves 1 have a quality of asinine patience which the French would not have tolerated. The Oneidas were ready to follow wher- ever I led them. And so were many fam- ilies of the Iroquois federation. But the Mohawk tribe held back. However, I felt confident of material for an Indlan state when the foundation should be laid. We started lightly equipped upon the horse paths. The long journey by water and shore brought us in October to the head of Green Bay. We had seen Lake Michigan, of a light transparent blueness, with fire ripples chasing from the sunset. And we had rested at noon in plum groves on the vast prairies, oases of fertile des- erts, where pink and white fruit drops, so ripe that the sun preserves it in its juice. Tge freshness of the new world continual- ly flowed around us. We shot deer. ‘Wolves sneaked upon our trail. We slept with our heels to the campfire and our heads on our saddles. Sometimes we built a hunter’s shed, open at front and sloping to ground at back. To find out how the wind blew we stuck a finger in our mouths and held it up. The side which became cold first was the side of the wind. Physical life riots in the joy of its re- vival. I was so glad to be alive after touching death that I could think of Madame de Ferrier without pain, and say more confidently, “She is not dead,” be- cal;se resurrection was working in my- seif. Green Bay (or La Baye, as the fur hunters called it) was a little post almost like a New England village among its elms—one street and a few outlying houses beside the Fox River. The open world had been our tavern, or any sod or log hut cast up Iike a burrow of human prairie dogs or moles. We did not expect to find a tavern in Green Bay. Yet such a place was pointed out to us near the Fur Company's block warehouse. It bhad no sign post, and the only visible stable was a pen of logs. Though neg-o slaves were owned in the Illinols Territory, we saw none when a red-head- ed man rushed forth shouting: “Sam, you lazy nigger, come here and take the gentleman’'s horses! Where is that Sam? Light down, sir, with your In- dian, and I will lead your beasts to the hostler myself.” In the same way our host provided a supper and bed with armies of invisible servants. Skenedonk climbed a ladder to the loft with our saddlebags. “Where is that chambermald?” ecried the tavern-keeper. “Yes, where is she?”’ said a man who lcunged on a bench by the entrance. “I've heard of her =0 often I would like to see her myself.” The landlord, deaf to rajllerx. bustled about and spread our table in his public room. “‘Cornbread, hominy, side meat, ven’- zin,”” he shouted in the kitchen. *“Stir yourself, you black rascal, and dish up the gentleman’s supper.” Skenedonk walked boldly to the kitchen door and saw our landlord stewing and broiling. performing the offices of cook as he had performed those of stableman. He kept on scolding and harrying the people who should have been at his com- mand—*‘Step around lively, Sam. Tell the gentleman the black bottle is in the fire- {;lace cupboard if he wants to sharpen is appetite. Where is that little nigger that picks up chips? Bring me some more wood from the woodpile! Tl teach you to go to sleep behind the door!” Our host served us himself, running with sleeves turned back to admonish an imaginary cook. His taproom was the fireplate cupboard, and it was visited while we ate our supper by men in elk- THE SUNDAY CALL. skin trousers, and caps and hooded ca- potes of blue cloth. These Canadians mixed their own drink and made a_cross- mark on the inside of the cupboard door, using a system of bookkeeping evidently agreed upon between themselves and the lundlord. He shouted for the lazy bar- keeper, who answered nothing out of nothingness. Nightfall was very clear and fair in this Northwestern Territory. A man felt near- er to the sunset. The region took hold upon me, particuiarly when one who was neither a warehouseman nor a Canadian ;lur dhunter hurried in and took me by the and. “1 am Plerre Grignon,” he said. Indeed, if he had held his fiddle and tuned it upon an arm not quite so stout I should have known without being told that he was the man who had played in the Saint Michel cabin while Annabel de Chaumont climbed the chimney. We sat and talked until the light faded. The landlord brought a candle and yelled up the loft, where Skenedonk had already stretched himself jn his blanket, as he lo"g% lobdm 14, light 1) {‘Chambermalid, light up!” “You drive your slaves too hard, land- lord,” said Pierre Grignon. “You'd think I hadn’t any, Mr. Grig- non; for they're never in the way when wanted.” “One industrious man you certainly have.” “Yes, Sam is a good fellow: but I'll have to go out and wake him up and make him rub the horses down.” ‘“‘Never mind,” said Pierre Grignon. “I'm going to take these travelers home with me.” “Now I know how a tavern ought to be kept,” said the landlord. ‘“But what's the use of keepirng it if Pierre Grignon carries off all the guests?” 2 ““He 1s my old friend,” I told the land- lord. “He's old friend to everybody that comes to Green Bay. I'll never get so much as a sign painted to hang in front of the Palace Tavern.” I gave him twice his charges and he s ‘What a loss it was to enterprise in the Bay when Pierre Grignon came here and bullt for the whole United States!” The Grignon house whether built for the whole United States or not, was the largest in Green Bay. Its lawn sloped down to the Fox River. It was a huge square of oak timbers, with a detached Eitchen, sheltered by glant elms. To this dlf’ it stands defying time with its dark- ening frame like some massive rock, the fan windows in the gables keeping guard north and south, A hall divided the house through the center, and here Madame Grignon wel- comed me as if I were a long-expected guest, for this was her custom; and as soon as she clearly remembered me, led me into a drawing-room where a stately old lady sat making lace. This was the grandmother of the house. Such a house would have been incom- iete without & grandmother at the earth, The furniture of this hall or family room had been brought from Montreai; spindle chairs and a pier table of mahog- any; a Turkish carpet, laid smoothly on the polished floor to be spurned aside by young dancers there; some impossible sea pictures, with patron saints in the clouds over mariners; an immense stuffed sofa, Wwith an arm dividing it across the center; —the very place for those head-on conver- sations with young men which the girls of the house called ‘twosing.”” It was, in g:c!. the favorite “twosing” spot of Green ay. Stools were there for children, and arm- chairs for old people were not lacking. The small yellow spinning wheel of Mag- ame Ursule, as I found afterward Mad- ame Grignon was commonly called, stood rgady to revolve its golden disk wherever she sat. The servants were Pawnee Indlans, meving about their duties almost with stealth, The little Grignon daughter who had stood lost in wonder at the dancing of Annabel de Chaumont was now a turner of heads herself, il flaxan white, and contrasting with the darkness of Kata- rina Tank. Katarina was taken home to the Grignons’ after her mother's death. Both girls had been educated in Mon- treal. The seigniorial state in hi Plerre Grignon _ lived becumo" i‘: once evident. I found it wae the custom during Advent for all the villag- ers to meet in his house and sing hymar'lgs. On Christmas day his tables were loaded for everybody who came. If any one died he was brought to Plerre Grignon's for prayers, and after his burial the mourners went back to Pierre Grignon's for supper. Pierre Grignon and his wite were godfather and godmother to most of the children born at La. Baye. If a child was left without father and mother Pierre Grignon’s house became its asylum be found for it. The few American officers stationed at the old stockade nearly every evening met the beauties of Green Bay at Plerre Grig- non's, and if he did not flddle for them he led madame in the dancing. The grandmother herself sometimes took her stick and stepped through a measure to please the young people. Laughter and the joy of life filled the house every wak- ing hour of the twenty-four. Funerals were never horrible there. Instead t ey gjmed the mystic beginning of better ngs. “Poor Madame Tank! She would have been s0 much more comfortable in her death if she had relieved her mind,” Mad- ame Ursule sald, the first evenin; , 83 we sat in & pause of the dancing. ‘She used to speak of you often, for seeing you made a great impression upon her, and she never let me forget you. I am sure she knew more about you than she ever told me. , ‘I have an important disclosure to make,’ she says. ‘Come around me, I want all of you to hear it!" Then she fell back and dled without telling it.” A touch of mystery was not lacking to the house. Several times I saw the tail of a gray gown disappear through an open door. Some woman half entered and drew back, “It's Madeleine Jordan,” an inmate told me each time. “She avolds strangers.” ll asked if Madeleine Jordan was a rela- - e. ““Oh, no,” Madame Ursule replied; “but the family who brought her here went back to Canada, and of course they left her with us.” Of course, Madeleine Jordan, or any- body else who lacked a roof, would be left with the Grignons; but in that house a hermit' seemed gut of place, and I said so to Madame Ursule. “‘Poor child!” she responded. *I think she likes the bustle and nofse. She is not a hermit. What difference can it make to her whether people are around her or not?” The subject of Madeleine Jordan was no doubt beyond a man’s handling. I had other matters to think about, and directly plunged into them. First the Menomi- nees and Winnebagoes must be assembled }n ?’ounclk They held all the desirable and. “We don’t like your Indian scheme in Green Bay,” said Plerre Grignon. “But if the tribes here are willing to sell their lands other settlers can’t prevent it.” He went with me to meet the savyages on the opposite side of the Fox near the stockade. There the talking and eating lasted two days. At the end of that time I had a footing for our Iroquofs in the Wisconsin portion of the Illinofs Terri- tory; and the savages who granted it danced a war dance in our honor. Every brave shook over his head the'scalps he had taken. I saw one cap of soft, long brog}:l halrid - “Eh!” sal lerre Grignon, sitting be- side me. “Their dirty trophies makg you hastly! Do your Eastern tribes never -Anfce wta}:' d?ncesl’" ter the land was secured its bound- aries had to be set. Then my own grant demanded attention; and last, I was anx- fous to put my castle on it before snow flew. Many of those late autumn nights Skenedonk and I spent camping. The outdoor life was a joy to me. Our land lay up the Fox River and away from the bay. But more than one stormy evening, when we came back to the bay for.sup- plies, I plunged into the rolling water and swam breasting the waves. It is good to be hardy, and sane, and to take part ian the visible world, whether you are great and have your heart’s desire or not. When we had laid the foundation of the Indian settlement, I built my house with the help of skilled men. It was a spa- cious one of hewn logs, chinked with cat- and-clay plaster, showing its white ribs on the hill above the Fox. In time I meant to cover the ribs with perennial vines. There was a spring near the porches. The weods banked me on the rear, and an elm spread its,colossal umbrella over the Toof. Fertile fields stretched at my left, and on my right a deep ravine lined with white birches carried a stream to_the Fox. From my stronghold to the river was a long descent. The broadening and nar- rowing channel could be seen for miles. A bushy island, beloved of wild ducks, parted the water, lying as Moses hid in osiers, amidst tall growths of wild 'oats. Beyond were rolling banks, and beyond those, wooded hills rising terrace over terrace to the dawn. Man; sunrise was to come to me over those hills. Oaks and pines and sumach gathered to my door- ol i -afraid of her. In my mind I saw the garden we after- ward created; with many fruit trees, beds, and winding walks, trellised seats, squares of flaming tulips, phlox, holly- hocks, roses. It should reach down into the ravine, where humid ferns and rocks met plants that love darkling ground. Yet it should not be too dark. I would lop boughs rather than have a growing thing spindle as if rooted in Ste. Pelagie! —and no man who loves trees can do that without feeling the knife at his heart. What Is long eveloping Is precious like the immortal part of us. The stoicism that comes of endurance has something of death in it. I prepared a home without thought of putting any wife therein. I had grown used to being alone, with the exception of Skenedonk’s taciturn company. The house = was for castle afid yrest(ng place after labor. T ~_took satisfaction in the rude furniture we made for it. In after years it became filled with rich gifts from the other side of the world, and books that have gladdened my heart. Yet in its virginhood, before pain or joy or achievement had entered there, before spade struck the ground which was to send up food, my holding on the earth's surface’ made me. ifsel prinds of = prin- pality. ‘The ‘men hewed a slab settle, and sta- tloned it before the hearth, a thing of beauty in its rough and lichen-tinted barks, though you may not believe it. My floors’ I would have smooth and neatly Joined, of hard woods which give forth a shining for wear and polish. Stools I had, easily made, and one large round of a tree for my table, like an Eastern tabouret. Before the river closed and winter shut in, Skenedonk and I went back to Green Bay. I did not know how to form my household. and had it in mind to consult Madame Ursule. Pawnees could be had, and many French landholders in the Ter- ritory owned black slaves. Pierre Grig- non himself kept one little negro like a monkey among the stately Indians. Dealing with acres, and with people wild as flocks, would have been worth while if nothing had resulted except our welcome back to Plerre Grignon's opan house. The grandmother hobbled on her stick across the floor to give me her hand. Madame Ursule reproached me with delaying, and Pierre said it was high time to seek winter quarters. The giris recounted harvest reels and even wed- dings, with dances following, which I had 175& while away from the center of fes- tivity. The little regro carried my saddlebags to the guest room. Skenedonk was to sleep on the floor. Abundant preparations for the evening meal were going forward in the kitchen. As I mounted the stair- way at Madame Ursule's direction, I heard a tinkle of china, her very best, which adorned racks and dressers. It :u dbelng set forth on the mahogany oard. The upper floor of Pierre Grignon's house was dlvided by a hall similar to the one below. I ran upstairs and halted. Standing with her back to the fading light which came through one fan win- dow at the hall end, was a woman'’s fig- ure in a gray dress. I gripped the rail. My first thought was: ‘‘How shall T tell her about Paul?’ My next was: “What is the matter with her?” She rippled from head to foot in the shiver of rapture pecullar to her, and stretched her arms to me crying: “Paull Paul!” VIL “‘Oh, madame!” I sald, bewildered and sick as from a stab. It was no comfort that the high lady who scarcely allowed me to kiss her hand before we parted clung around my neck. She trembled against me. “Have you come back to your mother, Paul?”’ ‘‘Eagle,” I pleaded, “don’'t you know me? ou surely know Lazarrel” She kissed me, pulling my head down in her arms, the velvet mouth llke a baby’s, and looked straight into my eyes. “‘Madame, try to understand! I am Louis! If you forget Lazarre, try to re- member Louis!" She heard with attention and smiled. The pressure of my arms spoke to her. A man's passion addressed itself to a little child. All other barriers which had stood between us were nothing to this. 1 held her, and she could never be mine. She was not ill in body; the contours of her upturned face were round and soft- ened with much smiling. But mind-sick- ness robbed me of her in the moment of finding her. ‘‘She can’t be insane!” I said aloud. “O God, anything but that! She was not a woman that could be so wrecked.” Like a fool, I questioned and tried to get some explanation. Eagle smoothed my arm, nested her hand in my neck. “My little boy. He has grown to be a man—while his mother has grown down to be a child. Do yow know what I am now, Paul?” I choked a sob in my throat and told her I did not. “I am your cloud-mother. I live in a cloud. Do you love me while T am in the cloud?” I told her I loved her with all my strength, in the cloud or out of it. “‘Will you take care of me as I used to take care of you?"”’ I swore to the Almighty that she should be my future care. “I need you so! I have watched for ;ou in the woods and on the water, Paul. ou_have been long coming back to me.” I heard Madame Ursule mounting the stairs to see if my room was in order. Who could understand the relation in which Eagle and I now stood and the claim she made upon me? She clung to my arm when I took it away. I led her by the hand. Even this sight caused Ma- dame Ursule a shock at the head of the stairs. “M’s'r Williams!” My hostess paused and looked at us. “Did she come to you of her own ac- cord?” ‘‘Yes, madame."” “I never knew her to notice a stranger before.” \‘Madame, do you know who this {s?"* ‘‘Madeleine Jordan.” It is the Marquise de Ferrier.” “The Marquise de Ferrier?”’ “Yes, madame.” “Did you know her?” “I have kuown her ever since I can remember.’” ““The Marquise de Ferrler! But, M's't ‘Williams, did she know you?" “‘She knows me,” I asserted. “But not as myself. I am sure she knows me! But she confuses me with the child she lost! I cannot explain to you, madame, how positive I am that she recognizes me; any more than I can explain why she will call me Paul. I think I ought to tell you, so you will see the position in which I am placed, that this lady is the lady I once l‘:oped to marry.” .Saints have pity, M’s'’r Willlams!" “I want to asfi you some questions.” “Bring her down to the fire. Come, dear child,” said Mme. Ursule, coaxing Eagle. “Nobody is there. The bedrooms can never be so warm as the log fire, and this is a bitter evening.” The family room was unlighted by candles, as often happened. For such an illumination in the chimney must have quenched any paler glare. We had a few moments of brief privacy from the swarming life which constantly passed in and out. I placed Eagle by the fire and she sat there obediently, while I talked to Mmo. Ursule apart. ‘‘Was her mind in this state when she came to you?" “She was even a little wilder than she ;’u now. The girls have been a benefit to er.” .“They were not afraid of her?” ““Who could be afraid of the dear child? She is a lady—that's plain. M’'s'r Willlams, what she must have through!” ..yet see how happy she looks!” *“She always seemed happy enough. She would come to this house. So when the Jordans went to Canada, Pierre and I both said, ‘Let her stay. ““Who were the Jordans?" ““The only family that escaped with their lives from the massacre when she lost her family. Mme. Jordan told me the whole story. They had friends among the Winnebagoes who protected them.” ©‘Did they give her their name?” “‘No, the people in La Baye did_that, We knew she had another name. But I think it very likely her title was not used in the settlement where they lived. Titles are no help in pioneering.’” .‘Did they call her Madeleine?"” 'She calls herself Madeleine.” b “%—!ow long has she been with your fam- y 7 “Nearly a year.” “Did the Jordans tell you when this change came over her?” “Yes. It was during the attack when her child was taken from her. She saw other children killed. The Indians were They respect demented Esople: not a bit of harm was done to er. They let her alone, and the Jordans took care of her.” The daughter and adopted daughter of the house came in with a rush of outdoor air, and seeing Eagle first ran to kiss her on the cheek, one after the other. gone ‘‘Madeleine has come down!" sald Ma- e. “I thought we should coax her in here some time,” said Katarina. Between them, standing slim and tall, their equal in height, she was yet like a little sister. Though their faces were un- lined, hers held a divine youth, To see her stricken with mind-sickness, and the two girls who had done neither £00d nor evil existing like plants in sun- shine, healthy and sound, seemed an ini- quitous contrast. . It ever woman was made for living and dying in one ancestral home she was thi woman. Yet she stood on the border o civilization, without a foothold to call her own. If ever woman was made for one knightly love, which would set her_in high places, she was that woman. Yet here she stood, her very name lost, no man so humble'as to_do her reverence. “Paul has come,” Eagle told Katarina and Marfe. Holding thelr hands, she walked between them toward me and bade them notice my height. “I am his cloud-mother,” she said. ‘‘How droll it 13 that parents ‘grow down little while their children grow up big!” bead pititul. Madame Ursuie shook her the girls really saw the drol ly. But side and laughed withk my cloud-mother. Separated from me Yy an impassable barrier, she touched m¢ more deeply than when T sued her most. The undulating rltvple. which was her peculiar expression of joy, was more than I could bear. I left the room and was flinging myself from the house to walk in the chill wind; but she caught me. “I will be good!" pleaded my cloud- mother, her face in my breast. Her son, who had grown up big while she grew down little, went back to the family room with her. My cloud-mother sat beside me at table, and insisted upon cutting up my food for me. While I tried to eat she asked Marle and Katarina and Plerre Grignon_and Madame Ursule to notice how well I be- haved. The tender-hearted host wiped his eyes. I understood why she had kept such hold upon me through years of separa- tion. A nameless personal charm, which must be a girt of the spirit, survived all wreck and change. It drew me, and must draw me forever, whether she knew me again or not. One meets and wakes you to vivid life in an immortal hour. Thou- £ands could not do it through eternity. The river piled hillocks of water in a strong north wind and no officer_crossed from the stockade. Neither did any nejghbor leave his own fire. It seldom haPpened that the Grignons were left with inmates alone. Eagie sat by me and watched the blaze streaming up the chimney. If she was not a unit in the family group and had no part there, they were most kind to her. “‘Take' care!” the grandmother ecried with swift forethought when Marie and Katarina marshaled in a hopping objeat from the kitchen. *“It might frighten Madeleine.” Pierre Grignon stopped in the middle of a bear hunt. Eagle was not frightened. She clapped her hands. “This is a pouched turkey!’ Marie an- nounced, leaning against the wall, while Katarina chased the fowl. It was the little negro, his arms and feet thrust into the legs of a pair of Pierre Grignon's trousers, and the capacious open top fastened upon his back. Doubled over, he waddled and hopped as well as he could. A feather duster was stuck in for a tail and his woolly head gave him the un- canny look of a black harpy. To see him was to shed tears of laughter. The pouched turkey enjoyed being a pouched turkey. He strutted and gobbled and ran at the girls; tried to pick up corn from the floor with his thick lips, tumbling down and rolling over in the effort; for a pouched turkey has no wings with which to balance himself. So much hilarity in the family room drew the Pawnee ser- vants. I saw their small, dark eyes in a mere line of open door, gazing solemnly. Wken the turkey was relieved from his pouching and sent to bed, Pierre Grignon took his violin. The girls answered with jlgs that ended in a reel, when couples left the general figure to jig it off. ‘When Eagle had watched them awhile she started up, spread her skirts in a sweeping courtesy and began to dance a gavotte. The fiddler changed his tune and the girls rested and watched her. Alternately swift and languid, with the changes of the movement, she saluted backward to the floor or spun on the tips of rapid feet. I had seen her dapce many times, but never with such abandon of oy gul‘ singular relationship was estab- lished in the house, where hospitality made room and apology for all human weakness. 2 Nobody of that region, except the in- firm, stayed indoors to shiver by a fire. Eagle and the girls in their warm capotes breasted with me the coldest winter days. She was as happy as they were; her cheeks tingled as pink as theirs. Some- times 1 lought her eyes must answer me with her old self-command; their bright grayness was so natural. I believed if her delusions were humor- ed, they would unwind from her like the cloud which she felt them to be. The family had long fallen into _the habit of treating her as a child, glaylng some imaginary er. he seemed less demente than Wwalking in a dream, her faculties asleep. It was somnambulism rather than mng- ness. She had not the expression of in- fane people, the shifty eyes, the cunning and perverseness, the animal and torpid presence. If I called her Madame de Ferrier in- stead of my cloud-mother, a strained and puzzled look replaced her usual satisfac- tion. I did not often use the name, nor did I try to make her repeat my own. 1t was my daily effort to fall in with her happiness, for if she saw any anxiety she was quick to plead: “Don’t you like me any more, Paul? Are you tired of me, because I am a cloud-mother?” “No,” I would answer. “Lazarre will ne‘igr be “rehdinokt )I'ou." “Do you tl am wing smaller? ‘Will you love me if I lhgflrgk to‘a baby ?"* I will love you.” “I used to love you when you were so tiny, Paul, before you knew how to love me back. If I forget how”’—she clutched :29 lgpels of my coat—"‘will you leave me on 7 “Eagle, say this: ‘Lazarre cannot leave e. “‘Lazarre cannot leave me.” I heard her repeating this at her sew- ing. She boasted to Marie Grignon—“La- ff',”;e"“nmt leave me! Paul taught me at. My cloud-mother asked me to tell her the storfes she used to tell me. She had tor%ottenuthen’;;”d “I am the ci now,” she would . “'{ell met tihe stgrfles." S repeated mythical tribe legends, th- ered from Skenedonk on oux-g long i‘:‘leu, making them as eloquent as I could. She listened, holding her breath, or sighing w{gh content’m?}l‘t. h any one in the household smiled wh she led me about by the hand, there W:: a tear behind the smile. She kept herself in perfection, bestow- ing unceasing care upon her dress, which yas }lem;s gray. = i ave to wear gray; n o !hevélmh said to d!h: fl{mfl;:m i ““We have tused fine stuff bro from Holland, and wwf;‘t{at Mother“ {'l:t sule got from Montreal,” Katarina told me. ‘The Pawnees dye with vegotable colors. But they cannot make the pale ngy lshe lovfis.“l agle watched me with matern: . If a hair dropped on my ccll.llre‘:;z.e brushed it away, and smoothed and sete tled my cravat. The touch of my cloud. mother, famillar and tender, ifke the %g‘;g?rgt ge wife, ch:rged thl:ougb me with , because she wa - co]rgmglouslcfi “.b s herself so un efore ad been in the hou she made a little pair of tmus::n::;:g long, and gave them to me. Marie and Katarina turned their faces to laugh. My cloud-mother held the garment up for their inspection, and was not at all sensi- '.h‘l'; s-?ntd ee oglsgleu it Kirovoked. ver an o - e!;‘!h"_ !blfi i pair of his fath. e discarded breeches uses pouched turkey had been devn!aedba:l ltit: whim. Every stitch wag neatly set, I praised her beautiful needlework, and she saslg sh‘ei w«l.»(uld make me a coat.’ enedogk was not often in the ho He took to the winter hunting and l:n‘;::: shoeing with vigor. Whenever he came indoors I used to see him ‘watching Ma. dame de Ferrier with saturnine ‘wistful- She paid no attention to him. He would stand gazing at her while she sewed; being privileged as an educated Indian and my attendant, to enter the family room where the Pawnees came only to serve. They had the ample kitchen and its log fire to themselves. T wondered what was working in Skene- donk’s mind, and if he repented calling one so buffeted a sorceress. Kindly ridicule ?dt« by the incon- gruous things she did passed over with- out touching her. She was enveloped in a cloud, a thick case guarding overtaxed mind and body, and shutting them in its pellucid chrysalis. The Almighty arms were resting her on a mountain of vision. She had lorgot how to weep. She was re- membering how to llufi“ The more I thought about it the less en~ .garden in the settlement. ble it became to have her dependent 3;;: the Grignons. My business affairs with Pierre Grignon made it possible to transfer her obligations to my account. The hospitable man and his wfe objected, but when they saw how I took it to heart ve me my way. I told them I wished er to be regarded as my e, for é should never have another; and while might remain lmfonible for. herhco marry me, on my part 1 was bound to her, - “You are young, M's'T Wulhn}l. Madame Ursule. “You have a long life before you. A man wants comfort in bis house. "And if he makes wealth, b't:l 3 a hand that knows how to distribute an how to save. She could never go to your hnmekll Shft is.” s “I know it, ma . “You will change your mind about a 1 d my mind e e ch!l‘nge not a mind w! ‘“Madame, since 1 first wanted her. that changes.” “Well, n&n‘s unusual. Young men are ott.enu fickle. You never made proposals madame, after her husband was still_a wife—the wife of an old man—in the Pigeon Roost settle- nt. “Her father married her to a cousin neu-ley as old as himself, when lh:d v;: .s child. Her hu«lb’andmm:s‘ re s et ot | n E gfl%‘llleth?.gn:ll:o did her friends, that he i '3::.9 "Eh! these !m. married to gld men! Madame Jordan told melllfle; leine’s husband was very fretful =~ Hlo kept himself like silk, and scarc oyt e the wind blow upen him for fear e juring his health. When other menm e out tolling at the clearings, he sat in I3 house to avoid getting chills and feve: - the sun. It was well for her that si 1 had a faithful seqvant, Madeleine and the servant kept the family with thelr garden and corn fleld. They never ta ed wild meat unless the other set! deri brought them venison. Madame Jor ll: said they always returned a Drfiufl:, ol herbs and vegetables lron:h::fl:ngfl;l;;‘; It grew for them better e e ‘:lyd man did go out with a hunting party, and got Xoss"m ‘The men searched for him three days, and found him curled up in a _hollcw tree, waiting to be brought in. They carried him home on a litter and he popped his head into the door and said: ‘Here I am, child! You can’t kill me!’ 'What did Madame de Ferrier say? othing. She made a_child of him, ae if he were her son. He was in his second childhood, no doubt. And Madame Jordan sald she appeared to hold herself accountable for the losses and crosses that made him so fretful. The children of the emigration were brought up to hardship, and accepted everything as elders could not do.” “1 thought the Marquis de Ferrier a courteous gentleman.” ;. you ever see him?” ‘Twice only.” “He used to tell his wife he_ intended to live a hundred years. And I supposo he would have done it if he had not been tomahawked and scalped. ‘You'll never get De Chaumont,’ he used to say to her. ‘Il see that he mever gets you!' I re- member the name very well, because it ‘was the name of that pretty créature who danced for us inp the cabin on Laks George.” ~“De Chaumont was her father,” I said. “He would have married Madame de Fer- rier and restored her to her estate if she had accepted him and the Marquis had not come back.” “‘Saints have pity!” sald Madame Ur- sule. “And the poor old man must make everybody and himself so uncomfortable!" ‘But how could he help living?"” “True enough. God’s times are n ours. But see what he has made of her! 1 thought of my Cloud-Mothér 'nlklng inclosed from the world upon a height of changeless youth. She could not feel an- other shock. She was past both ambition ani poverty. If she had ever felt the sweet anguish of love—Oh! she must have understood when she kissed me and sald: “I will come to you some time!”—the an- guish—the hoping, waliting, expecting, re- ceiving nothing, all were gone by. Even mother cares no longer touched her. Paul was grown. She could not be made any- thing that was base. Unseen forces had worked with her and would work with her still, “You told me,” I said to Madame Ur- sule, “the Indians were afrald of her Wwhen they burned the settlement. Was the change so sudden?” ‘“Madame Jordan's story was like this: It happened in broad daylight. Two men went into the woods hunting bee trees. The Indians cought and killed them with- in two miles of the clearing—some of those very Winnebagoes you treated with for your land. _It was a sunshiny day in September. You could hear the poultry crowing, and the children playin, in the dooryards. Madeleine's unfia Paul was never far away from her. The In- dians rushed in with yells and finished the settlement in a few minutes. Madame Jordan and her family were protected, but she saw children dashed against trees, and her neighbors struck down and scalped before she could plead for them. And little good pleading would bave done. An Indian seized Paul. His father and the old servaunt lay dead across the door- step. His mother would not let him go. The Indian dragged her on her knees and struck her on the head. Madame Jordan ran out at the risk of being scalped her- self, and got the poor girl into her cabin. The Indian came back for Madeleine's scalp. Madeleine did not see him. She stood up quivering the whole lenfth of her body and laughed in his face. It was dreadful to hear her above the cries of the children. The Indlan went away like a scared hound. And none of the others would touch he I was thankful After I heard this sto every day that Eagle could not remember; that natural happiness had its way with her elastic body. Madame Ursule told me the family learned to give her liberty. She rowed alone upon the river, and went where she pleased. The men in La Baye would step asice for her. Strangers disturbed her by bringing the consciousness of something unusual. Once I surprised Marie and Katarina sitting close to the fire at twilight, talk- ing about lovers. Eagle was near them on a stool. ‘“That girl,” said Katarina, speaking of the absent with strong disapproval, “is one of the kind that will let another girl take her sweetheart and then sit around and look injured! Now, if she could fi' him from me she might have him! it she’d have to get him first!" Eagle listened in the attitude of a young sister, giving me to understand by a look 1thnt wisdom flowed, and she was learn- n, ‘We rose one mornlx;f to find the world buried in snow. The river was frozen and its channel padded thick. As for the bay, streiches of snow flelds, with dark pools and broken gray ridges met ice at the end of the world. It was so cold.that paper stuck to the fingers like feathers, and the nails tingled with frost. The white earth creaked un- der foot, and when a sled went by the snow cried out in shrill long resistance, a spirit complaining of being trampled. ‘Explosions came from the river, and elm limbs and timbers of the house startled us. White fur clothed the inner key holes. Tree trunks were black as ink against a background of snow. The oaks alone kept their dried foliage, which rat- tled like many skeletons, instead of rustling in its faded redness, because there was no life in it. But the colder it grew the higher Grig- non’s log fires mounted. And when chan- nels were cut in the snow both along the ridge above Green Bay and across coun- try In every direction, French trains moved out with dansllns bells and malids and men uttere voice sounds which spread as by miracle on the dlfludni air from horizon to horizon. You could hear the offlcers’ speaking across the river, and dogs were like to shake the sky down with their barking. Echoes from the £mallest noises were born in that mag- nifled, glaring world. The whole festive winter spun past. Marie and Katarina brought young men to the peaks of hope in the “twosing’ seat, and plunged them down to T, quite Ign the American fashion. Christ- mas d New Year's days were great festivals, when the settlement ate and drank at Pierre Grignon's expense and made him glad as if he fathered the whole post. ° Mme. Grignon spun and looked to the house. And a thousand changes passed over the landscape. But in all that time no one could see any change in my cloud-mother. She sewed like a child. She laughed and danced ga- vottes. She trod the snow, of muffled in robes, with Mme. Ursule and the girls, flew over it in a French train; a sliding box with _two or three horses hitched tandem. Every evening I sat by her side at the fire, while she made little coats and trousers for me. But ibrance loud stood I first never came into her eyes. round about her as yu d;lt;h a' tried to penetrate My own dim' days w ind. I tried to recall lenlam on';u? !n):‘lfl lived a purely physical life. Her biunders of judgment and delusion of bodily king Were no part of my experience. g -——_—*————_—fl The thinking self in me had been par- alyzed. While the thinking seif in her was alive, in a cloud. Both of us wero memoryless, excepting her recollection of Paul. % After March sent the ice out of river and bay, spring came with a rush as it comes the north. Perhaps many days it was silently rising from tree roots. In February we used to say: “This air is Iike spring.” But after such bold speech the arctic region descended upon us apaill uuu We were snowed in to the ears. Yet when the end of March unlocked us, it seemed we must wait for the month of lve us soft air and blue water, Then suddenly was spring, and every living soul knew it. Life revived wich passion. Longings which you had forgot ten came back and took you by the hr. exquisite, milk-opal water in the bay ts lifted themselves in mirage, purple flaws salling lightly above the water; and i ands sat high, with a cushion of air under them. The girls manifested increasing interest in what they called the Pigeon Roost set- tlement affair. Madame Ursule had doubt told them what I had said. Th pitied my cloud-mother and me with the condescending pity of the very you ::d unguardedly talked where they cou “Oh, she’ll come to her senses somo time, and he’ll marry her of course,” was the conclusion they invariably reached: for the thing must turn out well to me-t their approval. How could they foreses Hh-t was to happen to people whoss ves held such contrasts? “Father Pierre says he’s nearly 28; I call him an old bachelor,” declared Kat: rina; “and she was a married woma They are really very old to be in love. “You don't know what you'll do whae. you are old.” sald Marie. “Ah, I dread it,” groaned Katarina, “So do 1" “But there is ndmother. She doesn’t mind it. And beaux never trouble her now. “No,” sighed the other. “Beaux never trouble her now.” ‘Those spring days I was wild with rest- lessness. Life revived to dare things. Wa heard afterward that about that time the meteor rushed once more across France. Napoleon landed at a Mediterranean port, gathering force as he marched, swept Louis XVIII away like a cobweb in his path, and moved on to Waterloo, The greatest Frenchman that ever lived fell uitimately as low as St. Helena, and the Bourbons sat again upon the throne. But the changes of which I knew noth- ing affected me in the Illinois Territory metimes I waked at night and sat up in bed, hot with indignation at the In- justice done me, which I could nev prove, which I did not care to comba yet which unreasonably waked the fight- ing spirit In me. Our natures toss and change, expand or contract, influenced by invisible powers we know not why. One April night I sat up in the veiled light made by a clouded moon. Rain points multiplied themselves on the win- dow glass: I heard tbheir sting. The im- pulse to go out and ride the wind, or ick the river up and empty it all at once Km: the bay, or tear Eagle out of the cloud, or go to France and proclaim my- gelf for follower: and other feats of like nature, belng particularly strong in me, 1 struck the pillow beside me with my fist. Something bounced from it on the floor with a clack like wood. I stretched downward from one of Madame Ursule's thick feather beds and picked up what brought me to my feet. Without letting 8o 05 it I lighted my candle. It was the padlocked book which Skenedonk sald he had burned. And there the scoundrel lay at the other side of the room, wrapped in his blanket from head to foot, mummied by sleep. I wanted to take him by the scalp lock and drag him around on the floor. He had carried it with him, or secreted it gomewhere, month after month. I could imagine how the state of the writer work- ed on his Indian mind. He repented, and ‘was not able to face me, but felt obliged to restore what he had withheld. So wait- ing until I slept, he brought forth the dlocked book and laid it on the pillow g:llde my head; thus beseeching pardon and Intimating that the subject was closed between us. I got my key, and then a fit of shiver- ing seized me. I put the candle stand be- -lge the pillow and lay wrapped in bed- ding, clenching the small chilly padiock and sharp-cornered boards. Remembering the change which had come upon the life recorded in it, I hesitated. Remembering how it had eluded me before, I opened it. The few entries were made without date. The first pages were torn out, crumpled and smcothed and ted to place aj Rose petals and violets and some bright poppy leaves crushed inside its 1ids slid down upon the bedcover. VIIL ‘The Padlocked Book—In this book I am going to write you, Louis, a letter which will never be delivered, because [ shall burn it when it is finished. Yet that will not prevent my_ tantalizing you about ft. To the padlocked book I can say what I want to say. To you I must say what is expedient. That is a foolish woman who does vio- lence to love by inordinate loving. Yet first I will tell you that I sink to sleep saying, “He loves me!” and rise to the surface saying, “He loves me!” and sink again saying, “He loves me!” all night long. The days when I see you are real days, ed and perfect, and this is the best oi them all. God forever bless in - dise your mother for bearin ou. If you never had come to the worls should not have waked to life self. And why this is I cannot tell. The first time I ever saw your tawny head and tawny eyes, though you did not notice me, I said, “Whether he is the King or not would make no difference.” Because I knew.you were more than the King to me. Sire, you told me once you could not un- derstand why people took kindly to you, There is in you a gentle dignity and manhood, most royal. As you come into a room you ecast unfe - erect. et Ty SO Yo nfiden my . "You @ cor ce. gnn fll’ll like Annabel, who feel merely at their finger ends, and are as well satis- fled with one husband as another, know you to be solid man, not the mere image of a man. Besides these traits thers is a power going out from you that takes hold of peoplé invisibly. [y father there was a man at the father who could put others to a waving of his hands. 1 am not compar- ing q‘on to_this charlatan, yet when you touch my hand a strange current ryps through me. Whletn we were u; Pnunk- 1 used to dress myself every morning like a priestess go- ing to serve in a temple. And what was u’on To worship om‘&‘r h.x for half an_hour mnn You rol me of the sight of you for ths. Sophie St. Michel told me to beware of Fou 1 oot Youi t -F'm“l ovit without you!? To-morrow he turns to nis n six months he “T was a B e e e W!I}lt was her name?” pE § ove a ere ‘women to outwi 'h other, and man boasts, “She loves m:',:not ".lf al om e are in a sl the world wt%en %’&m‘ Py it ward you, it 7 ATl e, e Tusgicd Witk I i5fudged ave mi . I could have insisted that we hold Mont Lo as tenants. The Count is our man’s fault that weak unfortunate. Yet Cousin Phil ‘wince, I could not put the daily humiliation upon him. He is llke my father come back, broken, helpless. And Paul and I. who are young, ;:'!;fl‘ care of him where he will be st humbled. 1 was over-pampered in Mont Louls and Paris. I like easy living, carriages, long- talled gowns, jewels, trained servants, music and spectacles on the stage; a park and wide lands all my own; seclusion from people who do not interest me; idle- ess in enjoyment. . B D iy il af vanity: Aulaliél Sus not half the points I have. When the men are around here I laugh to think I shall be fine and firm as a statue when she is a mass wrinkles and ‘When _ she a mass of inkles a of fuzz she will be riper and tenderer inside. But will the men see that? No. They will be off after a fresher Annabel. So much for men. On the other hand [ had but a few months of luxury and may count on the hardness that comes of e; for strength in doing the right 1 ore were mo_Ged, 1€ Cutiat. o Gavir died on the ,'I should have to do the right thing because it is right. Why we lay wp m“